#and one backup for when I inevitably fill my journals

[bronzepatriarchy]

Chapter 3's ending has been fixed :D

I'll probably work on the start of chapter 4 tomorrow but I forgot where I plotted the damn thing >-<

[notesfromthebench]

Letter 1

Dear Friend,

I felt unintelligent for the majority of my school life. Specifically though, from the age of 12, I felt hugely inferior to everyone else in my class and my year group. Looking back now, I can see that I wasn’t given the tools to truly understand how being dyslexic, and dealing with (as of that time undiagnosed) severe mental health problems, would affect my ability to learn. What appeared easy to grasp and do for my friends would seem impossible to me. I would come home from school and not do my homework, as I felt that there was no point working on something which I didn’t understand and would be incorrect. I knew I would fail, so I did nothing; I didn’t want to really set my mind to working independently at home, away from the help of may peers and my teachers, to ultimately have my worst fears confirmed: that I wasn’t good enough, and never would be.

The feeling of being less than, and never enough, would live inside me, corrupting my every thought, until I turned 18 or 19. To my younger self, there was just one way to release this, and that was to physically give it room to escape my body. I had been self-harming on and off from the age of 11, but it grew to a near nightly ritual when I was 14. I would come home from school, head upstairs to my room, shut the door, put my schoolbag down on the floor, head over to the back corner and begin. In the span of five or ten minutes, I could work out my frustrations about my day into my skin. I would attend school with arms and thighs covered in cuts, scars, burns and bruises. I was cautious, and to my knowledge, no teacher ever found out – or if they did, they never said anything. Looking back, it’s laughable that to me that, at the time, I thought I wasn’t unwell- I knew that hurting yourself wasn’t normal, but I also was aware that there were hundreds of people online with far more dramatic injuries than myself, or friends who were also struggling: I wasn’t that bad. Nevertheless, I knew that what I was doing to myself was abnormal, and should be kept secret. I would wear my PE skort under my uniform to hide my thighs, and I would play sports in my school jumper- changing quickly, in order to expose my arms for the shortest possible period of time.

Throughout the school day, I would go to a bathroom stall and just stare at what I had done to myself, proud of the fact that I was finally taking control and punishing myself for not being good enough. I would skip lunch, saying that I had homework to complete, and I would just stay on the floor of my form room, listening to music, and running through every reason as to why I was an awful human being. And this created a cycle. I would head to class, where I would be reprimanded for not completing my homework, and have my flaws pointed out to me in red pen, and to me, I would take this as confirmation that every time I hurt myself, that I deserved it, and that it would ultimately help me. I had literally fallen into a routine of self destruction; I had fallen into having a fully fledged addiction without really realising it. I was convinced that I was in control- hell, the element of control was the appeal. However, I would then notice scars fading under new ones, and I would feel a huge sense of dread and loss, and rush to replace them. My greatest fear was that someone would notice and make me stop – I needed this to function. Once, when sat in my safe space, against the radiator in my form room, a group of people were sat around me talking about self harm. I remember being petrified when one girl, sat in front of me, grabbed my right hand and rolled up my sleeve. I still can vividly feel the relief I felt that she had selected the wrong arm. However, that event made me more manipulative, and far better at hiding it. I would lie about injuries, claiming sprains in order to wear a bandage over my arms, I would permanently hold my jumper sleeve down by my fingers, I would cover my wrist in plasters, under my watch and wristbands.

I’m so lucky that my scars have faded the way that they have, and although the ones on my thighs are noticeable, I am able to conceal the ones of my arms with make-up easily enough. However, all these memories have been dredged up in the past few days. Lately, the weather has been getting colder and we’re heading towards fall. But with colder weather, comes the fact that older faded scars become more prevalent on the skin, especially being as fair as I am. Brushing my teeth, and groggily leaning against the sink for support, I glanced down and noticed that there were patches of my arm looking darker than usual. After heading to collect my glasses, I saw the remnants of a scar I had all but forgotten about (unless dredging through old journals, or in a particularly difficult spiral of shame and depression). Anyone could see it, and not notice the significance, but memories came flooding back.

When I was 16, after getting a mock GCSE paper back and gaining a mark considerably lower than my friends, I went home in shame, and carved the word stupid into my forearm. I remember it vividly, how calm I was, despite falling apart and screaming on the inside. I was methodical. I remember thinking I wanted it to be ‘unintelligent’ but I was scared that it wouldn’t fit, or that I would spell it wrong, and that I would be saddled with a spelling mistake blazoned on my arm for the rest of my life, validating my lack of intelligence to all who saw. I settled with stupid- this thought process was further confirmation to me that this brand was exactly what I needed. I remember finishing and being very proud of myself. I cleaned myself up, and settled in for a night of sitting on the internet, and neglecting the mounting pile of homework I was studiously ignoring. It wasn’t until I lay in bed that night that I realised that the very next day. I had another HPV jab due at school. Panic filled me. I grabbed my journal, and came up with plans of action of how to hide my forearm when being injected by a nurse in my upper bicep. Bullet points to detail how I was planning on lying about my dominant hand, wearing an arm brace and saying that I had slammed it into the car door, or faking illness and saying that I couldn’t have the vaccine that day. It was as though I were writing a shopping list. Seeing that now, it hurts to know that i was so isolated, and yet so convinced that this behaviour was rational. I was so proud of myself for coming up with my backup plan of wearing the brace, as the nurse who administered my vaccine that day said that it did not matter that I was supposedly left-handed, and proceeded to roll up my left sleeve. Still, after having the vaccine, I went to the little seating area, and, whilst the other people there were helping a classmate who was so terrified she had brought her stuffed toy frog to accompany her that day, I quickly rolled down my sleeve and felt safe in the knowledge that I had gotten away with it. I had outsmarted everyone, and continued to hide my destructive routine.

I’m 23. I left my home city and had the greatest time at University, and whilst relapse is an inevitable part of recovery, I can look back and see how far I’ve come, and realise all the hard work I had to put in, in order to claw my way out of that mental space which would worsen dramatically before it would get better. And, I’m not stupid. I categorically am not. Yes, I need extra time, and I need to put in more work than someone who doesn’t have dyslexia or any other learning disability, but that doesn’t make me stupid. It means that I’m willing to work my butt off in order to get where I want to go. It functions as a daily reminder that, regardless of the fact that there are days when it’s harder to locate than others, I’m determined to get to a place where I’m happy, both career wise, and mentally.

I am also old enough, and have enough hindsight and reassurance, that just because someone else is a lot smarter than you, it doesn’t make you any less intelligent. I would never dream of conflating a grade on a paper or test now with my personal worth. It wouldn’t even cross my mind. Around this time, I read Harvey and found this quotation, which in a way only a 16 year old could, displayed it across my social media platforms: “Years ago my mother used to say to me, she’d say, […] ‘In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant.” Look at me, I’m philosophical and I read. Maybe I was hugely missing the point of what Elwood was attempting to convey here, or I was setting a goal for myself, either way, it’s laughable to look back at 16 year old me, obsessed with this quote, and thinking that I had also chosen being oh so pleasant. I was cruel to myself, and was permanently grumpy due to lack of sleep and exhaustion. I was not a nice teenager. Nonetheless, at some point over the last 4 years, I chose to be oh so pleasant, and my intelligence didn’t falter, but grew, when in an environment in which I was wholly supported. I leaned that, although I was so unbelievably privileged and lucky to have been given the education I had, an environment which strives for academic excellence, and prides itself on league table positioning was not one in which I could thrive. Whilst this is obviously beneficial to lots of students, it’s taken a long time to not feel guilty in saying that the system that prioritises those things was not one which was helpful to me, especially when I consider the handful of teachers who really did positively impact my life. And that’s ok. People learn in different ways. It just took me a little bit longer, and a little bit more work, than everyone else.

From,

Your Friend on the Bench

[podcastlimbo]

Posted on AO3 too!

Woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat really worried that something bad would happen to Rilla’s house while she was. u kno. kidnapped. And it’s not like she has an alarm system or anything. So here we are. This is my first go at an actual rad bouquet thing so it’s a little short and clunky please forgive me akdjflksjdlfkja UH ANYWAYS happy lizard kissin’!!

Over the weeks following the battle at Fort Terminus, the three of them had spent most of their time in the Keep, and as such things go, had developed a routine, which started with them taking turns to make breakfast every morning. 

Rilla, Damien and Arum were gathered in kitchen (or at least, the room in the Keep that most resembled a kitchen). The weak early morning sunlight that filled the room illuminated shelves stocked with jars of jam, trays of vegetables and mushrooms, and baskets of fruit. There was a work bench in the middle of the room. Previously filled with clutter from Arum’s experiments, it had been mostly cleared out, save for a few odds and ends, to be replaced with a new sort of mess. Damien’s books and scrolls were piled high, and ink jars, quills and spare nibs had taken over a quarter of the table. Meanwhile, Rilla’s recorder, scientific journals and a lute she was in the process of constructing took up another quarter, as the three would sit together at the table, whiling away their lazy afternoons, working on their own projects in comfortable silence. 

As Rilla and Damien sleepily cleared the table to make way for breakfast, each handling their own treasures gingerly as they moved their mess to a corner of the room, they were shaken out of their morning reverie as Arum turned to face them from the pantry.

“We’re out of milk,” he announced. 

Ignoring the ensuing groans from his two (very petulant) humans, he carried on. “However, I don’t see this as much of a problem. After all, the pantry is still well-stocked with bread, fruit preserves and vegetables, all of which would make a perfectly acceptable breakfast.” “But no milk…” Damien’s voice, still thick from sleep, trembled slightly. 

“No milk means no coffee,” Rilla moaned. 

“Oh please. It’s not like you humans need coffee to survive.” “We do,” the two said in unison. 

“Well then, you’ll just have to drink your coffee without the milk. Now that that’s settled-“ 

“-but on it’s own, coffee is just bitter liquid! The milk adds flavour and body to an otherwise mediocre stimulant! Without it, coffee becomes undrinkable, and without coffee, our meal becomes incomplete,” Damien insisted, now fully awake. 

“So you’re saying… no milk means no coffee. No coffee means no breakfast.” 

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Rilla sat herself down at the empty table, pointedly ignoring Arum’s inevitable mutterings of “damn humans” and “inconvenient diets”, instead looking at Damien with pleading eyes. 

“All right then. It seems we have no other choice. Keep, open a portal to Rilla’s hut, and make sure no one else is nearby to see. I suppose we’ll have to do our shopping a little earlier than anticipated this week.” Damien ran hastily back to their bedroom, changing out of his sleepwear, as the Keep sang in acquiescence, the walls shifting to form an entryway back into the human world. 

“Wait! Wait! Damn it all! I’m all out of money!” 

Hearing his shout, Rilla and Arum made their way to where Damien was standing in the hallway, tunic half-buttoned and an empty purse hanging from his outstretched hand. Rilla put a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Damien. I’m sure there’s money at my place. We’ll just go check together!” “Make it quick,” Arum grumbled, “or I’m having breakfast without the two of you.” 

As the two ran off, Arum sat himself back down at the breakfast table, idly fiddling with Amaryllis’ recorder. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes that passed this way, before his humans came dashing back through the portal.

“Back so soon? When I said I was going to eat without you, you know I didn’t mean it.” 

“It- it’s not that…” Damien’s eyes are frantic, and Arum could hear his panicked breathing. His frill flared slightly in worry, and he quickly made his way over to where the two were standing. 

“My hut- I got robbed!” Rilla exploded. 

“What?!” Arum snarled, longing for the reassuring weight of his knives he knew he had put away, having had no use for them in weeks. “When did it happen? Which miserable human did it? I swear I’ll tear their limbs off if-“ 

“-calm down, Arum. They only took my money and some of my jewelry. Most of my plants and experiments are intact. I mean.” She scoffed. “It’s not like anyone else is interested in a herbalist’s work, but-” 

“They took her backup recorders, too,” Damien finished. “The Queen had stationed guards to keep watch over her house in the wake of,” he cast an apprehensive look at Arum, who waved an unconcerned hand, “the kidnapping. I suppose during the chaos wreaked by the fear monster, the guards decided that some things weren’t worth protecting.” 

“I guess I should be grateful they didn’t take anything too valuable. Money can be made, jewelry can be bought, but those recorders… they were a secret between Marc and I. We were planning on improving them together and releasing them to citizens eventually but now…” 

Arum sighed. “I understand, Amaryllis. Come here. The both of you.” They stepped into his welcoming embrace and he wrapped his arms around them as they burrowed their faces in his chest. “If only I thought to secure your house before leaving for Ballast…” Damien’s voice was muffled, but both Arum and Rilla could hear it shaking. “I knew that your house had been broken into just hours before, but I was so worried about you that I didn’t think, and then the Queen summoned me on another mission before I could even catch my breath, and oh Saints your home had been broken into and you were kidnapped and I shouldn’t have trusted those guards I didn’t.. I couldn’t-“ 

“Hush now, Honeysuckle. Hush. Breathe.” Arum’s hand made small, reassuring circles around Damien’s back, as he felt the human’s frantic breathing slow. “If anything, the fault is mine. I broke into your home and took you away, Rilla. I should’ve thought that an abandoned hut with a door hanging open was practically an invitation for all manner of thieves and burglars. And now the fate of your creation is uncertain because of my stupidity. I’m… I”m sorry.” “I think you’d know I’m lying if I said I knew things were gonna be okay,” Rilla said grimly. “But I hope It’s nothing some time and luck wouldn’t be able to fix. Who knows? Maybe the person who took it just wanted to sell the shiny thing for parts. Besides.” She looked up at him with a slight grin. “You didn’t know me back then, did you?”

“And if I did, I wouldn’t have heard the end of it from you. Either that, or the Keep would’ve made me return and fix what I had broken.” 

At the Keep’s agreeing hum, the three of them chuckled. As one, they disentangled from the embrace, Damien giving Arum a small peck on the corner of his mouth before letting go of his hand, relishing in the look of confusion on the lizard’s face. He could swear that if Arum were capable of blushing, his green scales would’ve been flushed bright red. 

“What was that for?!” 

“That was a thank you. For helping me remain calm.” “You’re.. It’s.. I did nothing,” he huffed. 

“And Arum.” 

“Yes?” “You don’t need to blame yourself either. We’ve all erred in the past. As long as we recognise our mistakes and make them right.” “Of course I know that, my ever-righteous poet,” he replied, not unkindly. “I do hope that matters will work out…okay, as Amaryllis said.” “But if they don’t?” This question came from Rilla. Downcast, toying with the recorder on the table with her hands. “Then we’ll work it out together.” 

As Damien lent an extra pair of hands to Arum’s two, preparing their breakfast, sans-coffee, and as Rilla hummed in harmony with the Keep while she waited, the three (or four, if sentient plants counted) knew that that would always hold true, no matter how uncertain the future appeared to be. 

[qqueenofhades]

*sidles into your inbox* *slides you $20* *whistles* So um. Any chance of Lucy/Flynn smut? Asking for a friend. Definitely a friend.

i hate my garbage life and choices

rated e, like whoa

Lucy’s fingers claw in his hair, pulling him sharply against her, as Flynn lifts her and shoves her back against the wall, hand sliding up her thigh to the buttons of her stocking garter, the dim dancehall music thudding from the front of the club, in a distorted, echoing way as if from underwater. Neither of them seem willing to stop kissing – or rather, practically biting each other’s mouths off, a silent and furious struggle for power, for accepting the inevitable – long enough to do this in any kind of proper fashion. It’s 1929 New Orleans, the height of Prohibition and two days before Black Tuesday, and she’s tracked him down to this illicit speakeasy, dark hole-in-the-wall, as Wyatt and Rufus are out looking for the target they think he’s here to take down, something to do with him wanting to make the Depression even worse than it was, so even FDR can’t New Deal them out of it in another few years. Lucy’s job was to keep Flynn himself distracted. Easy enough.

(She reckons, rather, that he’s distracted. So, for that matter, is she.)

(He saw that look in her eye when she had to admit that Lindbergh hadn’t changed, that she had tried, that she had failed, and God, she’s angry.)

Flynn gets his hand the rest of the way up her leg, pushing aside the sequins of her dress and curling around her stocking, undoing the button with a practiced flick, as Lucy grabs him again as he seems to think about pulling away. She can’t let him go, she has to make sure Wyatt and Rufus have gotten the mark to safety, and while there is a voice in the back of her head noting wryly that there is no requirement for her to play the part nearly this well, she doesn’t care. She suspects that Flynn might know perfectly well he’s being played – probably has some backup plan in mind – but as long as she keeps him cut off, he can’t get started on that one either.

Logic. Sense. Calculated capitulation. That’s all this is.

His mouth tastes of cigarette smoke and the stinging burn of moonshine and some dark, musky cologne. Lucy’s leg rides up on his hip, her fingers knotting into his neckerchief to pull him down against her. He kisses like a starving man. He’s already told her that he isn’t planning on going back to his wife and daughter if he somehow manages to bring them back to life, to reverse the irreversible, mend the unmendable. Has been fighting all this time – however misguidedly, however violently – with absolutely no expectation of a reward or a reunion. Just to know they’re alive again, far away from him, and the darkness he won’t bring to their door.

That, however much danger and trouble Garcia Flynn has already caused for Lucy and her friends and how much more he is certain to add to that tally, is, admittedly, a singular kind of love. So maybe he’s dreaming tonight. Maybe just once, he’s pretending this is his reward instead.

(Lucy never had much of a social life in college. Always too busy studying. There’s a priggish schoolmarm voice in her head, telling her that this is a Very Bad Idea – and another part of her that wonders, just once, what it would be like to do something stupid. Which this very very much is.)

(Perhaps she wants him to be her mistake.)

Flynn’s hand is well advanced in its explorations beneath her skirt, as Lucy rolls her hips toward him and he fingers the lacy trim of the silk panties, as their eyes lock in silent challenge – and then she arches again, hand sliding down over his, pressing him against her, as she grinds against the friction of his callused thumb. She gulps a gasp, and even he looks somewhat less in command of himself than usual. Shakes his head like a dog shedding water, and starts to let go, to pull back, as if this has been fun, but there’s still someone out there he needs to kill.

Heaven forbid that Garcia Flynn forgets who he needs to kill. Even in the face of such delicious temptation as this.

“Oh no,” Lucy breathes, leaning forward, catching his earlobe with her teeth, hand cupping his neck, pulling him back. “I didn’t say we were finished yet, did I?”

His dark eyes gleam challengingly. His voice is a hoarse murmur. “You’re playing with fire tonight, aren’t you, Lucy?”

Yes, she thinks. Yes, maybe she is. The good, the wise, the sensible, the rational Lucy Preston. Suddenly she wonders if this is written in the journal as well, if he’s been waiting for this – but somehow she doesn’t think so. The look of shock on his face when she leaned over the table and kissed him – even Flynn isn’t that good an actor. She was the one who pulled him back here, who is – and this is the worst part – barely needing to pretend. She’s an adult. She knows that you have sex with terribly unsuitable people, in less-than-advisable ways, for less-than-honorable reasons. Everyone does.

This, though –

This may take the cake.

She can still stop. She can still say no. Trust that there are other ways to keep him off Wyatt and Rufus’ trail, just long enough. But just then, her father’s face flashes into her head. Amiable, smiling, easy-going Benjamin Cahill. Telling her that Rittenhouse isn’t a choice. It’s blood. She’s trapped, destined, doomed to fall no matter what. Walking into the snare, eyes wide open.

You know what, Lucy thinks.

Fuck Rittenhouse.

Fuck Rittenhouse.

And for all his manifold and one other flaws, the man whose rough thumb is playing in circles over her clit, making her whimper involuntarily, hates Rittenhouse like nothing else, like no one else, in the world. Literally.

Something breaks in her, then. Something snaps. She claws harder at Flynn, shifting their weight, as his hand comes up under her thigh and lifts her again, and her fingers fumble at his belt, yanking it undone and sliding under his pleated trousers. She can feel the weight of the gun in his pocket (actually not a metaphor in this case, though he is beyond all doubt happy to see her) and reaches in, fishes it out, and slides it onto the floor. Flynn grunts, but doesn’t try to stop her. That is the thrill of this, this is power, and to her utter chagrin and confusion, Lucy loves it. This is the master criminal, the terrorist, the vigilante who’s been wrecking history left and right – or trying, at least – and she’s calling all the shots. Completely in command. It dementedly occurs to her that maybe they’re right, maybe they’re all right. This is Rittenhouse, and it wants to own everything it touches. Own him. Them. Anything else she wants.

Flynn nips at her neck, almost hard enough to draw blood, as Lucy skims down the silk underthings along a slender thigh, as they shift again and there is not much further they can possibly go before there’s no way to turn back. He nudges at her, ever so slightly – God, he is hard, and God, she is wet, and the touch of their naked skin, half of him and half of her, is doing increasingly terrible things to her self control. She hooks a hand around his leg, fingernails leaving marks, as his eyes meet hers in a question. Their mouths are wet and raw from kissing, but his lips still shape around her name.

In answer, she drags him against her, between her legs, rasping at her. He presses briefly, then slips half an inch inside, and Lucy’s toes curl in her beaded slippers, as she swallows an outcry and gets a better hold on the back of his neck, bracing herself, pressing his face into her shoulder as she wraps her other arm around his back. It has been a long time. A very, very long time.

She’s not going to tell Wyatt and Rufus about this, to say the least. Or Agent Christopher. Or anyone.

Flynn swears in some language that isn’t English, as Lucy’s head falls back, as he shoves hard enough to seat himself inside her at a stroke, pinning her and filling her at just the edge of a stretching, sweet burn. Her hips thud solidly against the worn wallpaper. Someone is going to walk into the back corridor any moment and find them here – not the first tryst they’ve ever interrupted, surely, but still not one that will make them any friends. They have to be quick, this is utter lunacy anyway, and Lucy half-comforts herself by thinking that at least it’ll be done in a moment more. Her nails rake through the sweaty dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him inside her as far as she can take him for a few rough, raw, rousing thrusts that make her see stars – and then, as his breath shudders out of him and he seems on the verge of surrendering himself to her completely, he withdraws with a half-angry wrench, slick against her thigh, eyes still fixed unblinkingly on hers in the dim light of the gas lamps. A faint, sardonic smile curls his lips.

“Lucy,” he whispers, with that slight, mocking caress he always gives her name, the way it tastes almost exotic on his tongue. Her leg is still up on his hip, his face very close to hers, the weight of him still lingering in her, the shape of their bodies twisted in one, this strange creature that they are, who have followed each other through time and have no home left for either of them to return to. His fingers stroke the inside of her knee. “I know what you’re doing.”

[thinkgloriathink]

Unpacking my summer’s readings

So I’ve finally gotten to munch through a hefty chunk of my reading list this summer break, which to this day is still outpacing my ability to keep up. Nevertheless, I’m pretty happy to report that the couple books I did manage to finish were full of gems and precious little nuggets of insight. The list goes as follows (in chronological order of completion, more or less)

The Accidental Universe by Alan Lightman

Antifragile by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Behave by Robert Sapolsky

Homo Deus by Yuval Noah Harari

Barking up the Wrong Tree by Eric Barker

Give and Take by Adam Grant

Anti-Intellectualism in American Life by Richard Hofstadter

Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

3, 2, 1… Unpack!

1.

The Accidental Universe

by Alan Lightman

“In our constant search for meaning in this baffling and temporary existence, trapped as we are within our three pounds of neurons, it is sometimes hard to tell what is real. We often invent what isn’t there. Or ignore what is. We try to impose order, both in our minds and in our conceptions of external reality. We try to connect. We try to find truth. We dream and we hope. And underneath all of these strivings, we are haunted by the suspicion that what we see and understand of the world is only a tiny piece of the whole.”

— Alan Lightman

I’ve got to say, Lightman has a way with his words. In this essay, he weaves together descriptions about our vast and chaotic universe that just ooze with inspiring, tear-jerking beauty. His one segment about humankind’s yearning for permanence in this universe, that is notoriously unkind to that very notion, is so poignantly crafted that it’s worth a couple rereads. As a physicist, Lightman took his sweet time describing the universe at the enormous, cosmic level. At parts, he reached levels of abstraction where you were being fire-hosed with talk about thermodynamic laws, God(s), probability, miracles, and all other things that straddle divinity and science. This was great food for thought, for sure, but all this universe talk seemed to me like a bad recipe for nihilism. Human existence, in the grand scheme of things, really is woefully insignificant, especially if you’re zoomed out all the way in god-land like that. So I guess this book wasn’t the best at making me feel as though my mundane struggles, wants, and life ambitions had any real meaning or importance (which do, I protest!). Did this book fill me with wonder and intellectual bliss? Yep! Did this book kindle the fire in me to grease up my elbows and roll up my sleeves and make a difference in this world of humans? Sadly, no.

2.

Antifragile

by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

“Somehow, it is only when you don’t care about your reputation that you tend to have a good one.”

— Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Hohoho what a refreshing read this was! How should I describe this book… a bold treatise that exposes everything wrong with the world’s approach to risk and randomness through the lens of an anti-intellectual scholar? Taleb has no tolerance for bullshit, is irreverently skeptical, and is ruthlessly blunt about his dislike for pretentious armchair intellectuals and “fragilista” professionals. What impresses me the most about AntiFragile is that it is one of those few reads that actually have a real influence on my actions and thought processes. His arguments about randomness and risk (maximize optionality, gauge fragility instead of trying to predict the future, embrace variability over fragile stability, etc.) have pretty concrete applications if you really internalize what he says. No other book motivates me as much as this one to explore my opportunities widely and boldly. He never explicitly says this in the book, but the sentiment I really took away was: Carpe Diem! (Oh, and also a little bit of ‘Fuck You’)

This is not to say that I instantly agreed with everything he said. In fact, I admit that I found quite a few of his concepts to be difficult pills to swallow, at first. For instance, he argues that we can tame the randomness in our lives by having optionality, as it can help us bound our losses and unbound our gains. Basically, you’ll always have the upper hand if you diversify your options, enter situations while maintaining multiple exit strategies and backup plans, and generally refuse all eggs-in-one-basket commitments (because that’s what fragile suckers do). I admit, my initial reaction to this was of mild disgust. Here’s a snippet from a sour journal entry I wrote, which I quote: “Taleb wrote an entire book about how not to be a sucker. Instead, he teaches you how to be something else: an asshole!” In slightly less emotional terms, what I meant here was that this flighty strategy would work great for self-preservation, but seems damagingly reckless to the big things in life that do inevitably require vulnerability and self-sacrifice, like close relationships. I think Taleb provides fantastic practical advice for how to withstand and thrive from turbulent challenges, but he would be missing the mark if he pushes self-preservation as the highest priority for living a good life. These insights, that have served him well as a former trader on Wall Street, just might not produce the same smashing successes when applied everywhere in life, I reckon. So while he has certainly demonstrated the wide applicability of his ideas, I yearn a bit for a more conscientious exploration of its limits.

3.

Behave

by Robert Sapolsky

“You don’t have to choose between being scientific, and being compassionate.”

— Robert Sapolsky

Ok this book takes the cake as my #1 favorite book of this summer. It also deserves another superlative: #1 Most philosophically provocative book.

Here were my first thoughts:

Robert Sapolsky?! The Sapolsky guy who did that brilliant talk at Stanford that inspired my starry-eyed self from middle school? YEA OH YEA IT’S HIM

Oh dear. Very big book.

If you were to go to Mars and could take only one social science book with you on your journey, bring this behemoth. A book with the ambitious goal of exploring all the best and worst parts of humanity, Sapolsky has meticulously combed through and weaved together a comprehensive quilt of all the landmark studies and events that have shaped science’s understanding of human nature to date. He patches together the motivations and meanings of our actions by blending ideas from a spectrum of disciplines including evolutionary biology, biochemistry, genetics, neuroscience, psychology, sociology, philosophy, game theory, law, and economics . Something I admire a lot about this book is the amount of nuance and humility Sapolsky has when explaining human behavior. No matter what arrogant “experts” confidently assert about their fields, one can’t adequately account for all the subtleties of human nature by relying on any singular model. I guess that sounds like common sense, but I think the inquisitive softness that I have come to appreciate in Sapolsky’s writing isn’t something very common at all.

That being said, I do have to say this book had a slow start for me. Sapolsky probably intended for his narrative to be as accessible to the general public as possible, so he took his liberties in the early chapters to explain the fundamental biology and neurochemistry concepts underlying his book. Not to say that this stuff isn’t interesting, but it was a little dry. Anyone who has taken a formal psychology class before or is a seasoned reader of social science books probably isn’t a stranger to many of the famous experiments he discusses in detail. Not to worry, though. The pace eventually picks up, landing its best kernels of wisdom and greatness toward the end. And seriously… it is worth the journey. I finished chapters 15-17 feeling like a champion, having experienced feelings towards humanity that swept across my whole spectrum of emotions (a book can do that?). I’ll do you the courtesy of not spoiling any of it ;)

So why do I find this book to be the “most philosophically provocative?” ‘Behave’ obviously invites a lot of introspection about human nature, but I think the doozy in this book lies in the recurring dialogue about free will vs. determinism. I know — bear with me — this debate has probably been beaten to death within academic circles for a century. But Sapolsky brought a new sense of urgency to the question by noting the relentless advancements of scientific and technological discovery we’ve been seeing in recent years. Sapolsky himself sits in the deterministic camp of ideology (gasp!), and goes into pretty grave detail about what this implies. If what he says is true, that humankind is already headed in the direction of realizing there is no free will, our current legal system and humanistic societal mores will be needing some serious revisions. But hey — the hopeful future he paints, where we will have shed our primitive beliefs in “evil” agents and learn to harmonize science with compassion sounds pretty swell to me. *shrugs*

(Bonus quote, because I loved this book so much)

“Solving those nuts and bolts issues may be a way of ending the war, But peace is not the mere absence of war; making true peace requires acknowledging and respecting the sacred values of them. /…/ In rational choice models of decision making, something as intangible as an apology could not stand in the way of peace, yet they do. Because in recognizing the enemy’s sacred symbols, you are de facto recognizing their humanity, their capacity for pride, unity, and connection to their past, and most of all, their capacity for experiencing pain.”

— Robert Sapolsky, Chapter 15

4.

Homo Deus

by Yuval Noah Harari

“This is the primary commandment humanism has given us: create meaning for a meaningless world. Accordingly, the central religious revolution of modernity was not losing faith in God, but rather gaining faith in humanity.”

— Yuval Noah Harari, Chapter 9

Ok, I admit: After Sapolsky’s grand finish in “Behave”, diving straight into a second let’s-walk-you-through-all-of-human-history book without a proper palette cleanser wasn’t the most tasteful choice. But let’s leave that behind us, shall we? What “Homo Deus” has in common with “Behave” was an iffy beginning, though for a different reason. Harari starts the book off by painting some crazy speculations about humanity’s future and excitedly exploring the moral quandaries that come along with them: we unlock immortality, “hack” away society’s current afflictions, and/or upgrade ourselves to be living gods (hence the dramatic title). To be honest, all of that optimistic sci-fi talk started to annoy me, and I came close to abandoning the book; if there was anything I learned from Nassim Taleb, it was to protect my eyes from the cancerous garbage spewed by haughty experts who think they can predict the future. Thankfully, Harari was aware of this, as he was quick to qualify himself, before he began his thorough survey of man’s historical timeline, starting from square one. That was where the real fun began.

What stood out to me about this book was not its recounting of specific historical events in detail, but rather its insightful high-level analyses of human progress. I LOVE it. Somehow, Harari was able to capture the zeitgeist (pardon the fancy word) of every great human era, into one flowing narrative.

Here’s one example so you know what I mean. Harari remarks at one point that “modernity is a deal,” in which we have traded meaning for power. Long ago, when humans were pretty powerless against nature and celestial deities were the go-to answer for all the big questions about the universe, people didn’t struggle with existential crises. But in the modern age, where science and technology equip people with more power to direct their lives than ever before, meaninglessness and existential unease strikes like the plague. Cool, right? “Homo Deus” is FULL of insights like this. It’s incredible.

5.

Barking up the Wrong Tree

by Eric Barker

“We often confuse fate and destiny for meaning the same thing. But UCLA professor Howard Suber clarifies the distinction: fate is that thing we cannot avoid; it comes for us despite how we try to run from it. Destiny, on the other hand, is that thing we must chase — what we must bring to fruition. It’s what we strive toward and make true. When bad things happen, the idea of fate makes us feel better. Whereas /…/ success doesn’t come from shrugging off the bad as unchangeable and saying things are already meant to be. It’s the result of chasing the good and writing our own future. Less fate, more destiny.” — Eric Barker

Of all the books listed, this one was definitely the breeziest and perhaps the most enjoyable book to read. It is a fast and lightweight read, with an addicting quality to it that reminds me of online blogs (like Medium!). Addicting, you might ask? Yeah — the chapter titles are written like Buzzfeed article headings ( I mean this endearingly) , just beckoning for you to continue. For example, here’s one: “Do Nice Guys Finish Last?” … Need I say more?

I don’t have much else to say about this book besides how easily digestible and pleasurable it is to read. But don’t get the wrong idea — It’s full of hearty insights, and I love how Barker can explore some very deeply philosophical questions in plain speak, without dishing out empty, glib answers. It’s an espresso shot of no-frills discourse and practical wisdom about our common misconceptions about success. Who doesn’t like to ponder about how to live a successful and meaningful life? What is success, anyway? Bring it with you on your next plane ride or listen to its audiobook version during some thoughtful walks. 10/10 would recommend.

6.

Give and Take

by Adam Grant

“Givers don’t burn out when they devote too much time and energy to giving. They burn out when they’re working with people in need but are unable to help effectively.”

— Adam Grant

Nice guys don’t finish last. There, I said it. Adam Grant says so too. And then he wrote an entire book about it.

This book has the lively cadence that reminds me a lot of Malcom Gladwell’s books. Solid, real-world examples and anecdotes make Grant’s book lucid and persuasive. Reading ‘Give and Take’ gave me the fuzzies at parts, because who doesn’t want to feel that all is right with the world, where happy endings occur to people who give generously? But, of course, anyone who hasn’t been living blissfully under a rock their whole lives knows that this isn’t always the case. The kicker in this book is not that he praises saintly and self-sacrificing behavior (which, he does admit, can turn people into burnt-out doormats), but the way he distinguishes selfless and “other-ish” giving. Effectively, he discusses what styles of giving are actually sustainable and win-win in the long run, while giving practical advice about how not to be a burnt-out doormat. Valuable stuff to read, especially if you self-identify as a giver and want to feel validated. Grant reminds us that we (impersonal ‘we’) can help others and help ourselves too, if the cards are played right. I think I give this book a 7.5/10… solid book with clear arguments, but nothing about it made me leap out of my chair.

7.

Anti-Intellectualism in American Life

by Richard Hofstadter

“ The professional man lives off ideas, not for them. He’s a mental technician”

— Richard Hofstadter

I’ve got to say that this book was most unlike the others I’ve read. If you’re a U.S. history buff, you’d really enjoy this book, which deep-dives into the ebbing and flowing tides of American anti-intellectualism since its origins in the Great Awakening of the 1700’s, all the way to the present day.

( Heads up: This next bit is more of a rant than a book review.) The most mind-blowing thing I learned was really how deeply ingrained anti-intellectualism is in American culture. Peering into the darker parts of the U.S.’s recent history (remember McCarthyism?), the book highlights that intellectuals in this country have long been stamped with disparaging stigmas of being untrustworthy, morally decadent, effeminate, and, get this, un-American. Maybe it’s because I was raised in a different culture, but those sentiments just seemed bizarre to me as I was reading about them, and it took me a long time to understand. Personally, I’ve always revered the well-educated for their critical reasoning skills and genteel dignity, and could never wrap my head around why respectable Americans would routinely seem to be captivated, instead, by crass populist figures. How did “hardworking and charming Christian with simple and practical-minded values” become popularly known as the traits of the “quintessential” American man? This book walked me through the ins and outs of anti-intellectualism, which has become so integral in this country’s narrative. Here’s a thought: have you wondered why the U.S. isn’t known for having beautiful relics or extravagant monuments of classical art and culture, like many Western European countries are? Maybe it’s because the U.S. was built by founders who wanted nothing to do with all that . The first settlers had fled from such countries, and have abandoned centuries of history and tradition and culture, to live a simpler and more pious life. From this, you could probably imagine how anti-intellectualism begins to fit into the picture of American history. These roots run deep.

As much as I don’t want to bring up the 2016 election and subsequent events, this book, though it was published in 1963, is pretty darn relevant to all the craziness that we’re facing today ( is it a little disturbing that things haven’t changed that much in a half-century?) Last year’s presidential election was insane; it tore open old scars, and revealed an ideological rift between Americans that at times is so hostile that it seems impossible to get both sides to understand each other. I won’t say that this book magically made me “understand” all of the unrest between the left and right, or convinced me that anti-intellectualism is a great thing (still disagree…). But it definitely got me thinking about how swampy and complex this makes American history.

All that being said, Anti-Intellectualism in American Life was a fascinating but pretty challenging read. I’m no U.S. History enthusiast, and I certainly won’t be able to remember all the names, dates, and events that were mentioned, but it was enough to get me thinking about America’s past, the evolution of its values, and the perspectives of the “American people” of whom people like to refer.

8.

Thinking Fast and Slow

by Daniel Kahneman

“ Experts who acknowledge the full extent of their ignorance may expect to be replaced by more confident competitors, who are better able to gain the trust of clients. An unbiased appreciation of uncertainty is a cornerstone of rationality — but it is not what people and organizations want. Extreme uncertainty is paralyzing under dangerous circumstances, and the admission that one is merely guessing is especially unacceptable when the stakes are high. Acting on pretended knowledge is often the preferred solution.”

— Daniel Kahneman, Chapter 24

When shopping on Amazon for this book, I’ve honestly read nothing but praise. Kahneman and Tversky’s work have had an earth-shattering influence in the social sciences and economics for the past few decades, and it goes without saying that this book is a staple for anyone remotely interested in behavioral economics. All I can really think of to say is to read this book carefully, and have a pen on hand to annotate. This book is DENSE with counterintuitive insights about human psychology, which will make any reader start to think twice about the reliability (or unreliability, rather) of his/her judgment. Very cool, all the way through.

…

Unpacking: Done

So, there’s that: my compendium of book commentaries of the summer. I am ALWAYS looking for more thought provoking things to read, so please (x3) feel welcome to send me book/article/blog recommendations. Thoughtful discussions always appreciated :)

[oldguardaudio]

PowerLine -> Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo

Heil Google at HoaxAndChange.com

Powerline image at HoaxAndChange

powerline at HoaxAndChange.com

Daily Digest

Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo

Coming: Lilla-Livered Liberalism?

Has Trump lost his focus on radical Islam?

A Colin Kaepernick update

Was it a hack or a leak?

Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo

Posted: 11 Aug 2017 02:26 PM PDT

(John Hinderaker)

At The Unz Review, Steve Sailer asks an excellent question about the controversy over James Damore’s memo on Google’s “progressive echo chamber”: “Why Are Damore’s Observations About Statistical Distributions Assumed to be Inevitably Aspersions on Women _already_ Hired by Google?”

Imagine if in an Alternative Universe in which the media’s diversity dogmas were based on their ostensible logic rather than on sheer “Who? Whom?” childishness, somebody asked Cleveland Cavalier all-time great LeBron James:

Q. “Why is there so little diversity and racial equality in the NBA?”

LeBron: “Well, I think we could be doing a little better outreach to under-represented ethnicities to show them what a great sport basketball is, but, yeah, basically, at the highest levels, blacks tend to be a little better than whites at basketball.”

Q. “Didn’t your stereotyping just create a Hostile Work Environment for your white teammates like Kevin Love? How can Kevin Love continue to play on the same team with a hate-filled bigot like yourself who doesn’t believe he deserves to be in the NBA?”

LeBron: “Wait a minute, I didn’t say that Kevin Love doesn’t deserve to be in the NBA. I specifically insisted that the Cavs sign Kevin as part of my plan to return to my home region and win Cleveland an NBA title, which we did. Granted, Kevin looked a little dorkier while defensively shutting down NBA MVP Steph Curry in the last minute of the seventh game of the 2016 Finals than, say, I might have, but damn that white boy got the job done when it mattered!”

Q. “But if whites are genetically inferior to blacks at basketball, then aren’t you saying that all the whites in the NBA don’t belong there?”

LeBron: “No, stop being stupid. The whites in the NBA belong in the NBA or they wouldn’t be in the NBA. We don’t have special programs to hire whites who aren’t really good enough to play in the NBA. What I’m saying is that there aren’t a huge number of whites who aren’t in the NBA who belong in the NBA but are being kept out of the NBA by anti-white racism.”

If I ran Google, I would say that any female employees who boycotted work for a day because they felt threatened by Damore’s memo are deficient in logic and should stay away permanently.

   Coming: Lilla-Livered Liberalism?

Posted: 11 Aug 2017 11:18 AM PDT

(Steven Hayward)

When I see things like the meltdown at Google or any of the various campus disgraces that can be mentioned, I like to ask: “When are liberals going to defend liberalism?” One liberal who is standing up for liberalism is Mark Lilla of Columbia University. As noted here back in November, Lilla wrote an op-ed for the New York Times criticizing the Democratic Party’s reliance on identity politics. For this, one of his feminist colleagues at Columbia called him a “white supremacist.”

Next week Lilla’s short new book that expands his original critique will be published, The Once and Future Liberal. Unfortunately, I don’t have an advance copy and will wait for it to come in the mail in a few days like everyone else. But Rod Dreher at The American Conservative has read an advance copy, and he passes along this wonderful passage from the book:

Electoral politics is a little like fishing. When you fish you get up early in the morning and go to where the fish are — not to where you might wish them to be. You then drop bait into the water (bait being defined as something they want to eat, not as “healthy choices”). Once the fish realize they are hooked they may resist. Let them; loosen your line. Eventually they will calm down and you can slowly reel them in, careful not to provoke them unnecessarily. The identity liberals’ approach to fishing is to remain on shore, yelling at the fish about the historical wrongs visited on them by the sea, and the need for aquatic life to renounce its privilege. All in the hope that the fish will collectively confess their sins and swim to shore to be netted. If that is your approach to fishing, you had better become a vegan.

It’s going to be fun to watch the apoplexy of the left over Lilla’s book.  Stay tuned: I’ll have more.

Just hope no one at Google hears about this book.

Damon Linker (another liberal defector from the party line) has more here.

   Has Trump lost his focus on radical Islam?

Posted: 11 Aug 2017 09:01 AM PDT

(Paul Mirengoff)

The estimable Ayaan Hirsi Ali thinks so. Writing in the Wall Street Journal, she reminds us:

Candidate Donald Trump vowed to take a fresh approach to Islamic extremism. He ditched the politically correct language of the Obama administration by declaring that we were mired in an ideological conflict with radical Islam, which he likened to the totalitarian ideologies America had defeated in the 20th century.

Mr. Trump also promised, as part of his immigration policy, to put in place an “extreme vetting” system that screens for Islamic radicalism. He vowed to

But President Trump hasn’t delivered:

Mr. Trump has had more than six months to make good on these pledges. He hasn’t gotten very far. The administration’s first move—a hastily drafted executive order limiting immigration from seven Muslim-majority countries—backfired when it was repeatedly blocked in court.

Worse, subsequent moves have tended to run counter to Mr. Trump’s campaign pledges. Aside from a new questionnaire for visa applicants, there has been no clarity regarding the promised “extreme vetting” of Muslim immigrants and visitors. The promise to work with and empower authentic Muslim reformers has gone nowhere. The status of the promised commission on radical Islam remains unclear.

Perhaps most discouragingly, the administration’s Middle Eastern strategy seems to involve cozying up to Saudi Arabia—for decades the principal source of funding for Islamic extremism around the world.

As to the last point, I think we should remember that the “cozying up to Saudi Arabia” is probably motivated by the need to form an alliance to counter Iran. Overall, however, I think Ayaan’s criticism of the president stands.

How to explain Trump’s failure to deliver? Some blame his advisers, such as H.R. McMaster, and not without justification, I believe.

However, in my opinion, Ayaan is right to place the primary blame on Trump. As she puts it, “he simply seems to have lost interest.”

The same statement probably explains a lot about this presidency. To be fair to Trump, though, the fact that his opponents have formed a “resistance” and placed him under siege for no very good reason makes it difficult for him — as it would for even a less narcissistic president — to remain focused on things like “Islamic extremism.” It’s understandable that when he’s not worried about Robert Mueller and his dream team of partisan Democrats, his focus is on matters like North Korean and Iranian nukes.

There’s also the perceived need to “put wins on the board.” Defeating ISIS in its strongholds is a win, even though the process of driving it out of Mosul and Raqqa was well underway before Trump took office. “Working with genuine Muslim reformers” and establishing “a commission on radical Islam” won’t register a win on the public scorecard.

Realizing that Trump is unlikely to follow through on these promises, Ayaan urges Congress to act. She proposes that Congress convene hearings on the ideological threat of radical Islam (and suggests, naively I think, that this can be an area of bipartisan agreement). “If the executive branch isn’t willing — if the president has forgotten his campaign commitments — lawmakers can and should step up to the plate,” she concludes.

   A Colin Kaepernick update

Posted: 11 Aug 2017 07:53 AM PDT

(Paul Mirengoff)

Actually, this is a Ryan Mallet update. However, it’s relevant to Kaepernick because Mallet is the backup quarterback for the Baltimore Ravens, a team that has contemplated signing Kaepernick.

The Ravens starting quarterback, Joe Flacco, is injured. Thus, Mallet started last night’s pre-season game against the Washington Redskins.

Mallet was awful. He completed 9 of 18 passes for only 58 yards. His rating was 57.2.

Mallet’s actual performance was worse than these numbers indicate. He missed open receivers all over the field. He threw what would have been a pick-six (an interception returned for a touchdown) had the Redskins safety not dropped the ball.

Baltimore’s coach John Harbaugh defended Mallet, saying that he played “winning football.” But it’s not that difficult for a quarterback to play winning football when (1) the defense holds the opposition to three points, (2) the 13 points your team puts on the board while you’re in the game are mainly the result of the opponent’s penalties and a turnover, and (3) the opponent drops a pick-six.

Mallet’s career numbers aren’t much better than his numbers last night. His career rating is 64.9, with a completion percentage of 55.0, and seven touchdown passes vs. ten interceptions.

Kaepernick’s career rating is 88.9, with a completion percentage of 59.8, and 72 touchdowns vs. 30 interceptions. Last year’s numbers, compiled with a terrible team, were in line with his career stats. Plus, Kaepernick is an accomplished runner. Last year he gained 468 yards on the ground in 12 games, averaging 6.8 yards per carry. Mallet has run for -2 yards on 24 carries in his career.

The Ravens are probably concerned that fan reaction to signing Kaepernick will hurt the business. But Kaepernick has said he will stand for the National Anthem this year. Once that happens, if he’s given the chance to play for the team, fan anger is likely to dissipate.

This is a big season for the Ravens and coach Harbaugh. Until recently, this franchise was pretty much a fixture in the playoffs, but playoff appearances have started to dry up. Meanwhile, a rash of injuries has already hit this year’s squad. Going into the season with Ryan Mallet as the backup for a starting quarterback who, himself, is fighting injuries seems awfully risky.

I’m not a Ravens fan, but I am a fan of free expression. I hope the Ravens, or some other NFL team, signs Colin Kaepernick.

   Was it a hack or a leak?

Posted: 11 Aug 2017 06:09 AM PDT

(Scott Johnson)

Yesterday the Nation posted Patrick Lawrence’s article on the purported hack of the DNC email by the Russians in the run-up to last year’s election. Lawrence reports the analysis by former intelligence officials who assert it was something else entirely. Lawrence’s article was posted under the heading “A New Report Raises Big Questions About Last Year’s DNC Hack.”

The “report” comes in form of open letters to the president by a group of former American intelligence officers. The group — Veteran Intelligence Professionals for Sanity (VIPS) — was founded in 2003 and now has 30 members, including a few associates with backgrounds in national-security fields other than intelligence.

The group has written three open letters on the DNC incident, all of which were first published by Robert Parry at Consortium News. The latest is dated July 24 and posted here.

In his article Lawrence notes that “[t]he chief researchers active on the DNC case are four: William Binney, formerly the NSA’s technical director for world geopolitical and military analysis and designer of many agency programs now in use; Kirk Wiebe, formerly a senior analyst at the NSA’s SIGINT Automation Research Center; Edward Loomis, formerly technical director of the NSA’s Office of Signal Processing; and Ray McGovern, an intelligence analyst for nearly three decades and formerly chief of the CIA’s Soviet Foreign Policy Branch.”

Lawrence’s article presents the analysis based in part on “numerous interviews with all of them conducted in person, via Skype, or by telephone.” The analysis leads to the conclusion that the DNC email was not hacked, but rather leaked by an insider.

Lawrence’s article is shot through with the kind of left-wing rhetoric and allegations one might expect from the Nation. McGovern himself is the co-founder of VIPS and a left-wing activist. I take it that VIPS is a left-wing outfit.

The analysis presented by VIPS and reported by Lawrence nevertheless stands or falls on its own merits. It should be judged on those merits. They are, however, over my head. I can only say the analysis is interesting if true.

At Bloomberg View, Leonid Bershidsky performs a service. He summarizes the analysis and subtracts the rhetoric. Bershidsky’s column is “Why Some U.S. Ex-Spies Don’t Buy the Russia Story.”

UPDATE: I should have made it clear above that the actual research supporting the analysis was conducted by two anonymous workers — “Forensicator” and “Adam Carter” — working off publicly available information. The VIPS appear to be acting basically as publicists in this case.

   PowerLine -> Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo PowerLine -> Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo Daily Digest Lebron James, Kevin Love and the Google Memo…