#Organic Farm Tours

[jrbustamante]

Bacolod Farmers Help Each Other to Succeed

[trexalicious]

LOVE the headline treatment! If only they'd used a question mark after! Some random observations:

•H must have forgotten his spray on hair

•Rachel is still wearing neutrals in spite of being away from that awful royal family for four years

•What's with Rachel wearing flats lately? Wonder if she can't risk yet another bunion surgery 🤔

•Years later and the skin on Rachel's face is still always far darker than her body

•You know she's hating the, in her mind, cheap wooden necklace they gave her. Where are the jewels for your princess?

•Rachel's still unable to dress for her body type but if she really is, supposedly, choosing outfits by their name's association to the Royals (see other post) no wonder!

•Her eyebrows continue to grow! Someone should really tell her that massive eyebrows are a young person's game

[epthaistick]

Our farm tour exclusives are coming soon. We're readying the brochure on our website to offer you the best farm-tour experience. If you follow us on Twitter or LinkedIn, we will let everyone in on when it'll commence.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI’s productivity theater

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

When I took my kid to New Zealand with me on a book-tour, I was delighted to learn that grocery stores had special aisles where all the kids'-eye-level candy had been removed, to minimize nagging. What a great idea!

Related: countries around the world limit advertising to children, for two reasons:

1) Kids may not be stupid, but they are inexperienced, and that makes them gullible; and

2) Kids don't have money of their own, so their path to getting the stuff they see in ads is nagging their parents, which creates a natural constituency to support limits on kids' advertising (nagged parents).

There's something especially annoying about ads targeted at getting credulous people to coerce or torment other people on behalf of the advertiser. For example, AI companies spent millions targeting your boss in an effort to convince them that you can be replaced with a chatbot that absolutely, positively cannot do your job.

Your boss has no idea what your job entails, and is (not so) secretly convinced that you're a featherbedding parasite who only shows up for work because you fear the breadline, and not because your job is a) challenging, or b) rewarding:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

That makes them prime marks for chatbot-peddling AI pitchmen. Your boss would love to fire you and replace you with a chatbot. Chatbots don't unionize, they don't backtalk about stupid orders, and they don't experience any inconvenient moral injury when ordered to enshittify the product:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

Bosses are Bizarro-world Marxists. Like Marxists, your boss's worldview is organized around the principle that every dollar you take home in wages is a dollar that isn't available for executive bonuses, stock buybacks or dividends. That's why you boss is insatiably horny for firing you and replacing you with software. Software is cheaper, and it doesn't advocate for higher wages.

That makes your boss such an easy mark for AI pitchmen, which explains the vast gap between the valuation of AI companies and the utility of AI to the customers that buy those companies' products. As an investor, buying shares in AI might represent a bet the usefulness of AI – but for many of those investors, backing an AI company is actually a bet on your boss's credulity and contempt for you and your job.

But bosses' resemblance to toddlers doesn't end with their credulity. A toddler's path to getting that eye-height candy-bar goes through their exhausted parents. Your boss's path to realizing the productivity gains promised by an AI salesman runs through you.

A new research report from the Upwork Research Institute offers a look into the bizarre situation unfolding in workplaces where bosses have been conned into buying AI and now face the challenge of getting it to work as advertised:

https://www.upwork.com/research/ai-enhanced-work-models

The headline findings tell the whole story:

96% of bosses expect that AI will make their workers more productive;

85% of companies are either requiring or strongly encouraging workers to use AI;

49% of workers have no idea how AI is supposed to increase their productivity;

77% of workers say using AI decreases their productivity.

Working at an AI-equipped workplaces is like being the parent of a furious toddler who has bought a million Sea Monkey farms off the back page of a comic book, and is now destroying your life with demands that you figure out how to get the brine shrimp he ordered from a notorious Holocaust denier to wear little crowns like they do in the ad:

https://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/intelligence-report/2004/hitler-and-sea-monkeys

Bosses spend a lot of time thinking about your productivity. The "productivity paradox" shows a rapid, persistent decline in American worker productivity, starting in the 1970s and continuing to this day:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Productivity_paradox

The "paradox" refers to the growth of IT, which is sold as a productivity-increasing miracle. There are many theories to explain this paradox. One especially good theory came from the late David Graeber (rest in power), in his 2012 essay, "Of Flying Cars and the Declining Rate of Profit":

https://thebaffler.com/salvos/of-flying-cars-and-the-declining-rate-of-profit

Graeber proposes that the growth of IT was part of a wider shift in research approaches. Research was once dominated by weirdos (e.g. Jack Parsons, Oppenheimer, etc) who operated with relatively little red tape. The rise of IT coincides with the rise of "managerialism," the McKinseyoid drive to monitor, quantify and – above all – discipline the workforce. IT made it easier to generate these records, which also made it normal to expect these records.

Before long, every employee – including the "creatives" whose ideas were credited with the productivity gains of the American century until the 70s – was spending a huge amount of time (sometimes the majority of their working days) filling in forms, documenting their work, and generally producing a legible account of their day's work. All this data gave rise to a ballooning class of managers, who colonized every kind of institution – not just corporations, but also universities and government agencies, which were structured to resemble corporations (down to referring to voters or students as "customers").

Even if you think all that record-keeping might be useful, there's no denying that the more time you spend documenting your work, the less time you have to do your work. The solution to this was inevitably more IT, sold as a way to make the record-keeping easier. But adding IT to a bureaucracy is like adding lanes to a highway: the easier it is to demand fine-grained record-keeping, the more record-keeping will be demanded of you.

But that's not all that IT did for the workplace. There are a couple areas in which IT absolutely increased the profitability of the companies that invested in it.

First, IT allowed corporations to outsource production to low-waged countries in the global south, usually places with worse labor protection, weaker environmental laws, and easily bribed regulators. It's really hard to produce things in factories thousands of miles away, or to oversee remote workers in another country. But IT makes it possible to annihilate distance, time zone gaps, and language barriers. Corporations that figured out how to use IT to fire workers at home and exploit workers and despoil the environment in distant lands thrived. Executives who oversaw these projects rose through the ranks. For example, Tim Cook became the CEO of Apple thanks to his successes in moving production out of the USA and into China.

https://archive.is/M17qq

Outsourcing provided a sugar high that compensated for declining productivity…for a while. But eventually, all the gains to be had from outsourcing were realized, and companies needed a new source of cheap gains. That's where "bossware" came in: the automation of workforce monitoring and discipline. Bossware made it possible to monitor workers at the finest-grained levels, measuring everything from keystrokes to eyeball movements.

What's more, the declining power of the American worker – a nice bonus of the project to fire huge numbers of workers and ship their jobs overseas, which made the remainder terrified of losing their jobs and thus willing to eat a rasher of shit and ask for seconds – meant that bossware could be used to tie wages to metrics. It's not just gig workers who don't score consistent five star ratings from app users whose pay gets docked – it's also creative workers whose Youtube and Tiktok wages are cut for violating rules that they aren't allowed to know, because that might help them break the rules without being detected and punished:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

Bossware dominates workplaces from public schools to hospitals, restaurants to call centers, and extends to your home and car, if you're working from home (AKA "living at work") or driving for Uber or Amazon:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/02/chickenized-by-arise/#arise

In providing a pretense for stealing wages, IT can increase profits, even as it reduces productivity:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

One way to think about how this works is through the automation-theory metaphor of a "centaur" and a "reverse centaur." In automation circles, a "centaur" is someone who is assisted by an automation tool – for example, when your boss uses AI to monitor your eyeballs in order to find excuses to steal your wages, they are a centaur, a human head atop a machine body that does all the hard work, far in excess of any human's capacity.

A "reverse centaur" is a worker who acts as an assistant to an automation system. The worker who is ridden by an AI that monitors their eyeballs, bathroom breaks, and keystrokes is a reverse centaur, being used (and eventually, used up) by a machine to perform the tasks that the machine can't perform unassisted:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But there's only so much work you can squeeze out of a human in this fashion before they are ruined for the job. Amazon's internal research reveals that the company has calculated that it ruins workers so quickly that it is in danger of using up every able-bodied worker in America:

https://www.vox.com/recode/23170900/leaked-amazon-memo-warehouses-hiring-shortage

Which explains the other major findings from the Upwork study:

81% of bosses have increased the demands they make on their workers over the past year; and

71% of workers are "burned out."

Bosses' answer to "AI making workers feel burned out" is the same as "IT-driven form-filling makes workers unproductive" – do more of the same, but go harder. Cisco has a new product that tries to detect when workers are about to snap after absorbing abuse from furious customers and then gives them a "Zen" moment in which they are showed a "soothing" photo of their family:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ai-bringing-zen-first-horizons-192010166.html

This is just the latest in a series of increasingly sweaty and cruel "workplace wellness" technologies that spy on workers and try to help them "manage their stress," all of which have the (totally predictable) effect of increasing workplace stress:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/15/wellness-taylorism/#sick-of-spying

The only person who wouldn't predict that being closely monitored by an AI that snitches on you to your boss would increase your stress levels is your boss. Unfortunately for you, AI pitchmen know this, too, and they're more than happy to sell your boss the reverse-centaur automation tool that makes you want to die, and then sell your boss another automation tool that is supposed to restore your will to live.

The "productivity paradox" is being resolved before our eyes. American per-worker productivity fell because it was more profitable to ship American jobs to regulatory free-fire zones and exploit the resulting precarity to abuse the workers left onshore. Workers who resented this arrangement were condemned for having a shitty "work ethic" – even as the number of hours worked by the average US worker rose by 13% between 1976 and 2016:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

AI is just a successor gimmick at the terminal end of 40 years of increasing profits by taking them out of workers' hides rather than improving efficiency. That arrangement didn't come out of nowhere: it was a direct result of a Reagan-era theory of corporate power called "consumer welfare." Under the "consumer welfare" approach to antitrust, monopolies were encouraged, provided that they used their market power to lower wages and screw suppliers, while lowering costs to consumers.

"Consumer welfare" supposed that we could somehow separate our identities as "workers" from our identities as "shoppers" – that our stagnating wages and worsening conditions ceased mattering to us when we clocked out at 5PM (or, you know, 9PM) and bought a $0.99 Meal Deal at McDonald's whose low, low price was only possible because it was cooked by someone sleeping in their car and collecting food-stamps.

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/article/2024/jul/20/disneyland-workers-anaheim-california-authorize-strike

But we're reaching the end of the road for consumer welfare. Sure, your toddler-boss can be tricked into buying AI and firing half of your co-workers and demanding that the remainder use AI to do their jobs. But if AI can't do their jobs (it can't), no amount of demanding that you figure out how to make the Sea Monkeys act like they did in the comic-book ad is doing to make that work.

As screwing workers and suppliers produces fewer and fewer gains, companies are increasingly turning on their customers. It's not just that you're getting worse service from chatbots or the humans who are reverse-centaured into their workflow. You're also paying more for that, as algorithmic surveillance pricing uses automation to gouge you on prices in realtime:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

This is – in the memorable phrase of David Dayen and Lindsay Owens, the "age of recoupment," in which companies end their practice of splitting the gains from suppressing labor with their customers:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-03-age-of-recoupment/

It's a bet that the tolerance for monopolies made these companies too big to fail, and that means they're too big to jail, so they can cheat their customers as well as their workers.

AI may be a bet that your boss can be suckered into buying a chatbot that can't do your job, but investors are souring on that bet. Goldman Sachs, who once trumpeted AI as a multi-trillion dollar sector with unlimited growth, is now publishing reports describing how companies who buy AI can't figure out what to do with it:

https://www.goldmansachs.com/intelligence/pages/gs-research/gen-ai-too-much-spend-too-little-benefit/report.pdf

Fine, investment banks are supposed to be a little conservative. But VCs? They're the ones with all the appetite for risk, right? Well, maybe so, but Sequoia Capital, a top-tier Silicon Valley VC, is also publicly questioning whether anyone will make AI investments pay off:

https://www.sequoiacap.com/article/ais-600b-question/

I can't tell you how great it was to take my kid down a grocery checkout aisle from which all the eye-level candy had been removed. Alas, I can't figure out how we keep the nation's executive toddlers from being dazzled by shiny AI pitches that leave us stuck with the consequences of their impulse purchases.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[silhouetteonpaper]

On The Run

Summary: You were used to the usual routine; completing a mission for some quick cash, running to the next hide-out in order to stay off the grid. But you weren't off the grid, not to Natasha. She still kept tabs on you, just in case. And now, she needed to find you—fast, before you both end up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s kill list. Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 2,465 Warnings/Themes: Gun use, mentions of past relationship, angst, fluff

The Amalfi Coast, nine months after the Sokovia Accords.

The coordinates to the safe house led you down a winding road, barely big enough to fit two cars side by side. When the ocean view got so close, you wondered if the road would lead right off a cliff—It finally placed you at the simple stone house on the Italian coast. You were expecting a small touristy town, full of the stereotypical lemons and pizza, hoping to stop in a nearby town to try its various delicacies—maybe even relax and have a drink. But instead, you were surprised with something new. It was far from touristy, rather a humble area away from the large population. Small farms, vast orchards and vineyards, grasslands. And of course, the ocean, lapping softly right in front of your eyes.

When you pulled the car into the cobbled driveway, you could see the waves glowing with oranges and yellows of the sun; white tufts flowing over the rocks at a consistent pace, the crisp sea spray filling the air. It was almost too picturesque to be your next hideaway, like something you’d see on a brochure. But a few weeks of this, you weren’t going to complain.

Putting the car in park, you stepped out into the world and let the sun hit your face. Something was different about the Italian sun, like it truly got under your skin and filled your soul. It felt nice to stretch your legs after a few hours in the car, driving far enough away to remain hidden. After stealing intel for a large organization, you had no choice but to hide. If you stayed alive long enough, you’d earn a large sum. It was the same routine, accepting a mission from some wannabe-criminal organization, a quick in-and-out heist to earn you some quick cash. It was the only way you could keep food on the table, especially considering your situation.

Months had passed since the Sokovia Accords, leaving you on your own without a care; constantly on the run like a bird in flight while doing missions whenever possible. Yet this time, you weren’t working for just any organization. It was HYDRA. They offered a deal you couldn’t resist, it just made sense to accept it. Besides, you were laying low from S.H.I.E.L.D. anyways after the accords, you’d be living in a safe house regardless. So what, if you accepted a mission from the highest bidder who happened to work for the other side? You weren’t anyone’s property, and you sure as hell would never sign a paper like the accords that enforced such things. You were grateful to at least have a place to call home for the time being, knowing others weren’t as lucky. 

Grabbing your duffel bag from the trunk, you walked up the driveway into your new home for the next few weeks. It was made of stone, rustic, with an older interior. It was even more Italian than you could’ve pictured. The floorboards creaked as you stepped inside the open living room, green couches covered in a thin layer of dust, no TV in sight. You let your duffel hit the ground with a thud, dust flying through the air as it caught in the sunlight flooding through the glossy windows. You gave yourself a quick house tour, finding the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom with ease. The perfect place to hide out for a few weeks, alone and unbothered. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped your duffel to begin unpacking.

That’s when the feeling of something cold pressed against the back of your head, eerily similar to the barrel of a gun. Your heart dropped into your stomach, forcing you to remain frozen. You assumed you’d be alone, just like anyone when they step into their own safe house, one you triple-checked would be abandoned and untraceable. But you internally cursed yourself for not clearing each room when you entered anyway. You should’ve known to expect the unexpected, especially when there was a target on your back.

“Hey, don’t waste a perfectly good silver bullet on me. One swing of a knife will do…” With a racing heart, you tried to bargain with whoever was behind you. Was it bad that you often turned to humor in tense situations? Maybe, but it was the only sentence you could form with a gun held to your head. Your worst fear wasn’t dying, it was not having the upper hand. You raised your hands in the air slowly, keeping your head completely still as the pressure suddenly… disappeared.

“Don’t give me any ideas.” A familiar voice muttered, lowering the gun back into its concealed spot. Natasha. What could she possibly be doing here? You spun on your feet to face her. The agent with glowing locks of red hair, someone you used to know well, intruding without a word. It was almost like you could still see the mark you’d left on her, through the smile lines creasing her eyes when she’d squint, or by the grown-out highlights in her hair you artfully dyed. But now, she wasn’t an agent, not for S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway. Just like you, she ran when the terms of the accords finally got in the way of those she loved most. Including you. But now, you’ve both found yourself on opposite sides. Her, fighting for her friends, and you—fighting for yourself.

Swallowing the past, you looked at her dead on. “I didn’t realize they double booked this Air-BNB.” You joked, wondering if she would leave so you both could pretend this interaction never happened. Just like the last handful, all shoved under the rug. Because it was easier to pretend your relationship never existed than to face it head-on.

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk, deep down missing the humor that filled each of your interactions. But that was the past.Now you were the enemy. She had to keep a stoic expression—if not for you, for herself. “Sorry to crash your vacation.” She shrugged, slowly stepping around the place like she owned it. 

You furrowed your brows, watching her every move. You hadn’t seen her in over a month, and the first thing she did was hold a gun to your head? Your not-so-secret hideout was easily found by the Widow—not surprising, but intriguing. Why would she need to find someone she knows is hiding? Something was up, but it was impossible to see past the facade she carefully constructed. “What brings you here?”

She avoided eye contact. “Would you be scared off if I said you?” The words nearly caught in her throat, her eyes finally finding yours. You crossed your arms, opening your mouth but realizing you were at a loss for words. It was rare that someone rendered you speechless, yet Natasha somehow did. She always found new ways to surprise you.

“That depends, is this a honeymoon I wasn’t made aware of?” Even like this, you couldn’t help but joke, and a part of you kicked yourself over it. But Natasha’s amused and even more drawn to you. Still, it wasn’t the time. Based on her expression that quickly returns to a serious frown, she was clearly there for something more pressing.

“I’m here because of S.H.I.E.L.D.” She stated plainly, like she had thrown all of her concealed weapons out on the table. You inhaled sharply, eyes turning dark at the mention of them. They know. They must’ve found out about HYDRA and sent Natasha in their stead. She could break down your walls, and detain you in a second. But even more pressing than that, was the fact it could be true.

Your heart nearly broke into two, but you weren’t going to reveal that. “You’re working for them again?” You questioned like it was an interrogation. She shook her head, realizing just how destroyed the trust between you both was. Because of S.H.I.E.L.D., but not for?

“They’ve decided to renew the warrants out for our arrest. They’re coming for us.” Her words were cautious, like even speaking about it would cause a brigade of agents to appear at the front door. Your gaze fell to the floor, the implications flooding into your mind like poison. It was impossible for you not to run over every option, every possibility in your mind. Calculating carefully what your next move would be; how you’d escape yet another wild chase across the world. It’s what you’d always do in the face of a challenge, overthink each option until your mind was left numb—the only thing left to do after was hide.

Natasha easily noticed the old habit; her gaze watching your eyes fall, darting across the floor, your lips curving into the slightest of frowns. She was studying you—and although slightly out of practice after all this time, Natasha never forgot completely. “Hey,” her voice was soft, enough to draw you out of your swirling thoughts. A stern expression on her face, yet a certain warmth beneath it. Hidden under her eyes if you dared to look close enough. “I didn’t come here to stir up trouble. I came here to… be of help.” It was hard for her to admit it, the fact she did want to get you out of the situation safely. It had been months since she showed her care for you, the support you’d assumed faltered after you chose to follow a different path in the ongoing war.

The words were a relief, but you weren’t sure if they were true. It had been a while since you were able to trust someone, constantly out on the run from safe house to safe house. Alone, because it was easier that way. You desired it greatly, to share the burden of your reality with anyone else, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Especially not with Natasha. It was never simple with her. Even now, when your options are seemingly slim.

“You come here, hold a gun to my head, and now you’re trying to get me to trust you?” You weren’t trying to hide the fact there was a broken relationship between you both, especially after the anger you were forced to direct at each other after the accords. But deep down, maybe you knew that wasn’t ever Natasha talking, it was the puppeteering of S.H.I.E.L.D. Still, no one controls the Widow, not even you. She could’ve gone about it differently, you both could have.

With the light pouring in from the window, you could see her face more clearly. She looked tired, like she traveled far to be here today. Those little details never went unnoticed by you. “I needed you to listen.” Natasha almost sounded… desperate. It laced her words, like she was speaking from her heart and not from her mind.

“You could’ve just sent a text.” You commented, watching as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Both of you knew the truth, that S.H.I.E.L.D. was already tapping into your supposedly ‘untraceable’ phones. If she had sent a message, they’d know you two were teaming up. But was that what was really happening?

She chuckled. That laugh, you’d waited so long to hear it again. It reminded you of why you let your humorous side show in the first place. For people like Natasha, who appreciate a cunning sense of humor, a quick joke amidst a serious situation. And this was most definitely serious. You toy with the idea of following her lead, agreeing you’d both need to figure out an escape plan from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s approaching attack.

“What did you have in mind? Y’know, to get us both out of this unharmed?” If she’d come unannounced, she at least had to have a plan. You knew her well enough to expect that Natasha never comes unprepared. 

She took a deep breath, making you question if she really did have a solid plan. “We run, like always. I know of a place Northwest we can stay. And we’ll keep dodging them until…”

“Until they forget about us. Again.” You finished her sentence for her, already understanding where this was headed. Running, hiding, with no end in sight. But the way she phrased it made something inside of your heart skip a beat. She said we. We, as in the two of you would run together, this time on the same side.

Thousands of questions formed in an instant, yet one stuck out over the rest. Where did that leave you both? Friends? Enemies? Acquaintances? You were unsure who the woman standing before you was. Natasha, whom you could still feel the soft touch of if you closed your eyes—or Agent Romanoff, who was stoic and cold, whose work was a relentless priority. Even if it was the former, did she like the idea of you two running off together? Or could she just not handle the guilt of letting you flail?

“Your eyes are doing that thing again.” She spoke, her stare intense with something that felt like more than strangers, more than friends. She wanted to convince you. “I think it’ll be good for us.”

You look at her, letting your expression relax, letting your worried posture fall. She wanted this. “There’s no team bonding better than hiding out together.” You joked softly, letting your eyes fully see what was in front of you. Not just Natasha, but what this could mean for the two of you. Was it time to stop your streak of being alone? Was it a sign of weakness?

“I like that, team.” Natasha smiled, and suddenly your heart felt like it was going to fall into your stomach. Not because you were scared of running, but because you wanted this, to be with her. The idea of you two hiding away together—keeping each other safe, isolated from the world, it didn’t sound so bad. It scared you how vulnerable you felt, more than the fact the strongest force of agents was on their way. How you felt okay with this, how you longed for this.

To say you were desperate for the touch of another would seem like an overstatement, especially since you’re not someone who feels that deeply. But when Natasha stepped closer toward you, her slow breathing audible by the time she stopped—you weren’t going to back away. Like a magnet, she was drawing you in. “What d’you say, will you run with me?” Her lips curved into a smile, eyes locked with yours. There was no way you could turn her down.

“I will always run with you, Natasha Romanoff."

[matan4il]

Update post:

The biggest thing everyone's talking about on the news in Israel right now is the finding of a MASSIVE Hamas compound underneath UNRWA's main headquarters in Gaza, and finding proof that UNRWA were supplying the compound with electricity and internet services, supply which allowed Hamas to develop their intelligence, used during the Hamas massacre among other things. When Israel published the finding of the compound, the head of UNRWA claimed they found nothing up until October, and weren't able to check anything since. Israel responded by pointing out that a compound so developed most likely took no less than ten years to dig and build, and that UNRWA was repeatedly told that Hamas is operating under its headquarters, but chose to ignore this. What I think is most telling is a tour taken by an Israeli journalist in the compound, where they showed him that the server farm in the Hamas compound is found directly under the server farm of UNRWA, and that cables from the latter were running down into the terror tunnel compound directly beneath it (source in Hebrew, here's a vid in English giving viewers a tour of the compound, I'll attach the vid itself below, too). Something like that doesn't happen by coincidence, and without the knowledge of those in the server farm above groud. Some of the cables were also cut in the UNRWA server farm, like someone realized the IDF was coming, and tried to hide the link between the two server farms. As one officer pointed out, if you're an innoncent, interenational humanitarian aid organization, you have no reason to cut the cables of your own server farm, or remove the name tags from the doors of the rooms inside your headquarters. You only do that if you have something to hide.

Israel's army has been fighting Hamas in all of Gaza, except the southern city of Rafiach (Rafah in English). There are a lot of Gazans there, who have been evacuated from other zones. There's also 4 Hamas regiments there, which means Israel will have no choice but to fight there. So the only question is how to fight in that city, in order to minimize the harm to the civilian population. There are reports that Israel's Prime Minister has asked the IDF to present plans both on how to fight Hamas in Rafah, and how to evacuate the civilians.

In that context, I got to hear a radio interview with an Israeli minister, who used to be the head of Shabak (Israel's equivalent of the FBI). When asked about the US warning for Israel not to fight in Rafah during the upcoming month of Ramadan, Avi Dichter said that it has never been a month during which Muslims have not fought in wars. In fact, in 1973 the Egyptians and Syrians (with soldiers from even more Arab countries fighting alongside them) chose to attack Israel on Oct 6, despite Ramadan that year starting on Oct 4, causing the war to be known in the Arab world as "The Ramadan War." More than that, in Israel Ramadan is always a time of peak alert, because so many terrorist attacks are carried out during it (here's an example from Mar 2023, when Hamas was encouraging individuals to carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan, and here's another from 2022). Dichter suggested that if Muslims can carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan (and it has happened outside Israel, too), the war in Gaza which was started by Hamas can continue during it.

On an Israeli TV news panel, someone shared the estimate that over 100,000,000 dollars (one hundred million dollars!) is the sum of money that Hamas made just since the start of the war from selling to the civilian population the humanitarian aid that was allowed into Gaza, and which Hamas stole from the Gazans (more than once, by using violence).

This is Chagit Rein.

She lost her son Benaya in the Second Lebanon War, back in 2006. I got to hear an interview with her following the fact that during this war, she decided she would try to visit the shiva (the mourning week following a burial) of every fallen soldier. According to her, she has so far visited the families of 400 soldiers killed on Oct 7 or since. "If they see me, then it's living proof that there can be a life alongside the loss. That was our kids' last will and testament. They died so we could live. So we have to live." When asked what she's asked most often when she visits the families, she said it was what she did first after her son's shiva. "My other son was being drafted into the army, so the first thing I did was to accompany him in that." She was asked whether there were moments when she was overwhelmed herself. She replied that she's seen wounded soldiers making incredible effortrs to come to the shiva of others who were killed, to offer their families some comfort. In one case, an injured soldier recognized her, and told her that it was thanks to her son Benaya that he was an officer in the armored forced. He tried to hug her, but was at first unable to get up or reach her from the stretcher he was on. Chagit recounted that she tries to make sure her visits would be about the families she's conmforting, not about herself, but that's when she broke down and cried.

This is Doctor Elai Chogeg-Golan with her husband Ariel and their baby daughter, Yael. On the right, their house in kibbutz Kfar Azza.

On Oct 7, due to Hamas' massive rocket attack, Elai was inside the bomb shelter in her home with her family from 6:30 in the morning, when Gazan civilians got in at around 1 in the afternoon. The Gazans tried to get the family to come out, but it wouldn't. Then, those invaders set the house on fire, probably thinking that would force the family out. Instead, Elai and the family tried to keep themselves safe using water. At some point, she recounts they even fought face to face with the Gazans, who tried to beat them with sticks from the outside. She said she managed to grab a stick, and beat them back. These Gazans then threw in two gas balloons into the burning house. Elai says that most of the burns she sustained were from the fire ball that that created. At some point, the Gazans moved on, and that's when the family got out, because the whole place was on fire, they were choking from the smoke, and even the roof collapsed. They hid nearby, but then baby Yael lost consciousness, and the parents decided to try and get out of the kibbutz. At the entrance, they met soldiers who helped get them to a hospital. Elai had severe burns on over 60% of her body. She was in a coma for 53 days, but incredibly, they all survived.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[openmindcrimecook]

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[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Northern Nevada Gothic for 2024

Something is killing the coyotes. The raccoons have begun to Rise.

Cannabis is legal now. The elders speak of terpenes and cannabinoids. Kenny Furlong's smile stretches ever wider. Where are his wife and daughter?

There was a Democratic rally. You know a lot of people who went, but it was strangely empty.

You drive through Lyon County on a gig app job. The wild horses are strangely absent, save one. It looks emaciated. You pull up to the delivery building and turn to acknowledge the horse, and it has disappeared. The cop at the Donald J. Trump Justice Complex doesn't tip you, but he also does not arrest you.

The protests have increased in frequency, but decreased in mass. You still do not know what anyone is protesting, but you no longer honk in support. Too many have accidentally pledged to gods thought long dead.

You have received five mail-in ballots in the mail. They are all under your name, and they all contain different ballot measures and candidates. You do not know which one is the correct one to send in - they all have the same postmark.

The Awful Awful is now $15. You take another gig app order. You Hunger.

You encounter a person considering moving to your town. You are friendly, and recommend local attractions based on their interests. You hope they become a neighbor and not the sustenance of The Old Ones.

While driving 75 miles per hour, you witness a wildfire begin to burn, boiling and roiling as if alive. It devours several houses and some livestock, always hungry for more. It is unseasonally dry, even for the desert, and you are parched, thirsting for water no matter how much you consume. As traffic slows and then backs up, you read the license plate and bumper stickers of the person in front of you. It decries climate change. It is a California license plate, permanently attached to that car forever. It reads MAGAMOM.

The affluent community of Galena has posted illegibly-scrawled signs. They are thank you notes to the first responders of the fire. The alphabet is not one known to man, and yet you are able to read it clearly.

There is a luxury apartment for rent. It is $1,500 a month. It is $5,000 a month. It is $2,000 a month. It is $1780 per month with a $300 per month gated community fee. It is a vast studio apartment that echoes when you tour it.

You are in a car and see a road with the name of Diogenes. You exclaim, "Behold! A street!" Your Zoomer daughter laughs. Your partner does not. You begin to panic about shoelaces, but the thought slips your mind entirely as you slide back on to McCarran Boulevard.

There was a Trump rally. You don't know a single person who attended, but it was allegedly packed.

You have done the math. If you live in Stead, and a friend lives in Carson City, and you both work at the Reno post office, you have the same commute. When did Reno move closer to Carson City? Continents drift, yes, but not like this.

You drive to Elko. It has become large. You drive back. If you wanted to see people, you would stay at home.

Pahrump is a real city that exists in Nevada. You never laugh when people say the name. It is a point of pride - your family have never cracked in the face of Pahrump, and you will not be the weak link.

The 5G tower is being built inside your bathroom. It's terribly inconvenient for showering, but the internet speeds have never been better.

You pass a solar farm and see whispers of shadows beneath them. You are grateful that they find solar power so delicious.

The NRA hosts an open house at the local gun range. The range safety offer lacks any visible eyes or ears, but he effortlessly controls the range with the practiced ease of a person who has spent many a year at a military drill post.

There is a Trader Joe's. The parking lot is always, without fail, too small and far too hot. There are so many handicapped signs. Everything becomes a blur, but you come to holding a pair of organic mangoes in your hand while an employee discusses myrcine content.

Gig workers avoid specific areas of town. It would not do to be called to a Chick-fil-A. They may not be traditionally homophobic, but the chicken claps for a reason. The giant C mocks you.

A tourist asks you about the landmark letters on hills and you realize that you have never questioned their presence.

There is an Amazon warehouse there is a Chewie warehouse there is a DHL warehouse there is a Panasonic factory there is a Tesla factory there is an industrial park there is a new railway and a new section of highway. The Amazon warehouse is closing and reopening. It is ever and yet never changing.

Your favorite band has made the mistake of booking a gig at the Grand Sierra Resort. You laugh. If the ghosts don't kill them, the fans will.

Casinos have started restricting prime rib to Fridays and Saturdays. Sunday through Thursday you wander town like a wraith, craving animal fats and au jus.

The Black Widows, Australian Redbacks, and Brown Widows have begun mating. You fear the day they achieve perfection and ride to defeat their long-standing nemesis: the spider of Lyon County.

The Spite House has been dismantled. You wail to the world. This injustice will not be left unpunished. Rudy will rest in peace.

I need you all to know that these all seem ridiculous but almost all of them are based on something I personally experienced. I've lived here most of my life.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Story and photographs by Ronan O’Connell

September 26, 2023

In the middle of a field in a lesser known part of Ireland is a large mound where sheep wander and graze freely.

Had they been in that same location centuries ago, these animals might have been stiff with terror, held aloft by chanting, costumed celebrants while being sacrificed to demonic spirits that were said to inhabit nearby Oweynagat cave.

This monumental mound lay at the heart of Rathcroghan, the hub of the ancient Irish kingdom of Connaught.

The former Iron Age center is now largely buried beneath the farmland of County Roscommon.

In 2021, Ireland applied for UNESCO World Heritage status for Rathcroghan (Rath-craw-hin). It remains on the organization's tentative list.

Rooted in lore

Spread across more than two square miles of rich agricultural land, Rathcroghan encompasses 240 archaeological sites, dating back 5,500 years.

They include burial mounds, ring forts (settlement sites), standing stones, linear earthworks, an Iron Age ritual sanctuary — and Oweynagat, the so-called gate to hell.

More than 2,000 years ago, when Ireland’s communities seem to have worshipped nature and the land itself, it was here at Rathcroghan that the Irish New Year festival of Samhain (SOW-in) was born, says archaeologist and Rathcroghan expert Daniel Curley.

In the 1800s, the Samhain tradition was brought by Irish immigrants to the United States, where it morphed into the sugar overload that is American Halloween.

Dorothy Ann Bray, a retired associate professor at McGill University and an expert in Irish folklore, explains that pre-Christian Irish divided each year into summer and winter.

Within that framework were four festivities.

Imbolc, on February 1, was a festival that coincided with lambing season.

Bealtaine, on May 1, marked the end of winter and involved customs like washing one’s face in dew, plucking the first blooming flowers, and dancing around a decorated tree.

August 1 heralded Lughnasadh, a harvest festival dedicated to the god Lugh and presided over by Irish kings.

Then on October 31 came Samhain, when one pastoral year ended and another began.

Rathcroghan was not a town, as Connaught had no proper urban centers and consisted of scattered rural properties.

Instead, it was a royal settlement and a key venue for these festivals.

During Samhain, in particular, Rathcroghan was a hive of activity focused on its elevated temple, which was surrounded by burial grounds for the Connachta elite.

Those same privileged people may have lived at Rathcroghan. The remaining lower-class Connachta communities resided in dispersed farms and descended on the site only for festivals.

At those lively events they traded, feasted, exchanged gifts, played games, arranged marriages, and announced declarations of war or peace.

Festivalgoers also may have made ritual offerings, possibly directed to the spirits of Ireland’s otherworld.

That murky, subterranean dimension, also known as Tír na nÓg (Teer-na-nohg), was inhabited by Ireland’s immortals, as well as a myriad of beasts, demons, and monsters.

During Samhain, some of these creatures escaped via Oweynagat cave (pronounced “Oen-na-gat” and meaning “cave of the cats”).

“Samhain was when the invisible wall between the living world and the otherworld disappeared,” says Mike McCarthy, a Rathcroghan tour guide and researcher who has co-authored several publications on the site.

“A whole host of fearsome otherworldly beasts emerged to ravage the surrounding landscape and make it ready for winter.”

Thankful for the agricultural efforts of these spirits but wary of falling victim to their fury, the people protected themselves from physical harm by lighting ritual fires on hilltops and in fields.

They disguised themselves as fellow ghouls, McCarthy says, so as not to be dragged into the otherworld via the cave.

Despite these engaging legends — and the extensive archaeological site in which they dwell — one easily could drive past Rathcroghan and spot nothing but paddocks.

Inhabited for more than 10,000 years, Ireland is so dense with historical remains that many are either largely or entirely unnoticed.

Some are hidden beneath the ground, having been abandoned centuries ago and then slowly consumed by nature.

That includes Rathcroghan, which some experts say may be Europe’s largest unexcavated royal complex.

Not only has it never been dug up, but it also predates Ireland’s written history.

That means scientists must piece together its tale using non-invasive technology and artifacts found in its vicinity.

While Irish people for centuries knew this site was home to Rathcroghan, it wasn’t until the 1990s that a team of Irish researchers used remote sensing technology to reveal its archaeological secrets beneath the ground.

“The beauty of the approach to date at Rathcroghan is that so much has been uncovered without the destruction that comes with excavating upstanding earthwork monuments,” Curley says.

“[Now] targeted excavation can be engaged with, which will answer our research questions while limiting the damage inherent with excavation.”

Becoming a UNESCO site

This policy of preserving Rathcroghan’s integrity and authenticity extends to tourism.

Despite its significance, Rathcroghan is one of Ireland’s less frequented attractions, drawing some 22,000 visitors a year compared with more than a million at the Cliffs of Moher.

That may not be the case had it long ago been heavily marketed as the “Birthplace of Halloween,” Curley says.

But there is no Halloween signage at Rathcroghan or in Tulsk, the nearest town.

Rathcroghan’s renown should soar, however, if Ireland is successful in its push to make it a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Irish Government has included Rathcroghan as part of the “Royal Sites of Ireland,” which is on its newest list of locations to be considered for prized World Heritage status.

The global exposure potentially offered by UNESCO branding would likely attract many more visitors to Rathcroghan.

But it seems unlikely this historic jewel will be re-packaged as a kitschy Halloween tourist attraction.

“If Rathcroghan got a UNESCO listing and that attracted more attention here that would be great, because it might result in more funding to look after the site,” Curley says.

“But we want sustainable tourism, not a rush of gimmicky Halloween tourism.”

Those travelers who do seek out Rathcroghan might have trouble finding Oweynagat cave.

Oweynagat is elusive — despite being the birthplace of Medb, perhaps the most famous queen in Irish history, 2,000 years ago.

Barely signposted, it’s hidden beneath trees in a paddock at the end of a one-way, dead-end farm track, about a thousand yards south of the much more accessible temple mound.

Visitors are free to hop a fence, walk through a field, and peer into the narrow passage of Oweynagat.

In Ireland’s Iron Age, such behavior would have been enormously risky during Samhain, when even wearing a ghastly disguise might not have spared the wrath of a malevolent creature.

Two millennia later, most costumed trick-or-treaters on Halloween won’t realize they’re mimicking a prehistoric tradition — one with much higher stakes than the pursuit of candy.

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses Series: Part II

Warning: Mention of miscarriages

Next time ends up being a couple weeks later when Bill and his crew arrive in Tulsa to survey the land that’s going to be turned into a weed farm. Bill had been trying to come up with an excuse to show up at Thresher’s door, asking if you happen to be around, just so he could see you again. That accidental kiss in the coatroom has left his world slightly askew. He isn’t sure if seeing you again is going to put it right again or tilt it even more off-balance. So when Carl suggested they pay a visit to Thresher to make sure he really was set up to start the business, Bill jumped on the idea. 

When they arrive at the house, Bill is constantly searching the background for you, or any sign of you. The house is massive, all dark wood, dim lighting, and expensive art work. There’s a gigantic medieval tapestry that hangs behind the large mahogany desk in Cal’s office. There’s no warmth to the belongings, no family history. Everything in here is a showcase of trophies, expensive baubles collected to show wealth. 

He thinks of the hundred year old bronze of a cowboy on a bucking bronco that his grandfather bought after making his first million dollars. The Toulouse-Lautrec painting his grandmother bought to hang in the dining room so guests could converse over the subject matter of a young woman seated at a table. There were silver trophies, cups, and punch bowls his father had won on reining horses. Hell, sitting on his desk at the autoparts warehouse was a signed baseball from Mickey Mantle that his father had secured for him. 

The difference between generational wealth and new money. 

Cal spreads out a map on the desk and shows where the fields are going to be located. There are places marked for where the greenhouses are currently being built and he’ll show them the progress in that construction that is almost complete. Bill has to give it to him, he’s thorough and organized in the approach. That’s a good sign. What’s not that great of a sign is that there’s no personal pictures of you in the office. There’s framed portraits of Cal and what look to be his relatives but not one picture of you. It irks Bill. 

He doesn’t see you, or any presence of you, in the house. He knows he’s not going to see you out on the land and greenhouse tour. It does make it easier to concentrate on Cal and his development plans. Bill has to admit, this may just be the top producing weed farm out of all the ones he has growing. The one to beat would be in Texas but Texas is prone to drought and that could be an issue in another year or two. Cal has had the foresight to acknowledge drought as a problem and has a mobile irrigation system that will cover most of the acreage. They’re riding back from the demo of the irrigation system when Cal invites Bill and his guys to stay for dinner. It gives Bill the opportunity he’s been waiting for. 

“Is your wife going to mind having to feed all of us?” 

Cal shakes his head. “No, she likes cooking. At least that’s what she said this morning when I told her you were coming today to have a look around.” 

So you are around, know he’s here, and offer to make food for everyone. He takes it as a positive sign, shaky as it is, that perhaps that kiss has had lingering effects on you as well. He uses this time, just the two of them in the four wheel drive UTV, to try to get more information out of Cal. 

“How long have you two been married?” 

“Six years.” Cal frowns. “That might be it though.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s just say she’s not exactly holding up her end of the bargain.” He sighs. “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. You ever been married?” 

“Once upon a time,” Bill looks out over the gently rolling hills and wonders what exactly is the bargain between you and Cal. “She was from California and thought she’d give farm life a try. She didn’t care for it or me. Moved back to San Franscisco and married some silicon valley fucker.” 

“You would think with the lives we provide them, scenery like this, homes like ours, never wanting for anything, they would be motivated to do their actual fucking jobs. But they’re never satisfied are they?” 

Bill bites his tongue because he doesn’t know the details of what Cal is talking about and it causes him hesitation to agree with anything when he doesn’t know both sides of the story. 

***

As soon as the meal is over, when the last dessert fork has been laid on the table, you excuse yourself from the table. It’s not the first time that you’ve attended a business dinner at the house and your presence is never welcome past the completion of the meal. The house staff clear the dishes and set everything back to its pristine condition while the men find some appropriate spot either inside or outside to smoke their cigars, sip their whiskey, and talk about their interests.  

You remove yourself from the gathering and head down to the small barn that Cal built for you and your four horses. He refuses to have any more than that because the horses you have don’t make money, not real money at least. There’s really only one horse that has a six figure value but he’s a retired reining horse. Two are classified as therapy horses and the other one is just a sedate trail horse. You’re thankful Cal allows them on his property at all but you’re not sure for how much longer they’ll be there. 

After your return from Kansas City, Cal gave you an ultimatum. You had one more chance to deliver a healthy baby before divorce papers were drawn up. Your parents have already told you that if a divorce occurs, you would not be welcome back to Texas. Your sister has already had three children in the last six years so infertility shouldn’t be an issue for you. Therefore, you must be doing something on purpose to cause the trio of miscarriages. But you don’t know if you can handle another pregnancy, another loss. Every time you lose a baby, a piece of your soul goes with them. Maybe if Cal showed some sympathy towards you it would be worth another risk but you doubt he’s going to change his ways now. 

You like being in the barn at this time of the day. The stable manager is gone for the evening and it’s just you and the horses. You put the halter on one of the therapy horses and tie him to the cross ties so you can brush him down. There’s a couple students from a school program that are coming out tomorrow to ride and you want the horses to be clean and ready for the appointment. 

The truth of the matter is, you needed to get out of the house, away from Bill specifically. You had spent the last two weeks replaying that kiss in the coat room in your head on a constant loop, trying to remember the exact feel of his lips on yours, the sharpness of his cologne, the gentleness of his hands. You were ashamed to admit that there were times when your daydreaming was so immersive that when you came back to reality you’re startled by seeing ice blue eyes instead of whiskey brown. 

Now, he was sitting directly across the dining table from you, the candlelight dancing across his tanned skin and highlighting the flecks of green in his eyes. You hadn’t seen those before in the dim light of the coat room. His smile is different when Cal says something humorous and then when he makes eye contact with you. It’s more subtle, more personal in a way that made your face heat up and you had to concentrate on the feel of the linen napkin in your lap. But then your mind drifted from the napkin to what it would feel like to run your fingers over his stubbled jaw, into his dark hair. The way he held his wine glass, the round bowl sitting perfectly in the wide expanse of his hand, was practically obscene. You were afraid to stand up when dinner was over because your knees were so fucking weak. 

You take a deep breath and lean your forehead against the sinews in the horse’s neck. You had never believed just sitting across from someone could create such want. That is the part you struggle with, you want Bill in a way that you have never experienced before. You’ve tried to feel that way with Cal, tried to feel the passion and desire but it was never there. Your wedding night had been spent on your back, tense, and staring at the ceiling. You were too afraid to engage and Cal never did anything to encourage you otherwise. So even though you had that desire for Bill, you don’t know what to do with it. It’s frustrating on multiple levels and that’s why you sought out the horses. 

“Hello?” 

Your eyes fly open and your breath catches in your throat. “Fuck.” 

Bill is standing in the doorway of the barn. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was down here. Cal said I could check out the horses.” 

He doesn’t realize it’s you. You’re too far away and most likely backlit. Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the rush of nerves that cause goosebumps to race across your skin, you step around the horse. 

“That’s fine, Bill. It’s just me.” 

The problem is, Bill is not backlit. You can see his facial expression perfectly. And when he starts to move towards you, with dark eyes and clear intent in his step, you realize it is not fine. There is no hesitation when he reaches you, when his palms cover your cheeks and he kisses you with such force you have no choice but to hold onto him. You feel his fingers apply pressure on your jaw, permission to deepen the kiss, and you grant it immediately. Whiskey and raspberries, that’s what he tastes like and you’re becoming lightheaded. When he finally releases you, it’s to rest his forehead against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re even sweeter than I remember.” 

You smile at that, your fingers doing what you had wanted to do at dinner and skate across the scruff on his cheeks. “I can’t stop remembering.” 

He kisses you again, moving you until your back is against a stall door. His one hand rests at the back of your head to make sure you have a buffer between your skull and the metal bars. The other moves slowly from your waist, rising up your rib cage until he cradles your breast the same way he held the wine glass. You gasp when his thumb drags over your nipple, even through your shirt and bra, a moan coming from him when you arch your back. He takes the opportunity to slide his knee between your thighs and you grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold yourself upright. 

“You like that,” he whispers in a rough voice. 

You can’t even form words right now. Everything about this is new to you. The desire for this man, to give yourself to him and whatever he wants to do to you, is more intoxicating than the entire wine cellar in the house. You grind down on his thigh and your wontoness surprises you. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

Your mind is completely shrouded in want you have no idea what he wants you to say. “Wha…what?” 

His cheeks are flushed, his pupils blown completely black. “Do you want to do this?” 

You nod your head immediately. “Yes, please.” 

He groans as he kisses you again, nipping at your lower lip. He moves his thigh up higher and you move against it. The seam of your jeans with the flex of his muscle provides the perfect pressure on your clit. Your fingers dig into the sinews of his shoulders. 

“Fu…fuck…”

He leans back to watch your face. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me. I want to see you come.” 

Your head tips back as you shake when the release breaks over you. You bite your lip so hard to keep from making noise that you taste the tang of copper. You’re sweating and panting, still holding onto Bill because you’re shaking so hard, you can’t stand. You’re surprised at the gentleness he shows in just holding you, gently running his hands over your back and shoulders. 

When you get partial functionality back in your hands, you reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. You found your release, he didn’t find his. You need to fix that, even the score. He reaches down and takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. “Next time.” 

You struggle with that mindset, where your pleasure comes first. You touch his face, trying to memorize all the details from the colors in his eyes, to the rasp of his scruff, to the shape of his mouth. “Next time, huh?” 

He gives you a quick smile before turning very serious again. “He doesn’t love you.” His lips skim across your cheekbone, your jawline, and he presses his face in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. His hands curl around your waist and shoulder blades, pressing you tightly against him. “I can’t imagine why.” 

Tears prick the back of your eyes as you lean into the embrace. “I can show you why he doesn’t.” 

[alex51324]

Special Park Adventure!

The Special Park Adventure was a kayak tour through the historic tunnel, at the park where Sophie and I take our walks. The only time boats are allowed in the canal and through the tunnel (apart from the Historical Society's boat) is on these tours, and they only do a few of them a year.

We start out on the North side of the tunnel, which is the smaller of the park's two sections. (Our regular walking route is on the other side.) Here are all the kayaks getting ready to go!

This one was my trusty steed for the evening:

Here's the kayak transport and some of the participants and staff:

Now we're on the water, waiting for some of the other people to get in:

Here we're heading towards the tunnel!

I took a bunch of pictures at this stage because I was hanging back while everyone organized themselves into single-file for the tunnel. This one came out pretty good:

I didn't take many in the actual tunnel, because Job One while you're in there is not running into the person in front:

The tunnel connects the two sections of the park, but most of the land on top of it is privately owned, so normally if you want to go to one section from the other, you have to leave the park and drive around to the other bit. Each side has a viewing area where you can look into the tunnel, but the only way to actually go inside is either this tour or the historical society's boat.

Here we are exiting the tunnel. I like how the little ferns grow out of the wall near the entrance:

We emerge into the south side, and wave at some people on the walking path:

Now we paddle up the longer piece of the canal. Sophie and I usually walk on the old towpath on either side of the canal here. (You can cross the canal by going up a hill and over the tunnel.)

I didn't take a lot of pictures on this side, but it was neat seeing it from a new angle, since I'm there all the time. We went the whole way up to the end of the restored canal section, where the historical society's boat lives:

Then we headed back down toward the tunnel, where we had more interpretation from our historical society guide:

There's a wide section here, because when the canal was in use, the boats would sometimes have to wait their turn to go through the tunnel, and this is where they'd do that. The canal originally connected the Susquehanna and Schuylkill rivers, which allowed boat traffic between Philadelphia and Harrisburg (and the various places around Harrisburg, where the farms and mines and so forth were located). It was about 90 miles when it was actually in use, but now there's just a short restored section around the tunnel.

And now we go back through the tunnel and out where we started:

It was a fun little trip! I still want to do one more Kayak Adventure before the season is over--maybe two; the kayak people couldn't tell me for sure how many more weekends they'll be running creek trips. At least next weekend, but after that it depends on how the weather shapes up.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Hi! This is a fic rec of my favorite fics that take place in a small town. These fics are organized by word count from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Given A Chance by fabby / @fabby1d (173k)

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

(or, the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.)

Wild and Unruly by 100percentsassy, Gloria_Andrews / @100percentsassy, @gloriaandrews (123k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

I'll Fly Away by juliusschmidt / @juliusschmidt (122k)

Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not; Harry went to Chicago where he found a boyfriend and couple of college degrees. Six years later, Harry ends up back in Edwardsville for the summer and he and Louis fall into old patterns and discover new ones.

ft. One Direction, the local boyband; Horan’s Bar and Grill; families, most especially children and babies; Officer Liam Payne; many local festivals and fireworks displays; and Anne Cox, PFLAG President.

Halfway Home by itsmotivatingcara / @itsmotivatingcara (103k)

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were improbable childhood friends, much to Harry’s dismay. They were thrown together each summer when Harry was forced to visit Louis’ grandfathers’ ranch in Black Hills, South Dakota. With each passing year their friendship blossomed into something more. When trail rides turned to stolen kisses, and tragedies turned to confessions, until they could no longer deny the inevitable draw they felt for one another.

Though life and their future plans soon set them on different paths.

Ten years later, Louis is the proud owner of Halfway Home Wildlife Refuge. Harry returns to the ranch to escape the perils of his past in London, and though their memories still haunt Louis, he won’t let that deter him from his goals. However, someone has been keeping a close eye on the refuge, and possibly Louis specifically, and Harry’s return may have unleashed more that just old passions. There’s a hunter lurking in the Hills, someone who’s decided they’ve bided their time long enough.

Apple Pie Baked Just Right by 28goldensfics / @28goldens (92k)

“You’re sweet, thank you.” Harry was speaking so quiet it was almost eerie, but his fingers squeezed against Louis’ hand again. “I already feel like I can pretty much be myself with you. I’m glad you moved here, I’ve needed a friend. I hope you keep getting that breath of fresh air you need here.”

 Louis’ heart felt like it could pound out of his chest and onto the floor in front of them.

 “I’m starting to think I will.”

Louis has to get away. The news of his father’s terminal diagnosis, the loss of his job, and the breakup with his girlfriend leads Louis to leave for a life of slower things in the small town of Cedar Hills.

His new neighbor is the Cox Family Apple Farm. Harry Styles, the oldest child of the Cox Family, might just teach him how to live life a little simpler, bake an apple pie, and breathe.

Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds / @fondleeds (88k)

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

-

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites (86k)

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly. ***** OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

So Keep My Candle Bright by whisperdlullaby (78k)

Louis returns to his hometown after four years to find that the reverend’s son has done some growing up of his own.

That's What I'm Here For by taggiecb / @taggiecb (46k)

Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. His wife of nearly thirty years has left him and his children are all grown up and out of the house. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

Home Calls the Heart by itsmotivatingcara / @itsmotivatingcara (44k)

A series of unfortunate events lands Louis Tomlinson in the heart of Texas. After running from his life in London and a performative marriage, he leaves a scandal in his wake. Home calls the heart, as his Nana always said. Though her words couldn’t be truer when he decides to take up her offer to watch over Hyacinth ranch while she travels abroad.

He figured the worst he’d have to deal with would be the meddlesome goats, some repairs and an errant spirit or two. That is, until the gorgeous Cowboy next door makes his presence known.

or

A romcom au.

The Best Kind of Bad by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (40k)

Nobody really understood Harry and Louis. Not even Louis. But for Louis, the world began and ended with Harry, and there were certain things he just wasn’t capable of explaining.

or Louis is the town troublemaker and everyone hates him except for Harry.

Our Little Corner of the World by brownheadedstranger (29k)

AU. Louis is stuck in his mom's diner for the summer. Harry is the line cook with a pickup truck.

Not That Gone Series by abrighteryellow / @a-brighter-yellow

Hello My Name is Harry (2k) Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up. A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.

Not That Gone (60k)

Around four in the afternoon on day two, Harry was dropping kisses on Louis’ chest and heading downwards when he abruptly stopped. “I can move back here,” he said, propping himself up on the mattress with his hands. Louis’ eyes popped open and he looked up at him, totally lost. “What?” “For a while,” Harry continued, the idea taking hold. “Hang out with my mom. Work on my script. Be with you.” Louis had already resigned himself to the fact that this weekend was a crack in the space-time continuum that would soon close, sending him and Harry back to their respective, very different lives. It would be a memory that would keep him warm when he was an old, old man – that time one of People’s 50 Most Beautiful had kept him on his hands and knees for two days straight. He wasn’t so stupid as to hope for more. “You’re crazy,” Louis scoffed. Harry’s eyes shone. “Am I?” A few weeks after Louis and Harry, *ahem*, reconnect at their high school reunion, Harry temporarily moves back home. Louis isn’t sure he has the emotional fortitude for a prolonged fling with the man of the dreams. For Ten Minutes Straight (1k) Louis has a ritual for when Harry’s away – and a good reason for keeping it private.

[niamh-writes-things]

so, as an explanation, I'm going feral over these two and the fact that i have to wait 4 months for my tour date i also just finished an amazing (but uncompleted and orphaned ): ) fic set in the 50s so here's a list of the various fic ideas I've had over the past few months set in various points in history. i also organized them in chronological order for you!

1700s:

Dan is a pirate, and Phil is the son of a very rich merchant who was originally meant to be collateral damage. That was until dan took a liking to him and decided to give him a choice: stick with him and be a pirate, or be left somewhere for the spanish to get him (he probably tells some story about them ripping people’s guts out or smn). Luckily, Phil has always wanted to be a sailor. (in this dan already knows he likes men but phil doesn’t)

1800s:

Regency (1810s)-shorter, maybe a oneshot or only 2-3 chapters- dan and phil are both eligible bachelors at a ball, and after a bit too much champagne they kiss in a back room or something and it awakens something in both of them. Que a lot of sneaking around and stolen kisses

Late 1800s-Phil has various medical issues and has been sent to live by the coast for a bit to get better. Dan is supposed to take care of him and be a companion for walks to the beach and such.

1920s: 

Based on chicago- Phil has been wrongly accused of a crime, and Dan is the best lawyer in town. They fall in love and run away together.

performances-Dan is a pianist working in the nightclub that phil happens to bartend at. They get talking.

1940s: 

phil gets evacuated and has to live with dan -Phil,an ordinary teen boy from Manchester is being evacuated to  some tiny place down south to avoid getting blown up by a german bomb.Dan works on his father’s farm down south,and he isn’t too happy that he’s going to have to share his room with a northern evacuee. (i might have started writing this)

Post war- a boy turns up alone and afraid in the woods near Dan's home. He doesn’t remember anything, but the crows seem to like him an awful lot. (context, its a very fairytale-esque idea. phil was a prince of crows or something that got cursed to be human and doesn't remember anything. the fic includes them living their lives and phil slowly regaining his memory and eventually they both go to find whoever cursed him because they think it's what the other wants, only to have phil decide he wants to live out his days with dan instead, or alternatively, phil wasn't cursed, but dan wished to not be alone anymore so hard and whatever forces there are felt so bad for him that phil was turned from a bird to a human. both have the opportunity to be angsty. also, lets just pretend that phil has natural black hair.)

[comicdiaries]

Getting to tour an Organic Valley farm made a huge impression on me, as you can tell!

[ghoultrifle]

mushy may day seven !!!!

prompt: telling stupid jokes

characters: mount, aeon, cirrus, others mentioned vaguely

word count: 650

summary: what it says on the tin, really. mainly a poorly executed plot line around some of my favourite terrible jokes sdhfsdjkh

below the cut or on ao3 :))

“Oh Mount that was terrible,” Dewdrop says. “Truly awful, take it somewhere else man, it’s lingering like a bad fart.”

“So you don’t like my jokes now, huh? Seven was supposed to eat nine, not your sense of humour!”

A few of the ghouls are sitting in the common room. Recently back from a tour, they have few responsibilities to keep them busy during the day. Each ghoul has their own way of coping with the whiplash of tour days compared to cosy life back at the Ministry but Mountain has taken up reading a ‘One Hundred and One Jokes to Tickle Your Funny Bone’.

“No, I like them Mount, keep going,” Cirrus smiles. She’s happy the earth ghoul is keeping himself occupied, knowing all too well how easy it can be to spiral in these days before chores start up again.

“Okay okay… hmm what about this,” he says, thumbing through the pages as he bites his lip. “Two windmills are standing on a wind farm. One asks ‘What’s your favourite type of music?’” Mountain pauses for a very unnecessary dramatic effect. “The other says, ‘I’m a big metal fan.’” He slaps his knee and guffaws at the joke, letting out the heartiest of chuckles, rivalling that of a father like Omega. “Get it? Because we’re in a metal band,” he points out, painfully oblivious to the disinterest of his packmates.

Aeon, however, is having a great time. Compared with English, Ghoulish is a very direct language, more akin to those animals use to communicate about food and danger. So being topside and learning English with the pack also means being subjected to Mountain’s jokes and enjoying them. Everyone enjoys the jokes at some point, just most ghouls have heard them all too many times before. That’s the joy of new life- experiencing things for the first time- and Mountain takes pride in being able to give those experiences. The cogs turn in Aeon’s brain as he feels out for the punchline, “Oh, that was a good one!” He exclaims, making a mental note to tell it to Aurora when she gets back.

“I think you’ll like this one, Ae, have you heard the rumour about the butter?”

“No?” He answers cautiously.

“Never mind, I shouldn’t spread it,” Mountain smirks.

Aeon has a toothy grin adorning his face as he points finger guns at Mountain. “Woah, you got me good there Mounty!” He chuckles.

Cirrus looks on in adoration at the bonding between the ghouls before adding her own favourite silly joke into the mix. “Hey, what about this one?” She asks, garnering the boys’ attention. “How did Freud get his hair so soft and shiny?” With the psychoanalyst mentioned, several ears perk up to hear what they think will be the inevitable daddy-related punchline.

“He used classical conditioning!”

A wave of groans filter across the room along with a litany of jovial, light-hearted remarks at her genius joke.

“No, that one takes it, worst. joke. ever.”

“Freud is turning in his grave at that, Cir.”

“That was far worse than Mount’s, get out!”

A look of concern spreads across Rain’s face as the comments roll in, “Guys stop being so mean, it can’t be that serious.” Cirrus disagrees and repeats the joke for the water ghoul who was, at the time of the original telling, absorbed in his book. “Oh no, yeah, that was awful, you gotta leave.”

Cirrus chimes in, “Yeah! Part of telling awful jokes is the hilarious reactions you get. Aether once told me to get on a one-way flight to space and to this day it’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever received,” she says, reminiscing.

The evening descends into each ghoul telling the worst joke they can think of. Sighs, groans, and disappointed looks are rife, making the evening as enjoyable as it is.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Kate narrating a documentary about bee-keeping and honeymaking? Earthshot giving us a 6 episode documentary series about their winners narrated by Cate Blanchett or a 2-hour special about Cape Town and South Africa (and every Earthshot city) by David Attenborough or a local expert? A 30-minute travel program about Cornwall by the Duchy of Cornwall? 3-minute YouTube videos about their charities and patronages produced by the people who work there or who benefit from services posted ahead of their visits? William narrating a documentary about his homeless initiative in Cornwall? A summer exhibition in KP’s display hall of Kate’s dresses or a Kate-curated show of the Royal Collection or loans from her patronages?

Yes, yes, and yes!!!! William and Catherine really are the first gen of royals to belong wholly to the social media generation. They should use it’s global reach much more expansively and more expertly. 

For Catherine: yes to beekeeping lol! Show the children - during small, limited vignettes - helping her. Further though, she has a degree in Art History. The BRF/RCT has a priceless art collection, most of it largely unseen/unknown by the greater public. Pair these two gems together in some (“fun yet informative”) documentaries…even a series. Same for the BRF photo collection. The BRF has been photographed by iconic photographers…Cecil Beaton, Richard Avedon (D/Dss of Windsor lol), Annie Leibowitz, Mario Testino (those stunning Diana photos). Sure, some of it’s been done before, but let the people see these treasures again in an updated modern media presentation - interspersed/“edited” :) with pertinent film footage and interviews - and hosted by Catherine.

And not just the BRF art/photography treasures, but ditto for their fashion (an entire series in itself!), jewelry/tiaras (what exactly IS inside the Royal Vault, anyway, hiding unseen?), castles/palaces/homes (let’s see inside Balmoral, Sandringham, Kensington, Adelaide Cottage (limited access), Frogmore House - but minus Frog Cott…we already know what Soho House design looks like, although Frog Cott cemetery might be informative…), priceless antique furniture, properties/gardens, horse stables and animals, even their vehicles (rare carriages, automobiles, boats, aircraft)! How about a documentary on the Royal Ballet, hosted by Catherine and Charlotte, w footage included of Granny Diana at the RB? Each of these categories could easily fill an episode, presented by C. The catch, of course, would be to present all of this “to the people” in a way that doesn’t scream “let y'all eat cake!” but rather “this is yours, be proud of its beauty and history, which also is yours” ala Jackie Kennedy at the White House.

And separately from the above “fine arts” themes, yes, let’s also see much more in-depth coverage - by William and Catherine - of their charities and the bts work/progress involved, especially as related to Early Years research and work!

For William: yes to a documentary tour and inside look at the Duchy of Cornwall (that is much larger than just Cornwall lol)! William could pilot the helicopter - filmed up-close-and-personal inside the cockpit - as he takes us on the tour, with on-the-ground coverage as well, of course. And YES to expanded coverage of Earthshot and the ongoing progress of its winners (and nominees). Show the people what innovations Earthshot is catalyzing. This also has the built in advantage of appealing to youth, diversity/CW, and cutting edge climate change concerns….ie, the future. BTW tie in Earthshot with the Duchy of Cornwall and show us how the Duchy is incorporating climate change initiatives…organic farming, wind power, sustainability, re-planting, etc.

All of this could be widely and easily disseminated to a large, young, global audience both on social media/KP youtube and via media networks (ITV, BBC, etc.). Get busy, William and Catherine! Make your impending future reign a glorious one, a British Renaissance! (From an American fan with British ancestry)

*********

My hope is for Kate to include the kids in one of her promo videos for her Christmas carol service. I’d love to see them decorating a tree together or baking holiday cookies while they’re still young and small(ish).