Before the Kickstarter finished up, Recognize Fascism declared one final stretch goal: to send a copy of the book to every member of the US Congress and Supreme Court.

It was another seven and a half thou, I didn't think it would happen.

It happened; we closed out a bit above goal for that.

Holy shit.

(Also, that's terrifying.)
kiya: (missing something)
( Aug. 23rd, 2018 01:03 pm)
Now, speaking as someone who has a lot of complicated baggage around the whole Are You Emotioning In An Approved And Socially Correct Fashion For The Situation just to freaking start with, I find myself rather utterly at a fucking loss for how to respond to the news sometimes. Like, what is even a reasonable and proportionate response to the news. What is normal to feel about this? Damned if I know!

The difference between fiction and reality is fiction has to make sense.

(This thought brought to you by the bit where a certain someone suggested that it should maybe be closer to illegal... to turn state's evidence.)
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Link from [livejournal.com profile] nex0s.

"Barack Obama: Kind American Stranger"
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"Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword."

Love is radical.



Love is radical.

Love is radical, and I light a candle to shed red-glass light on Lilitu's owl-clawed feet, because today I am a child of the Mother of Demons. My love will shake the world, fan out like the peacock fan that spreads behind Her and glows in the firelight in honor of strife and compassion.

Love is radical, and its tears will extinguish Hell, but only if we burn with it. It is not enough to love quietly, mousily, in the safe spaces, because love is radically unsafe. Love will throw you through Hell and walk with you on the hike out. Love does not let you hide behind walls, it will slice you open, it will make you bleed.

Love is an act of blood. Love is an act of bone. It is your breath.

I am a child of the Mother of Demons. My love will rip up the foundations of the world if need be. It will tear apart your safe spaces. It will not let me be silent. My love is a claimed conspiracy to riot stashed in a jail cell awaiting judgement in Minnesota. My love does not wait for a permit or follow an established route. It is here now there then always not with a whimper but a bang and if your world is ending for it then remember that love will divide your families, set kith against kith and kin against kin, that you were warned and said you believed.

I am a child of the Mother of Demons. My love roars like the hollow wind. My love comes for the children. It does not listen to the doors. My love sees people married without checking their genitalia at the door, without evaluating the colour of their skin, without seeing if they have a hollowness that will be filled with a baby. My love sings and screams and goes to the ballot box dancing with the joy of holiness.

I am a child of the Mother of Demons. I walk a warrior path of love, and follow the song of my heart. I hold sunlight in my right hand and shadow and storm in my left, and am born of the serpent's dance with the falcon. I have the restored Eye and I offer it to you, that you may live.

I am a child of the Mother of Demons. I am one of the ones to fear, who goes stealthy through today in my cat-print pyjamas passing for one of you normal ones, the sane ones, the pretty children who went to school and then to the university and got put in boxes and came out all the same. I am the pervert among you, the polytheist, the deviant, the one whose world is wider than you can face, I stand at the open door in the desert from which there is no return.

There is no male or female, no free or slave, no line of race or creed or colour in love. Fear me, for I love you.


[ Apologies to those who get it twice. It matters enough to risk my semi-anonymity on the blog. ]
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