I (25F) and my bf (26m) are coming up on two years together but we’ve known each other since high school. In HS I was the honor roll student and in the top 10 of my class while he was a sophomore year and vocational school dropout. We both come from similar backgrounds where poverty and struggling are the norm. However it’s been my mission to escape that lifestyle since I was old enough to comprehend it. As you can assume it’s shaped the woman I am today, I’m extremely driven and ambitious, I work and go to school 7 days a week. My boyfriend on the other hand?… Well he struggles to even keep a job and when I ask him questions about his future he can’t give me an answer (which is a red flag I’m already aware of.) But he wasn’t like this when we got together so before you ask why I didn’t leave, I’m already in love so that’s easier said than done. Things changed after he lost his job, he just seemingly became a man with no drive. Now the jokes that bother me aren’t your average jokes. It’s things like when we’re crossing the street and a car starts to turn he says “hit me so I can get paid” which isn’t a groundbreaking phrase but he says it every time anything like that happens and half the time it’s not even with expensive cars, it’ll be with beat up ones like bro that’s a Nissan with one hubcap and mismatched passenger door, aim higher. Or he’s also said things like “I’m a DGK at heart” for those unaware of what that is, it’s a skateboard brand that stands for “dirty ghetto kids.” 😒 This plus his lack of ambition just annoys me to no end. I don’t find it cute as I want to shed this life not wear it like some badge of honor. He also talks about how as a kid he wanted to be a “scammer” and “card cracker” and he laughs like it’s funny but I find it so fucking sad and.. icky. Because it’s like as a kid I wanted to live a privileged life (vacations, stability, flexibility.. still want that) and you wanted to live as a criminal. The problem is that these jokes just give me such a big ICK and even when he says he’s joking I believe there’s some truth in what he says/wants. I believe part of him wants to be the old dude still on the block with a gold tooth (another “joke” of his) that thinks he’s mister cool guy but in reality he’s just an old loser with a drinking problem, hence the gold tooth. While I want to be the beautiful, successful, independent woman that lives a life she truly loves. I just feel like such an uptight bitch for hating these “jokes” so tell me, am I the asshole?
Additional info: we are an interracial couple, I’m black and he’s Mexican. I think this also adds to it as I want to get away from everything that’s “expected” from people like us, impoverished minorities.

Classification – The differences between people are not respected. There’s a division of ‘us’ and ‘them’ which can be carried out using stereotypes, or excluding people who are perceived to be different.
https://m.jpost.com/arab-israeli-conflict/the-second-intifada-a-defining-event-that-reshaped-the-nation-642644
Symbolisation – This is a visual manifestation of hatred. Jews in Nazi Europe were forced to wear yellow stars to show that they were ‘different’.
https://www.aljazeera.com/amp/news/2017/11/18/the-colour-coded-israeli-id-system-for-palestinians
Discrimination – The dominant group denies civil rights or even citizenship to identified groups. The 1935 Nuremberg Laws stripped Jews of their German citizenship, made it illegal for them to do many jobs or to marry German non-Jews.
https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2022/02/israels-system-of-apartheid/#:~:text=Since%202002%2C%20Israel%20has%20adopted,separate%20Palestinians%20from%20their%20families.
Dehumanisation – Those perceived as ‘different’ are treated with no form of human rights or personal dignity. During the Genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda, Tutsis were referred to as ‘cockroaches’; the Nazis referred to Jews as ‘vermin’.
https://theintercept.com/2024/02/07/gaza-israel-netanyahu-propaganda-lies-palestinians/
Organisation – Genocides are always planned. Regimes of hatred often train those who go on to carry out the destruction of a people.
את"צhttps://www.idf.il › ... › Mini SitesTraining and Preparation
Polarisation – Propaganda begins to be spread by hate groups. The Nazis used the newspaper Der Stürmer to spread and incite messages of hate about Jewish people.
https://theintercept.com/2024/02/07/gaza-israel-netanyahu-propaganda-lies-palestinians/
Preparation – Perpetrators plan the genocide. They often use euphemisms such as the Nazis’ phrase ‘The Final Solution’ to cloak their intentions. They create fear of the victim group, building up armies and weapons.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israeli_invasion_of_the_Gaza_Strip_(2023%E2%80%93present)
Persecution – Victims are identified because of their ethnicity or religion and death lists are drawn up. People are sometimes segregated into ghettos, deported or starved and property is often expropriated. Genocidal massacres begin.
https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/12/05/does-israels-treatment-palestinians-rise-level-apartheid#:~:text=The%20oppression%20is%20most%20severe,rights%20under%20Israeli%20civil%20law.
Extermination – The hate group murders their identified victims in a deliberate and systematic campaign of violence. Millions of lives have been destroyed or changed beyond recognition through genocide.
https://www.redcross.org.uk/stories/disasters-and-emergencies/world/whats-happening-in-gaza-humanitarian-crisis-grows
Denial – The perpetrators or later generations deny the existence of any crime.
https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2024/01/12/middleeast/icj-israel-gaza-hamas-genocide-hearing-hague-day-two-intl
You are free to use repost this anywhere also share anymore sources in the comments and I will expand the list of sources. One way we can fight injustice is through education.

For context, my kids ask me regularly about "Dad-Lore" where I tell them about my childhood and they stand there with mouths agape and ask "how are you so normal?"
I grew up in a cult.
Think of that wild evangelical friend/uncle/cousin. Got them in mind? This was crazier. Like a lot.
I grew up in (what I thought was) a perfectly normal white, suburban, Canadian, Christian family. We were fairly happy. It was me, my brother, sister, mom, and dad.
We went to church every week. Church was a fairly "high priority" in our life.
You know, like everyone goes to church. Once on Sunday morning (for 3-4 hours), once on Sunday evening (evening service is where Pastor Len gets into the real issues - another 2-3 hours).
Oh, and small group on Wednesday evening (25-30 of our closest friends singing along with an acoustic guitar and half a dozen tambourines - anywhere between 3-5 hours).
And then there's the "Intercessory prayer" meeting on Thursday (a group of mostly women gather together to pray for all of their friends and family - each kept a spiral notebook as a prayer journal to make sure that all of the specific details of the friends' needs can be brought before almighty God that He might do a MIGHTY WORK IN THIS SITUATION!!!!!) (this was usually 3 hours or so)
Pant. Pant. Pant.....
I may have gotten carried away there for a moment.
Apologies.
To continue. Friday night was Youth Group (where your parents would encourage you to spend as much time as possible with THESE FRIENDS - in the hopes that we might meet a nice Christian girl who is deeply aligned with Purity Culture) (Friday nights were 4-6 hours)
Saturday morning was usually volunteering to help - so as to be "servant leaders" in our community - to help point the way to Jesus. This could be helping a family in our small group as they move, or shoveling other peoples' driveways ( 3ish hours )
Saturday night was often a second youth group event. Sometimes, it would be a fun "party type" event. Occasionally, this would involve "outreach", where we might do any number of things to advance God's heavenly kingdom here on Earth. (anywhere from 3-8 hours)
We may:

• Go swimming at a community pool (Girls must wear a one piece bathing suit with swim shorts. Boys must not be naked.)
• Have a "praise and worship" night where we would sing contemporary Christian music as a group following words projected onto any convenient wall with a transparency projector (a box with a lightbulb inside, a glass top, and a large magnifying lens like a periscope above - a piece of "transparency paper" with song lyrics would be placed on the glass and the light would project the words onto the wall)

These nights were considered some of the best youth events. We would sing and dance for hours. We would "pray in Tongues" at the top of our lungs. We waved flags with embroidered phrases like "Prince of Peace, Mighy God, Holy One".
In short, these were good nights because we felt like we could feel God right here among us.

• We might do a night of "witnessing". This could be anything from handing out (frankly hilarious) religious tracts at a local mall. Or, we might knock on doors to tell people about Jesus. We might talk with the unhoused about how Jesus could turn their life around. (This was generally done during the summer months as you don't get too many kids showing up to wander downtown streets on winter evenings)
• The roller rink was super fun. We would rent the whole place out and we could listen to only our music!!! We know all the words! (cue hours of Stephen Curtis Chapman, Amy Grant - before her affair, and if things were really crazy we might even bust out Petra "Beyond Belief")
• The Arts as a whole were considered a spiritual fom of expression, so we would often have slightly less intense outreach nights by going to other like minded churches and each group could show the other some songs or skits or an interesting story using a fanciful flannelgraph.

This is where I get to call out something that I am particularly proud of: I have memorized the lines, blocking, and movement of every single character in Carmen's "The Champion". (for context, this is allegorical retelling of the Passion Story in the form of a boxing match. It features such characters as the old testament names Jeremiah, Enoch, and Job. Along with Hitler and Napoleon just to balance things out. This song is every bit as weird as it sounds and we would act this out in real-time with a ghetto-blaster belting this rock opera out in the background)
Then Sunday would start it all over again.
Now, not every week was like this. Sometimes, there might be an itinerant Apostle or Prophet in town. It would be the job of one family in our church congregation to host this individual at their home. It was considered an honour. And it wasn't super expensive, they usually only ate breakfast (and maybe a packed lunch) at your house.
In any case, if there was a prophet visiting, there would certainly be an additional evening or two where everyone could come to get a "word from the Lord".
This would involve getting up from your chair (in a revival tent style, there would be musicians playing on the stage to crank up or down the emotional tension as needed). You would then make your way to the front of the room - just in front of the stage. I say stage, I mean "platform raised 12 inches and covered in a thick carpet". You would face forward with your arms raised to about nipples height (think, carrying a flat screen and trying to raise it onto a counter. Take away the TV and you've got the position perfectly. If you want to be particularly demonstrative in your spirituality, you'd shift your hands out like it was a widescreen so that the whole congregation behind you could see your hands waiting to receive good things from God).
And then you would stand there.
Your hands held up in gentle supplication, your head bowed respectfully in patience. If the spirit moves you, you could quietly speak in tongues (it's your heavenly prayer language - a direct line of communication with the Holy Spirit - too bad you have no idea what's being said in either direction)
The prophet would eventually work his way down the line of penitents. He would place his hands on your shoulders, or gesticulate with them as if to punctuate the words and phrases of his glossolalia. Then he would pause.
He might say something like, "The Lord is looking at you child. He is waiting....... He waits for you."
Then he would pause.
His eyes, though shut, would squeeze tighter. His face would become pained (imagine a guitar soloist picking out a particularly high lick - that facial expression)
He, might then open his eyes and touch your face to look into yours. He would smile. He would say, "your heavenly father is so proud of you. While he hasn't told me the specifics, he wants me to tell you 'I'm here. With you. Tonight.' He has a plan for you. One to prosper you, and keep you in health. His eye seeks all across this land and his eye is on YOU. Let me pray for you"
Then, you would once more close your eyes. He would place his hand on your forehead (often with some scented "anointing oil" - this could be purchased in the shoppe in the lobby alongside more tracts). He would begin to speak loudly and with authority.
"I declare THIS DAY that God's hand of BLESSING be upon this child. I BIND all powers of darkness with regards to this child of God, and I LOOSE heaven's blessings upon him"
This would often wrap up with a "thank you JESUS" and a small push.
Now.
This was the point were people would be "slain in the spirit".
It was never really explained to me. It was kind of, just, part of what happened at church.
Presumably, when the PastoProphet/Healespeaker gave that small push, God's Holy Spirit would overwhelm you and you would collapse. Generally backwards. Generally, into the waiting arms of a couple of burly ushers who would the gently lay you on the ground. If you were wearing a skirt a small cotton sheet would be layed over your legs to preserve your modesty.
After several minutes of laying on the carpet (more than 2 less than 5), you would sit up, feeling the joy of the lord as your strength. You would stand up, thank the usher, and go sit in your seat once more.
This is a light taste of the weirdness I grew up in. I will say, for anyone concerned, I was never physically or sexually abused. I am also no longer in that world, though some of my family still is.
I have more and weirder stories, but I've been tapping on my tiny keyboard for way too long, so I'll wrap up my rambling summary of a relatively typical week growing up in a cult.

This is my very first reddit post so I'm sorry if it's weird. The people are also slightly oversimplified to make it shorter and keep everyone mostly anonymous so please keep that in mind. My girlfriend, I'll call her Berry, and I have been in a relationship since we were sophomores. We've made other people in and out of relationships jealous because of our commitment and love for each other. The reason we are the way that we are is because we came from very chaotic backgrounds, me having undiagnosed ocd, depression, and autism since 8, growing up in a ghetto where there could be a gang fight and no police would come, and an absolutely insane family with all types of mental issues with me being the healthiest one, and her coming from a very toxic and manipulative family minus a few and unfortunately growing with toxic friends, including this friend. This makes us very mellow, and we both have 100% faith in each other, I would even let her in a room with her celebrity crush (if she had one) and trust nothing to happen. There have been creeps on the internet that thought they were in a relationship with her, one threatening us after she saw that Berry was actually happy with me, so I made sure to train kickboxing and wrestling. I've learned enough to defend us, but I'm no master. We've both rejected people that have pursued us after we got into a relationship, me rejecting two girls after they saw my better physique and Berry rejecting a guy who was about a week too late, and now going to reject her best friend who we'll call Judy. This had cemented us as the untouchable couple that would go on to get married, as that was often what we said we'd do as we had both helped each other out of our insecurities, traumas, and depression. At the beginning of and before our relationship, Judy was taking a serious toll on Berry's mental health, constantly complaining to her and expecting Berry to soak it up like a sponge, but when Berry would go to Judy with her problems, Judy would ignore Berry and just talk about her problems. When I was with Judy at lunch to get to know her, she would try the same thing with me. Instead of listening and not saying anything back, I would listen and offer solutions, those of which she would try to skirt around, but ultimately failed as I am a very logic based person and would think of other ways to help. She would constantly go on about her sob story until I told her about mine, making her realize that I had a worse one. The way she denied my help and kept complaining to Berry anyway made me realize that she wasn't looking to help herself and instead looking to victimize herself, and I'm not interested in people like that being my friends. Judy left me alone, and I told Berry not to let her get you down as much, thinking that it was fine as long as she didn't get her down too much. Berry started confiding in me with her problems since I gave solutions and comfort rather than telling her to deal with it and other people have it worse. Judy was still there for Berry because everyone else left her, but Berry and one or two others. They continued in this limbo until our current senior year, where Berry tried to push Judy away. Judy didn't understand that Berry wanted nothing to do with her for a long while and was under the assumption that they were still friends. Now, the next part came out of nowhere for me and Berry, but it started when a YouTuber announced their retirement from YouTube. On the next day, Judy was sent to the hospital from school after telling her counselor that she wanted to self-delete. This was very sudden, because after about a decade of knowing Judy, she has never expressed an interest in said YouTuber. This wasn't the only reason that she wanted to self-delete, of course, but was a very bizarre one, especially because the more hurtful thing is that she came from neglectful parents who left her with her mentally abusive extended family, causing her to gain weight and be bullied by them further. After the hospital visit, her father started to care about her a bit more and helps every now and then. I talked with Berry before about getting cps involved, but she had already asked, and Judy said not to, so I didn't ask further. After the hospital incident, Berry was there to comfort Judy, and I supported her fully, not knowing how to support Judy myself. At this time, Judy texted Berry almost every day, and Berry had to convince Judy not to self-delete. Judy started to get better, and after a month, she was becoming better. She started bombarding Berry's phone with pictures of this YouTuber, voice messages, and random blurbs of letters to make sounds. Berry was a bit disturbed with the random sounds as they were strange, and so was I, but we figured she's mentally ill, so it checks out. She started hugging Berry out of nowhere, too, which I was also fine with as she was depressed and never had any problems with hugs. I started to become suspicious when Judy gave Berry a little brochure with random phrases they usually used, but one of the inside ones was just filled with the word gay written about 300 times. I asked Berry jokingly if Judy was projecting, and Berry said that Judy was bisexual I said, "oh," and got a little voice that smelled suspicion, but I ignored it. I ignored it until we went to the school play together and Judy had her arm around Berry like I usuall have it with an annoying smile, I held my tongue until one of my friends mentioned in a casual conversation the next week that Berry had been to the school play twice, assuming that I knew. Since our sophomore year, we had gone to the school play together when it was time, I have all the tickets from when we went to remind us when we get older. This hurt me deeply, and I let Berry know that, in which she said that she forgot to tell me about it since it was very out of nowhere and assured me that nothing happened, which I believed. She then asked if I was mad at her, but I was not, I was mad at Judy. A few weeks after that, Judy decided that her and Berry should prank me by walking out of the school together while laughing at me. They did this until I got mad, walked in front of them, and kicked open the front door of the school. I calmed down and told Berry that I was mad at Judy. The things that Judy has done so far over the course of a month are: keep bombarding Berry's phone (ok), taken Berry to the play just with each other (ticked off about that at first, but ok), guided Berry by the hand across the gymnasium (it was probably chaotic, ok) moved Berry by her hip (WHAT THE ACTUAL F?), tried to prank me by kissing Berry (our relationship would've been over as we both don't deal with cheaters and have agreed that kissing is cheating if it's not with family on the cheek, and Berry said no to that), tried to kiss Berry's hand twice (she didn't let her), complained that Berry and I are too close in the hallways and she thinks I'm clingy (you didn't care about this in the start of our relationship, we've been a year and a few months past setting boundaries, and why are you bothered about what we do if it's our relationship?), touched and brushed up against Berry's thighs with her hands multiple times (Berry assumed these were done in a playful spirit, cue more WHAT THE ACTUAL F?), accused one of my close friends of liking me and being too close with them (they're non-binary and I was helping them talk with their crush, I'm a straight cis-male) and moved Berry by her hip and arm just recently again (I'm about ready to fight this girl). During these encounters, Berry had told Judy if she went too far and made her uncomfortable, and at first, Berry denied Judy had any attraction towards her, but saying it all had let her realize that Judy is most probably infatuated with her. She has already tried to lightly bring it up, but Judy deflected and didn't let the topic stick. She has also kept disrespecting Berry's boundaries after each expression of discomfort. Berry's ready to tell Judy that she can't have her and that she's never been interested in her, but doesn't know how without Judy threatening to self-delete. We would like to know how to let Judy down easy without her making everything explode and blaming Berry and me.

This is my very first reddit post so I'm sorry if it's weird. The people are also slightly oversimplified to make it shorter and keep everyone mostly anonymous so please keep that in mind. My girlfriend, I'll call her Berry, and I have been in a relationship since we were sophomores. We've made other people in and out of relationships jealous because of our commitment and love for each other. The reason we are the way that we are is because we came from very chaotic backgrounds, me having undiagnosed ocd, depression, and autism since 8, growing up in a ghetto where there could be a gang fight and no police would come, and an absolutely insane family with all types of mental issues with me being the healthiest one, and her coming from a very toxic and manipulative family minus a few and unfortunately growing with toxic friends, including this friend. This makes us very mellow, and we both have 100% faith in each other, I would even let her in a room with her celebrity crush (if she had one) and trust nothing to happen. There have been creeps on the internet that thought they were in a relationship with her, one threatening us after she saw that Berry was actually happy with me, so I made sure to train kickboxing and wrestling. I've learned enough to defend us, but I'm no master. We've both rejected people that have pursued us after we got into a relationship, me rejecting two girls after they saw my better physique and Berry rejecting a guy who was about a week too late, and now going to reject her best friend who we'll call Judy. This had cemented us as the untouchable couple that would go on to get married, as that was often what we said we'd do as we had both helped each other out of our insecurities, traumas, and depression. At the beginning of and before our relationship, Judy was taking a serious toll on Berry's mental health, constantly complaining to her and expecting Berry to soak it up like a sponge, but when Berry would go to Judy with her problems, Judy would ignore Berry and just talk about her problems. When I was with Judy at lunch to get to know her, she would try the same thing with me. Instead of listening and not saying anything back, I would listen and offer solutions, those of which she would try to skirt around, but ultimately failed as I am a very logic based person and would think of other ways to help. She would constantly go on about her sob story until I told her about mine, making her realize that I had a worse one. The way she denied my help and kept complaining to Berry anyway made me realize that she wasn't looking to help herself and instead looking to victimize herself, and I'm not interested in people like that being my friends. Judy left me alone, and I told Berry not to let her get you down as much, thinking that it was fine as long as she didn't get her down too much. Berry started confiding in me with her problems since I gave solutions and comfort rather than telling her to deal with it and other people have it worse. Judy was still there for Berry because everyone else left her, but Berry and one or two others. They continued in this limbo until our current senior year, where Berry tried to push Judy away. Judy didn't understand that Berry wanted nothing to do with her for a long while and was under the assumption that they were still friends. Now, the next part came out of nowhere for me and Berry, but it started when a YouTuber announced their retirement from YouTube. On the next day, Judy was sent to the hospital from school after telling her counselor that she wanted to self-delete. This was very sudden, because after about a decade of knowing Judy, she has never expressed an interest in said YouTuber. This wasn't the only reason that she wanted to self-delete, of course, but was a very bizarre one, especially because the more hurtful thing is that she came from neglectful parents who left her with her mentally abusive extended family, causing her to gain weight and be bullied by them further. After the hospital visit, her father started to care about her a bit more and helps every now and then. I talked with Berry before about getting cps involved, but she had already asked, and Judy said not to, so I didn't ask further. After the hospital incident, Berry was there to comfort Judy, and I supported her fully, not knowing how to support Judy myself. At this time, Judy texted Berry almost every day, and Berry had to convince Judy not to self-delete. Judy started to get better, and after a month, she was becoming better. She started bombarding Berry's phone with pictures of this YouTuber, voice messages, and random blurbs of letters to make sounds. Berry was a bit disturbed with the random sounds as they were strange, and so was I, but we figured she's mentally ill, so it checks out. She started hugging Berry out of nowhere, too, which I was also fine with as she was depressed and never had any problems with hugs. I started to become suspicious when Judy gave Berry a little brochure with random phrases they usually used, but one of the inside ones was just filled with the word gay written about 300 times. I asked Berry jokingly if Judy was projecting, and Berry said that Judy was bisexual I said, "oh," and got a little voice that smelled suspicion, but I ignored it. I ignored it until we went to the school play together and Judy had her arm around Berry like I usuall have it with an annoying smile, I held my tongue until one of my friends mentioned in a casual conversation the next week that Berry had been to the school play twice, assuming that I knew. Since our sophomore year, we had gone to the school play together when it was time, I have all the tickets from when we went to remind us when we get older. This hurt me deeply, and I let Berry know that, in which she said that she forgot to tell me about it since it was very out of nowhere and assured me that nothing happened, which I believed. She then asked if I was mad at her, but I was not, I was mad at Judy. A few weeks after that, Judy decided that her and Berry should prank me by walking out of the school together while laughing at me. They did this until I got mad, walked in front of them, and kicked open the front door of the school. I calmed down and told Berry that I was mad at Judy. The things that Judy has done so far over the course of a month are: keep bombarding Berry's phone (ok), taken Berry to the play just with each other (ticked off about that at first, but ok), guided Berry by the hand across the gymnasium (it was probably chaotic, ok) moved Berry by her hip (WHAT THE ACTUAL F?), tried to prank me by kissing Berry (our relationship would've been over as we both don't deal with cheaters and have agreed that kissing is cheating if it's not with family on the cheek, and Berry said no to that), tried to kiss Berry's hand twice (she didn't let her), complained that Berry and I are too close in the hallways and she thinks I'm clingy (you didn't care about this in the start of our relationship, we've been a year and a few months past setting boundaries, and why are you bothered about what we do if it's our relationship?), touched and brushed up against Berry's thighs with her hands multiple times (Berry assumed these were done in a playful spirit, cue more WHAT THE ACTUAL F?), accused one of my close friends of liking me and being too close with them (they're non-binary and I was helping them talk with their crush, I'm a straight cis-male) and moved Berry by her hip and arm just recently again (I'm about ready to fight this girl). During these encounters, Berry had told Judy if she went too far and made her uncomfortable, and at first, Berry denied Judy had any attraction towards her, but saying it all had let her realize that Judy is most probably infatuated with her. She has already tried to lightly bring it up, but Judy deflected and didn't let the topic stick. She has also kept disrespecting Berry's boundaries after each expression of discomfort. Berry's ready to tell Judy that she can't have her and that she's never been interested in her, but doesn't know how without Judy threatening to self-delete. We would like to know how to let Judy down easy without her making everything explode and blaming Berry and me.

Growing up my mom always used the phrase “I’m your mom not your friend.” And when I say used it I mean abused it. It was a go to line for everything. That being said I grew to not talk to her openly about things that bothered me or just trust her with my personal thoughts or feelings. Anytime I did it would backfire in the most hurtful or embarrassing ways.
Now that I’m older, she hates that I don’t keep her in the loop with everything or text her or call her all the time. In my defense, my life is plane and simple and I love it. So I generally don’t have much to share but she’s up to date on anything major.
We have some pretty traumatic history as well. She kicked me out right at 18 over something that I really need her support and comfort on and we haven’t been the same since. When she kicked me out, she got mad that I actually left. It was confusing and hurtful. I wanted to go to college and she didn’t support it. She showed up on move in day and was mad and mean the whole time. We have had lots of disagreements over time that have never really been resolved and she was always right and I was wrong. No apologies were ever attempted just pretending like it never happened. If I tried to talk it out she was immediately defensive or “I never said that”
Anyways, now that I’m older I really don’t feel comfortable sharing intimate details about my life with her or anyone really. And it bothers her. I occasionally get passive aggressive tests along the lines of “well you never tell me what’s going on in your life” sometimes I want to tell her it’s because she’s my mom and not my friend, like she told me so many times. But I’m sure she’d say she never said that. I don’t understand why parents get to use that line and then magically get to be your friend once you become an adult
I don’t know how to have any kind of conversation with her that she doesn’t immediately go on the defenses and start attacking.
How do you handle these types of relationships without going totally no contact?
Sometimes I feel guilty that we aren’t closer and then I remember why.
Any advise?
TLDR; growing up my mom was “my mom not my friend” now that I’m an adult she’s mad that I don’t treat her like my bff.
Update:
I’ve gotten a lot of good advice here and I appreciate it! A lot of what you said about keeping it breezy and light with her is typically what I try to do but it doesn’t seem to be enough for her, she wants all the details. We typically talk about cats. I can’t really talk about work with her because it’s confidential stuff.
Some additional info: My brother is currently no contact with her because he made a very reasonable request and she took it personally and went nuclear. Between calling him “ghetto”, telling him he needs to go to AA because he smokes weed occasionally, threatening to call CPS, and taking him to court. (He’s a really good dad btw) he decided to cut contact. She has emailed and texted him from random numbers saying “she never did/said that” even though it’s all in texts. She even showed up at his house and dropped something off and then told him it wasn’t her. It was on camera.
Every time I talk to her she complains or talks crap about anyone and everyone. Her family and the people she calls her friends and my brother. He told me she talks crap about me to him also. She talks about herself all the time.
Just things like that make it hard to have a conversation at all- it’s always just a negative vibe and it’s exhausting.
But I’ve seen some good suggestions I haven’t tried so I will do that!

By Dr. Thoreau Redcrow
On Apr 17, 2024
With oppressive military occupations, state accusations serve as confessions.
Since 1984, Kurdish guerrillas of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) have been fighting an asymmetric resistance war against the Turkish military. Consequently, anyone who has ever read or watched Turkish state media (which at this point is the only press allowed to freely operate in the country) has undoubtedly come across the often-parroted line claiming that the PKK is “responsible” for the deaths of 40,000 people. Variations of this phrase appear at the end of all PKK-related news reports in Turkey, whether they are sycophantic screeds by Daily Sabah or Yeni Şafak, disinformation posing as press releases by Anadolu Agency, or slicky-produced video segments by TRT World. As a result, the robotic repetition of “PKK” and “40,000 deaths” begins to resemble a meditation mantra, where Ankara’s Presidential Palace stenographers seem to be trying to convince themselves of its accuracy more than anything else.
But because indoctrination is like a drug, where you need an increasingly stronger dose to gain the same intoxicating high, Turkey’s media often laces other incendiary elements to their obligatory phrasing on the PKK, such as “terror campaign”, “terrorist organization”, and suggesting that most of those 40,000 deaths were “women, children, and infants.” However, when you investigate the reality behind this number, such as where it came from, who it refers to, and who is culpable, you realize that the truth has been flipped upside down. At that point, it becomes clear that the “40,000” death figure attributed to the PKK—which is often inexplicably echoed by more reputable Western news sources—is a deliberately crafted falsehood, a manipulated and weaponized statistic for the purposes of justifying the continual mass murder of Kurds by the Turkish state. But, to add insult to injury, the victims are then accused of committing homicide in relation to their own deaths.
Peace First Requires Truth
Before the PKK even existed, the renowned Kurdish poet Cigerxwîn (1903-1984) explained the Kurd’s historical position in his 1973 work Who Am I?, authoring the lines:
“I am not blood thirsty, no, I adore peace. Noble were my ancestors, sincere are my leaders. We don’t ask for war but demand equality, but our enemies are the ones who betray and lie. Friendship I seek and offer my hands to all friendly nations. Long live Kurdistan; death to the oppressor!”
Such a desire for peace was still evident several decades later in the remarks of the PKK female commander Dilan, who joined the guerrillas after her brother was killed by Turkish security forces and told reporters in 2015: “I don’t like carrying or using a weapon, but do you think as a woman in the Middle East I could survive without one, under these circumstances? It’s a need, not something I relish.”
With regards to the “lies” Cigerxwîn wrote about, it should be noted that it is actually the PKK and their imprisoned leader Abdullah Öcalan who have called for a truth commission, while supposed democracy and US NATO ally Turkey have refused such a request. In their defense, Turkey’s trepidation is justified, as the formation of a truth commission would publicly reveal Ankara’s vast apparatus of death, which has been deployed against the Kurdish people. Any truth commission would unearth all the ways that the Turkish military, secret police, and death squads murdered thousands of Kurds while also burning down over 4,000 Kurdish villages throughout the 1990s. Likewise, all of a sudden, the violence by the PKK (including the excesses they have admitted to and expressed regret for) would be placed in its actual context and begin to look more like self-defense or desperate acts of survival against a depraved enemy with no limit to their cruelty.
This is why the Turkish press always starts or ends any article with the fictitious “PKK death total,” which is used as a qualifier to give the reader the impression that any war crimes by Turkey that are mentioned must have been justified. The obfuscation is not simply a domestic issue in Turkey however, nor a recent phenomenon, as the international Western press has been consistently derelict in their duties since at least the 1990s. Harold Pinter with PEN International described the situation in 1999, by observing how:
“Every time the name of Öcalan occurs in the British press it is accompanied by the figure ‘30,000 dead in the last 14 years.’ The implication is that Öcalan has brought about these deaths. The PKK has certainly killed, and has also committed atrocities, but the overwhelming number of these 30,000 deaths, not to mention widespread mutilation and rape, are the responsibility of the Turkish military.”
With respect to that often-cited number of ‘30,000 deaths’ in 1999—a number which a decade later was usually quoted by the press as 40,000—“the fact that most of the deaths were Kurds is not mentioned”, nor is the fact that the killer in the vast majority of those cases was Turkey, not the PKK.[1] While anti-Kurdish propaganda is to be expected within Turkey, it is acutely peculiar to see Western newspapers repeatedly open or close articles with some variation of the sentence, “The PKK terrorist organization has been fighting a war against Turkey since 1984, in a conflict that has killed 40,000 people,” without any explanation of exactly who is culpable for the vast majority of those deaths. Obviously, your average reader is left with the implicit impression that the ‘terrorists’ must have been the ones who killed most of those 40,000 people and not Turkey. However, with relation to the earlier figure of 30,000 for instance, the Turkish state admitted how they derived that figure and who exactly it was referring to when utilized.
The Birth of a Flexible Number
According to Turkish General Staff Colonel Bülent Dağsali, of the 30,000 at the time in 1999, only 5,238 of those deaths were military personnel considered to be killed by the PKK, a figure which Turkey broke down as: 3,256 conscripted soldiers, 243 officers, 221 noncommissioned officers, 1,115 village guards, and 157 policemen.[2] While it is true that Turkey has been accused of drastically undercounting their own casualties and exaggerating those of Kurdish guerrillas, even when using their own figures for arguments sake, only a total of around 1/6, or 5,000 members of the 30,000, were considered Turkish military victims of the PKK. Likewise, in 2005, Turkish President Süleyman Demirel asserted that from 1984–1999, 23,938 PKK had been killed by Turkish forces, in comparison to his estimate of 5,555 members of the Turkish security forces.[3] Again, based on Turkey’s own claims—whether true or not—the Turkish state was responsible for nearly 5 out of every 6 fatalities.
Although the PKK disputes these figures and says the Turkish casualties are much higher and theirs much lower, that makes little difference to my overall point, which is that when the PKK are mentioned, the impression is always given that they are responsible for killing the 40,000 themselves and not being the victims of 75–80% of that casualty count. Unfortunately, it is just another example of how reality is purposefully skewed to hide what is truly taking place. In the spirit of accuracy, the earlier mentioned sentence could also read something akin to: “The PKK have been fighting a guerrilla war against Turkish occupation since 1984, in a conflict where the state of Turkey claims responsibility for 83% of the reported deaths.”
A further issue calling the accuracy of the 40,000 number into question is the difference in reported PKK death totals by the Turkish Parliament and Gendarmerie (rural police). For example, in 1997, following two large-scale invasions into Southern Kurdistan (north Iraq), the Parliament reported that 3,419 PKK guerrillas were killed, while the gendarmerie said it was 8,234. I should mention one important caveat with relation to alleged PKK casualties: in 1995, Human Rights Watch reported that it was common practice for Turkish soldiers to kill Kurdish civilians and take pictures of their corpses with weapons they carried specifically for staging the events, so that murdered civilians could be displayed to the press as PKK “terrorists.” So, it is not even possible to determine how reliable their definition of “PKK” was. In situations where Turkey could not stage their ‘victories’, they may have just made them up, as during some large-scale operations they would claim unrealistic ratios of guerrillas killed per every soldier they lost. In response to the inflated numbers that Ankara reports on slain PKK, in January 2016, a human rights activist in Amed told the Crisis Group: “Our cities in the region would be flooded with corpses and we would constantly hold funerals if the number the state announces for PKK members killed was correct.”
Why Lying Requires a Good Memory
Nonetheless, with regards to the cumulative figure of all deaths, the scholar Noah Arjomand’s research on the issue outlines how the figure itself has jumped around over the years. For instance, in 1997, Turkish Prime Minister Süleyman Demirel claimed 37,000 people had been killed; in 2005, then Prime Minister Tayyip Erdoğan said the PKK had killed 40,000; in 2008, the chief of general staff said it was 44,042; while in 2013, a parliamentary commission report estimated the death toll at 35,576. A basic glance at those numbers shows that somehow, from 1997 to 2013, following sixteen years of armed conflict, the total number of deaths magically decreased by 1,424 people. A feat only surpassed by the ‘miracle’ that in the five years from 2008 to 2013, 8,466 people were apparently resurrected from the dead.
As Michael Rubin of the American Enterprise Institute argues:
“Policymakers should take the 40,000 number with a grain of salt, though, for two reasons: First, it includes all victims of the PKK insurgency, including villagers and other civilians killed by the Turkish Army. Second, a survey of newspapers going back to the beginning of the insurgency suggest the Turks crafted the figure out of whole cloth.”
In a rundown of the various press figures given, Rubin shows how the number has shifted from 4,500 in August of 1992 (Toronto Star), to 15,000 in April 1995 (Associated Press), and to 17,500 in August 1995 (Irish Times). Then in 1998, the number suddenly jumped to 38,000 based on a statement by Turkish military official Erol Ozkasmak to a military exhibition where he claimed, “The PKK is coming to the end of the road.” The fact that twenty-six years later, the PKK is arguably larger and stronger than ever, tells you most of what you need to know about Mr. Ozkasmak’s credibility, but I digress.
Nevertheless, once that 38,000 figure was put into circulation, Agence France-Presse repeated it in an April 1998 article, allowing it to take on a life of its own. Curiously, the same article also quoted Aydin Arslan, the governor of the occupied Kurdish areas in Turkey, contradicting that figure by claiming that 9,100 people had been killed from 1984 to 1998. Still, only one month later, the German news agency Deutsche Presse-Agentur cited “official figures,” claiming the total was now 40,000 dead. But again, even a total number does not answer who the dead are or which side they were killed by? The reason that important detail was left out of the equation is because most of the victims were killed by Turkey.
More recently, research by the Crisis Group shows that from 2015 to March 2024, the death totals available in open sourcing amounted to 4,612 PKK, 1,479 Turkish state security forces, 622 civilians, and 226 with unknown affiliation, for a total of 6,939 people. However, even though Turkish state forces make up less than a quarter of the total and are responsible, by their own admission for killing the majority of that total, Turkey pins the entire nearly 7,000-person death count on the PKK. Though, curiously, they have not updated their mythical ‘40,000’ number from prior to 2015 to ‘47,000’ now in 2024, further showing the absurdity of utilizing this figure. Which is exactly why academics and media should not just be blindly regurgitating figures released by Turkey, metaphorically letting the serial killer assign blame for their own body count. Then again, that would be fitting, considering a 1992 report by Human Rights Watch found that:
“Instead of attempting to capture, question and indict people suspected of illegal activity, Turkish security forces killed suspects in house raids, thus acting as investigator, judge, jury and executioner.”
When Fighting Terrorism Only Requires a Mirror
“Kurds were being killed for fun. We blew up a little girl because she wouldn’t tell us the location of PKK fighters. We also saw a fourteen-year-old girl herding sheep, my commander ordered us to shoot her, we rejected. He picked up a gun and killed her. When I go to sleep, I can still hear the scream of the little Kurdish girl we blew up. She was begging us in Kurdish. We didn’t understand.” — Sirac Kilic, an ex-Turkish soldier who served in 1994 Since the 1970s, the European Court of Human Rights has condemned Turkey for thousands of human rights abuses against the Kurdish people. The judgments are related to systematic executions of Kurdish civilians, forced recruitment, torture, rape, forced displacements, thousands of destroyed villages, arbitrary arrests, and murdered or disappeared Kurdish journalists. As for the Turkish state, a crucial component to maintaining this collective sociopathology is the specious—though powerfully intoxicating—notion that the Turkish Army is merely killing “terrorists”, who must be destroyed because of the “terror” they inflict upon the population. However, since the PKK generally carried out their armed struggle while attempting to avoid civilian casualties against those they were trying to win support from, the Turkish state often carried out mass atrocities themselves, which they then falsely blamed the PKK for in order to justify their ‘terrorist’ designation. As Paul White explains in his work The PKK: Coming Down from the Mountains:
“The Turkish state itself, have consistently alleged that the PKK during those two decades [80s-90s] was guilty of perpetrating widespread atrocities against civilians, including liquidating entire villages. As the present author has shown, several of these acts were actually perpetrated by Turkish Special Forces. One well-known case is that of the massacre of 12 July 1993, in which at least twenty-six villagers (including fourteen children) were murdered at Giyadîn (Diyadin) village in Van province.”[4]
In the same year, Turkish special forces also burned alive Mehmet Ogut, his pregnant wife, and their seven children (ages 3-13) in the family’s home near Mûş. Following the mass murder, the state blamed the PKK and refused to investigate the case for seventeen years, until public pressure forced them to in 2014, resulting in thirteen of the perpetrators being convicted. Turkey’s behavior was similar a year later, during what became known as the Kuşkonar and Koçağılı massacre. In this war crime on March 26, 1994, Turkish F-16’s and helicopters bombed two Kurdish villages and murdered 38 civilians. Initially, Turkey blamed the PKK and disseminated pictures of the dead children in the press. However, once the truth was revealed, the European Court of Human Rights condemned Turkey to pay €2.3 million to the families of the victims.
The aforementioned Professor White further notes how “The Turkish state’s portrayal of the PKK as wantonly violent terrorists was facilitated by the rigid censorship of events in Kurdistan and the obliging attitude of most of the Turkish press.”[5] Likewise, security expert Gareth H. Jenkins at The Institute for Security and Development Policy explains how the Kurd’s claim that the Turkish Government was “recruiting Mafia hit men, running death squads and releasing convicted terrorists to conduct extra-judicial executions, now seemed to be an irrefutable reality.”[6] For his part, the academic Serdar Kaya cites the activities of the notorious Turkish death squad JİTEM (Gendarmerie Intelligence and Counter-terror Unit) as “allegedly responsible for thousands of extrajudicial executions and assassinations of PKK sympathizers and supporters.”[7]
Because it takes a large civilian body count if you are going to continually accuse a group of “terrorism” to justify your occupation, the Turkish state decided that in the absence of the PKK giving them one, they would not only create their own, but in an extreme act of audacity, blame the PKK for the Kurdish sympathizers they continuously assassinated. A member of the Human Rights Association in Amed described this practice in the mid-1990s, recalling how:
“Approximately 98% of the people killed by unidentified persons have served prison sentences [for Kurdish resistance] or were thought to be supporters of the PKK. We do not believe that the PKK has any reason to kill them. There is a ‘Hizbollah’ here, not like the one in Lebanon, but established by the state. We can show you some of the killers walking down the street in Diyarbakir (Amed) when they should be in jail. Just four days ago an accountant friend of mine was killed just seventy meters away from a police station.”[8]
As the following remarks show, there indeed were people committing terrifying acts in occupied Kurdish areas, such as Turkish commandoes massacring villagers, JİTEM hitmen operating with kill lists, and Islamist anti-guerrilla Hizbulkontra openly killing PKK supporters with Ankara’s blessing, but somehow all of these death totals were being added to the ever-flexible “40,000” figure and blamed on the Kurdish resistance.
An issue of Foreign Affairs from December 2000 addressed this by quoting former French ambassador to Turkey Eric Rouleau, who stated:
“According to the Ministry of Justice, in addition to the 35,000 people killed in military campaigns, 17,500 were assassinated between 1984, when the conflict began, and 1998. An additional 1,000 people were reportedly assassinated in the first nine months of 1999. According to the Turkish press, the authors of these crimes, none of whom have been arrested, belong to groups of mercenaries working either directly or indirectly for the security agencies.”
Turkey’s Goebbelsian Big Lie
Adolf Hitler coined the phrase “Big Lie” (große Lüge) in Mein Kampf (1925) to refer to a gross distortion of the truth as a means of political propaganda. His argument was that people were inclined to believe colossal lies because they find it hard to comprehend that someone would so brazenly distort the truth. Relatedly, American psychoanalyst Walter Charles Langer’s 1943 psychological profile of Adolf Hitler for the US Office of Strategic Services, described the Führer’s use of the Big Lie as follows:
“His primary rules were: never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it.”
It is hard to read these words and not imagine the Turkish dictator Erdoğan’s obsessive scapegoating of the Kurds and frequent blaming of the PKK for all of his own government’s failures. And within that process, the repetitive Big Lie is the false claim that the PKK are responsible for 40,000 deaths. Moreover, there is an often-cited apocryphal quote attributed to Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels (though there is no record that he ever said it), which perfectly encapsulates the way that Turkey deploys its Big Lie regarding the PKK death count. It goes as follows:
“If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.” In Turkey, where Kurds are often arrested and given long prison sentences for “denigrating Turkishness,” which typically means accurately reporting on the crimes the state is committing or has committed throughout history, those words ring so prescient as to be prophetic.
It is worth mentioning that one reason why analogies involving Nazi Germany can be revelatory and instructive, is because they represent one of the few historical events where the majority of people can deploy moral clarity. For example, it is hard for most people to imagine a concept like “terrorism” being committed against the Nazis, as most people recognize their intended victims were justified in using any means necessary against such a monstrosity. Such lucidity, in particular with regards to the righteousness of resisting one’s extermination with violence, can be a helpful ingredient in producing the necessary cognitive dissonance one requires to realize that in the battle of “good versus evil,” their side may actually be the “bad guys.”
With that in mind, imagine for a second, that following the 1943 Warsaw Ghetto uprising against the Nazis, the Third Reich took the death totals of both sides from the month of fighting—the 56,000 killed or captured Jews sent to death camps by the Gestapo and the 300 German soldiers that the Jewish resistance estimates they killed in self-defense—and combined them into one number: 56,300. Now, continue on with this exercise and imagine that the Nazis then created a mandatory line that appeared in every Der Stürmer article stating: “In its 1-month terror uprising against the German Fatherland, the Jewish separatists listed as a terrorist organization by the Reichstag, have been responsible for the deaths of more than 56,300 people, including women, children, and infants.”
It is not hard to see that such an action would be such a blatant distortion of reality that the reader is almost embarrassed by its breathtaking shamelessness. But this is essentially what the Turkish state media continues to do every day with regards to the PKK. So, the next time you read a news source citing the “PKK death total” as if it has any basis in reality, do them a favor and send them a link to this article, so they might stop embarrassing themselves and those of us who know the real history.
References (Offline, as online sources are linked throughout.) [1] Yildiz, K. (2005). The Kurds in Turkey: EU Accession and Human Rights. p. 10 [2] Mater, N. (2005). Voices from the Front: Turkish Soldiers on the War with Kurdish Guerrillas. p. 309 [3] Mater, N. (2005). Voices from the Front: Turkish Soldiers on the War with Kurdish Guerrillas. p. 309 [4] White, P. (2015). The PKK: Coming Down from the Mountains. p. 42 [5] White, P. (2015). The PKK: Coming Down from the Mountains. p. 43 [6] Eccarius-Kelly, V. (2010). The Militant Kurds: A Dual Strategy for Freedom. p. 147 [7] White, P. (2015). The PKK: Coming Down from the Mountains. p. 110 [8] Rugman, J. & Hutchings, R. (1996). Ataturk’s Children: Turkey and the Kurds. p. 89

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Break It (Original Mix) 06:19 127bpm 1A Flabbergast – Manger Du Bon Manger (Original Mix) 06:19 120bpm 2B Flabbergast – Mou D’Etat (Original Mix) 06:44 123bpm 4A Flabbergast – Peppermint Poddle (Original Mix) 06:42 131bpm 6A Fran Freites – Jump (Original Mix) 06:00 128bpm 8B Fran Freites – Partys Town (Original Mix) 05:00 128bpm 2B Fran Freites – Personality (Original Mix) 07:00 97bpm 9A Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material – Oxidation (Dub Mix) 08:15 126bpm 5B Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material – Oxidation (Original Mix) 08:15 126bpm 5B GAWP – Everything You Need (Original Mix) 05:11 128bpm 10A Gianni Ruocco, Milos Pesovic – Aint Nobody (Original Mix) 06:10 125bpm 1A Glimpse – Feel the Energy (Original Mix) 06:33 127bpm 6A Glimpse – Funky Nights (Original Mix) 05:49 127bpm 10A Glimpse – Ignite (Original Mix) 06:19 127bpm 8A Glimpse – Running (Original Mix) 06:36 126bpm 7A Goras – Electrified (Original Mix) 08:13 125bpm 7A Goras – New Life (Original Mix) 08:09 126bpm 11B Goras – Sun & Waves (Olivian Nour Remix) 07:05 127bpm 2A Goras – Sun & Waves (Original Mix) 08:09 126bpm 6B Grego & MihuT – Desire (Original Mix) 08:27 125bpm 6A Grego & MihuT – Whos Idea Waas Yous Come Here (Original Mix) 07:44 126bpm 2B Grittrip – 01 (Original Mix) 07:26 128bpm 11B Grittrip – Mugre (Original Mix) 07:59 128bpm 6B Guido Farias – Dish you (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 9A Guido Farias – I Dont Know (Original Mix) 05:56 130bpm 5A Guido Farias – Wannabe (Original Mix) 05:54 130bpm 11B Guti, KinAhau – Buscando A Jupiter (Original Mix) 07:45 132bpm 10B Guus Muñoz – Chinatown (Original Mix) 05:02 127bpm 3B Guus Muñoz – Talento Oculto (Original Mix) 04:53 126bpm 8A Guy From Downstairs – After Me (Original Mix) 05:47 126bpm 8B Guy From Downstairs – Fanta Tribal (Original Mix) 07:51 125bpm 1A Guy From Downstairs – Fanta Tribal (Reboot`s Orangina Rebubble) 06:24 128bpm 3B Guy From Downstairs – Fanta Tribal (Reboot`s Softdrinks Only Rework) 07:18 127bpm 1A Guy From Downstairs – Micdejunpaun Tool (Original Mix) 06:20 128bpm 8A Handek – Day Light (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 12A Handek – Movin And Content (Original Mix) 05:45 96bpm 12A Handfree – Discip (Original Mix) 10:14 125bpm 3A Handfree – Free Again (Original Mix) 07:11 129bpm 1B Handfree – Prince (Original Mix) 07:29 124bpm 6A Hartley (UK) – It’s My House (Original Mix) 06:04 128bpm 2B Hartley (UK) – Proud She’s Mine (Original Mix) 06:27 130bpm 6A Hector, Alann M – Feel Me (Original Mix) 05:52 127bpm 2A Hector, Alann M – Sugar Dady (Original Mix) 04:45 130bpm 5B J. Willian – What’s Move (Original Mix) 06:04 128bpm 10A Jaime Soeiro – Firewall (Extended Mix) 05:59 129bpm 4A Jaime Soeiro, Dateless – Rollin (Extended Mix) 06:15 129bpm 3A Jaime Soeiro, Yannik (ES) – Freakenz (Extended Mix) 05:59 129bpm 8B James Wyler – Innovation (Original Mix) 06:00 128bpm 6A Javier Labarca – Grass (Legit Trip Remix) 05:30 128bpm 10B Javier Labarca – Grass (Original Mix) 06:43 125bpm 6A Jay Mariani – POKAS (Original Mix) 06:24 130bpm 1A Jennings. – Get Down (Original Mix) 06:40 130bpm 6A Jennings. – That Time Again (Original Mix) 05:55 65bpm 2B Jezu (US), Gabe Glvz – Hot (Original Mix) 05:37 131bpm 12A Joa Martul – Fired Up (Original Mix) 06:22 127bpm 2A Joa Martul – Warm (Original Mix) 05:58 127bpm 9A Joe Fenwick – Grainy (Original Mix) 07:33 127bpm 4A Joe Vanditti – Breakdown (Original Mix) 06:22 131bpm 8A Joe Vanditti – Running (Original Mix) 06:22 131bpm 6A Joe Vanditti – Vision X (Original Mix) 06:22 131bpm 5B Joe Z – Sexy Chick (Original Mix) 06:01 130bpm 10A Jogi Vathi – Anime (Original Mix) 06:46 128bpm 9B Jogi Vathi – Cinnema (Original Mix) 06:34 127bpm 6A Jogi Vathi – Flutter (Original Mix) 07:04 127bpm 7A Jogi Vathi – Short Man (Original Mix) 07:04 127bpm 9B Jordan Allinor – BM3 (Original Mix) 05:59 129bpm 6A Josh Powell – Life Lessons (Original Mix) 06:07 128bpm 8A Josh Powell – Thinking About You (Original Mix) 06:01 130bpm 8A Jous Rick – Fall Back (Original Mix) 05:33 128bpm 4B Jous Rick – Remember It (Original Mix) 06:03 128bpm 12A Karcelen – Hentai (Anika Kunst Remix) 06:42 126bpm 8A Karcelen – Hentai (Johnny D Dirty Remix) 07:29 126bpm 7B Karcelen – Kokubo (Roger Gerressen Remix) 06:31 125bpm 7A Karcelen – Nunuk (DJ Sandwich Remix) 05:26 128bpm 7B Karcelen – Shinshi (Cabanne Remix) 07:17 128bpm 9A Karcelen – Wanaka (Audio Werner Remix) 07:17 125bpm 2A Kassier, Baernez – Cool (Original Mix) 02:01 127bpm 12A Kassier, Baernez – Further (Original Mix) 02:05 124bpm 9A Kassier, Baernez – She’s A Freak (Original Mix) 03:00 128bpm 7A Kassier, Betaschen – Far Away (Original Mix) 02:30 128bpm 7B Kieran San Jose, Gio Lucca – Her (Original Mix) 06:16 130bpm 8A KIRIK – I Like This (Original Mix) 05:58 130bpm 6A KIRIK, ACA (YU) – We Walk (Don’t Stop) (Original Mix) 06:24 131bpm 5B K-Joshua – Dubby Funky (Original Mix) 08:14 119bpm 10A K-Joshua – Funky Whisper (Original Mix) 07:01 120bpm 6A K-Joshua – Selecta Thing (Original Mix) 07:13 117bpm 7A Klippans House – Alla Kan Leka (Original Mix) 05:06 127bpm 9B Klippans House – Chachai (Original Mix) 06:06 127bpm 8B Klippans House – Colchon Inflado (Original Mix) 05:07 127bpm 2B Klippans House – La Mina (Original Mix) 05:08 127bpm 8A Korey (UK) – Drive Me Crazy (Original Mix) 05:56 130bpm 8A Korey (UK) – In Da Groove (Original Mix) 05:56 130bpm 11A KYE HAWKINS – Aloe (Original Mix) 05:56 130bpm 8A KYE HAWKINS – Dreams (Original Mix) 05:53 131bpm 4A KYE HAWKINS – Never Mind (Original Mix) 06:28 129bpm 6A Laydee V – Cause And Effect (Original Mix) 04:11 124bpm 5B Lemy – Akemies (Original Mix) 09:48 126bpm 8B Leon (Italy) – Abracadabra (EdiP Remix) 05:36 128bpm 2B Leon (Italy) – Abracadabra (Original Mix) 06:11 128bpm 9B Loco Blue – Congas Under The Bridge (Original Mix) 09:04 130bpm 12B Loco Blue – Emotionally Random (Original Mix) 06:38 130bpm 8A Lolah – Hypnotica (Original Mix) 05:50 130bpm 11A Lolah – States Of Euphoria (Cristina Lazic Remix) 06:31 129bpm 10B Lolah – States Of Euphoria (Original Mix) 05:46 129bpm 7A Lolah – States of Euphoria (Sascha Dive’s Out Of Body Experience Remix) 09:36 124bpm 7A Luca Cucullo – WINDMILLZZ (Original Mix) 05:58 129bpm 7A Luca Dan – Doggo Traxx (Original Mix) 05:40 130bpm 8A Luca Dan – Stressing My Mind (Original Mix) 05:12 130bpm 10A Luca Dan, m0rluc – Snap! (Original Mix) 04:58 129bpm 8A Marcellus (UK), Antss – Fever (Original Mix) 06:32 132bpm 6B Martín Tuesta – Naturally (Original Mix) 05:48 128bpm 8A Martín Tuesta – Now What (Original Mix) 05:36 127bpm 8B Martín Tuesta – Roots Dem Deh (Original Mix) 06:57 130bpm 8A Martín Tuesta, Tauer – Having Fun (Origina Mix) (Original Mix) 05:26 130bpm 4B Martina Camargo, STELLA (ES) – Sangana (feat. Martina Camargo) (Original Mix) 06:31 130bpm 5A Matichap – Back In Town (De La Swing Remix) 06:14 129bpm 4A Matichap – Back In Town (Original Mix) 05:49 129bpm 2A Matichap – Dig This (Original Mix) 06:28 129bpm 10B Matichap – Inside Out (Original Mix) 06:35 128bpm 4B Matt Carey, Agents of Vibe – Blueberry USB (feat. Matt Carey) (Original Mix) 05:31 124bpm 7B Matt Carey, Agents of Vibe – Casino (feat. Matt Carey) (Original Mix) 07:02 91bpm 4A Melihron – Kroxi (Original Mix) 06:04 120bpm 10A Melihron – Potec (Original Mix) 15:25 124bpm 6A Melihron – Toptiga Po-32 (Original Mix) 11:59 124bpm 9A M-High – Euro Nights (Mateo Dufour Remix) 06:16 128bpm 12B M-High – Euro Nights (Original Mix) 07:01 129bpm 12B M-High – Funktion None (Original Mix) 06:53 131bpm 3B M-High – Jet Lagged (Original Mix) 06:54 131bpm 8A Micah Baxter, The BeatBoy’s – Cntrl (Black Keusen Remix) 06:26 130bpm 11B Micah Baxter, The BeatBoy’s – Cntrl (Original Mix) 06:39 130bpm 12A Micah Baxter, The BeatBoy’s – More 2 Give (Original Mix) 05:56 130bpm 1A Midas Field – Make It Move (Original Mix) 06:24 130bpm 2A Miguel Lobo, E.T.H (Italy) – Lunaris (Original Mix) 06:28 129bpm 7A Miguel Lobo, E.T.H (Italy) – Waiting for the Night (Original Mix) 07:02 130bpm 7A Miguel Tagua – Trickle (Original Mix) 07:12 125bpm 8B Miguel Tagua – Water (Original Mix) 05:43 125bpm 7B Milos Pesovic, Baernez – Draw (Original Mix) 06:08 125bpm 11A MINT (JPN) – Egoism (Original Mix) 06:12 124bpm 2A MINT (JPN) – Endophin (Original Mix) 06:15 123bpm 9A MINT (JPN) – Stuntin’ (Original Mix) 06:00 128bpm 8A MINT (JPN) – Take Off (Original Mix) 06:00 128bpm 8B Misha (US) – Showtime (Original Mix) 06:21 128bpm 8A Mortalyf – 1889 (Original Mix) 08:11 126bpm 7B Mortalyf – Duo (Original Mix) 08:16 125bpm 7A Mortalyf – Old Country (A-Bril Remix) 07:59 126bpm 8A Mortalyf – Old Country (Original Mix) 07:57 125bpm 1A Mortalyf – Wind Up (Original Mix) 08:56 125bpm 8B Nestor Arriaga, CASTILE – Dancing With Whales (Original Mix) 06:36 128bpm 4A Nestor Arriaga, CASTILE – Mysterious Trails (Original Mix) 06:43 128bpm 9A Nestor Arriaga, CASTILE – Tunnel Rush (Original Mix) 06:43 128bpm 5A Newball, Saul Antolin – Narcolepsia (Original Mix) 06:39 125bpm 12B Nic David – Things You Do To Me (Original Mix) 07:11 131bpm 4B Nic David – Turbo Machine (Original Mix) 07:12 127bpm 11B Nic David – Your Power (Laidlaw Remix) 06:01 127bpm 8A Nic David – Your Power (Original Mix) 07:48 129bpm 4B Nick Curly – Arkum (Remaster) 07:09 123bpm 8A Nick Curly – Come Right Back (Original Mix) 06:40 125bpm 6A Ninetree – Fools (Original Mix) 06:12 128bpm 8A Ninetree – Oonya (Original Mix) 05:59 130bpm 9A Oldoggs – Glitch Vocal (Original Mix) 06:04 127bpm 11A Oldoggs – Shhamee (Original Mix) 06:01 128bpm 11A Ollinobrothers – Juice (Original Mix) 07:13 124bpm 1B Ollinobrothers – Plata O Plomo (Original Mix) 06:42 124bpm 8A Omni A.M. – Dangerous (Original Mix) 06:56 130bpm 4A Ozgur Uzar – Protocol (Original Mix) 06:19 126bpm 8B Pattern Tusk – Gliding Home (Original Mix) 07:18 126bpm 11B Pattern Tusk – New Nectar (Original Mix) 07:13 126bpm 8A Pattern Tusk – The Saying That Sticks (Los Bastoneros Remix) 07:14 127bpm 8A Pattern Tusk – The Saying That Sticks (Original Mix) 07:10 127bpm 11B Paul Trent – Night Intentions (Original Mix) 05:54 130bpm 8A Paul Trent – The Flow (Original Mix) 06:01 128bpm 9A Pedro Silva – Croak (Bizen Lopez Remix) 06:05 129bpm 7B Pedro Silva – Croak (Original Mix) 06:26 126bpm 11A Pedro Silva – To Many Loudmouths (Martin Bordacahar Remix) 06:07 128bpm 4B Pedro Silva – To Many Loudmouths (Original Mix) 06:26 126bpm 11A Pedro Silva – To Many Loudmouths (Vaisen Remix) 06:20 128bpm 5A Peter Pixzel, Duncan Thomas – Bento Box (Original Mix) 06:32 130bpm 6A Peter Pixzel, Duncan Thomas – Parallel Universe (Original Mix) 07:28 129bpm 9A Phoq – La Dame Du Saule Pleureur (Alffie Remix) 10:05 127bpm 1A Phoq – La Dame Du Saule Pleureur (Original Mix) 09:28 125bpm 6A Phoq – Lighter Light (Original Mix) 09:26 126bpm 9A Pinco, Jordano Roosevelt – Guapo (Original Mix) 05:43 130bpm 4A Pinco, Jordano Roosevelt – Teo (Original Mix) 05:42 130bpm 12B Prince Vulcano – Bubbles (Original Mix) 06:16 130bpm 2A Prince Vulcano – Dispenser (Original Mix) 07:16 125bpm 2A Project89 – Come To Me (Original Mix) 06:32 129bpm 2B Project89 – Give It To Me (Original Mix) 06:44 129bpm 5A Project89 – On The Floor (Original Mix) 07:44 129bpm 9A Proudly People – As We Are (Original Mix) 05:20 132bpm 11B Puff (ITA) – Levitate (Original Mix) 06:50 131bpm 11A R107, Pattern Tusk – Soul Contact (Original Mix) 07:35 127bpm 6A Rafa Aleman – Let This One Ride (Original Mix) 06:35 128bpm 5A Rafa Aleman – Living Life (Original Mix) 06:15 128bpm 7B Rafa Aleman, Ninyo – Earth Snow Rain (Original Mix) 06:40 128bpm 9A Rafa Aleman, Ninyo – Russian LALO (Original Mix) 06:09 130bpm 6A Rawbar – Cassandra (Original Mix) 07:19 123bpm 10B Rawbar – Missy (Cennamo Re-Edit) 07:46 126bpm 11A Ray Mono – All i need (Original Mix) 07:11 128bpm 10B Ray Mono – Inside man (Original Mix) 06:33 128bpm 9B Ray Mono – Your perception (Miroloja Remix) 06:47 126bpm 10A Ray Mono – Your perception (Original Mix) 07:30 130bpm 11B Reconeckt – Capitalism (Original Mix) 05:27 129bpm 1B Reconeckt – Doidera (Original Mix) 06:03 128bpm 10A Reconeckt – Symptoms (Original Mix) 05:29 131bpm 11A Reelow, Samira – Ghetto Soul (Dub Mix) 06:39 128bpm 10A Reelow, Samira – Ghetto Soul (Original Mix) 06:42 128bpm 11A Rojabeat – My Perc (Original Mix) 06:06 129bpm 7B RUZE – Trip (Original Mix) 07:30 129bpm 10B RWN – Roshar (Original Mix) 07:10 125bpm 9A RWN – Spices (Original Mix) 07:37 126bpm 5B S.L.M.D – OK! (Original Mix) 05:27 129bpm 8A S.L.M.D – Smart Cat (Original Mix) 05:42 129bpm 6A Saeri – It’s Wack (Original Mix) 05:46 130bpm 6A Saeri – Surrender Your Love (Original Mix) 05:35 129bpm 7B Saku NewMoon – Kaikou (Original Mix) 05:48 125bpm 6A Sam Dexter, Mallin, Tom Savage – Snap, Crackle & Pop (Extended Mix) 05:25 131bpm 11B Sam Skeet – Dance Wid Me (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 5B Sam Skeet – Minimalism (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 6B Sam Skeet – Retro Flexin’ (Original Mix) 05:54 130bpm 7A Saúl García – Yeek (Alex Wellmann Remix) 06:11 128bpm 3A Saúl García – Yeek (Original Mix) 06:28 129bpm 6A Senso (UK) – Don’t Fink So (Original Mix) 06:33 128bpm 5B Senso (UK) – Keep On Pumpin’ (Original Mix) 06:01 128bpm 12B Senso (UK) – Ralph’s Beat (Original Mix) 06:11 128bpm 8A Shahar, Motum, Luquez – Dumbo feat. Luquez (Original Mix) 06:16 128bpm 2A Sheepie – Things Around (Original Mix) 06:31 130bpm 9B Showlaf – Lekiss (Original Mix) 06:26 126bpm 6A Showlaf – Mixing Time (Original Mix) 06:09 126bpm 7A Shunus – (Here Comes) Big Beat (Original Mix) 05:43 131bpm 4A Silat Beksi – Impress Me (Original Mix) 07:33 125bpm 6A Silat Beksi – Keep It Real (Original Mix) 07:41 125bpm 10A Simogagge (ITA) – No More Plastic (Original Mix) 05:21 127bpm 1A Simogagge (ITA) – Noisy Drums (Original Mix) 05:48 128bpm 7A Simon TG – A Frequency (Original Mix) 06:00 130bpm 8B Simon TG – Electrified (Original Mix) 06:00 130bpm 8B Simon TG – Warm Days (Original Mix) 06:01 128bpm 6B Soer Kyt – Goodbye (Original Mix) 07:00 128bpm 6A Soer Kyt – Lollipop (Original Mix) 06:00 129bpm 4A Soer Kyt – Trabajar (Original Mix) 06:15 128bpm 10A Soniks – My Call (Extended Mix) 06:32 128bpm 8B Soniks – Us Two (Extended Mix) 06:02 128bpm 5A Sony Synth – Blithe Disregard (Original Mix) 06:31 80bpm 10A Sony Synth – Molding (Original Mix) 08:11 126bpm 10B Sony Synth – Verisimilitude (Original Mix) 07:01 128bpm 12B Spuri, Marcello V.O.R. – Brukwine (Original Mix) 06:24 130bpm 11A The Tide – Mondoloko (Original Mix) 06:06 127bpm 2A The Unlocker – Under Arrest (Original Mix) 07:06 126bpm 2A TODDZ – Move Your Body (Original Mix) 05:43 130bpm 8A TODDZ – Trance Orbit (Original Mix) 05:06 128bpm 5A TODDZ – You’re Not Alone (Original Mix) 06:40 132bpm 7B Tommaso Pizzelli – Get ‘Em J (JorDee Remix) 08:02 127bpm 9A Tommaso Pizzelli – Get ‘Em J (Original Mix) 07:06 127bpm 9A Tommaso Pizzelli – Tease Me (Original Mix) 06:06 127bpm 4A Tommaso Pizzelli – Vibe To It (Original Mix) 07:06 128bpm 4A Trikiu, Yarhz – Obsessed Rhythm (Original Mix) 06:09 125bpm 8B Trikiu, Yarhz – Sonidos Haiku (Original Mix) 06:06 126bpm 6A Trikiu, Yarhz – Sonidos Haiku (Xuacu Remix) 07:07 128bpm 5A Tyron Amory – La Super (Original Mix) 06:27 131bpm 4A Valen (FR) – Electric City (Original Mix) 07:18 126bpm 8B Victor Rios, Blas Cordero, Bosvi – For Live (Original Mix) 04:36 132bpm 3A Victor Rios, Blas Cordero, Bosvi – Obssesion (Original Mix) 06:47 132bpm 7A VinceExpo – Its Good To See You (Original Mix) 04:35 127bpm 12A Vini Mat – Lovin (Original Mix) 06:19 128bpm 3A Vini Mat – Lovin (Radio Edit) 04:20 128bpm 3A Vini Mat – Savage (Original Mix) 06:13 128bpm 5A Vini Mat – Savage (Radio Edit) 03:41 128bpm 8B Vlad Caia, Cristi Cons, Mischa Blanos, Amorf – Manifold Surface (Original Mix) 09:45 124bpm 4A Vlad Caia, Cristi Cons, Mischa Blanos, Amorf – Reflections feat. Mischa Blanos (Original Mix) 08:50 123bpm 9B Voigtmann – Aesthetic Solutions (Original Mix) 06:47 130bpm 2A Voigtmann – Areola 51 (Original Mix) 06:41 130bpm 10A Voigtmann – California Cruise Control (Original Mix) 07:17 129bpm 10A Voigtmann – Underexposure (Original Mix) 06:45 130bpm 9B Wallo, MiNNt Edit – Haku (Javier Labarca Remix) 05:33 127bpm 6A Wallo, MiNNt Edit – Haku (Original Mix) 06:03 127bpm 5A Wallo, MiNNt Edit – Unrestricted (Original Mix) 06:48 128bpm 4A Womack – Waiting (Original Mix) 07:23 130bpm 3B Wuez – Paradise (Original Mix) 06:45 128bpm 4A Wuez – Paradise (Victor Romero Remix) 06:01 128bpm 4A YES:SIR – Belong To You (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 8A YES:SIR – GCYE (Anas M Remix) 07:01 128bpm 11B YES:SIR – GCYE (Original Mix) 07:03 127bpm 8A YES:SIR – No Escape (Original Mix) 07:06 126bpm 10A Zeth B – Frequenciez (Blaqq & Why’d Remix) 06:03 128bpm 1A Zeth B – Frequenciez (Original Mix) 06:39 128bpm 5A ZOIG – Body Language (Original Mix) 07:44 130bpm 12B ZOIG – Kick Your Ass (Original Mix) 06:13 131bpm 9B Zonesix – Close Your Eyes (Original Mix) 06:30 128bpm 2A Zonesix – Oh Shit (Original Mix) 05:30 128bpm 4A Zonesix – Treta (Jey Kurmis Remix) 06:40 128bpm 5A Zonesix – Treta (Original Mix) 07:00 128bpm 6B Zonesix – Treta (Paulo Kestrel Remix) 06:29 127bpm 11A 

I 18f have been with my boyfriend 20m off and on for two years. The both times we separated happened because I decided to break off our relationship. The first time we broke up I left him because he'd use really vulgar phrases around me even though he was 19 and I was a minor. I expressed many times that I was uncomfortable with his way of speaking but he disregarded my complaint and continued to use his vulgar language, so I left him. We got back together after a while and I left him for a similar reason the second time. Since we've gotten back together I've realized that I just can't stand him anymore. Not only does he refuse to change the ghetto lifestyle that he was raised in but he's also so very lazy. I've been telling him for a while to go and work at a security firm as it would help him with his smoking problem and also keep him out if trouble. But he only refuses making up some lame excuses to try and forget the matter. He only wants to work at this construction gig with his friends that only comes once a month for about three days for two weeks. And then he just sits at home telling me that he's looking for a job. And whenever I try to tell him about his laziness he Just accuses me of bringing him down and tells me that everything takes time. My friends and family are trying to convince me to break up with him but I know from our school days together, that deep down he's a nice guy. So should I breakup with my boyfriend?

She sends him the snow from her bedroom window. Shallower in phone screen filter blue, lightly pixelated, delivered. They were nothing more than a flutter, not particularly impressive but sweet all the same. She punctuates the image, not with words but a handful of little yellow faces, offering clear indication of her feelings, an economy of data.
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It must’ve been several inches deep by now. Out there. She could look. Why bother? The clouds had burst earlier this morning, letting rip with a gust of freakish freeze, little enough to document. She’d rushed to grab a handful of insurance photos at first sight, saving it for the threat of a moment when there was nothing else that felt worth talking about. She had sent a fresh one, seventh attempt. The forecasts told her it wouldn’t have reached him yet.
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She waits for reply, soundtracked by a puncture of harmless pings, too clumsy and emotional to form a melody. Messages to her phone were constant. Always. Everyone had a place, a rank, somewhere in the list, advantages, behaviours, projections, shapes to take. She scrolls down. Waiting. There were the regulars of course, the routine friends she’d tolerated persistent communication with for years now, interactions ever wordless, announcing themselves with snapshots of faces from only the eyes up, familiar pets, tidy arrangements of everyday activities, slightly staged but mostly real, dispatched en-masse, cool. Waiting. There were the friends in high places she didn’t really care for, club promoters, dealers, moderate influencers, could get someone killed for you in seven different countries and all that, velociraptor smiles. Waiting. Swarms of unopened messages from the ones who breached contact far less frequently, but usually with something to say, or seek; another name to the guest-list, donations for the charity race they’d enlisted in, reformed, resurrected, reborn or desperate bids to show off all the diet masochism, worthless, accomplished in pursuit of photos they had one day hoped to show their kids. Waiting. Further down, old school friends, transformed, those a little too old to still be doing nothing, the people who didn’t go home with other people, apparently. Cousins she wished she was closer with. Household siblings she knew better through the videos with which they chose to populate the internet. The boy who’d died in the car crash. Her mother. Waiting. Some yellow notifications landed as welcome as dead canaries. These were the names to which a mere glance of would’ve formally inspired fear, loathing, soft pain. Ex-whatever. Numbness was their new home, less than nothing at all, barely meriting a blush through their digital ghettos, no check ins, looming, unanswered, other people as a relapse of your old self. She couldn’t open any of them, no matter where they fell in the bottomless scroll. She wouldn’t jinx it.
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In and out of patience at the absence of immediate reply she forwarded her snowscape to a further seven, a landscape dumped, feeling even more disappointed when none of whom she had hoped would respond did. She left the pair who had bothered to do so unanswered in return, having become someone who people didn’t really know or see all that much anymore but still worried about regardless. In that sense, she was in control.
​
Tossing the phone across the bed, light frustration, exhaling, feeling the urge to reach for it, and in this repetitive cycle of same, glaring up to window yet again. Restless. Flakes flailing, supposedly unique but from this vantage point so similar that she was doubtful to whether there was any point to them falling at all. It was like capturing a portrait of a city over one hundred years, a timelapse set to a day per second, bird’s eye view, focusing on the little figures, as real as toys, zipping back and forth along the grid. They were always in a rush, always doing the same things they always had; walking, working, fucking, saying everything, saying nothing, together, apart, alone, finding themselves, losing it all, heartbreak, again, again, again, laughing about it afterwards, fighting, healing, loving, but all the time seeming completely inseparable from one and other in their little lives oh so similar. Generationless, their differences washed away in the blur. Death reduced to but a seemingly imaginary force, invisible, anyone slipping out of frame, unseen, replaced without pause by another who would lead a completely identical life before it all happened to them too. Each was burdened with the consciousness of an individual when they were so clearly a piece of a collective, living as one. It didn’t have to be this way but it was. No harm.
​
A day prior she had awoken beside him, for the first time, in his sheets, devoid of urgency, tall gentle stranger, soft body, still dormant, curled in embryonic pose, twitching through sleep as if he were broken, yet at peace. Naked and uncomplicated. Snoring. Still.
Parts of them were still touching, flesh colours collide, joy on joy. She was unaccustomed to his smell. She wanted to get closer to it, to be held by it, to know it but to nuzzle was to collide, to disturb, to crack the full perfect image she was doing her best to prolong. She could have fainted but she yawned. In the early stages of the afternoon, as her family and friends undoubtedly sat down to their cartoon Sunday roasts, gravy and all the trimmings, she rose, beaming, donned in the t-shirt of a hip-hop group who had long since disbanded, forgotten, and looking down to him, she froze, poised with all the well rehearsed sweetness of the girl next door. You can miss someone when they’re right in front of you. Their connection, even if it had lasted but a fragile nine minutes, was now concrete, fixed in their past, unchangeable, together. Shared and ahead, an unknown number of minutes reaching forwards. Wet with potential, endless with possibility, stem cell specialised, magic, real. This could be the first turn on a path to something that resembled happiness, togetherness. Fuck. It was her own personal delusion, we are all entitled to one and as far as they go, hers should be mostly harmless.
​
Darts of light, skinny enough to make it through cracks in the curtains, exploded all around the room in a rush, touching everything, like little boy gaining entry to a forbidden part of the home, uncovering oversized things until now hidden. She could see objects had fallen to the floor. Reflected in the mirror opposite, rearview, overturned as easily as warning signs not correctly bolted in place, neither of them finding the time to return them, having been focused solely on making their way into his boyhood bed before the room swam even weirder. You could trace their trajectory via the debris. Criss cross. Tumbling. His was a living space populated solely by discount catalogue decorations, modest flatscreen, celebrity self-help books, an inherited acoustic guitar, seldom played, everything limp, as if furnished by a blind man wishing only to reduce trip hazards, riskless, straitjacket, mute. She wouldn’t let it bother her.
​
Reflecting on the night before, she ran over all the things she wishes she could have said differently or not said at all, constantly blurting out exactly what she meant when it’d keep things far cleaner and simple if her lips had remained sealed. There were no cops in her head, she was not self policing like other people and words forever stumbling through, escaping her, as if propelled by hormonal thrust, well meaning, true, but knowing only how to break things. Futile. Life as quest to become unafraid of living. Like the last building burning. Does a hopeless person get a resolution?
​
She knew her self. Once boys were caught in her gaze, she could inflict blinks like bruises. You could feel them wince. Sometimes she did it to those she had no intentions with at all, the men of coma patient politeness, plain clothes agents who wanted the same thing as everyone else, even if they attempted to talk their way around it, the nice guy, the modern man, not like all the old dogs. He, who if given the opportunity could attempt only to operate her body like a piece of heavy machinery. She would lay there in a private fate, lonely, hidden, alive and waiting for the end. She always thought of death during bad sex. Frequently. After all, the space between orgasm and infinite void was tricky to fill. They were the kind of boys who’d believe anything you’d tell them and she could make up stories of a thousand lives never lived. In nights previous she’d studied neuroscience, English lit, mechanical engineering, air traffic control and alligators. She’d read all the books. She’d written questions for daytime quiz show hosts, been the heir to a moderately successful warlord, family friend, and worked for the Ministry of Defence, blowing up worms, as a means of testing new top secret chemical warfare, not to be discussed further, shhhhhh. She was born with four colour receptors, raised speaking flemish but had forgotten it all by now, whoops, and was once assaulted by baboon, a fight in which, of course, she’d won. So many to choose from. Pointless but there in lay the fun, a game of evasion, undetected, never suspecting, a bullshit artist of epic proportions, gold medal records, top seed, everyone’s a winner.
​
As a teenager of early internet relationships, the game had higher stakes, just like all else in youth. Then she had told lies. Right at the offset, throwing down a bed of mistruths, as forward as first message, staged suicide attempts, pantomime villains, choreographed flights of same sex frivolousness, nothing more than landmines, primed and ready. Deadpan. Months later, as she inevitably saw it all approaching conclusion, it always would, she could pull one random fib lose, bear witness as the comprehension that nothing had ever meant anything to her splintered across brain, shattering face, and all she had to do was step back, letting the blood pool as they left her for the last time, up the driveway, without fuss, disappeared. Those days were behind her. Far far away. Now, fabrication had been honed into no more than playful distraction, disciplined, never serious, nothing more than a misspent evening on the hunt, wasted, victimless. Like they hadn’t suffered before. What doesn’t kill you…
​
But with him she’d almost been honest. She didn’t know why. He wasn’t particularly good looking, a touch feral if anything, a handful of rough features, close knit, recovering, messy as if assembled in haste. Perhaps he was a victim of the national inbreeding epidemic a thousand years prior. Easy done. But then there were eyes, eyes of a different blue, ricocheting, surreal, eyes that hushed everything, eyes that lived outside of their own head, not attractive necessarily, but catching her, off guard, like the slush you slip and slide through post winter’s storm, eyes that gave the feeling they were somehow yet to see the face from which they were beaming, eyes of boyish unconcern allowing him to shed the rest of himself, careless. He was misdirection. Never had she been so taken by such uninteresting mysterious skin. Heat seeking. Like an arsonist. All the best boys bypass rational thought. She was no longer affected by the long term, the futures often discussed on nights like these, irrelevant, the plots hatched, the promises of great lives we made to ourselves that would be procrastinated away, never kept. Groups were senseless clots of social terror. They left. They stayed. Once she’d had enough fun, she cared only of where they would be in one hour.
​
It was a sixty minute saunter, spent in his company, this charming doll, where she pulled a string and he spat out one of the same six expertly programmed phrases. Rehearsed. We all have our little stories. He had such a perfectly recycled collection of quips and anecdotes, stuff to relate to, pruned from his own personal history, well oiled, road tested, reliable enough to toss aside whenever in the company of a new compatriot, never the fear of social rejection, safe, danger only of smiles all the time as number thirty seven falls victim when he tells you once again of how he believed “lettuce was the collective name for a group of icebergs”. Funny. Try again. Stupidity, delivered with such god-like self esteem that it was hard not to let it wander all over your skin until it found the spot in which to dig itself for a later date, like a tick, biding. She knew. She didn’t care. He made her laugh. There was a spark. There was something. They vibrate. The distinct sense of a person, somewhere beneath the seventeen different personalities a man fires through upon first encounter, like chimps flinging fluids at walls, trying to figure out which version of himself will stick. He paid in cash. Impressive notes. He held the door open. Heroic. He was a child. Young again. Naive enough to view life as an equal opponent, ambitious, relentless, but when he brought her back, he was kind, he was sweet, he was calm, cliched but okay, and it was with the breed of acceptable chivalry which can be induced only through drunkenness, on both sides, that they felt together. Maybe he was wrong for her, but he was hers.
​
Now, in the fear of day, emotions oscillated even more haphazardly. She tiptoed around his room to the bathroom, en suite, cool, safe from any extended family altercations, phew. If she showered it would be real. You couldn’t shower in their home and not see them again. She studied herself in the mirror, meticulous, all imperfections unhidden, the last details; stretch marks from a past life of yoyo weight gains, face losing it’s decoration, hair without spray, feet, freckle bordering on mole below left shoulder, tanning booth enhanced, ultraviolet. With one false eyelash already missing, folding index and thumb into delicate pincer, she prised the other free, careful, edging her face another half inch closer to symmetrical, better. She flushed the accessory away, thinking of all that had been done in the last sixteen hours, every tiny decision, how it would reverberate, the choices already made, creating who he thought she was, so far, like years of early adulthood stress organically materialising down the line in physical form as tumour, locked to brain, ready to execute an entirely different person, one who was utterly powerless to have done anything to stop it. It kills to be so unsatisfied.
​
She practiced smiling. She rehearsed the first things she would say to him. She spoke her new last name. In the end, we are all the same. Blank slates. Everybody dreams of pretty girls and ugly boys and good food and good sex and people we can fix, floating warm but not without a lack of direction, waiting for us until we finish, until we’re ready, dreaming of dead relatives, and moving to bigger cities and bigger titties and cats and dogs and a life by the fire and then, eventually, a life that is anything better than throwing a bag of cats and dogs onto that warm fire, collecting pea sized bites of happiness from an existence of small mediocrity, that just five years ago would’ve made you sick. We dream of things changing quickly and we dream of them ending quickly, painless. We dream privately, we dream of being a person, a better one, we all do and most of the time it’s just as well we can’t remember because we tell ourselves that dreams can be phased into reality, day by day, month by month, year by year, like little girls assuming the faces of their mothers, but they can’t. That’s why they’re called dreams. Duh. She was back in his bed, watching the wall, bugging out, fearful of relapsing into sleep, eyes wide. Batshit.
​
She let him awake naturally, without fuss, shrugging off the awkwardness, obviously in her head and her head only, self-conceived, dressing in full view as he tried not to look, soft hand retrieving stale underwear, knotted beneath bedsheets. Then, lingering in the doorway, striking a pose mimicking the memories of sitcoms from childhood, idyllic. We imitate. He rose, perfect blonde bedhead, baby blues and generous, she waited, for him to assume his character, go full method, dive headfirst into kiss but as they parted it was with a hug, not soft nor hard, not really anything, leaving her to descend his stairs, feet barely touching the floor, trying desperately to massage this momentary setback into an altered version of the narrative she had been constructing for herself over the last hour.
​
Outside, bright surface streets of roaring ugliness, rushed up to meet her like all her bad habits at once, all the cannibal pavements, lobotomy headache, stuttering with people who walked faster here as if they had somewhere more important to be, something worth doing. Dilated. It wasn’t like this where the bus would take her, the towns and villages, untouched, yet to be disturbed by the money, the crude, the oil raping of a once peaceful city.
​
The next departure wasn’t due for a while, Sunday timetable, heavens opening, edgeless grey clouds, a spray of light afternoon drizzle coming to rest upon her impact day hair. She should have showered. Her face of the night before was mildly smeared, still hiding most of the things which form underneath. Lock and key.
​
Watching the passing strangers speaking in tongues, the young mothers and the wives and the widows and those without anyone at all, sailing by. She pictured herself at their point in life. Soon. She thought of them with fuller lips and better teeth, white and new looking, and the same age but younger, hair actually styled, appearance with thought, pasting the version of herself she fantasied working toward atop them. She had so many faces left in her back pocket.
​
Back again, two days later, in her own room, creating more mental lists of responses as she waited for every potential reply. She imagined them taking turns lying atop one and other. Stood by window. Snow falling heavier, it would’ve made a better picture. She knew what he would say.
She bore an obsession for the boys who wished only to die like cowboys. Last action heroes. They were the men she always loved, those she was pulled to, in the same way she was drawn to bad news; burning skyscrapers, sleeper cell terrorist attacks, the perverse beauty of a car crash captured in 120 frames, slowed down, sped up, reversed, undone, repeated over and over, for as long as you wanted, unreal, broadcast worldwide, like an oasis, everywhere. The spectacle. The good stuff. She enjoyed the boys’ simplicity, no untidiness of complicated emotions, juggled like fire. To her, their’s was a world of absolutes. In it she was a visiting German tourist complete with rucksack, camper van and a foreign language they couldn’t speak and would never bother to learn. Her own consciousness was but a swell of unproven elements, all psychiatric in nature, highly reactive, so far nameless, but requiring precise allocation to the shelves of her chest, shelves neatly labelled; fear, shame and anger, inflamed stomach tightening, slimming, attuning to the added weight, unbalanced still but holding. She took pride in her strength. Flesh beneath skin and presumably, if she dug deep enough, bone. At least it would all be over before anyone had time to notice. This was what she told herself. Some things will never be different.
​
***
​
He closed the door, exhausting, two hours of pretend eyes, closed, waiting for her to leave, followed by a weak mimic of faux hungoverness. He would finish it later if needed. He would be nice. He was just glad she hadn’t tried to touch him better. He really hoped she wasn’t pregnant. Condoms were only 98% accurate. The TV taught him that. He would have laughed.

Let me phrase things another way...... 42y BlkMan, 6'2 300lbs(Solid). Hey 💗Stink💗 where you at!!!. You know I love you thick, plussize or bbw, you know your age being between 20-35 Stink doesn't bother me. Now Stink you know I love your personality, your funny, talkative, playful, sarcastic, Witty, medium ghetto and freaky. Your my muse stinka-butt, don't you miss laying up writing and drawing together, the reciprocal nature of our imagination running wild until we devour each other in our Domain Expansion" Love Creation", you remember right! the after care of booty and body rubs while we watch anime & films, we have so much to catch up on Stink. Remember the late nights and game nights with sza & summer walker with you twerking trying to seduce me, It worked tho. Do you still love pizza & tacos and my home cooked meals that kept you juicy and thick huh Stink?. I remember you being so shy but such a tease, the role-playing & dress up and kink exploring, the tag teaming Me with wifey while you dressed up as my fav anime characters. Come Stink your the "One peice" I'm missing, let's fall into the infinite tsukiyomi again this time with no defeat.
So I know you read this, response like were lost lovers or be creative like I know you can Stinka-butt.😍
You stinka-butt(Preferred, but not a deal breaker) Bisexual, HUGE titties(Ecups) with a phat booty, thick thighs, wide hips, all the Pressure that comes with it tummy, cellulite, stretch marks and back titties. A homebody, likes all things nerdy, comics, manga, a foodie, creative etc.

My girlfriend has lately taken to describing things as "ghetto". For example, we hung a sheet over our bedroom doorframe because we rent and can't put doggy doors up, and she immediately said it was ghetto. She mostly uses it as a synonym for "trashy", "low quality", "shitty", etc.
For context, we're both white, from low class childhoods, and living low income/class adulthoods. We both lived in the country however and it's not a common turn of phrase where we're from, she just kinda picked it up one day.
I know the history of the word, and yeah, fact is, some people are just from the ghetto, but it really seems to stand out from her typical vocabulary. And I also know it can be used as a racist term. Is it okay for her to say that?

If you’re reading this on a desktop, turn on Dark Mode to enhance the visibility of hyperlinks
 
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. - John 8:32
 
This text was originally intended as a follow-up to “My Message to All” and is not necessarily intended to be read first. If you are unfamiliar with this topic, please consume any or all of the following media first (in the following order): Welcome Video, My Story, Educational Essay on Satanic Ritual Abuses, Is Jordan still telling the Truth? and Update 2024: Tell The Truth
This essay is divided into three parts:

1. My Predictions
2. The New World Order / The Antichrist
3. Disclaimer

In the first part, I’m gonna delve into the predictions which I’ve made in “My Message To All” and explain their long overdue reasoning. The second part is the one most important to me, the one which I want you to read. In the third part, I’m gonna make some necessary clarifications with regards to my sources.
I have suffered from OCD for about 10 years, plus a wide range of other disorders which could potentially speak for a personality disorder. This has made me both hyper-vigilant as well as hyper-reflective. I’m highly intra- and interpersonally intelligent, score exceptionally high in agreeableness-trait compassion (> 96 out of 100), as well as exceptionally low in politeness (< 0). I’ve watched a ton of Jordan Peterson videos, read a book on OCD and gathered bits and pieces of knowledge on psychology throughout the years. I’ve been my own therapist for the past 10 years, and I know through experiences which I’ve had both in real life, as well as on Reddit, that I can outperform many therapists both in terms of deductions, as well as the ability to help.
Having had some experience with the underworld, I’ve had my share of experiences with highly narcissistic, machiavellian or psychopathic people, this mind control system, the deceitful strategies by Luciferians, as well as the disinformation tactics by the IC. The following deductions are based primarily on pattern recognition and intuition. I can try to provide as much rationale as I can make myself conscious of, but ultimately, they won’t tell the whole story. I can’t vouch for these with 100% certainty.
 
My Predictions
Outsourced due to character restriction
 
The New World Order
Some even believe we are part of a secret cabal working against the best interests of the United States, characterizing my family and me as ‘internationalists’ and of conspiring with others around the world to build a more integrated global political and economic structure – one world, if you will. If that’s the charge, I stand guilty, and I am proud of it. - David Rockefeller, “Memoirs of David Rockefeller” p.405
When you hide one eye, you effectively block half of your vision. In symbolic terms, you become half-blind to the truth. By hiding one eye, celebrities symbolically “sacrifice” a vital part of their being for temporary material gain. And, since eyes are the “windows to the soul”, this gesture symbolizes the partial or total loss of one’s soul. – The Vigilant Citizen
What is he referring to? (The beginning alludes to Pizzagate, the symbols are symbols of pedophilia)
 
I would like to start this essay by referring to the hexagram. In occultism, it’s an ancient magical symbol used in rituals and in practical terms stands for “As above, so below” (One triangle pointing upwards, another downwards), an important dictum which’ll be outlined more broadly, shortly. Fiona Barnett, one of the main sources for this essay, asserts that it represents the Goddess “Astarte”, who she calls “the goddess of child prostitution”. Little about that can be found, however, she’s certainly the goddess for love and war, sacred prostitutions have been made in her name, and like the goddess Ishtar, she could be interpreted as the female equivalent to Lucifer, both standing for the planet Venus, the morning star.
The bible seems to have condemned the hexagram. There is a verse each in the old, as well as the new testament, which say:
 
But ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun your images, the star of your god, which ye made to yourselves. – Amos 5:26
Yea, ye took up the tabernacle of Moloch, and the star of your god Remphan, figures which ye made to worship them: and I will carry you away beyond Babylon. – Acts 7:43
 
In my eyes, the probability is high that either one of those alluded to the hexagram. That is because the symbol obviously represents the number 666: Six points, six triangles, six sides comprising the hexagon. Although one may argue that any geometrical shape could theoretically be assigned any number through any arbitrary means, I’ll happily argue that you won’t find a two-dimensional symbol which could possibly represent the number 666, as well as the hexagram.
The number 666 is condemned in the bible:
 
Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six. – Revelation 13:18
 
So, this hexagram, which arguably represents the number 666, was possibly mentioned in the Bible alongside Moloch (god of child sacrifice), stands for Astarte according to Fiona Barnett, for “As above, so below” in occultism and was used to stamp out Jews during the Nazi Holocaust…
… what the hell is it doing on the Israeli flag?
You might say: “Well that’s easy. It’s the star of David,” however, as you’ll find with a little bit of research, it doesn’t actually have anything to do with King David, though some may ridiculously claim that it was the shape of his shield, or for whatever reason a representation of such. The best explanation that I could find is the following, and it doesn’t make matters better considering that it perfectly reflects the coded practices of the occult:
 
In Hebrew, it’s referred to as David’s shield, not Star of David.
In any case, David in Hebrew is actually written as D-V-D, the letters Daleth Vav Daleth, or דוד. The letter “Vav” in Hebrew - ו - the sixth letter of the Semitic abjads (including Phoenician, Hebrew and modern Arabic), is used from ancient times as a grammatical conjunction, meaning 'and'. So basically, if spelled out loud, one can pronounce the name “David” in Hebrew as “Daleth” and “Daleth” (Or in Hebrew “Daleth Ve Daleth”).
Now the original way to write Daleth in ancient Paleo-Hebrew, is pretty much identical to the Phoenician form, which is a triangle. Attach two triangles together, and you got yourself a hexagram, which is the geometric shape that describes the Shield of David / Star of David. - Quora
 
Even if one was to believe, that such a coded reinterpretation of the letters, is not emblematic for the true origins of it, it is still in my opinion, a bit of a stretch. A far better explanation lies right in front of our eyes. The term “shield” can also be found in the family name “Rothschild” (German for “Red Shield”), who’ve been of primary importance for creating the state of Israel, and are according to my main sources, the head of the Illuminati. According to Wikipedia, that “shield” is actually Yiddish and stands for “coat”, as in “coat of arms”. A hexagram can also be found on the Rothschild coat-of-arms, and just like the British coat-of-arms (to which the link will be mentioned shortly), it features a lion and a horse, the primary symbols for the goddess Astarte.
According to my sources, the Rothschilds, just like the rest of the Illuminati, are Luciferians. “Lucifer” means “The Light-bringer” (while “illuminate” means “enlighten”). Lucifer in Christian mythology, is synonymous with Satan. However, what differentiates Luciferianism from, and makes it more sophisticated than satanism, is its dualistic nature. The Vigilant Citizen writes:
 
“The Devil—Lucifer—is a force for good (where I define ‘good’ simply as that which I value, not wanting to imply any universal validity or necessity to the orientation). ‘Lucifer’ means ‘light-bringer’ and this should begin to clue us in to his symbolic importance. The story is that God threw Lucifer out of Heaven because Lucifer had started to question God and was spreading dissension among the angels. We must remember that this story is told from the point of view of the Godists (if I may coin a term) and not from that of the Luciferians (I will use this term to distinguish us from the official Satanists with whom I have fundamental differences). The truth may just as easily be that Lucifer resigned from heaven.” - Max More
Modern Luciferianism takes its roots from Gnostic teachings as well as ancient Egyptian and Babylonian paganism. God of the material world is seen as a stubborn and sadistic figure who seeks to keep mankind into perpetual darkness while Lucifer is the savior of humanity by giving it the gift of knowledge. If we reinterpret the Adam and Eve story through Luciferian glasses, the serpent is actually the “undercover savior” who defied God and gave humans the opportunity to become gods themselves. He is credited to have unleashed man’s awesome potential.
“Luciferianism represents a radical revaluation of humanity’s ageless adversary: Satan. It is the ultimate inversion of good and evil. The formula for this inversion is reflected by the narrative paradigm of the Gnostic Hypostasis myth. As opposed to the original Biblical version, the Gnostic account represents a “revaluation of the Hebraic story of the first man’s temptation, the desire of mere men to ‘be as gods’ by partaking of the tree of the ‘knowledge of good and evil'” - Raschke Luciferians seek during their lifetime to reach a higher level of being by obtaining illumination (often represented by a torch). An illuminated person or (Illuminatus) has gained enough mystic knowledge and spiritual attainment to reach a god-like status. Ancient Mystery religion promises the:
“opportunity to erase the curse of mortality by direct encounter with the patron deity, or in many instances by actually undergoing an apotheosis, a transfiguration of human into divine“. -Raschke 26
Luciferians do not necessarily worship “the Devil” as a metaphysical entity. Lucifer symbolizes the cognitive powers of man, its potential to reach godliness by its own means. Luciferians believe that those attributes will eventually dethrone God and bring humans to their rightful place, as deities. This doctrine is fully embodied by humanism and its technological counterpart transhumanism. Clothed in an acceptable phrasing inside a Judeo-Christian context (“humanist” sounds less threatening and evil than “Luciferian”), these philosophies are now part of popular culture. Through technological advancements and scientific breakthroughs, extremely wealthy figures like Ray Kurzweil are publicly seeking to reach technological immortality. Transhumanist intellectual Max More has stated in his essay:
“God, being the well-documented sadist that he is, no doubt wanted to keep Lucifer around so that he could punish him and try to get him back under his (God’s) power. Probably what really happened was that Lucifer came to hate God’s kingdom, his sadism, his demand for slavish conformity and obedience, his psychotic rage at any display of independent thinking and behavior. Lucifer realized that he could never fully think for himself and could certainly not act on his independent thinking so long as he was under God’s control. Therefore he left Heaven, that terrible spiritual-State ruled by the cosmic sadist Jehovah, and was accompanied by some of the angels who had had enough courage to question God’s authority and his value-perspective.
Lucifer is the embodiment of reason, of intelligence, of critical thought. He stands against the dogma of God and all other dogmas. He stands for the exploration of new ideas and new perspectives in the pursuit of truth.” - Max More
 
I have previously mentioned that Luciferianism is extremely similar to communism, which I found interesting for two different reasons: One, both of my main sources state (implicitly or explicitly) that The New World Order is a “Nazi-Communist” ideology, and especially Fiona Barnett went in-depth about the links between Luciferianism, Communism, Naziism, transhumanism and eugenics. Secondly, it’s written all over the internet and in one of my sources that the Rothschild’s original surname was in fact, “Bauer” (“Farmer” or “Peasant” in German). The oldest source that I could find, is this (1887). The Rothschild’s website originally simply stated that Jews were not compelled to have surnames during that time. And here’s the parallel to communism which I found so intriguing - it seems too cinematic to be true: Jewish peasants who’ve been oppressed in the Frankfurt Ghetto swear revenge on mankind and to become Gods. But I suppose this ideology had to originate somewhere.
That Illuminati have been white supremacists (and eugenicists) becomes apparent just by looking at them. That they invent something such as DEI on top of that only encapsulates their cynicism. Naziism is inherently tied to the origins of modern Monarch Mind Control, which’ll be explained shortly. “But aren’t the Rothschilds Jews themselves?” you might ask, and the answer is: Actually - no, not quite. Fiona Barnett writes:
 
“Ronald Bernard said the financial hierarchy he worked for originated in Holland. The Dope Inc. (1978) authors agree. The British Crown employed the Hofjuden (‘Court Jews’) to financially manage their drug operation. (…) The Rothschilds are Hofjuden. The close ties between the London-based Hofjuden families and the British oligarchy trace back to the founding of the Bank of England, and before that to an alliance with the pirates who financed post-Renaissance Genoa in North-West Italy. (…) The three Jewish authors of Dope Inc. (1978) asserted the Hofjuden are not true Jews. (…) The Rothschilds flooded Palestine with people whose Jewishness is determined via the maternal line. This contradicts the Torah which clearly says the male bloodline establishes Jewish heritage. (…) Research indicates the Ashkenazi maternal line is mainly European, while the male line is predominantly middle eastern.
 
Wikipedia states, that:
 
As a proportion of the world Jewish population, Ashkenazim were estimated to be 3% in the 11th century, rising to 92% in 1930 near the population's peak. (…) Israeli demographer and statistician Sergio D. Pergola implied that Ashkenazim comprised 65%–70% of Jews worldwide in 2000, while other estimates suggest more than 75%. As of 2013, the population was estimated to be between 10 million and 11.2 million.
 
Another author (who I won’t name, as I suspect him to be a Disinfo Agent) says:
 
These people knowingly lie to the world with their claims that the land of Israel is theirs by birthright, when in actual fact their real homeland is over 800 miles away in Georgia. So, next time you hear an Israeli Prime Minister bleating about the so- called persecution of the Jews, consider this, every Prime Minister of Israel has been an Ashkenazi Jew. Therefore when all these Prime Ministers have curried favour with the West for their re-establishment of a Jewish homeland, they have knowingly and deliberately lied to you, as they were never from that region, and they well know it, because it is they who call themselves Ashkenazi Jews.
 
Personally, I think they’re entitled to live there. They’re simply not entitled to their systemic racism.
I have been mentioning Monarch Mind Control a lot recently, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should read my other essay first, for a proper introduction. I’ve been reading into Fritz Springmeier & Cisco Wheeler’s “The Illuminati Formula to create an Undetectable Total Mind Control Slave” recently, and it’s the saddest and most horrifically violent thing I’ve ever read.
It is important to understand when reading the books, that whenever they talk about demons and demonic forces, the proper lens through which to look at it (like with any religious matter) is spiritual, meaning patterns of being. Fritz Springmeier himself writes:
 
Many will scoff at the concept of demons being layered in, but whatever name one wants to call these forces, they are being layered in, and exert a powerful force behind the programming. (…) The entire phenomena will be gone into great detail and explained in rational terms in the course of this book.
 
Here is a compilation of the most memorable passages to me, so far:
 
The Illuminati Formula To Create An Undetectable Total Mind Control Slave - Passage Compilation
 
I know I’m not the only one to whom the Watergate Scandal never made sense (see also: Mere 10 search results (assuming we see the same)). I assume, I’m neither the only one to whom the alleged backstory of “The Cranberries - Zombie” never seemed congruent? Well, watch and listen again, keeping in mind what I wrote here. Do the same also with “Britney Spears – Hit Me Baby One More Time”, keeping in mind that she’s a Monarch Slave (see a similar glitch also with Katy Perry). There are many more such examples throughout the Music and Film industry, and if you keep an eye out, you’ll find them. Lots of them.
It was only after I read the passages above that it all finally made sense to me. The hate. The loathing. The condescension. The mockery.
It’s revenge. They have been betrayed by God – many of them in the form of pretend plays - but also in the sense that, God seemed to have turned a blind eye to their suffering. There’s criticism in it which is borderline legitimate. If we weren’t so weak, if we hadn’t allowed ourselves to get blackmailed, bribed and exploited, if we weren’t so ignorant and naïve, we could’ve seen through it, we could’ve prevented it.
Though of course, it’s them who’ve been perpetuating the secrecy and deceit. Understandable. Reputation aside, the Luciferian Elite has more everything than everyone: Power, money, sex. The way to the top has evidently been to play the most deceitful and vicious game that anyone could’ve possibly imagined. If it was only stable, sustainable, or would actually make for a life worth living. If it only wouldn’t cause so much suffering.
If I were them, I’d hate people too. Although probably most because I’d hate myself.
No one believes in lies as much as Luciferians. They might still want to make the ultimate traitor out of me, but that is literally impossible. Because there are no greater traitors than them: Whether it’s politicians betraying their populace or fathers betraying their children. But instead of owning up to it, they create a culture where it’s forcibly accepted - except if it’s against “the group”, i.e, anyone above yourself in the hierarchy - the as-per-usual egoistic pragmaticism.
Ever since contending with the system, I’ve had the feeling that every way in which it acts is purely pragmatic. There are no morals, there are no rules, everything serves it’s desired ends. And I came to understand that the same is true for Luciferianism: For example, their use of symbolism. It doesn’t matter what exactly their original meaning, it doesn’t matter if this sign stands for “ILU (I Love You)” in ASL or for the "Devil's Horns", if the pentagram is upside-down or encircled right-side-up, what matters is that that which is intended to be communicated is successfully communicated to the intended recipients. Along the same lines, the cinematography employed by the system and the rituals conducted by Luciferians serve practical purposes: So long as their intended effects of entrancement and tyranny are fulfilled, they function as effective methods of control within and outside the coven.
In short, what happens at festivals such as these are illusions. The puppet masters aren’t nearly as infatuated with the ceremony as one might believe - their „magic“ is in making everyone believe that there was something demonic going on - regardless of the actual truth of the matter. While „demonic“ is still the term best describing the event, the mind uneducated of these matters makes supernatural associations without understanding their rational explanations.
By extension, Monarch Mind Control is the ultimate objectification of human beings. People are treated like computers, which fits the cold materialism within transhumanism, which stands in juxtaposition to the hot ecstasy in satanism. And like anything high-contrast, it momentarily gives you the thrill of your life. But you also destroy your life for the sake of the moment.
And now, Luciferians want to enslave the rest of humanity, just as they’ve been enslaved their whole lives. To flip the table and become God instead. For them to be free and for the rest to be slaves. To turn everything upside down.
 
Over thousands of years of history, the Western world wrapped a dream-like fantasy about the nature of evil around its central religious core. That fantasy had a protagonist, an adversarial personality, absolutely dedicated to the corruption of Being. Milton took it upon himself to organize, dramatize and articulate the essence of this collective dream, and gave it life, in the figure of Satan—Lucifer, the “light bearer.” He writes of Lucifer’s primal temptation, and its immediate consequences:
“He trusted to have equaled the most High, if he opposed; and with ambitious aim Against the Throne and Monarchy of God Raised impious War in Heaven and Battel proud With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from the Ethereal Sky With hideous ruin and combustion down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire…”
Lucifer, in Milton’s eyes—the spirit of reason—was the most wondrous angel brought forth from the void by God. This can be read psychologically. Reason is something alive. It lives in all of us. It’s older than any of us. It’s best understood as a personality, not a faculty. It has its aims, and its temptations, and its weaknesses. It flies higher and sees farther than any other spirit. But reason falls in love with itself, and worse. It falls in love with its own productions. It elevates them, and worships them as absolutes. Lucifer is, therefore, the spirit of totalitarianism. He is flung from Heaven into Hell because such elevation, such rebellion against the Highest and Incomprehensible, inevitably produces Hell. – JP
 
Several of my sources mention how the New World Order is to arise as a consequence of a World War (which we’re undoubtedly already in) - like a phoenix out of Its ashes. This had me puzzled for a while. Why would they want to destroy the world, first? But then I figured: It’s an attrition tactic. The actual process is supposed to be slow, elegant – you don’t want people to rebel of course. You want them to stay complacent. You want them to be wound down, not knowing what hits them, and out of the terror, out of the despair, out of the abuse, you want them to become brainwashed and confused, conditioned step by step like a Pavlovian dog, trauma-bond with the Antichrist and look towards him as their savior, pathetic on their own. The end-product is a completely subservient human race, victims of their own ignorance and lack of spirit – seeing light in the darkness while walking astray.
As the final outcome, the human race will die – as victims of their own productive, spiritual and moral insufficiencies, they will be wiped out by any number of great filters: Climate change, an asteroid strike, AI takeover, you name it – we will have failed as a species, if not due to the tacit acceptance in turning a blind eye towards the monarch mind control, on its own. People have become so accustomed to the happy life that they forgot how to give their life for something. I never forgot how Fidel Castro asserted that MTV was an apparatus to brainwash the youth – Now I don’t doubt it anymore.
While some religious people will work hard, Luciferians will laugh and continue to prostitute, rape and torture children in the underground. You think you can impede that just by setting a good example? Think again. Their production through breeders, is cheap. The money you rake in by prostituting them, is high. More money equals again, more power. And the power you gain by compromising the elite is extraordinary. Through their systemic rape and torture you can create human robots entirely subservient to your will – ready to take on any job which any normal human being with a conscience is unwilling to. In the world of power politics, child abuse is everything. It’s the entirely rational thing to do.
If it only wouldn’t be so degenerate.
Luciferians have spent hundreds of years and millions of tortured children, and what have they achieved? An utterly corrupt world not even close to its true potential, and a parasitic mind control system which shall be mankind’s demise, if we cannot speak about it. Jordan spent ten years telling the truth and has changed the world more than anyone else in the last thousands of years – for the better. Lending millions of people meaning and orientation in their lives, while everyone’s been walking astray for the past hundreds of years. People coming up to him every 10 minutes and telling him how he’s saved their lives? That’s power. But child trafficking, child abuse and Monarch Mind Control will inevitably continue without being addressed and confronted directly – without being stopped.
It goes without saying that there needs to be put an end to this. Trusting them is a mistake. It’s only something you’d do if you were weak and unwilling to risk the same pain that they’ve gone through.
I know that our values are transcendent and carved out by the pursuit of truth. This isn’t supposed to be comprehensive, but: Evil is deceit, betrayal, the creation or infliction of undue or unnecessary suffering, i.e. “the ends justify the means”, or for other selfish reasons. Jordan said several times that, it is comparatively difficult to make a case for the existence of good, but I don’t think the answer is that complicated. Here is a value map that I drew on my whiteboard, intuitively, five years ago (ignore the obvious bads and my schedule on the left): https://imgur.com/a/6hd8BH7. All of these values are simply good. Excesses aside, you can’t argue with those.
These values are transcendent because everyone around the globe can coexist peacefully with them, without undue suffering, in an iterative, long-term game. And I’m not making a case for my values specifically, those I simply derived from my unconscious. I’m making a case for the notion that there is such a thing as transcended values and ethics, which will be found out individually and collectively by people deciding that truth is their highest conscious value (while God - by definition that, which inhabits the top of everyone’s actual, unconscious value hierarchy, is best not over-defined – limitless and thus impossible to frame (further ideas relating to God, I have explained here).
Monarch Slaves are put under a spell. They’re possessed by the Luciferian spirit. They’re born into it – can’t break out of it.
And I don’t care.
If the natural course of history without anyone taking action, is the continual emergence of the New World Order, I couldn’t give less of a fuck. If being silent means the continual “production” of MK slaves, I want to have no part in it.
As I mentioned here, I am no advocate for eliminating them (if otherwise possible), not even for prosecuting them. They need therapy. Should a world order with free speech arise, the system can hopefully help with that. But I’m not gonna trust them one bit until then. I conceptualize our situation similar to a war - It’s do or die, kill or be killed. Only that in our case, it’s metaphorical, while for the enemy, it’s literal. I can’t spare any niceties if I know that it gets exploited. At the current state of things, Luciferians and the system will forever try to gain your trust, only to prey on you, once they have it - like sexual predators.
Sometimes I wonder, if any Luciferian should get prosecuted at all. If possible, I would like to avoid it, but that’s probably unrealistic. At least, whenever I see anyone advocating for the Illuminati, I still hate it. And I tend to feel a particular hate towards those who haven’t been victims of Monarch Mind Control themselves, but have been perpetrating and perpetuating it as a science in the CIA’s basements. But I also know that, playing this game of finding any one party to hate is dumb. I know that at the very least, everyone has been a victim of their own ignorance. If I hadn’t discovered Jordan, I wouldn’t be remotely as committed to truth and integrity as I am today. So, I can’t blame anyone for choosing the path which seemed to make most sense to them, given the options which seemed to be available.
Similarly, I’m going to continue treating all multiples, largely as single entities. I’ve had my fair share of experience dealing with psychotic people, and through those and through my experience at the psychiatry (watching how the nurses treated the patients), I came to the unwavering conclusion that if you don’t treat them like they’re normal, you lose your own sanity. I am under no illusion that I can fix them, and I’ve gotten to know Luciferians enough to know that if you submit to them instead, you’re gonna get exploited (Basically, they intend to use some alters as human shields against my words (if one was to buy into it) - and I’m not gonna give a fuck. That doesn’t mean that I’ll suspend all nuance).
Any Monarch Slave who truly thinks or feels otherwise should sacrifice themselves telling the truth. I’m not acting any differently.
 
The Antichrist
As I mentioned in the beginning, a while ago, I became more and more convinced that RFK JR is the Antichrist. That is, until I got a hold of this list (the last chapter): http://whale.to/b/sp/app1.html
While he certainly remains a false savior and while the first few points apply to him in a fairly obvious manner, the rest of the list would clearly, potentially, fit Jordan like a glove. Jordan was even born in 1962.
But I’m not convinced. At all. To me, the chance is like 50/50. I’m saying that because I know you (to some extent) and you’d create such hints, only to have them be somewhat universally applicable to anyone who’s a leader, eloquent and understands the true depth and meaning behind religious myths, including obviously, the bible.
That Jordan has been in the know since a while, is easily verifiable through this short excerpt from the third-oldest video from his YouTube channel (see also: NWO mentioned at WEF). The thumbnails and titles of those videos are coded. Thinking back, 10 years ago was also probably around the time that the system first manifested itself in my life – I suspect, even 2 years before that, at the start of all my mental disorders. But certainly, at latest, around 8 years before now, where when listening to “Love on a real Train” for the first time, I felt an intense feeling of love like never before or after, not even on drugs. Thinking back, the system must’ve triggered or co-triggered some of my neuroses like OCD, make me interested in DID, get saved by Jordan, and “train” me for this situation.
The true answer is that it’s a No-Win situation. He might’ve been the Antichrist, he might’ve not been. But me trusting him or not trusting him, it doesn’t matter. Because he would become the Antichrist either way.
 
Disclaimer
Outsourced due to character restriction
 

CHAPTER ONE - THE BEAUTY OF CATS
My bathtub is overflowing. The water's seeping into the
little cracks in between the black and white tiles. How have
I let this happen to the tiles? They don't deserve it.
But I'm more important than the tiles, so who cares?
Insecurity and arrogance, apathy and concern are in a
constant battle in my mind. All sides have dug trenches,
waiting for the others to give out.
What a life.
Could be worse. My lovely cat's staring at me from the
corner of the bathroom. I always wonder what he's thinking.
I doubt cats judge us as much as we think they do. They have
their own insecurities as well. I know because I was a cat
once. At least I think I was. Who can really be sure? In any
case, I appreciate it's company. And it must really be an
outcast to need mine.
I bought a baguette for my dinner and decided to take it in
the bath. A surge of sudden madness must've come over me.
Now I've got no dinner.
How sad.
The disintegrated pieces float around me. Like ghetto rubber
duckies.
I'm so desperately hungry, I wanna take a bite. Do I do it?
I can't resist.
I immediately spit it out.
My cat's still staring at me. But now with a somehow even
more judgmental expression. I'm having trouble convincing
myself it's all in my head this time.
But back to the overflowing bathtub. I must do something
about it. I surely can't let this insanity continue. But I
feel bullied by the never ending flow of water coming from
the tap. It's urging me to just let it be, exist in it's own
right, give it food and boarding, know what it's like to be
cared for. I'm sorry tap, you beautiful tap, but it can't
be.
I'm working up the courage to turn it off. Any second now
and I'll be free. I'm more important than the tap's
feelings. That makes two things I've declared myself more
important than. I may be getting a little big for my
britches at this rate.
But there, I've done it. I've turned it off.
I keep my hand on the faucet handle and feel my fingers
around the little rivets, cleaning off the dirt.
CHAPTER TWO - THE BEAUTY OF SANDY STOOPS
I've been thinking of having fun recently. I'm not quite
sure how to go about it. I don't want to have too much fun,
I'm only one man. But then again, not enough fun and I'll
have wasted my precious time.
I have an idea, I think I'll make a friend named George.
Surely there must be a plethora of deserted Georges out
there, just waiting for someone to take them under their
wing.
I could even start my own store for Georges who are
hopelessly in need of companions.
But now I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm walking out my door, I'm actually doing it. There's a
wonderful array of indescribable smells and colors. Even the
concrete looks especially amiable today.
I can either turn right or left. I always turn left. My
life's full of bullies, first the tap, now the direction
left. Just as I've stood up to the tap, I'm turning right,
defying the beckoning of Ms Left. I think I'll take a nice
walk in the park.
Christ almighty, I've already gone 500 yards. How
exhilarating. But wait.
Now I remember why I never go right.
Speaking of bullies, here's a girl who always sits on her
apartment building's stoop. Threatening to hurt herself if
people don't hang out with her. I suppose she's quite a sad
girl, if she has to do that.
What a bitch.
She's calling out to me. Waving her hand towards herself.
What shall I do? Allow myself to be manipulated, to be guilt
tripped? Maybe so.
Although if I actually do end up saving her, we'd
unfortunately have to be "friends". I wanted friendship with
a man named George, not her. I'd settle for a Terry at this
point, or maybe even a Don.
If only I were a fast runner, I could get out of ear shot of
her voice before she could start.
I'm allowing my concern to gain a few feet of no man's land.
I've been practicing my fake smile in the mirror during my
free time. There we go, I think I'm acing it.
What am I being asked? Ah. Just complimenting my new tie and
insulting my stubble. I always wear a tie these days over my
t-shirt. I saw it in a cartoon once. Or maybe it was a
dream.
What else does she want? My company, it seems. Perhaps I'll
lend it for a while.
Yeah yeah, the weather's fine and all that. Not too humid?
Actually, it's a bit muggy for my liking, but I'll keep that
to myself.
Maybe if I turn the conversation uncomfortably deep it'll
scare her away. I'm asking why her self esteem is so low,
and if it has anything to do with her father.
Oh no. Great, now she's sobbing in my arms and letting it
all out. God.
There there, it's alright.
Can't be seen with a crying girl, it'll give people the
wrong idea. What that idea could be, even I don't know. I
say "even" as if I know everything. Which in a way, I do, if
you think about it. Or rather if you don't think very hard
about it at all.
I suggest to her we go to the park to get some green in our
eyes.
CHAPTER THREE - THE BEAUTY OF GRAVEL
We're sitting on the grass, beside a gravel path. I
frequently treat myself by rolling around in the gravel when
no one else is around. The way it scrapes and massages you
like a psychotic masseuse has always amused me. The smell is
also somewhat therapeutic, nothing can replicate it.
While I'm focusing on the gravel, she's babbling about
whatever trauma she's got and how grateful she is she
finally met someone who understands her.
Just give sympathy, that's it, understanding. Ought to do
the trick. What else am I supposed to do in scenarios like
these? Can't quite remember if offering solutions is bad or
not.
Well looks like she's done now. We get up and walk to the
other side of the park.
I was pulling up some grass while she was talking, so I'm
throwing it up in the air to make surprise confetti. I'm
unlucky in that I can't seem to be surprised easily, so I
like to try and simulate it.
Why am I still walking with this girl? Why did I care?
What's even her name? It probably doesn't matter. I'm happy
to be looking at the overcast sky.
Most people think cloudy days are depressing, but to me it
looks like the sky has put a blanket down on us and tucked
us in for bed. Either that, or it's smothering us with a
pillow. My opinion changes based on how optimistic I decide
to be when it happens. Today though, it looks like a
blanket.
I finally think to ask her name. She says it annoyingly
softly and shyly. I'm not bothering to ask it again. I
slightly smile and say what a lovely name it is, which
elicits an irritating giggle.
Everything about this girl pisses me off. But I don't want
to leave her company yet. After all, something interesting
might happen.
The sound of a hobo begging for change fills my eardrums.
What should I do?
The patch of concrete he's sitting on doesn't seem as
amiable as the rest.
I'd be a bad person if I didn't give him anything. But then
I'd only be giving to ease my conscience.
So maybe I should just kick his cup away and spit in his
face.
I'm overthinking it.
I hand him a few coins. Hopefully they weren't rare. I
Should've checked.
He mutters some blessing towards me and looks down at the
floor.
I wonder if Saint Peter judges you based off of how many
blessings from hobos you received. It'd be an interesting
twist.
There's a public bathroom over yonder. Might as well use it.
The girl's having a conversation with the guy about
something, so I don't trouble myself to say anything.
I like the smell of the hobo's coat. It reminds me of
something.
CHAPTER FOUR - THE BEAUTY OF ULTRAVIOLET
The outside walls of the bathroom are made of that type of
grainy rock that flakes off if you rub something against it.
I'd wipe my hand on it but I don't wanna get stained by the
graffiti.
I'm considering adding to the art, but nothing comes to
mind. I go in and step into the cleanest stall.
Funny, I can't see my veins under the blue light.
When I wash my hands I can only get cold water to come out
after I yank the crusty tap handles hard enough. I have to
smash my hands against the soap dispenser a few times to get
any. And I need to press a greasy, silver button for hot air
to dry my hands.
Somehow, I feel dirtier after the whole process.
I study my reflection in the mirror. It looks strange under
the light.
I'm wracking my brain, trying to think of something witty to
write on the walls.
All the profanities, names, snarky observations, mixed with
a sickening amount of colors is making my head spin.
I have a strong urge to lick them.
CHAPTER FIVE - THE BEAUTY OF SEAWEED CRACKERS
When I step out the girl's gone, and the hobo's lying down,
asleep.
What a bitch.
Who cares?
I'm starting my stroll out of the park, passing the hobo
now. The smell of his coat hits me again. I go around him
and crouch down to see his face.
Oh. So that's why it smells familiar. It's my father.
I kick his ribs to wake him up and wait for him to get his
bearings a second, then ask him what he's doing.
He was bored today so he decided to mess with me.
Alright.
For the first time in my life I ask why he always smells
like seaweed crackers when I've never seen him eat any. He
says it's genetic.
Cool.
We're on our way to a pretzel stand we decided to go to and
he says he wants to discuss either philosophy or the
weather. I say it's a bit muggy for my liking, but other
than that it's a wonderful day.
Oh look, there's the girl from earlier at the pretzel stand.
I order my dad's favorite pretzel for him and ask why she
left. Apparently I abandoned her without a word.
Yeah, I guess that did happen.
Wow, what a surprise, her and my dad both got the same type
of pretzel. My father and her lock eyes and take a bite. A
pastor walks by and they beg him to marry them.
After they both say "I do", I throw some grass at them I
still had in my pocket in place of rice.
I'd congratulate them but my mouth's full of pretzel.
My father pushes her away when she tries to kiss him, he
never kisses on a first date. Offended, she begs the lawyer
walking by to divorce them.
They decide to just be friends.
I feel a little disenchanted.
Now with my father and ex-stepmother, we think better of
sitting in silence and talk about something. She's asking
what I think of the weather.
The evening's come. A faint hue of light is all that remains
in the streets. It's perfect, I say.
Perhaps the silence was better. But wait, now I'm thinking I
don't even want to be here anymore. I suppose suicide's the
quickest way, but I'd ruin my tie, and besides, I have to
feed my cat.
Ah yes, my cat. A perfect excuse. Should fool them.
I say I don't feel like being here anymore and hop on the
bus home that's luckily just arrived.
CHAPTER SIX - THE BEAUTY OF STYROFOAM
As I contemplate my actions I take my seat across from a
tall, slender, elderly man. He's drinking tea from a
Styrofoam cup.
Each time he goes for a sip his hands shake so much, he
spills a little on his pink sweater. The sweater's littered
with a graveyard of what seems to be rooibos.
Why did I get on this bus? It was convenient I suppose. But
it's going the opposite direction of my home. I'll just
press the red button then. But wait.
The old man's staring at me. What for? I look at myself and
find there's nothing to stare at. He holds his hand forward,
offering me some of his tea. Now that the tea's in the harsh
fluorescent light of the bus, it looks like more of a Hong
Cha.
I shake my head no thank you and hold up my palm.
He nods in acknowledgment, never breaks eye contact. And
then collapses. Right in the hallway of the bus. His red tea
trickles down the aisle.
The man looks more fragile than the crushed Styrofoam cup
still clutched in his hand.
Should I do something? What can I do?
He seems to be evaporating into thin air, his sweater
becoming baggier by the second. A man being shrunk into...
What? Nothing?
Maybe it's his soul leaving, going to swim in the night and
listen to the odd voices from ten thousand strange millennia
ago.
All I can do is look. Just look. I ride to the end of the
line. No one else ever gets on. I slowly stand up and walk
out the doors at the back of the bus.
Drudging home.
I enter my apartment to find my cat sitting at the door,
waiting for me. He looks hungry so I open a can of cat food
and dump it in his shiny, silver food bowl. The meows and
purrs sooth my mind.
Well, I wanted to be surprised. To know the feeling.
And here it is.
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE BEAUTY OF COOKING
Funny, I can't sleep. I'm in my living room, in an armchair
sitting across from another armchair. I forget the other
armchair's even there most days.
The chair in front of me is golden and red.
Why is it golden and red? I'm not quite sure. Perhaps Motley
Crue knows.
But why is that chair there?
A man from long ago probably sat in it.
Why did he do that?
Maybe he was tired after a long day of working.
What was he working on?
A new cookbook displaying all the joyous cooking he can
offer the world? I'd like to think so.
But what happened to the cookbook?
No one knows.
It's a mystery.
So it's possible that the cookbook was useless after all, if
no one was going to read it anyway.
But maybe it helped the man forget about something terrible.
What was terrible? What troubled him?
Even if I could ask, it might be better not to. He may not
want to talk about it, whatever it could be.
I feel sorry for the man that he had to go through that.
But he found solace in the cookbook.
And without the chair, there is no cookbook.
Ah, the chair. Of course, the chair.
The chair.
The splendid chair.
Golden and crimson, hints of amber and maroon on the faded
areas where the man rested his arms the most.
I love that chair. It may not know it.
Or worse, it may not love me back.
But it doesn't matter. I love it all the same.
The beautiful chair.
The chair in front of me.
Another funny thing is, I've never sat in that chair. Even
though I bought it, I feel like it belongs to someone else
and it would be rude to use it without asking.
The park. May be time for a gravel massage. If I'm lucky I
can get myself mugged, what fun.
I can't tell if my apathy is washing over me or if I'm just
numb. Unless they're the same thing, which has a strong
chance of being true based on how things usually go.
Surely that girl won't be out at 2 AM?
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE BEAUTY OF STOOP DUST
Nope. There she is. Waving at me. Either she forgot about
what happened earlier or she doesn't care.
I decide to not struggle and take a seat next to her on the
stoop.
My tie's rapped round my shoulder so I pick it up and gently
lay it along my left side.
I'm cynical enough to think she's just using me as free
therapy. And realizing I'm lonely enough to not complain.
She's different though. What she's saying is especially
different.
No more past traumas or tragedies anymore. Just nostalgic,
rosy statements and speculations. But everything has a
strange hint of sadness to it.
Not quite sure how to describe the mood.
We sit for an eternity. I can't imagine life beyond the
stoop. Its comforting hard surface. I place my palm against
it, when I lift it up again I see it's covered with dust.
I take a napkin I always carry with me in my pocket, dab a
corner of it on a step, and fold it back into my pants.
Each phrase, each reflection, each remark I say to her she
responds with a reply that opens a key in my head.
The sky's the same color as when I got on the bus now.
I'm constantly analyzing my mind. What emotion has taken
control? Apathy? Insecurity? Arrogance? Concern? Surely I'm
capable of more than just that. I've always thought of those
things as being at war, a never ending war.
But maybe they're not at war. Maybe they're all partying
together, just enjoying themselves.
I happen to catch a lovely thought she says under her
breath.
And suddenly I understand it all.
END

I.
I am tremendously invested in the emancipation of individuals born transsexual from the third-sex prison of special “gender identity.” Put shortly, it is possible to change sex, and live on. There are few compelling reasons to use the word “gender” — it is a term that originates from describing grammar (like how nouns and verbs are gendered in romance languages) and now exists somewhere between a soft synonym for “sex” on paperwork and in polite conversation, and a shibboleth for a blurry, often contradictory ideology.
The term “social sex role” more precisely conveys what “gender” means to express, and anyone born transsexual understands the nuance here: the way society receives you, the way you are treated and the expectations mapped onto you, follow largely from your perceived sex. For better or worse (and often much worse) women and men are treated differently by women and men.
For someone living in a mixed-sex or wrong-sex body, being slotted into the wrong social sex role externally is an extension of the internal ongoing body horror. This wrong-sex social slotting is what “gender dysphoria” would best describe, but that’s substituting a symptom (or more accurately, a component of the experience) for the disorder in itself.
“Gender dysphoria” (while still rejected by the most self-important navel-gazing egg-types who also think people can simply choose to enjoy “having” debilitating conditions like DID and OCD) has also lost all meaning in the old tru-sc** spaces, as heaps of ‘dysphoric’ non-binaries/genderfluids/run of the mill queers stake their claim to it despite … well, despite being cis in all ways other than self-ID. Honestly: are they wrong?
Let me explain — this is a big reason why “gender dysphoria” doesn’t work: making it the standalone diagnostic criteria for being somehow ‘trans’ presumes that only a minority of people have negative emotions regarding the very experience of living in a society where so much of your life is determined by sex/“gender.”
But it’s extremely common for even so-called cis people to find puberty/becoming a man/being sexualized as a woman/whatever to be a tumultuous and disturbing time, and I know almost zero of them, even those who appear stereotypically gender-conforming, who feel fully at ease with the social meaning of their sex and the repressive quality of their socialization. Of course, these individuals are not “trans.”
“Gender dysphoria” is presumed to come in shades of severity that is resolved by different levels of “treatment” — from pronouns and a haircut, to supposed low-dose HRT, to full on transition. “Sex dysphoria” is slightly better, more precise. But it still feels like an extraordinary understatement of the need to change sex, and with it, to change sexed socialization/social perception.
It also ignores and deemphasizes the point that transsexualism is not located strictly in the body/genitals — for many, life before HRT is a hell wrought not only by a horrific disconnect between what’s in the mirror and what should be in the mirror, but also by a disregulated/mismatched endocrine system, where the hormones produced by the body are at odds with those expected by the brain. The brain constantly receiving insufficient hormones from the body leads to a daily life that resembles something like permanent withdrawal, similar to the bodily and psychological need for HRT experienced by men who have lost testes or some women post-menopause.
II.
The liberation of men and women from the most repressive constraints of sex roles, the project in which the actually radical (as opposed to ‘cultural,’ trans-exclusionary) midcentury feminists were invested, is one that has moved me since I was a teenage anarchist. It is also completely separate from the medical necessity of transition.
These struggles only overlap on concerns of bodily autonomy and the ghetto of women’s healthcare (which all transitioning people experience from one side or the other.)
Take the endlessly repeated holophrase “trans women are women.” If this is true, and it generally is, a woman born transsexual transitioning into the correctly sexed body says nothing about the untethering of ‘woman’ from ‘gender’ or ‘sex’ — so why is it so commonly implied that trans women are automatically and irrevocably these brave frontline warriors in the radical fight to “abolish gender?” Something really ugly is hiding in the presumed connection between ‘trans identity’ (ugh) and ‘gender radicality’: it’s because this nearly hegemonic attitude that conflates the two actually takes trans women for daring men who exist to subvert and defy gendered expectations. Something similar occurs, perhaps even worse, for transitioning men. Straight up fuck all that.
And the people who most embrace or personally relate to that conflation … well, I won’t say the quiet part loud here, but the fight for the emancipation of all people from repressive social sex roles and the treatment of the rare disorder of cross-sex brain/body development are two very different struggles.
III.
What do we mean when we say gender? When we say dysphoria? I use way too many quotation marks to offset ideas here because the common phrases used to talk about this are all undergirded by an ideology that does not grasp the reality of those born transsexual, or anything about sexed society. I’ll stop rambling… but I think the slippery semantic ambiguity of both ‘gender’ and ‘dysphoria’ does a disservice to anyone who would like to see the treatment of transsexualism divorced from self-sabotaging culture wars and the corresponding essentialist identitarianism.

Hello. Here's my insight + story (if you care enough to read it)
WARNING; A FUCKING NOVEL
(I tend to write too much because I literally never speak in real life, so I massively overcompensate in written form... I guess? Or it's just years of pent-up feelings never ever expressed, one of the two... either way, Apologies for all that, I genuinely don't know where else I can express all of this aside from therapy, but you know... I hope it's not too much, and even more so; I hope someone, somewhere, somehow gains something of value out of this ocean of verbal diarrhea... that's more than I could ever ask for in my little blip of nothingness)
TL/DR; Not having a family or anyone that gives even the slightest amount of fucks about you, including yourself, kinda sorta sucks. Also, shitty luck doesn't exactly help. I still have hope, for better or for worse... I Hope...
First things first, I must mention that I've literally never done something like this ever... as in express my ""feelings"" or ""emotions"" (whatever the fuck those are) at all... to anyone... ever. Let alone in a whole ass novel online for random people, but... I'd like to think this particular community is but the slightest bit more understanding of the fact that with enough time, and not enough 'grit', or willpower- whatever the fuck you want to call it- after a while... this shit just breaks you down... to nothing, and that's not even the beginning.
I must express my overwhelming gratitude and appreciation for this community and subreddit for even existing in the first place. To have somewhere to share and shelter in some level of understanding and dare I say... love, of even the most basic- and I do mean - basic kind, well... from the way I see it; I believe it's like trekking through the Sahara Desert for 12 months, living off tears, hope, bullshit and dreams... and finding fucking Wild Waves or something. Maybe that's a slight exaggeration but, who can say?This will take a lifetime to read as it is, so I'll just shut up and get to the point: Here's my shitty """little""" insight, just because... I have nothing else to do.
I've never had a family. Not that 'real' one I'm sure we all dream of and picture in our heads, see in movies, all of that. That entire 'love' nonsense... simply does not exist. If you ask me or anyone in my 'family' it is an absolute guarantee that not one of us could give you a respectable and even remotely accurate response on what the fuck 'Love' even means, and furthermore why the fuck they decided to have a kid in the first place if all it is ever going to be(at best) is some useless background item that you occasionally feed and shove off to school and work and call it a fucking job well done.
Because I don't think I could properly express how automatic my life is and has been, and that I feel is just the best word to use; Automatic. Like a damn assembly line, another click of the clock. Day after day after day of just... nothing in the exact same way. Again and again and again. No love. No compassion. No understanding, and most of all; no attempt to do any of that in the first place. And from what I've come to understand after so many years, I think that I've concluded that this is in fact... not normal. Quite the opposite... in fact, some normal folk out there may even observe this and say things like; "What the fuck?" and /or "Why the fuck?" and so on. But this is, of course, all said and dry. I can't speak for everyone obviously, I can only assume that this is at the least the baseline of most, if not all neglect in families in some variable degree, that which unites us all, our extremely shitty God as it were: Absence.
The absence of everything that we are TOLD that makes family so special... people that genuinely respect and care for you as you are, so and so, this and that and... that little thing called Unconditional Love (whatever the fuck that means, i.e. Is like the point of existing apparently, who knew?), and we are only left to idle and contemplate... everything that we have, but significantly lack - or simply just do not need - and the nothing that we don't have and don't know we truly need... until it's too late and the damage is already done. Something that you couldn't even understand that you've had yet, a lifetime of trust is shattered before a life is ever even lived. Thus I've, through rigorous experience, in a virtual paradise of absence have been left only to fabricate and ignore. Not even fill the void of emotional connection but ignore it altogether.
I've never ever even thought about using drugs or being a delinquent little bastard, or anything of the sort. My story is the much more boring type. In fact, that is the precise reason why I've never once thought to share anything about myself with anyone: because there is literally nothing interesting to say. I sit, shut down, and be silent. At any hint of adversity or unprompted attention of ANY kind, I just close down and shut up. That + a lifetime of severe social anxiety + a good 'ol dash of perfectionism + a grand arsenal range of self-hatred brought upon by neglect compounded by yet even more self-neglect, cook that for about 24 years and you got me... Nothing. I literally do not exist to the world, and it's a struggle for me to even attempt to exist in it. I have nothing and I am nothing. Believe me, I know all too well how that can just be construed as simple mindless self-depreciation and self-hatred. I am very much aware. I know that. The hardest part is truly believing everything otherwise. After all, how can a few simple, seemingly bullshit statements, like: "You deserve love, unconditionally.", "You do matter.", or "You do have a purpose.", yadda yadda fucking yadda, possibly stack up against a 24-year-long - and still going - fucking overwhelming amount of evidence that clearly debunks all of that. I can't fucking stand these phrases, these self-love mantras, whatever they are- they're fucking bullshit.
Riddle me this, friends; If we all, or somehow, I "deserve love", then where is it? Or more accurately, where was it? Apparently, not everyone got the memo because my family has yet to learn the concept. There is no love, there never was, and never will be.I guess that should be the sign to finally put it all into picture (better late than never, right?)
Here's my story:
Hello again, my name is Alex. I am 24 years old(M), and if you couldn't tell by now... I am very, very, very alone. One could even say completely alone. A full and true entire absence of love, family, everything. You name it, I don't have it... yet, I have a roof over my head, I'm fed (most of the time) and I'm almost sometimes cared for financially so clearly, I must be one of the lucky ones? Right...? I should be grateful! That is certainly what I convinced myself of... maybe a little too well.For reasons I can't explain, I've always, always tried my damnedest to prove myself thankful for what little I have, to appreciate every single goddamn crumb of the enjoyment of life I could as if it were the greatest gift that could be given. I wish I could tell you why exactly... but I can't. I just did. To explain what I mean, I'm talking about all the little things in life. The rainy, quiet days. That which all that I enjoyed in video games, art, everything. Every single second of peace and quiet, every single moment of enjoyment that I, myself, truly loved, that which made me... me. Even if I knew for an absolute fact that all I was doing was distracting myself from reality yet again, ignoring everything that needed fixing, I just didn't care. I still don't. Because at the end of the day, at least for me... It's really, really... really fucking hard to care about yourself when no one else ever, ever has. And that there is no guarantee that anyone ever will. That's the part that needs a lot of love to fix... well shit, therein lies the problem.
As for actual family... I don't have a real father figure, never did, or better put I just don't have a dad so yeah, that's always fun. The best I ever had was my Grandfather. He was my one and true only friend. The one single person on this planet that I could genuinely call my family. It's not too far off of being five years now since he died in my hands. That was not a fun day, that much I can tell you.
Ever since then, it feels as if each and every day has delved deeper and deeper into this mire of absolute absence, now more than ever from myself. Even typing this right now, I can't express how loud that voice is, in the back of my head that constantly screams at me, on a never-ending loop that "No one gives a fuck about you. No one. No one ever has and no one never will." it's become so everpresent, so commanding that I've all but abandoned any attempt to ever prove it otherwise. Even right this moment... I'm fighting not to just delete all of this. Why would anyone waste their day reading all this autistic rambling from someone they never have and never will know..? Why would anyone care about me at all..? No one has before, ever, in my entire life. There do not exist memories of someone telling me I matter to them, that I matter period. That I offer anything to anyone. And the worst part is... it's true. It really actually is. At least I really believe it so... why else would everything be like this?! Why else would throughout all my years of school and homelife be nothing more than dead silently sitting in a corner for several hours completely alone, invisible, and never interacting or being interacted with by anyone, come 'home' and receive the exact same treatment, do nothing, sleep, wake up and do it all over again with mind-numbing alternation for year after year after year?!?!
...And then there's my mother... the author of all my pain. The one who has dragged me through her landfill of a life and tied to a pole with nowhere else to go, and so there in my palace of garbage, I claim my kingdom. To keep it as simple and clear as possible; She is about as textbook definition of what is called "Cold Mother Syndrome" as you can get. I am an invisible item in the background of her life, nothing more. Unless I do something wrong, of course... or just didn't effortlessly succumb to the conveyor belt life that was apparently planned out for me already. As much as it disappointed them I'm sure, and at the time me, especially. Despite being the only one in my family line to actually graduate high school apparently, I didn't do too well in college(it was art college haha) turns out that not ever being asked what you actually want out of life was not in fact considered for me. Not fucking once, ever. Key example; My mother(without asking me whatsoever at all) signed me up for driving school, and believe it or not... I did not want to drive a car. It simply does not interest me, and frankly a little too scary for a little bitch boy like myself who is easily distracted by his own thoughts and can trail off at a moment's notice... and as for getting a job? Forget it. Believe me despite everything I've been trying, unsuccessfully mind, but even then it doesn't matter, I never hear the end of it anyway as that's the top priority for me apparently... I know we all obviously dream of labor but unfortunately, I guess I could never dream that big. I thought I wanted to be an artist originally... I was wrong. I was very wrong, did I ever receive support then or now?.. I think you know the answer. My interests and my passions never have and never will mean anything to her, but the second I ever fuck up anything, then all of a sudden she's there and present but anything else? I might as well just not be here. It would not - and I cannot stress this enough - make zero difference. Hell if anything, she'd have more room to live her life because it's more than evident that that's what actually matters. I can't even attempt to count how often every single interaction we've ever had will, I repeat WILL, become about her, always. The does not exist a day where she will make the day about herself, or deviate any other topic back to her. And that's when she's not out somewhere living her life, gambling like there's no tomorrow, restaurant binging, movies, work, all of that... and where am I in all this you may ask? Well, isn't it obvious by now? I'm home alone. And If it wasn't specified already, I have zero siblings whatsoever. It's just me and a small ass house that's maybe just a little too cramps... oh yeah, did I also forget to mention that she's basically a professional hoarder in training? I literally have to climb over shit to get to my gaming chair in the living room which is so ghetto that I couldn't even begin to describe it... just know that she doesn't allow me to play games in my room. Why? I have no fucking idea. She just doesn't allow it. How I wish I could understand even of the slightest degree the state of her mental damage, but at this point I don't that would offer me any form of closure. Other than further irrefutable evidence that I shall be doing the universe an eternal favor by removing this cursed, broken bloodline from existence... you're welcome everybody:)
Even still, after so much, and yet so little time... I've more or less given up... on suicide that is. Death seems like too harsh a 'solution' to all this if you ask me. That doesn't get me anywhere. I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of never living. And even now, I'm still not...
I'm trying to get help, really, I am... but apparently, the universe doesn't like that. At different times at two different locations, I've tried to make an appointment to see a counselor, and guess what? They were canceled as I arrived. And never once informed me beforehand causing me to completely waste my time. As if I was going to do anything of value with it in the first place but still... that's two for two I've genuinely tried to reach out and ask for help just to be punched in the face both times and told to fuck off and fuck you. And would you believe that the second time just happened today..? Not that's to even mention the millions of little setbacks that plague me each and every day just for the irreparable crime of continuing to exist.I want to live life so... so badly. If there have been any positives whatsoever in all this... I've got a lot of time to myself to think... maybe, a little bit too much... but the point is; I have a vision, a dream even... I have an actual idea of what I want my life to be but fuck me... were it so easy... but then I guess it wouldn't be life, would it?
Oh yeah, I didn't even at all mention the whole longing for a relationship of literally any kind, or the fact my mother also decided to marry an abusive shitpile of a human who I'm stuck living with but that's its own story hahaha, and at this point... I think I've said enough as it is. A thousand apologies for the rambling, there's few things I hate more than feeling like a complete waste (which is really saying something lmao) but again, I hope someone gains something out of all this... and even if not... I REALLY needed to vent all that out so... if anyone has actually read all this... how I wish I could hug you right now, I do regardless... cause well, I think you know the problem there too, but alas, life goes on... just another day. Just another day...
Just Keep On Moving.
Take Care of Yourself, and Take Care of Somebody Else.