#religious influence

[veryalivezombie]

I don’t usually post art here but I kinda wanted to start .𖥔 ݁ ˖

This is of my OC , Cairo , he’s been a favorite of mine for a while .

₊ ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊˚ ⋅ ۶ৎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ - - - ⸝⸝ ༉‧₊˚.

[lexipolara]

They are yet another flavor of creature- obsessed with religion, loyal to their trine (also later Megatron a decent bit actually. Might depend on flavor), and desperate for a purpose :>

Best parallel in TF lore for them would very much be Sunstorm.

Seri is an Outlier, whose ability nearly killed them the first time it flared up. Their spark didn't account for the cold- constructed frame it was given, but after that scare incident, their mentor got them upgraded plating that can withstand their heat. Now they can dip in lava and be fine, much like Grimlock (don't toss em into the sun or something tho-). They don't exactly have a /radioactive/ spark like Sunstorm, their ability is very magma central. They can exert temperatures that can melt most materials; metal, rock, etc. Their power was controlled in the new frame they were given, and thus the energy is condensed to their servos and peds. Even so, it can empower their jets or firepower as well in short bursts. if they don't keep themselves in control to a certain degree tho, they could get hot enough to damage their own optics or melt themselves a bit. They had troubles when younger with literal meltdowns, but after moving on from their mentor to be with their trine, they still carry what they were taught when it comes to composure (as well as how they actually got their religious fanatics from their mentor lol).

Their trine mates are Codecracker/Soara and Levatair. Despite the tension regarding CC, they do still are quite forgiving of her behavior. The main thing Seri doesn't like is when CC disrespects their Trine Leader, so they do step in occasionally to defuse things.

When it comes to the start of the war, Seri was absolutely appalled at Sentinel betraying the true Primes, and absolutely rooted for Megatron ripping the guy in half as divine retribution. (I will note that ngl I am not sure of one solid continuity, tho that's a clear event when also thinking of another one of my characters I have in mind.) Seriph admired Megatron's strength and sense of justice, and their perspective of that was rather warped from what they wanted to interpret it as. They followed Megatron with all the other seekers, but was unsure about the Optimus Prime factor. Primus had chosen Orion, and given him the matrix; but Seriph believes that OP is misguided and misunderstood the responsibility given to him (ultimately, OP would be basically the only one to be able to convince them to change tho ngl). Instead as they plunge into war, Seriph believes it is the era of the next purge like The Flood in Christian shit. They believe it's their duty to reduce all those who stand against their promised new world to ash and molton slag. Despite the fact that they are a brutal killer, they do feel some level of sympathy for those they feel were misguided, and often will give a short prayer before sending them to the Allspark. although there are some they come across that they only give silence if they believe that person belongs to the Pit. They view death as more of a reset button for those who deserve a second chance in the new world. Under the impression that after the storm has settled, they truly will be able to rebuild it better from the carnage.

Theyre believe of frames being fleeting, and replaceable, definitely stem from their cold-construct background; as well from the fact they they had needed to be rebuilt when they barely survived. (that instance is what instilled their deep seeded belief that Primus allowed them to remain for a /reason/)

Seriph's fighting style is very close combat oriented. They often will catapult themself at the enemy and wrestle their opponents with their fired servos and the mini wings on their arms that are used like the blades Arcee has in TFP. They even more often use their blasters at close range, although they still can use em at a distance. The 6 turrets they have are faced down in flight, so they operate more so like a bomber.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Hi! Just wanted to say that I absolutely love your blog and the way you speak your mind. Far too often I hear other atheists say that they will stay quiet because they "respect religious people", I always wonder if that's how much they respect themselves as they apparently think their own opinions are worth less than someone else's beliefs? I'm glad to see that you didn't lose the power for healthy discussion by cynically accepting everything as it is like so many did.

`Thank you, that means so much to me.

It’s a very insidious form of cultural indoctrination that religions have conducted, even on the non-believers, with the expectation of deference and reverence and un-earned “respect” in a bid to extract obedience and compliance.

It used to be that they demanded this respect at the point of a blade or by the flame of a lit torch, but now it’s done through emotional manipulation. Declaring themselves to have the moral higher ground to put those on the outside on the defensive; declaring “faith” (the unfalsifiable supports-literally-anything bottom rung of human understanding) to be a virtue, since it has no other way of justifying itself; and piggybacking onto the default position of respect we afford human people, despite us needing to “respect” a lot of gross and harmful, or outright ludicrous ideas under this model.

I struggled with this myself, feeling bad for my instinct to treat religious superstitions as ridiculous as I find them to be. Until I learned and realized that religions are just ideas and claims, and it’s unreasonable to hold religions to a lower standard compared to any other idea, to treat a “god” idea or claim as any different than a unicorn idea or claim. Especially when the religious treat the idea or claim of a different “god” like Zeus or Ra as being ridiculous. If I’m expected to give the extraordinary claims of Xtianity a pass with a lower standard of justification than unicorns, then we’re already conceding that they can’t reach it.

We respect people’s individual right to hold those beliefs - even the gross ones - but aren’t obliged to respect the beliefs themselves when they’re unjustified and unsupported, and we reserve the right to defend ourselves and our laws from being influenced by them.

The classic misdirect from believers when you criticize a religious claim is that they’ll either pretend like you’re attacking them personally, or they’ll cry crocodile tears of “deeply held” beliefs. It may feel like they’re being attacked, because they’ve committed themselves emotionally to these ideas instead of being willing to change their position as information and understanding changes. And because they’ve become accustomed to going unchallenged, of even having that tacit compliance and silence from those of the out-crowd. But those aren’t reasons to not dissect and evaluate them. Especially if we want to encourage ideas that have merit, and hold them ourselves.

Why is always more important than what, because why allows us to identify errors, correct them, and form better ideas and beliefs.

“If someone tells me that I’ve hurt their feelings, I say, ‘I’m still waiting to hear what your point is.’ - Christopher Hitchens

A demand to respect an idea without expectation of justifying why it deserves that respect fairly screams out that it could not be earned. Imagine scientists tearfully demanding respect for atomic or germ theory because they’re “deeply held” and not because they’re well supported models of matter/disease.

It definitely helps to be able to identify these tactics of deflection and distraction, whether intentional or not, from the religious, from anti-vaxxers pro-diseasers, from Flat Earthers, from anyone else with a faith-based belief who attempts to circumvent criticism or analysis by using manipulation and posturing, invoking feigned immunity out of “respect” or an unsubstantiated assertion of “truth”, and return the spotlight back to the idea or claim’s merits. Where they belong.

[the-red-cassock]

Go find and copy and read the absolute shit out of it.

[chicpeekfashion]

Exploring the Significance and Legacy of Ancient Artz

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[craniopagi]

[thoughtlessarse]

No dinosaurs, bikinis or Harry Potter: the silent censorship of Dutch school books - DutchNews.nl

What do dinosaurs, divorcees and Harry Potter have in common? They’re all censored in many Dutch school books because of pressure from relig

What do dinosaurs, divorcees and Harry Potter have in common? They’re all censored in many Dutch school books because of pressure from religious communities, according to an investigation by the NRC.

The largest educational publishers in the Netherlands, including Malmberg, Zwijssen and Noordhoff, have drawn up lists of ‘sensitive’ subjects in consultation with groups such as the Reformed Churches’ Parents’ Association (ROV).

According to the NRC the extensive guidelines are not limited to respectful depictions of God and other deities, but discourage any mention of ‘debatable theories’ from astrology to evolution.

continue reading

Also on the list mixed-race families of which there are quite a few in the Netherlands. Fuck religion!

[the-fitzherald]

Bay of Pride

                                                                                                                 12/13/17

WHAT IS THE COST OF INTEGRITY?

           As I sit here, my post of the third seat from the left, I remember how much of high school has been the same. Going somewhere as small as St. Mary’s, I’ve never had to wrest myself from Ms. Klein’s impassioned history lectures or Madame Rousseau’s bird-song in the form of French. However, you, Mr. Martelli, are most important among my unvaried set of teachers. It was your class that provided me with the answer that your whiteboard implores of me to know. As surely as your angry capitalized print reads like a litigator in the courtroom of my head, I will tell you that your class has implanted in me the only change from the girl I was freshman year. Because of your class, I have learned the exorbitant cost of integrity.

           On a December day all too similar to this one, I sat in my aforementioned post, a stockinged foot rocking from heel to ball, just as it indubitably is now. Despite feeling reptilian glares boring into my neck and the side of my face, I continued filling the lines of my journal with thoughts on my favorite movies or other nonsense typical of the freshman journal prompts.

           This rhythm remained uninterrupted until your wall phone chimed with its tired brr-brr, a sound that had been exhausted at some point after its installation in 1987. Mr. Martelli, you graciously did not glance at me as you lumbered to the phone. After pleasantries were exchanged with the school secretary, you could no longer prevent yourself from indicating that I, Vera Lane, had been requested in Mrs. Lawrence’s office.

           Mr. Martelli, I wonder if you recall how I refused to glance back at those eyes that had stung holes along my skin. Instead, I embarked on my trek to Judgement Day— two, four, six, eight steps at a time.

           I reached Mrs. Lawrence’s office after I had counted to thirty-eight. When my breath caught at my trachea, stifled by the sight of certificates and portraits, I knew that for the sole purpose of delaying this meeting, a larger number would have been preferable. Aside from artifacts evidencing a living woman, the office looked like an estate sale. Its furniture was of a grandmother’s chintz that failed to enliven the bitter surfaces. It was a too neat room that felt like it had already been drenched in formaldehyde.

           Just as I felt deadly stiffness to be overtaking my limbs, in stepped Mrs. Lawrence. Her tweed pant suit complemented the office’s dreary atmosphere in its vibrant hue of beige. Her countenance was characterized by a lipstick smile that more closely resembled that of a character of Madame Tussaud’s than one belonging to a breathing being.

           Reality was not received by my senses until her chirping voice ruined the illusion of a statue. “Vera,” she greeted. “It is important that we discuss some things before you return to Mr. Martelli’s.”

           My outward reply was a nod. My inward one was a series of questions about how I was at all a guilty party, complicit in some nameless deed. I followed rules so ritualistically that I even flossed nightly. People who floss cannot be sent to the principal’s office.

           “I appreciate the fact that you stepped forth with this information on your classmates’ cheating. It is important that people uphold the standards of this school.”

           “But?” I challenged, impatience swelling with the beat of my heart.

           “But it appears that your classmates find themselves belittled as a result of your arrogance about your success in this subject.”

           “Maybe if they didn’t cheat, their abilities could at least parallel mine,” I retorted, attempting to tame the impudence in my voice.

           “Miss Lane, surely you know that attitude is precisely why you are not in your class right now.”

           Mrs. Lawrence was right. I, like everyone else in third period English, recognized that I had taken a nice morning stroll into the principal’s office so that my short remarks towards classmates may be discussed, as well as the allegations I had made against those very people about the dishonesty of their work.

Yet I still know, Mr. Martelli, that you of all people would understand that it felt incumbent upon me to defend both the esteem of all classrooms and the sense of my own actions. The pressure was such that I abandoned all semblances of politeness.

           “So, it is my own fault that students cannot use the six or seven brain cells that they have? Honestly, if I say anything to them in class, I do so in hopes of helping them.”

           Pushing her glasses farther up on her hooked nose, Mrs. Lawrence at least conducted a guise of pondering my words. “I believe that, Vera. However, it is critical that you maintain friendships with your classmates.”

       Mrs. Lawrence may not have been privy to this fact as she spent her days in this morgue rather than the classrooms, but everyone knows that my position on that day was rooted in the fact that I was the best of friends with Sadie and Luxe. You, Mr. Martelli, know that they essentially betrayed me by dissimulating their roles as dissolute cheaters.

     “In my own eyes, I was protecting my friends from becoming worse people. They were at the center of this nebula of cheating, and they weren’t just any friends. Sadie and Luxe were my very best friends.”

           “Miss Lane, I think the past tense of ‘were,’ might be the key to why you are here,” Mrs. Lawrence considered aloud.

           I studied the mauve shadow of lips on the principal’s white St. Mary’s coffee mug. The stirring of dread as a viscous goo seemed to cease.

           “Mrs. Lawrence, what exactly are you suggesting that I do?” My voice hardly constituted a breath when those words were said. They were said with a hope that was curiously found in something other than aspiring to chop length from this meeting.

           Mrs. Lawrence began by calling the classroom, a step that forced Mr. Martelli’s wall phone to steel itself for yet another sorry ring. In the interim between the implementation of this action and its consequence, she discussed her newly decided upon method.

           “Vera, because I do care for you and your wellbeing, I will not require you to apologize to your whole class. I feel that would be an embarrassment to you. Instead, I’d like to have you begin a more intimate process of penitence,” proposed Mrs. Lawrence with a flash of brilliance in her grey eyes.

           There soon was the clatter of a door opening. Two, four, six, eight— so sounded two sets of high heeled boots against linoleum floors. Luxe and Sadie then placed themselves in the low stools sandwiching my own, their long legs drawn nearly up to their chins. Though we often referred to ourselves as being sisters, there was only resentment in the glances we exchanged.

           The office that had engendered such thick, overwhelming sensations of demise then seemed elevated, no longer a place of death but a home where friends may be. I had somehow mistaken the distinct aromas of coffee and carefully selected lilies for that of formaldehyde. A forgiveness was born with a pink skin of revived friendship, and it would not exist without Mrs. Lawrence’s methods for exacting discipline.

Mr. Martelli, though this was a narrative that was inserted where a simple sentence might have sufficed, I want you to know that I do have an answer that may placate the imaginary litigator that is your handwriting. Prideful “integrity” is initially paid for by experiencing abandonment. I was cleaved from Sadie and Luxe; I was submerged in a Bay of Pride, face-down as a modern Ophelia. This initial cost was followed by a rather salubrious payment of my pride. I had essentially been dragged from your class, but in doing this, Mrs. Lawrence tossed a rope for me into that Bay. I therefore say that the cost of true, unadulterated integrity is pride.

In my noble pursuit of unblemished honesty, I resembled the proverbial men of whom Jesus was so fond as teaching devices. I had reached complacently for the speck in my classmates’ eyes while ignoring the plank in my own. True integrity was when I was honest enough to realize my error, just as Sadie and Luxe reciprocated with their own awareness.

Mr. Martelli, you may have even forgotten that brief rift in my sisterhood with the two girls who sit in the second and fourth seats from the left, but that is only because forgiveness is so readily born out of integrity. This December day, I sit in the same seat with knowledge that I can resolve whatever conflicts I face as long as I am no longer seeking to isolate others. I still have classmates who could never pretend to care as much as I do, but I subdue my contempt for their apathy. I react to others with a goal to serve and love, or at least I hope that I do. I found a Hall of Beginnings on an earlier December day, and I chose to accept the call it sang for me.

I, Vera Lane, revitalized love and diminished pride by paying for integrity. I thought I was getting into trouble when I was summoned away from class, but that only began my ascent into what I feel to be good. Forgiveness was born through this series of events. Its place of birth? Mr. Martelli, I told you already that it happened in a principal’s office I thought to be an estate sale.