Oh my beautiful lovely Scotland, how you have failed yourself. Now it’s time to take a good hard look at the way this battle was fought - all vapid cheerleaders and patronising feel-good rhetoric.

Where was the substance? Where was the intellectual level-up that would have brought the majority into the debate and on-side? Scottish people are not stupid. Distracted, beaten, weak and scared, yes, but not stupid, and you treated them as though they were.

This was this generation’s chance to have a grown-up discussion about independence, and you turned it down for a back-slapping circlejerk that made you feel better about your own contributions. A self-publicising wank-fest that served the people involved in it and nobody else. Hello NationalCollective I’m talking at you.
We’ll wait another 30 years to have another shot at this and god only knows what other British atrocities we’ll be complicit in by then.

I’m angry right now and I’m sorry if this upsets you, but the time to think it through was months ago. This fight goes to the enemy, because we failed to understand the nature of the terrain.


  • Question: confession: father I have sinned, for I love someone who does not love me back. what is my penance. - Anonymous
  • Answer:


    Get a mirror, prop it against a wall, get on your knees, grab both verticlal sides of the mirror, listen to Two Veruca Salt Songs, and say 15-30 “Fuck Them If They Don’t Want In On This”es.

    If you’re not familiar with it, the full penance goes like this:

    "Fuck them if they don’t want in on this.
    I am a fantastic, darkly luminescent consciousness
    who deserves to be loved in an equal capacity
    to the love of which I am capable.
    I will love myself
    and honour myself
    and anybody who doesn’t want in on this
    can go fuck themselves.”

    Say it with love and compassion, in your heart, then Go, and Sin No More.

Source: wolvensnothere


Athens: Riot follows a large scale police attack on a 10.000 antifa demo for Pavlos Fyssas

18 September 2014. No words can really describe what happened during the protest for the murder of antifascist rapper Pavlos Fyssas (Killah P), exactly one year ago on September 18, 2013 by 40-50 neonazis in Keratsini, Athens, Greece.

No words can describe it, simply because different people experienced different levels of police brutality in a lot of different places across the big antifa protest of at least 10.000 people.
And this happened because almost 40 minutes after the beginning of the antifascist march, suddenly scores of riot policemen attempted to encircle the massive anarchist bloc, but were met with strong resistance, so the police proceeded to attack the bloc with the aid of asphyxiating gas and flash bang grenades.

Antifascists were forced to respond with molotov and petrol bombs (as depicted in the video) to delay the police attack and to gain some distance between them, so that people may protect themselves better.

Following the riot police attack, the demo was then forced to split in 3 different segments, that followed completely different routes, chased by hundreds of riot policemen and after many consecutive brutal attacks in the narrow streets of Kerachini people continued to split up in many smaller parts, which made them an easy target, especially for the gangs of police bikers. Thus, more than 100 protesters were arrested.

After all this was an antifascist protest and at least half of the greek police force, according to voting statistics, has voted for the neonazi party “Golden Dawn” that its members were responsible and have been charged for the murder of Pavlos Fyssas. So in reality, yesterday the antifascist protest was not just attacked by police, but in essence was attacked by neonazis in police uniforms.

Following the arrests, approximately 300 people gathered for many hours in solidarity outside the police headquarters, demanding the release of the protesters in police custody. It is yet unknown how many people were released or have been charged.

Source: fromgreecetoanarchy

Here’s the thing. Arguments about fiscal prudence and long-term stability, although they may be well-researched and articulate, no longer have any real weight.

Cameron will shortly take his bow no matter what happens. Tory MPs, the UK media and the entire political class in general have had a hell of a scare, they’re reeling and humiliated by how badly they’ve judged this.

They will not forget or forgive being shamed like this.

A No vote now is a vote to surrender up Scottish civic society to powerful vengeful butchers who would slice us up and hammer us down “pour encourager les autres”.

We have waded too far out, flown too high. The clear blue sky is within our grasp and the alternative is to never glimpse it again.

This is intended to reach those who are still thinking they’ll vote No Thanks. I am straight up begging you to reconsider, to vote the opposite way than you thought you would when you reach the privacy of the voting booth. There is no security for Scotland in the union anymore. The last few days have made that abundantly clear.

So please vote Yes - a leap into the unknown is the only reasonable option, there is no turning back now.

If that’s not a positive enough argument for you, then consider this - it’s better to regret the things you tried and failed, than the things you failed to try.

Peace out and sleep well all my brothers and sisters, muckle and wee. Tomorrow is the biggest day in yours and my political history and there is gallus work to do.

Go to it.


amidstthetrees owing to the terribleness of my android tumblr client it seems I can’t reply to your reply directly, so I hope you catch this.

Thanks for your kind words, and good advice. I find the interaction involved with asking for substitutions almost invariably makes the request worthwhile. Canadians I have met so far have been unfailingly friendly, generous and welcoming people.

I’m in Calgary to start a PhD with UofC’s excellent English Literature department. It’s my first time in Canada and I’ve been here a little over a week. My coursework begins in earnest tomorrow morning. Honestly, I couldn’t be more excited about it.


Found a neo-Greek souvlaki joint in the local mall. Couldn’t resist having a go.

"Hello there, do you do vegetarian souvlaki?"

A smiling fellow with George on his nametag stepped forward, “Haha, yes, you can have anything, vegetarian.” (I may have been imagining the last comma, but then again, maybe not.)

"Great. I’ll take a wrap with everything you normally put in the souvlaki wrap, except the meat."

"Hahaha, sorry sir, souvlaki is just meat!"

"Yes I know!", (I never let an implied exclamation point go unchallenged), "what I mean is, I want a wrap with all the salad and dressing and stuff as usual but with no meat, and with some fries instead."

"Haha, okay, you want a salad wrap with some fries on the side? Or you want a platter?"

"Nope, I want the fries in the wrap with the salad."

There was a moment or two of silence as he processed this. A tiny lady working in the back came forward to listen. Clearly, neither of them had signed up for this kind of thing.

"You know, like they do it in Greece," I added, helpfully.

"Aha, you want some salad and some fries in the wrap with tzatziki?" George, god bless him, was rolling with it. Tiny lady still seemed somewhat at sea but she haltingly began to assemble this outlandish order.
“It’s okay,” George reassured her softly, “it’s the Greek way. They put everything in, they don’t even ask you.”

"You have been to Greece? Haha," he turned back to me, as though I were perhaps some ancestral Attic spirit come in disguise to test them.
“Oh yes, Athens and Corfu.”
“Haha, when was this?” I thought I detected the slightest quaver of hysteria in his voice.
“Oh, a couple of years ago, 2012.”
“Recently then? Ha.” He visibly relaxed. “Where in Athens?”
I paused momentarily for dramatic effect, “Exarchia.”
“Hahahahaha, you have been to acropolis?”
“No,” I said with a firm shake of the head.
“Haha, I am from Plaka,” at least I think that’s what he said. I shrugged with an upward nod of my head to indicate that this information was of no real worth to me.
“Are you, haha, are you Canadian?” He asked this with a tiny disbelieving shake of his head.
“Ahaaaahaaha, you are European then, that explains, ahah. You like soccer, of-course-I-mean-football-haha?”
“Eeueegh,” I replied, “why not?”
“Haha, Rangers/Celtic/Aberdeen/Hearts?”
“No.” I said gravely.
“Hahaha. The national team then.”
“Sort of. What about you? Olympiakos?” Grinning, he shook his head. I dropped my voice as if asking whether he still wet his bed, “Panathinaikos?”
“Haha, no no, the third one!”
I shrugged with the negative upward nod again, this time making sure to communicate with facial expression that I doubted his grip on reason.
“Ike,” he almost swallowed the word, “haha, A…E-“
“Oh right. AEK.” I turned my face away from him.

Meanwhile, tiny lady had the fries and the wrap ready and stood hesitantly prepared to combine them.

"Ok, so you want the fries and the salad in the wrap?" She said this as if asking whether I was sure that I wanted to set myself on fire and run naked through the streets. She even exhaled puffily in a way that underlined her conscious and total rejection of any kind of comprehension.

"Yes please, and some cheese too." She froze for a second, and then quite gamely carried on, as though this wasn’t even nearly the most confrontational and challenging thing anyone had ever said to her at work. George meanwhile, was grinning and nodding.

"Haha, yes."

"You want jalapenos too?" I was growing to like tiny lady very much. She had abandoned her self-limiting frame of reference and embraced the seething vortex of conceptual chaos that makes ordering vegetarian souvlaki such dangerous fun.

"Hahaha," I heard George interject with an unmistakeably patronizing tone, but I was basically done with him by this point.

"Yes, thank you."

"Haha, what? Jalapenos?" His voice had now shifted a full octave upwards in pitch over the course of our exchange.

"I’m crazy dude. I just love the jalapenos." Tiny lady went to town with spoonfuls of raw, unpickled green chilli. Silently I cursed her, and Yiorgos, and myself.

Reader, it was painful, but actually pretty good.


Being the Occasional Journal of the Journeys of a Gentleman and Scholar in the Endless Northlands of the New World

First, and by way of preparatory exposition, the popular mode of transit in this town is known among the denizens of this place as the “sea-train” - this despite lying some fifty-thousand leagues or more from the closest ocean shore. The automated functionaries of this technological marvel remain nevertheless somewhat backward, refusing to countenance any offer of banknotes in exchange for dockets of travel, and insisting rather upon payment in the crude local coinage.

So it was that, in pursuit of my purpose of self-betterment and improvement, I had found myself in the great and shining halls of academe called the “You-of-Sea” in the native tongue. Along with a few newfound companions of the scholarly sort, we were making ready to approach the local port of embarkation for the sea-train when the sudden realization struck me like a thunderbolt that I carried only promissory monetary documents and was entirely devoid of the clanking, jingling metal currency tokens required for our land-bound voyage.

Ever-resourceful, I approached an approved vendor of the bewitching hot brew appellated “kwawfee” in these parts.
“Madam,” quoth I, for sure enough it was one of the womenfolk of this land who stood ready to serve steaming beverages to the yammering pups all around, “would you be amenable to an exchange of folding monies of the lowest denomination in return for hard coinage of equal value, that I may presently ride out from this place upon the rails of the so-called sea-train?”

Her gimlet peepers lifted and lit upon me with shrewd delight and her palm was roughly out-thrust in my direction, much in the manner of a fairground fortune-teller rudely demanding precious argent for her clairvoyant wisdom.
“Shewerrrrrr,” the word slipped her lips with barely concealed and somewhat unsettling glee.

Committed now to this negotiation, I determined to see it through, whatever the cost. Trusting, and yet suddenly most unsure, I crossed her open hand with a polymeric scrap worth five entire dollars in the local fiat currency.
“Two toonies and a loonie?” spake she, most ignobly.

Gentle reader, perhaps you may guess at my discomfiture. Was this some unwontedly quarrelsome gambit, practiced upon outlanders for the profit of these folk? I berated myself internally for my gullible weakness. How was I to take remedial action in this situation without drawing further attention to my status as a lone foreigner? Bereft of sabre or pistol, how was I to salvage honour and dignity in the face of such bald disregard for my many titles and achievements on more civilised soils?

For seconds that felt like hours, I bravely held her piercing gaze, attempting to ascertain if her intent was truly malicious. Her tanned visage was a crumpled map of an alien world and I could read nothing of any sensible import in her inscrutable features. My brow twitched and my eyes narrowed by a hair. She had the better of me, and there was nothing I could sanely do but admit I had been most cruelly outplayed.

"Indeed madam," I offered in the mellifluous tones of reconciliation, "it is as you say."

Whereupon she cackled and produced in a trice three coins as if by some occult technique. As she dropped them into my hardly trembling hand, I observed that they were of equal value to the note I had proffered. A single dollar and a pair of silvered doubloons. My estimation of this worthy personage had proved entirely inaccurate, and I felt the blossoming of shame deep within my heart at having judged her so ill.

"Yeww have a great day-ay," she urged me in the barbarous manner of these roughly-hewn folk.
“Be sure that I shall, good lady, and may you too find this particular diurnal cycle most personally rewarding in every possible way,” I rejoined in kind with as much spirit as I could muster in my fluster. Hurriedly, I retired to the sea-train’s nearest port of call.

Only later would I learn that the dollar coin of this nation is stamped with an impression of a local bird called the loon, and is thus referred to colloquially as a “loonie”. The two-dollar coin is referred to as a “toonie” for reasons which remain opaque to me, and which I am unwilling to guess at.

I record the details of this transaction here so that those who follow in my footsteps, as they surely shall, may be spared the ignominy of similar misunderstandings.

Yours, &c.

Photo Set


Lost Underwater Lion City: Rediscovery of China’s ‘Atlantis

Qiandao Lake is a man-made lake located in Chun’an County, China, where archeologists have discovered in 2001 ruins of an underwater city. The city is at a depth of 26-40 meters and was named “Lion City”. There would have been 290 000 people living in this city during more than 1300 years. Touristic expeditions are projected. A diving into Chinese Antiquity in the next part of the article.

(via kadrey)

Source: f-l-e-u-r-d-e-l-y-s
Photo Set


Common wisdom has it that Tumblr is filled mostly with people in their  teens and early twenties. I keep seeing people talk about being “older than the average” Tumblr user and naturally, that makes me curious to know, well, how old is the average Tumblr user, really? Fortunately, other people are interested in this, too, and have already done some surveys. This data comes from Google Doubleclick Ad Planner data that has been available to advertisers. It is from 2012, but it probably hasn’t changed significantly since then. This data came from the United States only, and the demographics may vary somewhat in other countries. 

Tumblr skews toward the younger end of the social media world, but the average age of Tumblr users is actually 34.6 years old. This is only a little bit younger than the average age for social media users as a whole (36.9). The youngest Tumblr users (0-24) are about 30% of total, while the next two groups (25-44) look like added together they’re a bit over 40%. Another website breaks down the same Ad Planner age data a bit differently and shows that people over 35 are 47% of Tumblr users. (13-17=8%; 18-34=45%). Compared to Facebook, where 66% of users are over 35, Tumblr definitely has a younger set of users. The average age, however, is still around going to be around 34 years old. No matter how you slice it,Tumblr is younger than most other social media sites, but not as young as you might think it is.

In terms of gender, the surveys only gathered data on male and female.Tumblr has 62% women, a fairly higher amount of women than Facebook (57%). but not nearly as much as Pinterest or Blogger.

So, while it’s fair to say that Tumblr is a more “youthful” site than most other social media sites, the idea that the “average” Tumblr user is in the youngest age group is incorrect.

I’m extremely curious about all this and this is my first inquiry into the topic. I haven’t even looked into the academic literature yet. So this is sort of a first look. I’ll definitely post about it when I find a properly designed, peer reviewed and published survey on the matter.

Source of graphs and information 

Additional information

(via wolvensnothere)

Source: fiftysevenacademics