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About Literature / Student Isaac Beach20/Male/Australia Group :iconalternate-history: Alternate-History
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Emirate of Cartagena by Dain-Siegfried Emirate of Cartagena :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 15 6 ID Update by Dain-Siegfried ID Update :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 1 16 Yangtze River Republic by Dain-Siegfried Yangtze River Republic :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 29 14 Edward's World V.2 by Dain-Siegfried Edward's World V.2 :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 21 6 The Kingdom of the Angels by Dain-Siegfried The Kingdom of the Angels :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 25 8 The Law Of Life by Dain-Siegfried The Law Of Life :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 23 7 Sol-A by Dain-Siegfried Sol-A :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 19 6 Otto by Dain-Siegfried Otto :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 1 0 Beneath the Mountain Ash by Dain-Siegfried Beneath the Mountain Ash :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 18 6 Tasmanians in the East African Union by Dain-Siegfried Tasmanians in the East African Union :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 3 3 8Values 2.0 by Dain-Siegfried 8Values 2.0 :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 6 10 Flag of Manchuria by Dain-Siegfried Flag of Manchuria :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 21 2 Propisat - The Republic of Manchuria - 1995 by Dain-Siegfried Propisat - The Republic of Manchuria - 1995 :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 40 7 Such things no eye has ever seen by Dain-Siegfried Such things no eye has ever seen :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 19 2 A Suavity of Manners by Dain-Siegfried A Suavity of Manners :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 21 7 Bounding Bayou Blue by Dain-Siegfried Bounding Bayou Blue :icondain-siegfried:Dain-Siegfried 6 2



Nothing I love more than staying up past 4:00 AM trying to determine under what rules of international law Russian spies could be ejected from the UK!
Hmm... I can either go fetch a Subway, go to the grocer and buy some Arizona Ice Tea, or both. Tough choice.
Emirate of Cartagena
The Emirate of Cartagena has it's origins in the Troubled Twenties, wherein the automation crisis reached a peak (knocking out some 12% of global employment) and the climate shifted into a new epoch. The Sahelian nations of Mali, Burkina Faso and Mauretania, among others, all but collapsed as desertification destroyed their water security, and stretched their infrastructure and urban centers to their breaking point. This would, as with the wider Second Völkerwanderung, lead to millions of West Africans fleeing either north or south. Of those that fled north, millions flowed across the Mediterranean and into Europe.
In Spain this would be managed admirably even as support from the EU ceased as that organization faltered under the combined weight of populist nationalism, economic stagnation and climactic catastrophe. The largest refugee camp in the world was set up on the outskirts of Cartagena, in Murcia, numbering no less than 300,000 next to a city a third smaller. But for all their efforts the Spanish could not contend with the collapse of their GDP, separatism in the north, the destruction of established crop cycles and the other general unrest, and conditions within 'Ciudad de Bamako' deteriorated over time. This was mirrored by Cartagena's decline, as withering summers lead to mass heat stroke and water shortages. Already the hottest city in Europe, this increase in median temperature would prove too much for it's citizens and a mass exodus would ensue at the beginning of La Caída, the collapse of general political authority in Spain.

With the city emptying of a majority of it's Spanish residents and no force aside local militias and lynch mobs to police them, the refugees of Ciudad de Bamako filtered over time into the city. Better acquainted with extreme temperatures and with nowhere else to go, a General Shura consisting of the refugees' eldest and most respected members of both secular and Islamic background would come to govern the city and become an island of stability in a volatile Europe. As Gibraltar fell into the sea and such neighbours as Portugal and Morocco became insular, the openness of Cartagena would see shipping dock there as they traveled between the Atlantic and Mediterranean. The professionals of West Africa would find new work; lawyers and clerks and logisticians, doctors and entrepreneurs and farmers well adjusted to this climate, having lost their homes and livelihood reasserted themselves in this little city. Cartagena flourished.
Eventually, as La Caída wound down and a new equilibrium was established in Iberia, the General Shura decided they would elect one of their own to become Emir and establish an independent city-state over most of Campo de Cartagena, the wider plain that the city sat upon and which they had brought into their fold over the preceding years. They would elect the prominent Aoua Mohammed Tall, a well known statesman and academic that played a key role in drafting the small nation's constitution. 

Today, the Emirate of Cartagena is still the most prominent port in the Mediterranean with thousands of ships passing through it's developed port system every day. This aside, tourism, finance and management of Euro-African relations is a major role of the city-state. A constitutional monarchy of sorts, the Tall Dynasty does still engage in some executive investments drawn from the Privy Purse but the majority of fiduciary and legislative functions reside with the General Shura. Born from a terrific catastrophe, the future of the little emirate is bright. 


I've been a bit slack lately so I threw this together to try and get those creative juices running. It's basically how I imagine a Muslim majority state (sans Bosnia and Albania) in Europe realistically coming to fruition without all the Eurabia bullshit that xenophobes throw about. The entire region of Provence isn't going to split off and become a Caliphate, but a wee city sure could get a Muslim majority given the right circumstances.
Oof, I should not have been drinking last evening:
- Said fascists were stylish.
- Made a terrible thread on about nuking single states.
- Got into a ridiculous argument with my partner about the definition of a handjob.
Goddamn fascists, why do they have to be so damn stylish? (the originals, not our modern white trash)
I've been writing down my more striking dreams for the past few nights and I thought I'd share some with you following last night's dream as it is basically a sequel to one a few nights ago. Sorry that some are written in present tense whilst others are past tense. I'm copying these (with some additions and clarification) from a master document. 

Dream 1 - 22/01/2018

I was a private detective in rural Illinois, why and how I know I was in rural Illinois will be explained later.
I was in a cafe, a drab affair, whilst it was overcast and threatening rain. I was across from a young and as far as I recall pretty young brunette woman who was dabbing at her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. On the table between us was a selection of photos, phone transcripts and bank statements demonstrating what I was telling her; that her partner was indeed cheating on her. She's crying, and I'm not very good at comforting her but I do my best.
Smash cut to an out of body experience. Across the square from this cafe is another cafe, I wondered briefly how such a small town could support two independent cafes but put that to rest quite quickly, as inside my girlfriend and two of her friends are gossiping about how I never spend time with her and would rather pursue these depressing cases with young women. They worked her up into storming out of the cafe, across the square and into mine where she screams at me that we are over as a unit and that anything of mine at her house she is keeping. I realised this is terrible for me as I've left most of my shirts there but given I'm in the middle of an interview allow her to continue ranting before leaving in a huff. I'm left with a bewildered and aghast client and a rather depressing sum of money.

Change scenes and I am coming home at the end of a long night, I live in a loft above an elderly couple and must be quiet and careful not to make a noise whilst they sleep. I managed to scurry my way up to my loft and didn't bother turning on the lights. Grabbing a beer, I sat down and checked my laptop. I'd received an email from a lawyer in Cairo, Illinois, asking me to pop by his office. Sensing an opportunity, I emailed back despite it being well past 11 as to what time would suit him.
Scene change and I'm in downtown Cairo. It is at this moment that I begin to suspect this dream takes place in the near future, as OTL downtown Cairo is a dilapidated mess. Here it has been restored to a degree and there is youth and traffic, including large numbers of automated cars. I think the lawyer's name was Allen Yorker, which sounds like someone was trying to make a pun on 'New Yorker'. He was on the third floor of a small brick building in an office with no windows. An older gentleman with glasses and a graying moustache, we shook hands and sat down. He explained to me that his daughter ran away from home, showed me a few pictures of her from her Facebook feed. She's maybe 17, 18. The last post on her feed, dated two months ago, shows her merry on Venice Beach, Los Angeles with some young blonde guy.
Her father explains that he didn't want to be overbearing and that he realises this is what young people do, but since she hasn't posted or responded to phone calls or messages for the past few months and disappeared altogether in the past two he's gotten concerned. So he's asking me to go and find her. I can't afford Los Angeles, and I explained this to him, but he opined that he is more than willing to pay whatever's necessary to find his daughter. So naturally I price gouged for the next fifteen minutes and got him to secure me a motel room close to Venice Beach despite the ridiculous rent, as it's 'vital to the location and safe recovery of his daughter'. (I never said I was a moral PI) We shook hands, and I left to pack my limited affects enthusiastically and tell Mrs. Muntz (my old lady landlord) to get fucked.

Scene cut to me in California with a stereotypical Hawaiian shirt sitting in my motel smoking, yellow sheaths of light streaming across the walls and floors as I gaze between the blinds and out over the low rooftops to the blue-purple churn of the ocean. It was very striking. I then went to smoke outside for reasons I can't fathom and into the alley next to my motel; there I found a stray mottled cat which I begin to pet when it tottered up and began rubbing against my leg. 

Then my alarm went off, and I woke up. 

- I don't have a girlfriend as of this dream, I don't recognise this woman but I must've seen her on the telly somewhere.
- I don't drink beer in real life.
- I also don't smoke.
- I have a thing for Los Angeles and California, particularly in the 60s and 70s, and although I'm sheepish to admit it I bounce aesthetically between working class Tasmanian and California beach hipster like a fucking ping pong ball. To live or work there would be right up my alley.
- The Hawaiian shirt in particular was probably inspired by the one I recently purchased in Adelaide, actually let me find a picture of it:

Dream 2 - 23/01/2018

We shall skip over this one as it had sexual elements I'm sure this community does not want me to share with them. It was not related to any other dreams, as they sometimes are, so I don't think it's really relevant to anything.

- She was blonde. I've never had a blonde partner. 

Dream 3 - 25/01/2018

I ran into an old friend -Jake, an edgy memester who loves Trump and vaping despite being a literally leukemic dole-bludger in suburban Tasmania- in a woman's clothing store in a cyberpunk version of Rundle Mall, Adelaide and asked what flavour his vape juice was. I knew it was banana because my brother has a vape and it tastes of bananas. When I awoke the first thought that ran through my mind was that I should call Jake and ask if he's transsexual. I have not done so, as this seems rather improper and I'm 99% sure I know what the answer would be.

Dream 4 - 25/01/2018

I have a selection of alarms to wake me up over the morning, spaced out in a very pseudo-scientific manner so as to shake me awake and not allow me to sleep through them all. Sometimes, I fall asleep between them and have very brief, but informational dreams that basically dump it all on top of me at once. In this instance, it was a sequel to the much longer dream I had a few days ago about being a private investigator.

Looking at google maps and Facebook, I find the house of the boy who Yorker's daughter was with in the last picture he had of her on Venice Beach. His name is Leonard, and his surnames begins with a B so I'll say it's Bartholomew. His house is south of Los Angeles quite close to the coast. I figured out afterwards that this was either Manhattan or Torrance Beach. One of the reasons a lot of my dreams take place in California is because it's a popular location to shoot movies and TV as well as online indie stuff. So I've got a huge backlog of scenes and settings despite never setting foot in the USA, let alone Los Angeles. So I stand in front of the house, beach to my back, look down at the photo, before walking up the steps to the front door.
Knocking, who should answer but Leonard Bartholomew. Trying to appear somewhat aloof, I ask if Leonard lives here. He looks me up and down, I realise I look like a narc, and he confirms this by saying he doesn't talk to narcs in a very stoned voice before shutting the door in my face. Understanding my initial approach has failed, I look over my shoulder to see that any foot traffic is far enough away that they won't notice when I turn around and promptly kick the door open with one sharp, hard kick. He says what the hell, but I sock him across the jaw. There's two other guys, both black, sitting in a lounge-room nearby, but they don't bother getting up.
Leonard, curled up on the floor, is moaning and asking what's my problem. I introduce myself as Private Inspector Isaac Clifford, so at least I know I'm me and not some character. I'm investigating the disappearance of Anna Yorker (the first time I hear her name in any of these dreams, and from my own mouth no less) and show him the picture after dragging him by his dumb curly hair to his knees. He says he doesn't know who that is before I slap him lightly and tell him that's possibly the worst lie I've ever heard given he's in the fucking photo and tagged online. So he changes his tune, explaining that she did crash with him for a while, but that she got even wilder than him and started hanging with way shadier guys, which I interpret to mean drug dealers. He's not heard from her since but has some of her things in his place, including a duffel bag full of clothes and personal effects. At the threat of slapping him again, he allows me to take all of this with me.
I do so, and ask the two black fellows if they know the drug dealers Leonard's referring to given he's being obstinate and useless. They say they do, and that the men Leonard's referring to operate out of South Los Angeles, dealing crack and speed. Presumably, they give me a region or address, and I return to my motel with Anna's things.

Back at the motel, I unpack her bag to see what she left. It's mostly clothes, and I get the impression she'd ditched a lot of stuff more appropriate for the climes of Illinois for something summery given the inordinate amount of ski jackets, jeans and scarves. There's also a watch, an old flip phone the sort you'd give to a 15 year old, a pocket knife, handcuffs of all things and some SD cards. I check the SD cards but the data they hold is in secure folders and reflecting my real life refusal to renew my Winzip trial I cannot open them and cannot download the relevant program until I get paid in a day. So I instead decide to head out and find these cocaine dealers, but as it's nearing the evening instead fetch dinner at some kind of jazz club and eat fries while a pretty dark woman sings. Then I woke up to another alarm.

I don't know when I'll next dream about it, I hope that's not where it ends. I'm thinking if I can pull my thumb out of my ass I should try writing this into a proper story, but it's kinda cliche innit?
  • Listening to: Nightcall - Kavinsky & Lovefoxxx
  • Reading: into things too much.
  • Eating: Cold Pizza
  • Drinking: Whiskey & Ginger Ale


Dain-Siegfried's Profile Picture
Isaac Beach
Artist | Student | Literature
Law-Commerce student with a penchant for writing, romance and maps.


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LouisTheFox Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Im sure your aware what happened to me on that thread you made. I had no idea what I was going to say would get me a kick, honestly I just joking around.

Meh oh well. I can serve a week kick on I mean to be honest I have ton of things I have to do anyways.
Arminius1871 Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2018
Happy birthday^^
Dain-Siegfried Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2018  Student Writer
Ay’ thanks man!
Twiggierjet Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2018
Happy birthday.
Dain-Siegfried Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2018  Student Writer
Thank you kindly.
TerranTechnocrat Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday! :D (Big Grin)
Dain-Siegfried Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2018  Student Writer
Thank you, I appreciate it.
Artaxes2 Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2018  Hobbyist
Happy Birthday !!!
Dain-Siegfried Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2018  Student Writer
Ooh bold and italics, that’s emphatic. Thanks!
Mobiyuz Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch!
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