Mister Midnight

@mstrmidnight.bsky.social

1046 Followers 679 Following

🫘 A career NatSec professional that embraces America as a truly extraordinary place...with flaws and issues that need serious attention. Dedicated to the greater good. Giving this Bluesky thing a try. Also on Spoutible. #leguminati4lyfe

A single edged short sword with a blood runnel on the visible side. The Damascus steel blade has a slight curve towards the point. The hilt is polished rosewood with brass lugs.
Paul Bettany in A Knight's Tale.
Flyer advertising 30% off spices starting with E, P, S, T, E, I, N, from Penseys Spices.
A glass of good whiskey and soda. The glass is etched with the Eagle Rising symbol of the Army Warrant Officer cohort.
A serious-faced emoji rendering a respectful salute to an honorable officer.
A picture of a cozy living room, with multiple bookshelves holding hundreds of books on topics as diverse as role-playing games to world history to dark fantasy to international relations. A chessboard is in the middle of the picture, the pieces carved from smooth stone. It's a place for someone that loves quiet spaces and knowledge.
Steve Rogers as Captain America saying "Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter wat the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, you job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world -- "No, You Move."
A screen captures from the Ghost Games title Deep Rock Galactic showing dwarven miners fighting alien insects.
The final stanza of William Butler Yeats' poem, "Easter, 1916." It reads: Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is Heaven's part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse— MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
A movie still from John Carpenter's "They Live" showing Roddy Piper with a shotgun.
A flag of a mongoose holding a snake in its mouth with the legend "I'll tread where I please."
Protest, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1850 – 1919 To sin by silence, when we should protest, Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance, and lust, The inquisition yet would serve the law, And guillotines decide our least disputes. The few who dare, must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills; May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and childbearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires. Therefore I do protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land. Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link. Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave. Until the manacled slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, Until the mother bears no burden, save The precious one beneath her heart, until God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labor, let no man Call this the land of freedom.
Taco tater tot casserole resting on my counter.
Official photograph of assistant DHS secretary (and liar-in-waiting) Tricia McLaughlin.
View of a red cross blood donation drive.
Protesting in the rain in Olympia, WA.
A flag, red and black bisected diagonally, with a mongoose rampant holding a snake in its mouth. Below the mongoose is the legend, "I'll tread where I please." I can't remember where I found this, but it's brilliant. If someone knows, I'll be happy to credit the artist.
Protest sign with an image of a battered Statue of Liberty, blood from a wound on her face, and the slogan, "No matter how many times you hit us...We won't stop getting back up." #Still_I_Rise #RedWhiteandBruised
Snap protest against regime change in Venezuela in Olympia, WA.
A package of Pepperidge Farms Milano cookies in holiday style. Written on the package is "Hard times pass. Hang in there."
A picture of Captain America (Steve Rogers) giving the following statement: "Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. And when the move and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell the whole world -- 'No, you move.'"
AI-generated image of a bald, older Caucasian man wearing a simple white robe, seated improbably on a rippling pool of water while meditating behind a generic lotus flower.
A screen capture of the following text: After some consideration, I think I see why the Regime thinks the military is “woke.” If by “woke,” they mean an organization that requires its members to have integrity, honor, courage, and a sense of duty, and turns them away if they do not. One that judges its leaders from the very beginning of their careers on how well they care for the personnel entrusted to them. One that bases its identity on commitment to ideals bigger than any person – This We’ll Defend; Always Faithful; Not for Self, but Country; Aim High; Always Ready; Always Above. One that requires every member to think about the hard right over the easy wrong, and enforces that standard of behavior (not always, I’ll admit). I know a lot of military and NatSec personnel that scoff at the idea of being “woke,” but maybe we are, after all. Along with most of my colleagues, I’d fight to the last against any change in that status.
He landed with a thud that he felt rather than heard, his ears blasted into ringing silence by the explosion. Overhead, the sky swam with blue and gray, smoke and sunlight playing across his field of vision. And in the back of his shellshocked mind, an increasing sense of urgency, a pressure on his chest, a burning in his throat for something he couldn’t quite name, but knew was important. He didn’t even realize what he was dying for, until his lungs forsook his stupefied brain and sucked the air in with a single, heaving gasp. He convulsed, coughing until he expected to see his lungs before his streaming eyes, smoke from the fire tainting the air he grasped at for consciousness. He had things to do… the thought sparked from one side of his mostly-vacant mind to the other, but it was a thought with levers and action associated. It rolled him onto his side, then up to his hands and knees, and then to his feet. He wasn’t done. He needed to do…. something. Around him, other soldiers were stirring from their blastocysts, the places where the explosion had deposited them. He was the first on his feet, stumbling over to the next body strewn on the ground. “Are you okay?” The question was nonsensical, unreal, but it somehow connected them. Vague eyes met his, locked on, and focused. “Still in the fight, Sergeant!” His foggy brain translated her words into his native tongue, the sense of them impressed on his pliant mind. Did she say, “Still here and ready?” Or was it “I have not yet surrendered?” It didn’t matter as he pulled her to her feet, pushing her into the motion that separated the living from the dead. The kid gripped his arm, rolling upright with a single step. “Good, go left. I’ll go right.” The Culler released his grip, letting the girl sway, then recover. She had already reached for the next person when he turned to his own tasks.
A glass of Prado Absinthe.
A fluted glass containing absinthe after mixing it with the sugar and ice.
Picture of the countryside near Lop Buri, Thailand.
Photograph of Joyce Vance's stellar book, "Giving Up Is Unforgivable."
A re-imaging of the fable offering a princess as a sacrifice to a monster.
A wood burning stove with a cozy fire in the background, a Glencairn glass of whiskey and Cherie Priest's novel "Dreadnaught" in the foreground.
A woman in an orange wig holding a sign reading "a clown trying to be king, so wrong! Resist!"
Mister Midnight wearing a black unicorn inflatable costume at the #NoKings 2.0 rally.
A picture of a large crowd at the No Kings 2.0 rally in Olympia, WA.
The dragon's neck swept back, his visage suddenly before him, the molten fury of its burning eyes spearing through him, freezing him in place with pure, undistilled terror. The monster's maw opened, its lips drawing back from its polished fangs, a flickering flame playing in the depths of the dragon's throat, a harbinger of the holocaust to come. "Let me be unequivocally clear, milord." The dragon spoke quietly for such a massive creature, the flame in its maw intensifying, the lambent glare increasing as it loomed above Sir Chadwick. The burning radiance flared above him, the dragon's eyes falling upon him like an apocalypse, the terror of its presence engulfing the fallen man in an unstoppable storm that encompassed every element. Like water, it swept around him, dragging him to new levels of fear; like fire, it blasted through him, destroying all of the barriers that his sense of self-importance had erected; like air, it surrounded him in ubiquitous presence, tormenting him with universality; like earth, it crushed him beneath an intolerable weight that destroyed any hope of restoration. The great beast loomed above the knight, the physical embodiment of dread and power, flames burning in its throat and a terrifying, hideous intellect burning in its gaze. "You exist now only because the princess has requested your life, milord. You will not have the chance for a second blow against me before I turn you into a flash of smoke and memory, should I choose to." The dragon brought its head in close, the burning eyes pinning the warrior to the ground, the cloth and leather binding his remaining pieces of armor smoldering under the intensity of the dragon's gaze and the heat of its breath.
A pond rippling under autumn sunlight.
A protest sign showing a battered Statue of Liberty with a cut on her face standing defiantly. The text reads "No matter how many times you hit us...we won't stop getting back up. #Still_I_Rise, #RedWhiteandBruised" Red, White, and Bruised is an organization dedicating to end military sexual abuse and domestic violence.
Shoulder sleeve insignia from 1st Infantry Division for a soldier's dress uniform.