#Engraftment

[nemfrog]

Larches in blue. "Showing natural engrafting."

Science-gossip. 1888. Processed image.

Internet Archive

[secretmellowblog]

> Not a single future dreamed of engrafting itself on this solitary old man. Not a single sprouting ambition committed the folly of putting forth its foliage in his shadow.

I am always really “!” By the emphasis on how Myriel’s humility/charity/etc means that no one wants to follow in his footsteps, because the rest of the church is after money/power.

I also think it’s significant his “legacy” ends up being Jean Valjean— a poor felon continues the legacy of charity that other bishops will not.

[transtheology]

According to Matson, 39, his “disclosing,” as he describes it, is a moment years in the making. He offered his story as indicative of the often difficult path for trans Catholics, including those seeking life as a religious — a category that includes brothers and nuns.

“I am currently based in the Appalachian mountains of eastern Kentucky,” he wrote in an email to friends and supporters on Sunday. “I live in a hermitage at the top of a wooded hill, which I share with my German Shepherd rescue, Odie, and with the Blessed Sacrament, which was installed in my oratory shortly before Christmas.”

[...] Matson approached a canon lawyer to discuss his options and was told that only two aspects of Catholic life were categorically off the table: marriage and the priesthood. According to Matson, the canon lawyer recommended being upfront about his status as a transgender man in any vocational conversations with church leaders and mentioned the role of a diocesan hermit, which could prove less challenging than enlisting with an existing religious order.

[...] What followed was roughly a decade of searching and no small amount of rejection. Living in the United Kingdom while pursuing a master’s degree, and later a Ph.D. in theology, Matson entered a vocational discernment program and approached the Jesuit order to ask if he could join.

“They said, ‘No, we just don’t see how this would work for us,’ which was crushing, because that’s where I felt called,” Matson said.

[...] “I thought, well, if I can’t find a religious community to sponsor me, maybe what I need is a bishop,” Matson said.

A priest friend recommended different bishops to contact, beginning with Stowe, who was emerging as a leading voice among Catholics calling for a more tolerant approach to LGBTQ+ people. In 2020, Matson sent Stowe a letter, conveying his status as a transgender man, his vision for an artists’ community and his pull to religious life.

Stowe wrote back immediately, expressing his openness.

“It was an enormous relief,” Matson said. “I was in tears. I felt my hope revive.”

[...] Matson vented his frustrations to Stowe and his spiritual director, saying he wanted to speak out. But he said he was advised to first “build a foundation” in religious life for several years.

During that time, Matson had an experience that shook him. Attending a friend’s play in his religious habit, he was approached by a student who identified as trans and nonbinary. After asking if Matson was a monk, the student said they were raised Catholic, but that their parents had rejected their identity, and the student felt like they “don’t have a place in the church anymore.”

Matson responded by saying there were people in the church who would support the student, and Matson prayed with them, asking God to show the student how they are “wonderful the way you’ve made them.” The student, Matson said, grew emotional, thanking the hermit profusely and saying, “No one from the church has ever affirmed me for who I am.”

[...] As for ever leaving Catholicism itself, Matson bristled at the idea, calling the church “my family.” “I’m Catholic,” he said. “I became Catholic after I transitioned because of the Catholic understanding — the sacramental understanding — of the body, of creation, of the desirability of the visible unity of the church and primarily because of the Eucharist.”

At the very least, Matson said, he hopes going public will spark dialogue about his fellow transgender Catholics, a discussion he believes can enhance unity among the body of believers.

“You’ve got to deal with us, because God has called us into this church,” he said. “It’s not your church to kick us out of — this is God’s church, and God has called us and engrafted us into it.”

[christianconversations]

YHWH-Yireh

“YHWH-Yireh” or “The Lord Will Provide,” is a testament to one of the most fundamental truths of life—God’s provision.

As Genesis narrows its focus from the human race, broadly, to Abraham, specifically, we see the Almighty miraculously give the barren man and his wife a son, through whom He promised blessing, for the entire world. Abraham had no reason to doubt God; His love and merciful care were ever-present. Yet, he must have wondered, when his Creator and Sustainer, Who had been so deliberate in appointing an heir in Issac, called for the sacrifice of this same beloved child.

That was far from His holy character, Who neither assented to, nor demanded the substitutionary death of those, “made in His image”!Nevertheless, without doubting, Abraham gathered himself and his son and went to Mount Moriah. Clinging to a deep faith, that many of us could never fathom, he believed in the LORD to make things right—to save his boy and give means for a sacrifice.

Then, atop that mountain, at the most climactic moment, God stayed Abraham’s hand and protected Isaac. “Do not lay your hand on the lad,” He said, while, before the father’s eyes, a ram appeared to take his place. What unspeakable relief! In his praise, Abraham called the place, “YHWH-Yireh”— a fitting title, too, for the One, Who made a way, in the impossible.

This same YHWH provided a sacrifice for the sins of the entire world—a Redeemer, to open the door for man to approach the Father, by faith, in the Son. Because He did not remove His righteous hand from Jesus Christ, we are free—a reality which Abraham saw, then, foreshadowed. Just as God gave His Heavenly Lamb, so He provides, daily, for those whose faith in that blessed blood, spilled on Calvary, has engrafted them into His holy family!

Whatever you’re going through, surrender it to “YHWH-Yireh.” He will provide what is best.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Kelly Betts

People can’t see my disability from the outside. I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at the comments and harassment I already face.

On Thursday, officials in Nassau County, New York, where I live, signed a mask ban into law, one of the first of its kind in the country. And while to most healthy adults it doesn’t mean much, to those with serious health conditions, like me, it makes getting out into the world a lot harder.

The ban was touted by lawmakers as a public safety measure after reported antisemitic incidents and protests at various New York universities, many involving people wearing masks. Those who violate the new law face a misdemeanor charge punishable by up to a year in jail and a $1,000 fine. And while there are exemptions for people with religious and medical reasons, it’s not dealing with the law that I’m afraid of. It’s dealing with the “citizen cops” of the world who will be using their discretion to enforce it.

I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in February 2023. It’s a fast-growing type of blood cancer. I underwent more than five rounds of chemotherapy, and the following July, thanks to an amazingly generous donor, I had a stem cell transplant, something I knew nothing about until I got sick. I was given some of the most powerful chemotherapies to kill my old immune system and any remaining cancer cells. Then I was given my donor’s stem cells to help build a brand-new immune system.

There are a lot of risks that come along with the transplant, especially in the early stages as the stem cells are engrafting and you have no immune system. The first 100 days are the riskiest, and you must watch everything from what you eat to how it’s prepared, and most of all the people around you. Your body is starting from scratch, so you have almost no immunities. Any vaccinations you’ve had over your lifetime have been wiped out. For the last year since my transplant, my immune system has slowly been getting stronger. But building a new immune system takes years, and I have a long way to go. So, wearing my face mask whenever I go out is essential.

That brings me back to the new law. I wear a medic alert bracelet and would hope that showing it to the police, should it ever become an issue, would be enough. But that’s not guaranteed, because anyone can just order one. Would I be forced to show up in court to prove my medical condition to a judge? And what cost and time could that take, all to protect my health? And what about my family or people who act as caregivers, who don’t technically have medical conditions of their own, but still wear masks to protect me? Would there be an exemption for them?

Most of all, I worry about those who have strong feelings against masks. As we know, many people read headlines and not always the full story. And just reading most of the headlines, all someone will know is that there’s a mask ban in Nassau County. Even at the height of my illness, with no hair and really looking like I had cancer, I still got comments like “Covid is over” or “that’s not protecting you.” And while the few comments hurt, especially while I was battling for my life, I could shake them off. I had a bigger fight ahead of me.

Now, healthier with hair again and 43 years old, the comments continue. But I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at that. People can’t see my disability from the outside. It’s been hard to get back out in the world, as many can relate to after going through a global pandemic. Even being as careful as I am and just starting to let my guard down a little in outdoor settings, I caught Covid. And it took my body and immune system down hard. Luckily, I’m recovering and back to wearing my mask diligently, even outdoors.

I want to be able to return to my normal life. And go out with friends, see a Broadway show, and one day get back to my office in the city. But now with New York City considering passing its own mask ban, I don’t know when I would feel safe enough to do that. Is this law really protecting the masses?

[lnfini]

In the rotten bramble-wood his skull abloom with thorn and vine A man who had my own face stood; its petals soft, blossom divine. He looked upon me with no eyes and spoke without a mouth to talk; His voice rang out in bell-like chimes: "In the depths does God's corpse rot."

stroma is finally complete, with chapter 3: emesis.

if you are interested, read from the beginning here. you may also read it on my personal site.

thank you very much for reading.

[bpod-bpod]

Plumbing the Pancreas

Advancing research in diabetes increasingly takes advantage of lab-grown models of pancreatic islets. To faithfully recapitulate real-life functions, such tissue needs blood vessels. Using human reprogrammed vascular endothelial cells – vessel-forming cells that have been genetically manipulated – this study demonstrates functional vascularisation of islets both in the lab and when engrafted into living mice

Read the published research article here

Video from work by Ge Li and colleagues

Division of Regenerative Medicine, Hartman Institute for Therapeutic Organ Regeneration, Ansary Stem Cell Institute, Department of Medicine, Weill Cornell Medicine, New York, NY, USA

Video originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0)

Published in Science Advances, January 2025

You can also follow BPoD on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Bluesky

[mariacallous]

Jaiwen Hsu was an active 11-year-old when he developed pain in his left knee that forced him to sit out a few soccer games. What his parents thought was a sports injury turned out to be osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer.

He started chemotherapy, which doctors warned could result in infertility. Hsu hadn’t reached puberty yet, so sperm banking wasn’t an option. His parents enrolled him in a study that was collecting and storing immature testicular tissue, and the sperm-forming stem cells in them, from young patients with the goal of eventually giving them a way to have biological children.

Now 26, Hsu and his doctors are waiting to see if an experimental transplant of these cells, extracted from a tissue sample taken back in 2011, will be able to restart sperm production. The procedure has been successful in mice and monkeys, but researchers say Hsu was the first person to undergo it in November 2023. The technique is detailed in a new paper that has yet to be peer-reviewed.

“As an 11-year-old, I don’t think I could quite understand the severity of having a cancer diagnosis or comprehend the idea of starting a family down the road and how important that would be,” Hsu tells WIRED.

In the early stages of his cancer treatment, Hsu and his family traveled from their home in Maryland to UPMC Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, where doctors collected a piece of testicular tissue containing the precious sperm stem cells. These stem cells are present even before puberty. During puberty, rising testosterone levels signal to these cells to develop into sperm, a process known as spermatogenesis.

In November 2023, at age 24, Hsu was reunited with those cells. After undergoing anesthesia, he received an injection of them into one of his testes. The hope is that the cells engraft into the spaghetti-like tubules of the testis and develop into mature sperm.

“If it works, those stem cells should regenerate spermatogenesis,” says Kyle Orwig, a professor of obstetrics, gynecology, and reproductive sciences at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine and the senior author on the new study. Even if it kick-starts sperm production, it might not be enough to come out in the ejaculate. “If there are, there definitely would not be enough sperm to restore natural fertility,” Orwig says.

In animals, it’s possible to remove a larger piece of testicular tissue, which yields more stem cells and more sperm. But in children undergoing cancer treatment, it’s important to minimize harm—and recovery time—so only a small amount of tissue is taken. That results in a relatively small number of stem cells.

For that reason, Hsu will likely still need assistive reproductive technology if he wants to start a family. He’s not at that point yet, but he said he chose to undergo the procedure now, in his mid-twenties, because “it gives us a good time cushion to see if this works.”

In the future, surgeons would likely need to cut into his testis and extract any sperm that might be there, which would then be used to fertilize an egg in a laboratory. Until Hsu is ready to have a child, researchers probably won’t know if the procedure worked.

“What we expected out of this initial transplant was to demonstrate that the method was safe and that it was feasible,” Orwig says. Ultrasounds show that Hsu’s testicular tissue was unharmed by the procedure and his hormone levels are in the normal range. For now, his semen still lacks sperm.

More transplants could happen soon. Orwig’s team has been banking testicular tissue from children since 2011, and now some of those patients are entering reproductive age. His group has received permission from an institutional review board to do transplants of stem cells, as well as testicular tissue, as part of a clinical trial.

Transplanting immature testicular tissue is an alternative approach that researchers are exploring. In that technique, a piece of preserved tissue is tucked under the skin of the scrotum. The hope is that the tissue will mature and eventually produce sperm. In monkeys, Orwig and his team transplanted testicular tissue, then removed that grafted tissue eight to 12 months later and extracted sperm from it. They used the sperm to fertilize eggs and transferred the resulting embryos into surrogate from female macaques, which resulted in a live birth.

To retrieve the sperm, a sliver of tissue is cut away from the skin—a less invasive procedure than the stem cell transplant, which requires opening up the testis.

When Orwig’s team first started collecting testicular tissue, he thought they would get more stem cells by isolating them from the tissue first and then freezing them. They did this with their first few patients, including Hsu. But later, they discovered they could get just as many stem cells or more from cryopreserving whole pieces of tissue, then later thawing them and extracting the cells. It meant that Hsu could only undergo a stem cell transplant, because just his cells were frozen. Other patients who froze whole pieces of tissue will have the option of trying either the stem cell or tissue transplant.

In January, researchers at Vrije Universiteit Brussel and Brussels IVF in Belgium announced that they had performed the first testicular tissue transplant in a patient who underwent chemotherapy in childhood. The patient will be monitored for one year, with his semen being tested for the presence of sperm. After a year, doctors will remove some of the transplanted pieces of tissue to check for sperm.

“For these patients who get life-saving cancer therapies, they are very often left with permanently impaired fertility as a result,” says Robert Brannigan, president-elect of the American Society for Reproductive Medicine and professor of urology at Northwestern University. “It’s hard to say which approach is going to be the one that is more effective, but I think both approaches really are worthy of further study.”

A similar procedure, called ovarian tissue transplantation, is available for female cancer patients and has resulted in more than 200 live births worldwide. It’s more advanced than testicular freezing and transplantation because in adult men needing chemotherapy, there is usually the option of freezing sperm, whereas the equivalent practice in women—freezing eggs—can take two to three weeks, and patients may not have time to undergo it before starting chemotherapy. When egg freezing isn’t possible, a piece of tissue from the ovary can be collected and stored for later use.

“It’s very nice to see that we are catching up a bit so that we can offer our young men the same sorts of opportunities we’re able to offer our young women,” says Jonathan Routh, a pediatric urologist at Duke Health. “Keeping kids alive is always goal number one, but allowing them to then live that life is really goal number two, and I think that’s where this study really will have an impact on the future.”

Hsu realizes that the technology is still in its infancy, and it might not work for him. Even if he can’t have a biological child, he hopes these techniques will eventually open up options for other childhood cancer patients. “This is a practice that is just beginning,” he says. “The more support, the more research, and the more data we have, the better for people like me down the line.”

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Solitude Of Monseigneur Welcome

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.12

A bishop is almost always surrounded by a full squadron of little abbés, just as a general is by a covey of young officers. This is what that charming Saint François de Sales calls somewhere “les prêtres blancs-becs,” callow priests. Every career has its aspirants, who form a train for those who have attained eminence in it. There is no power which has not its dependents. There is no fortune which has not its court. The seekers of the future eddy around the splendid present. Every metropolis has its staff of officials. Every bishop who possesses the least influence has about him his patrol of cherubim from the seminary, which goes the round, and maintains good order in the episcopal palace, and mounts guard over monseigneur’s smile. To please a bishop is equivalent to getting one’s foot in the stirrup for a sub-diaconate. It is necessary to walk one’s path discreetly; the apostleship does not disdain the canonship.

Just as there are bigwigs elsewhere, there are big mitres in the Church. These are the bishops who stand well at Court, who are rich, well endowed, skilful, accepted by the world, who know how to pray, no doubt, but who know also how to beg, who feel little scruple at making a whole diocese dance attendance in their person, who are connecting links between the sacristy and diplomacy, who are abbés rather than priests, prelates rather than bishops. Happy those who approach them! Being persons of influence, they create a shower about them, upon the assiduous and the favored, and upon all the young men who understand the art of pleasing, of large parishes, prebends, archidiaconates, chaplaincies, and cathedral posts, while awaiting episcopal honors. As they advance themselves, they cause their satellites to progress also; it is a whole solar system on the march. Their radiance casts a gleam of purple over their suite. Their prosperity is crumbled up behind the scenes, into nice little promotions. The larger the diocese of the patron, the fatter the curacy for the favorite. And then, there is Rome. A bishop who understands how to become an archbishop, an archbishop who knows how to become a cardinal, carries you with him as conclavist; you enter a court of papal jurisdiction, you receive the pallium, and behold! you are an auditor, then a papal chamberlain, then monsignor, and from a Grace to an Eminence is only a step, and between the Eminence and the Holiness there is but the smoke of a ballot. Every skull-cap may dream of the tiara. The priest is nowadays the only man who can become a king in a regular manner; and what a king! the supreme king. Then what a nursery of aspirations is a seminary! How many blushing choristers, how many youthful abbés bear on their heads Perrette’s pot of milk! Who knows how easy it is for ambition to call itself vocation? in good faith, perchance, and deceiving itself, devotee that it is.

Monseigneur Bienvenu, poor, humble, retiring, was not accounted among the big mitres. This was plain from the complete absence of young priests about him. We have seen that he “did not take” in Paris. Not a single future dreamed of engrafting itself on this solitary old man. Not a single sprouting ambition committed the folly of putting forth its foliage in his shadow. His canons and grand-vicars were good old men, rather vulgar like himself, walled up like him in this diocese, without exit to a cardinalship, and who resembled their bishop, with this difference, that they were finished and he was completed. The impossibility of growing great under Monseigneur Bienvenu was so well understood, that no sooner had the young men whom he ordained left the seminary than they got themselves recommended to the archbishops of Aix or of Auch, and went off in a great hurry. For, in short, we repeat it, men wish to be pushed. A saint who dwells in a paroxysm of abnegation is a dangerous neighbor; he might communicate to you, by contagion, an incurable poverty, an anchylosis of the joints, which are useful in advancement, and in short, more renunciation than you desire; and this infectious virtue is avoided. Hence the isolation of Monseigneur Bienvenu. We live in the midst of a gloomy society. Success; that is the lesson which falls drop by drop from the slope of corruption.

Be it said in passing, that success is a very hideous thing. Its false resemblance to merit deceives men. For the masses, success has almost the same profile as supremacy. Success, that Menæchmus of talent, has one dupe,—history. Juvenal and Tacitus alone grumble at it. In our day, a philosophy which is almost official has entered into its service, wears the livery of success, and performs the service of its antechamber. Succeed: theory. Prosperity argues capacity. Win in the lottery, and behold! you are a clever man. He who triumphs is venerated. Be born with a silver spoon in your mouth! everything lies in that. Be lucky, and you will have all the rest; be happy, and people will think you great. Outside of five or six immense exceptions, which compose the splendor of a century, contemporary admiration is nothing but short-sightedness. Gilding is gold. It does no harm to be the first arrival by pure chance, so long as you do arrive. The common herd is an old Narcissus who adores himself, and who applauds the vulgar herd. That enormous ability by virtue of which one is Moses, Æschylus, Dante, Michael Angelo, or Napoleon, the multitude awards on the spot, and by acclamation, to whomsoever attains his object, in whatsoever it may consist. Let a notary transfigure himself into a deputy: let a false Corneille compose <i>Tiridate;</i> let a eunuch come to possess a harem; let a military Prudhomme accidentally win the decisive battle of an epoch; let an apothecary invent cardboard shoe-soles for the army of the Sambre-and-Meuse, and construct for himself, out of this cardboard, sold as leather, four hundred thousand francs of income; let a pork-packer espouse usury, and cause it to bring forth seven or eight millions, of which he is the father and of which it is the mother; let a preacher become a bishop by force of his nasal drawl; let the steward of a fine family be so rich on retiring from service that he is made minister of finances,—and men call that Genius, just as they call the face of Mousqueton <i>Beauty</i>, and the mien of Claude <i>Majesty</i>. With the constellations of space they confound the stars of the abyss which are made in the soft mire of the puddle by the feet of ducks.

[worldsandemanations]

“Larch, showing natural engrafting.” Science-gossip. 1888

[nemesisthetoy]

Snowy interrogation (Story Below the cut)

(Previous part here)

The bang-powder explosion had flung Blizzard out through the armory's chimney with a resounding "FWOOMP!", causing her to spin through the air for just a few seconds before she managed to spread her wings and catch herself in the air.

Her right arm felt as if it had thousands of flaming centipedes with sharp iron legs were crawling through her, but the only physical sign of this was the bright green bracelet that engrafted into her arm, which itself was covered by a simple alcohol-soaked bandage.

The Icewing knew that Plateau wanted her to run and hide while he delt with the three intruders, but at the same time, she just couldn't bring herself to run away this time.

In her moment of hesitation, however, the largest of the three intruders, the Skywing, had forcefully stumbled out the door after taking the full force of the Sandwing's fire right towards his face and neck.

He had his talons pressed over his burnt flesh and was preparing to jump back into the fight inside when noticed the dragonet hovering overhead.

Instantly he pounced towards this possible loose-end and shot towards her with speeds only known to Skywings.

Blizzard didn't even have time to process that he was there, she dove and just barely missed being clawed by the imposing dragon!

She turned around while still falling to see her assailant, and the first thing she noticed were the massive burns that covered the left side of his face and neck.

The flesh had been recently charred and barely hung from the Skywing's face, his left eye was red and irritated, and a smell that was close to that of burnt cow permeated from him.

She gaged at the stench but began to charge up her frost breath while ducking under the burnt dragon's second attempt to grab her.

Right when the large Skywing attempted to force her to ground by diving right towards her from above, she unleashed the full fury of her ice breath, coincidentally hitting him again on his burns.

However, the Skywing didn't seem to really be fazed by the dragonet's attack, as he roared and simply dove through the force of her blast!

Soon enough the large dragon's talons meet with the cold scales of her chest in a violent impact.

The hit had completely knocked the dragonet off balance, and all she could do was scream while she plummeted to the ground below.

She landed on her back on the snow-covered ground just a few meters away from the armory, and not a second later the Skywing had her pinned from her chest with claws seeping into her chest!

The sudden impact knocked most of the frozen-burnt flesh and even half of the left horn from the Skywing, and what was underneath horrified Blizzard to her very core.

There were no bones under where his scales used to be, but instead the vague metal shape of a dragon, forged into different segments in order to ensure maximum mobility.

His broken horn now forked at the end and appeared to be made out of gold!

The underside of his neck was made of gold too, but the rest of him was made from a metal that the Icewing had never seen before, a red metal the color of dragon's blood.

His left eye had fallen out completely, and in its place was an orb of pure pitch black, save for the slit pupil which glowed a fiery yellow.

It was as if a statue had been given life and stole the flesh of a Skywing!

The "Skywing" hissed while a bright orange emanated from his throat as he dug his claws deeper into her flesh.

The message was very clear, 'Try to move, and you'll burn.'

"Hmm, Quite the little fighter, aren't you? Yessss." the crimson dragon spoke as he recomposed himself.

His tone exuded a since of superiority and confidence, but at the same time, trying to hide a hint of annoyance.

His voice was surprisingly smooth and clear for someone who just lost half their face and neck.

"Scolia, quit playing in the snow and get over here!" ordered her captor.

The little green Hivewing, who had been lying with his face buried in the snow just outside the armory up 'till this point, got up and began buzzing towards the pair.

Soon after the red Hivewing emerged from the burning building, obviously gleeful about something.

The two of them positioned themselves to the left and right of the Skywing respectively, but what horrified Blizzard the most was who didn't leave the building, her guardian.

Plateau, the last dragon who cared for her, was most likely dead, and the thought drove the poor Icewing dragonet to tears.

The Skywing addressed his captive "Now then, seeing as you are the only resident left, I just have one thing to ask of you. Where is my key?"

Blizzard was shocked and appalled, all this pain, all this destruction all this death, for something as simple as a key.

"You murdered (sniff) and destroyed everything I cared for (inhale), FOR A KEY!?! WHAT KEY!?!?", She spat out though sharp inhales and tears, her words filled with the fury of a dragon who lost everything.

The Icewing genuinely didn't know what they were talking about, but almost immediately after she spat out her response, it clicked in her mind.

"The cursed chest...," she thought to herself, "Is the key what grafted onto my arm!?"

The crimson dragon scowled at her response and simply applied even more pressure onto the young one's ribs.

"No, please!", she cried.

Tears flowed down Blizzard's face as she begged and instinctively tried to claw at the limb crushing her chest.

However, only her left arm could rise to resist him as her right arm still burned from having merged with the key.

The green Hivewing looked sickened at the sight of her anguish, but the red one seemed to be oddly invested in it.

"Last chance." threatened the metal dragon, "Where, is, my, key?"

As Blizzard began to truly weigh her options in her head, two snowballs were hurled from just over the cliff's edge and struck both of the guarding Hivewings.

"Bah!" the red Hivewing exclaimed while wiping the snow from his face, "You wouldn't suppose we missed a guard, would you Royalty?"

"Nooo~, a guard would use spears.", the "Royal" Skywing answered

"It's probably just some dragonet wanting to be brave; but was instead just stupid. I trust you two will deal with this."

And with that, Scolia and the red Hivewing leapt into action!

Well, the red one leapt into action, Scolia just halfheartedly walked over to cliff's edge while grumbling to himself.

With his two guards going to investigate the potential witness, the metal dragon turned his attention back to Blizzard.

"How about this, you have 5 seconds to tell me where my key is before I have to break your other arm."

"Five," The living statue lifted his right talons and grabbed Blizzard's left arm.

"Four," The wind had begun to pick up its speed and volume.

"Three," A soft crunching sound, like talons in the snow became faintly audible. The metal dragon didn't seem to notice as he was too focused on his prisoner.

"Two," Blizzard's eye darted towards the faint sound, no louder that a whisper, expecting to see the Hivewing guards and whoever they found. Instead, there was a single light gray silhouette beginning to appear on the horizon. It was definitely a dragon of some kind, but judging by the wings, it wasn't either of the Hivewings.

"On-!" The gray dragon suddenly rushed "Royalty" in a head on collision! The metal dragon, who barely had time to react, had to let go of Blizzard in order to properly brace himself.

The force of the gray dragon colliding with him launched the crimson one right off his prisoner!

Blizzard could barely get up onto her talons before the gray dragon addressed her.

"YOU, flee as far away as you can, NOW!!!"

His voice was unusually raspy, and his tone exceedingly harsh.

The crimson dragon produced an unusual pattern of sounds that sounded like words in a different language mixed together with the sound of two pieces of metal scraping together before leaping in claws and teeth first at the grey dragon.

Blizzard found herself running from the two dragons fighting, but not anywhere the gray dragon would have liked.

Instead, she ran right into the burning armory!

"I MEANT THE OTHER WAY, WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?!?" Screamed the gray dragon as his wings shifted into a blood red color.

[nemfrog]

"Larch, showing natural engrafting."

Science-gossip. 1888. Processed image.

Internet Archive

[guelphicreaction]

There is great variety among these saints; each according to his or her vocation, and the measure of the giving of of Christ's grace, secundum mensuram donationis Christi, reproduces one of the aspects of the plenitude of the Man-God's perfections. The same Spirit, says St. Paul, has given to each a special grace which, being engrafted upon nature, makes each one of the elect shine with a particular glory. In some, strength has dominated; in others, prudence: again in others, zeal for God's glory; in one, faith has especially shone out, in another, purity. But whether they be the Apostles, Martyrs or Pontiffs, whether it concerns Virgins or Confessors, one common character is to be found in them all. This character is stability in seeking after God and in love of Him. And this is a great virtue, for inconstancy is one of the most redoubtable perils that menace mankind.

Dom Marmion; Christ, the Ideal of the Monk

[torchflies]

Hi have 2 questions!

1. What's the age difference between Bradley and CCS Jake?

2. Jake was 8 when he met them, 9 when he was getting his last treatment and by the tome he was 10 he was in remission, right? Just want to make sure my brain has the timeline right lol

I’m ready to answer, Nonny!

Approximately nine years, because Bradley got a late start 👀 and stubbornly worked to pay his own way for a few years before reapplying to the USNA. (Jake loves dinosaurs, what can I say? 😂)

2. Kind of.

See, Jake got his cord blood transplant at nine, yes, which officially destroyed all his cancer (the graft takes care of what was still there). That's technically remission at nine. But engraftment (the cord blood replacing all his destroyed bone marrow) takes FOREVER for cord blood transplants because of the small volume transplanted. It’s the major drawback for cord blood transplants (total hospitalized isolation for about 6 weeks and six months to a year before everything is as it should be — imagine having the immune system of a newborn again 😬 ).

Hope that helps! 😊

Thank you for your questions!!!! 🥹

[transmutationisms]

i just read Against Exercise. i wanted to ask what you make of this sentence and the wider paradigm he gestures at occasionally in the essay:

Upon the desperate materialist gratifications of a hedonic society, commanding immediate comfort and happiness, we engraft the desperate economics of health, and chase a longer span of happinesses deferred, and comforts delayed, by disposing of the better portion of our lives in life preservation.

do we live in a ‘hedonic’ society? and does that framing shape his conclusions on in ur opinion? i have my own thoughts but am interested in yours x

ok i'm glad you asked because i find this sentence and this paradigm very irritating lol. i don't think he's the only left-ish thinker who's acceded to this type of framing (like i've complained about mark fisher pulling a similar move) but with greif there's a particular irksomeness to it because, even in the sentence you've quoted, we can see in the latter half how he contradicts his own idea of a "hedonic society"! if his thesis here is something like "the dominant cultural paradigm encourages instant gratification and hedonism, and the exerciser defies this edict by deferring their happiness and sweating it out at the gym instead" then, like, the obvious question here is, where does the impulse of the exerciser come from? does greif actually think the pursuit of fitness and longevity by physical exertion is some kind of counter-cultural move that reacts against, without acceding to, the demands of a "hedonic society"? if he does then it kind of undercuts the significance of the entire rest of the essay, lmao.

my personal answer here would be—and this is something greif dances around a few times but doesn't ever seem prepared to fully unpack—that the demand to have a fit and 'healthy' and long-lasting body is not at all contradictory to the demand to consume goods, and that this latter is more precisely what is meant by "hedonism" here if we are to use it in any useful sense. i think what greif is actually pointing to is the demand to shape oneself into, simultaneously, a valuable worker and an obedient consumer. in an immediate sense these two goals demand different things (say, 'going for a run' vs 'buying products') but on a more thorough analysis we can easily see how they arise from the same fundamental logic of profit-seeking. body fascism has never been just an aesthetic; what it promises to the state and the corporation is a population that is biologically managed and economically exploitable. i think this is true even in an imperialist economy like the united states that doesn't run primarily on production/export.

i don't know a ton about mark greif biographically but my impression is that he's kind of half-left at best, lol. certainly he's like, curmudgeonly in a way that is sometimes useful to mine (ruthless criticism of all that exists, &c) but i think in this essay and others we can clearly see how easily that attitude can slide into just a vaguely reactionary position when it lacks materialist analysis. like, frankly i think if we lived in a social context that actually had a commitment to ensuring hedonic pleasure that would probably be a better world. it's kind of similar to when lib-left types try to claim that we live in a world that has any serious degree of commitment to "the individual" when what they actually, usually mean is that we've been massified in a way that denies us social connection and material support from one another.

anyway: 'against exercise' was very mind-blowing to me when i first read it and i love to see someone staking out that position seriously; and there are elements of greif's analysis i think can be useful in an actually communist analysis. but i find a lot of cultural criticism (specifically that positions itself as counter-cultural without being explicitly communist) has a risk of just sliding reactionary, and i think this half-baked idea of a "hedonic society" is an example of that happening. curious what you think though!