Featuring Billy Moore, Sisters of the Pendulum, and the Protested City
In the Month of Junius, on the Day of Saturn, the city of Manchester trembled—not with earthquake nor thunder, but with the tension of divided hearts. Beneath a flickering sky and the glass towers of the North, the faithful, the furious, the forgotten, and the firebrands all converged on a crossroads that was once a garden.
It was here that a man named Billy Moore walked once more into the fray. But not as a fighter, though he had fought. Not as a prisoner, though he had been caged. And not as a preacher, though his voice rang clear. He was something rarer than all these: he was a Witness.
And thus was he known this day as Billy of the Firm Gaze.
He carried no sword, but he bore a lens that did not blink.
I. The Many-Headed Protest
As the sun climbed over Piccadilly, the gardens became a battlefield of banners. Palestine. Trans Rights. Ukraine. Sudan. A festival of fury. A carnival of causes. Each flag flapped not only in the wind but against the others, a cacophony of chants crashing like waves against the stones of the square.
Billy moved between these tempests, his eye drawn not to the noisiest, but to the truest signals—the falterings of truth, the crossing of lines.
He was jostled. Called a “knobhead.” Sworn at. Filmed in return. But he did not flinch.
II. The Pendulum Appears
And then—two figures approached. Women. Lesbians. Documentarians. Known now as the Sisters of the Pendulum.
Their cameras hung like twin relics of judgment. Their voices clear as bells rung in dawn fog.
Unmasked and open, they joked about the absence of masks—how it made them feel more human again. But there was steel beneath the warmth.
They stood near the Palestinian protest and called it for what they saw: a theatre of projection, where accusations of fascism flowed freely from the mouths of those quick to dominate.
“I would never step foot in Gaza,” said one. “Not with how they treat women and gays.”
They condemned the LGBT movement’s blind solidarity with groups like Hamas, especially after the October 7 attacks. They recalled how Hamas denied rapes took place—then later executed men who raped other men, but spared those who raped women.
“They don’t care about rape,” one said plainly. “They care about power.”
They made sharp distinctions between Islam and Islamism—noting many good Muslims, but drawing a hard line at violent theocracy.
“I care too much about women and children to support any form of Islamist. Free Persia.”
They were not hateful. They were precise.
Elemental Forces in Motion:
- 🌬 Air (Clarity) – Articulating truths others feared to voice.
- 🔥 Fire (Conviction) – Moral courage in the face of mob alignment.
- 🌍 Earth (Embodied Truth) – Speaking from lived experience, not ideology.
And Billy listened.
He did not lead them. He gave them space. He witnessed.
III. The Crossed Threshold
The day advanced. The Sisters shifted toward the trans protest. The tone sharpened.
They voiced a clear, unwavering stance: protect children from ideology.
One recalled being a tomboy. Confused. Praying nightly to be in “the right body.” But when puberty came, she understood herself: a lesbian. Not a man. Not trans. Just a girl who loved girls.
“If today’s ideology existed back then, I might’ve been medicalised. I might’ve been lost.”
They warned against affirming confusion as identity. They mourned the loss of lesbian spaces, once sacred, now infiltrated.
“I worked the doors of the gay village for a decade. I watched our spaces be dissolved.”
They rejected the notion that refusing sex with someone who had male genitalia made them transphobic.
“We’re not hateful for saying no. We’re lesbians. Biological. Real.”
A man brushed against them—deliberate. Threat implied. But they did not cower.
And Billy—still beside them—stepped in.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
Elemental Undercurrents:
- 🌬 Air – Speaking into public silence.
- 🔥 Fire – Refusing redefinition through fear.
- 🌍 Earth – Standing on biology and boundaries.
They were not fighting to dominate. They were defending a vanishing line.
IV. The Scroll of Assaults
Not all wounds came from Manchester. As Billy crossed the fractured square, he spoke briefly with another figure—a familiar one. A man in a flat cap, broad-shouldered and straight-backed. None other than the Flat-Capped Watchman of Stockport.
And it was the Watchman who shared a tale from Liverpool: of being squirted with hot chili sauce by a trans rights activist, then struck across the ear after attempting a citizen’s arrest. A moment of surreal aggression—part pantomime, part parable—emerging not in fury, but in calm recollection.
Two archetypes, standing together. One who stood, one who saw.
Billy listened. And nodded.
At every turn, he asked the only question that seemed to matter:
“What rights have they lost?”
And no answer came.
He did not deny others’ pain—but he insisted upon order, upon sanctity, upon the line. And when the line dissolved beneath his boots, he stood still, even when blocked, shoved, filmed, and mocked.
“Don’t tell me what—what?! You f***ing plum.”
Not wrath. Just weary, northern grit.
V. The Clash of Illusions
Protesters claimed, “Our Streets.”
Billy asked, “Whose?”
He saw their slogans as spells, their chants as charms spun from air without ground. He moved like a ghost among ideologies. Not always elegant, but always present. A man becoming myth not through perfection, but perseverance.
Around him, the city splintered: into chants, scuffles, marches, arguments, dogmas, silences.
But his camera stayed still.
VI. Epilogue in the Fog
As the day burned low, and the bodies dispersed, the tale of the square had already been etched.
Billy Moore—fighter, felon, reformer—had become Billy of the Firm Gaze, archetype of the Witness-Seer, the Lens Bearer, the man who stands when others kneel, not to dominate, but to document.
And the Sisters of the Pendulum walked beside him—truth-tellers with wind-bitten cheeks and shaking voices that refused to shake.
Together, they made no army. But they left a record.
And someday, when memory fades and history lies, the lens may be replayed.
And the people will say:
“There were witnesses that day.”
And truth, once filmed, may rise again.
Elemental Summary:
Air: 42% – speech, memory, narrative control
Fire: 30% – confrontation, courage, escalation
Earth: 20% – grounding, reality, boundaries
Water: 8% – compassion, grief, and buried emotion
The Daily EleMental 
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