aesthetixxx

The Nietzsche Family Circus pairs a randomized Family Circus cartoon with a randomized Friedrich Nietzsche quote.

Incredible.

Holy shit!

William Sanders, senior editor of Helix magazine, sent Luke Jackson a rejection letter for one of his stories, reposted here, that goes as follows:

No, I'm sorry but I can't use this.

There's much to like. I'm impressed by your knowledge of the Q'uran and Islamic traditions. (Having spent a couple of years in the Middle East, I know something about these things.) You did a good job of exploring the worm-brained mentality of those people - at the end we still don't really understand it, but then no one from the civilized world ever can - and I was pleased to see that you didn't engage in the typical error of trying to make this evil bastard sympathetic, or give him human qualities.

However, as I say, I can't use it. Because Helix is a speculative fiction magazine, and this isn't speculative fiction.

Oh, you've tacked on some near-future elements at the end, but the future stuff isn't in any way necessary to the story; it isn't even connected with it in any causal way. True, the narrator seems to be saying that it was this incident which caused him to take up the jihad, but he's being mendacious (like all his kind, he's incapable of honesty); he was headed in that direction from the start, and if it hadn't been the encounter with the stripper it would have been something else.

Now if it could be shown that something in this incident showed him HOW the West could be overthrown, then perhaps the story would qualify as SF. That might have been interesting. As it is, though, no connection is shown and in fact we are never told just how this conquest - a highly improbable event, to say the least - came about.

There are some other problems with the story, but there's no point in going into them, because they don't really matter from my viewpoint. It's not speculative fiction and I can't use it in my magazine.

And I don't think you're going to sell it to any other genre magazine, for that reason - though you'd have a hard time anyway; most of the SF magazines are very leery of publishing anything that might offend the sheet heads. I think you might have a better chance with some non-genre publication. But I could be wrong.

Sorry.

William Sanders
Senior Editor
Helix

And then Anonymous, who would seem to be William Sanders, responded to the LJ comment posting the rejection letter with

Son, hasn't anybody ever told you that public posting of a private email message is contrary to the rules both of accepted internet practice and common courtesy?

I do appreciate your efforts to be fair - certainly far more so than most of the other people in this ward, ah, group - but the fact remains that you've done something both socially and professionally unacceptable in posting it at all. So if you had any idea of submitting anything else to Helix, forget it. I won't work with people who pull this kind of shit.

I suppose this is what I get for trying to be a nice guy, and give you a little encouragement rather than the standard thanks-but-no-thanks form rejection. Silly me.

(I notice, too, the presence in the lynch mob of another person I've tried to help, and to whom I thought I'd been particularly kind. No good deed, etc.)

Of course none of these people have read the story, and so they fail to grasp the context - that I was talking not about Muslims, or Arabs, or Oompa Loompas or any other religious or ethnic group, but about terrorists and violent extremists. (That being, after all, what your story was about.)

But I don't feel any need to defend myself, or Helix, to these people; indeed I doubt that there's anybody outside their little Mutual Masturbation Society who gives a damn what they think about anything at all.

They are cordially invited to have intercourse with their precious selves. I'm sure most of them could use the practice.

genx_xslacker
For everyone born between 1965 and 1976, your commnunity is here.

localgrr
The home of Local Girl's Day in Pictures.

oh_my_tatt
A place for showing off and discussing tattoos.

this is matt damon.

this is how he looks now.

:(

            I don’t remember much except for the movement of people. The light had been flicked on, and there were nurses and doctors in a flurry around him. Around the body. The woman who had been my father’s nurse, Sue, stood in front of me and broke into tears, ‘I’m so sorry, your Dad is dead’.

            I went numb, for all the worth that going numb is. Finding my feet, finding my eyes, my breath. Finding my glasses, my shoes- my shirt. I felt the weight crawling into my chest, breath being pushed out of my lungs. It couldn’t be.

            He was white, but he was still warm. His eyes were closed, and they had taken off his glasses. The doctors looked at me, and I could feel their eyes prying. How could he be dead? How could he be dead when only an hour ago he had asked me what I wanted for breakfast in the morning?

            I had taken off then, they asked me to tell my Mom. How do you phrase a message like that? ‘Hey, Mom? Sorry to wake you up, but Dad just died and I think you need to come up to the hospital. KThx’. I just fumbled for our neighbors number, and had her go wake my Mom up, I was all alone, and no one else knew- and how could I explain to anyone, when I wasn’t even sure it was real myself?

            I tried to call Javier, then, but I had forgotten that his Mother was staying with him. She had picked up the phone, and I was crying to hard for her to understand much more than that I needed him. She had said no, she wouldn’t wake him up, but I had begged- but she didn’t understand English- so she hung up. When I called back, right after- it was out of anger and frustration, how dare she? How dare she tell me no? He is my best friend, and I need him- and when I babbled in Spanish that my father was dead, she just hung up again.

            I was all alone. I was all alone sitting on the steps on the top floor of the hospital. I was all alone and sobbing on the cold steps of the seventh floor because my Dad was no longer there, and I couldn’t believe it, that maybe it was my fault.

            When I had gone back into the room, I wanted to be alone with him. When I had come in at 11pm, he had been breathing heavily. He had been sorting of laying sideways, and he had been having a hard time breathing. When I asked him if he was comfortable, he had said yes- even though you could tell that he had just sort of ended up in that position.

            How can I explain? My Dad couldn’t move very well. He was so full of water, because his body couldn’t get rid of it, that everything hurt to move. His fingers looked like those latex gloves, but blown up. They were white, and when you tried to hold his hand- your fingers left red indents on his skin, and they took a few minutes to get away.

            My Dad couldn’t eat either, he couldn’t hold a spoon or a fork properly, because his hands and fingers were so swollen that he couldn’t close them around any kind of utensil. He would become angry, when you tried to help him eat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to it, it was just that his pride was wounded. Inside he was still a strong man, a man who could go to the bathroom by himself, eat by himself, a man who took care of people- who provided for his family. On the outside, he could barely even talk, and when he did talk, he couldn’t breathe- and so he only made sounds. But you could tell, that he was in pain- and it was his pride that hurt the worst.

            He died because he couldn’t breathe. He had hundreds of different infections in his body, and the infections mixed with the fact that he was unable to get rid of water- killed him. He died slowly, and painfully- his lungs filled up with water, and when oxygen couldn’t get into his system through his lungs anymore, he suffocated to death. I like to believe that he picked that time to go, but I don’t think he was ready to die. I think that everyone thought that was best for him, and the infections got worse, because he stopped fighting- he didn’t want to live if it was going to be that way. But if it could have been any different, I think he would have wanted to live.

            When I went and saw him, again, it was like looking at a body made of clay. All pale- gray looking.  When someone dies, their blood pools at the lowest part of their body, since he was laying on his back- there were dark red blotches on his back against the sheet… that was where the blood pooled. I wanted to hold his hand, but it had already started getting cold- and he wasn’t there anymore.

            It was strange with all the machines off, with the IV taken out of his arm- and the lack of the tick, tick, tick that had always been around him. We had teased him about being a living metronome, but now all of it was ended. And he was gone.

 

Jesse Helms died! :D :D



Here are some quotes to remember him by:

-"To rob the Negro of his reputation of thinking through a problem in his own fashion is about the same as trying to pretend that he doesn't have a natural instinct for rhythm and for singing and dancing"

-"It's their deliberate, disgusting, revolting conduct that is responsible for the disease" (on gays and AIDS)

-"The Negro cannot count forever on the kind of restraint that's thus far left him free to clog the streets, disrupt traffic, and interfere with other men's rights"

-"They should ask their parents if it would be all right for their son or daughter to marry a Negro" (on the Duke University students upset by Martin Luther King's assassination)

-"I've never heard once in this chamber anybody say to the homosexuals, 'stop what you're doing.' If they would stop what they're doing there would not be one additional case of AIDS in the United State"

-"If homosexuals would only stop doing what they're doing, There wouldn't be any more AIDS"

-"All Latins are volatile people. Hence, I was not surprised at the volatile reaction" (after Mexicans protested his visit to Mexico in 1986 to investigate allegations of political corruption--essentially, Helms was investigating as to whether or not there might be communists in Mexico)

-"Nevertheless, if the Administration insists on funding these programs I shall not stand in the way, so long as you agree to the following conditions: 1) that no funds be obligated to any affiliate of the International Planned Parenthood Foundation (IPPF) in Haiti, including PROFAMIL; and 2) that no funds be provided directly or indirectly to any group whose programs include producing material intended to be used in a voodoo ceremony ... A.I.D. is funding programs that endorse or legitimize what amounts to witchcraft."

-"You needed that job and you were the best qualified. But they had to give it to a minority because of a racial quota" (from his campaign ad)

-"As for homosexuality, The Bible judges it, I do not... There is no justification for AIDS funding far exceeding that for other killer diseases such as cancer, heart trouble, etc. As for [your son] Mark, I wish he had not played Russian roulette in his sexual activity... There is no escaping the reality of what happened" (in a letter to a mother who lost her son to AIDS)

-"These people are intellectually dishonest in just everything they say or do. They start by pretending that it is just another form of love. It's sickening" (on gays)

-"I am not going to put a lesbian in a position like that. If you want to call me a bigot, fine" (on why he was opposing the appointment of a woman to a post in Department of Housing and Urban Development)

I had an episode the other day....I basically went nuts. Tore all the books off my bookshelves, ripped pages from them, ripped apart notebooks- smoked a whole pack of cigarettes, went for a walk, cried, punched the side of my car-----it was not good. I have never done anything like that before, but I kind of just went nuts...ugh.

My Mother is driving me mad. Her constant noseying around, and telling me what to do, what to wear, what religion I am supposed to be. I want to smack her sometimes. I grew up while I was gone, I am not a kid anymore. I do not need you to tell me it is past my bedtime! I do not need you to harass me about my smoking habits. I do not need you touching my stuff, and telling me that I need to lose weight.  I just fucking don't need it!

I told her that if I moved back, our relationship wouldn't be the same. That I had lived on my own for a year, and that I had gained an independence that I refused to give up! She keeps reminding me of why I left in the first place, psycho.

My car broke down on the highway today, belt flew off, power steering went, stuff leaked out of it- there was a minor fire. Yes, I am OK...but I feel bad for the poor car! God, I cannot wait till I am taking the buses again! Woohoo!


I HAVE A JOB! Yes a job with full medical coverage (not having to pay a cent out of pocket will be nice!) And also, it has a dental and vision program, and a tuition assistance program, and I start next week. Life can't get much better than that. :D





I cannot wait to move out of my house.

One more month. <3 August 1st and I am in the win! ;D

housematehorror
Horror stories from the world of shared living spaces. EEK!

dwseason4
A journal where the alternative fourth season of the TV show Doctor Who is being written.

lol_comics
Keep youself smiling at the little things with some funny comics.

bikes
A community for everyone who loves bicycles, motorbikes, and more.

What can I say?

This life is strange, and beautiful, and hurting- and humbling.

I have experienced so much, and yet I know I have so far to.

Crazy.

 

Big Read Thingy
Hmm, list of hundred Books. I hope I score well.

I have read 50. :)