#Infants Under The Bulb

[senorboombastic]

Listening Post – June 2024

Words: Andy Hughes Listen – don’t even get us started on how quick this year is going. Ay caramba!  Alongside our bumper playlist for the year (capturing everything we’ve been loving from January through to now), the ‘Listening Post’ returns this month and is rammed with some top tunes, 20 of them in fact – old and new, all gold! Whilst you’re here, why not get involved with our new podcast?…

[dustedmagazine]

Uranium Club — Infants Under the Bulb (Static Shock)

Photo by Jack Cress

Join Uranium Club for the demented rants and snaky, agitated jams, but stay for the bizarre, beguiling window on our bizarre, beguiling times. Now, there’s nothing wrong with rants and jams alone — it is punk rock, after all — but this band is more ambitious. On their latest full-length, Infants Under the Bulb, these enigmatic Minneapolitans fling their conceptual heft in a new direction and expand their musical objectives without ceding much, if any, of their signature, careening tension.

Uranium Club has often pushed up against its core guitars-drums-bass sound to set or deepen a scene, but mostly at the margins. The space-age synth textures on 2016’s “God’s Chest,” for instance, or the cacophony of honks and alarms from “Grease Monkey” and muted piano underneath “Interview With The Cosmo Cleaners,” both from 2019. Though even in the latter example, which lasts the bulk of the song’s nearly 11 minutes, the embellishment seems more sampled than played. It tugs the main thrust of the music to another place. It’s pleasantly disorienting, but almost superficial.

On Infants Under the Bulb, horns and keyboards, when present, are embedded deep. “Viewers Like You,” with its desperate Eddie Argos-ian outbursts is driven by winding bursts of guitar, bass and drums, but it’s the tight yet delightfully berserk horn section that supercharges the riffs and rhythm before squiggling off into freer, jazzier spheres. It’s jolting and bracing and fits snugly into the band’s hard-charging style. So too does a similar, if more fleeting interplay on “Big Guitar Jack Off in the Sky.” Counter to its name, the song is most notable for the charismatic piano and saxophone parts than the racing guitars, a compliment to the new elements more than a beef with the eponymous instrument. Uranium Club has been and remains a great guitar band.

And a great vocal band. With Art Brut’s Argos, I’ve already mentioned one frontman I hear in Uranium Club’s ravings, but there’s plenty of Jad Fair and D Boon too, and the mid-tempo sneer of “Tokyo Paris L.A. Milan” could be a somewhat less spiteful Ron House project. Pick your favorite punk not-quite-singer and you’ll likely hear a hint. It’s not derivative, it’s just a good lineage from which to deliver one-liners like “if I have to drool, it might as well be on cashmere” and “I wanna trade sex for information!” But if wide-eyed tirades are central to the band’s identity then so, too, are experiments with spoken word. Uranium Club has a history of using prose performance to weave narrative into an album — the aforementioned “Interview…” and “Michael’s Soliloquy” from The Cosmo Cleaners, or “Intro” from All Of Them Naturals. While the latter has no musical backing, the Cleaners pair hew (with the exception of piano on “Interview…”) to the band’s usual oeuvre. And this is where Infants Under the Bulb goes from tugging the band’s music towards new realms to really yanking.

In four parts across three tracks, we’re told the story of “The Wall.” It’s fairly straightforward, a departure from denser precedents like “Interview..”. The parable concerns two women living apart in an unnamed, blandly pleasant place. Suddenly, a wall appears, and dictates its importance to each woman. The benefit is safety and its sinister shadow, security. This is welcomed by all, despite the uncanny sense that no one felt unsafe or insecure prior to the wall’s suggestion. To quote track seven, “2-600-LULLABY”: “Connect the dots, y’all.” One day, the wall disappears. The women are dismayed but meet each other in the wall’s absence. In the end, they rebuild the wall together. Performed by organist Molly Raben, the graceful, meditative instrumental demonstrates Uranium Club’s very punk commitment to not only follow creative vision where it leads but to find collaborative catharsis in the face of a changing, often sinister world. So come for the unhinged bangers, the double-time drums and heart-racing bass, the slashing guitars and stabbing horns; Infants Under the Bulb has all that. But stay for the solidarity and the calm between the storms.

Alex Johnson

[genericamentegiuseppe]

The Uranium Club - Infants Under the Bulb

Né punk né post punk, mai pretenziosi ma neanche immediati, gli Uranium Club se ne fregano delle definizioni e giocano nel mezzo di queste, la poca immaginazione diventa un cifra stilistica (e ideologica). Era un po’ che aspettavo questo ritorno, ma devo dire che i quattro da Minneapolis sono riusciti a stupirmi di nuovo, più maturi ma non meno incazzati di cinque anni fa. Eccovi qualche link…

[twistedhypersonicnavigator]

Day 1: Bug Hunt

Emmet sat back watching his Joltik having their mid day snack. Once again attempting to count the masses. Ingo had previously told him that he'd likely never be able to since they were always moving, and he'd likely count many of them twice because of it. He tried though, at this point it was like counting stars.

"1, 2...4...uh 9...12. no spark stay there. ah discharge don't steal your sisters batteries, 28, 32, no no fork do not bite! 44, 48, uh...52...are you two fighting! Flash! Crackle stop that fighting! You both had your shares." He stopped after he reached the undesired number. He looked around the apartment and then down at the stretching mother.

"Wheres Fulmy?" He asked looking around at the others to see if he could find the lone shiny. The spider mother stood up and looked around her infants who stopped fighting, biting, and stealing batteries from one another.

Her pincers made a clicking noise as a mother called throughout the apartment. It always astounded Emmet that a Garvantula can switch to a different language when talking to her babies. A male had no such thing. The females were loners and once the deed was done she produced and raised the brood on her own.

"Van?" She looked up at Emmet who reached down scratching her around her cheek.

"I'll try to look for him, you keep looking out for your babies." Emmet stood up to his full height and started to look though his usual haunts. Joltiks were tiny and can hide in places pretty well.

So under the counter in the bathroom, in the kitchen, under the bed, and just inside the cups on the table. Emmet looked around the room and then up the the lights. at first he thought he saw him and took the bulb off and looked inside. Nothing but cobwebs probably left behind by the previous brood.

Emmet was at a loss. He sat down the think about it. Where hadn't he looked?

the front door opened and shut.

"Good evening Emmet. Have a good day off?" Ingo walked in taking off his jacket and putting it onto the coat stand by the door. taking off his hat and placed it just beside Emmets.

"It was eventful, I can not find..." He spotted just on Ingo's head the one Joltik that had gone missing. "You little traveler...it would seem the one I have been looking for all day long has accompanied you to work." Emmet lightly picked up the yawning Joltik. Likely low on energy.

"Ah yes, I found him when I sat down to eat my lunch. I fed him and stowed him back under my had for safe keeping. He was a good boy." Ingo scratched the Joltiks fur. Only to receive a loud friendly chirp and a shock.

[palmofafreezinghand]

requesting an angsty one shot if you feel up to writing it? :)

thank you for the prompt!

content warnings: discussions of infant death and grief

on ao3 here.

March, 1921. 

Carlisle sped down the old logging road, the mechanical hum of a finely tuned European engine blending with the whistled ‘fee-bee’ of the chickadees greeting the first buds of Spring. His arm hung out the window as he drove, the not-quite-warm air causing his sleeve to flap in the wind. He paid no mind to the shine of his skin under the morning sun. 

After a harrowing winter, the first buds of Spring were more than welcome. It appeared, his tide was finally turning. Or so he thought. 

“She is in a mood,” Edward whispered pointedly, appearing at Carlisle’s window the minute his tires hit the driveway. 

In a second Carlisle’s thoughts took a harsh turn to concern. The newest member of their household had not had an enviable introduction to their way of life, one haunted by desperation and grief, but as of late, she had improved. Smiles graced her face more frequently, a laugh echoed off the walls at least once a day, she had accepted the hand she was dealt with grace. At least he thought she had. Their tide was finally turning, right? 

“Carlisle, leave her alone,” Edward whispered through clenched teeth, yanking the car door open. He barely waited for Carlisle to get out of the car before he threw himself into the driver’s seat. “This is all your fault,” the boy hissed as he slammed the car in reverse. 

The winter — and all it brought — had been hard for them all. It was all his fault. 

Despite this knowledge, Carlisle did not heed Edward’s advice, he rarely did. Instead, he quickly found her in the garden. 

“Good morning,” he smiled, the rotting garden gate creaking as it swung open. 

“Hello,” she said, barely louder than the crunch of a pine needle under a hare’s foot half a mile South. 

She sat under a just-beginning-to-flower red maple tree. Her knees tucked to her chest, frizzy hair pinned on top of her head haphazardly, the circles under her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. Her gaze was fixed on a mound in one of the old garden beds, a single white flower peeking out of the melting snow. 

“Are you well?” 

She shrugged, which he learned to interpret as a half-hearted yes, but did not volunteer any elaboration. 

He took a seat next to her, without another word, as he had many times before. Vulnerability was not a natural state for Esme Anne Platt — Esme Anne a married name he had yet to find out but desperately wanted to know. 

If forced to guess he would say a half hour went by before she spoke.

“Snowdrop,” she said. Somehow her voice sounded as if she had been sobbing, however impossible that was. 

“Pardon?” 

“The flower,” she gestured weakly with her head, “is called a Snowdrop. They were originally imported from Europe, someone must have planted them nearby.” 

“Intriguing.” 

“It is often considered medicinal. People crush the bulb to treat pain. Ironic, is it not?” She scoffed. 

He did not grasp her meaning at first until he followed her gaze. A beautiful painkiller growing from a double grave. 

“This is where you buried them, is it not?” She asked when he did not respond. 

He considered lying, ever since meeting her he was getting more comfortable with falsehoods. In two months he had lied more than in the rest of his life. This was not one of those times. 

“How did you know?” 

“The smell,” she said matter-of-factly, in a way that made his stomach twist. He had buried the bodies fifteen feet deep in an attempt to hide the grave from her, save her the torment of a constant reminder. The scent of rotting flesh — noticeable only by the newborn with heightened senses — was not a factor he accounted for. 

The mother and son who lay under the garden bed, had been walking along the shore and had the misfortune of running into a bloodthirsty grief-stricken confused vampire. The bodies lay cold at her blood-covered feet a week after her own son had lost his life. The six-year-old boy was first, Edward had theorized the mother was partly out of instinct, and largely out of pity. 

Besides his mother’s, they were the first deaths Carlisle considered himself responsible for. 

As soon as she realized what she had done, Esme was horrified, rightfully. She pleaded with Edward and Carlisle to give the two a proper burial. 

The garden was the easiest place, somewhere no one would find them. 

Her remorse was palpable. Every silent day that went by felt like a noose tightening. The image of her greedily drinking from the neck of a child was one that haunted him every time he looked at her. 

He was no longer capable of seeing Esme as the woman she was, but was instead the many versions of herself she once was. A bright tree climber with big dreams and a charming laugh, an almost-corpse with a broken spine and delicious blood, a murderer with an enticing smile. 

He was the one who had turned her into this. 

“It was not your fault—” 

“Stop,” she interrupted him. For months he had insisted the deaths were not her fault, he should have had a better grip and used more restraint, he was the one who forced her into this life it was his responsibility to shepherd her through the challenges. She was not to blame. 

She refused to hear a word of it, he had yet to realize this was because she knew he did not believe the lies he peddled. 

His next words were weighed carefully, balanced against the slicing warning Edward had given. Carlisle could not imagine the thoughts that had driven him to such anger. He could not imagine half of the woman’s thoughts, still largely oblivious to the horrors that occurred in the ten years since they met. 

“Is this,” he motioned to the flower, and grave, “the only thing on your mind?” 

He presumed it was not. While, Esme had grieved the lives she took a shocking — quite concerning — amount, she had not mentioned the two strangers in over a month. When he had left her, a mere thirteen hours prior, she had seemed closer to her old, blissful sixteen-year-old, self than ever before. 

She sighed, her eyes closing, her forehead falling on her knees, attention finally pulled from the grave. “Everything is on my mind,” she laughed humorlessly. 

He did not probe further, despite every instinct telling him to be ask a dozen more questions. If he had been able to be objective about the situation, his overwhelming curiosity when it came to the subject of Esme would have been a cause of concern but he was doomed to be the last person to realize. 

“May I speak freely?” She asked, pulling her face off her knees and stretching her legs out in front of her. 

“Please.” 

She sucked in a breath, watching as a crow landed on the garden fence. “I feel as if I have lost the right to grieve,” she said carefully as if dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature. “I miss my son more than words can say, but I feel as if that is selfish.” 

“I can not fathom a world where grief is possibly considered vain.”

“I took the life of someone else’s son. I feel overwhelming guilt every time I have the gall to miss mine. It feels like retribution in a way, I will have to live with this pain for the rest of time.” 

She was not finished, he knew this and thus did not say a word but let his left hand fall to lightly touch her knee, a movement that could be construed as natural or not. Her hand hovered over his for a half second, before squeezing his hand and releasing. He let his hand fall to the ground. 

“Every time I feel the smallest bit of joy, I feel as if a boulder has been dropped on my chest. How can I dare be happy when he never will be? How can I stand to walk another day when I caused someone else this pain? I do not deserve the life you have given me, the safety, the peace, the contentment.” 

“Esme —” 

“I know I have been direful company as of late. I am, as difficult as it is, grateful for all you have done for me.” 

“Esme, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You have accepted this life with more grace than Edward or I did. I am the one who ought to be apologizing.” 

“I do not deserve your kindness.” 

“You do. You deserve a marvelous life.” 

She scoffed, his reassurances running off like water on a duck. “I appreciate the sentiment, however untrue it is.” 

“Your son would want his mother to find happiness. You are a loving mother, and a wonderful person, Esme.” 

She bit her bottom lip hard, eyes darting across the garden, looking as if she was on the precipice of tears. “You do not know that, you do not know me. If you knew what I have done…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, letting out a shaky breath. 

He could not fathom whatever occurred in the years they were strangers that she considered worse than a double homicide. Although, he paid more mind to the hurt caused by her accusation. ‘You do not know me.’ Why did this insult him so? 

“I did not look,” she said, turning to look him in the eye. The contact lasted only a brief second before her attention was turned back to the flower. “When he…” she gulped, “died. That is the first time I have used that word. Died. I did not look. I was holding him to my chest.” Her right hand instinctively lingered over her chest, rounding as if cradling a newborn’s head. “He was coughing so hard, I was too scared to watch. He could not see me. Did he know I was there? Did he think he was alone?” 

“Esme-” 

“I don’t even know what happened to him,” she said almost in disbelief. “The doctor pried him out of my hands after a while, I loathed that man. The nurse told me to go home and I did. I left him there all alone. 

“Es-” 

“He thought he was alone, unloved, in his last moments, and then I left him,” she scoffed. “What kind of moth– person does that?” 

Silence filled the garden. He let the words weigh down the air, like a fishing weight to the bottom of a pond. 

“My mother died the day I was born,” he said quietly. He had told her this before, ten years prior, and again as a footnote in his life story but never with the weight it deserved. 

Esme nodded in recognition she had heard the story before, he continued. 

“I know she loved me. I have no evidence of the fact, besides my existence, and I was surely never told. Yet, I believe it wholeheartedly.” 

“She did. She had to.” 

“Why would your son be any different?” He smiled weakly. “He knows, Esme. The only life he knew on this Earth was in the arms of his mother, warm and unconditionally loving. I say this not as someone who cares for you but as someone’s son, he knows. I know your faith has been shaken, but I have enough for both of us. He knows. As a doctor, there is nothing you could have done differently. This is guilt you can not carry any longer. And, as someone who would like to think of themselves as your friend, please permit yourself to enjoy the life your son was denied. You are not a lesser mother for doing so.” 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, mindlessly picking at her cuticles. 

At some point in their conversation, it had begun to rain, a bone-chilling rain, only a degree or two away from freezing. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Carlisle could no longer stand the not technically harmful, but certainly unpleasant, downpour. “Is there any chance I could persuade you to come inside?” He asked, slowly standing, attempting to brush debris off his pants.

She nodded and took the unnecessary hand he offered to help her stand. Once she stood on two feet, neither of them dropped the other’s hand for a beat longer than excusable, their eyes met and released their grip in unison. 

He held the garden gate open for her, she gave him a nod of thanks, she walked a step and a half ahead, he tried to appear casual as he quickened his pace to keep up. 

“Your hair curls when it’s wet,” Carlisle observed as they walked down the makeshift forest path. He had washed her hair during her transition, but he was less concerned about the texture and more focused on scrubbing out bone fragments and brain matter. 

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, reaching to tuck the stray lock of hair back into the style. 

“Unfortunately?” 

“It manages to get tangled if I look at it wrong,” she laughed lightly. “I used to straighten it with a clothing iron, but now I have to keep it pinned back.” 

“It knots now?” He asked, their hair was one of the features least affected by venom but was still changed in the transition. 

She paused and considered this question. “I have never worn it down since I… changed. Do you think it might not?” 

“If I had to guess I would say no, although it may be best to wear it up while hunting.” 

“My son’s hair was curly. It was very light,” she smiled to herself. 

“Your husband was blonde?” He asked before he could think better of it.

She had offered very little information about her late husband. Carlisle knew he was dead, he had served in the war, they had married when Esme was in her early twenties, and Edward had told him to never, under any circumstance, bring up the man. Although, she had just accused him of not knowing her. How would he ever learn more? 

“No, my husband’s hair was dark as coal, his eyes too. I have never seen eyes as black as his. Imagine my surprise when I gave birth to a blonde, blue-eyed baby.” 

Her tone was remarkably distant, she did not speak of her late husband with the obvious love and care as she did her son, the smell of freshly baked goods, or lying under the afternoon sun. She did not seem to be grieving, or even mildly upset the topic was broached. 

“He was beautiful. I know every mother says that, but he was.” 

“I wish I could have met him,” Carlisle said. It was more familiarity than he had ever assumed, but it was an earnest sentiment. 

“Me too.” 

The rest of their walk was no more than three minutes, the silence between them comfortable now. They walked closer than necessary. He held the front door open for her, she gave him a grateful smile. 

He turned towards the staircase, presuming her silence meant she wished for a moment alone as much as he wished for dry clothes. 

Her voice stopped him. “May I ask you one last question?” 

“Was that not a question?” He grinned, turning to face her, he was greeted by a sliver of a smile. 

“I know I do not want to know the answer, but I need to know. What is the hospital’s arrangement for dealing with… bodies?” She gulped again. “I did not have any family nearby, no one would have known…” she trailed off, but the question she refused to ask was clear. 

Edward and Carlisle had spent weeks dealing with the public aftermath of Esme’s death. While new to the community she had been a notable member of the small logging town’s teaching staff, and had been a quite beloved roommate to an old widow. The two had sworn to keep the details of their efforts to themselves. Perhaps, their policy could be bent, just once. 

“Your son is buried in Washburn. He has a modest headstone… next to yours.” 

Her brow furrowed, her head tilting to the side. “How? Who? The hospital?” 

“Do you recall the woman you lived with?” 

“Vaguely,” she sighed. The loss of memories seemed to be one of the effects of immortality she found most disturbing. “Her name started with a D.” 

“Adeline Parker,” he offered. 

“Della! She went by Della, she thought Adeline was too posh,” Esme smiled fondly. She had a dimple on her left cheek and a remarkably nice smile, one he knew he would be trying harder to catch a glimpse of soon. 

“She came to the hospital, a few days after the two of you… passed. You had not returned, she was concerned. Fortunately, I was working that evening and was able to piece together the connection. I relayed the ne—” 

“How did she receive the news?” 

He considered this for a moment. Esme was already vulnerable. Would telling her about the older woman’s sobs that sounded as if she had lost a child herself give Esme closure or grief? 

“As well as she could. She arranged the burials, and I offered to help arrange assistance from a local charity.” 

“He has a headstone?” 

“Yes, Adeline picked most of the design.” 

“She could not afford a headstone.” 

“I may have contributed, under the guise of a charity.” 

“You did that for me?” She asked incredulously. 

“Of course, Esme. It was the least I could do,” he said sincerely. 

She did not say a word but instead launched her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Once he processed she was giving him a hug — one of the first of his life —  he moved one hand to rest on the back of her head and the other on her back. It was entirely improper but neither could muster the energy to mind. 

“Thank you, Carlisle,” she muttered. 

[idsfantasy]

Summary:

At one year old, Vash knew he aged faster than humans, and had tried to come to terms with the fact that he would probably die well before any of the humans he met.

He didn't anticipate just how wrong that assessment was.

Vash knew that, as Independents, he and Kni were different from humans. Like any Plant, they had gates (though Vash still hadn’t figured out how to use his, if he even could at all), and had special markings that only appeared under certain kinds of light or when using their powers to talk to other Plants. It just so happened that, according to Rem, the twins looked and acted like they were relatively normal, eight year-old, human children.

Which, of course, was part of the whole ‘different from humans’ deal given the two were only a year old.

Not that it bothered Vash much. He’d heard about human infants from Rem, and he was more than happy that he could actually understand and enjoy the life he was living. He couldn’t imagine having to eat just mushy baby food for so long! He might actually understand Kni’s dislike of eating if they had to do that.

But even if Kni teased Vash for not acting like a Plant, it wasn’t as though Vash didn’t know he was one. It just didn’t really feel like it mattered.

At least it didn’t until one night at dinner, Kni looked up from his largely untouched plate, and asked, “Rem, since we age faster than humans, how long are we going to live?”

“I don’t know, Kni,” Rem said. “Dependent Plants have longer lifespans than humans-”

“But you said we’ve been growing faster than humans,” Kni interrupted, “and the dependent Plants don’t seem to age at all.”

As the implication of Kni’s statement set in, Vash felt his fork slide from his grasp and clatter to his plate. Eyes wide, Vash whipped his head up from his meal to face Rem, who inhaled sharply, her smile strained and fading.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “The only real reference for long-term Plant aging we have are the dependent Plants, but-”

“But we’re different from them, and the bulbs keep them alive! What if being independent is why we’re growing so much?” Kni said, and Vash could hear the note of worry in his voice. “Are we just going to age fast forever until we die in a few years?”

“Wait, what if we never get to see the planet? What if we die before we can even wake anyone up?” Vash’s voice cracked as he added his questions to his brother’s, his heart pounding faster and faster as thoughts of the future flew through his mind. “And what about you? If we don’t stop aging fast, we’ll die, and you’ll be alone-”

“Oh, boys…” Rem quickly stood from her seat, made her way around the small table to stand behind the two Independents, who immediately turned to face her as she rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I promise, it’s going to be okay. Sometimes…sometimes even humans don’t live as long as others, but that doesn’t mean that the time they do have isn’t precious. No matter if you live as long as a human or less, your lives have meaning. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Then, Rem pulled both Vash and Kni into a tight hug, but not before Vash saw the start of tears in her eyes.

After that conversation, Vash had consigned himself to the fact that he and his brother likely weren’t going to live as long as the humans on the ship.

And then they discovered Tesla.

And then there was The Fall.

And then Vash was found by the crew of Ship 3. 

A member of the crew, Luida, recognized him as an Independent (though she was the only one who seemed to know what that was), and Vash was locked in a cell by a crew that didn’t know what to do with him. He didn’t know what to do with himself either. He didn’t eat, except for when the hunger got too fierce, and marked the days that went by on the wall. Ticking down the days to where his rapid aging may end his life before the hunger or the humans did.

Vash had spent nearly a third of his life in the cell before he was able to earn their trust by saving one of the Plants, and finally Vash knew that he had a purpose. He couldn’t generate electricity, or water, or food, or any other useful resource, but he could at least make sure his sisters were healthy enough to do it in his stead. He started helping other crashed ships with their Plants, and the crew of Ship 3 became something like a family. 

Then his role in The Fall was discovered and Vash ran. He found Kni, only to lose him once again, along with his left arm. A left arm that Brad, the very man whose accusation of betrayal caused Vash to run, replaced as an apology.

“It’s a bit clunky, but it should work as a temporary solution. Just let me know if it has any issues,” Brad said as he watched Vash flex the fingers of the prosthetic. “We’ll need to replace it in the next few months after all, what with you sprouting up like a weed any time we look away.”

Vash let out a soft laugh at that. “Guess I’ve hit my growth spurt.”

“You only just hit it now?” Brad scoffed and shook his head. “What do you call the last two years then?”

Vash looked down at the new arm and felt his smile dim slightly. He didn’t like to think about his age. When it was just him, Rem, and Kni (Knives?), it wasn’t as though Vash had any other kids to look to as a reference other than his twin, who was growing up at the same rapid pace as him. 

Now, at Home, there were human children out of cryosleep. Not many, but enough to where Vash was very aware of how he went from being something close to their peer to something nearly adult before any of them hit puberty. Sure, his aging was apparently slowing down, something Luida confirmed from what she remembered about Independents, but in spite of whatever relief he felt at knowing he wasn’t going to be dead in a few years from his body’s aging, he still felt the separation.

As an Independent, and one that had human needs at that, he was already too human to be a proper Plant, but his aging made it clear that he was too much of a Plant to be human either. The kids didn’t mind too much when playing with him, less than the teenagers who knew he was a little kid only a couple years ago did anyway, but it made something in Vash’s stomach twist. He knew that the only people actually his age on the ship were barely grown up enough to start preschooling, but whenever one of the kids he’d been playing hide and seek with only a year ago started treating him differently because he looked older than he used to, Vash felt as though it created another layer of distance between them. 

“You’ve got a point there,” Vash finally said before the pause could get too long. He looked back up at Brad, making sure to fix his smile more firmly on his face. 

“Of course I do,” Brad said with a smirk, though…was that a hint of concern in his expression? “Anyway, we’ll get you fitted for a new one in a couple months. I should be able to figure out some of what works and what doesn’t by then. Can’t have you go telling people I made you that thing only for it to not work. That would be bad for my reputation.”

“Of course,” Vash said, his smile becoming a bit more genuine.

By the time Vash turned six, he was taller than most of the humans he met, and the majority of the people he ran into recognized him as and treated him like a full grown adult. A young one, sure, and he’d overheard plenty of comments about his childishness, but in his defense, the other kids his age were much more childish than he was.

In any case, he looked like an adult, acted (mostly) like an adult, and could handle himself on his own. As such, rather than having Brad take time away from important projects at Home to chaperone Vash on his trips to heal the Plants, Vash began making the journeys between crash sites and budding towns on his own. He still stopped by Home occasionally, but as he met more and more people in more and more places, the gaps between his visits grew longer and longer. 

With how much traveling he was doing, it was understandable that he hadn’t really noticed. It wasn’t as though he kept track of time, as he was mostly busy trying to get to dying Plants before Kni did, and with him not staying in one place for long, it wasn’t as though Vash had any long-term references to compare himself to.

Because of this, Vash didn’t notice just how much his aging had slowed until he returned Home and realized that the same kids he’d played with when he’d first been let out of the cell weren’t kids anymore.

In fact, they looked older than him.

“Vash, is everything okay?” Luida asked when she noticed him standing frozen in the hall, watching one of his former playmates walk by. 

Luida herself was showing signs of aging, something Vash hadn’t really paid much attention to with how he wasn’t often around to notice in the first place. Vash had expected that he would look older than her by the time her hair started to go grey. 

Vash turned to face her and asked, “How long has it been since The Fall?”

“It’s been about twenty-seven years,” Luida replied, though her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, highlighting the wrinkles Vash could see beginning to form on her forehead. “Why do you ask?”

Vash inhaled sharply, and looked over at his reflection in the clean metal of the ship walls. Maybe it was because he was similar enough to humans in how he looked and acted, but when he’d found out his aging had slowed, he had assumed that it would eventually just reach human levels. Looking at himself now though, his face looking just the same as it had when he’d turned six years old, he realized that he never should have assumed that to be the case.

A dependent Plant’s maximum natural lifespan wasn’t completely known. They could be pushed beyond their limit, causing their energy to dry up, but even then Vash knew that every Plant on this planet was well over 200 years old. He knew that Plants lived much, much longer than humans.

Vash was different from the dependent Plants, but maybe Vash wasn’t different in this.

Maybe Vash wasn’t going to die before the humans he’d come to consider family. They’d die decades, maybe centuries, before him.

“Vash!”

Vash flinched away from the sudden pressure on his shoulder, and his head whipped around to face Luida. He processed her outstretched hand and concerned expression the same instant he realized just how heavily he was breathing. 

Vash took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Luida’s concern remained, though she lowered her hand and smiled back at him. “That’s alright, Vash. But why did you ask how long it’s been? Is there something bothering you?”

Vash didn’t bother to hide his frown, and looked back down the hall. If his suspicions were correct, Vash could be around for decades, centuries beyond any human’s natural lifespan. He loved his sisters, but he couldn’t connect with them the same way he could connect with humans, he was too Independent for that, and Kni…

Kni wanted to destroy humanity, and Vash just couldn’t go along with that. Life was precious, human and Plant. No one had the right to determine who should live or die. Kni however, clearly disagreed. Kni caused the ships to crash, mercilessly killed the humans he considered a plague, and while Vash hadn’t caught him in the act, he had heard of Plants going missing from some developing towns shortly before he arrived to help his sisters who were in pain, dooming the towns to deterioration. Bodies sliced to pieces were left in the kidnapper’s wake, and Vash couldn’t think of anyone other than Kni who would do something like that. Kni was the only living being on this planet who could perfectly relate to Vash, but also he couldn’t relate at all.

Vash had taken some degree of solace in his connections to humanity, but in time, the people he loved would be gone. He had already lost Rem, and it had nearly torn him apart. How could he possibly handle centuries worth of this?

“Vash, please,” Luida’s voice cut through his thoughts and Vash snapped back to reality. She had moved to stand in front of Vash, both hands placed firmly on his shoulders. He wondered when she had done that. “Please, let me help you.”

It was then that Vash noticed he was crying. Blinking furiously, he hastily scrubbed the moisture from his face and broke eye contact with the older woman.

“Vash, please tell me what’s wrong,” Luida insisted, her voice brimming with worry.

Vash took a deep breath. “I don’t think…I don’t think I’m aging at all anymore.”

Luida’s eyes widened in realization, and the pressure from her hands on Vash’s shoulders let up slightly. “Oh.”

Without thinking, Vash found his hands curling over hers, the added pressure on his shoulders anchoring him and his thoughts. He returned her gaze and took a shuddering breath as his train of thought threatened to spiral into worst case scenarios, centuries into a lonely, empty future.

“What if I have the lifespan of a dependent Plant?” Vash whispered, and he felt the burn of tears behind his eyes start up again. “I don’t want to die early, but I can’t…I don’t know if I can handle outliving anyone else.”

He didn’t have to mention who he’d already lost for Luida to understand. The crew of the former Ship 3 may have survived The Fall, but she’d had a knack for empathizing with others as long as Vash had known her, and Luida was well aware of how much Rem meant to the Independent. She had seen just how badly it had shattered him, and had eventually helped him pick up the pieces.

Melancholy moved over the older woman’s face, though it wasn’t long before it was accompanied by resolve. “I have been considering making use of cryosleep, partly because it would allow me to work on my projects with the flora over a longer scope of time without having to worry about dying of old age before they can grow. If I did, I would leave instructions for the others to wake me up if I’m asleep when you come by. While I can’t speak for Brad, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t willing to do the same. It would have its limits, but do you think that would help?”

Vash stared at her, eyes wide as he processed Luida’s words. “You would do that?”

Luida smiled. “I suggested it, didn’t I?”

Then her grip on Vash loosened. Vash instinctively leaned forward, chasing the touch as her hands pulled away, but he didn’t have time to second guess his body’s movement as he quickly found himself pulled into a firm hug. After a brief pause, Vash slowly, but tightly wrapped his arms around Luida in return, bending down slightly to bury his face in her hair as his tears fell and his breaths heaved into sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Vash gasped, though he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her. “I shouldn’t ask you to-”

“Vash, no,” Luida murmured, her voice soothing his fraying nerves as she held him tighter. “You don’t need to apologize for this.”

Vash disagreed. If Luida did use cryosleep to match his lifespan more closely, she’d just be joining him in leaving the people she knew behind if they didn’t do the same. She would outlive her friends. Her children. All for the sake of a broken Independent who couldn’t bear to be alone.

But Vash didn’t say any of that out loud. He couldn’t deny her that choice, just as he couldn’t deny the relief he felt because of it. So instead, Vash buried the guilt beside the rest, and let himself cry in Luida’s embrace.

[nebulousmistress]

On Midwifery

It seems to be a trope in Dragon Age 2 fanfiction that Justice is generally confused and disgusted by the vulgarities of mortal existence. It’s not uncommon for him to be written in fic, especially early relationship fics, as not knowing what all this weirdness is. It’s biological, it’s gross, it’s weird, it’s squishy, etc. I cannot believe that for a second. Destroys my immersion right there. Why is that?

Something Lirene said in Act 1 before we even meet Anders:

“He’s treated their wounds, delivered their children.”

Justice is not unfamiliar with the vulgarities of mortal existence. He’s had to deal with the worst of it for months. Years. It’s what he gets for joining with a midwife.

Under a read more because you can BET this is gonna be gross and weird and terrifying and heartbreaking. Consider those your content warnings because with pregnancy nobody comes away unscathed.

Justice, through Anders, has soaked his arms to the elbows in amniotic fluid, collapsed exhausted on a crate and just watched the blood of creation drip from his hands as he hears the cooing and delight and congratulations around him. On a good day that’s all that happens.

Justice, through Anders, has tasted amniotic fluid and vernix caseosa when an infant is born not breathing and he needs to suck the fluid from the baby’s lungs. He’s in a sewer, you think he’s got a sterile rubber bulb for easy suction? No, use your mouth like a farm vet in a barn. Pipette by mouth like a bootlegger in a shack. Suck it out of the child’s lungs then rub its chest, hang it upside down and smack it, do what it takes to get that baby its first breath. Breathe for it, give it your own breathe until it cries.

Justice, through Anders, has given a straining mother a stick to bite down on and scream through as he’s slid his hands up to grasp the legs of a baby in the breach position to pull it out. He’s gone elbow deep into a screaming woman to save her life. What, you think he’s got clamps for that? What is this, a modern ward? Strip off that coat and use your hands, yes she’ll tear but you can heal that after you save her life. Even if the child dies you’ve saved her life. If you do nothing they’ll both die and you know it.

Justice, though Anders, has had to deal with the filth and mess of a mother in labor, urine and bowels emptying against her will as her pelvic floor opens just to get the baby out and the job done. No there isn’t an extra bed for her to move to. It’s Darktown anyway, there’s nowhere cleaner than this, get a volunteer to boil some water and soak some towels for cleanup later, he’s got a job to do right now.

Justice, through Anders, has had to hold the dead infant in his arms, the cord still wrapped around the baby’s throat. There was no way to know or stop it, sometimes it just happens that way. Strangled on their own cord during the birthing, never meant to survive. Someone says something about a Maker and a Plan but he doesn’t hear them. Because there is no Plan, only Purpose.

Justice, through Anders, has had to make a choice, which one to save. He’s had to hear lovers, family, or nobody at all arguing and screaming and fighting over who it should be, and in the end he has to choose because he’s the only one who can.

And Justice, through Anders, has been so exhausted at the end of it all that he’s cut at least one umbilical cord with his teeth.

Magic is a lot of things. But it’s not going to shield a spirit from that. Any of that.

Justice knows what sex is. He knows the disgusting depths a mortal body can reach. Any aversion is due to something entirely different from Inexperience.

[tydy-the-megnet]

They called me "Gramps."

All of them, from the elders to the infants, they all looked to me as some primordial kin, despite the fact that I still looked thirty-two.

I walked down a street that was paved with asphalt — a modern, black, artifical rock, and nothing like the uneven cobblestones I'd grown used to — and I watched the multitude of stores as I passed by. They were modern, too. Huge windows displays rows of mass-produced goods, all sparkling under the modern lanterns — light bulbs, I reminded myself.

With hands in pockets, I thumbed the cash that was sitting there. The same amount could've bought a lot more just a few years ago, but I had so much of it at this point that I wasn't about to begrudge the world its capitalism. Not when there were so many other problems for me to complain about. Instead, I complained under my breath about the options, of all things. As I let out a huff, my breath fogged in the winter air, and I paused at a particularly colorful store. I gazed into the windows, silently stepping out of the way of passersby as I looked at the different shops. You always found the neatest little things in spots like this. Little touresty towns with too-high prices for their gimmicky little goods. I loved them. I had money to burn, a byproduct of my longevity, so the overpriced shirts hyperspecifically decorated cups always ended up catching my eye.

It was like a memoir, in a way. A method of remembering every little thing I'd ever done. Like my entire life was a vacation.

It might as well be, at any rate. I'd accumulated enough wealth to be able to travel like this constantly, so I did. Usually I ended up visiting family. A very large family, at this point. It'd kept growing over the years, but I made it a point to keep up with them for as long as they'd have me.

Of course, as the times changed, it became harder to just knock on doors and visit, but I still kept up my own traditions — from postcards, to telephone calls, to e-mails, making sure to update my methods as time went on. It made it easier and easier, actually, to keep up with everyone, even as my family grew from generation to generation.

I walked into the store, and saw a section of small novelty keychains. I'm sure I had a granddaughter somewhere who loved these things. I would need to check my family journals. I had far from a perfect memory, and needed books to help me remember who's who, and where.

I smiled at a little keychain with a little globe on it. I pointed out to myself the places I had family — the United States, Mexico, Brazil, Chile, Australia, India, Egypt, Italy, Spain, England, and so many others — I'd had to learn so many languages over the ages, as well as keep them all updated with the times.

I chuckled as I saw Batman stickers next to the keychains. That little boy... Devon? Darren? Damien? I couldn't quite remember the name, but I remember when he asked if I was a vampire. It didn't help that I'd recently been to Dacia. Or Romania. Whatever is was called now.

I decided to get the keychain, and stepped back out into the cold, only to hear, "Bye Gramps!" from one of the workers. I looked back to see the young woman waving. No, hold on, the young man. I smiled, both at my grandson and the marvels of modern technology (turning women into men and vice versa! How fascinating!).

"See you soon, Daniel!" I waved back, "I'm in town for the week!" Daniel! That was his name! I smiled, "Just be sure to invite me in!" I added with an accent, "playing to the bit" as they said.

The last I heard was a gasp as I left.

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

[revilermpls]

The Minneapolis Uranium Club Band Expand Their Sound With Infants Under the Bulb

Am I writing about new LP Infants Under the Bulb by The Minneapolis Uranium Club because I love the music and have been a longtime fan of the band? Or because I spent a Saturday afternoon last summer dressed in a red rain poncho with a bunch of strangers posing in different spots in a circle to help make the album cover? Can it be both? While my (indistinguishable) presence on the cover makes…

[drmanishgarg]

How to treat a child's cold?

Colds are a common ailment in children, especially during the colder months. While they are usually not serious, managing the symptoms effectively can help your child feel better faster. The best child specialist in Kota offers these expert tips on how to treat a child's cold:

1. Keep Them Hydrated

Ensure your child drinks plenty of fluids to stay hydrated. Water, clear broths, and diluted fruit juices can help. For infants, continue breastfeeding or formula feeding as usual.

2. Use a Humidifier

Using a cool-mist humidifier in your child's room can help ease congestion and soothe irritated nasal passages. Make sure to clean the humidifier regularly to prevent mold and bacteria buildup.

3. Elevate the Head

Keeping your child's head elevated while they sleep can help reduce nasal congestion. For infants, elevate the head of the crib slightly, but ensure it is done safely.

4. Saline Nasal Drops

Saline nasal drops or sprays can help loosen mucus in a stuffy nose. They are safe for use in infants and children. Use a bulb syringe to gently suction out the mucus for younger children.

5. Ensure Rest

Encourage your child to get plenty of rest. Adequate sleep helps the body fight off infections and recover more quickly.

6. Offer Honey (for Children Over One Year)

For children over one year old, a spoonful of honey can help soothe a sore throat and reduce coughing. Do not give honey to infants under one year due to the risk of botulism.

7. Comforting Foods

Warm soups, broths, and teas can be comforting and help with hydration. Avoid giving spicy or acidic foods that might irritate the throat.

8. Over-the-Counter Medications

For children over six years old, certain over-the-counter medications may help alleviate symptoms. Always consult with the best child specialist in Kota before giving any medication to ensure it is safe and appropriate for your child's age and symptoms.

9. Practice Good Hygiene

Encourage your child to wash their hands frequently to prevent the spread of germs. Teach them to cover their mouth and nose with a tissue or elbow when they cough or sneeze.

10. Monitor Symptoms

Keep an eye on your child's symptoms. If the cold lasts more than ten days, if symptoms worsen, or if your child develops a high fever, difficulty breathing, or ear pain, seek medical advice promptly.

[beatdisc]

Copies of the brand new Uranium Club LP just landed! In anticipated of their first ever Australian tour in just a few weeks, our mates at Anti Fade Records have pressed "Infants Under The Bulb" - their first full-length in over 5 years - as an Australian-exclusive vinyl edition of only 500 copies. In-stock now on black wax for $38 a pop.

"Recorded in Minneapolis over the course of 2023 by long time collaborator Grant Richardson and just as rampant and agitated as ever, The Uranium Club once again win their dear listeners over with eccentrically wild guitar parts, revolving voices, elastic-tight drums and the addition of their very own Saints-styled horn section.

Lyrically, Under the Bulb opens up the history books of unsolved mysteries - unidentified, unsolved, unanswered subjects of suspicious acts or individuals across the last century. Who, what, when and where… but mostly, why? Ignorant humanity of earth orbits the sun once again. The Somerton Man, Bergmann, Bauby, Denton, phone phreakers, and just what is lurking behind the cosmic organ of The Wall?"

#uraniumclub#infantsunderthebulb#theminneapolisuraniumclubband

[senorboombastic]

Listening Post – February 2024

Words: Andy Hughes Eagle-eyed readers might’ve spotted the lack of a ‘Listening Post’ at the start of the year. We’ve been a bit busy launching a podcast you see – ’60 Minutes or less’ – live now, featuring interesting chats with Joe Casey (Protomartyr) and Paul Hanley (The Fall)! That doesn’t mean we’ve had our ears closed to new music, mind. Alongside our bumper playlist for the year…

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year 2024, Part III (The Lists)

Winged Wheel

Dusted’s writers picked two for the mid-year exchange, but any of them could easily reel off a dozen or more other favorites.  Find out what else they liked in this collection of lists. 

If you haven’t read Part I or Part II yet, check them out. 

Christian Carey

Arooj Aftab —  Night Reign (Verve)

Richard Baker —  The Tyranny of Fun (NMC)

Kyle Bruckman —  Of Rivers (New Focus)

Madi Diaz —  Weird Feeling (Anti)

Julia Holter —  Something in the Room She Moves (Domino)

Hurray for the Riff Raff —  The Past is Still Alive (Nonesuch)

Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh, Tyshawn Sorey —  Compassion (ECM)

Kali Malone —  All Life Long (Ideologic Organ)

Rosali — Bite Down (Merge)

Caroline Shaw and Sō Percussion —  Rectangles and Circumstance (Nonesuch)

Ches Smith —  Laugh Ash (Pyroclastic)

Waxahatchee —  Tigers Blood (Anti)

Tim Clarke

DIIV — Frog In Boiling Water (Fantasy)

Loma — How Will I Live Without A Body? (Sub Pop)

Jessica Pratt — Here in the Pitch (City Slang)

Jon Mckiel — Hex (You’ve Changed)

Winged Wheel — Big Hotel (12XU)

Corridor — Mimi (Sub Pop)

English Teacher — This Could Be Texas (Island)

Helado Negro — Phasor (4AD)

Ty Segall — Three Bells (Drag City)

The Smile — Wall of Eyes (XL)

Andrew Forell

Arab Strap — I’m totally fine with it 👍 don’t give a fuck anymore 👍 (Rock Action)

Camera Obscura — Look to the East, Look to the West (Merge)

Daryl Groetsch — Above the Shore (self-released)

Drahla — angeltape (Captured Tracks)

Geotic — The Anchorite (Basement’s Basement)

Iceboy Violet, Nueen — You Said You’d Hold my Hand Through the Fire (Hyperdub)

Kim Gordon — The Collective (Matador)

Mick Harvey — Five Ways to Say Goodbye (Mute)

Sandwell District — Where Next? (Point of Departure)

Umbrellas — Fairweather Friend (Slumberland)

Yosa Peit — Gutbuster (Fire)

Reissues:

Brion Gysin — Junk (WEWANTSOUNDS)

These Immortal Souls — Get Lost (Don’t Lie!) Mute

Bryon Hayes

Rosali – Bite Down (Merge)

Winged Wheel – Big Hotel (12xU)

Gastr Del Sol – We Have Dozens of Titles (Drag City)

Beings – There is a Garden (No Quarter)

Ambarchi Berthling Werliin – Dusted II (Drag City)

Sunburned Hand of the Man – Nimbus (Three Lobed)

Water Damage – In E (12xU)

Dun-Dun Band – Pita Parka Pt. 1: Xam Egdub (Ansible Editions)

Gerycz Powers Rolin – Activator (12xU)

Magic Tuber String Band – Needlefall (Thrill Jockey)

Alex Johnson

Rosali — Bite Down (Merge)

RE Seraphin —  Fool’s Mate (Take A Turn/Safe Suburban Home)

Uranium Club —  Infants Under the Bulb (Static Shock)

The Spatulas —  Beehive Mind (Post Present Medium)

Yohei —  Echo You Know (Perpetual Doom)

Pardoner —  Paranoid in Hell (Convulse)

NYSSA —  Shake Me Where I’m Foolish (Six Shooter)

Nowhere Flower —  Ruts the Place (Radical Documents)

Sheer Mag —  Playing Favorites (Third Man)

Cindy Lee —  Diamond Jubilee (Realistik Studios)

Oren Ambachi / Johan Berthling / Andreas Werlin —  Ghosted II (Drag City)

Winged Wheel —  Big Hotel (12XU)

Jennifer Kelly

Rosali—Bite Down (Merge)

Mdou Moctar—Funeral for Justice (Matador)

Mary Timony—Untame the Tiger (Merge)

Myriam Gendron—Mayday (Thrill Jockey)

Lupa Citto—S-T (12XU)

James Elkington & Nathan Salsburg—All Gist (Paradise of Bachelors)

Rail Band—S-T (Mississippi)

Winged Wheel—Big Hotel (12XU)

Six Organs of Admittance—Time is Glass (Drag City)

Split System—Vol. 2 (Goner)

Ian Mathers

The Body & Dis Fig — Orchards of a Futile Heaven (Thrill Jockey)

Broadcast — Spell Blanket: Collected Demos 2006-2009 (Warp)

Cassandra Jenkins — My Light, My Destroyer (Dead Oceans)

Chelsea Wolfe — She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She (Loma Vista)

Jessica Moss — For UNRWA (Self released)

Laura Masotto — The Spirit of Things (7K!)

loscil // lawrence english — Chroma (Self released)

Myriam Gendron — Mayday (Feeding Tube/Thrill Jockey)

Polar Inertia — Environment Control (Northern Electronics)

Whitelands — Night-bound Eyes Are Blind to the Day (Sonic Cathedral)

Jim Marks

Ben Allison, Steve Cardenas, and Ted Nash — Tell the Birds I Said Hello: The Music of Herbie Nichols (Sonic Camera)

Mary Halvorson — Cloudward (Nonesuch)

Demian Cabaud — Arbol Adentro (Porta Jazz)

Fabiano do Nascimento and Sam Gendel — The Room (Real World)

Francesco Sensi — In Abstracto (WoW)

James Brandon Lewis Quartet — Transfiguration (Intakt)

James Elkington and Nathan Salsburg — All Gist (Paradise of Bachelors)

Juan Pablo Alcazar — Otro Quatuor Pour La Fin Du Temps (Porta Jazz)

Michele di Toro, Yuri Goloubev, and Hans Mathisen — Trinomics (Calogola)

Tony Moreno Trio — Ballads Volume 1 (Sunnyside)

Patrick Masterson

Cindy Lee — Diamond Jubilee (Realistik)

Chief Keef — Almighty So 2 (43B)

Marika Hackman — Big Sigh (Chrysalis)

Water Damage — In E (12XU)

Oneida — Expensive Air (Joyful Noise)

Winged Wheel — Big Hotel (12XU)

Burial — “Dreamfear / Boy Sent From Above" (XL)

Gouge Away — Deep Sage (Deathwish Inc.)

Blues Ambush — Blues Ambush (Radical Documents)

Tei Shi — Valerie (self-released)

Armand Hammer — BLK LBL (self-released)

Donato Dozzy — Magda (Spazio Disponibile)

Bill Meyer

 أحمد  [Ahmed] —Wood Blues (Astral Spirits)

 أحمد  [Ahmed]—Giant Beauty (Fönstret)

Bill Orcutt Guitar Quartet—Four Guitars Live (Palilalia) 

Itasca—Imitation of War (Paradise of Bachelors) 

Lisa Ullen, Heirloom (Fönstret)

Lumpeks—Polonez (Umlaut) 

Matthew Shipp Trio, New Directions in Jazz Piano Trio (ESP-Disk’)

Olivia Block—The Mountains Pass (Black Truffle)

Oren Ambarchi / Johan Berthling / Andreas Werliin—Ghosted II (Drag City)

Rafael Toral—Spectral Evolution (Moikai) 

The Handover—The Handover (Sublime Frequencies) 

Tomeka Reid Quartet—3x3 (Cuneiform) 

Jonathan Shaw

Bad Breeding—Contempt (Iron Lung)

Fuera de Sektor—Juegos Prohibidos (La Vida Es un Mus)

Cindy Lee—Diamond Jubilee (Realistik Studios)

SUMAC—The Healer (Thrill Jockey)

Thou—Umbilical (Sacred Bones)

VR Sex—“Hard Copy” (Dais)

[optionalcausality]

The history of HIV and AIDS is more relevant these days than I'd like.

Basically, the virus itself was circulating for a while -- certainly through the 1970s. AIDS was identified as a specific disease in 1981, after medical providers noticed a new trend of rare diseases showing up more often than previously, and of more ordinary diseases causing a heightened degree of illness in those affected, compared to normal.

In 1984, the virus responsible was isolated and identified. HIV. Well, at least then they could start looking for specific treatments like antivirals.

Now we're in a similar situation, but coming at it in reverse order. We identified the virus, we have some pretty useful treatment options, but the long-term effects aren't fully documented. There's increasing awareness that the virus weakens the immune system -- not quite like measles, not quite like HIV.

Eventually we'll probably come up with a new term for the after-effects. For now, Wikipedia has articles like 2022-2023 pediatric care crisis; Finland releases data on infants (under the age of 5, so unvaccinated against COVID) showing significant year-over-year increases in illness; China reports pneumonia outbreaks with disease severity linked directly to post-COVID immune dysfunction.

In ten years or twenty, we'll have done a lot more (UV-C bulbs in air vents, better air exchange, normalized mask use). It's not as though cholera outbreaks were resolved in only a few years, either, when that meant replacing entire cities' water and sewage systems.

It's just that the period before we get there has a lot of loss in it.

I wish people would fucking mask.

[vikasgoswami]

What are the best baby products under the age of 1–12 months?

Certainly! Here’s a list of essential baby products suitable for infants aged 1 to 12 months:

Diapers and Wipes: A steady supply of diapers in various sizes and gentle baby wipes for diaper changes.

Baby Clothes: Onesies, sleepers, bodysuits, and comfortable outfits appropriate for different weather conditions.

Feeding Essentials: Bottles, nipples, formula (if not breastfeeding), bibs, and baby-friendly utensils for introducing solid foods.

Baby Bathtub: A safe and comfortable baby bathtub for bath time, along with gentle baby soap and shampoo.

Diaper Cream: A mild diaper rash cream to soothe and prevent diaper rashes.

Baby Monitor: An audio or video baby monitor to keep an eye and ear on your baby while they sleep.

Stroller: A reliable stroller suitable for your lifestyle, whether it’s for daily walks or travel.

Baby Carrier or Wrap: A hands-free carrier or wrap to keep your baby close and secure while allowing you to move around.

Baby Toys: Rattles, teething toys, soft plush toys, and age-appropriate toys that encourage sensory exploration and development.

High Chair: A secure and comfortable high chair for feeding your baby solid foods.

Safety Gear: Safety gates, outlet covers, cabinet locks, and furniture anchors to babyproof your home.

Baby Thermometer: A reliable digital thermometer for monitoring your baby’s temperature in case of illness.

Nasal Aspirator: A bulb or electric nasal aspirator to clear a stuffy nose if your baby catches a cold.

Baby Books: Soft or board books for reading and engaging with your baby.

Baby Care Products: Specifically formulated baby skincare products such as gentle shampoos, lotions, and diaper creams are designed to protect and nourish your baby’s delicate skin.

These essential baby products cater to various needs and stages of development during the first year of your baby’s life, ensuring their comfort, safety, and overall well-being. Adjust the list based on your baby’s individual needs and preferences.

[petermonarch]

Shit. I made a nightmare again. He was hard this one.

I was in a big city with cyclopean architecture. We couldn’t see the end of the buildings because they were so high. They had no one there, not even a cat.

I was alone in this monstrous and labyrinthine urban maze. I wasn’t afraid though. As if I had always known these places. As if I were at home. After walking for a while that seemed to me to be an eternity, a shrill sound made me stop sharp.

It was the windows that squeaked, fissured and broke. The bitumen that roared, cracked and broke. The bulbs that went out, burst and broke. Then the sidewalk, the vehicles, the buildings... all began to vibrate. A vibration I say well because the earth under my feet did not tremble.

A terrible nausea was beginning to seize me. As if I were worried about the arrival of someone or something. Of several a few, of several a few things in fact...

Unfortunately, my fears would come true, seeing in the darkness surrounding this city that was no longer so deserted in the end. The entity that had just emerged from outside the city was in fact the inhabitants. A monumental, monstrous and humanoid amalgam. All hung with their own flesh, bones, ligaments, nerves, hair, hands... To form this impossible and pathetic thing.

The nausea and this fear were only temporary. There was only disgust and disappointment. Disgusted by the way to solidify social ties according to these people and disappointed that the result is so barbaric, and that this grotesque stratagem is only an admission of failure on their part. They were not able to face themselves and preferred the flight than the confrontation.

The last image I have of this insane nightmare is that when the creature approached me. I better distinguished the details of the creature. And on who could look like his torso, I saw the pacifier of an infant with his face crying. Screaming to have the comfort of his mother in this heap of flesh that he will never have.