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Hilariously, this post seems to have brought me to the attention of porn spammers. "Check out our spicy gallery!" etc. Epic fail.

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My new stock reply to cold-calling house brokers is "if you come near my house I will eat you," and it's been remarkably effective at reducing the number of such calls I receive. Feel free to use as needed.

Not posted for agreement or approval. If you share from my post, please leave my commentary intact. This has been a public service announcement.

This meme, and several others like it, are going around my friends list at the moment. A lot of the people sharing it are fellow , and I know why: it's an idea with strong appeal to those of us who were carefully trained in the capability for great , and then given the tools to put that training to use. It does things to your head, and one way to deal with those things is to convince yourself that it made you meaningfully better in some way.

Unfortunately, it's crap.

First of all, practically *everyone* is capable of great violence, and has been since the invention of . You don't have to be a hulking armored to mow down your enemies, or those you imagine to be your enemies. All you need is a working index finger. Sir Kittenfeeder isn't as special as you think he is.

(On the whole I think this is a good thing, although the ways in which it's ... not good ... are dramatic and horrible and in front of our faces with grotesque frequency. That's a different conversation.)

Second, yes, there are other levels of violence than the worst, and I think all in all it's good to have some familiarity with them. But there are matters of scale. Once upon a time I was at least a competent martial artist. I could have trained much harder than I did, every single day for my entire young adult life, and still never have been as good at it as the people born with the capacity to reach the top.

A very good but perhaps somewhat overenthusiastic coach told me I had the potential to be a pro. Some sparring sessions with actual pros—not champions, just those who were good enough to make a little money at it—demonstrated otherwise. Man's gotta know his limitations.

Third, and perhaps most important ... if you go around thinking all day about how capable of great violence you are, *you are not peaceful*. Oh, you may want to be. You may convince yourself and others around you that you are. If you and they are very lucky, you'll live your whole life without ever doing anything to break that peace. But you probably won't—and most likely those closest to you will pay the price.

The capacity to do violence, and the choice of whether or not to exercise it, are pretty much orthogonal. There are dangerous violent people, dangerous peaceful people, harmless violent people, and harmless peaceful people. We may fear and loathe the first, admire the second, pity the third, and not think much at all about the fourth because it's most people's default state most of the time. Good thing, too, because otherwise none of us would be here.

But any one of us can be any of the above, in different contexts at different times.

Absolutely, cultivate the capacity for violence if you want. In certain times and places, it's useful. Other times, it's at least good , and can lead to considerable self-improvement. Even as old and busted as I am, I still entertain thoughts of getting back into some kind of training one of these days. I miss it, and it did a lot to make me who I am.

Just remember it doesn't make you any better as a human being. Doesn't make you any worse, either. It's simply part of who you are, and it's up to the people around you to determine how good that is.

Oh yeah, and stop bragging, because that's not a good look for *anybody*.

Just found out that died today. He'd been in poor health for a while, so this isn't exactly a surprise, but it's still an ugly shock. 78 years is a good run, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

We only met once, at World Fantasy Con thirty or so years ago. Corresponded occasionally after that. I won't claim him as a friend, but he was at least a friendly colleague—and he *did* regard me as a colleague, which was a hell of an ego boost for a young writer. Maybe one of these days I'll even live up to it.

He was badly damaged by his experiences in Vietnam, and that damage came out in his writing. A lot of readers bounced off his style, and a lot of others bounced off ... certain characterizations and plot elements. If you're in the latter group, you know what I mean. I came close, a few times. But I didn't stop reading his work. Couldn't, really.

His work helped me deal with a whole lot of the snakes in my own head, and I know a number of other vets, across multiple generations, who can say the same.

There is a very small number of military science fiction writers who get it right, out of a sea of hi-ho, we're off for jolly adventures—including a great many who are praised for their realism. Truffaut was right: it's impossible to make an anti-war movie, and maybe it's impossible to write an anti-war book too. I've largely abandoned the genre for a number of reasons, and that's one of them.

He never claimed to be anti-war. He wasn't pro-war either. He just looked unflinchingly at the insanity of the whole thing. And maybe that was for the benefit of his own sanity, but he brought a whole lot of us along for the ride.

Ave atque vale. I hope he'd appreciate that.

I drink lemonade to prove that I can CRUSH the cruelest of all citrus fruits and DRAIN ITS BLOOD and then GRIND THE BONES of sugar cane to make it as sweet as the TEARS OF MY ENEMIES while harnessing the POWER OF LIGHTNING to make it as COLD AS THE DARKNESS OF MY SOUL.

Any questions? Yeah, THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.

Oh yeah, I also think it tastes good.

Possibly the last time I'll give an honest, non-snarky answer to this particular question. But maybe it's worth a try to get through to somebody. For ... the ... lurkers!



quora.com/Do-you-think-male-fe

THESE ARE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS, PEOPLE!

grumbis  
I keep wondering how people in cyberpunk worlds do laundry. Like do all the glowy things come off their clothes? Do they have to use cyber-shout to...

So it has come to this. Whatever our hopes for , the long has begun again. Do we really fight against anymore? Do our really fight for it? Or does the war feed on itself, devouring us all for its own ends? None know for sure. Only duty remains.

As a medic in the of the , I have of course prepared my kit with a full complement of , , and solutions. When my brave comrades-in-arms fall on the battlefield, I will be there to expel and rebalance their . I will spare no thought for personal danger: I must pay any price, bear any burden, unblock any meridian to assure the survival and success of cosmic harmony.

My counterparts on the don't have to carry as much equipment. They just smack their patients on the forehead and shout "By the grace of our and you are HEALED! Now rise and fight again!" I'm honestly not sure which approach has better results.

" is canon, get over it."

"Excuse me while I nail these to David 's door."

God help me, I do love so.

I'm trying to imagine what it would look like if followed the same rules as .

Paper: " did a ..."
Reviewer 1: "I am unaware of that study. Please provide a ."
Author's response: "LOL it!"

Paper: " show ..."
Reviewer 2: "There is an error in this ."
Author's response: "Don't fall for 's lies!"

Paper: " now believe ..."
Reviewer 3: "The current strongly disagrees with this statement."
Author's response: "Think for yourself! Do your own !"

Ah, well, back to the real world, where I actually have to support my .

The word has been used before in other contexts, but I just coined the usage of for the internet community of enthusiasts. I'm feeling pretty good about that.

Cf. , which I think may be the first such term ... and , which unfortunately evokes a lot of the silliness the generates.

Lots of people posting pictures of themselves in today. Smiling, mostly. I remember many of them when they looked like that, and the ones I don't—well, I still remember *being* them.

Photographic evidence of my is oddly thin on the ground. That sounds like it should be much more cool and mysterious than it actually is! "His paperwork says he was in the service. But there are no details. Not even a snapshot."

What it really means, of course, is that I just didn't draw enough attention to get people to want to take many pictures of me, and in the pre-camera-phone era, that was easy. The one picture I have of myself in uniform that I really like is already posted in my Facebook photos, and it's deliberately goofy. As for the rest, there just wasn't usually anyone with a Polaroid around when I was [REDACTED].

No objection to anyone else posting their photos, to be clear. I like seeing us when we were young and strong and pretty.

I also haven't posted my usual annual series of Siegfried poems. There's no reason for that except distraction and exhaustion, which I think he would understand very well. "For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days / Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways" ... yes indeed. Life keeps happening, for most of us. Beats the alternative.

Next year the poems will be back, most likely. There's a reason I keep posting them. Sassoon captured the sheer insanity like no one else, which is why and and yes, even , are more popular. Cleaner. More palatable.

Those pictures. Sassoon *also* gave voice to the thoughts we're ashamed to admit. Not shame over weakness in the face of overwhelming : that was revolutionary a century ago, but a cliche now. *Craving* the horror, that part is still hard to face. Smiling faces and pressed uniforms and red dreams.

: "Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn." That's in every young 's head, and anyone who tells you it's not is a liar. Young and strong and pretty forever. Unlike most of the fantasies, it doesn't go away, after years back on civvie street. I know it's more on my mind with every passing decade, and I bet I'm not alone.

I'm glad I'm still here, and a lot of other people are too. We're not ready to throw the torch from failing hands just yet.

So I won't wish a happy day, nor offer thanks for service. *Congratulations* to all of us for making it this far. Food and showers and beds are just over the next rise. One foot in front of the other. Follow me.

Of course I'll give it a chance, because, well, new movie. But at this point it's difficult to understand why we're supposed to care what has to say about ... anything, really.

I've seen you people wouldn't believe. Supposedly brilliant acting like idiots. Synthetics smirking about blowing and fingering. All those scenes will be lost in time, like celluloid in acetone. Time to watch again.

screenrant.com/ridley-scott-re

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