#Maybe the labels should be changed but low support needs/level one still ends up making it sound like we don't struggle

[thousandyearphantombunker]

low functioning means you are incapable of basic activities of daily living (bADLs) such as:

bathing or showering, dressing, getting in and out of bed or a chair, walking, using the toilet, continence (which sometimes gets excluded) and eating.

I understand that people feel like high functioning hand waves away their struggles with employment or depression or burn out or sensory processing or learning disabilities but high functioning as a label wasn't meant to address that. It was meant to address what's listed above. If you are mostly capable of a good portion of these tasks then you are probably high functioning. I know it's not exactly comforting to hear but no matter how many times you change the labels to 'low support' or 'level one' and idk what else we will come up with people will still erase our struggles but I'd rather have someone assume 'high functioning means that girl doesn't need help' than have people like my uncle not have a label like low functioning that tells people he needs help.

Quick side note: Also notice on that list of basic ADLs things like verbality aren't listed? Nonverbal doesn't automatically mean incapable of bADLs it means non speaking! Many nonverbal are very capable of independence and deserve to use swear words on their AAC devices if they express the desire to!

But yeah you might think high functioning erases your issues but the labels aren't focused on things like employment or driving skills or grocery shopping. They're focused on your ability to dress yourself without wearing your clothes the wrong way because you were confused or because you can't figure out how to put on an outfit or find your clothes.

If anyone here honestly holds the belief low functioning people have it easier then you need to wake the fuck up

my fellow low support needs/"high functioning"/level 1 autistics, please stop treating support needs labels like a personal attack on your struggles.

low support needs doesn't mean no support needs. low support needs doesn't mean you don't struggle. low support needs doesn't mean you can't be disabled by your autism. low support needs doesn't mean you can't have speech difficulties or severe sensory issues or bad symptom days.

all that low support needs/level 1 means is that you can usually complete activities of daily living with minimal assistance. [pt: on average, you have relatively lower support needs than some other autistic people.]

i know sometimes it may seem like these labels are erasing your struggles, i used to feel the same way. but the reality is that medium and high support needs autistics feel a lot worse when we keep calling these labels "unnecessary" but excluding the people who most need them from the conversation entirely.

[aion-rsa]

The Star Trek: The Original Series Episodes That Best Define the Franchise

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By the time my generation got to watch Star Trek: The Original Series, the episodes often were being presented in top-ten marathons. When I was ten-years-old, for the 25th Anniversary of Star Trek, I tape-recorded a marathon of ten episodes that had all been voted by fans as the best-ever installments of The Original Series. Later, I got lucky and found Trek stickers at the grocery store and was able to label my VHS tapes correctly. But do I think all the episodes that were in that marathon back in 1991 were really the best episodes of all of the classic Star Trek? The short answer: no. Although I love nearly every episode of the first 79 installments of Star Trek, I do think that certain lists have been created by what we think should be on the list rather than what episodes really best represent the classic show. 

This is a long-winded way of saying, no, I didn’t include “Amok Time” or “The Menagerie” on this list because, as great as they are, I don’t think they really represent the greatest hits of the series. Also, if you’ve never watched TOS, I think those two episodes will throw you off cause you’ll assume Spock is always losing his mind or trying to steal the ship. If you’ve never watched TOS, or you feel like rewatching it with fresh eyes, I feel pretty strong that these 10 episodes are not only wonderful, but that they best represent what the entire series is really about. Given this metric, my choice for the best episode of TOS may surprise you…

10. “The Man Trap” 

The first Star Trek ever episode aired should not be the first episode you watch. And yet, you should watch it at some point. The goofy premise concerns an alien with shaggy dog fur, suckers on its hand, and a face like a terrifying deep-sea fish. This alien is also a salt vampire that uses telepathy that effectively also makes it a shapeshifter. It’s all so specifically bonkers that trying to rip-off this trope would be nuts. Written by science fiction legend George Clayton Johnson (one half of Logan’s Run authorship) “The Man Trap” still slaps, and not because Spock (Leonard Nimoy)  tries to slap the alien. Back in the early Season 1 episodes of Star Trek, the “supporting” players like Uhura and Sulu are actually doing stuff in the episode. We all talk about Kirk crying out in pain when the M-113 creature puts those suckers on his face, but the real scene to watch is when Uhura starts speaking Swahili. The casual way Uhura and Sulu are just their lovable selves in this episode is part of why we just can’t quit the classic Star Trek to this day. Plus, the fact that the story is technically centered on Bones gives the episode some gravitas and oomph. You will believe an old country doctor thinks that salt vampire is Nancy! (Spoiler alert: It’s not Nancy.)

9. “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield” 

There are two episodes everyone always likes to bring up when discussing the ways in which Star Trek changed the game for the better in pop culture’s discourse on racism: “Plato’s Stepchildren” and this episode, “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield.” The former episode is famous because Kirk and Uhura kiss, which is sometimes considered the first interracial kiss on an American TV show. (British TV shows had a few of those before Star Trek, though.) But “Plato’s Stepchildren” is not a great episode, and Kirk and Uhura were also manipulated to kiss by telepaths. So, no, I’m not crazy about “Plato’s Stepchildren.” Uhura being forced to kiss a white dude isn’t great.

But “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield,” oddly holds up. Yep. This is the one about space racism where the Riddler from the ‘60s Batman (Frank Gorshin) looks like a black-and-white cookie. Is this episode cheesy? Is it hard to take most of it seriously? Is it weird that Bele (Frank Gorshin) didn’t have a spaceship because the budget was so low at that time? Yes. Is the entire episode dated, and sometimes borderline offensive even though its heart is in the right place? Yes. Does the ending of the episode still work? You bet it does. If you’re going to watch OG Star Trek and skip this episode, you’re kind of missing out on just how charmingly heavy-handed the series could get. “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield” is like a ‘60s after-school special about racism, but they were high while they were writing it.

8. “Arena”

You’re gonna try to list the best episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series and not list the episode where Kirk fights a lizard wearing gold dress-tunic? The most amazing thing about “Arena” is that it’s a Season 1 episode of The Original Series and somehow everyone involved in making TOS had enough restraint not to ever try to use this Gorn costume again. They didn’t throw it away either! This famous rubber lizard was built by Wah Chang and is currently owned by none other than Ben Stiller.

So, here’s the thing about “Arena” that makes it a great episode of Star Trek, or any TV series with a lizard person. Kirk refuses to kill the Gorn even though he could have, and Star Trek refused to put a lizard costume in a bunch of episodes later, even though they totally could have. Gold stars all around.

7. “Balance of Terror”

The fact that Star Trek managed to introduce a race of aliens that looked exactly like Spock, and not confuse its viewership is amazing. On top of that, the fact that this detail isn’t exactly the entire focus of the episode is equally impressive. The notion that the Romulans look like Vulcans is a great twist in The Original Series, and decades upon decades of seeing Romulans has probably dulled the novelty ever so slightly. But, the idea that there was a brutally cold and efficient version of the Vulcans flying around in invisible ships blowing shit up is not only cool, but smart.

“Balance of Terror” made the Romulans the best villains of Star Trek because their villainy felt personal. Most Romulan stories in TNG, DS9, and Picard are pretty damn good and they all start right here.

6. “Space Seed”

Khaaaan!!!! Although The Wrath of Khan is infinitely more famous than the episode from which it came, “Space Seed” is one of the best episodes of The Original Series even if it hadn’t been the progenitor of that famous film. In this episode, the worst human villain the Enterprise can encounter doesn’t come from the present, but instead, the past. Even though “Space Seed” isn’t considered a very thoughtful episode and Khan is a straight-up gaslighter, the larger point here is that Khan’s evilness is connected to the fact that he lived on a version of Earth closer to our own.

The episode’s coda is also amazing and speaks of just how interesting Captain Kirk really is. After Khan beat the shit out of him and tried to suffocate the entire Enterprise crew, Kirk’s like “Yeah, this guy just needs a long camping trip.” 

5. “A Piece of the Action”

A few years back, Saturday Night Live did a Star Trek sketch in which it was revealed that Spock had a relative named “Spocko.” This sketch was tragically unfunny because TOS had already made the “Spocko” joke a million times better in “A Piece of the Action.” When you describe the premise of this episode to someone who has never seen it or even heard of it, it sounds like you’re making it up. Kirk, Spock, and Bones are tasked with cleaning-up a planet full of old-timey mobsters who use phrases like “put the bag on you.” Not only is the episode hilarious, but it also demonstrates the range of what Star Trek can do as an emerging type of pop-art. In “A Piece of the Action,” Star Trek begins asking questions about genres that nobody ever dreamed of before. Such as, “what if we did an old-timey gangster movie, but there’s a spaceship involved?”

4. “Devil in the Dark”

When I was a kid, my sister and I called this episode, “the one with giant pizza.” Today, it’s one of those episodes of Star Trek that people tell you defines the entire franchise. They’re not wrong, particularly because we’re just talking about The Original Series. The legacy of this episode is beyond brilliant and set-up a wonderful tradition within the rest of the franchise; a monster story is almost never a monster story

The ending of this episode is so good, and Leonard Nimoy and Shatner play the final scenes so well that I’m actually not sure it’s cool to reveal what the big twist is. If you somehow don’t know, I’ll just say this. You can’t imagine Chris Pratt’s friendly Velicrapotrs, or Ripper on Discovery without the Horta getting their first.

3. “The Corbomite Maneuver” 

If there’s one episode on this list that truly represents what Star Trek is usually all about on a plot level, it’s this one. After the first two pilot episodes —“Where No Man Has Gone Before” and “The Cage”—this was the first regular episode filmed. It’s the first episode with Uhura and, in almost every single way, a great way to actually explain who all these characters are and what the hell they’re doing. The episode begins with Spock saying something is “fascinating” and then, after the opening credits, calling Kirk, who is down in sickbay with his shirt off. Bones gives Kirk shit about not having done his physical in a while, and Kirk wanders through the halls of the episode without his shirt, just kind of holding his boots. 

That’s just the first like 5 minutes. It just gets better and better from there. Like a good bottle of tranya, this episode only improves with time. And if you think it’s cheesy and the big reveal bizarre, then I’m going to say, you’re not going to like the rest of Star Trek. 

2. “The City on the Edge of Forever”

No more blah blah blah! Sorry, wrong episode. Still, you’ve heard about “The City on the Edge of Forever.” You’ve heard it’s a great time travel episode. You’ve heard Harlan Ellison was pissed about how the script turned out. You heard that Ron Moore really wanted to bring back Edith Keeler for Star Trek Generations. (Okay, maybe you haven’t heard that, but he did.)

Everything you’ve heard about this episode is correct. There’s some stuff that will make any sensible person roll their eyes today, but the overall feeling of this episode is unparalleled. Time travel stories are always popular, but Star Trek has never really done a time travel story this good ever again. The edge of forever will always be just out of reach.

1. “A Taste of Armageddon”

Plot twist! This excellent episode of TOS almost never makes it on top ten lists. Until now! If you blink, “A Taste of Armageddon” could resemble at least a dozen other episodes of TOS. Kirk and Spock are trapped without their communicators. The crew has to overpower some guards to get to some central computer hub and blow it up. Scotty is in command with Kirk on the surface and is just kind of scowling the whole time. Kirk is giving big speeches about how humanity is great because it’s so deeply flawed.

What makes this episode fantastic is that all of these elements come together thanks to a simplistic science fiction premise: What if a society eliminated violence but retained murder? What if hatred was still encouraged, but war was automated? Star Trek’s best moments were often direct allegories about things that were actually happening, but what makes “A Taste of Armageddon” so great is that this metaphor reached for something that could happen. Kirk’s solution to this problem is a non-solution, which makes the episode even better. At its best classic Star Trek wasn’t just presenting a social problem and then telling us how to fix it. Sometimes it was saying something more interesting — what if the problem gets even harder? What do we do then? 

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The humor and bombast of “A Taste of Armageddon” is part of the answer to that unspoken question, but there’s also a clever lesson about making smaller philosophical decisions. In Star Wars, people are always trying to rid themselves of the dark side of the Force. In Star Trek, Kirk just teaches us to say, “Hey I won’t be a terrible person, today” and then just see how many days we can go in a row being like that.

What do you think are the most franchise-defining episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series? Let us know in the comments below.

The post The Star Trek: The Original Series Episodes That Best Define the Franchise appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[wtf-yoongi]

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

pairing | hoseok x reader

summary | vegas w/ your sunshine friend hoseok i don’t think i have to say anything else

genre/warnings | idiots to lovers + humor + fluff + alcohol + drunk j-hope becoming hopeless + gambling + flexing money bc he’s rich af + language bc it’s vegas come on wouldn’t expect anything less

words | 1,875

note | i went to vegas once and it hit me today: that would be 100x better if i had a hoseok (if any of u know where i can get one pls let me know thanks)

It has been thirteen minutes since you first texted Hoseok to know if he was ready to go. 

That idiot always takes the longest time for some reason. Probably choosing between which Balenciaga bag he’s going to wear for the night.

You take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look so bad, you’re just not as rich or fancy and the dress you’re wearing might have been on sale last week at Zara, but no one has to know that, right?

You could never reach Hoseok’s level of fashion. Not even if you wanted to.

You don’t want to sit down and wrinkle your dress, so you walk around the fancy room at the Cosmopolitan and stop at the window. Of course, Hoseok booked rooms with a view even though they charge an extra who-knows-how-many-dollars for that, but it ain’t a problem for him.

The sun is setting now, giving tourists a little break from the burning hot temperatures that make everyone avoid the streets as much as they can. To be honest, even at night, the walk between hotel to hotel is just one excruciating experience until you can finally feel the air con on your skin again. The walk you took yesterday showed you that.

Yesterday, however, you both decided to stay away from gambling and just get to know the hotels as if they are freaking museums. Las Vegas doesn’t offer much to do if you’re not into hotels that look like the owner just had a theme in mind and an endless amount of money to realize their vision. So, yeah, visiting hotels is a top notch, must-see tourist attraction. Go figure.

Since you didn’t gamble yesterday, today’s the day. While you were enjoying the hotel pools this afternoon, Hoseok has walked you through every single thing he wants to do tonight. And he has a very meticulous plan.

First, you have to dress up to look fancy. Second, you are going to play blackjack so he can finally realize his dream of looking like he is in a movie. Third, you have to have dinner somewhere to balance the alcohol out. And then, finally, you are going to whatever party is closest to you.

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

Another seven minutes pass and you finally get a reply.

I’m outside your door.

You quickly put your shoes on and grab your purse, checking yourself in the mirror again before opening the door. Hoseok sure is there in all his glory looking at his phone as if nothing is happening, nothing at all.

“You wanna kill someone today?” You ask, eyeing him up and down. He’s wearing red dress pants with a simple white shirt. Come on. “You were right to book two separate rooms for us, I don’t think you’re planning on coming back alone tonight.”

He finally looks up from his phone and laughs lightly after inspecting your choice of clothes. “You say that as if I’m the only one trying to take an advantage of that. You look stunning. Wanna get a drink?”

Your first stop is at one of the many hotel bars. Hoseok quickly orders two drinks from the menu without thinking twice.

“Something light for starters,” he says with a smile as he passes the Cosmopolitan glass to you.

“Oh, you think you’re so funny. Ordering Cosmopolitans at the Cosmopolitan,” you say, raising your glass to touch his. “This is going to be a good night.”

“The best. And hopefully my liver will stand the alcohol levels and you won’t have to drag me back to my room,” Hoseok says, sipping the drink slowly.

“Wouldn’t be too hopeful if I were you.” You know Hoseok and, honestly, the expectations are extremely low. “You were always a lightweight drinker. That shit doesn’t change because you’re in Vegas, you know?”

“I don’t care. What I want today is stop at every single hotel and have a drink and gamble a bit, have some fun!” Hoseok excitedly shakes your arm with his free hand.

“Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” You ask yourself rhetorically.

As you predicted, Hoseok doesn’t go too far before he’s needing your help to walk. You’re in tiny heels and, despite being tiny, they’re still heels and adding half of his body weight to the mix isn’t helping in anyway. 

You’re inside the ARIA Hotel on your third drink of the night when you first notice that Hoseok isn’t as sharp as he thinks he is to play blackjack. He’s finally living his dream movie life, but he has switched his light Cosmopolitan for Blue Label and you know things aren’t looking up.

If there’s one thing you have to give it to him, though, is that it really feels like a movie. Everything around you looks straight out of a James Bond set, even the young, good looking lady who’s dealing the cards could easily be casted as a Bond girl. But then again, you realize with a scoff, you’re the one standing behind Hoseok’s high designer stool with an eye on his drink so he doesn’t order another one. You’re the Bond girl.

When you get to Park MGM, it’s time to stop. Hoseok is looking sad as fuck as he usually does when he’s too drunk to function and you know he won’t protest if you say he’s had enough. You sit him down on a table at Eataly and leave him for a moment to buy a bottle of water.

“There you go. Drink it up,” you order, handing him the already opened bottle. “You told me I wouldn’t have to drag your ass back to the hotel, but here we are.”

“I never said that.” He takes a break from drinking the water to look at you while you move to sit in front of him. “I said I was hopeful my liver would endure such a challenge.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t.”

You stay silent for a few minutes until the water bottle is empty and Hoseok is using the droplets outside the plastic bottle to wet the back of his neck. He looks wasted and cute at the same time. How is that even possible?

“How about eating something, huh?” You suggest. It’s still early in the night and people are having dinner all around you. The smell of food in this place is driving you mad. “Does pizza sound good?”

Hoseok nods and moves his hands to get his wallet from his back pocket. He hands you the credit card he’s been using all night. “The pin number is your four initials.”

You look at him with raised eyebrows. That’s his pin number?

“Don’t look at me like that, it was the first thing that crossed my mind and you know I’m not good remembering numbers.”

You blink twice and say nothing before walking towards the pizza place, ordering two slices of the best looking one on display. Soon, you’re back at the table and handing Hoseok’s slice. You both eat in silence. 

It seems like he’s coming back to his senses and normal self after eating. For good measure, you order a shot of espresso and something sweet for him to eat from the coffee shop nearby. That should do the trick.

“Are you feeling better?” You ask after a long while. Hoseok is no longer supporting himself on his elbows or looking miserable. He nods. “Good enough so I don’t really have to drag you around?”

He nods again with a shy smile. “Sorry.”

“You wanna party or go back to the hotel? It’s only 11,” you say, reaching for his wrist to check the time on his watch. “You said you wanted to party, but if I’m being honest with you… My feet are killing me.”

“We can order an Uber to go back,” he suggests with a shrug. “I feel tired now, I wanna go to bed.”

“Well if it isn’t my baby showing up again,” you joke, standing up and offering your hand to help him out. “Come on, let’s go back.”

The Uber ride is silent and quick. It’s really such a lazy thing to do, getting a car for such a short ride, but your feet really thanked you for that. 

When you arrive at the hotel, you both go straight to the elevator area and press the button to go up. It feels like an eternity passes before one of the many elevators arrives. You wait for a group of friends to exit before you enter. The door closes and you feel yourself back up until you hit the wall. Hoseok does the same. 

“Sorry for being the drunk friend all the time,” he apologizes. “I feel like you can never enjoy yourself when you know I’m gonna make a mess.”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m used to it.”

The elevator arrives at the 39th floor and you both exit quietly, walking in the direction of your rooms. Looking at Hoseok to your right, you wave him goodnight before opening the door and entering the room with a puff – you just need to be out of those heels.

Soon after, there’s a light knock at the door. 

“Hey,” you greet Hoseok, who’s standing a little taller now that you don’t have your shoes on anymore. “What are you doing?”

“I have to ask you something,” he says with a weird I was drunk five minutes ago and all of a sudden feel sober look. “What would you say if I kissed you right now?”

Is he really asking that? What the fuck?

“What?”

“Fuck it.”

Hoseok closes the gap between your bodies in half a second, reaching for your face with his hands. It’s not romantic or slow or delicate, it’s just intense. 

It’s also rushed. It ends too quickly.

When you open your eyes, you want to say something, but your body needs time to catch a breath. What just happened? What the hell is going on? Your brain is panicking.

“Sorry,” Hoseok starts with a low voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

He lets go of you completely and you can almost feel your body have a physical reaction to that. You want more? What the fuck?

He takes a step backwards to go back to his room, but you can’t just let him go like that. You have to do something. Do something!

“Maybe you should have,” you repeat his words, your voice just above a whisper. “I- I don’t know what else to say.”

The only thing you can do now is laugh. That is your only reaction, almost like a self-defense mechanism when awkward things happen. 

“Good. I’m going back to my room now.” He’s smiling too, taking backwards steps so he doesn’t have to turn his back to you. “Breakfast tomorrow at 9?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding your head with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Cool. I’ll try not to be late.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

“Sleep well,” he says with a smile and finally turns to get inside his room. 

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

Read more ›› masterlist

[moshus-blog]

Taking it back..Story of an East Bay Punk Grrrl.

It's been exactly 20 years and I am still very emotional over the whole thing. I am going to try and tell my story, to the best of my memory. My therapist said many of these memories have been repressed because it was absolutely abusive behavior, and I was so young. My Corbett story: How he quickly became my 'best friend'.

Technically I was 13 years old when I went to my first Gilman show. It was an early, all weekend showcase for SPAM records - Geekfest 1999. I met many folks there who are still my friends to this day. I met the owner of SPAM - Corbett. His band was headlining. He basically asked me what I was doing there and if I had a good time. He said he was stoked to see young folks get involved in the scene. He told me to come back and volunteer. It was exactly what I needed in my life at the time. A music oriented community. Sooner or later he invited me around SPAM records office when they first moved into East Oakland. I spent the next several years basically attached to this man's hip. 

Helping the record label, going to shows, and basically hiding out at the office space. He had a partner at the time so I thought I was just part of the family. He and I talked on the phone when I was at my parents house. He walked me to and from BART. He called my mom to let her know I was in good hands and I was a huge help. He told her he would pay me what he could - and it was like a job. He would let me send emails and contact some of the folks that did distro for the label like Tobi Vail. He asked me to do it because he knew I loved Bikini Kill. He was so supportive, or so I thought. I honestly can't say I'd be the same person without him. But as time went on, things changed...and it got weird and very uneasy. Also changing me as a person.

I was never romantically or sexually attracted to Corbett so I thought it was OK. He had a girlfriend, I had a friend in him...until it became apparent to everyone around us he was obsessed with me (for lack of a better term). He gave me old pictures of himself from when he was a kid. He told me his life stories. He told me his dreams for SPAM and Bobby Joe. But as this went on, I felt like it was so weird for this way older man to have a real close '15 year old' bestie while having a relationship. It got weirder and weirder for me, but by this time I had made a circle of friends who quickly became my family. It was more or less brushed under the rug by myself. 

I wanted to get out of my parents house, I wanted to be a part of something more. I knew this was my way out, and my new way of life. Fast forward to looking for the SPAM warehouse (now I am 16). I helped him find a space to rent. It was a proud and exciting moment for us all. Corbett moved into a small room above the practice rooms in the warehouse. It was loud during the day, and his health was declining (Drugs? Alcohol? Mental illness? Unsure). His teeth were rotting, he was vomiting frequently -  I always thought he was sneaking drugs, but something was else off. He would take 1 hit of pot and his eyes would go crooked. He stopped making sense. His emotions were out of control. I did a lot of research and concluded his melatonin levels were so low so drugs or alcohol of any kind would turn him into a babbling cross eyed frenzy.  I was unsure what it was exactly, but I was highly cautious of him at this point. 

I finally moved into the warehouse. He borrowed a van, packed up my things from my parents house, and drove me to East Oakland. He couldn't afford his rent, so I took over the small room above the practice spaces. I thought it was helping him and the space. But people were mad at me about it. They thought I was taking advantage of him. It was awkward because they were basically my roommates. I was too young to know any better. I just wanted to get out - and again, he told me I was helping him and not to listen to anyone else. He stayed on the couch right outside of the room. His emotions/actions got crazier and crazier. One night, he half shaved his head, walked to the overpass over the Oakland freeway, threw his new cell phone over, came back and started screaming. Babbling. Incoherent. I was by "my room" and he was down the hallway. He gave me a strange look and charged at me like a bull. I don't exactly remember what happened, but my body ended up against a wall (I think I was thrown off my feet). 3 large folks had to subdue him and hold him down. I ran and hid in a bedroom downstairs for hours until he found me.

I realized without his words - he wanted to be with me and he knew I never, ever would. The age difference was enough to make it unrealistic. It started to feel very dangerous. When I dated other guys, he got jealous. I realized he couldn't handle me being around at all. The whole thing was a horrible idea in retrospect, and I blamed myself - as my 'roommates' also blamed me. The folks I dated felt uncomfortable around him, and that I was so close with him. I should have listened.

I moved out within the month to SF. He moved with his family to get better. He was mad at me the entire time. He yelled at me over the phone, screaming. He wrote me long letters (I might even still have one or two). He professed his love for me and then quickly started dating someone from around where he was staying. I thought the heat was finally off of me. They moved into an apartment on Telegraph months later. He threw a party and decided to invite me. I thought it would be fine since he had a girlfriend. "Maybe we can make amends" I thought. We started hanging out again. He apologized for everything. He said he was a changed and sober man. They broke up and she moved back home. I didn't realize until later, but it was because we were friends again. She even felt weird about it. But I think a huge part of me felt sorry for him - and he was ultimately like family.

At age 16/17, I got a job on Telegraph in Berkeley, and he said I could go to his house so I didn't have to commute from SF, if I needed to. I was there often enough, but I still felt weird about it. THIS is where my memory gets foggy. I have faint memories of me waking up with him on top of me. I honestly do not remember what happened before or after. All I remember is no lights were on, the sun was going down, it was so dark, and I ran like a bat out of hell, straight to BART/SF. After that, I broke off all contact with him. He turned into that big ball of rage all over again. Yelled at me over the phone, calling me over and over just to scream at me. He said he could not handle me not wanting to 'be' with him. I stopped answering my phone. I quit my job on Telegraph and stayed in SF for several years. I wrote him off forever.

I cannot help but think he took advantage of me. He primed me. It extremely affected who I was and how I had friendships and relationships with men. He knew I had a rocky relationship with my parents, and he took full advantage of it. 

I didn't want it to happen the way it did. I didn't want to admit he was priming/preying on me. I recently found out he had done the same thing with other women, all under the age of 18 at the time. I've told a very similar story to that group about 2 years ago, but it was in a vacuum. 

He needs to apologize to his victims. He needs to admit and he and his friends were wrong.

[grim-faux]

9 - Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed.  It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver.  I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I’m not sure what I was waiting for.  Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving.  Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn’t decide which it was.  Either I’d stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

 I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution.  What happened to the person that looked down upon me?  The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish.  I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn’t be discredited.  But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this.  I really didn’t have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn’t possibly get lost down here.  Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn’t want to stay stationary longer than necessary.  It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here.  It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn’t need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it.  The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff.  The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it.  With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded.  Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn’t seem to help much in preventing cave-ins.  At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn’t sure if I should retreat now or wait.  He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right.  The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn’t decide if it was ‘Father’ Martin, or one of his disciples.  It didn’t sound like him….

“Till all the lambs in the church of god…”

I couldn’t make out what he was saying at this distance.  He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water.  The song was somehow depressing.  Maybe because of the ‘Father’ Martin’s Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn’t have any ambition to explore that side further.  The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body. 

A door waited innocently at my backside.  I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back.  I must’ve looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

“You don’t have to be scared of me.  I can tell we’re the same.  You still know what’s real.”

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind.  This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it.  First person to attempt a conversation with me.

“Do you mind if I film you?” I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

“Not at all.  Go ahead.  I’d actually prefer it.”  I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely.  He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms.  But he was fully clothed.

“The doctor’s dead, you know that, right?  Dr. Wernicke.”  I nodded.  “Died before he even started working here.”  He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections.  “What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?  That’s the question.”

“I found the obituary.”

“Yeah.”  To me it sounded like he didn’t credit this fact too much.  “A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he’s never been here.”  He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support.  “Doesn’t change what he’s done.”

“But…he’s dead, isn’t he?  It’s on file.”  My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him.  He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

“The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead.  One asks me, ‘What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?’  What is PROJECT WALRIDER?”

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted.  There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might’ve led to better venues - I couldn’t reach it.  There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways.  I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel.  It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now.  All the screaming I’d heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water.  What was PROJECT WALRIDER? kept ringing through my thoughts.  What was the screaming I heard?  What happened to those people?  It could’ve been Chris Walker.  Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must’ve misheard them.  But I couldn’t stop shaking.  My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot.  I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right.  I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate.  The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think.  I wasn’t sure anymore, I could’ve as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn’t want to see what that area had to offer. I didn’t want—

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me.  I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate.  I wasn’t satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it.  The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it.  Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience.  The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor.  I couldn’t tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained.  Light was still my enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead.  That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in.  Or wasn’t it?  I wasn’t sure.  But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must’ve been the chill.  The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast.  But, no…the sewers were at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further.  The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things.  I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters.  Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera.  I couldn’t make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention.  A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking.  Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn’t bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor.  It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red.  It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue.  Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me.  This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw.  I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as he cut up the hindquarters of a hog.  This reminded me sharply of that.  Of all those times.

Maybe after this I’d turn vegan.  I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter.  Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone.  A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel.  I didn’t care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter.  The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me.  I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars.  I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred.  The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull.  Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes.  I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin.  Or it could’ve been the sudden chill locked in the stale air.  Couldn’t stop here.

Need to keep moving.  Had to escape.  Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this ‘unknown.’  I wasn’t sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its line of sight.  Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side.  The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about.  The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn’t sure if I was actually experiencing this.  How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter.  I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked.  Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion.  The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone.  I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there.  The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death.  In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area.  For a moment I couldn’t move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision.  My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had.  I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power.  My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over.  This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry.  I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible.  What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork.  I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate.  Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes.  As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it.  Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station.  It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness.  Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim.  The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should.  The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars.  A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil.  Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick.  Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant.  The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible.  I doubted it, but decided not to risk it.  Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature.  I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was upon a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me.  Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease.  My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below.  When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward.  I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards to jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this.  My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole.  Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me.  I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it.  I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth once more.  I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place!  “The story that breaks these bastards.”  Weren’t those my exact words?  Don’t quote me on that.  Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin’ story of the century, and Murkoff’s crushing demise.  They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn’t squinting right.  I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself.  Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn’t need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance.  With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped.  I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water.  It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought.  Probably wrong, I wasn’t a plumber and I wouldn’t tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding.  The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking?  Maybe I was shrieking and wasn’t aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters.  In about five minutes it would come back to me.  I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn’t help at all.  I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I’d wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step.  I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere.  I hated this place.  It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area.  I decided not to worry about it.  There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through.  There was no way into them.  I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around.  The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process.  I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out.  The next one was full power, good to get me out of here.  Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail.  It’s connector.  I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it.  A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat.  I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here.  Good plan.  I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn’t overthink which way I was facing.  If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls.  I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently.  I also wasn’t certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway.  One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right.  I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view.  Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand.  When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor.  My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals.  I didn’t feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold.  It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient.  It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed.  The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things.  They were lost down here due to ‘Father’ Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them.  Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants.  While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it.  I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed.  And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below.  It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing.  I was stunned to find it half done.  What was this?  I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I’d worry over it later.  Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest.  Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me.  Echo ripples?  Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me.  I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much.  The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat.  It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface.  There was nothing there, no one in the water.  Just…something from the ceiling.  Worn brick, or that nasty shit.  Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn’t trust the stability of some boxes.  I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below.  I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path.  A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack.  The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner.  A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state.  At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad.  The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

“Already weak, cold.  It’s still bleeding but it doesn’t hurt anymore and I almost have quiet.  I can’t hear the Walrider anymore.  Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can’t remember the dreams.  Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy.  Lies.  Of course they were lying.  It was not therapy.  We were sacrificed to conjure a demon.  Please, let there be no more dreams.  The only hel….”

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man.  One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a ‘conjuring.’  What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to?  Murkoff, or ‘Father’ Martin.  ”Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open”’  What was the therapy he referred to?  The mutilation each patient bore?  Too many new questions, not enough answers.  Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook.  My coat wasn’t waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe.  A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end.  I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn’t hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough.  I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path.  Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery.  For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well.  Might as well use it while things felt calm, I’d have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger.  Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something.  An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality.  Excuses, excuses.  I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn’t survive much longer.  I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel.  It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient.  I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate.  I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire.  I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep.  It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest.  I was going to be a female before the end of this.  Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard.  My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera.  Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides.  I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed.  I hated that.  Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me.  Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse.  I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound.  Someone screaming, most likely.  I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk.  Bodies floated after some time.  Eerie thought right there.  I wasn’t paying enough attention at the moment, couldn’t bring myself to focus on where I was going.  A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves. 

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position.  A few large pillars supported what must’ve been the upper floor.  There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement.  Ripples.  They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell.  Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in.  Trying to find what, before it found me.  I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker.  Down here!  Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening.  It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from.  But it was my only chance.  It was more than what I’d found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode.  Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway.  That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here?  Lost?  I didn’t care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck.  I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn’t rest until he saw me dead.

“Stacked neatly side by side,” he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps.  “Too good at what I do.”  He must’ve been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors.  It kept him distracted and that was good.  “Someone’s here.”  Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade.  Fuck, what bad timing!  I bolted up the steps rather bother with it.  Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light.  I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would’ve extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact.  The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away.  He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me.  My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall.  I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood.  When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag.  I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it.  Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run.  No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away.  But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed.  Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six.  I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

“You had your chance!”

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase.  The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip.  Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn’t have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog.  I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them.  When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue.  Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock.  Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl.  I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well.  A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom.  My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way.  Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole.  Away from danger, away from that wicked monster.  I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest.  A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell.  I probably shouldn’t be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn’t registering the warning at this time.  It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn’t me.  Fuck that.  I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back.  His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles.  Up.  Get up Miles.  Walk it up.

I don’t really want to.  But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground.  A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet.  Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door.  A familiar sort of door, I couldn’t recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach the doorway before I dropped.  A moment, I needed a moment.  Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers.  Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up.  As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state.  I’m not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in?  I couldn’t sleep here, but I couldn’t resist either.  I wouldn’t sleep.  I would not sleep.  Wouldn’t sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing.  I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me.  I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

[jlath]

I Was the Girl Who Stayed in an Abusive Relationship: Here's What I Learned

Believe Me, Or Not

Three words. I remember only three words that were spoken the night of one of the worst arguments I’ve ever had with another person. Just three words. They were mine and I said them with tears in my eyes, slow and steady, even though I knew I was speaking to someone who wouldn’t process them or even hear me while trying to maintain the volume of his voice above the shakiness of my own. But I remember deciding that I would say the words anyways, just in case, by some miracle, he would stop screaming in my face and step away from me. I said:

“You’re scaring me.”

I remember wishing it was more extreme than it ended up being, because then I’d have a clear-cut, evident reason to walk away. Everyone would see a bruise on my face and wouldn’t dare to question me. I was only nineteen though and I was naïve, for I thought that being trapped in to my own bedroom and yanked by my wrists was not enough reason to walk away. But just because someone’s fist doesn’t meet your face doesn’t mean they haven’t or aren’t trying to physically hurt you.

I never thought of myself as weak. Growing up, I’d watch TV shows and movies and critique the women who got back with the men who were physical, enraged or emotionally abused them. I told myself, “I’ll never be that girl. I will be a stronger woman.” But what did I do? I told no one what had happened – the extremity and physicality of our fight – and I got back together with him a few weeks later.

The next six months of our relationship were a blur. We were together, dating, but both involved in new college organizations and had minimal time to do anything when we saw each other. I found amazing friends through the organization at my school that I was joining. Learning and growing through that process and being around beautiful and kind-hearted people opened my eyes to all the heartless ones in my life. In the time I spent without him, I thought about how much different of a person I was becoming, and he wasn’t around to see it because he was busy participating in an organization as well. It took me a while to realize that his not being around, however, was the reason I was so happy. For the first time in over a year, there was no one around manipulating my plans with friends, convincing me how to think, frowning at my outfits or telling me I was “crazy” and that I was “making stuff up,” “lying” and “imagining things,” something I learned later on is called gaslighting.

There was more than one reason as to why I left the relationship, but no matter the details of my decision, what happened after only proved to me I’d made the right choice. Texts begging me to talk or to see him, him showing up at my apartment uninvited, social media posts boasting my exclusion and even being followed back to my apartment after trying to drop off his belongings. There were stories being twisted and turned to make our mutual friends take sides but most importantly, the defining moment of the breakup was his assault and battery of one of our mutual friends, my best friend and  now current boyfriend, who I had been with a month after I ended the relationship and his friendship with my ex had gone south.

Great timing? No. Clean break up? Hell no. It was ugly and it put every ounce of my strength to the test, even for months after. And that is why I am writing this. As many of you would hate to believe and are here to find out, I’m not writing this article out of vengeance or spite. No, I’m writing this for any other girls out there like me.

You can believe me, or not.

What I Learned

There’s been days where I’m afraid to be anywhere besides my bedroom. There’s been days where I suffer panic attacks at the thought of running into him around school. There are even more days where I miss the people who I once called friends who he turned against me, people I’d been close with since I stepped foot on the college campus and who didn’t even bother to hear my reasoning, my side of the story . But there are no days where I regret my decisions.

The first thing I’ve learned and that I will carry with me forever is that love shouldn’t make you think you’re crazy. It shouldn’t make you question the quality of your memory, blame yourself for an argument you didn’t start or doubt yourself to the point where you wonder if maybe the medications you’ve been on since age twelve to treat epilepsy have somehow given you memory problems...Love shouldn’t push you around or leave you standing alone in an empty apartment while all your friends are downstairs drinking with him. Love shouldn’t leave you feeling like you are worth absolutely nothing. Gaslighting is real and not enough people know about it. Even now that I am speaking out, the one criticism I have continued to receive is that I am “crazy.” But if telling my truth makes me crazy, call me crazy. This label may have stopped me before, but now it means nothing, especially coming from people I’ve never met or even seen in my life. I have confidence in my instincts and in my memory. I know my story. It’s mine to share. If you don’t want to hear it, may I ask: why are you still reading?

The second thing I learned is, like I’ve said, to speak your truth whether or not people believe you. Which is why I am writing this now. See, I never told anyone that I experienced a low-level of physicality during an argument in my relationship until I needed someone, anyone to believe me. That was a mistake because after almost six months of staying silent on the topic in order to protect his reputation, no one wanted to believe me when it came to explaining the reasoning behind my finally ending my relationship. Even if they did stick around to hear me out,  they belittled me, condescended my fear and wrote me off. I walked away from a girl I called my close friend because she told me my fear was unjustified saying “bro, he would never physically hurt you.” She didn’t believe when I said that he already had.

I think there’s a power in staying silent. I chose silence for the months after our breakup to let the record show that in that time, I’d said nothing that I regretted. Silence can protect you, but you should never stay silent to protect someone who’s hurt you. This is the next thing I learned. At the time of the first breakup, I’d been so isolated in my relationship that I had no true friends, no support system to confide in or tell me that I was making the right decision to leave the relationship. I was only questioned by our mutual friends, which made me feel like my reason to walk away after an experience like that was invalid. After remaining in the relationship, it took time for me to realize that it was valid and that that experience had changed the essence of whatever we were doing. It was tainted. I would never be confident in saying that another serious fight wouldn’t result in another crossing of physical boundaries. I would never be confident in saying that it wouldn’t be worse, or escalate after the first time. Because, simply put, I would never know. But now that I have genuine friends, I’ve noticed that people who understand the thought process behind my keeping quiet about that experience are the ones who have stuck around.

The last thing I learned is something I’d like to write directly to girls like me. The ones who feel crazy, invalidated or afraid. The ones who are hopeless romantics, who seek true love that protects you the way it’s supposed to. To those girls: never ignore the red flags and never disregard your instincts. Over the course of my relationship, I saw them. Red flags, red goddamn strobe lights blinking in my face, and yet chose to ignore them. I was eighteen and I wanted so desperately to feel love, so I let myself fall. But halfway through my 20th year, I realized that your instincts are called instincts for a reason: to protect you. Always, always go with the gut feeling you keep telling yourself to push aside. More often than not, your gut feelings, your instincts are right. And they do and should validate whatever it is you feel: fear, anxiety. Anything. 

In the end, what I continue to tell myself is that no one knows what happened the night of that horrible fight I had in my bedroom with my ex. No one knows the extent of it besides him and me. People will only know the versions of the stories we tell. And wow, people love to hear anything that will distract them from dealing with their own issues. People love to believe a wild story. A cheater acting promiscuous! A writer seeking revenge! They’ll either believe you or they won’t. Either way, protect yourself. Trust yourself. Validate yourself. Then move on and go find meaning and happiness. That’s all you can really do.

Believe me, or not.

j.lath

[sylvanfreckles]

I’ve Got You (Whumptober 2020)

Whumptober 2020 day four!

Summary: Sam’s caught in a desperate game of hide-and-seek when trying to rescue a wendigo’s victims.

______________________________________________________________

Sam brushed at the dirt and cobwebs on the wall of the mine tunnel to see the intersection label clearly. He held the map up close to the label so he could verify the information and nodded for Dean to take a look.

“Right on track,” Dean murmured. “That old-timer said the north section was caved in from here, right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed. He was conscious of every tiny sound in the abandoned mine, wondering if each one meant something was stalking them in the darkness. Wendigos were always tricky to hunt, especially in the darkness, and tracking one down in its den was particularly dangerous. They had no choice this time, though, as it had taken several victims. If there was even a chance some of those people might be alive they had to risk it.

“We gotta split from here?” Dean asked. He flashed his light down the two sides of the intersecting tunnel. They didn't like it, but they had to cover more ground. According to the weather reports the first freeze could hit any day now, and as soon as that happened the wendigo would retreat into its den and not venture back out until Spring.

They had the smallest chance that it was out hunting now. These things had an insatiable hunger, so it was possible the wendigo was out for one last scavange.

Dean paused at the mouth of the left hand tunnel and held his hand up. Sam rolled his eyes. “I'm not gonna rock-paper-scissors you for the tunnels, just pick one.” His brother shrugged, let his hand bounce three times as though they were playing rock-paper-scissors, and gave Sam the finger. Sam snorted. “Nice, dude. Real mature.”

“You know you love me,” Dean retorted with a smirk. “Hey...stay safe down there, okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam watched his brother slink away into the darkness for a few seconds. Dean's stealth always surprised people, like they couldn't believe someone that big could be that quiet. It wouldn't be enough to fool a wendigo, and it was only the fact that they were running short on time that kept Sam from insisting they go together.

The tunnel he was following was a fairly straightforward descent that would end at a natural cavern with an underground lake. He and his brother had argued about which tunnel was more likely to be the wendigo's lair—while this one would have a supply of water (though legends weren't really clear on if wendigos needed water), Dean's tunnel lead down to a maze of half-finished shafts and passages from the mine's last days.

Sam knew he was approaching the cavern by the change in the sounds around him. He could hear more water dripping, with the slight echo that indicated an open space. In the silence these sounds were almost deafening, and he strained to hear anything beyond the natural background noise of the cavern but it seemed the only thing there was his own ragged breathing.

He paused for a moment, hiding behind a rough collection of stalagmites to scope out the area around the lake. He really should have fought Dean for the other tunnel; Sam had hated places like this every since reading The Hobbit in middle school. Yeah, sure, their jobs took them to scary places all the time, but underground lakes and vast, dripping caverns reminded him too much of Gollum. It didn't help that Dean had spent weeks convincing him he'd seen something like Gollum sneaking around every place they'd gone.

There was a rotted wooden structure to the side, probably storage for supplies for the mine. Not explosives or anything that would be damaged by the dampness in the cavern, of course.

He'd just decided to check out the old shed when a whisper of movement beyond it had him jumping back to press himself behind the stalagmites. Heart thudding in his ears, Sam fought to control his breathing and listen for any more signs of movement. He pulled out his flare gun and held it with the flashlight—if this was the wendigo he'd have one shot at this.

Nothing else happened. The wendigo, of course, could move silently in the darkness. It was the deep, heavy darkness of the underground. With his flashlight off there was nothing to break the blankness around him, not even a reflection off the underground lake. The silence stretched out claustrophobically, until another small sound caught Sam's attention.

It was still coming from behind the run-down shed. He clicked his light on and advanced slowly, playing the beam over the ground to watch his footing.

There were footprints. Bare feet with clawed toes, some left in the loose grit of the lake's shore, some coming up out of the water and vanishing down the tunnel Sam had come down. Oh shit. Did these things go in the water?

He slowly rounded the corner of the shed, flare gun held at the ready, only to find three of the missing hikers trussed up and hanging from a rotted support beam. Sam wedged the flashlight between his neck and shoulder and hurried to the first one.

It was a young woman, maybe twenty-one years old. Her dark skin looked sickly and gray in the faint light, but she was breathing and came to with a jolt when Sam touched her shoulder. “It's okay,” he whispered. “I'm here to save you.”

Her eyes were wild with fear, roving around the darkness and blinking against the light. Sam held his flashlight away and angled it so she could see his face. “What's your name?” he asked.

She stared at him for a few seconds, obviously fighting down her panic. “It's Cameron,” she finally said. “Cameron DeLacey.”

“I'm Sam. I've been looking for you,” Sam said with a smile. “Here, lemme get you down.” Cameron's wrists were lashed together with a rough piece of rope that had been looped over the old wooden beam. Sam tucked the flare gun in his belt and easily sawed through the rope, grabbed Cameron around the waist before she could fall to the ground.

“It's okay, I've got you,” he whispered. “I'm gonna get you guys out of here, okay?” He helped her sit on the stone floor and swung his pack off his shoulders, digging out a bottle of water and a second flashlight. “Can you keep watch while I cut your friends down?”

Cameron's eyes widened and she shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her face. “That thing...” she whispered, obviously terrified.

“Just point the flashlight for me?” Sam coaxed. “The sooner we get you out of here, the sooner my brother and I can kill this thing.”

She reluctantly accepted the flashlight, pointing it up at the person she'd been hanging next to. “You can kill it?” she asked.

“It's kind of our job,” Sam replied. The next one was an older man, who wasn't waking up as fast as Cameron. Sam cut him free and gently laid him down on the stone floor. He was stirring and moaning, so it wasn't too late for him.

It was for the next one. A woman, close in age to the man he'd just cut free. Blood was matted in her silvery hair from a head wound and her eyes were open and unseeing. Sam double-checked her pulse just to be sure, but her body was cold and stiff and her skin was papery. She was gone.

To his surprise, Cameron had crawled over to the older man to try to bring him around. She'd pulled the bandanna off of her neck and wet it with the water Sam had given her and was wiping the older man's face and wrists.

Sam crouched beside him, and when Cameron looked up at him then over to the woman he shook his head. “How is he?”

“If we can get him out of here he has a chance,” Cameron replied. “Pretty out of it though.”

“Let's get him up.” Sam wrapped one of the man's arms around his neck and hauled him upright. Cameron took the other side, even though she looked unsteady herself. The man was almost as tall as Dean and Cameron was a good foot shorter, so it was awkward.

There was a secondary shaft that connected to the upper levels, but the man they were hauling between them was in no shape to climb the ladder. It was a longer, and thus more dangerous, hike to the old service elevator.

It was uphill to the intersection, and Sam stopped for a moment while Cameron caught her breath and he listened for any other sounds. He was sure they would have heard it if Dean had encountered the wendigo, but there was nothing. Sam wasn't sure if that was good or bad news.

“Okay, come on, this way,” he whispered.

“Sam? Dean's voice echoed out of the shadows. “Sam? Help me!”

Sam shuddered. Cameron's breath was panting in and out as Dean's voice trailed up from the blocked-off tunnel behind them. “Keep going,” Sam murmured.

“Sammy? Sammy? Where are you?”

“Who is that?” Cameron whispered.

“The wendigo,” Sam replied. “They can mimic human voices.” It was behind them, it knew who he was (or guessed), and it was tracking them. There was no way they were fast enough to get out.

“It knows who you are?”

“It's just a trick. Keep moving.”

“Sam? Sammy?”

The voice was Dean's, but just wrong enough that Sam could ignore. They had a code, anyway, just in case this happened. Dean would have asked for extra mayo, not help, if he was really in trouble.

The man they were hauling down the tunnel began to groan. Sam tried frantically to quiet him, but the man began to struggle against his grasp. Behind them, in the darkness, there was a faint sound like claws scraping against stone.

Sam made a choice.

He ducked out from under the man's arm and grabbed for Cameron. “Let's go,” he hissed. The wendigo was only a few yards behind them, there was no way out of this for all three of them. Just ahead the passage split off to lead to the access ladder to the upper floors. Sam pulled Cameron around the corner and pressed her up against the cold stone wall with his own body, covering her mouth, turning his face away from the open tunnel they'd just left as though that would make what he had done less horrible.

There was an awful, guttural shriek that started low and rose higher and higher until it was a keening wail. Then a horrible snap, a sound like heavy fabric being torn, and the soft pattering of liquid onto the stone.

The wendigo began to feed. Sam shuddered, sick to his heart over what he'd done. There had been no time to get a shot off, and if they hadn't left the other man behind it would have been all three of them by now. Cameron was shaking; Sam could feel the wetness on her face from tears streaming out of her eyes,

“You have to be quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the wendigo feasting. “There's a ladder...up the tunnel. We have to go now, but we have to be quiet. Understand?”

She nodded. Sam slowly pushed himself away from the wall. He reached out into the dark, finding Cameron's shoulder, and gently slid down her arm to take her hand. He had to get Cameron to the ladder, hand off the map and the light, then he could go back to find Dean and hunt the creature.

They picked their way through the darkness until the sounds of the wendigo's feeding had distorted to confusing echoes, then Sam turned his flashlight on so they could find their way. He still felt sick. He should have been able to do something, defend them all, find a better way. Instead he'd left an innocent man to a horrible death, all to save his own skin.

Cameron's grip tightened on his hand as she stumbled over some loose rocks, and Sam tried to force his mind to focus on what they had in front of them. It was too late for the man he'd left behind, but he could get the girl to safety. The ladder wasn't too far, and Sam's light caught the dull, rusted metal leading up to a hole in the ceiling. Cameron moaned in dismay when she saw that the bottom five feet or so of the ladder had broken away.

“It's okay,” Sam whispered. “I've got you.” He tucked the flashlight under his arm and cupped his hands, gesturing for her to step in them.

She hesitated. “What about you?”

“I have to go back for my brother,” Sam explained. “We have to kill that thing before it gets anyone else. Oh, hang on,” he straightened up to dig the paper out of his back pocket and held it out to her. “Follow this map to get out of the mine. Wait for us, there's a big black car parked there. Black impala. If we're not there by sunrise follow the trail down to the highway. Ask for Sheriff Miller.”

Cameron nodded. In the faint light of the flashlight he could see where her tears had cut through the dirt on her face. “Be careful, Sam,” she whispered.

He managed a half-smile and leaned over, cupping his hands again. She placed one foot in his hands and both her hands on his shoulders and he straightened up, holding her up until she could grab onto the lowest rung of the ladder. He supported her feet from behind so she could climb and watched until she disappeared into the tunnel a level above.

Right. Back to the wendigo. It had gone silent down the hall, obviously done with its feast. But did that mean it was stalking Sam? Or had it gone after Dean this time?

Flare gun out, Sam pressed himself to the wall of the tunnel and slowly made his way back. There was a smell in the air now, the iron tang of blood and raw meat.

“Sam?”

He froze. The voice had come from right around the corner. He could smell it now, smell the years of rot and death that cloaked the creature. Sam tightened his grip on the flare gun and spun around the corner. He let the flashlight play around the tunnel until it hit a tall, emaciated figure crouched against the wall. With a cry Sam fired the flare gun as the wendigo charged. It knocked his arm away and the flare struck the ceiling, dust and debris exploding down from the impact.

Sam dropped and rolled to the side, barely avoiding the blow from a clawed hand. He had another flare gun in his pack, but there was no time to dig it out now. He pulled his gun free instead—bullets wouldn't do much to a wendigo, but it was all he had and it might do something.

He yelled as he fired, his own voice adding to the confusion of sound and flashes of light as he unloaded round after round into the skeletal body of the advancing monster. It let out a howl of pain, something dark and primal that had Sam's stomach twisting with nausea and fear freezing his limbs.

“Hey, fugly!”

The wendigo spun, mouth gaping to let out another cry, and the flare from Dean's gun caught it directly in the stomach. It shrieked as it burned, a sound more terrible and bone-chilling than its cry of pain, and Sam tried to curl away from it with his arms wrapped around his head.

An analytical part of his mind realized he was hyperventilating, that it was just the body's reaction to stress and he could calm it down if he focused. The rest of him was overwrought with the events of the night and the sounds and sights of the wendigo as it burned and he just wanted to be somewhere warm and safe and away from the death and darkness.

“Sammy? Hey, hey, it's okay.” Someone was leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the side of his face. “We got it, man. It's all over.”

“Dean?” Sam whispered, wrapping a hand around his brother's forearm to make sure he was real. An analytical part of his mind told him the wendigo's scream was meant to cause terror to its victims to make them unable to fight back, and that he was still feeling the affects of the scream. The rest of him just wanted his brother to take him home.

“Who else?” Dean grinned in the faint light. For a split second it looked like he was going to make a crack—maybe about the wendigo imitating his voice—but his eyes softened and his smile was more genuine. “Come on, Sammy. Let's get out of here.”

[matildainmotion]

The Monstrous Shame of Motherhood and the Quest for a Cure

I feel exhausted. Even-more-than-usual exhausted. Whoever knew that staying at home could be so incredibly tiring. We have our daily outings – mainly to the golf course, which is the nearest green we have. The other evening, when we had finally made it out the house, and the children were running ahead of me across the fitted-carpet grass, I had a thought: “Maybe it will be okay,” and instantly I wanted to cry. It wasn’t a thought only about the pandemic. It was about the lot: the pandemic, plus how to get an autism diagnosis for my son that supports him, plus my 78 year old mother staying well, plus my husband’s work and the theatre community surviving in a post-Covid world, plus managing to finish my book, plus both my children’s long term futures, plus the world’s long term future and climate change, plus racial inequality, plus economic inequality, plus gender inequality, plus, plus…..

In that moment I realised that a kind of deep worry is such a constant for me now that I have grown accustomed to it, so that it is like the planes that used to fly over our house in London – a noise so familiar that after a while I no longer hear it, and yet it is there, every few minutes, unnoticed, another monstrous metal groan. And when it stops - when the planes stay down, when the worries lift up - the sudden silence is startling, enough to make me cry. But – here’s the thing- thanks to the lockdown I have realised that it isn’t just worry to which I have grown accustomed in this way. There is something else, even more monstrous, which it has taken me a long time to name – and its name is shame.

I believe the shame comes from a thousand ‘shoulds,’ from the many things I feel I should be doing as a mother and am not.  Motherhood, along with the paraphernalia of nappies, wipes and purees, comes with a huge bundle of shoulds. The very first thing I did, nine years ago now, on discovering that I was pregnant, was to rush out to Waterstones and buy a book on what I should and shouldn’t eat during the next nine months– and that was only the beginning. The shoulds come from everywhere, a mountain of well-meant advice, not only from books, but from doctors, midwives, family members, partners, friends, other mothers, even complete strangers. I remember standing in a shop queue with my three-week-old son in a sling, when the woman behind me leant forward and touched one of his toes. “Where’s his socks?” she said, “He’ll catch his death of cold.” On the one hand I felt reasonably confident that carrying my son around sock-less was not going to endanger his life, on the other, as a brand new mother, I was nonetheless shaken by the idea that my son’s survival was up to me, and that many different people had many different ideas about how best I should fulfil my role of raising and protecting him. At times, even my instinct, that famous maternal inner guide, seemed like a mysterious thing that someone else had told me I should follow.

Mothers Who Make began, in part, as a response to all these shoulds. When I went along to the new mother and baby groups, that I also believed to be obligatory, I noticed a distressing pattern. All too often we were simply swapping ‘shoulds’ with each other and coming away feeling worse than when we arrived. No place or position was safe: I met mothers who felt they should be breastfeeding, mothers who felt the need to put a label saying ‘breastmilk’ on the bottle they fed their baby in public, as well as mothers who felt they should be weaning their baby and moving rapidly onto solids. I met mothers who felt bad about co-sleeping and mothers who felt bad about not doing so. In those early days of mothering - when you should be feeling overjoyed - there are even charts that tell you what should be happening when, how much your child should weigh, by when they should be making eye contact etc. It is not that these charts are entirely unhelpful or inaccurate, but they certainly encouraged my constant questioning: is my child okay? Am I okay? Am I doing this right? And if I thought I wasn’t, if I was not doing what I should, I felt ashamed.

I have felt many parallels between lockdown and early motherhood – the sudden cessation of all usual activity, the focus on ‘intensive care’ and care-taking, the washing, the sense of vulnerability, the way leaving the house seems like an epic adventure, the isolation and longing for connection. And, as in early motherhood, our diverse lives are again apparently aligned. We are all in the same situation: all the mothers in those baby groups had a new born / all the mothers I know now are in lockdown due to a pandemic. This makes comparison seem possible, even appropriate. There is a set of scales around again – I weigh our lives on it and find myself at fault.

Let me give you a small sample of some of the shoulds that fly low over my home, through my mind, like aeroplanes, a few of the many that I have collected over my nine years of mothering. I should get my children to bed earlier. I should give them less screen time, or it shouldn’t happen first thing in the morning, or I should manage the whole issue of screens in a better, different way. I should give them less choice about what they eat. I should make sure they eat more fresh foods and less sugar. I should make them help around the house more. I should hold the structure of the day better. I should make sure everyone stays at the table when we’re eating. I should take steps towards weaning my daughter. I should never resort to threats – to the ‘if you don’t stop x, you won’t get y’ pattern. And so on and so forth – you get the gist. And because I do not do these things - and I imagine a thousand other mothers who are doing them wonderfully - I feel ashamed. I realise as I write this that my ‘shoulds,’ as listed here, are nice, white, middle class ones- signs of privilege. Shame is a heavy word and it is associated with far darker things than letting your kids watch too much telly. I want to acknowledge that my issues are trifling compared to those many have to navigate, but shame, whatever the context, is still shame and it is powerful. As someone who was once anorexic, I know that shame can sit alongside privilege and that, where present, it undermines the ease of even the most comfortable life.

Back in Jan 2019 I wrote a blog about guilt. I now think I was muddling up some of my guilt and my shame. In general, I feel guilty about specific instances that have an immediate, present moment, ground-level reality: I shouted at my son when he blasted water over the bathroom with the shower head and that triggered one of his big, aggressive rages. If I feel guilty about something, I can say sorry about it, to the person or people I have wronged, and then it’s over. Shame, for me, is more like the ongoing aeroplanes, it is long term - a long haul flight. On the bad days, motherhood seems like a very lengthy exam, the end of it still twenty years away. My children are not the examiners – certainly not for now – they are the results. Depending on how the children turn out, I will pass or fail. There are external examiners, keeping track, making notes, of all the things I am doing or not doing. And who are they, these examiners? I think, somewhere in my psyche, there is an impressive panel of them, made up of everyone who has ever shared ‘a should’ with me, from the author of the book on what to eat during pregnancy, to the woman in the queue who wanted my son to be in socks, to the many other authors, friends and strangers who have offered me advice - they are all sitting there, scribbling on their notepads, shaking their heads. They are not bad people. Many of them are people for whom I have enormous respect, which makes it worse. I believe in their advice – seriously, I should be following it.

In my blog on guilt, I found my guilt a figure – made it into an image that helped me connect to the things that mattered to me, lying underneath the guilt. It turned out to be a Mary Poppins-like character, flying a kite. I think my shame has a very different form. There is the panel of judges, frowning from a distance, and then there is the shame herself, much closer in, and, like the sound of the low-flying planes, she’s monstrous.

My son’s latest obsession is the Beast Quest books (he has moved on from My Little Pony - woe betide you if you mention his former interest to him). There are over a hundred Beast Quest books, all with the same basic formula – boy meets monster. Giant birds, snakes, insects, spiders, bears, apes, hounds, trolls, ogres, dragons – you name your flavour of nightmarish monster, it will be there. I am glad to say there is a reasonable spread of gender representations across the monsters – sadly none of them are trans but there are some mothers. My ‘shame monster’ is definitely a mother. She is immense, stinking, gruesome and green. Her roar is the soundtrack of my days, to which I have grown accustomed. In some of the Beast Quest books the beasts are evil and must be destroyed, but in some they are good, set under an evil curse, from which they must be freed. I think my monstrous shame mother is one of these – good at heart but under pressure, after years of judgement, she has turned malevolent. And here is the irony: I believe her malevolent aspect has a more toxic impact on my children and our household, than any of the things such as screen time, sugar, late nights, unstructured days, which have driven her into this terrible state. Her constant growling makes me tense, fractious and very, very tired. I don’t think I can go on like this. So, what to do? How to release her from the curse? And who would she be without it?

Often the opposite of shame is presented as pride. But I think pride too is problematic – the panel of judges, external examiners, is still present in the dynamic, it’s just that they are giving out good marks instead of bad. So, if the shame-beast, when transformed, does not turn into the proud mother, who does she become?

As ever, when I am wrangling with a question in my mothering, I look to my making for answers. Throughout the lockdown I have been writing whenever I can. Always, when the children are having their screen time. Often, when I should be getting them dressed, or focussing on making us breakfast, or preparing them for bed. I don’t write because I should. I write because I want to do it, because it helps me give things meaning, because it brings me joy. I think back to that teary moment on the golf course, watching the children run ahead of me over the grass. What made the worry lift, the planes stop, the monster turn out good? Yes, I think it was a moment of joy. I think, when the gory green monster is not sweating with shame, she is lit up with joy.

So much, so often, is laid at the mother’s door. On the one hand we are ‘just’ being mums, with minimal status, doing an insignificant job, and on the other, we are accorded huge significance – everything can be traced back to us, to our care or the lack of it, our early influence. I do not wish to deny our responsibility as mothers, but I do not believe our shame helps us to shoulder it, or that we should shoulder it alone. When I started Mothers Who Make I wanted it to be a held peer-support space where women could share their challenges without shame, and celebrate, even cultivate, their joy. I wanted to create a group in which we did not find further fault, did not inadvertently end up undermining or judging one another, adding to the great big bundles of shoulds already carried. It is why it is still vital to me that we welcome every kind of mother – breastfeeding, bottle-feeding, those who keep their mothering and their making strictly separate, those who take their children to work – every kind. It is also the same impulse that lies behind our Matronage scheme. Rather than a panel of judges telling us whether or not we are worthy, I want to see whether we can hold each other up. We have been asking people to become our ‘Matron Saints’ by giving us the price of a coffee a month - £3. We need 300 of you to become self-sustaining. So far we have a fantastic 99! Once we reach 100, I am going to announce a new project in celebration– a way, I hope, to keep the same ethos of grassroots peer-support alive and kicking – kicking off the shoulds, turning them into wishes and dreams.

And in the meantime, whilst you are all rushing to bring us over the 100 Matron Saint mark, (go here to do so: www.motherswhomake.org) these are your questions for the month: as a mother and/ or as a maker what are the ‘shoulds’ and ‘should nots’ you carry around with you? Do your ‘shoulds’ turn into shame? And then- as an antidote to this -what brings you joy? In your mothering? In your making? As we slowly emerge out of this pandemic, can you do more of this? Can you create a more shameless world? Can you help make the monsters joyful?

[goatyuzuru]

Thoughts on 2018/2019 Season

Actually, I am supposed to be on a figure skating fast because I want to take a break, take a step back, and remove my feelings from this sport. It’s helped me a lot this week. But I think before I refast, I want to say I’m just so glad this season is finally over. The way the corruption of this sport escalated was beyond what I even expected. I knew about the corruption, the politicking, the amusement of the way judges score skaters, however, I didn’t think it took less than 1 season for it to get to a new level. I see skaters getting low 80s to mid 90s throughout 1 season. I see robbing everywhere. I see selective calls. I know it will not change even after this season ended, but having this off season will allow me to breathe.

Over the past weeks of grieving about World Championships 2019 Men’s event results, I am now in a mix of stages among bargaining/depression/acceptance. I think I ranted too much on twitter and Planet Hanyu last two weeks that I don’t think I need to talk about my denial or anger stages. 

Bargaining

There were many what ifs that went through my mind during these couple of weeks.

“What if Yuzu was never injured? not at cor 2018, not at nhk 2017, or not even his many other injuries that he’s decided to never share with the public? He would probably have been invincible by now.” But that is such an unrealistic and greedy expectation for an elite skater. Also, Yuzu is a human who simply makes the most out of what he has. I don't want to think of him as invincible or superhuman. We are all human who think we are subhuman trying to be superhuman. Yuzu is already inspirational by being his full potential. He allows me to love both the weak Yuzuru and the strong Yuzuru.  

“What if I never discovered Yuzu in 2016? What if I never discovered figure skating in 2010? When I first came to know Yuzu I thought because he won so much, the sport actually rewards talent. After a while I slowly discovered the ugly truth that even when he did win a lot in his life, he’s been robbed and underscored chronically. It was he who earned those titles, snatched those scores off from the judges’ dirty hands, challenged the system, and fought his way to be above the scoring corruption and above the sport. So when I found out the truth about what this sport really is, I really wished I never knew about it.” But then to know Yuzu is also one of the best things that happened to me. He inspired me as a person in so many ways. And to know Yuzu means I have known what true figure skating is. There is real figure skating in Yuzuru Hanyu and the figure skating that ISU is promoting. 

“What if he never won at PyeongChang? That might have been better for me to quit watching figure skating at that time." But that would be super selfish and stupid. The gold medal is one of the best compensations that happened to Yuzu throughout his competitive life as a skater.

“What if he retired after PC? The sport doesn’t deserve him. Everyone benefited from his presence except the man himself.” But I am not Yuzu and I can’t walk his journey. I can’t feel his pain or happiness so how would I know he won’t still enjoy his difficult road ahead. 

“What if Yuzu changes the way he skates? What if he tries to go with Nathan’s or Vincent’s strategy? The system doesn’t judge program components correctly or penalize incorrect techniques, so why bother following the rules when you’re not rewarded? Or "what if he changes his nationality to Canada, Japan doesn’t deserve him anyway?” But I realize from Yuzu’s interviews that while he hates losing the most, he would never change himself in order to win. I realize that it is as hard for Yuzu to empty his program for the jumps as Nathan delivering a complete program. Likewise, it is as hard for Yuzu to cheat his techniques as Vincent trying to correct his. And even if Yuzu did all of these things Nathan or Vincent did, he isn’t an American to get this treatment. Yuzu isn’t the one who should change, should lower his standard. It is the ISU, the judges, the tech panelist, the federations. Yuzu does not need a new passport to win. He did it before to be beyond the corruption, he can possibly do it again. 

After bargaining so much, I realized none of the what ifs will do any good for Yuzu, for the other skaters, for the sport, or myself. I was led to a stage of depression.

Depression 

I guess to many spectators, the scoring discourses on social media and among fandoms seem very silly or “not that deep”. But as someone who thoroughly invest my time, energy, and emotion as a fan for it, I find the necessity in having these voices so that even if the scores don’t stand or the system collapses, the true figure skaters can be remembered, the message of unfairness can be reached to new fans. Seeing myself, who is this much invested into the sport just as a fan, I wonder how much more the many figure skaters, who’ve gone through such pressure and discipline, financial hardship and injuries, emotional breakdowns and sacrifices, have been robbed of their potential titles/scores/sponsorships.

The problem I’m seeing is not only the skaters who don’t benefit from the corruption are negatively affected, the skaters who benefit from the corruption also get hate from many people. Look, I don’t hate the American skaters like Nathan/Vincent/Bradie or the Russian skaters from Eteri camp/Samarin...etc. When I don’t like someone’s skating I am usually just indifferent to them, meaning I don’t bother following them. That’s simple; if you don’t like something, you stop watching it. The problem is these skaters are being shoved into my faces and the way they are being overscored robbed me of my enjoyment for the sport because I find it unfair. That’s also very simple. So I hate to see people generalizing all of the rants are coming from a place of biasness or antis. That is not true. Also, as soon as you are a fan of certain skater, in my case a Yuzuru Hanyu’s fan, you are automatically being labeled as a sore loser or hater. The thing is, many fans who truly study figure skating would agree that the scores don’t match with what are being seen. But it happens that they might be a smaller part of a fandom and don’t get too vocal about this. So instead of seeing everyone as an obsessive fanyu, perhaps the reason many of them fight so hard is to see someone like Yuzuru Hanyu, who is the epitome of a figure skater, gets rewarded deservedly. Perhaps it’s because we value great technique and great skating and the skaters who won happen to not have those? I think it is fair to say a lot of people would get hurt because their favorite skaters did not win and the initial reaction could be a bit overwhelming. That’s normal. But if what they are witnessing in the sport that led to their criticism are fair, they should have the right to vocalize their criticism in order for justice to be heard, especially the rulebook to back their criticism. 

Yet over and over, no matter how reasonable many people have been. No matter how much effort in putting up videos to compare skaters’ programs or to explain the discrepancies in the way the tech panel called or didn’t call certain elements, the ISU and general public decide to be ignorant about it. They create their own narratives or put up media play to benefit themselves. They take down videos to remove the evidences. I even think of proposals on how to change the scoring system/format. Maybe the skaters shouldn’t get the scores right after they skate? Maybe we should only have 1 panel of the same judges? Maybe the judges/tech need more time to review the elements and program components? Maybe ice scopes should be inplemented for all jumps and in all countries. Every single element will be put into video cuts for the judges and tech to review and mark the bullets accordingly so the GOEs will autopopulate? The definitions in the rulebooks need to be given more objective, quantative metrics based on collective data or stats? Maybe the scores should be temporarily announced 2 hours after the competition (if the scores get announced later, the competition will be shortened) and the public can vote for what scores need to be reviewed. They can ask the judges to write a review at the end of the day on why they score the elements/PC and if the public do not agree they judges will get a strike. After 3 strikes in their career, the judges will be banned from judging? If any fed decides to bribe the public, at least someone can report it? I thought about all of these possibilities...

And I realize the products are not going to change as long as the creator isn’t willing. There will always be some loopholes.

Acceptance

I am slowly accepting all of this, what I cannot do and what I can do. Accepting neither means that I am agreeing with the results or scores nor normalizing the way the sport plays out. I only know that I cannot change the way ISU/feds politicking or how the general public’s view about certain skaters/achievement stans bandwagon on the glory of its beneficiaries' achievements. But what I know is I will not give them what they want: my attention/money/support. I don’t want to give attention to the undeserving skaters whom I feel like they try to promote. Rather than giving these skaters attention through my ranting, instead, I can just go back to how I should, which is stop watching them. It will be hard since Yuzu will be competing against some of these skaters and that I will follow his career as long as he allows me to, which makes it inevitable that I would see other skaters somehow. But if I would just really ignore, it would allow me to stop feeding on my hatred/bitterness toward other skaters, who aren’t bad people and are pretty talented per se, and just support Yuzu as his fan. I want to spread the love so that even if he perhaps might not always win or get the highest scores on paper, his greatness could still be felt and seen. Because of the love that is spread for Yuzu on twitter, Olympic Channel acknowledges him as the biggest star. Laureus twitter now actively tweets about him. Figure Skating is such a low profile sport but Yuzu is often compared to other greats like Rogers Federer or Tiger Woods (lol) or even Ronaldo by commentators. That shows how he really beyond this sport.

At the end of the day, I console myself that whatever Yuzu has achieved does not even define everything about how great he is as a skater. So I will just try my best to enjoy his career when I can. 

[kaiba-fangirl]

Fill in the questions/statement as if you are being interviewed for an article and you were your muse

Tag 10 people to do this meme, (repost, don’t reblog)

TAGGED BY: not @rogueprinceconsort =P & I know I’m not a RP blog, but I am a fanfic author so I still do the same kind of stuff, just everyone at once with chapters, so I’m sure ya won’t mind... idk itching to write Seto but his mind is all over the place in Ch7 of And You? (AO3/FFN), & I know I’ve missed a bunch of personal tags in the past, so, well, I’m here now. TAGGING: anyone 1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

“Seto Kaiba.”  (海馬 瀬人 Kaiba, Seto)

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?

He narrows his eyes, already suspicious. “Legally, that IS my real name.”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?

“I was born Seto,” he answers flatly, then smirks. “The Kaiba family name I earned for myself and my little brother at the age of 10, when Gozaburo agreed to adopt us thanks to my, superior negotiating skills.” [Seto after Egyptian Pharaoh Seth. Kaiba for, apparently, hippocampus/seahorse.]

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? “Taken. Happily married to the number 1 female duelist, Mai Valentine. She’s now heading the new Fashion Tech and Merchandise Department at Kaiba Corp.” [but he’s also still looking >.>]

5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS? “Just bleeding edge technology development and superior dueling skills,” he shrugs smugly. [and hacking.] [You also accidentally activate latent magical powers every so often, dumbass. Sure he’s a genius. A genius that weaves techno-sorcery into everything & commands gods without even knowing it.] “Anything else you may have heard about magic or spirits or real monsters, is all just nonsense hocus pocus. It’s sensationalists trying to make our amazingly life-like holographic projections seem dangerous.”

6. STOP BEING A MARY SUE/GARY STU. “Heh, doesn’t that just mean born talented? You should be so lucky.”

7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR? “Blue,” he chuckles childishly. “It was probably what first drew me to, you know, Blue-Eyes, when I was young.” [It’s not. The Blue-Eyes White Dragon was his magical monster of light ‘girlfriend’ in Ancient Egypt in a past life of his 3000 years ago.]

8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR? “Chestnut.”

9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? “Living, my little brother, Mokuba, and now my lovely wife.”

10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS? “No pets. I barely have time for having two people in my life now it seems, and that’s even with Mokuba off travelling.” [any pet energy is expended on more Blue-Eyes White Dragon themed everything]

11. THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. “You wanna see a REAL Gary Stu?! As in, there is no reason he should have made it this far?! Joey fuckin Wheeler. This loser stole his way into my tournament, then has the nerve to even challenge me for 3rd place as if that meant anything, and he still ends up 4th even?! How! He operates on pure luck, and leeching off his ‘friends!’ His deck is a mess, I mean have you even seen his lineup?!?!” [Well that would all be redacted. Now, since this is for an interviewer for a published article...] He calmly and thoughtfully looks off at a spot on the far wall behind the interviewer. He purses his lips and furrows his brow, genuinely distraught, drawing from a direct encounter. “I’m actually more concerned than ever about the state of refugees- whether they have that official label or not. Around the world. Especially the children. These children don’t know what’s going on, and people say they care about children, but they really don’t. They’re not thinking of those kids- of refugee kids. Of poor kids. Of orphans or abused kids. And the way these refugees are being treated, those kids are getting hit with all those things at once. Ya know, I- I was fortunate enough to have that opportunity to be adopted, in a strong first-world nation, but I know what it’s like, to know that the grown ups are just using you, not listening to you. You’re nothing to them; maybe pawns. Now, I’m doing all I can, as president of Kaiba Corp, but there is still only so much we can do. We’re not making tanks or any weapons at all anymore-” He chokes at the thought of a tank staring him down specifically, compared to the latest news. He clears his throat to manage. “Not since the day I took over. We may not be contributing to that military industrial complex anymore, but the state of refugees today is still just as bad if not worse. Now they’re using weapons outlawed by the Geneva Conventions, and in countries that pride themselves on freedom and opportunity. Pteh. It’s madness. It’s evil.” [...aaand that just became the cover story] [We’ll be back after after a short break.]

12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING? “Besides dueling, uh, tinkering. Reading. Hacking into random databases I shouldn’t be in.”

13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? “Next question. Don’t even print that, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. And they don’t play so nice.” [By ‘lawyers’ I’m pretty sure he just means goons.]

14. EVER… KILLED ANYONE BEFORE? "No.” [Gozaburo.]

15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? "Dragon.”

16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. "Tch, I wouldn’t have gotten to be president of a multi-billion-dollar corporation if I had bad habits.”  [That is literally his worst habit. Also how he got there is because of all his bad habits.] He chuckles at what he’s about to make fun of. “Then again, some people think that working too much is a bad habit.”

17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL? "How could I when I’m already on top?”

18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? "Irrelevant.” He smiles menacingly. “Card games are more important anyway.” [Bi and trying to figure out how to tell his wife. Then again once he does that, the press will be easy. Possibly also grey ace or demi, since he does enjoy the physical aspects of being married & his crush.]

19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? “Graduated high school early and then went right back to work as CEO, at the time. I don’t have time to waste getting a piece of paper to validate my knowledge that I’m already putting to use at Kaiba Corp everyday. --but I certainly support everyone staying in school as long as they can. Kaiba Corp offers a free college tuition program for any employee, paid ahead of time, and schedules can be worked around class and homework time as needed.”

20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY? “I never thought I would want to marry, but I have always assumed I would want to adopt. Now I am married, and we both want to adopt. Someday. It needs to be when I can have time for them...” [and he’s wondering why you are supposed to only marry one person...]

21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS? “Yeah,” he laughs, genuinely embarrassed at this level of pure idolization, “I find it endearing to see people dress up as Yugi and I at events.”

22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? “Losing my little brother.”

23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? “Full-length pants, tight fitting turtlenecks, boots, and a trenchcoat. More leather and straps and buckles, the better.”

24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? “Of course. My little brother and my wife.” [and Joey]

25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF? [he just makes this face:]

[but possibly the last time he did hard drugs]

26. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS) “Highest class.” He winks, for the spotlight.

27. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? “I don’t need ‘friends’ outside of my family.”

28. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? “Finally, an intelligent question!” he laughs rudely. “My thoughts are that we should change the standard approximation for π to something closer to 3.16. That’s what I use in my calculations, and I find things just seem to work out better for me because of it.”

29. FAVORITE DRINK? “I’ve started drinking a lot more water, and I think that’s pretty much all I drink lately.”

30. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE? “It’s comforting being in my office, knowing where I belong, knowing that with me there, everyone I love is safe, knowing how I got there, and being proud of all I’ve accomplished, but...” [sometimes anxiety about it being Gozaburo’s old office creeps into his mind like an evil spirit or ghost...] “But more than that, I enjoy the wild freedom of just taking my Blue-Eyes jet out with some good music playing.” [oh my various gods he will always be an emo teen at heart <3]

31. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? He scoffs. “Yes, I am genuinely interested in my wife. Mai is an amazing person. And- Ah, and, um, next question?” [and Joey!]

32. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY? “What kind of magazine is this for, anyway?” he asks as an aside, then thinks up a ridiculous enough response. “Ever hear of Zorc? I’d say that’s roughly one-third the size of mine.” Under his breath, he scoffs in disgust. “Imbeciles.”

33. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? “Er, a private pool, thanks. Too many paparazzi anyplace else, and I wouldn’t want to close off anything from the public.” [I hear there’s a river in Egypt he lives in though]

34. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE? “Independent. Strong. Great duelist. Someone who knows what it’s like at rock bottom, but still managed to claw their way to the top...” [he spaces out off to the side]

35. ANY FETISHES? *zoom out to room full of Blue-Eyes White Dragon themed EVERYTHING* “Nah.” [*insert Will Smith presenting his AO3 tags]

36. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?

[Switch! But “And You?” is stuck at a T rating, sooo...]

37. CAMPING OR INDOORS? "The fuck- you’re giving me whiplash with these questions,” he mutters. “Camping sounds nice. Real camping. Mokuba and I used to build forts and play outside a lot. I should ask him if he wants to go on a camping trip when he gets back. I doubt- well, no, I think Mai would like that, too.” [And Joey can cook them “candy bars!”]

38. ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END?

[affiloram51525plja-blog]

affiloblueprint

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Short Review

An honest site, good training, mostly legit info, and they have way more value than most internet marketing products. Plus, their basic membership does not cost anything!

However, when you begin buying their packages, it gets pretty expensive, especially when you buy everything they've to offer. When you conider that the community is not a whole lot active, and support is a very small amount in comparison with alternatives.

Before making a decision, have a look inside their affiliates area and then judge if extremely effective best bet you have for you.

==> Enroll For Your FREE Affilorama Account!

Before You Buy

The very first thing we want to know is how Affilorama is actually structured. It's passed through numerous changes lately, and above current reviews don't reflect these changes.

The website is set using these a rather confusing way, dividing features into different packages, forcing it a little obscure the one that we would like to buy to get going making money. It's possible to try to break it down for you therefore's a little easier to understand.

An everyday (free) membership Affilorama should get you access some training videos, a members forum, and also their blog. These items are updated frequently, and there's a ton of information there. I wrote my original directory for Affilorama in 2014, but as of 2017, it's still active with questions, after, as updates. They are building for your long haul!

affilorama updated post

Update 2018

There was once four packages, raise paid, recurring membership fee. Now there is just a without charge organization, plus two other items you can buy. Is without question basically the "DIY" version, that is definitely $197. This is simply not DIY since you acquire the help of the running and community, but it's not "in serious trouble you", as while using the upgraded versions which is certainly an $997.

affilorama packages available

Affilorama has updated their package offers since I wrote my original review

Affilorama Premium is $67/month and is the same thing that I consider to be the "main feature" with this company. There'may be a 7 day trial for $1. Free membership is available nowadays

Affilotheme the help that people seek a premium WordPress theme used to be intended for $97, but these days is usually to often be available through the Affiloblueprint package.

AffiloBlueprint is $197 for lifetime access that is definitely the step-by-step system for newbies.

Affilojetpack are pre-made niche websites with content included, email swipes, likewise ready-made material. It's $997.

AffiloTools is a one-stop shop to track issues like competitors, rankings, keywords, and a number of other things. It's included along with your free membership.

Pricing Updates 2018

Ok, so what I've figured out is that there is three prices of membership. You join the FREE membership, that steadily the ability to access some features, and is often free. Then there may be the PREMIUM membership, with which has a $1 trial, and it's $67/month after that.

affilorama membership levels and pricing

What I Liked

Though I exist of criticisms of this particular program which I'll discuss below, overall, I believe this can be a legit program. Mark Ling really lays everything out before you join, the fact is that sets him other than 99% for all your serious "gurus" out there. Ling has a superb reputation with the exceptional affilo-stuff has been around since 2005.

Most products in this industry don't last within a year.

The site is member focused, includes a somewhat-active forum, and is constantly changing as time goes on, instead of a static PDF or video series that can stale with time.

I keep in mind the main thing I liked about Affilorama was the way in which lots of the videos were set up, with bulleted overviews, prime quality voice overs, and scripts you may download for each video. I do know loads of they on limited internet connections and video training isn't always essentially the most convenient.

Free Membership

There's greatly present on the free membership. I joined a very long time ago and am still able to use the forum, all the work outs modules, the official blog, and a large array of other things including hour long webinar sessions.

Navigate the lessons dependant upon topic

affilorama website lesson navigation

2. Read The Title Summary of Each Lesson, Organized By Topic

affilorama lesson titles and summaries

3. Watch HD Videos & Read About Each Lesson, Including Step By Step Pictures

affilorama lessons video

Since the original writing of this review, I like the way this script has restructured. Without having the $67 per 30 days membership, you possibly can concentrate on absorbing what they have to offer for free. That gives you the right amount of time to consider upgrading on top of AffiloBlueprint or AffiloJetpack.

By granting them you value rapidly, you will see what kind of company they are! And hey, if they supply like this stuff without cost, the paid stuff have to be healthier for 🙂

Get Your Free Affilorama Membership!

Goodies Included In Premium Offers

If you commit to go together with Blueprint or Jetpack you've got 1-year webhosting for 1 website. That's worth at least $100, and maybe more towards the quality despite hosting. You furthermore may explore owing to their "AffiloTheme' Premium Theme. A premium theme could cost between $20 and $100, in order that'is actually a acceptable too!

What I Didn't Like

"Outdated" Sections of Training

Though there is a lot of wonderful trainings in the gratis group, there are plenty real bombs to watch out for. While appearing for information on how to construct an internet site, I only found a bit about using Adobe Dreamweaver and creating content using HTML. Sure, there are a selection of the way for building website, but the easiest and most popular is WordPress. My #1 recommended product (see below for link) permits you to create WordPress website in about 30 seconds.

Considering you'll be able to select from over 10,000 different WordPress themes, including premium ones with fancy features, plus the normal process to customize your company site with different plugins, I did not why you'll use such as dreamweaver. WordPress is flexible, search result friendly, and highly customizable.

Low Member Activity

Right at the top of the list of appeals of going to a membership site just like a is generating help. There definitely here are a couple of active members, and actually moderators to aid with answering questions.

But from what I possibly could see, there didn't appear to be several activity going on.

affilorama forum

There are numerous instances of posts being replied to in three or four hours, however most activity seems to be over other times, even days or weeks old. I used to be on the website one evening and saw that there were only 16 members on!

Even though this is just my personal opinion, the posts I looked at didn't appear to be too insightful or warranting a discussion. In fact, I'm comparing this to my own end result of Wealthy Affiliate, containing plentiful active members, in conjunction with a live chat scrolling 24/7 a place that you may consider and carry instant answers.

Affilorama has the suitable idea yield members forum, but it only is devoid of numerous active members to get this to a great feature.

That's A Bad Idea #1: Copied Content

An enormous fear the workout that you will see discussed on other reviews of Affilorama is the use of PLR content and backlinking strategies.

Because it feels like an "easy way" that creates an online business, many people preclude stuff of making helpful, interesting content unfortunetly copy it from multiple places. True, there are actually legit ways to repeat content, and they rarely spark a legitimate, long-term business.

Aided by the ways is PLR content. It is a symbol of Private Label Rights and permits you to take content is due to a source tagged PLR, change it of any kind for your information fit, then do it in the own.

The concerns with that is multifaceted. One, everyone permission to access the same content. Two, this product is often written in a really generalized way that is neither interesting nor okay for the reader. Three, because it's not completely unique content, it's very hard to rank.

Many people say which you can "tweak" letting it to cause it to unique and pass Copyscape. My question to the child is, when you're a reader, are you able to detect when someone is BS-ing you online? Do you like along with generalized content or highly specific and insightful content?

Not surprisingly, if you need to spend enough time to research and re-write this stuff so they are unique, interesting, and helpful, you better yet not use PLR or merely write 100% original content.

In our own way to copy content is curation. By curating, you are taking other author's work (that allow you to achieve this), and offering a linkage to the unique source. Normally, mingle an "authority" on a topic by collecting legitimate information on that topic.

However, if you copy achieve article, there may be there's no chance that you're going to get ranked in Google for that content. No rank means no traffic. In the event you copy just a good bit and write your personal commentary for this (as curation must be), you will want to write down user generated content!

The Affilorama training helps it to be sound like that is simple to do and will sustain job as a web-based marketer less difficult. That's removed from the truth. Using content in this manner adds a new level of difficultly versus just writing the damn thing yourself.

That's A Bad Idea #2: Backlinking

Internet marketers can talk before cows arrive home about backlinking strategies but after all, Google explicitly says that artificial link-building is against their TOS and it'll end up at trouble.

Gurus went on and on about the benefits of Private Blog Networks. Countless products were released, revealing the ranking revolution, and the way it was easy attending to the #1 spot with PBNs…until that they will deindexed and anyone that used them was penalized. They've since recovered in popularity, but who knows when the following Google update will kill your PBN.

google deindex backlinks

I actually have personally grown One More Cup of Coffee to five,000 visits per 24 hrs with out a single backlink, so I actually have my own proof that links are not needed to experience a traffic generating website falsified income. It only takes longer, additionally it may also lasts longer too.

And by the age of the training on backlinks in Affilorama, I wouldn't trust it for our particular own website, and may't recommend it for yours!

Extra Fees

Considering what you'll discover, the worth swapped the varied packages you in finding will not be too crazy. However, there are certain considerations!

For only one, you must pay an autoresponder fee in addition to whatever it is that you buy, who can cost $20+ per month. Then, your hosting may not free after for a year of membership. Also, there is some confusion about "Affilorama Premium" and "AffiloTools".

Premium it happens to not be available on the company website, but it surely's listed as an extra feature, specifically that you get a 1-month free trial. The first price for premium was $67, so can we expect a $67 upsell most of us join Blueprint?

Regarding AffiloTools, it clearly says hence it's free for Affilorama Members, that being said we're told that we all experience a no charge study to be a part of Blueprint. So which can be it?

affilo bonus 2

affilo bonus 1

Affilorama Free VS Premium Updated for 2018

It's been quite a while since I wrote my initial review. I wrote this making a return to 2014, togerher with its now December 2018. Affilorama remains to be alive, so they collect new members and perpetuate improving a company. Personally, I are unable to find much activity this review, so I'll just turn the job over as-can possibly be now. I've updated the pricing info, and made an effort of the costless association simply by Winter 2018.

However, if I get sufficient comments within the comment section aiming a review the newer Premium membership in Affilorama, I'll join and test it out. Contribute to the discussion and let me know if you would like me to do this!

Last Note

I in fact wasn't delightful to have email offers from Mark Ling, cross promoting services and products from folks that I would consider scam artists. I've done a lot of reviews for my website, and am aware that lots of the "gurus" hang around the other and run promotions for some another. That's fine. It's how business is done online, and You'll be able to unsubscribe very easily.

Specially me, I used to be just disappointed to find out that the finished products owner was promoting a person who I personally find terrible. This method person often charges thousand of dollars for mentorships and exclusive programs. You familiar with ones - "Join cost-free webinar", after which they try to sell you a $10,000 mentorship package.

Final Review

Affilorama has an incredible no charge registration, and appropriately priced premium offers. They've a helpful community, and a quality product that I am able to proudly recommend.

Thumbs Up

==> Sign Up For Affilorama Here

However, they aren't my #1 recommendation!

Wealthy Affiliate vs Affilorama

Features Wealthy Affiliate Affilorama

Will it be easy to get help?

Private coaching available?

Are you able to Contact the Owners?

Is in fact a live chat?

Is known to be step-by-step training?

Are free websites included?

Is hosting included?

Are you able to try for free?

Definitely is a keyword-research tool?

Exists an affiliate program?

Do I recommend this? Yes No

My Overall Rating 10/10 7/10

Comparing Wealthy Affiliate To Affilorama

I can write a whole in-depth review comparing Wealthy Affiliate to Affilorama, but I'd love to fully things below on why WA remains my #1 recommendation after all these years

They update the workout frequently to bring to attention changes in online marketing, Google, and online marketing

We have no major upsells. The membership costs $49/month. END. OF. STORY

Hosting is offered in your membership price, for the life span whatever the membership

They offer cheap domains. $15 per year (no upsells), including FREE privacy, including FREE SSL

Live chat help for instant support, plus forum support for "slow cooked" answers.

Proprietary website boosting technology

SiteSpeed means no need for installing a caching plugin to purchase one site run fast

SiteComments for starting engagement in the comment small portion your company site

Spam filter without a desire for a plugin (fewer plugins means faster website)

Free weekly webinars on lots of topics (e_mail business, AMP, star ratings, SEO, etc)

Peer Review & Feedback: Get feedback on your service so aren't within the a "newbie bubble"

There are tons more things you can examine inside ourselves full Wealthy Affiliate Review. It's really ridiculous what they offer regarding the flat membership fee, and you cannot find another service has had an opportunity to come back even close.

But what would you say? Have you been connected to both websites? How you imagine they quite a lot of or similar? What sort do you prefer?

Oh, allow's do remember that this kind of page was purported to be an overview of Affilorama, not an evaluation to Wealthy Affiliate.

What on earth of Affilorama?

Various join? Why? Or at least…Why?

Should you tried Jetpack or Blueprint, what did you think that?

I'm really curious to look at what your opinions available the comment section! affiloblueprint

[ctrl-alt-cait]

I’m Fat, and People Need To Get Over It.

When you deal with the medical system regularly (and when you deal with the general public, people at your gym, people at your school, your friends, your family, your neighbors, etc…) you probably know what an emphasis everyone puts on weight.

You get measured for BMI in public school PE, your doctor probably has it on your chart, and if you’re over (or under) a specific number, you’re going to hear about it. A lot. And there are a TON of reasons why the BMI chart is not scientifically sound in the first place: a few, summarized, you can read here. There are a lot of issues with basing health off of weight, and “ideal weight” off of health. Systems like this often ignore the amount of muscle, bone, water, and fat that your average human has, for example. And then, beyond that, even when you do body mass composition scans (which are way more helpful for health predictors), these numbers fail to take into account quite a few things which have bearing on your weight.

Sure, it’s easy to tell me that there are a string of numbers which should determine my body fat percentage. It ranges anywhere from 10-12% for essential fat to live, up to 31% as the borderline for acceptable edging on overweight. 32% plus is considered overweight. And this number can be helpful to me, because now I know that my body fat percentage is about 35%, at the lower end of overweight. And that tells me, in a truly scientific manner, what my chubby looking body is made up of. It still doesn’t take into consideration a lot of things we should look at when treating a patient: economic status, ethnic background, regional background, genetics, family history, mental illnesses, physical illnesses, comorbidity, or previous healthcare. You can hypothesize about why I’m fat all day long, why anyone is fat or underweight, why any of us are measured by this metric at all- it’s theoretical, and it’s interesting, until it’s you, and then suddenly it isn’t very fun anymore.

I have been, since I was 11 and hit menarche, overweight. It has fluctuated a bit over the years, as I’ve struggled with various health issues, and realized that I have at least three different competing illnesses that mess with your endocrine system and metabolism. And yet, I was a sports playing child. My parents emphasized eating your veggies, and limiting sweets. I go to the gym 3-4 times a week, now, and eat a pretty low carb, fiber and protein full diet. I cut out foods that I have gastrointestinal sensitivity to. I have my medical issues closely monitored, and my chronic pain is followed carefully. My heart passes all the tests I’ve had done on it. My liver is fine. My blood tests are well within average. My lungs are pretty meh, but that’s linked to chronic bronchitis. I can do 45 minutes of cardio and get that pulse rolling up at “weight loss levels” every time I visit the gym. I have tried super restrictive keto diets, anti-inflammatory diets, low fat diets, low carb diets, food tracking, visiting registered dieticians, taking nutritional classes myself, super calorie counting diets, etc.

But I’m still fat.

And I run into the roadblock of weight every time I see a doctor.

It has taken years for me to understand the true consequence of dealing with weight in the medical field. It’s simply true that overweight patients get worse care. Weight can be a huge issue in the social world. Obesity stigma has wide ranging public health implications. Being overweight makes you predisposed to eating disorders: being underweight does too. We are obsessed with physical appearance, and we ignore mental health quite handily, setting us up for a crisis of health, both mental and physical. I have had doctors I was seeing for entirely different issues, unrelated at all to weight, tell me that my problems would melt away if I would just lose weight. Some of the greatest hits:

The doctor who told me, in highschool, that I should just walk “for four hours a day after school” to force my body to lose weight.

The psychiatrist who told me that my mental health would improve when I graduated high school because “boys will stop being ashamed to admit they like fat girls, and you will finally get some attention, which will improve your self esteem.”

The doctor who, I found out recently, told my parents that gastric bypass would fix all of my problems, while I was in an urgent care clinic for completely un-weight-related complications.

The doctors who told me that my neurological symptoms were caused by weight, and not the permanent damage I had in my shoulder, or the other health conditions I had, and then accused me of lying about my diet.

And, of course, the psychiatrist who told me that it was okay to have an eating disorder for “a while, as long as you lose weight while doing it” when I expressed that being on a super-restrictive diet was giving me horrible physical side effects and what I feared may be long lasting mental ones too.

I have been recommended unsafe supplements, medications, diets, workout regimens, therapies, and lifestyle change plans to lose weight, all under the guise of helping me. Doctor after doctor has returned my truthfully filled out forms about my exercise and diet with doubt, and labeled me untruthful. Because to them, it is impossible- how can someone live healthily and still be overweight? People ignore the complications of healthcare in bodies that don’t fit a particular mold- take my friend who’s lost her appetite and a clinically significant amount of weight without meaning to, and can’t get a doctor to take her symptoms seriously, because isn’t that what women want? To be thinner? Or, for example, the doctor who was recently in the news for ignoring the symptoms of cancer in an obese woman so long that it metastasized and killed her. Our culture disregards the fact that simply because we know some health complications can come from being overweight doesn’t mean we need to stop looking for a definite conclusion. People of all weights need to be tested, and diagnosed accurately, because assuming all health issues stem from being over or underweight in anyone who doesn’t fit the flawed BMI chart is a public health risk we should not be taking. Perhaps part of the issue is that people of lower incomes and certain ethnic groups are more likely to be outside the range of accepted BMIs, and so they don’t have the recourse to demand the kind of testing the wealthy can. Perhaps part of the issue is that, when it comes down to it, doctors are only human, and humans have an inextricable bias to them that is heavily influenced by their culture.

This bias kills people of non-white ethnic groups, marginalized religions, different body types, non-straight sexualities, and gender-nonconforming people all the time. We have to realize, at some point, that doctors can be, and frequently are, wrong. That doesn’t mean you need to give up on allopathic medicine, and live in the woods with your essential oils to cure everything. But it does mean that we have to consider that maybe some people aren’t getting the best care, the care they deserve, because they are fat. There is a link, in certain cases, between being overweight and heightened risk factors for comorbid diseases. You are more likely to have sleep apnea, gout, osteoarthritis, cardiovascular issues, and gallbladder problems. This has, so far, been pretty well linked. But what drives me nuts about the concern-trolling comments on pictures online of overweight women, on articles about loving your body, on research about health, and in person from doctors and everyone else under the sun: that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be heard, to be cared for, and to be thoroughly diagnosed. Fatness does not come first.

An example of fatness coming first when, for patient quality of life, it should not, would be certain styles of pain management. This is a field of study that I’m very familiar with and have also been a patient in many times. If I go into my doctor and complain of a full body pain that fatigues me, and makes my life difficult and miserable, I would expect to be treated for the pain. I would expect a pain medication to be prescribed, and tests to be done. Which, side note: I wasn’t asking for opiates. I was asking for a longer term anti inflammatory type of pain relief medication that would hopefully also lower system irritation. But, in my personal case, as a fat woman, I was denied pain medication, told to lose weight, and referred to another doctor.

What do I do in the interim? Suffer in pain, because weight loss is not exactly a quick and easy option, especially after all the things I’d already tried? Be miserable, because a doctor didn’t believe me that I’d put in years of good faith effort to be healthy, and passed almost all the other metrics for it? That’s exactly what I did. I suffered in pain, because no one I saw would give me a prescription other than “weight loss”, and I waited patiently for three months to see the other doctor. When I got to the other doctor, she grilled me about my lifestyle habits, accused me of “not wanting to be better”, told me she wouldn’t prescribe pain medication, and only decided to do a physical examination because I literally described my symptoms in textbook detail. She did what could have only been a 3 minute evaluation of my pain symptoms, pronounced that I was correct about my own damn body and did have fibromyalgia, and then reiterated that she wouldn’t prescribe pain medication until I lost some weight.

So we have multiple doctors in this practice network, now, that know full well I have a debilitating pain condition, who will not prescribe me as needed pain medication because I’m too fat.

Well, unfortunately for them, and me, I didn’t lose weight. I couldn’t lose weight. There was absolutely no healthy, no fad or yo-yo diet way for me to lose weight at this point. There still probably isn’t- I take several supplements that can support weight management, but aren’t contraindicated with my other medications. I live my healthy lifestyle. I am still in pain.

I am still fat.

I will always agree that finding the cause of pain, or discomfort, or disease is necessary to a patient for them to live a good quality life. We shouldn’t be out here blindly medicating people. But we also shouldn’t allow people to suffer while standing on a perceived moral high ground, dangling the carrot of relief over them as though somehow, when they jump through a high enough hoop, we will be able to say, “see? It was your fatness all along.” and the problem will be gone. Even in the face of plain diagnostic results, fatness becomes a quicksand to medical intervention. In part, I imagine it has to do with that aforementioned moral high ground. We have come to view weight as a moral marker, beyond even our cultural obsession with looks. There are “bad” foods and “good” foods- no in between, no moderation, no internal discussion about the harmfully dichotomous nature of declaring fatness a moral failing and thinness an idealized dream. We look down upon “fat slobs” and mock them in our comedies, our dramas, our romantic movies. A fat woman is not desirable, and a fat man is a travesty. Conversely, we will also mock thinness when it goes outside of the accepted range- women with “pancake” chests and men with “noodle” arms. This cultural bias is popular, it’s deeply held, and it is dangerously intertwined with the doctoral hands that hold our lives, our health, and our happiness. Even among overweight people, I’m still nowhere near as stigmatized as people a few sizes bigger than I am, and that breaks my heart.

The biggest thing nagging at my mind through all of this, as I talk about all the ways in which I’ve tried my best to fit into the medical idea of what “healthy” is, is that people deserve care regardless of whether or not they are willing to, or are trying to lose weight. People deserve care, love, acceptance no matter whether they are unhappy with their weight or not. Beyond even the issue of how I have been pressured to make many lifestyle changes, most of which I’m happy with, is the issue of people who should not have to conform to any standard but happiness to get a good quality of life. There are only so many plates you can juggle in your life, and I would never begrudge someone spending the hours of daylight I spend on fitting into an allopathic definition of “trying to be healthy” on something more enjoyable and fulfilling for them.

I could philosophize more about being fat, and the many issues we face in this culture: about the lack of affordable and comfortable clothing, the stigma of working out at the gym, the mockery, the bullying, the laughter, the jokes, the culture of abuse that has led me to psychological issue after psychological issue, the body dysmorphia I struggle with, and the healthcare battle ahead. After all that, though, I will still. Be. Fat.

So I would like to cordially invite all of my doctors, and everyone who has had the passing thought, or the gall to mention it to my face, all of the people in the society I have to coexist with, to get over it. Get over my weight. Get over the hump of grilling me on my daily habits, and tsking like some overblown moral judge when I decide I want to eat a cupcake. Get over your reluctance to take me seriously when I come in with a genuine medical issue. Get over your inability to prescribe me medications that would let me live my life happily. Get over the euphemisms for being overweight, and the skirting around your own implicit bias towards fat people. Get over “heavier girls” and “curvy girls” and “husky men”. Get over all the terrible connotations you have towards the word fat, and the immediate need to correct me like you’re doing me a favor when I say that I am, in fact, fat. I get that you want to be kind. But when you treat the reality of my existence like an insult, it can feel kind of shitty.

It’s not an insult. It’s not a psychological disease. It’s not the body dysmorphia talking.

I am just, plain and simple, a fat woman. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. There are so many things to love about my body- it is functional in so many ways. It carries me to school and back. It enables me to learn amazing things, and experience wonderful days. My body can take me through the forest, my legs can get me to the top of a hill. And if yours can’t? That’s just fine too. Body positivity gets a lot of flack for “normalizing and romanticizing unhealthy behaviors”. But hardly anyone (save a few outliers that the world wide powers of the internet will enable you to find) sees the body positivity movement and decides to become unhealthy because of it, not to mention the fact that average sized people rarely receive that kind of feedback for other “unhealthy” behaviors. It is not a bad thing for us to love ourselves, whether we are disabled, or fat, or outside the cultural beauty norms for any other reason. When I look in the mirror, I struggle with my appearance because other people have told me to for so long that it feels like it’s stuck in my very bones. Would it be such a bad thing for me to not feel that way? Would it be bad for children to grow up loving their bodies for being such miraculous things, without struggling to access fair healthcare, job opportunities, and peer groups?

I’m fat, and I’m happy. It’s time for the world to stop worshipping the God of Outward Appearances, and leave my personal healthcare business alone.

[sometimesalwaysmusic]

PARAGON CAUSE

Paragon Cause is a songwriting, production and musical duo based in Ottawa. Members Marnie (originally from Southern Ontario) and Kirwan (hailing from Cape Breton) bring their love of Hip-hop, jazz piano, 80's synthesizers and 50's guitars to create music that is mysterious yet familiar. We caught up and discussed influences, the differences between Ottawa and their hometowns, and some of their favourite live shows.

VITALS

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ParagonCause/

Web: https://www.paragoncause.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ParagonCause

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/paragoncauseadvanced/

Latest Release:   Escape (Album, May 2018)

Upcoming shows: Sat, August 4 - Paragon Cause, Lethargicon. The Seahorse, Halifax NS Sat, August 11 - Paragon Cause and more TBD, Pressed, Ottawa ON Sat, August 18 -  Paragon Cause, O'Connels Pub, Ottawa ON  

SA: How did Paragon Cause come together? Kirwan: Well, I wish we had some story about meeting after a performance in a dark lounge after Marnie was singing jazz, but that would be a lie. I stopped playing music for a while after playing with some bands back in Halifax. I decided to start recording and writing again and spent a year or two making weird techno and house music, but I found it a bit unsatisfying. Marnie completed a music degree was trying to decide how to start playing live again. So, both of us put profiles up on a website called Bandmix, basically the on-line dating version of finding band members.

 Both of us met with other people, played with others but it never worked. I know for me, my music was always a bit too esoteric for most people. I would sometimes show up for a practice and just sit there and not play, the music was too…normal. Finally, I reached out to Marnie after seeing a video of her singing and playing piano. There was something in her voice that struck me. Although, we are lucky we ended up playing together. It’s a bit odd for some random online person asking you to come over to a stranger’s house to play tunes in their basement! She came over, we jammed on the Beatles Norwegian Wood. I knew within 1 minute, this was it. It was insane how we connected. The last time I was even close to that was playing with Rose Cousins and Steve Gates back in Halifax, but this was on another level. Right then and there, we started writing and learning songs. It was special.

SA: What bands or musicians would you cite as the biggest influences on your sound? Marnie: For me, it would be classical music, Mamma’s and the Papa’s and definitely the Beatles. Where I grew up, music like that was hard to find. Remind me in our next interview, and I’ll tell you more (laughs).  Kirwan: It’s a bit complicated I suppose, I basically want to be as cool as Tribe Called Quest or the Digible Planets, but I know that’s impossible. So, I draw from a lot of my favorite bands and musicians I think are special. The Cure, The Raveonettes, Janes Addition, The Suuns, Peter Green’s Fleewood Mac, Howling Wolf and of course Portishead. I think deep down, I want to do what Portishead did, create something different, unique. But in the end, we really just try to do what we love. We know ‘our’ music and sound when we play it.

SA: Thus far in your career, what has been your biggest success? Kirwan: To be honest, completing an album. When we first met, we said, “let’s make an album and print it on vinyl and give it to our friends and family.” That’s what we are doing. As for Marnie, I think one of her’s would be winning 1st in the Quebec School Choir as the choir director. Although, when we released the song Sunny, it was played during the traffic report at 4pm on CBC Ottawa All in a Day. I’m not sure you can get much bigger than that.

SA: On the other hand, what is the biggest challenge you have faced, and how have you dealt with it? PC: Hands down,  a tie between navigating the new method of music distribution in an online and social media ruled age as well as learning to let go of a song and move on. With respect to navigating the system, trying to get your music heard is hard. No one ever writes you back when you write them. However, we are lucky, we both come from a place in which we can invest the time, learn and figure out how to distribute music without the help of a label. We both have formal music training and thus writing music comes pretty easy, but that leads us to the next issue, we are SUPER picky about things. We probably write about 10 songs a week, but maybe pick 1 or 2 a month we like. For example, the song Next Time and Fear took over a year to finish. I was never happy with them, we have about 20 versions for each song, some with completely different arrangements, live drums, synths, etc, etc.  So in the end, navigating the system and letting go and moving on are tied.

SA: How do you guys approach the song-writing process? Kirwan: With some good craft beer, guitar pedals and plans to order pizza with pineapple. I think we have three ways. Marnie usually will write a song on piano, a complete arrangement from start to finish. She has all the melody, harmony everything done and usually recorded with a running commentary recorded on her phone.

For me, I start with a riff or a beat and a rhythm. Then, we usually take it to the other person. For me, when she shows up with her song, I say, ‘ok let’s record it, regardless what you think of it.” She always thinks her music is not good enough, but I’m usually blown away by it. Then, we usually record the piano or synth and vocals in one take together.

Both Fear and Next Time were recorded in one take, vocals and piano. Then, I usually spend some time thinking about it, the feel, the emotion and the melody. She and I spend about 30 hours with the song, playing along, writing guitar parts and drum beats. I’ll often alter it a bit by changing the mode of the song, which is akin to changing key, but different. Next Time was a very happy sounding song at first, but by adding the bassline, it gave it a very dark feel. To us, that is what is amazing about music, the key didn’t change but the method and way you play the chords did and that completely changed the song.

When I bring a song to her, I play it and she kind of goes into a trance. She will sing melodies and then quickly write words. Often, I can’t even snap her out of it! She just goes into another world and writes the entire melody…Consequence and Away from Me were like that. Away from Me was originally called “Acoustic Song” as I wrote it all on an acoustic Guitar, start to finish and she wrote the lyrics and melody and made it something special.

After that, I usually spend weeks producing, mixing and editing. We like to write, record, then play live. It gives us an idea what works and what doesn’t. I then take the final version to her for it to get constructively criticized. In the end, we work extremely well together. Did I mention we also enjoy craft beer during our sessions? We also have a great desk to work at.

Finally, we jam. We can play songs and improvise for hours. There have been times, were we start playing and stop an hour later and just look at each other, speechless. We are off in another world. Although once, we recorded a 20 minute song that was our best ever. It was recorded on webcam, but I forgot to turn the microphone on, so we only have a video, no sound and we can’t remember the song.

SA: Both of you are transplants to the National Capital region. What are your thoughts on the Ottawa music scene? Kirwan: Well, for me it’s very different than Halifax. I think I can speak for both of us when I say, we are still getting used to it. The people we met from bands like The Pale Light, Sol the Violinist and superstar guitarist Lee Jessom have been extremely helpful and friendly. I think in Ottawa however, it’s harder to get involved. Back in Halifax, everyone talked, everyone knew each other all the bands would be out supporting other bands. We are still trying to find that here.

We still play at open mics around the city. We love doing that. We are both strong believers in supporting song writers, musicians and performers regardless of their skill level. We have no shame in showing up at Irene’s or O’Connels Open Mic and play some Fleetwood Mac, Nancy Sinatra, Amy Winehouse and some Raveonettes. We even play some Portishead. The open mic scene is super friendly in Ottawa. But, the music scene so far has been challenging. We should have played more metal, the metal and punk scene seems to be amazing here. Halifax was very folk oriented and alt/indie style so it was a bit easier to get involved. But who knows, perhaps we just need to write better songs.

SA: If you guys could choose a 'dream tour' with currently active artists, who would you be sharing the stage with night after night? Kirwan: The Raveonettes, The Suuns and Geoff Barrow’s new band Beak>. Although, Portishead and The Cure would be dreams come true. Marnie: Tough question, but the answer would be to sing in Les Miserables.

SA: If you could narrow it down to one album that has been influential on your life, or even your musical path, which would it be and why? Kirwan: Super hard, so many, but I have to say, The Low End Theory by Tribe Called Quest. When that album was released, It made me appreciate writing, jazz, hip-hop, rhythm and why the feel of music is something that sets good music apart from bad music. That album with songs like Vibes and Stuff just puts you in a place, from the first noises you hear. It changed my life as a kid and made me obsessed with hip-hop. Number 2 is a tie between Pornography by the Cure and Ritual de lo Habitual by Jane’s Addiction. Marnie: Les Miserables.

SA: Have you been to any concerts recently, in Ottawa or elsewhere, that have been particular inspiring? Kirwan: For sure, a few years ago I saw The Cure life in a small theatre in New York. It was called Reflections Tour. They played their first three Albums, start to finish then 2 more sets up rare and old tunes with the original line up, including Lol Tolhurst. It was mind blowing. Robert Smith is a God, people need to realize how good he is. I also saw Guru (of Gangstarr fame) and I saw one of James Browns last concerts. Polica and The Suuns are great live as well. Oh, I saw Portishead and The Breeders, during their last tours, amazing and beyond inspiring. Marnie: Seeing LCD Soundsystem last year at Bluesfest was insane. My god they are good. 

SA: What can we expect from Paragon Cause moving forwards in 2018? Our best wishes for your continued success! Kirwan: Well, you will see some surprises I hope. We are writing and recording our next album. We also want to do more soundtracks for podcasts and film. We currently do some of the music for a big Canadian Podcast called The Night Time Podcast. We love just playing ambient stuff and making sounds. We also want a cello player and perhaps some sort of percussionist. Also, a French Horn would be nice on our next album.

[lcohen35]

Assignment 8 First Draft: How has invasive crap muddied our waters and food system?

Figure 1. Tweet about Coronavirus by Sunny Randhawa. (@SunnyRandhawa, March 17, 2020).

“With every drop of water you drink, with every breath you take, you are connected to the sea, no matter where on Earth you live.” -Sylvia Earl (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 253).

#WhatAreTheMajorThreatsToAquaticBiodiversityAndEcosystemServices?

Major threats to aquatic species and their economic and ecosystem services include loss of habitat, invasive species, pollution, climate change, and overexploitation (HIPPCO). These threats are only exacerbated by the seemingly endless growth of the human population. Basically, humans are the major threat to aquatic biodiversity and ecosystem services. Most of our planet is water, and we have explored less than 5% of the earth’s oceans; we know very little about aquatic biodiversity.

Three general patterns occur within aquatic biodiversity (from what we do know). 

The largest amount of biodiversity exists around coral reefs, in estuaries and on the deep-ocean floor. 

Biodiversity is greater near the coasts than in the open sea due to the larger variety of coastal producers and habitats.

Biodiversity is higher in the lower regions of the ocean due to more habitats and food sources from the ocean floor. 

As mentioned above, and many times before, humans tend to only make things worse. We have destroyed much of earth’s aquatic ecosystems, degraded coastal sea-grass beds through coastal development, and built dams in freshwater zones. Some scientists believe we have entered the sixth mass extinction, as fossil records have shown than coral reefs were lost in the past five mass extinctions, and they are being degraded and lost now as well. Humans also produce unnaturally high CO2 emissions which are absorbed by the ocean, and result in ocean acidification. We also transport invasive species (purposely and accidentally) on cargo ships through globalized trade. These species can destroy entire ecosystems. In addition, 80% of the world’s people live along or near coastal areas, which puts massive pressure on the coastal zones. This pressure is seen in the form of runoff from pesticides on our lawns, and from toxic pollutants from industrial and urban areas. Not to mention the plastic we rely on never breaks down and often ends up in our oceans, breaking down incompletely to small particles, which fish and other organisms mistake for food. We then eat these fish, and therefore what they have eaten ends up in our systems too. We eat so much fish, in fact, that 87% of the world’s commercial fisheries have been exploited and overfished. 

#HowCanWeProtectAndSustainMarineBiodiversity?

We can protect and sustain marine biodiversity through laws and economic incentives, marine reserves and community-based integrated coastal management. Easier said than done. Protecting marine biodiversity is difficult due to the expanding human ecological footprint and fishprint, the existing damage to earth’s bodies of water, the human outlook on the oceans as an inexhaustible resource, and the tragedy of the commons. These obstacles outline how difficult it can be to get the entire world on board with enforcing and complying with sustainability. Even when nations do support it, their punishment for sustainability violations are often inadequate.

To protect and sustain marine biodiversity, we must restore degraded areas but also prevent the degradation from happening in the first place. Prevention is less expensive and more effective than restoration. Part of the restoration and prevention efforts will come from coastal communities and their everyday choices of waste generation and chemicals they put on their lawns. One strategy coming to light in coastal communities is integrated coastal management, in which “fishers, business owners, developers, scientists, citizens, and politicians” … “identify shared problems and goals in their use of marine resources” (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 271). This idea engages different sectors of society in assigning responsibility for the protection and sustainability of natural resources.

#HowShouldWeManageAndSustainMarineFisheries?

We should manage and sustain marine fisheries through monitoring populations, cooperative fisheries management, reduction of fishing subsidies and conscious consumer choices in buying sustainable seafood. 

These methods prove yet again easier said than done. Monitoring populations of fish is difficult because the growth rate estimations are not consistent or accurate. Additionally, harvesting a species at a certain so-called “sustainable level” can affect the populations of other marine species. As with biodiversity, it is difficult to get groups of nations to cooperate in planning and managing marine fisheries, so there is a large reliance on communities to cooperate. Current subsidies encourage overfishing because they support a high output economy, but subsidies should be provided to responsible fisheries who focus on quality over quantity. Finally, consumer choice is a powerful tool that each of us holds. We should look for Marine Stewardship Council certified fish in order to make sustainable choices. 

Figure 2. Ways to Manage Fisheries More Sustainably and Protect Marine Biodiversity (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 272).

#HowShouldWeProtectAndSustainWetlands?

We should protect and sustain wetlands by restoring those that have been degraded while focusing on efforts to protect those untouched. Wetlands provide many irreplaceable ecosystem and economic services. For too long, people have drained, filled in or covered over wetlands for agriculture to adapt to expanding populations. Some laws exist to protect wetlands, however there are constant efforts by land developers to weaken these protections. Solutions such as mitigation banking–which allows for the destruction of existing wetlands at the cost of restoration, creation or enhancement of another wetland–have proven to be ineffective, and ecologists suggest it only be used as a “last resort” (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 273). 

#HowShouldWeProtectAndSustainFreshwaterLakesRiversAndFisheries?

We should protect and sustain freshwater lakes, rivers and fisheries by protecting their watersheds and halting harmful human activity. Lakes and streams get many key nutrients from their neighboring ecosystems, generated into bodies of water by rain storms or melting snow. These bodies of water, or watersheds, must be protected to avoid contamination of the larger bodies of water. This can and should happen through laws, economic incentives and restoration efforts.

#WhatShouldBeOurPrioritiesForSustainingAquaticBiodiversity?

Our priorities for sustaining aquatic biodiversity should be mapping and protecting hotspots, creating large, protected marine reserves, protecting freshwater ecosystems, and restoring degraded wetlands. These priorities will be possible through the cooperation of scientists, engineers, businesses, government leaders and consumers.

#WhyIsGoodNutritionImportant?

Good nutrition is important because it prevents people from problems of malnutrition or even heart disease and high cholesterol. In less-developed countries, people suffer from a lack of food, while people in more-developed countries suffer from too much food. Either way, both suffer, since the nutrients aren’t present. This lack of nutrients can weaken people, making them more susceptible to disease and hinder their normal physical and mental capacities and development. The United States is one of the most overweight and obese countries, and as a result our healthcare and lost productivity costs are about $2 trillion per year–”more than the combined annual global costs of war, terrorism and armed violence” (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 287). 

The greatest obstacles to providing adequate, nutritious food to the world’s population are poverty, war, bad weather and climate change. Poverty prevents people from being able to afford the foods that meet their basic nutritional needs; they lack food security. Bad weather and climate change make these foods less available and more expensive.

Figure 3. The poor cannot afford to eat meat and in order to survive, eat further down the food chain on a diet of grain (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 285).

#HowIsFoodProduced?

Food is produced through both high and low input agriculture to accommodate the increasing global demand for food. Only a few of natures’ mammals and fish provide a large majority of the world’s sources of protein. This food specialization puts croplands in a vulnerable position of depletion of certain crops which feed these populations. If those certain crops become depleted by natural disasters or climate change, we’re essentially screwed. 

Three major technological advancements have led to the increase in global food production:

The development of irrigation

Synthetic fertilizers

Synthetic pesticides

High-input agriculture uses large amounts of financial and natural capital, along with pesticides. The goal of such agriculture is to increase the yield of each crop. In contrast, low-input agriculture focuses on human capital and produces only enough crops to feed the families of the farms, and maybe some left over to sell for profit. Traditional low-input farmers capitalize on polyculture, in which various crops are planted in the same plot of land and mature at different times. This method provides food year-round and protects the topsoil from erosion and weeds. 

Figure 4. Major differences between industrialized and organic agriculture (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 289).

Recently, organic agriculture has been on the rise. By law, a label of 100% organic (or USDA certified) means that a product has been produced only by organic methods with all organic ingredients. Those without certification but still labeled organic must contain at least 95% organic ingredients. Those labeled “made with organic ingredients” must have at least 70% organic ingredients. Anything else, such as “natural,” is likely a greenwashing marketing ploy. 

Two green revolutions have taken place to provide the food production system we rely on now. The first green revolution occurred between 1950 and 1970 and dramatically raised crop yields in more-developed countries. In the second green revolution, beginning in 1967, fast growing crops were introduced in less-developed countries. This allowed more food to be produced with less land to protect biodiversity. An important factor of these revolutions has been farm subsidies, most of which have gone to corporate farming operations for corn, wheat, soybeans and cotton on an industrial scale. On such farms, an average US farmer now feeds 129 people on the same land they could one only feed 19. As a result, Americans spend the lowest percentage of their disposable income on food. However, the cheap price at the grocery store does not include the hidden environmental costs of such industrial agriculture. 

Along with the green revolutions came the gene revolutions. The first gene revolution improved varieties of crops, but crossbreeding took a long time to cultivate. The second gene revolution is currently using faster genetic engineering to develop genetically modified strains of crops and livestock animals. They use gene splicing to alter the genetic material of an organism, resulting in genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Though there are potential benefits to GMOs, scientists believe that there is not enough information about the long term environmental and health effects of them. 

Food is produced based on demand. As a country’s income grows, so does their demand for meat, which is fed by grain. This combination of increased demands put a strain on the land, as it is fought for by agriculture and urban development. This struggle can lead a country to rely heavily on crop imports, like we do now. Fisheries and aquaculture are also major food producing systems. The farming of carnivorous species, such as salmon and shrimp, are growing rapidly, and are unnaturally fed on the oils and meals produced from other fish and their wastes (gross). The industrialization of food production has been made possible by fossil fuels. Fossil fuels are used to “run farm machinery and fishing vessels, to pump irrigation water for crops, and to produce synthetic pesticides and synthetic inorganic fertilizers. Fossil fuels are also used to process food and transport it long distances within and between countries” (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 294). 

#WhatAreTheEnvironmentalEffectsOfIndustrializedFoodProduction?

The environmental effects of industrialized food production include, but are not limited to, soil erosion, degradation, desertification, irrigation water shortage, air and water pollution, climate change and loss of biodiversity.

Figure 5. Food production has a number of harmful environmental effects (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 294). 

#HowCanWeProtectCropsFromPestsMoreSustainably?

We can protect crops from pests more sustainably but cutting our pesticide use and using a mix of cultivation techniques, biological pest controls and small amounts of selected pesticides if necessary. 

Our current method of layering natural land with chemicals and pesticides that kill pests upsets the natural balance of the populations and ecosystems. Some plants actually naturally produce chemicals to ward off predators. Scientists have mimicked nature in creating biopesticides similar to the natural ones to kill pests. 

The pest control revolution began with DDT in 1939, the first second-generation pesticide. However, Rachel Carson sounded the alarm on DDT in 1962, which led to stricter controls on pesticides. 

Figure 6. Use of synthetic pesticides: advantages and disadvantages (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 304). 

By existing, pesticides disrupt the laws of nature. This was seen in 1955, when the WHO sprayed the island of Sabah with Dieldrin (similar to DDT) in order to kill malaria-carrying mosquitos. Though it almost completely eliminated the disease, the pesticide killed other insects as well, and their predators, lizards, died after bingeing on dieldrin-contaminated insects. Then cats began to die from feeding on the lizards. Without cats, the rat population skyrocketed, threatening the population with sylvatic plague. WHO flew in healthy cats to control the rats, but then the villager’s roofs began caving in, because a specific caterpillar species also began to thrive on the leaves that made up the roofs, as it’s insect predators were also killed by Dieldrin. These types of unintended consequences are important to consider when using pesticides; the whole ecosystem can be unnaturally affected. 

Alternatives to pesticides are important, and the EPA found in 2014 that such dangerous pesticides actually failed to “provide negligible benefits” to crop production in most situations (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 306). These findings are disputed by the pesticide industry. One alternative that can be used is biological controls, which involves using natural predators, parasites, bacteria and viruses to control pests. This option is difficult to mass-produce and can be slow-acting. Additionally, farmers can use ecological controls by practicing polyculture to provide habitats for the predators of pests in their fields. Another option is cultivation controls, in which farmers plant different crops in the same plots in intervals to starve pests or cause them to be eaten by natural predators. Finally, integrated pest management (IPM) is a program wherein each crop and its pests are evaluated as parts of an ecosystem. The goal of IPM is to reduce crop damage to an economically tolerable level with a low use of pesticides. However, it takes a lot of time and knowledge to implement. 

The EPA, the FDA and the USDA regulate the use of pesticides under the Federal Insecticide, Fungicide and Rodenticide Act (FIFRA). Again, it has not been well enforced, and congress has not provided sufficient funds to evaluate pesticides for toxicity. 

#HowCanWeProduceFoodMoreSustainably?

We can produce food more sustainably by using resources more efficiently, decreasing the harmful effects of industrialized food production, and eliminating harmful government subsidies. Step one is to conserve topsoil, because once it is depleted, it is an extremely costly resource to restore. Naturally, it takes hundreds of years to form. We must also restore the soil that has been damaged. Farmers can do this by using organic fertilizer. Additionally, we must reduce soil salinization and desertification, which is costly. This is done on a large scale through reduction of population growth, overgrazing, deforestation and destructive forms of planting and irrigation in dryland areas. We also should work toward decreasing the human contribution to climate change. This includes producing and consuming meat and dairy more sustainably, as meat consumption is the largest factor in the growing ecological footprints of more-developed nations. Farms should begin making the shift to completely organic, which will provide 30% more jobs than the current nonorganic system (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 313). With sustainable agriculture comes sustainable aquaculture, which will require fundamental changes for both producers and consumers. Consumers must use their power of choice to purchase fish that feed on vegetation (tilapia, carp, catfish), and then producers will increasingly produce those fish, rather than feeding carnivorous fish for a high yield. 

Figure 7. More sustainable, low-input food production (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 314). 

Figure 8. Ways to promote more sustainable food production (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 316). 

#HowCanWeImproveFoodSecurity?

“We can improve food security by reducing poverty and chronic malnutrition, producing food more sustainably, relying on locally grown food and cutting food waste” (Miller and Spoolman 2016, 316). Governments can control food prices by setting a limit on price, which would benefit consumers. They also can provide subsidies to farmers, which support organic and sustainable farming practices. Since the government rarely does this however, private corporations step in to provide microloans to impoverished communities, and use other methods to develop local food production and distribution systems. By buying local, consumers can support local economies and farmers. This reduces fossil fuel energy costs for producers, as well as the emissions from transporting and storing food over long distances. We also could grow our own food, which has been successful as urban schools and universities. Students have access to fresh produce and also learn about where their food comes from and how to grow more sustainably. 

Overall, humans are the problem, and we certainly have a responsibility to forge the solutions through slowing our population growth, stopping our wasteful use of food and resources and implementing ecological solutions in all sectors of society. 

Word Count: 2815 Words

Question: How can we help people understand how dire the issues int he most constructive way to drive habit change?

Works Cited

Miller, G. Tyler, and Scott E. Spoolman. 2016. Living in the Environment: Nineteenth Edition, 253-318. Canada: Cengage Learning. 

[jk28147]

Skoolie & How To Cut The Cost Of Living Up to 80%

What's A Skoolie?

More and more people try to escape the rat race by exploring alternative housing solutions. Resulting in the tiny-house movement and a not so tiny Skoolie. A Skoolie is a small portable home that once was a classic, all-American yellow school bus.

DIY School Bus Conversion Into A Not So Tiny Home

If you're thinking about saving a bunch of cash on your RV purchase you might consider to trick out an old yellow school bus. If you have the at least some basic building skills you should not have a problem to convert and old bus into a mobile home with all the conveniences you can want. Yes you did read this right, currently there are people across the country converting retired school busses like the ones you maybe rode to school, into custom motor-homes. And they call those RV’s “SKOOLIES”.

What are the start up Costs?

Granted that prices vary by location and condition of the bus, retired school buses are relatively inexpensive to buy. And if you have access to car auctions you should be able to buy a standard 34-foot bus for about $2,500 – 3,000. And once you cleared the 70-seater out you should have about 200 square feet to trick out into living space. A partially tricked out Camper Bus will start at about $10,000 and comes without a kitchen or bath or neither. You might not be interested in a DIY option. Therefore, you could by a fully transitioned Skoolie for an approximately $60,000 Dollar price tag. However you would be ready to roll. Don’t worry too much about high mileage, they likely auction of at 1500 000 miles or better. However, they are solid build and with a proper upkeep will easily take you past the million mile marker. You need to remember that they are made for schools (Government) so their Diesel Engine and Bus body as well as the frame are better build than any commercial line. You should however make yourself familiar with size diesel engines and various transmission types    

What does the transition into a home cost?

It goes without saying that the cost to DIY a Skoolie, greatly depends on the amount of luxury and conveniences you install. Based on the requirements for a home with a functional kitchen and bath, the cost start probably around $7,000 and can easily go up to $40,000 or more.  However, with enough elbow-grease and some frugal configurations you should be able to keep your conversion cost in a very manageable range. As for the materials, I suggest to stick to regular standard building materials as much as you can. And for the plumbing and electrical supplies turn to Camping / Camper Supplier or Booting Equipment since they are more compact and are made for your use.

How long should it take to convert a Bus into a Skoolie?

First you need to find one close to home for a full inspection and a low cost transport. After that it will depend on what size bus you go for, and what you all want to do to it. I have seen statements where the full transition of a large 40-foot bus took 2 years. Now remember, that is also 2 years of time to store the 40-foot monster somewhere. And if you don’t have the space you need to rent a suitable storage. Plus you will need tools, water, and electricity to make the transition happening. You might think that 2 years seem too long and you do it faster, but what if you also work a full time job? And let’s be honest, this is not like working in your home. Everything will be custom made. Each countertop, seat, bed, and sofa will have to be custom fit and anchored.

Why not just decorate a Skoolie

You could cut the time short by buying a partial converted bus. Sometimes you can find those sold as camper-bus.  They are labeled as Camper because they either lack the kitchen, bathroom or both. However, all the seat benches are gone and that cuts down on much hard demo labor. So you only need to update the kitchen / bath situation and start decorating.

However, you still need to carefully inspect all aspects of it. Body, Engine, und Transmission type. Is all the electrical good and why is it not fully transitioned? Because that would come with a price tag of around $60,000 Plus such partial converted 30-foot bus will cost you around $10,000 without even batting an eye. To me that is not by far the best solution. I think I could use of the extra $7000 plus the scrap metal from the seat-benches to complete my whole transition. And I could splurge a little for something nice instead.

Where can I get Conversion Ideas or Plans?

Skoolie Floor Plan There are plenty of online sources to search for bus conversion building plans, tutorials, and tips. Here are a few to get you started: Skoolie Forum:Forum for skoolie enthusiasts and DIY builders DoItYourselfRV.com: Great basic bus conversion tutorials Skoolie decorating @ accessorize  GoodNewsBus: details one family's bus conversion in daily posts that include video tutorials and thoughtful lessons learned. The Bus Abides site

Here is a short Kitchen Counter Top Sample Tutorial:

To build the countertops in the school bus, Dana used Kee Clamp fittings and pipe to support the countertops. It took Dana a few nights of coming up with different design possibilities before settling on the current design. To create the counter tops, Dana used plywood for the tops. The plywood tops were then attached to the "wall" using metal Dana bought at a local home improvement store.

Pipe legs were then attached to the floor using the Railing Flange.

Flange You can get these supplies at either a local hardware store or at your plumbing supplier

"Ordering online was simple and fast. Then, we went down to a local metal supply shop and got the aluminum pipe we needed (cut to length)."

After you mount the flanges to the bottom of your Countertop, take this countertop into your bus lay it up-site-down (like now) on the floor where you plan to install it. And take a measurement to determine the length of your legs. Stay about a 1-1/2 Inch below the window seal.  You can also take 3 measurements in that area and subtract 5 Inches from below the seal to the floor. If you use a ¾ inch plywood and a 2x4 like illustrated. The brackets should have 1/2” thick plates. I recommend you cut only 2 legs and test the install. Because if the length is not good you don’t waste all pipe. Plus now you can mark the holes to anchor your Bottom plates. If the legs work well cut the reminder of the legs.

Overall, Dana has been pleased with the design and look of the countertops. "We like the industrial look of the Kee Clamps and their ease of assembly. We also like that, unlike using wood legs, we can easily modify and add onto this build in the future. During assembly and painting we had to remove the counters more than once. Kee Klamp fittings made this super easy." .

Another bonus to using Kee Clamp fittings for the design is that the fittings themselves are adjustable. This made leveling the structures easier when putting every together: "They (Kee Clamp fittings) are also adjustable, which is useful when converting a school bus. Not everything in there is square and level." However, don't take my word for it, In Dana's Skoolie site. Dana's challenges and adventures are documented.

Enjoy the 5 Skoolie Builds Video For Your Inspiration

https://youtu.be/biAUHjdYwtA

How High are the operating Costs?

Even though the Skoolie lifestyle can save up to 80% of the big city life expenses (if parked) The total expected cost of ownership plus fuel and campsite fees still average between $800 and $1800 compared to about $60/day and person if renting a home. Diesel Fuel average $300/ monthInsurance; $64/monthRenter insurance $10/ monthLaundry $15 / monthMonthly Road Costs are about $800 if you include $400 for food.I would also suggest you enroll in an AAA w/RV towing plan for peace of mind.And save up for maintenance (oil-change $200, tires $250 each, break-service $300) Get more details

Can I park in RV-Parks?

To be clear in some you can in others you cannot. So if you plan your route you better check a head to have a place to rest.  There are also different fees for RV campgrounds then for Skoolie Camp Sites.

Learn 15 Things You Should Know Before Building A Skoolie School Bus Conversion from the Video

https://youtu.be/V9tZ0zzHYrs

How to Shop For A Bus or Skoolie?

Keep in mind that there is a reason to why schools replace their buses. Many of them are at the end of their useful life. There is most likely something wrong with them in one way or another. Know your transportation cost & conversion budget. Tires are very expensive. A bus with good rubber could cost $500 more than the same bus with bad tires and be still a steal. Traveling Speed. You are not going anywhere fast in Skoolies. Front or rear engine don’t really matter. However, a front engine bus is noisier and hotter for the driver. That will wear you out faster. A front engine bus is easier to repair and rear engine busses perform better in the mountains.Gas or Diesel? Short or long? You need to know that short buses have extra costs to repairing them. Especially if they are van front. Plus many mechanics will tell you: "No thank you," or charge an arm or a leg for repairs. Just read this story! Long Buses are harder to maneuver and have a huge turn radius.Corrosion   -- Every bus has rust. From snowy states, to the ocean fronts, your bus will rust. Try to keep it at a minimum when buying one GET UNDER THE BUS with a bright light & check the underbody! Flooring and framing can have rust as long as it is sound and you can’t just jam a screwdriver through it.

What you should do before you buy a non/partial converted bus

You better find out beforehand how fussy your state/provincial Motor Vehicle Agency is going to be to flip the title and registration. If you converse yourself.Check to see if your state has a one-way-trip or temporary tag.You also need to keep in mind that on Auctions, once a vehicle is sold you have only limited time to pick the thing up.Also you need to get the cash and the VIN Number ready for the insurance company to pre-plan insurance. “You might be better off to find a carrier before you buy your bus. Especially if you want to DIY and the bus is road ready but not fully or partially converted.  Once done just call it an RV as long as it has the requirements like a bath, kitchen, water and bed. Otherwise try to insure for a Commercial Tag” SEAT BELT LAWS:  You need to know the seatbelt laws for your and any state you visit. Here are the Sources.

Where Can I Buy A Bus Or Skoolie?

There are a few places to look for buying a used school bus: Bus dealerships: One of the largest Online in the U.S. is Midwest Transit Equipment.       Auctions: Public Surplus and eBay have listings. Local Classifieds: Craigslist online might be a good place to start. Trader – Magazine available at any Gas-Station Google Tiny House Listings Motor-Home Finds

Conclusion

Here I want to turn it over to you -- Why a Skoolie? How would you justify your lifestyle? Okay, let me first say that you do not really NEED to justify our lifestyle and choices to anyone on here. However, I feel like this could be a good conversation starter with critics and skeptics. And I look really forward to read some of your comments below. So, what are your reasons to live in a Skoolie? Do you have reasonable arguments against a truck and trailer? And as always thank you for reading and sharing JK :) Read the full article

[tipsycad147]

How To Unlock The Secret Of Intentions

Avery Hart

In any discussion about witchcraft, intention is bound to come up. It seems like people are always throwing that word around when they’re discussing spells and casting methods. It doesn’t matter what kind of magic you’re doing, whether it’s a candle spell or a potion, a sigil or astral travelling, intention is at the core of all of it.

That leads us to a little problem though, nobody ever seems to explain what intention is. Sure, you’ve heard the word a million times and maybe you’ve cobbled together an understanding of how to use it based on what you’ve read and trial and error but do you actually understand what intention is? Do you know why it works or how it makes such a big impact on your magic working? If you’re not quite sure, that’s okay. Most witches nowadays are in the same boat with you! Somehow, this majorly important concept has been left out of modern teachings on the craft.

It’s time to remedy that. If you’re going to be using magic, you need to understand it! How are you supposed to troubleshoot your spells, design your own rituals, or make informed decisions about your craft if you don’t actually understand the mechanisms behind it? It’s time to demystify intention and take a good look at what it is that makes it so indispensable to our spell crafting.

Intention Is The Root Of Witchcraft

Intention is everything in the craft. You can’t do magic without it. Even in spells that don’t use the word intention, there’s still some variety of intention setting happening either through an incantation, a visualisation, or some other means. Intention is the root from which every other part of the craft grows.

At the surface level, an intention is how you state what you want to happen because of your spell. It’s the compass leading your magic to the destination you’ve chosen. Every other element in your spells is a way of reinforcing this intention. The herbs chosen for your spell? They’re lending an energy that supports your intention. The symbols used in your ritual? They hold an energy that matches your intention. Any kind of repetition or trance used in your spell? It’s used to move your intention into deeper and deeper parts of your consciousness.

When you break it down, there is no magic without intention. Hell, there are even ways to make intention setting by itself an effective spell. Intention is everything in the craft, every action, every mechanism, every word, and movement, and meditation is about intention.

What Is Intention?

Intention is obviously super important. You can probably even make an argument for why it’s the only thing of real importance in the craft. I’m not interested in the philosophical debates here though, my goal is to give you usable information that has real effects in your life and craft. For that, we need to understand what intention really is.

In the simplest terms, intention is desire.

Intention is the part of you that wants something and wants it hard. That desire, that drive for change, for improvement, is an incredibly powerful force. More so than your emotions, your actions, or your words, your desires shape your life. These desires infiltrate every part of your being, changing how you act, how you think, and how you perceive the world around you. By changing your intention, by adjusting your desire, you can change your entire life.

Desire Drives Magic

Desire is the engine that drives magic. Or, more accurately, desire is the engine that drives EVERYTHING. There is no change in the world that is not driven by desire. Whether that desire is for money, for love, for the end of personal pain, it doesn’t matter. Desire moves humans to act, to speak, and to change. Without desire, there is stagnation and apathy. If you want magic, then you must embrace your desires.

When you hold a desire as intention, it serves to focus the energy of your life on a particular change. The mechanism of change often comes in many forms, from changes we make in our lives consciously or unconsciously to changes in the energy that flows through our lives, bringing events, people, and situations into our lives that act as a catalyst for change.

Without desire, there is no change, whether or not you are using magic.

Have you ever wondered at people who say they want something but never seem to change their behaviours or lives to get that thing they want? It seems counterintuitive, right? In reality, they are lying, either to themselves or to you. This person may be completely unaware, but they do not want what they say they want. They might think they want it or that they should want it, but the reality is quite different.

For example, a person who says they want a better job and more income but never does anything about it does not want a better job or more money. They only think they do.

Hang on! That can’t be right, who doesn’t want more money and a better job?

I know, it seems counterintuitive, but it’s true! A person stuck in a situation like this would probably even call me crazy if I told them they didn’t really want those things. In reality though, they want something very different and that conflicting desire is keeping them in their bad job that makes bad money.

They might want to continue not having a low level of responsibility, or they might want to be taken care of by the people in their lives, or they might want to escape their fear of failure. None of these desires are wrong. A person trying to escape responsibility feels overwhelmed. A person who wants to be taken care of feels neglected. These feelings and desires come out subconsciously, preventing any kind of change from happening and keeping this person in a situation they “don’t want”.

Until this person reconciles their desires and meets these desires without sabotaging their career prospects, no amount of magic will change their situation. This is why spells fail repeatedly. This is why no amount of intention setting seems to budge that one problem you’re constantly struggling with. You set intention after intention but the desire isn’t there. Your desires are pointing the energy in your life in a very different direction.

Taking Charge Of Your Desire

This lands us in a bit of a conundrum. If we have desires that we don’t know that we have, and these desires can prevent the things that we consciously know that we want from happening, then how do we manage to make magic work? The answer, it turns out, is accepting one simple fact of life.

You cannot change what you want.

You can’t not want the things that you want any more than you can stop yourself from getting hungry. If you want something, telling yourself not to want it will never, ever work. In fact, it will probably make the desire stronger, more voracious, and less conscious. Desire is an intrinsic part of being alive. Going back to our previous example, if you want the people in your life to take care of you then you need love, companionship, and a feeling of safety. In western society, we often label those desires as unacceptable, we’re supposed to be self sufficient and independent. So you suppress the desire and tell yourself that you don’t want it, sometimes you suppress it so hard that you start to believe that you don’t want it.

But you do.

You can’t un-want that desire for care-taking. It’s rooted in need. We as humans need support from our social circle. And since a need must be met (that’s why it’s called a need), your subconscious finds sneaky ways to meet it. It keeps you stuck in a situation where you must be taken care of. Where you have no choice but to rely on those around you.

In order to change your life with magic, you must uncover these subconscious desires. You must build a deep understanding of your true desires and the needs that are at the root of each desire. When you do this, you can remove the conflict between your conscious and subconscious desires and ensure that both are met.

Notice I didn’t say that you can get rid of your subconscious desires. Remember that you can’t un-want something that you want. If you want something, the only solution is to meet that desire.

If you want to get unstuck from the dead-end job AND you want the people in your life to take care of you, you must meet both desires. Perhaps you ask the people in your life to do things that feel like being taken care of to you. Whether that’s cooking for you or listening to you or wrapping you up in blankets for a movie night. If you don’t have people in your life you can do that with, maybe you find another way to meet that need. Get yourself a massage. Go to talk therapy. Maybe even trade care-taking activities with someone if you can’t get over that feeling of guilt we associate with wanting to be taken care of.

Once this desire is being met, the subconscious mind no longer has a reason to keep you in your dead-end job so suddenly your money magic starts working.

So how can you identify these desires if they’re buried in your subconscious? The process below will help you start to shift these into your conscious awareness.

1. Begin by identifying your sticking points.

What areas of your life do you constantly seem to be struggling against? Is it your finances, your love life? Where do you experience the most spell failure? This is the area where your subconscious desires are sabotaging you.

2. List all the reasons why you want to be in this situation.

I know. You don’t want to be in this situation. But you need to identify the positive intention behind the situation. What are you gaining by being stuck here? What need does it meet? What is it that you really want that is keeping you here? If you’re always dating people who won’t commit, perhaps you want your freedom and are afraid that a relationship will take that from you. If you keep getting passed over for a promotion, perhaps you want to be able to spend time with your family and the increased workload would cut into that time. Make a list of all the reasons why you might want to be in this place in your life and the positive things it gives you.

3. Once you have your list, figure out how to meet these needs.

You will probably find that one or a few of these reasons rings most true for you. Focus on these first and find a way to meet these desires outside of the current situation. If you’re afraid of losing your freedom, maybe schedule dates by yourself where you can go out and be alone and do whatever you want. Maybe you go for a road trip. Maybe you address controlling patterns in your relationship. If you want to spend time with your family, make that a priority. Have dinner with them every night, schedule weekend activities, find ways to get all the time you want with them even when your work life is busy.

One final note, it’s important to keep in mind that what you want and the need behind it aren’t always the same thing. An alcoholic wants to drink but that doesn’t mean they should. The need behind their drinking is what needs to be met. Perhaps they drink to avoid feeling stuck in their life or out of control. To meet this need, they should find small ways to feel in control. Meeting these needs is often very difficult because a person has been avoiding it for so long that the issue has compounded itself.

Even small steps in the right direction can lead to positive change though. Tending a garden can feel like control, building something can feel like control, caring for a pet well can feel like control. In instances of destructive desires such as alcohol or drug abuse, impulsive behaviours, or risky sex, the desire is covering up a particularly painful need. Continuing to meet the destructive desire rather than the actual need will only make things worse. For these kinds of desires, you should seek out the help of a professional. Meeting the needs under your destructive desires can be very difficult and having support as you tackle this is important.

As you clear away the subconscious desires that are blocking you, your life and magic will change for the better. Those desires that you hold consciously as intentions in your spells will have real effects and bring about real change in your life. You simply have to make sure you’re aligning yourself with those things you really want!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/how-to-unlock-the-secret-of-intentions