THOUGHTS ON CRITICAL RACE THEORY (CRT)

Screenshot of Louisiana textbooks being REALLY racist. Like, SO much.

If critical race theory is so evil that it can’t be allowed in schools… Why is this nonsense allowed?

I mean, I’d be okay doing without CRT if the textbooks actually taught history and not revisionist nonsense. Because if everything wasn’t slanted toward “the poor plantation owners,” and if the word “slave” wasn’t actively being changed by textbook writers to deny the AWFULNESS of slavery, there wouldn’t need to be critical race theory.

Everyone would know that slavery is wrong.

That African Americans didn’t choose to hop on boats and work in fields picking cotton for no pay. That they didn’t choose to be collared and beaten and sold away from their families and friends to toil until they died under the cruelest system imaginable. That the slave owners were the worst sort of people imaginable and nothing to worship and emulate; just monsters in human skin, whining that they had to give up slavery and actually pay workers fair wages.

“Nobody wants to work anymore”–is a codified phrase used today with the implication that workers, “the lessers of society,” are to blame for businesses “failing.” Rather than accepting that their leaning on a failed business model–a pyramid scheme where workers are paid chump change while CEOs have golden parachutes–is the problem, they want to blame people for wanting a living wage.

There’s a reason they want textbooks that lie.

Because when they do evil things to workers in the modern world, they can point at those lying textbooks and say, “What are you complaining about? We paid to bring people from Africa to work in America. They chose to come and work in exchange for food, water, and a pallet to sleep on. Their lives here were so much better than back in their original country. They were glad to leave and come to America. They were grateful enough to call their saviors their ‘masters.’ They were happy to work for no money in return for a better life. And you should be too. ‘Slavery’ is just a word, after all, like ‘indentured servant’ and ‘whipping someone so much that they die.’ It’s the natural order of things. All workers should be glad for the chance to work, even without pay or any compensation. That’s what America needs to go back to: Traditional Family Values.”

Meanwhile, the percentage of slave owners/masters/abusers is MUCH HIGHER than the 1.4% they want to lie about.

“Don’t blame me. My family was poor and couldn’t afford slaves.”

“Why do I care what happened decades before I was born? Don’t make me feel uncomfortable about it. I didn’t have anything to do with slavery!”

In 1860, 90% of America’s black population was enslaved, and blacks made up over 50% of the population of states like South Carolina and Mississippi. To suggest this ubiquity of human bondage in 1860s America was the result of only “1.4% of whites” owning slaves would be, to put it mildly, an inaccurate reading of U.S. history.

Snopes (Did Only 1.4 Percent of White Americans Own Slaves in 1860? | Snopes.com)

The phrase “a ‘society with slaves’ is different from a ‘slave society'” resonates strongly with me. Because we weren’t a society with slaves.

We were a slave society.

Because like the earlier tweet pointed out–“They were able to reclaim their plantation but, due to emancipation (the freeing of slaves), lost all their property in slaves. The family had to face the new reality of planting and harvesting their fields with freed people who, Kate regretted, now demanded ‘high wages.‘”–the whole business model the South was dependent on fell apart without slaves. Having to pay people even a minimal amount of money for their work was TOO MUCH for a lot of slave owners/holders to handle.

Their businesses fell apart because they didn’t have human beings to exploit and abuse.

And FYI

The definition for “indentured servant”–

a person who signs and is bound by indentures to work for another for a specified time especially in return for payment of travel expenses and maintenance

–says right in it that it IS NOT SLAVERY.

To use the two interchangeably is disingenuous at best, and outright evil at worst.

An indentured servant signed paperwork to agree to work for someone for a prearranged amount of time in return for travel expenses, food, shelter, and pocket money. They had legal recourses in the event of abuses, and could even break their contracts if they had reason.

A slave wasn’t even seen as human–“lost all their property in slaves“–but as property to be traded, sold, and bred. They certainly had no option to say “I don’t want to work for you anymore” and to leave, because the ones that fled were hunted down by people whose sole business involved retrieving “lost” slaves to their owners for money.

And I added that emphasis there–“for money“–because it’s one more proof that the United States of America started as a slave society. Because the very framework of Southern society was built on the backs of human misery, to the point that their lifestyles collapsed without slaves to hold it up.

The fact that some modern Americans are trying to take us back to those times, and are using the textbooks currently taught in schools to do so, is reprehensible. I am disgusted by the whole lot of them.

And so, if the textbooks are teaching a false narrative, then critical race theory should definitely be taught in schools. Because everybody should get an oogy-creepy awful feeling when they read something like–

Kate felt ambivalent about the end of slavery, but after the war, she did her best to adjust to a world that she felt had been turned upside down. She married, raised children, and devoted herself the memoralizing the service of Confederate soldiers like her brothers. She founded the Madison Parish chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, and remained active until her death in 1907.

In this chapter, we will examine the political and cultural issues that led to sectional tensions and, ultimately, led Louisiana to secede from the Union. We will also learn about the wartime experiences of soldiers, politicians, civilians, and slaves in Union-occupied areas of Louisiana and in the parts of the state that remained in Confederate hands throughout the war. Finally, we will examine the immediate consequences of the war’s end.

–Louisiana state approved textbook: Louisiana Our History, Our Home

–in a textbook used to shape and mold children.

Seriously? She was still teaching hate and being awful right up until her death in 1907? She spent her whole life being awful and shaping people around her to be awful? And we’re not supposed to believe that racism is systemic?

The United States was built as a slave society, and some assholes want to go back to that. And to segregation. And to a time when brutally murdering someone was okay if you could excuse it with “He whistled at my girl.”

And I don’t want to go there.

That time and place seems dingy and small. It feels like it would smell like sour milk misery and everything is humid like a sweat sock in use. Just moist all over.

I prefer history books that teach history. I want events as they were, without the gloss of “The Confederacy never died!”-madness or the revisionism of modern wannabe-slave holders.

And if we can’t have honest truth taught in schools? Then there needs to be critical race theory.

Because any reader should be able to look at the Louisiana: Our History, Our Home textbook and realize that it’s full of lies and biased opinion rather than fact. That it’s slanted toward pro-slavery views rather than expressing the simple truth that slavery is wrong.

And if children are being taught these biased views from a young age, and in schools, and everywhere around them until they decide to leave it all behind and face reality… Everyone needs critical race theory at this point. It should be on TV. There should be intros and outros to TV episodes and movies explaining why the creator chose this or that, and why this or that is currently and was always wrong.

Because critical race theory is simply the ability to look at the situation as it presents itself and see where the biased opinions are, where the author’s leanings are trying to take things, and to feel empathy and to seek the truth of what’s happening. It’s the ability to look at a map of gerrymandered districts and see what is happening there, rather than just accepting that life has always been and always will be unfair.

If people don’t face the problems in a society, they never get fixed. And some people will take things backward to when things “used to work” even if that old system was a failure that never should have existed in the first place.

The United States began as a slave society where everything was built on and depended on human misery. People lived and died to change things and make things better for us all.

And now terrible people are devoting their entire lives to oppressing us and our children’s children. They are writing textbooks that contort the truth. They are trying to change history as we remember it to further their own aims of dominion over us all.

There are people actively trying to suppress democracy.

And they’re targeting your children to do it.

All Systems Red at Amazon

Flipping back through my Twitter times. To further some thoughts that maybe should have been left where they lay.

Like this robots tweet, that makes me think of that scene in iRobot where the robot is flipping through the air as it attacks and it’s fast and frightening.

I appreciate that they’re not risking the lives of real stunt people.

I think that’s a good thing.

Original seasons of Roseanne were really everyday life in the United States. Like, it was the first time they showed what life was really like on TV versus the romanticized versions of previous family-focused shows.

Before it jumped the shark, the show was a slice of real life. From the good to the bad.

And that story arc where Dan’s salesman dad comes to visit and impregnates Crystal before ducking out… ooh. I didn’t realize how much it had stuck to me until I re-watched episodes as an adult and the reaction was visceral, man.

It popped in my head: “She’s a single mom struggling everyday to do right by her son. She came from abusive relationships and has always done the best she can. Of all the people he had to talk up, why did he have to screw around with Crystal? Like Dan said, ‘You’ve known her since she was a little girl.’ So at the very least, he should have had the humanity to leave. her. alone.”

Yeah. The show used to be honest and real in those first few seasons. I haven’t seen the new series, but OG Roseanne was family life in the late 80s.

Did anybody else watch The Tribe?

Zoot was a total asshole.

They’re like cute little fairy creatures.

Dancing and bobbing to the music of nature. Drifting closer to the human encampment. Curious voices and tittering carried by the wind.

I have a sudden interest in reading the old Popeye comics.

I don’t want to buy them. I just want to take a little look.

Count Zero at Amazon

Thoughts on Things

So… There’s been a lot of Florida Man incidents in the news lately.

Like, Florida Man recently kicked an iguana to death then claimed Stand Your Ground laws in court. https://twitter.com/HarperKingsley0/status/1400140467207999488?s=20

Or, Florida Man recently took his 10-year old son on a paintball drive-by that resulted in the kid being shot with a real gun and run over by his dad’s van. https://twitter.com/HarperKingsley0/status/1400166245429772290?s=20

“12-year-old boy, 14-year-old girl open fire at deputies with guns including AK-47, Florida sheriff’s officials say”

“A right-wing Florida pastor was hospitalized with Covid-19, weeks after saying vaccination efforts were part of a ‘mass death campaign.'”

So… yeah.

It feels like people are acting up lately.

Stay safe, normal people of Florida. We’re all praying for you. What with Florida Man being on the loose.

Writing stuff

Still working on my Bits and Bobs project. Gonna finish up a couple more fills and make it public.

The current settings of the browser play game have all content available. The purple (paid content) and the red (NSFW) writing is going to be in the paid version, same with most of the green (spoilers).

As the Itch system is currently set, if you have a game available for browser play, it’s there for everyone. I’m okay with that.

The only unfortunate thing is that if you buy the game, you still have to download it to your own computer/phone to play.

I think it would be better if you could just log in and have the full game available in their game browser. That way the updates are right there. And there’s nothing to download and fidget with.

As it is, the paid version will include a zip file of html and image files. Unzip the folder and click index to start. Any updates will include instructions of where to drop the new files. That’s the plan.

Otherwise, I have no idea what I’m doing.

“WIPs, Snips, Bits and Bobs” by Harper Kingsley. https://harperkingsley.itch.io/bits-and-bobs (current password: “Amorpho”)

Bits and Bobs: Story Prompt Generator

The “STORY PROMPT GENERATOR: 60 Prompts” section includes 60 story prompts for creatives.

I’ll likely include the current version of the story prompt generator itself in a later update. It’s a click-button tool that pulls up a character and a situation.

example: Prompt 26 and fill

26. Recently having regained human form, an alchemist’s apprentice drank a bottle of homemade alcohol.

He felt strange in his own skin, as though it didn’t fit anymore. He didn’t know if he’d outgrown himself or if his skin had shrunk while it was changed.

He felt uncomfortable in his human body. A month as an otter, and suddenly being human felt unfamiliar and wrong.

A part of him hadn’t wanted to change back.

If the spell hadn’t ended when it did, he might have decided to stay an otter. He might have followed the call of the sea and never come back to his humdrum existence at the Alchemists Guild.

And how should he feel about that? Happier as an otter than a human being.

The package had come for his master. She’d pointed at him and said, “Those must be the jams I ordered. Open it for me, would you?”

And he’d pulled the string and his everything had changed. Simpler and easier without losing a sense of “Everything is good and right.”

There had been joy as an otter that his regular life lacked. He wasn’t awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. He was sleek and graceful and diving into the water was like coming home.

He raised the cup of Master Gardener’s best homebrew to his lips. The taste of the beer was said to be excellent; he didn’t know. He’d never had much fondness for alcohol. It was just that he felt so lost (afraid). He needed something to help him feel anchored.

So here he was in the toolshed with four other apprentices. His friends and age-mates.

Smug bastards that didn’t and wouldn’t understand the great sense of loss he felt.

For a brief time, he’d been whole.

“How you doin’, mate?” Alby asked.

“I’m alright,” he said, then coughed to clear his throat and take another drink. He didn’t see the concerned looks he received.

“I can’t imagine the bollocks on the magicians, thinking they could turn Master Flamewroth into an animal. She’d probably have been a tiger and torn them to pieces. Tough luck on you, though.”

“Yeah. Tough luck on me.”

/END Prompt 26

Bits and Bobs: Current suggested path

When you first run Bits and Bobs, click the “Show NSFW” button then click the “Hide NSFW” button (if you don’t really want to see NSFW content). The current settings have the “Show NSFW’ button unlocking what would otherwise be paid content (purple text).

Everything is currently a work-in-progress. Segments that have “/END” after them can be expanded at any time. (Especially if someone shows interest in a particular segment.)

The actual NSFW content is currently at around PG-15 levels. When everything’s finished, the button will mostly be for violence, language, dialogue, and graphic imagery. Erotica and all that will be separate modules available for purchase and download. That way I don’t have to worry about minors accessing content way outside their current kink settings.

There will also be extra story modules available for some projects otherwise unavailable for purchase (Tuesday Night, et al).

“WIPs, Snips, Bits and Bobs” by Harper Kingsley. https://harperkingsley.itch.io/bits-and-bobs (current password: “Amorpho”)

Oh yeah, and fyi, I’m writing this project in text, which means no spellcheck. I fix the mistakes that I spot, otherwise I’m going to run it through a spellchecker when I’m done with the project base.

Heroes & Villains at Amazon

Sound Beyond Sound

Excerpt:

I feel like I’m getting sick. Or on the brink of having a migraine.

It’s that feeling of having woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

Part of me just wants to go back to bed, curl up in my blankets, and sleep and sleep until I feel less like everything is off kilter.

But if I do that, these people can’t take care of themselves. They are mess-makers and helpless in the face of it. Constantly crying out "Help me!" even if not through words. The scream of unoiled hinges purposely made to sound their noise. The thump of items being tossed onto the counter or floor. The heavy crack of porcelain being set down much too roughly.

I wouldn’t get much sleep anyway.

With a heavy sigh, I pull myself to my feet and head to the laundry room to move the clothes to the dryer.

I am just opening the dryer when I hear it.

Cr-THUMP.

There’s something about the sound that puts me instantly on edge. There feels like jolts of electricity flowing from the top of my head, down my arms, and into my fingers, causing them to twitch and tingle. I am afraid, and I don’t know why. It’s just terror, pure and uncut by reason.

In other circumstances, I would have called out, "Are you all right?" as the noise was likely my family.

But in this moment? In this time?

Something’s very wrong.

Tears burn in my eyes and I don’t know why. There’s a sense of impending doom.

Over the pounding of my heart, I strain to listen to the world beyond the laundry room door. I dread the window at my back, but whatever’s happening in the house–the kitchen? the living room?–is real.

Because I can hear other sounds now. Growing sounds. Thumps, bumps, what sounds like a moaning growl. The scuff of something being dragged across the hardwood floor.

And with it, there’s this sound that pierces to the soul of my every fear. Urine prickles, and subconsciously I squeeze to keep from peeing myself. It’s a comfort. Something I can semi-control in the face of whatever’s happening on the other side of the door.

Because something terrible is happening out there.

Something is very very wrong out there.

Dread is pressing down on me. Oppressive fear has turned my knees to water. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to.

Because whatever was happening to my family in the rest of the house? It already felt like it was too late.

In my mind, it was blatantly obvious: They’re all dead. Why else weren’t they screaming? Why else hadn’t I seen someone run past the laundry room window as they fled the house to safety? Why else could I still hear that sound.

Whatever it was, it was growing in power and intensity. Louder, stronger, a pulsing something almost recognizable building out of what had seemed a dull buzz before.

My bones were aching.

My eyes felt like they were being pressed into the back of my skull, the orbs being squished into the bone. I clenched my eyelids shut in pain. Nausea churned in my gut

I would have laid down on the floor if I had any control. But it felt like my tendons had stiffened into lines of fire stretching my limbs out in a clenching, quivering, uncontrollable shaking. My skin felt like it was going to split open from the pressure as my body juddered and jerked.

Consciousness was slipping out of my control, and I was glad of it.

I’d rather be unconscious when whatever that was killed me. That way I wouldn’t have to feel it.

My body slipped sideways against the washing machine and I slid down onto the floor, the back of my head knocking against an inconvenient shoe rack. My neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, but I barely cared in the face of everything else.

Stiff as a board, my body shuddered and shook. I could feel my arms and legs shaking and twitching, my feet pointed so far down and so stiffly that I wondered if my toes were going to break off.

It was outside the door. A sweeping "wh-UM-um-UMmmMMmmMM b-muh-WUH-hmmmMMMhhMhmmm" of sound-deeper-than-sound walking the hallway outside.

It was a relief to lose consciousness. To get away from that growing horrible sound that had turned my bowels to liquid. To know that whatever happened next, I wouldn’t have to be awake for it.

(x_x ) ( x_x ) ( x_x)

They called themselves The Settlers. They were from some far off star they refused to name, and they’d come to Earth to make it their new home. Which meant clearing humans off the land they’d designated for their Pod Cities. Those peapod-shaped buildings reaching up for the sky as their roots and wires dug deep and deeper into the ground below, pumping out The Sludge, a bile yellow mystery that was likely doing something terrible.

Their alien telepathy didn’t interact well with the human brain. There were a lot of deaths. Hundreds of millions, burned to atoms in highly efficient alien kilns.

I woke up in the labor camp a sibling-less orphan. The human doctor–eyes showing startled fear that was gradually changing to a deeper, lasting terror–injected me with five syringes in the same arm and sent me on my way. No explanations of what were in the injections. No words spoken at all.

I put on the clothes I had been given–loose gray pants, a green tee shirt–and followed the signs to the largest of four buildings located within the miles of fence. Massive sprawling buildings that were eerily quiet.

People everywhere within the fence. Adults and children intermixed in masses of wide-eyed terror, the shock a palpable presence everywhere I looked.

And they were all so quiet. It was weird. And frightening.

Nobody spoke. Nobody vocalized a sound. There was touch, there was gesture, but nobody spoke. No babies screamed in their parents’ arms. It was just masses of people moving around each other, exploring the confines of our cage.

And as I opened the door of the big building and stepped past the threshold, I realized that I hadn’t spoken either.

I should have asked the doctor questions. I should have been demanding answers. But I hadn’t said anything.

The doctor had been silent. The nurses and other patients had been silent.

And I hadn’t felt a single need to speak.

I still didn’t.

Wait, what?

I thought about saying something, but there was no desire there. There was no need to speak. No purpose to it. No reason to make a single sound.

And when I forced my mouth open and air escaped my throat, I realized that I didn’t know how to speak. I remember having done it before, the sound of my own voice, the ease of it all, but it was… distant. Broken somehow.

Because when I tried to speak, my mouth moved, air flowed, but I didn’t know how to make my vocal cords work. They were dead things in my throat. Or maybe I had forgotten what they were.

/EXCERPT