#jack graham

[luvnotpercival]

I think that Jack regularly shifts into Genevieve and this is a headcanon I'll die with...

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Saint Charlie of MAGA

Charlie Kirk’s death became a stage-managed resurrection, where faith, politics, and even artificial intelligence collided to transform grie

Michael Cohen at MeidasTouch:

Charlie Kirk’s assassination was a tragedy. No one should confuse that. No one should celebrate it. A man in his early thirties, a husband, a father, and yes, a political activist, gunned down because this country is sick with rage and division. That reality deserves a pause. But what we saw at his memorial was not a pause. It was not mourning. It was not reflection. It was theater, carefully choreographed to transform grief into political fuel and one man’s death into a rallying cry for MAGA’s survival. President Trump’s speech made it plain. This wasn’t about Charlie Kirk the human being, it was about Charlie Kirk the symbol. “Charlie's murder was not just an attack on one man or one movement. It was an attack on our entire nation,” he thundered. He teased an autism announcement. He attacked his opponents. He framed Charlie’s death as a bullet aimed at all of us; a metaphor designed to conflate Kirk’s assassination with the fate of MAGA itself. He promised the Presidential Medal of Freedom, dangling it like a relic to be blessed in “the very safe Washington, D.C.,” a city Trump now boasts of controlling after his federal police takeover.

The memorial was billed as unity, but it was division draped in scripture. Erika Kirk, in her grief, offered forgiveness to her husband’s killer. Her words were powerful, raw, genuine, human. But the stage around her was filled with voices who have built careers sowing the very rage and discord that made Charlie Kirk a target in the first place. Vice President JD Vance, Health Secretary RFK Jr., DNI Tulsi Gabbard, Tucker Carlson—each spoke with reverence about Charlie’s kindness, faith, and bravery. Each painted him as a modern-day disciple who died “with his boots on.” And yet, every single one of them has spent years weaponizing grievance, demonizing opponents, and poisoning the well of public discourse. And then there was the spectacle that unfolded far from Arizona but carried the same signature of manipulation: at Prestonwood Baptist in Texas, Pastor Jack Graham introduced an AI-generated Charlie Kirk, preaching from beyond the grave. His voice urged the congregation to “pick up your cross and get back in the fight.” The clip was fake—everybody knew it—but the congregation gave a standing ovation anyway, treating lines of code as holy writ. The moment was recorded, shared on social media, and now dozens of other churches are replicating it. The message wasn’t subtle: Charlie may be gone, but he still speaks, and his words are now immortal, available for endless remix and reuse.

This is quickly becoming the new normal: using the tragic death of a young man not for sober reflection but as an opportunity to instill loyalty, faith, and political commitment. Instead of mourning, congregations are handed AI simulations that sanctify grief and recycle it into propaganda. Instead of acknowledging senseless loss, they’re told to celebrate a martyr who keeps preaching from heaven, blessing MAGA from the digital clouds. It’s not about Kirk the person; it’s about what his image, voice, and resurrection can sell. The irony was almost unbearable. Tulsi Gabbard lecturing about protecting free speech when she’s made a career out of vilifying critics as traitors. RFK Jr. recalling talks with Kirk about dying with honor—then pivoting to warn about children raised as “slaves” if America strays from their version of liberty. Anna Paulina Luna crowning herself as Kirk’s legacy, proclaiming, “We are all Charlie Kirk now.” This wasn’t grief. It was branding.

Charlie Kirk’s widow spoke of his faint smile, a mercy from God, proof he didn’t suffer. That image is searing, heartbreaking, unavoidably human. But what MAGA has done is take that humanity and package it for distribution. His death has become a backdrop, a set piece in a performance designed to canonize Kirk as a martyr and rally the base. The rhetoric of discipleship and martyrdom wasn’t accidental. “Charlie was a modern-day disciple,” Sergio Gor declared, echoing the tone of revivalist religion. “He embodied the MAGA warrior,” he added, sanctifying Kirk’s loyalty to Trump as the highest virtue. This wasn’t a memorial; it was a production meant to keep Turning Point USA alive and keep Gen Z within the fold. It was spectacle substituting for substance. Because here’s the truth: one production doesn’t make a movement, and one tragic death doesn’t make a martyr. Charlie Kirk’s life ended violently, and that should trouble us all. But the very people now elevating him to sainthood are the same people who built the ecosystem of hate and vitriol that defined his career and created the climate in which political assassination is possible.

Michael Cohen has yet another gem of a column for MeidasTouch about the MAGA’s canonization of the late Charlie Kirk as a saint and a martyr.

[burningdreambanana]

Charlie and her bitches

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

Rowling is writer enough to set up characters whose flaws require sympathy, and then strangely reluctant to afford them any.  She either flatly denies that they need any (for flaws anyway) because she has decided, despite evidence to the contrary, that they are perfect, or she refuses sympathy towards the glaring imperfections of characters she sees as weak.  Weakness is a particular horror of Rowling’s, and also Harry’s.  He is never more anxious and self-pitying (both of which he is a lot) than when he thinks he has detected a weakness in himself, or thinks others have detected a weakness in him (real or imaginary).  For instance, he frets for ages in Prisoner of Azkaban, over his inability to withstand proximity to the Dementors.  When he confines some of his fears to Remus Lupin, Lupin seems to immediately sense the source of Harry’s anxiety, and to sympathise, because he hurriedly blurts out an excuse for Harry’s vulnerability, saying “It’s nothing to do with weakness!”  This is in the context of a storyline in which Lupin’s old school friend Peter Pettigrew (they were in a circle of friends with Sirius and Harry’s father James) is depicted as about the most contemptible entity imaginable, and his wickedness stems fundamentally from his weakness.  As we learn more about this circle of friends, we learn that both James Potter and Sirius Black were hateful little shits at school.  Giant Quiddich hoops are jumped through in later books to explain why James Potter – despite being an egomaniac and a bully – was actually a great bloke, or at least became one.  The key difference between James (who grew up to be a hero) and Peter (who grew up to be a traitor) is that James’ nastiness was at least strong, whereas Peter’s was weak.  Weakness is inherently evil, for Rowling.  Worse, it’s revolting.  There is nothing worse than being weak.  Not even being fat is worse… and for Rowling, who absolutely hates fat people, that’s saying something.  Of course, it’s not either/or.  Peter Pettigrew is fat.

Jack Graham, via Eruditorum Press 'The Anti-Potter, Part 1' (2017)

[thehitchcockbrunette]

[stillunusual]

Daniel Harper is a researcher into the far-right who goes where few others can bear to go: he listens to what the white nationalists, white supremacists, and nazis (and all the rest) say to each other in their huge online subculture of podcasts and social media. In this timely, popular, shocking but (hopefully) accessible and entertaining anti-fascist podcast, Daniel tells his buddy Jack Graham all about what he learned from listening to what the terrible people of the far-right say to each other in their safe spaces. You don't want to listen....but you need to know.

[craigtowens]

“When Your Prayer Life Is Active And Full… ...when you are communing daily with God, you will begin to see others as God sees them.

[dchan87]

I remember saying, back in the day, that Fifty Shades of Grey was like Atlas Shrugged but stupider, and with added abusive sex.

I’m sorry to say, I did Fifty Shades of Grey a grave injustice.

— Jack Graham