#Psychic in North York

[astrogurudeva803]

Apart from the lavish lifestyle community in the North York city lies a hidden realm that taps into mysticism. Individuals worldwide love indulging in the spirituality of the human psyche. Only psychics possess the unique ability to bridge the gap between the material and spiritual worlds. In today’s generation, many people look for healing from these intuitive practitioners. As they can offer glimpses into the unknown. Humans keep fascinated about an uncertain future as we all love knowing about things that are naturally hidden from us. In this blog, we’re gonna delve into the fascinating world of psychic in North York. We will learn about their practices, beliefs, and their role in contemporary society.

[panditshivatejji]

Psychic in North York does not boast of forecasting future but ability to guide you on how to move forward in concerned area of your life.

[masterkrishna]

Negative Energy Removal, Black Magic Removal in Ontario, Toronto, Canada

[a-very-tired-jew]

Being a secular Jew in places where there aren't a lot of Jews to begin with.

This has been on my mind a lot these past few months. I am originally from the Philly area, which has a large Jewish population, and grew up surrounded by secular and religious Jews. However, in pursuing my career I've moved across the USA and lived in the South East, the Midwest, the Great Plains, and the Central Southern region. In all of these areas I have been the only Jew my new social circle has met, and on every occasion they have this perceived stereotype of what a Jew is that is contradictory and they don't even know it. I've stated before that I grew up in the Reconstructionist movement, but in all honesty I have always been a secular Jew and neither myself nor my family practiced Halaka (even my Conservative grandparents didn't, nor did my great-grandparents). Part of this is due to the culture in the north east, the pseudo-assimilation, and the integration of Jewish culture with many other cultures. I grew up eating cheesesteaks and hoagies from Jewish delis. I worked in a deli that sold kosher products on one side and cured pork products on the other. Bagel sandwiches with bacon? Absolutely. Were there people who kept kosher in my community and social circle? Of course, but they got a steak sandwich instead of a cheesesteak and we thought nothing of it. But moving out of the area? Hoo boy. I would eat bacon and goyim would absolutely freak out on me. "Aren't you Jewish?! YOU CAN'T EAT BACON!". Not realizing that there were Jews who didn't abide by those rules. They would then tell me all about Judaism from the TV they watched and/or other media they consumed, and it'd always have a scene of secular New York Jews eating pepperoni pizza. They literally had an example right there in front of them and they didn't understand. I remember even bringing it up to a friend and they went "wait, pepperoni is made from pork?" That alone made me take psychic damage. So this is for my goys out there who seem to think every Jew keeps dietary laws and restrictions. We don't. We have nothing against those that do either. We're all one big tribe with a lot of variety in it. But we do all have IBS and are lactose intolerant.

[xf-cases-solved]

S1E13: Beyond the Sea

Case: A young couple is kidnapped in North Carolina, and the authorities have five days to find them before they're murdered. Unfortunately, they have no leads, except for the testimony of Luther Lee Boggs—a serial killer Mulder put behind bars years ago—who is claiming to have psychic knowledge that will lead them to the missing children. In some serious turning of the tables, Mulder is skeptical of Boggs' claims, whereas Scully—whose father just died, and who is desperate for just one more message from him to know that they didn't part on bad terms—finds herself believing Boggs, much to her chagrin. After Mulder is shot, Scully is on her own to work with Boggs, leading to some sexy fucking "Silence of the Lambs" -esque scenes that make this episode not just a top tier s1 episode, but a top tier episode of all time. Mulder tears up his New York Knicks shirt (he probably has like seventeen tho, so it's okay), Scully is scared to believe, and Brad Dourif puts his entire goddamn pussy into playing Luther Boggs. A+++, fam.

Does someone die in the cold open: Yes! But it wasn't a crime. Scully gets the dreaded "middle of the night phone call" and learns that her father just died. (Even tho she just saw him sitting in her armchair across the room. Say what???) 

Does Mulder present a slideshow: No. 

Does the evidence survive the investigation: This is another where it depends on what you mean by evidence. Evidence of the actual, literal crime? Yes, that actually worked out like how normal police work is meant to go if you're good at your job. Evidence of Boggs' psychic abilities, however? Unfortunately, proof of those went with him to the gas chamber. 

Whodunit: Lucas Henry, who is either Boggs' accomplice, or somebody Boggs keeps having psychic visions of. It's up to you to decide.

Convictions: Lucas Henry would have been convicted if he hadn't crashed through several floors and fell on his face directly onto some concrete, so we'll give it to 'em.

Did they solve it: While the supernatural element remains a mystery, the crime itself is solved. This one is a resounding yes!

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Confusing and upsetting your loved ones by appearing to them after your death. Look, we all die—it's a fact of life!—but just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to be dull. When accidents strike, illnesses rage, or the clock has simply run out, keep the fun going by confusing and upsetting your loved ones by appearing to them after your death. By keeping the excitement of living alive by causing trauma to those closest to you as they mourn your loss, you're guaranteeing your time in the afterlife is off to a great start!

*Confusing and upsetting your loved ones by appearing to them after your death is especially recommended for those with loved ones who are particularly skeptical, or who are looking for answers to ambiguities left behind after your departure.

Try it today! Or, well, when you die, we mean. Which might be today!

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 6 (holy shit, three in a row?? unprecedented!)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, it's me" phone calls: 1

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 4 (Mulder was actually the one who was out of the room whenever Boggs said something that resonated with Scully)

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 5 (pew pew) 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 3 ½ (half point bc she should have died, but she had that warning from Boggs, so it was kind of a toss up) 

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 8 (i changed the stat to add in "uncomfortably intimate" bc especially in these first few seasons, a lot of the MSR moments are more like... buddy, i get that you're going through it, but that is your coworker, why are you holding them so gently with so much love in your eyes? anyway, Mulder cupping her face in the beginning, and Mulder putting his hand on her gigantic 90s pant suit shoulder pad at the end are the ones i'm counting)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 1

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 1

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 5 

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car are Hurt or Killed: 1 (new stat!)

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 1 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 2 (new stat! first one was actually in that snore fest "Conduit," but i didn't want to go back and add it since i just considered making it a stat now)

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 2

Total Number of Maggie Scully sightings: 1 (new stat!)

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 3 ½

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 2 (we stan Beyond the mother fucking Sea)

[hildathesaint]

Hilda's herborium: Rose

Scientific name: genus Rosa with about 360 species

Country of Origin: China

Magical Qualities:

Enhances female intuition

Psychic work and dream work

Protection (having a rose with thorns helps with this)

Luck

Avoidance of conflict

Beauty

Confidence

Sexuality

Truth

Description

Rosa rubiginosa is the scientific name for rose. Roses belong to the Rosaceae family, and there are about 360 species in the genus Rosa. Erect bushes with stems are their defining characteristics.

Roses come in a variety of colours, such as red, white, yellow, blue, and many others. Roses are prized for their vivid colour, intricate petal arrangement, and fragrant scent. It also serves a functional purpose of slope stabilisation. The size of rose differs depending on the species. Roses are simple to grow since they are easily hybridised.

The majority of rose species are from Asia, while some are from Europe, North America, and other places.

Folklore

Roses have an extremely long history, with fossil evidence showing their existence over 35 million years ago. Around 5000 years ago, cultivation of roses is thought to have begun in China although it was only in the late 18th century that this type of rose made it to Europe. The cultivated roses from China were prized for their ability to bloom repeatedly each year and these cultivations ended up forming the base for most of the roses we see today after they were bred with hardy native roses.

Because of its bitter-sweet paradox of thorns and sweet smelling blooms, the rose earned its romantic associations. Love is both bitter and sweet, making the rose a perfect representation of it. The Greeks believed red roses were dyed by the blood of Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, after she cut her foot while running to attend the wounds of Adonis. Other myths suggest Cupid, God of Love, splashed white roses with his nectar thus turning them red. Either way, red too has strong associations with love and romance. Cleopatra strew roses across her room when she was with her lovers so they thought of her whenever they smelled one. Roses are commonly worn or used to during love spells to increase the power of the spell. Rose water and petals can be added to love baths to attract love and romance, while rose hips can be strung into a necklace to attract love. It is said that you can also take three (or more) green rose leaves and write the name of your lovers on each. The one that stays the green the longest is said to be the one.

Rose is also a plant of valor and protection. During the War of the Roses, both houses, Lancaster and York, adopted red and white roses to represent their houses. The red rose ended up later becoming the emblem of England. Rose petals and hips can be carried as a personal protective charms. In fact, they were often included in posies to ward off the Black plague. Rose petals around the home can calm personal stress and soothe household problems as well.

Quotes about roses

“A rose dreams of enjoying the company of bees, but none appears. The sun asks: ‘Aren’t you tired of waiting?’ ‘Yes,’ answers the rose, ‘but if I close my petals, I will wither and die.’” – Paulo Coelho

“The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change: Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.” – Paulo Coelho

“If I had a rose for every time I thought of you, I’d be picking roses for a lifetime.” – Swedish Proverb

“Roses fall, but the thorns remain.” – Dutch Proverb

“A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.” – Leo Buscaglia

“How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew!” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

“When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a rose with the other.” -Chinese Proverb

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Doctor Raymond Stantz (1984)

The Heart of The Ghostbusters Doctor Raymond Stantz, PhD

The heart of the Ghostbusters. Raymond is the one who is most interested in ghosts, and will often be the most interested in ghosts, and will often be the most excited when encountering something supernatural. He provides knowledge of folklore to compliment Egon's scientific knowledge when figuring out how to deal with a ghost.

"Everything was fine with our system, until the power grid was shut off by dickless here."

Name

Full Legal Name: Raymond Francis Stantz

First Name: Raymond

Meaning: From the Germanic name 'Raginmund', composed of the elements 'Regin' 'Advice, Counsel, Decision' and 'Munt' 'Protection'.

Pronunciation: RAY-mund

Origin: English, French

Middle Name: Francis

Meaning: English form of the Late Latin name 'Franciscus' meaning 'Frenchman', ultimately from the Germanic tribe of the Franks, who were named for a type of spear that they used.

Pronunciation: FRAN-sis

Origin: English, French

Surname: Stantz

Meaning: Variation on 'Stanz', a habitational name from places called 'Stans' or 'Stantz' in Austria and Switzerland

Pronunciation: STAN-ts

Origin: German

Titles: Doctor, Professor, Mr

Nicknames: Ray, Francine (By Venkman), Frank (By Nova)

Characteristics

Age: 32

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human (Touched by the 'Psychic Realm')

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: July 1st 1952

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Non-Religious (Formerly Christian)

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, Latin, Hebrew, Greek, Spanish, Arabic, Norse, Phoenician, Chinese

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Cancer

Actor: Dan Aykroyd

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Cutchogue, Long Island, New York

Current Residence: North Moore Street, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 6'0" / 183 cm

Weight: 200 lbs / 91 kg

Eye Colour: Heterochromatic (1 Green, 1 Brown)

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: Once dyed his hair blond in college

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker, Smoker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed (Autistic)

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Ghostbusters (Founding Member)

Friends: Peter Venkman, Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, Janine Melnitz, Dana Barrett, Louis Tully (Sort-Of), Mars Teufel, Nova Teufel

Significant Other: None (Crush: Nova Teufel)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Silas Stantz (Deceased, Father), Joanna Stantz (Deceased, Mother, Née Gwerder)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Carl Stantz (36, Brother), Jean Stantz (30, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Nicola Stantz (34, Carl's Wife, Née Woodrow)

Nieces & Nephews: Tyler Stantz (12, Nephew), Jacob Stantz (8, Nephew), Saffron Stantz (10, Niece)

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Engineering PhD, Metallurgy PhD, Astronomy PhD, Chemistry PhD, History PhD, Physics PhD, Parapsychology PhD

Occupation: Ghostbuster

Employer: Ghostbusters

Expertise:

Parapsychologist

Engineering Expert

Metallurgist

Astronomer

Biologist (Micro & Marine Biology)

Chemist

Historian

Marine Spongiologist

Physicist

Architectural Knowledge

Polyglot

Occult Literature Knowledge

Faults:

Nicotine Addicted

Prone to 'Shut Down's

Can be Controlled via Twisting His Ears

Susceptible to Possession

Backstory: In his childhood, Ray Stantz went to Camp Waconda. Sitting at the campfire and roasting Stay Puft Marshmallows became one of his fondest memory. In his adulthood, Dr. Ray Stantz worked in the private sector at one point but he was not adept at producing the results they wanted. By 1984, Ray's parents passed away and he inherited the home he was born in. Ray went to work at Columbia University and studied the paranormal phenomena with Dr. Peter Venkman and Dr. Egon Spengler. Egon and Ray were usually the first to interview case subjects, even people Peter called "schizos" no matter how far-fetched their stories were.

[blakegopnik]

THE FRIDAY PIC shows a pair of little sculptures, under 10″ tall, from Natia Lemay’s new solo show at Yossi Milo gallery in Chelsea. I wrote a few words about these pieces for today’s New York Times, pasted at the bottom of this post.

But I didn’t have space to discuss how Lemay’s work reveals the complexities of any discussion of “native culture,” rather than taking the concept for granted. As I said in the Times, the format of Lemay’s carvings gives them links to totem poles — usually associated with First Nations of the West Coast. The soapstone they are carved from tends to evoke the Inuit and Eskimo peoples of the far north, and their vexed relationship with “fine-art sculpture” in the European sense. So what does it mean for a fine artist like Lemay, with roots among the Mi’kmaq of the East Coast, to call on those “foreign” traditions? Her pieces don’t answer that question, but they manage to raise it in powerful ways. 

And here’s my Times review:

Three tiny sculptures, each less than 10 inches tall, fill all the psychic room in Natia Lemay’s solo at Yossi Milo.

She stacks up miniature versions of banal furnishings — a chair, a sofa, a rocking horse — glued one on top of the other. Carved from soapstone, they copy the crude softwood miniatures that kids build from dollhouse kits.

Lemay was born into hardship in Toronto, with roots in African-Canadian culture and among the Mi’kmaq peoples of Canada’s East Coast. Her generic home goods seem to commemorate the rough years she spent moving between public housing, homeless shelters and low-end rentals. I think of her sculptures as “memory towers,” and their diminutive scale seems to concentrate their energies rather than diminish them. (Don’t memories always feel small — small enough to fit into a skull?)

Lemay links her towers to the Native art of the totem pole, which makes sense in terms of their form and mnemonic function.

The soapstone she uses, some of which came to her from her father, also recalls Indigenous crafts. Using that material to render the troubled urban world she has known, Lemay claims it as her continuing birthright. She reclaims it from the decades it has spent in the tourist trade.

There are also 20 oil paintings in Lemay’s show. To me, they accept the authority of the old master tradition rather than pushing back against it. But then, I feel that way about most recent painting. Lemay’s terrific little sculptures seem more like hand grenades, primed to blow a hole in our hierarchies. 

[chirpingfromthebox]

A Case for Chaos

With team names and logos coming out today(?), I figure I should dust off this ol' draft of mine and beat the clock to submitting my pitch for PWHL Minnesota's team name.

Since I did one for New York I figure I am duty-bound to make a case for my own team as well.

This way if they pick something stupid, I will have solid proof that I could (and did) come up with a better idea.

And, dear readers, I will ride that small sense of superiority until the wheels fall off.

Part 1:

These Options Are Bad

Let's start by killing some of the other options I've heard floated around for all these months.

The Superior.

Everyone in the Twin Cities has a weird obsession with Lake Superior and I do get it: it's pretty amazing. And I too love the north shore. If I were to move out of the cities I would probably dip to Duluth.

But here's the thing: we are just one of the states and provinces bordering the lake. And we are not even close to being the one with the most area connected to it! So it's far from a distinctly Minnesotan thing. And it isn't even connected to the city they actually play in!

In spite of what happened the last time we named a sports team after lakes, I do love the idea of referencing lakes somehow. And yet I still think trying to claim Superior as our own is as silly as a team being called the Atlantic or something.

And if all that wasn't enough, the biggest reason against it is this: if you call yourself "The Superior" and you lose? You look like such an idiot.

"And with that loss the Superior will continue their seven game losing steak."

I mean, look at that. The jokes against you write themselves.

If you lose you sound ridiculous and if you win you sound pompous. It's a lose-lose situation.

The Valkyries.

Even if it's not intentional it seems way too much like an play on Minnesota's football team The Vikings.

As such: automatic disqualification.

The Reign.

I get it. Purple is a historically royal color. There's the whole Purple Rain play on words from Minnesota native Prince's 1984 movie/album/song. It's clever.

And more importantly it actually works with their prechosen color of purple, which is honestly a hard one to match.

I love wordplay too much to be mad if they went for it. But once again: the loftier your name is the more you sound like an idiot if you lose.

If you went on a losing streak someone on the playground call you the "reigning losers."

And that's just a wicked burn.

The Frost / The Freeze.

I've heard this one floated around since those teaser pictures dropped. But I stand firm that "The Minnesota Freeze" sounds like some sort of Midwest twist on a sno-cone.

It will not get me hyped, it will make just make me want a treat.

The Monarchs.

The Monarch butterfly is the state butterfly. The word can also mean royalty. Purple is a royal color. I see what they're doing here.

But Monarch butterflies are Orange.

Having that on a team with Purple jerseys would constantly give me psychic damage.

(listen, this is my post and I will disqualify things under whatever criteria I want, okay?)

The Grey Ducks.

Honestly? I can't say I don't like it. It's silly so no big league team would pick it. But I like silly things!

People not from around here probably don't get it, but for some reason or another Minnesota seems to be the only state that plays the child's game Duck, Duck, Grey Duck, while everyone else plays Duck, Duck, Goose.

You all already know what I'm going to say here though, right?

Grey is not Purple.

It's weird. It bugs me. And for that reason: No thank you.

Part 2:

Chaos Reigns

With some of the things I don't want out of that way, let's get to what I do want.

My choice for team name would be:

The Minnesota Chaos.

I love this one.

I think it's a strong word. It sounds really cool while also sounding fun. It's a primordial concept, something that was here since the beginning and will be here after the end.

And it's fitting.

Minnesota was all over the place this inaugural season (and post season). They truly could not be predicted. They traded their 2nd round draft pick mid-season. Despite only needing a single point to clench the playoffs they instead went on a massive losing streak at the end of the season, got in anyway, lose two more games, and then reverse sweep to make it into the playoffs? Friggin' wild stuff.

And the great thing about Chaos? It works if you're winning or losing. Chaos can be something strong and it can be something weak. So you sound great no matter how you're doing.

And you've already learned I'm weird about colors, so does purple work here as a color?

Yes!

Your tagline could be "Chaos Reigns" and cash in on that royalty angle. And purple is also often associated with mysticism and magic, and those things have a very chaotic vibe to them if you ask me.

And you know what? There's just a lot of weird fun you can have with chaos.

Part 3:

Getting Weird With It

I personally hate mascots, because costumed characters make me uneasy and I don't know how to interact with them. However, there's some fun you could have with this.

Like the mascot could have one name, but then have like 3 or 4 different mascot costumes and every home game roll a die to determine which mascot is used that day.

Heck, pick up as many different mascot costumes as you can find and use a different one every time. Mix and match pieces from different costumes.

Maybe a mascot from an entirely different team would show up instead? Who knows! But it would be weird good fun seeing who the mascot for the day was.

Look! T.C. Bear is here in a Chaos jersey. Why? Why not?!

Likewise I would sell some merch with the logo spot blank so people could sew in whatever random thing they wanted.

(They would never go for this though, because people hate extra work and the league would want to have a distinct identity to sell their product. But once again this is my post and I can dream whatever silly things I want!)

I doodled out some possible logo ideas, but I can't nail down one I love. But I like the idea of maybe doing some sort of riff on a butterfly symbol to have a chaos theory connection?

--------------

--------------

Anyways, I've got a million more ridiculous ideas for why this would be a fun idea and I could go on and on. But I'll save y'all from further silliness.

Thank you for sticking around for this silly post. And happy name day to us all. Hopefully we got some goods ones?

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Heather Mac Donald

Published: May 9, 2024

The female voices rose high-pitched and shrill above the crowd:

“Five, six, seven, eight, Israel is a terrorist state.”

“We don’t want no Zionists here, say it loud, say it clear.”

“Resistance is justified when people are occupied.”

The voices that answered them were also overwhelmingly female, emanating from hundreds of students chanting and marching around tents pitched in front of Columbia University’s neoclassical Butler Library, part of an effort in late April to prevent the university from uprooting the encampment.

The female tilt among anti-Israel student protesters is an underappreciated aspect of the pro-Hamas campus hysteria. True, when activists need muscle (to echo University of Missouri professor Melissa Click’s immortal call during the 2015 Black Lives Matter protests), males are mobilized to smash windows and doors or hurl projectiles at the police, for example. But the faces behind the masks and before the cameras are disproportionately female, as seen in this recent gem from the Princeton demonstrations.

Why the apparent gender gap? One possible reason is that women constitute majorities of both student bodies and the metastasizing student-services bureaucracies that cater to them. Another is the sex skew in majors. The hard sciences and economics, whose students are less likely to take days or weeks out from their classes to party (correction: “stand against genocide”) in cool North Face tents, are still majority male. The humanities and soft social sciences, the fields where you might even get extra credit for your intersectional activism, are majority female. (Not surprisingly, males have spearheaded recent efforts to guard the American flag against desecration.) In progressive movements, the default assumption now may be to elevate females ahead of males as leaders and spokesmen. But most important, the victim ideology that drives much of academia today, with its explicit enmity to objectivity and reason as white male constructs, has a female character.

Student protests have always been hilariously self-dramatizing, but the current outbreak is particularly maudlin, in keeping with female self-pity. “The university would rather see us dead than divest,” said a member of the all-female press representatives of UCLA’s solidarity encampment on X. The university police and the Los Angeles Police Department “would rather watch us be killed than protect us.” (The academic Left, including these anti-Zionists, opposes police presence on campus; UCLA chancellor Gene Block apologized in June 2020 after the LAPD lawfully mustered on university property during the George Floyd race riots.) Command of language is not a strong point of these student emissaries. “There needs to be an addressment (sic) of U.S. imperialism and its ties to the [University of California] system,” said another UCLA encampment spokeswoman.

It was not too long ago when administrators started bringing in therapy dogs to campus libraries and dining halls to help a female-heavy student body cope with psychic distress, especially after the election of Donald Trump. “Trigger warnings” were implemented to protect female students from Ovid’s Metamorphoses and other great works of literature. Campus discourse and its media echo chamber rang with accounts of the mental-health crisis on campus, whose alleged sufferers were overwhelmingly female.

Par for the course, then, when the editors at the Columbia Law Review (majority female) adopted the rhetoric of trauma in demanding that Columbia Law School hand out a universal pass for Spring 2024 coursework. A May 1 action by the New York Police Department to evict violent trespassers from an administration building had left them, they wrote,  “highly emotional,” “irrevocably shaken,” “unwell,” and “unable to focus”—in other words, displaying all the symptoms of Victorian neurasthenia.

It was not too long ago when a predominantly female professoriate, student population, and bureaucratic apparatus embraced the idea that students’ “safety” should be protected against the “hate speech” that allegedly jeopardized it. (Males, by contrast, place greater emphasis on academic freedom and truth-seeking, regardless of the alleged emotional consequences of intellectual inquiry.) Examples of dangerous speech included arguments that racial disparities are not caused by racism and that human beings cannot change their sex by proclamation.

Now, while still asserting their own unsafety, the pro-Hamas protesters have done an about-face when it comes to political disagreement and “safety,” at least where pro-Israel students are concerned. Nas Issa, a Palestinian alumna of Columbia University, told the New York Times that she saw a difference between feeling uncomfortable and feeling that you are in danger. Challenges to your identity or political ideology “can be personally affecting,” said Issa. “But I think the conflation between that and safety—it can be a bit misleading.”

It was also not too long ago when college campuses were shutting down or locking students in their dorms as an anti-Covid policy, notwithstanding overwhelming evidence showing that adolescents faced virtually no chance of serious Covid complications. This zero-risk policy, in its inability to balance costs and benefits rationally, was quintessentially female. It is fitting, therefore, that N95 masks have been repurposed as go-to accessories for the most up-to-date anti-settler-colonialist look. Females at the Columbia rally in front of Butler Library passed out the masks to the few participants not already wrapped up like mummies. When asked what the point was, one distributor answered, “to protect against Covid”—an answer that, sadly, could as easily be sincere as duplicitous.

Assuming the latter to be the case, hiding one’s face to escape accountability for one’s actions is the antithesis of manly virtue. The swaddled students would say that they have been forced into such precautions by the risk of “doxing.” But while a home address is properly private and should not be disclosed without permission, a face is public, and participation in public protest fair game for political accountability. The muffled freedom fighters are also aping Third World terrorists, of course, but the worst that might befall these revolutionary wannabes is rejection from their favored investment or consulting firm, not execution.

The dead white males emblazoned on the frieze of Columbia’s Butler Library would not have been surprised by the scene below them. Homer, Herodotus, Sophocles, Plato, Aristotle, Demosthenes, Cicero, and Virgil knew a thing or two about herd behavior and the irrationality of the mob, even if the students knew nothing about the great minds etched above. Our classical forebears developed philosophy, history, and the arts of persuasion to overcome the mind-numbing conformity on display at the greensward.

The founders of Columbia University would have been alarmed, however, to see students illegally colonizing campus grounds and vandalizing college buildings. They would have been dumbfounded to learn that university administrators were meekly negotiating with the vandals and that faculty in neon vests were protecting the trespassers. The idea that student demands should set the school’s agenda would have struck any nineteenth-century academic as surreal.

Universities now assume that students have the right (some would say the duty) to disrupt the system; they bow before students’ every whim. The pro-Hamas protests have unleashed a wave of 1960s nostalgia. They remind Serge Schmemann, a member of the New York Times editorial board, of those “stormy, fateful and thrilling days” of 1968, when Columbia students took control of campus buildings and held an administrator hostage for 26 hours. A front-page Times article on campus activism claimed that college protesters bring “fresh thinking . . . to the world’s most difficult questions.”

Actually, the pro-Hamas encampments have little to do with “thinking,” fresh or otherwise. Like the spread of trans identity among young females, the tent eruptions are a case of social contagion. No change in Israel’s tactics in the Gaza Strip over the last two months explains the ubiquity of encampments now. Rather, they are copy-cat behavior, like the early 1960s hula-hoop craze among teenyboppers—accelerated by the fact, so galling for the participants, that they are about to lose their sympathetic administrative foils come summer vacation.

Schmemann enthuses that disruptive student protests are an “extension of education by other means.” If so, that education now means refusing to engage with contrary viewpoints. At the April 29 protest at Columbia, a masked marcher was wearing a “Fags for Falestine” (not a typo) t-shirt. Asked how far he thought he would get organizing a gay-pride demonstration in Gaza, he stormed off and declined to answer. Every other question posed to the zombie file, such as whether a black protester knew anything about the long history of Arabs enslaving black Africans—a practice ended only by Britain’s naval vigilance—or was aware of current racial views among Arabs, was met with a similar stony silence.

Two days before the march, Iraq passed a law imposing up to 15 years’ imprisonment for gay sex. One of the chants whined out by Columbia’s female chant-callers was:

Hands off Iran, hands of Iraq and the Middle East; We want justice, we want peace.

The protesters’ demands for LGBTQ justice extend only to docile Western powers. They give their Middle Eastern idols’ overt homophobia a free pass—if they even know about it.

Theater requires the willing suspension of disbelief. But to take seriously the narcissistic melodramas played out on campus quads today requires active commitment to untruth—the untruth that the students know enough about the world to deserve attention from adults; the untruth that they are engaged in heroic behavior, when their brightly colored tents resemble nothing so much as childhood forts, well provisioned with cookies and comic books; the untruth that the trespassers and vandals possess any bargaining leverage independent of what the university voluntarily confers on them; the untruth that an American college could have any effect on Middle East politics. These mediagenic morality plays are well-rehearsed; they spring from hundreds of such theatrical interactions over the last several decades between self-involved students proclaiming various forms of victimhood and co-dependent student-services bureaucrats who need performative conflict to justify their jobs.

But while the “uprisings” will have no effect on the Middle East, administrators’ prolonged paralysis in dealing with them, only now cracking up here and there, will confirm their participants’ self-importance—what Schmemann calls the “frightening and beautiful . . . faith that mere students could do something about what’s wrong with the world.” Graduates will take this self-importance with them into what used to be called the real world, now being remade in the image of intersectional theory, with the same teary, excitable females leading the way.

--

This is indicative of the female shift to the far-left, as well as the ideological infiltration of the Humanities. The mere presence of corrupt domains such as "Palestine Studies" proves this.

We're looking at live-action Gender Studies in real time.

[sleepydross]

Chapter One, Route_B: A Hard Left Turn

A Chapter of the 'SEER' or 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence / Reification' Storyline. This is Route_B. For Route_A, see the link included.

https://www.tumblr.com/sleepydross/736565213088858112/chapter-one-routea-clerks-too-a-chapter-of?source=share

CW: Gore, body horror, extreme death and dismemberment, surreal concepts, disgusting imagery, a lot of really quite rude words (I said fuck folks Im sorry), implications of loss, plainly stated memory alteration and manipulation, horror in general.

Excerpt, 'Dreams, And Their Implications,' Dr. Alex Sing, 2023

'…The understanding of dreams has come a long way, in recent years. We've seen sleep studies, and brain scans, and complicated medical procedures involving the implantation of probes in the brain and the use of radiological dyes. We have seen brilliant doctors, brilliant scientists, translate the language of the brain into perceptible images, things we can look at to see what people see when they sleep.

What most of you haven't seen is the secret, concealed studies that have been done into dreams and their… atypical side effects on local reality. In a number of cases, highly active psionics (Humans with the natural capability towards psychic phenomenon) have outright distorted reality around them during particularly intense dreams. This is, in fact, a detectable distortion due to the common presence of exotic particles and low level radiation.

In fact, the fabric of reality is what we are here to discuss. Some time ago, scientists working for the Department of Unnatural / Supernatural Knowledge, DUSK, discovered that this fabric could be willfully manipulated - and unwillfully. The very concept of luck is a manipulation of randomness in a local area, not a change in reality itself, but a wrinkling of probability…

And with this discovery came the first breakthrough in direct measure of the fabric of reality.

With THAT discovery, the scientists of DUSK discovered that the latent alterations made by dreams were growing more widespread, even in those not terribly active, those lacking psionic capability. Concurrently, a rise in psionic capability was recorded, and has been recorded every single year since.

But the reason why eluded them, has eluded them. Their experimentation began in 1971.

We have questions.

Did their experiment cause this? Or did they merely expand human consciousness into uncharted waters?

We don't know what could lie in those terrible, black depths, in the ocean outside of our collective thought based tidepool…

However, we are smart enough to fear it, unlike our predecessors.'

"I want to know what the FUCK is going on!" Haller shouted, standing in the action room. The site was deep black, so far off the grid and so unregistered that no one present even had so much as a dress shoe on - the FBI and CIA had erected it for counter terrorism reasons, erected being a strong word for appropriating an abandoned warehouse near a defunct rail line about six hours outside of New York City.

Outside of the blacked out windows, only forest and darkness waited. It was the middle of the damned night, and Haller had just arrived. The helicopter on the roof was already working up to beating gravity into submission, the soundproofing turning the thump-swah of its blades into weak vibrations one could only detect if they knew there was a helo taking off in the first place.

On the main screen, in place on the north wall, she stared at satellite photographs of an area approximately as far from NYC as the black site itself, which was little comfort considering that the area was apparently, very suddenly, taller than the empire state building and approximately a half mile in diameter.

"Ma'am, I assure you, we're trying to figure it out," Agent Muskwe said, quietly. Haller watched him sip his coffee and gesture at the screen. "Ground images."

An image replaced the satellite photos, digitally signed as being taken by field team November, one of Haller's favorite teams. Their names were classified, but she knew-

"What the hell?" she whispered. The image description said that the picture was taken five hundred and seventy yards from the 'border,' which had not been defined in any meaningful sense. All she could assume was that it meant the border of the gray, formless, bizarre zone they had looked at from above - a cacophony of squares and rectangles, impossible rooftop geometries laid in and around and over one another.

The 'border' looked like a wall of roiling, nearly oily fog. The next image was zoomed in, and appeared to show trees near to the border withering, branches blackened and dark and odd - wrong, stripped of leaves, coated in some shiny, slick, dark grease. On this image, the description said that even five hundred yards and change away, it stank like the parking lot of an abandoned fast food restaurant. Colorful descriptions were included, of disgusting rot stink and french fry smell and the hellish scattering of other disgusting odors…

Spoiled beef, rotting chicken, soggy and deeply moldy bread…

These descriptions were wholly unnecessary, but greatly appreciated. Haller needed every detail she could possibly get.

"Skip the pictures. November would've sent video," she said, already irritated when the next image was just a further zoom into the fog. Through it, she could see light, the pictures having clearly been taken in the dark. "Show me that, make sure everyone who needs them gets the images."

"Yes, ma'am," Muskwe replied, and the screen went dark. Moments later, a video frame opened, and then played. Compares to the hardware of the past, it was the highest quality video she'd ever seen, especially on a screen so large - save perhaps in a movie theater. Their video, however, had all sixty frames per second, crisp and clear.

"Check for the recording," November One said. "November one. Steadfast. Check."

"November two. Iron. Check."

"November three. Resolute. Check."

"November four. Eternal. Check."

"Alright, gang's all here," Steadfast, November One, said.

"Christ, this fucking STINK," Iron muttered. "We ought get goddamn hazard pay for this shit. It smells like a rotting corpse tossed in a dumpster near a particularly fucking shit drivethrough."

"Oil and diesel, too… gasoline, maybe propane. Smells like chemicals, under and around it all," Eternal added.

"Button up, whiners. Iron, light rig, take point. Etty, back him up with the shotgun, and don't fuck it up and shoot HIM. Reso, pull up the rear."

"Sir, yes sir!" they said in unison. Haller smiled. She liked November for a reason, a lot of reasons. November One's insistance they call her 'sir' was one of them. Out there, doing the work they did, they had some latitude to be weird. It was better than sitting in a goddamn field office all the time, poring over the most irrelevant shit on Earth.

The feed swapped then, to Iron's lightrig camera, and then… the rig flared on, bathing the fog in shockingly bright light. They marched across the field, orderly and in a line, a weapon in frame now and then as they walked. The closer they got the fog, the stranger it got, less white than before, and then swirling in a shiny, chemical-sick rainbow like a dribbling of oil floating on a puddle.

"Can't do it, sir," Reso said, finally. The line stopped. "I'm gonna pop, man, just fucking howl and puke."

"Professional," Steadfast muttered. "Mask up, though. Making me dizzy, too. Ought to call for hazzies. Reso, get out that vial of peppermint oil."

"It's like White River all over again," Rso muttered - but he complied, dabbing some of that oil on the filters of their gas masks. They sealed the high tech things with faint hisses, lenses shining. The peppermint oil was an old trick, from back in the before times, when Resolute was a nurse. Designated medic suited him better, with a gun in hand. "Feed's a mess, sir. We need to drop the rig. It's too foggy, ought to use mask optics."

"Make it so," she replied. In moments, after shuffling, annoyance, grunting and bad static, the light rig went dark, and then hit the ground. Pale, ugly green flooded the frame, and suddenly… they could see, the footage digitally enhanced and highly processed in near real time. "Better?"

"Clear as day," Reso replied. They returned to their march, approaching that ugly, roiling oil fog again. Through it now, a huge glowing sign could be seen, standing on a thick red pole, like-

"Huh… Megaburger," Haller murmured, baffled by that. She knew the colors, knew the ghostly specter of its shape. Silently, before the fog wall, Iron removed his camera and pointed it upwards without slowing their approach. It continued upwards apparently indefinitely, obscuring everything inside. Weather patterns in the area had gone to shit, it was what first alerted them - something was wrong when they were getting hit by sheets of rain in the middle of a New York winter.

"Rain's warm, what the fuck," Iron spat. "Feels slick, too. Droplets are milky white, contaminated with something… and I can just detect what seems to be a whiff of urine, through the damned mask. We gonna die, sir?"

"Composition from the rapid sample kit said it's just some kind of detergent, gasoline, a bit of oil… also piss, yeah, piss… yeah… it doesn't make sense, but it isn't toxic, mostly," Steadfast replied, evenly.

"Mostly! Wonderful," Eternal replied, sounding exhausted already - but they marched on, into the fog, as Iron reattached his camera. What followed was an engrossing twenty minutes of them walking in a white out, cable-clipped together so they didn't lose one another in the thickness of it. Three times, they stopped to dab new filters with peppermint and stagger their swapouts.

Whatever the fog was, it was clogging them, fast.

That made it all the more surprising when they emerged into the parking lot of…

A Megaburger franchise.

"Stop it," Haller said, and the video paused. "We have record of a Megaburger there? Lavar?"

"No, we don't. Look in the background, though, and around it… No roads. Nothing. The walls just extend outward, and then…" he trailed off, and gestured for the video to be played, and then he said, "pause. See? Suddenly, kitty corner, the bricks change to cement blocks, like… smoothly, and it becomes a Fast Jimmy's, complete with gas pumps."

"What the Hell?" Haller asked. No one had answers.

"Command, do you read?" Steadfast asked. After a long pause, she said, "no signal at all. Local comms working."

"Pull out? Something's fuckin' wrong. This shit wasn't here when we got here, before the fucking fog moved closer," Eternal muttered. "Did anyone transmit the recording, from when the fog moved?"

"Did, yeah," Iron spat. "What's the word, Steady?"

"Sir, to you, dipshit… and no. We don't pull back. No signs of life, no hostiles… we're going into that damn burger joint. I want material samples, though. Etty, split off with Reso. See where those bricks go all… blurry? Get samples there," she ordered. "Something is wrong, so we're going to find out what the fuck is going on. As soon as you have the samples, get inside."

A chorus of 'yes, sir!' met her, and she and Iron marched on, the footage continuing to follow them.

"Do we have footage from the Eternal or Resolute?" Haller asked, and got a displeasing 'nope, no transmit from them, their feeds cut out the moment they split off,' which made her want to put a hole in something. "Fucking why, precisely?"

"Interference, of some kind. That fog, maybe, something about it makes signal transmission inconsistent? We only got all of Iron's footage because… well…" he trailed off, and Haller blanched, falling silent and watching. Like every other Megaburger in existence, the restaurant that Iron and Steadfast were approaching was a squat sort of building with an overly decorative roof of red metal, atop which was perched an offensively oversized, bizarrely cartoonish cheeseburger, and a huge cup beside it. Both were lit up, casting an array of yellows and reds out into the parking lot. This was all largely washed out on the white lines of the parking spots out front by the bright fluourescent light coming through the windows that dominated every wall on the front and sides of the store, stopping right at the line where the kitchen began.

Despite that no one was visible inside, the doors were unlocked, and they pushed through them, weapons at the ready.

"It uh, appears to be a burger store," Iron said, quietly, turning slowly to film the majority of the restaurant in the sweep. Chairs were pushed out, food was piled up on tables, cups were stacked halfway to the ceiling and puddles of dark, bubbling brown liquid coated portions of the floor. None of this, critically, had been visible from the exterior. "Stead, sir, something… this place is a fucking mess. It was not, in fact, a fucking mess looking in from outside."

"I'd noticed, trust me," she muttered. "It stinks in here, like it was just jam packed and they all took a shit before leaving."

Rapidly, the camera approached one of the tables and was brought closer to the food - what was left of it. Huge bites, larger than any human mouth could make, were taken out of massive burgers, each one the size of a dinner plate. Thick beef patties steamed, red on the inside and ruddy brown on the out, too fatty, the 'ground' beef used to make them more akin to strange, mashed together chunks of flesh, a melange of unmistakably…

Meaty, fleshy colors. Biological, awful.

They were burgers in the loosest sense, the buns bizarre and over-dense and mealy looking but with an incongruous shiny brown exterior that looked like it was applied after the fact just to try and make it look good. In place of lettuce, there was some unidentifiable, vaguely leaf-patterned green gel mess, a few squirts of too dark, too bloody ketchup… mustard that was more white than yellow - or maybe it was mayo…

"Sir, this food is fucked up."

"This whole place is fucked up," Steady muttered, tiredly. "Weapon at the ready."

"Sir," he replied, and the shotgun came into frame. He squared up, following her to the counter. For a few long moments, they just peered into the half-shrouded kitchen through a cutout on the wall behind the register, and then Steady shouted.

"HEY! IS THERE A MANAGER IN THE HOUSE?"

The silence that met her in response was almost deafening. Slowly, Iron turned in a half circle, looking around - and then there came a sound, a terrible sort of sound. It overwhelmed the microphone on both his camera and its twin on his helmet, this awful air-raid siren parody that sounded more and more like hundreds of human screams forming this rising and falling tide of sonic ugliness.

As the video feed glitched and static flooded the image intermittently, they saw the building shifting, bricks and glass crystalizing outward in wobbly, overly organic sheets from the front of the store. Rumbling appeared to shake the building, and Iron was forced to grab a pillar to retain his footing. When he hunched, they got to watch tiles splitting and sliding and growing, a wholly unnatural ceramic mitosis.

When all was said and done, the entire parking lot had been subsumed, and the restaurant was twice as large from kitchen to doors, with new pillars erected haphazardly, still sluggishly sliding across the floor tiles towards presumably their final positions. These structural icebergs clawed trenches in tile that rapidly 'healed' in their wake.

Iron rounded as if reacting to something, staring at the staggered Steadfast clutching onto the counter as the tile rippled in bizarre, shattering ceramic waves drifting out from the counter, which itself was pushing her backwards towards the entrance as the behind-counter area expanded. She howled, screaming in agony, arms wrapped entirely around a cash register at that point. Red and pink and dark blackish pooled around her feet, those waves of ceramic shredding her up to the like they were made for shredding. Flaying flesh away from bone was horrifying enough, but something worse was unfolding itself.

Behind the counter, a widening, grotesque door peeled open, the wood flexing apart into shiny tendonous strings and awful flesh as a rose made of meat bloomed forth from within.

That screaming siren continued, grew louder even, and the video distortion worsened until all that could be seen, in the center of the frame, was a figure resembling a human being, if that human being was lit harshly and unevenly from the front, and cast a shadow consisting entirely of flesh, of meat and blood and bubbly yellow fat. The mass the 'person' was stuck to the front of slopped against the wall behind the creature, with the flesh seeping through the access window to the kitchen.

Sounds of hissing and popping made it through as the scream-siren trailed off into silence told them that this creature had carpeted over the fryers in back with gore, not giving a singular microfuck about the consequences thereof.

"What can I do for you?" the terrible, blistered avatar asked, a few moments after the screaming siren stopped. This mocking, sick parody of a human torso was still clawing and pulling its way from the meat mass, and as the stunned operators watched, clothing 'grew' over it. Disgustingly, it appeared to be made of woven hair, a chaotic hellscape of interwoven white and black that formed a button down shirt and a tie that were all one piece. Thick pads of calloused skin came next that blackened into a kind of belt-like construction, whose buckle was dark, blackened fingernail approximating shiny plastic polymer.

This same black fingernail formed an approximation of a tie clip, and then a nametag - unreadable.

There was a face, if one could insult the concept of faces so grotesquely, with a lopsided slash of a mouth where the lips were simply just bloody, blistered, skinless facsimiles, dribbling red and this sickly yellow syrup that made its chin all pink and slick.

"F-Fuck, I was just-" Steadfast said, slurring, sounding half drunk with blood loss and pain, but midword… the building went still, and her voice simply ceased. After a long moment, she half turned to Iron. Her lips parted, and thick black and red flooded out - and then the nearly naked bone of her right tibia and fibia, clothed only in tatters and leaking veins below the knee, broke. She staggered, and the top of her head fell away.

For only a moment they were treated to an awful anatomical cross section of her lower brain before blood covered that up completely.

Iron screamed bloody murder, cracking, and in the last frames they could see a thick meaty tendril draped over the counter, forcing what looked a lot like french fries into the sticky black-oozing meat that kept all of Steadfast's thoughts for her, one by one. With each salty new stick of nightmares shoved into what remained of he brain she twitched, or gurgled wetly.

The last man standing legged it, out into the parking lot, and then into…

Another parking lot, leading towards another building.

Towards a Pizza Jam.

"No, no, NO FUCK NO!" he barked, frantic. The poor man rounded, camera directed towards the burger joint, which was rapidly filling up with what looked like squirming, barely human bodies, a pale pink slurry of meat and breading, and enormous waffle cut fries so big they could've been swimming pool rafts. "FUCK! FUCK FUCK!"

While he shouted fuck several more times, he dug in his equipment pack and drew out a gray plastic box, slamming it on the ground and opening it. In a flurry of movement, he tugged something out, pressed something that beeped, and then jerked the camera off of his vest and turned it to stare in the lens.

"Look, I don't know what you FUCKING SHITFUCKS sent us into, but if you don't find a way to EVAC ME, I am going to haunt you until the end of time! EVERYONE IS FUCKED!" he barked, before setting the camera on what was identified in a small block of text in the corner as a transmission relay meant to burst transmit large quantities of audio visual data. He stood up then, and pumped his shotgun. "I'm getting the fuck out of here. If I make it out… I'll get back, I'll call in, I don't know. I gotta move."

When he stepped aside, they could see that strange plant-like structures were growing rapidly from the pavement of the parking lot. In seconds, they formed into beetle coated monstrosities nearly metallic in apperance. Seconds after that, the crawling, bug-covered blobs resolved into passable (At a distance) imitations of cars.

They then promptly rotted, leaving thick black sludge on the ground, from which more bugs, more plants and more cars began to rise.

"Fuck this," Iron panted, and he booked it out of frame.

The video ran for two more four to six minute cycles of 'cars,' and then… abruptly ended in static, with a disquietingly wet crunch.

For a long, long time things were silent in the action room (which was still just the main, large, open area of the . No one spoke. No one so much as breathed, not in any meaningful or audible way.

Finally, Agent Haller said, quietly…

"Well, what the fuck was that shit?"

"Ma'am, that was the last transmission from Iron. It was digitally signed, with little corruption beyond the visual distortion caused by that… management… thing," Muskwe replied, softly. "I did not feel it prudent to warn anyone of the nature of the footage, as… I was… concerned."

"You were fucking concerned? Muskwe, I'm FUCKING CONCERNED! What were YOU concerned about?" she demanded, a cold, hard edge to her voice.

"I was concerned, to be honest, that I had gone gloriously insane, sir," he replied, evenly. "…and I did not have time to ask one of the others to watch it, to confirm or deny my own madness."

"Well, you're not fucking mad unless we all are," she muttered, tiredly. "Everyone saw all of that, yes? Confirm with a yes or no. We saw a team enter a construction hellscape through a wall of oily fog and then get lost or massacred near a fast food restaurant that appeared, to my highly… highly trained eye, to be a fucking LITERAL NIGHTMARE."

A chorus of 'yes' came, then, like a soft rainfall made out of agreement. Really, Haller had hoped for one to thirty answsers of 'no,' because having simply gone batty would have been much easier and much less terrifying. This, this reality, that they had all borne witness to, was truly quite awful.

It bordered on deeply shitty that it hadn't been, in fact, some manner of hallucination - though that alone might have convinced her to go visit a bureau shrink.

"…so what's our theory?" she asked, softly.

"Theory is so often inadequate in the face of actual answers," a soft, faintly accented voice said. This voice was cool, steady, like a small stream flowing in the coldest days of early spring - and it was faintly processed, oddly digital. "Quite a bummer, really, that all of you are now in the fold. I really do find it tiring to orient newcomers, but, perhaps I will assign that task to someone else."

Every firearm in the room was trained on the newcomer before they finished speaking. This… person, of sorts, stood there right next to Haller - or had been next to, but was then in front of, having Haller's gun pressed to their forehead. All of this was well and good, as they had the intruder isolated and contained under threat of-

Death?

Haller stared at the gleaming lenses, lenses staring back at her. The creature, whatever it was, was covered in metal plating, their head all polished glass that might've belonged to a helmet if it weren't for the exposted struts and odd pistons of the neck that emerged from under their chin and around the base of the jaw.

"What the sam fuck are you?" Haller demanded. They chuckled, a strange sound like chimes and rings layering over one another. It was a musical sound, understandable only as a laugh because this creature's head bobbled a bit with it in unmistakable mirth.

"That is a big question with a complicated answer, Agent Haller - but I am, to keep it brief, a robot of a kind - but not a robot, really. Think of me as a mistake made right, but in the weirdest way possible," they replied, a smirk touching their smooth but undeniably digital voice. "I am Doctor Alex Sing, or… that is the name I use now, to conceptually distance myself from who I used to be - security reasons, you see. I've come to tell you all what you just saw."

"And what, the fuck, is that?" Haller asked, losing her patience rapidly - and she didn't have much of it to begin with.

"A 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence and Reification' event. We call them SEER events, for convenience," Dr. Sing replied, quite pleasantly, waving their hand vaguely at the screen. "We know precious little about them… but we are aware that this is a new, far worse form than we have yet seen. You will ask for credentials. Here, look at this."

Haller looked, the machine person having produced from seemingly nowhere a badge holder. The badge ensconced in said holder insisted that the good doctor was part of an organization called DUSK - the Department of Unnatural / Supernatural Knowledge. In place of a typical shield and eagle so popular in governmental insignias, this bore a strange kind of… seal, or sigil.

"I've seen this before," Haller said, dizzily. The sigil was a pentagram, but its outer circle appeared to be a serpent, devouring its own tail - and in the central pentagon, there was a familiar sign. Brimstone, sulfur, the Leviathan Cross, in all its distorted, time-twisted glory. "I've… I've seen this…"

"A brimstone symbol? Yes, the satanists are rather fond of it, but we were using it first, before even the founding of this nation and our adoption of the DUSK name," Sing replied, blandly, as if this was all very boring to her mechanical ass self. Haller tried not to stare at her hand, a thing plated and padded to function like a human hand, but with open gaps showing moving metal beneath, rods and pistons and tiny little gears. For a moment, there was silence, and then Sing lowered the badge and leaned in, her camera lenses whirring as apertures tightened. "But you don't mean… brimstone. You've seen the DUSK insignia before? Fascinating, and of course, perfectly understandable."

"How the fuck is it understandable? My head hurts," Haller said, her last as she stumbled back and sat down. Muskwe rushed up, and handed her a handkerchief.

"Your nose, ma'am," he intoned, and she pressed her fingers to it, finding they came away bloody.

"Am I going to die?" she asked, a bizarre dread settling in her gut.

"No! My goodness, now, silly, no. You've clearly been geist hexed, some time in the past. You'll be getting memories taken from you back, which is so exciting, isn't it?" Sing replied, brightly. Silence so profound it weighed down on the room like a flow of molten lead followed this, and the doctor tilted her robotic head. "…or perhaps… not, to normal… people. Well, I will enjoy it, anyway, for your sake."

"Goodie for you. Someone fucking shoot her," Haller muttered. No one moved, so she stood herself, bleeding profusely into Muskwe's hankie, and drew her sidearm. Sing did not so much as flinch at the weapon being pointed at her - instead, she leaned in, peering at it.

"Custom work? Very nice, Agent. That's a real stomper of a pistol, and not remotely enough to do me harm," she said, pressing her 'forehead' to it. "I understand. I've violated protocol, entered a black site unannounced, and freaked you right on out. Go ahead. Blow a hole in me, if it'll help. The faster we get you FBI nerds acclimated, the better."

Haller, in a moment of raw rage, confusion and vague nausea, pulled the trigger. Dr. Sing's head snapped back with a loud CLANK, and then… with several heavy ratcheting noises, it returned to its previous position.

"Very nice," Sing said, one of her 'eyes' shattered, a curl of smoke drifting out of it. "High powered, effective, and you're strong enough to muscle down the recoil. Gorgeous weapon, truly."

"F-Fucking what?" Haller demanded. "You're fine?"

"Robot, nerd. Kind of," Sing replied, evenly, as if disappointed. With that, she clapped her odd mechanical hands together and turned to face the room at large. "Congratulations, everyone. You've been formally recruited into DUSK. Your lives as they were are officially over, bummer, but the pay is fantastic, our insurance is better than you'd even believe, and… you get to know all the things you haven't been told about. Vampires, psychics, magicians, nightmares and pretty little machines like me. Ghosts, demons, people who can alter their bodies, secret dimensions and dark dreams that don't die. Your families will be justly compensated after your mock funerals."

"Fucking WHAT!?" Agent Crenshaw demanded, stepping out of the crowd and stalking up to her. "Fuck you! I have a DAUGHTER! She was just BORN!"

"Then unrecruit yourself, dipstick," Sing told him, dismissively. "Divide yourselves into two groups! People who want to give up everything you have, go over there! People who want to keep your lives and forget this moment… over there!"

"F… Forget?" Crenshaw asked, his pale, watery blue eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and panic. "How?"

"Geist hexing will eradicate the memories, sever the pathways to them in an irrecoverable way, effectively removing it all from your mind. A cover story will be generated, and provided to you upon your waking," she explained, patiently, as if speaking to an infant. The doctor raised her arm, and pointed behind her, the limb at an unnatural angle so that an index finger could be directed right at Haller. "You, of course, have no connections, so you have nothing to lose, Agent Haller. I'd like you on this case."

"You can't just MARCH in here, you fucking ROBOT FREAK, and TAKE CONTROL of a literal FBI BLACK SITE. What I am GOING to do is detain your ridiculous metal ass and then call someone higher up the chain to tell me what the HELL is going on!" Haller all but shouted, thoroughly fed up with the utter helplessness she felt as that robot's head slowly tilted backwards like it had when shot, but slower, until it hung down her back and the camera lenses whirred, apertures tightening as they took her in.

"Agent, I am your superior, now," she said, simply, raising a hand. She snapped her fingers, and then… brought her head 'upright,' again, turning around. Haller ignored this, instead staring at her people, all of her people. They were frozen, creatures carved from dyed ice, flickering crystal effigies of themselves. They looked tesselated, rock candy, like models from some kind of videogame showing their triangles as each vertex undulated faintly outward and inward about its origin. "I really need you to stop freaking out, Haller. You're special, I can feel it, and I need your help with this. This is a problem, Haller, one that will kill people - a lot of people, if left unchecked."

"T-The… meat creatures? The manager, the… fast food place? That'll kill people" she asked, softly.

"There's worse about this than all that. Figments that fully instantiate are difficult to kill, for starters, and it will continue to spread… BUT, you have the ability to convince these people that what they do in my service will save the world. I can't convince them of that," Sing told her, quietly. "Get it together. You saw what you saw. That SEER event ATE your people. Working together, we can potentially reverse it, before it eats others."

"Doctor Sing, if you can just make us forget, why do you need to do this? Recruit us? Recruit me?" she asked, after a long pause in which she approached the frozen-mid-stride Agent Crenshaw. When she touched him, she touched what felt like softly undulating planes of glass, a few millimeters from his skin - but this glass was warm like flesh.

"Because you are necessary. When I have feelings, strong ones, I've learned to listen to them. If we are going to stop this, I… need YOU, Anna," the doctor said. Haller looked to the robot, and didn't bother to ask how Sing knew her first name - no one knew it, that was part of her position. She was an enigma, as fake as fake could be, because it kept her insulated from the threats they faced.

"What did you do to my men?" she asked. Sing approached, and drew from the pocket of her suit jacket a handkerchief. When she dabbed at Haller's cheeks, it came back damp, and the Agent didn't even know why she was crying.

"Nothing. There are six men in stupid robes outside, all of whom are affecting what DUSK calls a 'working,' using what we call a 'castgram.' Your men are unaffected, but in this place, time is having a bit of a problem moving forward, except for us. It's not something done… to them, but to the space they occupy, in a sense," she replied, quite forthrightly. Haller was deeply unsure how to deal with this information, but she was forced to accept it. Muskwe was in the middle of spilling a coffee, and it looked like a cascade of crystal that had made it only halfway to the floor. Touching the undulating crystalline surface just above that coffee, she hissed between her teeth and drew her hand back.

It had been scalding hot.

"Thermal energy makes it out," she said, softly. "They're going to freeze to death."

"Perhaps that's why I need you - you've only just seen what civilians call 'magic' for the first time, and you're already working out the flaws. It's true. In about six hours, they would reach a cold point so deep that unfreezing them would, ironically, flash freeze them - their arrested bodily functions no longer warming their insides and all," Sing told her. "So… return to your previous position. I will signal to the men outside to drop the working. Get your shit together, and ride the lightning into an exciting new career in saving the world."

"You're fucking insane," Haller said, shakily. "You know that, right?"

"I'm afraid sanity and insanity are far more complicated than you have been led to believe, Agent. Want to find out how?"

Haller stared at this machine, this woman, this doctor, this interloper and mystery and strangeness of a person. Her eyes, green and stippled with odd flecks of brown, were wide with a kind of feverish anxiety mixed with uncommon mania.

"Yes, I do. I do, god and fucking Jesus Himself Christ damn me."

"Your Christ has been dead a long time, and his so called father with him," Sing murmured, stepping close to touch the cross that Haller wore around her neck. "But, perhaps he was never your god. This was never your cross to bear."

"How could you possibly know that?" Haller rasped.

"I know what I have to know - and it's tarnished, and worn, and has not been well cared for," the doctor told her, in a soft, slightly processed whisper. "It is not something you love… it's someone you remember."

"I hate this," Haller said, in reply.

"You get used to it," Sing insisted, earnestly.

"Do you?"

"Not really. Are you with me?"

Haller stepped back, finding her feet had left softly glowing blue prints on the floor, showing her where to stand. The mechanical doctor sing reached up, and unscrewed what appeared to be the housing of the camera that Haller had shot out. As soon as it was removed, it started sparking and fizzling, molten metal running off of it. Sing threw it carelessly over her shoulder, and a metal plate slid into place beneath the hole, sealing it.

"I am, if that wasn't clear," the Agent murmured.

"Oh, yes, I had figured."

And the robot snapped her fingers, and time lurched back into motion with a sickening blurring of all lights and figures, and a heavy smattering of air shuddering around them like patches of broken, floating glass.

[panditshivatejji]

Top 5 Psychic Abilities That A Psychic in Ottawa Possess

 Many laymen think that most psychic personnel have some magical powers using which they can learn about the past days, present days, and upcoming days of their consumers. Although it is not true in real life, we will tell you how the entire process of psychic reading works according to a trusted Psychic Medium in North York. 

[defaultfelix]

Have there been any ways that Default and Bracey as characters and their dynamic together have developed over time that you find are particularly interesting?

Been really fascinated by the ideas in the "Paradox of Fantasy" post and got curious about if/how they might've changed since first being introduced on the site up to now

Thank you so, so much for the question!

The characters of Bracey and Default date back to 2006, so they're actually older than the Goodbye Strangers project itself. Default, Adrian, Fifi and Bracey were all part of a story called Comatics, which didn't have anything to do with the strangers. Default had always been more-or-less of an "author stand-in", with his past being somewhat of a blank slate, and his personality mirroring my own. As such, he hasn't changed too much, aside from a few name changes and design adjustments over the years; at first, Default and Bracey were both anthropomorphic animal designs (Default was a rat, and Bracey was a jackal), but this was something that changed pretty quickly. Adrian never had an anthro form, for example.

As for Bracey, he initially had a lot of the same characteristics that he does now, but was much more of a direct antagonist. He was Default's stalker/ex, lived underground, had social anxiety, and wanted to take Default's brain out. He's always existed to be an internal outlet for my own self-destructive/masochistic desires, and the way that he treats Default mirrors the sort of treatment that I desire in a sort of "dream fantasy scenario". It's never been a secret that his character exists to represent a kind of "dream partner" (albeit in an obviously stylized way… I can truthfully say that I have absolutely no desire to have a romantic partner perform fatal brain surgery on me, lol).

At first, he was named "St. Patrick", after hearing the line "you will want it all / as St. Patrick pipes on". It just somehow 'grabbed me'. Most of the details in my work aren't decided with much particular initial intent – or rather, the initial intent is to capture the details that appear most solidified to me. Clovers already had some sort of meaning of "love psychosis", so somehow the "St. Patrick" imagery became aligned with that. He'd been a more-or-less 'dormant' character for a number of years after that, until in 2014, I was traveling from North Carolina to New York, and passed a town named "Bracey". Somehow his character came to mind immediately, along with the last name of "Wray" (I tend to gravitate towards alliteration/assonance in names) – though aside from the re-name, he didn't get too much more development until around 2019.

At some point (around 2016), I began to write about "alternate universe" versions of the Comatics cast set in the Strangers universe. The exact timeline for this is a little fuzzy, in terms of when different qualities were assigned; I don't remember when the concept of dissemblers and psychics came to me, for example – but this is when I started to include character and story details more overtly in the project. At some point, the "alternate universe" got developed enough that it became the "main universe", and this is when the Comatics storyline was integrated into Space Madness.

I'd been gradually using Bracey as more and more of an "avatar" character without thinking about it; internal worlds always have a "central" character that is most like myself, which grounds the narrative details – so a lot of his traits were developed as he came to take on more aspects of myself. When I first created him, he had sort of a "punk/metal" vibe, in terms of how I would have described his music tastes – except I don't listen to this kind of music, myself. So, this is when I started to associate him more with 90s rap music and dubstep; since this is the sort of music that I like to listen to when I'm in a more upbeat or energetic mood. He also started to "mellow out" during this time, in terms of having a side of himself that is more sentimental and protective of others. This is also during a time when my own mania and psychosis were starting to rear their head more noticeably, so he also conversely reflected this kind of unhinged state (…I'm doing a lot better now).

After the split from the team, I was dealing with pretty severe mental trauma, with my creative work factoring into this in part (I had always been very shy to share these characters, so the accusation that I created them specifically to upset people on purpose is something that hurt a lot to think about). For the first half-year or so after the split, I couldn't really talk to people at all, and was having a lot of panic attacks multiple times a day. So I started to use these characters as a source of internal comfort by imagining myself as one of them being comforted by the other, depending on which one I felt more like at the time. This is when their relationship became more solidified as something "unhealthy, but not abusive" – and I started to get more comfortable opening up about them and their role in terms of my conception of my 'self'.

Thank you so, so much for the question – hopefully that covers everything, it was fun to write all of this out! It's wild to think about these characters having been around so long that they're old enough to drink…

[death-is-my-calling]

1. What is you middle name? Rose 2. How old are you? 17 3. When is your birthday? December 7th 4. What is your zodiac sign? Saggitarius 5. What is your favorite color? Any light colors. 6. What’s your lucky number? I would say '4' 7. Do you have any pets? Yes. 2 dogs. 8. Where are you from? Texas. 9. How tall are you? 5'2 10. What shoe size are you? 9 and a half 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? i have a slipper collection of 10 slippers. 12. What was your last dream about? my current girlfriend. 13. What talents do you have? I can do the cupsong from 'pitch perfect' i guess? i can also kick very high. 14. Are you psychic in any way? No. 15. Favorite song? It varies. 16. Favorite movie? I don't watch movies, only shows. 17. Who would be your ideal partner? I mean... I really want to marry my current girlfriend. 18. Do you want children? Eventually, yes. 19. Do you want a church wedding? Not really. It depends. 20. Are you religious? I mean... I am a christian, but I don't talk about it much. 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Yes. 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? No. 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Yes... I've met the Voice Actor for L Lawliet. 24. Baths or showers? Baths. I'm a baby lol. 25. What color socks are you wearing? Right now? None. I'm like L... barefoot... 26. Have you ever been famous? Yes, actually. 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? No. 28. What type of music do you like? I like indie pop. 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? NO. 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 3. 31. What position do you usually sleep in? I usually sleep on my arms and wake up in pain LMAO. 32. How big is your house? 2 stories. 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? I don't. 34. Have you ever fired a gun? No. 35. Have you ever tried archery? No. 36. Favorite clean word? I don't know. Any of them lol. 37. Favorite swear word? It's a sentence, but "FOR FUCKS SAKE" 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 3 days. 39. Do you have any scars? Yes. My arms and legs. 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? Yes. 41. Are you a good liar? I'd say so. 42. Are you a good judge of character? Now I am. 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Yes. the country accent hehehe 44. Do you have a strong accent? No. 45. What is your favorite accent? BRITISH OR AUSTRALIAN!!! 46. What is your personality type? INFJ 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? uhm... I don't know. 48. Can you curl your tongue? Yes. 49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie. 50. Left or right handed? Right. 51. Are you scared of spiders? Very. 52. Favorite food? Hot wings! 53. Favorite foreign food? Orange Chicken I guess. 54. Are you a clean or messy person? Very Clean. 55. Most used phrase? "im a lesbian" 56. Most used word? "HELP" (it's what i say in text when something is so damn funny, but i dont want to type out my laughter) 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? if it's an event or something, an hour. 58. Do you have much of an ego? No. 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Suck em. 60. Do you talk to yourself? Yes. 61. Do you sing to yourself? Yes. 62. Are you a good singer? I would say so. 63. Biggest Fear? Physically, Bugs. Mentally, Losing everyone again. 64. Are you a gossip? No. 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? The JDrama for Death Note LMAO. 66. Do you like long or short hair? Long. 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Alabama Alaska Arizona Arkansas California Colorado Connecticut Delaware Georgia Florida illinois Idaho. Indiana Iowa Kansas Kentucky Louisiana Maine Maryland Massachusetts Michigan Minnesota Mississippi Missouri Montana Nebraska Nevada New Hampshire New Jersey New Mexico New York North Carolina North Dakota Ohio Oklahoma Oregon Pennsylvania Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas Utah Vermont Virginia Washington West Virginia Wisconsin Wyoming.

68. Favorite school subject? English. 69. Extrovert or Introvert? I would say introvert, but I can be extroverted sometimes. 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? No. 71. What makes you nervous? Confrontation. 72. Are you scared of the dark? No. 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? No. I'm too scared. 74. Are you ticklish? So ticklish that I can tickle myself sometimes. 75. Have you ever started a rumor? No. 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? No. 77. Have you ever drank underage? No. 78. Have you ever done drugs? No. 79. Who was your first real crush? My childhood BFF. 80. How many piercings do you have? 2 81. Can you roll your Rs? Nope. 82. How fast can you type? 80 WPM 83. How fast can you run? Not that fast lmao 84. What color is your hair? Originally Brunette but now its slightly blonde. 85. What color is your eyes? Hazel 86. What are you allergic to? Some face cream. 87. Do you keep a journal? No. 88. What do your parents do? My mom is a stay at home mom and my father works for a big technology company. 89. Do you like your age? yes?... 90. What makes you angry? People that hurt my loved ones. 91. Do you like your own name? My deadname? Hell no. My current name now? Yes. 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? NGL I was thinking about 'Naomi' for some reason. 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? I really don't care, but I've wanted a son. 94. What are you strengths? I care. Even when someone does me wrong, and when they are a real nuisance, I can't help but care deeply about them. I don't want them hurt. 95. What are your weaknesses? I believe I'm very petty. 96. How did you get your name? My deadname is a biblical name. 97. Were your ancestors royalty? No. 98. Do you have any scars? Already answered this. 99. Color of your bedspread? It has a pattern of blue and green. 100. Color of your room? It's very minimalistic, but the walls are white.

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Doctor Peter Venkman (1984)

The Face of The Ghostbusters Doctor Peter Venkman, PhD

The face of the Ghostbusters, Venkman is a Psychology professor who founded the Ghostbusters with Egon Spengler and Ray Stantz, less in pursuit of studying the paranormal, and more to turn a profit. He acts as the Ghostbusters' spokesman and is the one who usually talks with clients.

"We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!"

Name

Full Legal Name: Peter Charles Venkman

First Name: Peter

Meaning: Derived from Greek 'Petros' meaning 'Stone'.

Pronunciation: PEE-ter

Origin: English, German, Dutch, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Slovene, Slovak, Biblical

Middle Name: Charles

Meaning: French and English form of 'Carolus', the Latin form of the Germanic name 'Karl', which was derived from a word meaning 'Man'.

Pronunciation: CHAHRLZ

Origin: English, French

Surname: Venkman

Meaning: Meaning Unknown

Pronunciation: VENK-man

Origin: German

Nicknames: Venks, Pete

Characteristics

Age: 34

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: September 21st 1950

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Christian

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, (Some) Spanish, (Some) French

Relationship Status: Single / Dating (On-Again, Off-Again)

Astrological Sign: Virgo

Actor: Bill Murray

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: King City Attractions, Sedalia, Missouri

Current Residence: North Moore Street, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 6'2" / 188 cm

Weight: 200 lbs / 91 kg

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven / Stubble

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker, Smoker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Ghostbusters (Founding Member)

Friends: Egon Spengler, Raymond Stantz, Winston Zeddemore, Janine Melnitz (Sort-Of), Louis Tully (Sort-Of), Dana Barrett (On-Off)

Significant Other: Dana Barrett (35, On-Off Girlfriend)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: James Venkman (65, Father), Marge Venkman (R.I.P, Mother, Née Wolf)

Siblings: None

Siblings-In-Law: None

Nieces & Nephew: None

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Parapsychology PhD, Psychology PhD

Occupation: Ghostbuster

Employer: Ghostbusters

Expertise:

Parapsychologist

Psychologist

Psychic Expert (Or so he claims)

Juggling Skills

Manipulative

Mentalist

Illusionist

Charismatic

Talkative

Faults:

Cynic

Greedy

Can't Do Hard Work Without Complaining

Perverted

Attention Seeking

Refuses To Do Physical Exercise

Flirts With Every Woman He Sees

Backstory: Peter Venkman earned doctorates in parapsychology and psychology then became a professor at Columbia University where he worked with Doctor Egon Spengler and Doctor Raymond Stantz. The trio researched the supernatural but, unlike his partners, Peter was not as enthusiastic about the topic ad was sceptical about the existence of ghosts. Egon and Raymond were usually the first to interview case subjects, even people Peter called 'schizos' no matter how far-fetched their stories were.

[zooterchet]

The Crown's Bet (Yorks Lord's High Betting)

The Yorks, desiring return to the throne after the American Revolution, placed a wager through to the Lancasters.

If the loyal Madisons of Canada, mixed with the Troits through Jeanette, their constable stewardess, could beat the Radus of Hungary, mixed into the Thracians of the Schwartzes, the Mafiaso, then they would return to the throne of England, Eire, and France.

The Lancasters, holding Northumbria, the sacred British Commonwealth's seat through the charts of banking of the North Seas, agreed.

The Glubbs, after changing their name to "Charlebois", were stolen and given to the agreed bet in Poland, and blended into the Hitlers, those Polish-Swedes once having served as slaves in Bavaria. The Mariscus, after changing their name to "Dublechev", were stolen and given to Georgian miners, out of the Seminary traditions of Spaniards, the Castillians, where they were outcasts for serving Satanism.

Then, we have the inventor of the opium mined soil, the amphetamine salt, and the pill bottle with proper affixed polyester oil, Adolf Hitler and the two lines behind him, and the inventor of the intelligence juncture through intervention at third power bought as secret ally, Joseph Stalin and the two lines behind him.

A cartoonist philanthropist, Hitler, and a psychic priest, Stalin, dueling between worlds, through the Pravda; the voice's publication, out of Warsaw, Poland.

The Yorks expected Hitler to win, having the love of the people; versus the Lancaster bet, Stalin, the psionic Cyrillic labor project.

It was the most legendary play the Yorks have ever played, from the Civil War and into the Vietnam War.

The stakes?

All of the Baltic red herring in the seas, for Belgium, and the Fens.

The Lancasters, were problem gamblers, like Nimitz; they were straight men, in a gay service, the League of Bats; the piracy trade.