#and putting them on the body and actions of an unjust killer

[australianklaviergavin]

(The werewolf was you)

[auntie-browning]

Browning was flabbergasted, speechless even. The words she wanted to articulate couldn’t immerge. The shock, the horror, the encroaching sensation of doom, and the miasma of conflicting signals emanating from the Red within left her reeling. The doll wanted nothing more than to push that creature away and scream into the night. Perhaps she could run far enough to put some distance between the two and seek some other end to her existence. Anything to be rid of this foolish devil’s burden she finds herself with.

But she knew all too well that Ziatrix would not only find her but catch up faster than she could hope to escape. She wasn’t just a killer satiated with the hunt; she was malevolent creature created only to consume. Everything she learned only works to make the ends meet. How could a standard issue doll like her even hope to compare towards a creature magically engineered to mutilate the body and expunge the soul? Every cell of her being desires constant satiation. She knows this well for she hears them in her own being with how they gnaw upon the recesses of her subconscious for satiation.

Only now they quell for they have eaten well. But soon, she shall want. With that, Browning must always ask: Will she be the next to go then? What day, what hour, and for what reason? Even postulating on these questions makes the doll sick. But nothing shall ever replace the unparallel nausea she experienced seeing Zia’s first two victims with her very eyes. Nothing could even come to a fraction. Not even the radioactive husks of beings from her home reality.

“G-Give me a moment…Christ…j-just give me…”

She bargained aloud while she gets her bearings in place. One could say it was with the beast of Babylon before her but it could very well be with this unjust reality she’s experiencing. Her neural cloud was doing it best processing the different responses happening within that mental matrix, interpreting what she could even do while trying to compose herself.

The pair already understood that they needed to leave, sooner rather than later. She was wondering if she should even grab the cans they already had or just high tail it out of there right that instant. Zia did make her feeding into a spectacle, indulging in the pseudo-justified slaughter of some unsavory people who really didn’t deserve it. Blood curdling screams and all.

After picking herself off the ground, the doll surveyed their immediate surroundings with hazed breaths. Electing to retreat back to their ‘rally’ point, she began her attempt to guide them without having another slip up to give the other some kind of justification again. Truthfully, she wasn’t hurting from the attacks done upon her anymore. Instead, she was simply trying to compose herself to little real success. That also isn’t going into the implications her ‘healing’ would mean to what has changed to her body. Even if she tried to tackle that now, she’d probably end up like a shriveled nervous reck.

Right now, she had to focus. She has the blood of two innocent people on her hands from the actions of this monster she tried to control. If she didn’t move soon, she’d very well have the blood of many more by morning’s dawn.

“W-We’re getting the things we got, grabbing it all, and sprinting back to where we came from! No stopping! If I start slowing down, drag me if you need to!”

Browning nervously commanded, hoping she could still boss her to her will for the time being as they duck back into alley ways in order to get themselves back to their gathering before getting out of dodge.

Just as blood splashes, as those spikes faded away and the liquid formed into puddles, washing bites and pieces down the drain. Whatever was missed, whatever was spilled as Ziatrix consumed these poor souls.

Their screams both physical, and the ghostly images that were seen as their souls were torn and rend asunder. Whatever parts of 'them' were turned into nothing more than little pieces of 'her'.

Even that flesh she fuses to Browning's synthetic skin, it's mimicry at it's finished. A doll like her, her systems, her everything would only recognize it as the same flesh she had before.

It's so perfect in it's copy, it speaks in code when it needs to, it responds to other cells as it must. It's perfect, so scarily so. It makes one wonder, if they'd perhaps already been replaced at some point in the night, if why it bound so easily to her, was because she was alike it already.

"So now you've seen it..." Ziatrix straddles the other, resting her hand on the sound, her body against theirs. A hand remains on Browning's chin to force her to look forward. As usual the creature likes to be close, and those unblinking eyes enjoy being locked on the other's.

"It is, indeed the fate that awaits you. Once I fully understand the process, the soul of what is a neural cloud... how to consume it, perhaps I cannot rend your flesh like a delightful meal but."

She rested her forehead against Browning's, eyes still staring.

"I will eat that mind of yours...after a long journey, when it's matured perfectly. But until then, you cannot die.. I will raise the city, the planet if I must. To ensure they do not take you from me."

"But today.. we must keep moving. Less I break my promise to you anymore, stand...you know what happens if you do not."

She slides off Browning and offers a hand once the healing process was complete.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

my twisted knife, my sleepless night, my winless fight, this has frozen my ground

okay this is the last draft I have to touch up and post today, sorry for the sudden influx of fics. This one is also pretty dark as a warning, exploring Anders (and Justices) thoughts and feelings the night before The Last Straw. Full warnings, as well as the fic, are available on AO3 here!

-///-

Preparations have been all that has consumed them for months.

There are none left to make.

The explosives are set. The time is decided. Whispers from the Mage Underground come in fits and stutters but they all point to Meredith’s delusions about blood magic rising and her thirst for power with them. Orsino can no longer hold her at bay.

No half measures. Tomorrow, for good or ill, the world stops waiting and putting up blockades against the inevitable. Tomorrow, justice will be set in motion even if doing so can only be achieved by the most unjust of actions.

Anders takes a deep breath. Something stirs at the base of his lungs, or, then again, maybe it doesn’t. Justice. Sometimes, he thinks he feels him in his body like a physical thing but he’s still not sure if that’s just wishful thinking or perhaps phantom sensations as his brain tries to cope with being not just one but two. Even after all these years he has no solid answer. He doubts they ever will.

But Justice is there. There. He is the only comfort that Anders will get today, and he clings to him desperately. He lets his thoughts float when he can in that space where they are neither one nor the other, but instead both. It’s comforting.

Or rather, it’s usually comforting.

But today…

“Here,” Anders wraps the bandage around the little girls cut knee. She fell, and the wound wasn’t deep, but in Dark Town infection rates are far too high. Her mother hangs off in the background, worried.

Anders wants to tell her; stay out of High Town tomorrow evening.

Instead, he gives a weak smile, “stay safe,” he murmurs as the girl jumps off the bed and runs back to her mother.

He prays that his unspoken warning will be heeded. They have wanted to tell everyone who has walked through their doors today, but if even one person let slip that the healer had told them so…their plan was too delicate, too fragile.

Already they had risked too much by telling Sebastian that Hawke would require his assistance tomorrow evening when Hawke had asked him to tell him no such thing. If they let it slip to too many people all of this would be for nothing…

They couldn’t let it all go to waste.

So instead, they watch, and the thought comes once again to Anders’ mind what will it feel like to die? And the hope comes once again I hope Justice can return to the fade afterwards.

There is an answer, in the thoughts that are Not His; I hope I will not.

Anders is aware what Justice wants and it makes tears prick in the corner of their eyes. To know Justice wants to die by Hawke’s hand just as they do, tomorrow, when it’s all over and Hawke sees them for the monster Fenris and Aveline and Sebastian have always told them they are…

But Spirits don’t die, not like mortals. They persist.

Is Justice still Spirit enough to persist? Are they enough two people that Justice could just leave Anders body and return to the fade? Or are they too much the same person that they cannot be without the other.

Anders doesn’t know, but he hopes.

Justice doesn’t know, but he hopes.

They always hate it when their hopes conflict in such ways.

But there is at least one hope they still share.

Hawke.

It’s not well defined, not a wish, not really even a want. It is just one word: Hawke. It presses to the places where they overlap, slipping in through Ander’s weakness for pretty things and passionate people and nestling in Justice’s desire for humans to do right.

Hawke is their hope. When they start a war tomorrow, when Hawke presses a dagger into their chest, Hawke will take over. The mage rebellion…it might remember him as a martyr, or it might remember him as a killer. Whatever it thinks of him, it will need a leader and one whose hands are clean. It’s why they couldn’t tell her. Because she has to be that person. She has to be.

They ask too much of her.

But still, they hope.

Still, they believe.

If not in the Maker, if not in the chantry, or society, or Andraste, they believe in Hawke.

And right now, they long to go to her.

Instead, Ander’s checks the lantern to make sure it is still burning and invites in another sick patient. They still have time. They can heal, and heal, until all that’s left in them is destruction. And then they will go home – home – and they will crawl into Hawke’s bed and they will kiss her and kiss her until it’s all they know.

They will try not to make it feel like a goodbye.

But Hawke is so clever. She’s passionate and loud and she knows them inside and out. It’s dangerous to love. It’s fascinating. Anders loves with the memory of Karl on his mind; he knows how love can break you apart. Justice loves with the memory of Aura and how he’d wondered at the passion she felt for the rotting body he once wore. They both know love differently now, in Hawke. They know a love that is sure and true and beautiful and their own, a love that could last forever if it wasn’t for what they had to do tomorrow.

No. No. They cannot think about some…some undefined hope, a maybe they’d let themselves have before things became so dark. Hawke and their love for her…it was a good maybe, the best maybe of either of their lives, but it was always just that: a maybe. And what they are – apostates – well. It was always going to keep that maybe just out of reach.

Anders heals instead. Heals another. And another. He’s careful, gentle, holding his tongue against the warnings that threaten to spill out.

Is it an injustice to keep his lips sealed?

He hates that he doesn’t know anymore.

He hates what they’ve become.

They are not themselves anymore, they are…an instrument. They are what is necessary.

Necessity doesn’t leave a lot of room for who they used to be.

Darkness, hovering. Between each patient, Anders thinks about leaving and going to be with the others.

If he left now, he could have one last round of wicked grace with Varric.

If he left now, he could have one last argument with Fenris.

If he left now, he could have one last drink with Isabela.

If he left now, he could have one last laugh with Merrill.

But time ticks on. Ticks on later and later. He continues to heal. He drinks a lyrium potion to keep himself going, to keep himself awake.

The sick always need healing, here.

Kirkwall has never had any justice within its walls.

So, he heals. And as he does, he loses his last chance at…at something. At goodbye.

He wants to go to Hawke.

He wants to make love to her one final time.

He wants to hold her in his arms and feel her heart beating in her chest.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

But he’s so scared she’ll know.

It’s well past midnight, by the time he finally closes the clinic. He takes his time. It is the last time he will come here. He used to hate it; the smell, the sound, the fact that this – a hole in the ground – was the best health care that Kirkwall could afford its citizens. He was eager to leave when Hawke offered to let him move in.

Funny, how something he once hated could make him feel so nostalgic. So sad.

He puts out the lamp. The healer in darktown will not operate anymore.

There is nothing but destruction and death in his bones.

He picks his way through the underground cellars; the old slaver passageways that lead to the basement of Hawke’s house. Sometimes, late at night, he’s attacked down here, but not this evening. Not tonight.

Kirkwall is…almost peaceful. It waits with bated breath.

Orana has left the candles lit for him, though she has retired from her rooms. Dog is nowhere to be seen. Anders wonders if he’ll be safe, after this. He never much liked the animal, but he knew Hawke loved the big mangy thing.

Anders wants to go straight to Hawke, but instead, he hesitates. By the fire, by the window. He sees the books that Hawke has been teaching Fenris to read from. He sees Varric’s scribbles in Hawke’s journals. A letter from Carver on the desk. A halla statue gifted by Merrill on Hawke’s last nameday. The lock is broken on the chest on the landing, a sure sign that Isabela had been there.

He feels justice stir inside him again, just as eager as he is to be in her arms, for him to stop this melancholy that he’s torturing himself with. It won’t help. It won’t help either of them.

He gives in, eventually, when there’s nothing left to procrastinate with.

He readies himself for what he has to say, the love he has to pour out.

He opens the door.

He opens the door, and she is asleep.

She is not up reading. She is not freshly back from the hanged man. She is fast asleep, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow, her chest rising up and down slowly.

A pang presses in his chest. He knows he will not wake her.

He knows he must be gone early in the morning.

He knows he’s lost his chance to say goodbye to her too.

Tomorrow, when she sees him…they’ll be nothing between them but betrayal.

He takes a shuddering breath.

Perhaps it was for the best.

He runs. Ander’s always run away. From everyone and everything. Even from this. He’s never been good at goodbyes. He just runs away from them.

Tomorrow…the world would change, and everything in it.

There would be no place left for the friends of Kirkwall, or his lover and her blood-stained nose.

[faridhafk]

We Need to Accept that The World Today is not Okay

Bismillaahirrahmaanirrahiiim,

Right, just this morning after Fajr prayer, I got myself stumbled on very disturbing news in Tumblr and twitter and some media there and there. It is about the death of “another” black man in Minneapolis which triggered a protest that resulted in another death. Like a domino effect maybe.

 While I was not really sure what the cause was and while trying to make a fair judgment about what was all about, I tried to find another resource. And here my opinion about it. 

I am not here to tell how the story went or how it happened, you can just use “this link” to know more about it (and some relevant cases to this one). I want to sound my opinion and you can agree and some of you may have a different reason, and that's fine.

The most important, significant, and urgent matter right now is the novel corona virus which for about half a year has become the new global killer. Everyone's focus right now is directed to it. No matter where we go, we are forced to deal and learn how to live with it as “a new normal” lifestyle. That’s not wrong, and actually, we need to cope with it, just take it as another unlikely situation that we need to make a peace with. 

However, we almost forget that even before the pandemic rises to the top of topic everywhere and anywhere, we have dealt with another massacre, another killer, one of the greatest and ruthless killers ever. “RACISM”. I apologize that I could not provide data to support my statement, but let say that this killer is always around us, though it won’t take our life directly, it will lead to the killing, one or in another way. From slavery, extreme discrimination, human right violation, unfair judgment, etc.

Racism is not only about the different skin color, and black people is not the only one who gets such cruel treatment (though the extreme case always about black people), Asian with their yellow skin also considered as colored people and sometimes, also get cruel treatment. Even within Asian countries itself, different face features, ‘slightly’ different skin color (for ex: East Asian and South-East Asian) will lead to racism. And, as I said, the treatment itself might not be the killer, but the event following the racist comment or unjust judgment may lead to it. If not the body, at the very least it will kill the mental health. 

The problem with this racism issue is race supremacy. That some races think that they are way superior to other races (that the reason of Nazi movement right?), and it leads to this extreme issue of second class community that affects black people for so many years (especially in America where the fight between black and white people will rise to fight is common). The stereotype which follows black or colored people is that they are lower than white people, they are born to be a slave, they are not educated enough, they are a villain and they are not given the chance that white people have. 

But Hey! We hate it when people belittle our origin, underestimate our dream, our passion, our way of life. But racism make us deliver such treatment to them. Means, that we are do the same thing to them because we think that since they are on different level they have the right of such treatment. That's just wrong. And they (the colored people) get it worse, they are not allowed to dream. In the biography of Malcolm X, he told that the teacher in his elementary school rejected his dream to be a lawyer. Frederick Douglass had to witness his mother became the object of a rapist. So, that the reason why so many prominent black figures raise their voice to fight for equality and stop racial segregation. Malcolm X, Frederick Douglas, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Muhammad Ali, and so on. Still, the people today hate the idea to live side by side with different skin color people. 

Do we think, if we do not even grant the colored people the chance to learn, a chance to dream, chance to get a proper living, we expect them to behave the way we behave? To prove their worth? To have a prosperous living? Sure, there are many of them which struggle is paid off, but it does not neglect the fact that many of them still got poor treatment from their environment. 

Thus, my point is, though our life is currently restricted and our focus is on the covid-19, we are not supposed to lose our human side, empathy, and the reality that we are should cooperate to living side by side without getting concerned by different skin color, different face feature, or physical appearance. We are not supposed to generalize that dark skin people will always have a bad intention. It is true some of them have it, but it is also true that some of us have the same bad intention. The bad intention is not about skin color, not reside in one community but it is independently created by each individual "who like to have it". Though it is true that our action may be got affected by with whom we are hanging out, but it does not make "the race" as the source of the problem.

You know, while I am writing this, I just realize that the harsh treatment black skin often gets is not that different from how Islamic community gets harsh treatment from every corner of the world. The action of some group of Islamic community should not be the reason to judge every Islamic person and it is the same as the action of bad dark people should not lead us to put villain label on them. You cannot point out your finger to all African-Americans just because there are some fools linger around them.

And I would also like to quote the view of someone who know what was it like to be discriminated, by an African-american, one of the most respected black man in American history, and a muslom on top of it.

Malcolm X said : 

“The real religion of Islam does not teach anyone to judge another human being by the color of his skin. The yardstick that is used by the Muslim to measure another man is not the man's color but the man's deed, the man's conscious behavior, the man's intentions. And when you used that as standard measurement or judgement you never go wrong, but when you just judge a man because of the color of his skin then you are committing the crime. Because that's the worst kind of judgement. If you judged him just because he was a Jew that's not as bad as judging him because he is black. Because Jew can hide his religion, he can say he's something else, and which a lot of them do that, they say they are something else. But the black man can not hide. When they start indicting us because of our color that means we are indicted before we are born, that is the worst kind of crime that can be committed. And the Muslim religion has eliminated all tendencies to judge a man according to the color of his skin but rather the judgement is based upon his deeds.”

Last but not least, how Islam make things beautiful is that, if we get judge by our physical appearance then, Bilal ibn Rabah, The prophet muadzin, the man who’s sandals has arrived in the paradise while he was still reside in the earth, will never become one of the closest companion of the prophet. Or Julaybib, that the prophet care so much. Both of them were dark skin colored, but still able to get high respect by the prophet and are guaranteed a place in Paradise by Allah ar-rahman. Then we should be grateful that we are given this luxury to be a Muslim and have better understanding of it. That we have the same chance to get a place in paradise, to be able to mingle with anyone without worried to be isolated from the community no matter how we look on the outside.

Jakarta, Jum'at, 29 May 2020

[newsiegirlscout]

Written for the MPaS Halloween Writing Contest Between Two People Based On a Lighthearted Conversation!

If you’re anyone else, Happy Halloween!

And if you’re @thelordismygod-blog---it’s on, FISKE.

(Written rather hastily, but....enjoy!)

The atmosphere of Miss Lynn’s classroom was one of barely-contained jubilee as children dressed as anything from faeries to well-known fictitious movie figures to what appeared to be Avicenna passed out sweets to their classmates’ gaily-colored boxes. In celebration of Halloween, she had agreed to forgo class and allow a day of festivities to the delight of her students--the only problem being that while many teachers were content to simply show their children films, she felt that her students would soon see The Nightmare Before Christmas more than enough times over their elementary career and had opted to let them choose an assortment of activities. 

This was a decision she had an instinct she would soon regret. 

After a few minutes of excited chattering once all treats were passed out and games were played (which, with as many coordination-required activities with sugary incentives they had set up, seemed like a wise choice to play before passing out candy), Penny clapped her hands. Almost instantly--and what a miracle it was for a second-grade teacher--the others turned around, giving her their full attention. 

The lights darkened, and the bright beam of a flashlight illuminated her face. 

“Will everyone sit down wherever? We’ve decided to start our scary stories as soon as everybody’s settled.”

Though some of the students returned to their seats, the majority chose to either sit down where they were, or drag beanbags from the class library to the front of the room. As they watched with anticipation, electric tealights began to alight around the classroom.

Finally, what appeared to be the last one flickered twice faintly, then suddenly came to life as the face of a luminescent amber countenance as a pumpkin. The children screamed in delight, then watched, giggling nervously, as a certain flame-haired boy climbed onto the stool in center stage and set the gourd on his lap. 

“Thanks, Penny.” he said to his friend as she clicked off her flashlight and handed it to him. “Our first story, told by yours truly, is not one of fabrication and cheap fright. Please take heed and listen, for our protagonist may be at your window next.”

He was met by a sea of confused stares.

“This is a true story.” he said blatantly.

The room gasped.

“This, my listeners....is the tale of Lizzie Borden.”

########################################################

Mr. Peabody and Sherman walked down the cobble-strewn streets of nineteenth-century London, taking no small note of the gossiping packs of passersby and the apprehensive nature of the villagers. 

“Mr. Peabody, what’s going on?” Sherman asked with a wavering air in his voice, “These people are acting like they’ve just seen a ghost!” 

The beagle winked. “Well, that may not be far from the truth. Perhaps this gentleman can fill us in.”, he said, tipping a coin to an excitable newsboy in exchange for a paper.

As the redhead ran his eyes over the headline, his eyes widened.

MAN AND WIFE KILLED AND MUTILATED BY AXE

Of course, a picture, however grainy and out-of-focus, had to be included in the article, which the beagle noticed a second too late.

“Wow”, Sherman said, giggling nervously, “This guy...really got it in the head.”

Mr. Peabody flushed a light pink. “Perhaps I should take that, Sherman.” he said hastily, skimming over the article, “It says here young Miss Borden, after some time of what could be considered provocation, was suspected and convicted of the murders of her father and stepmother.”

“What does provoclamation mean?” he inquired with an air of curiosity.

“Provocation. Essentially, actions or speech, especially those meant deliberately, that annoy, frustrate, or infuriate one. Your friend Miss Peterson provoked you in the cafeteria last year by using those demeaning terms--”

##########################################################

Sitting front-row center, the mentioned Miss Peterson flushed and tugged a lock of golden hair in front of her face.

“Did he really say that? I said I was sorry!”

Sherman smiled. 

“I know, Penny. But you also kind of tried to kill me. So I think Mr. Peabody’s allowed to bring it up.”

#############################################################

“--or in this case, Mr. Borden was not exactly what you’d call a well-liked person.  He was rather affluent--wealthy, that is--and gave large donations to various branches of the family, but remained somewhat of a Scrooge within his own household. In addition, Lizzie had been building a roost in the barn to attract pigeons, but Mr. Borden, believing they attracted children to hunt them, killed them with a hatchet.”

Sherman’s jaw dropped, tears welling in his eyes.

“Yes, I would say it’s rather unjust myself. But I should probably mention that the specific weapon suspected of the Borden’s deaths was also a hatchet.”

The red-headed rascal pouted. “Not really helping, Mr. Peabody.”

His guardian shrugged. “Unfortunately, those are the facts. Since we’re here to attend an important gathering requiring that knowledge, there isn’t really any getting around it, but I do apologize. Are you ready to hear the full account?”

Sherman put his hand on his stomach and expressed distinct unease.

“Is it alright if we get a root beer first?”

#######

Hunched over his rootbeer in the soda bar, Sherman listened intently to Mr. Peabody.

“Alright. The first murder was that of Mrs. Borden, who was believed to have faced her killer during the attack and received multiple blows to the head and face. The door jammed when the maid attempted to enter, causing her to utter an expletive, after which Lizzie was heard laughing on the upstairs floor; a point from which the body would immediately have been seen. Lizzie later informed her maid of a department store sale and permitted her to go, but she declined.”

“A short time after this, Bridget was awoken by Lizzie exclaiming her father’s death.”

“Yep. She definitely did it.” Sherman said with finality, “We aren’t going to see her, are we?”

“Au contrair, my boy;” Mr. Peabody replied grimly, “In a sense, we are. We are Miss Lizzie Borden’s lawyers.” 

“So...we’re gonna send her to jail for the good of all mankind?” he said with a final desperate smile.

Mr. Peabody took a sip of his soda before continuing. “Ah, alas. In the timeline where she is incarcerated, I fear a greater impact may be forced on society in the present. No calculation on canine or human nature can be assured, but in most outcomes I’ve been able to see, lesser evidence is examined in the present, allowing many more convicted, dangerous criminals to go free.”

“No, Sherman, our job is to prove Miss Borden innocent.”

#######################################################

The class gasped. 

“Did you let her go?” asked one timid boy near the front.

“Not yet,” Sherman said with a wink, “Actually, we still have to attend the trials and get licenses and stuff. The one big problem is tracking down Lizzie; she left, and her sister never saw her again.”

The phone rang suddenly, startling Miss Lynn.

“Miss Lynn’s classroom, teacher speaking!” she said quickly. After a minute of listening, she hung up.

“Sherman, you’re dismissed early. Your father is waiting for you in the office.”

The class watched, fascinated, as the boy left. In reality, he only had a particularly well-scheduled optometrist appointment; but who’s to say which is fact, and which is depiction?

[meetmeinmontauk87]

Local firm - Get Rid Of Wasps In House

Table of ContentsGet Rid Of Wasps In House Near MeWasp Control Near MeGet Rid Of Wasps In Garden Near MeThe Cheapest 7 Get Rid Of Wasps techniquesLocal company - Get Rid Of WaspsLocal technicians - Get Rid Of WaspsHidden Secrets - Get Rid Of Wasps In GardenFinding the Leading method to Get Rid Of Wasps

We make a commission for items purchased through some links in this article. Have you found yourself hearing that unnerving buzz flitting around your ear? Seen the peek of a skinny yellow-and-black body? It can indicate only one thing, it's wasp season. These little pests are the bane of the majority of our summer seasons.

Your instant reaction may be to swat the irritant and return to your BARBEQUE in peace. However if you take any recommendations away from this piece, do not knock! Not just would it be unjust to these wasps who are in fact a fantastic source of gardening assistance they're pollinators and do a terrific job of controlling aphid.

Leading firm - Get Rid Of Wasps In House

Not ideal. So if you imagine enjoying your Pimms in the garden without been harassed by a swarm of wasps, try a few of these suggestions on how to eliminate wasps, and keep those little yellow-jackets at bay this summer. Image credit: David Giles Wasps like absolutely nothing more than a good rummage around your bings.

Finding the Recommended method for reducing the Wasp Removal Cost

It's also an excellent idea to attempt and keep any sweet beverages, jams and cakes far from the window if possible. Wasps like most pests have a real craving for sweets. However if you are figured out to have a tea celebration outside, remember to keep the cake covered to avoid any gatecrasher wasps.

Additionally, fill a flowerpot with mint not only will the sweet smell waft into your home on a summers day, but it'll make certain to keep the wasps at bay. If you frequently experience a perpetual variety of wasps in the garden, it may be a concept to give the intense flowers a miss out on. wasp control.

According to a research study in the journal of pest management science in 2013, peppermint oil is practically guaranteed to keep wasps away. Add a couple of drops of oil to tissues or cotton wool balls and place them around the garden in areas between the decking, deck roofs, sheds and any other spaces were wasps can gather.

Top Insider Tips - Wasp Control

Top Insider Tips - Wasp Control

Image credit: Colin Poole 'Garden enthusiasts might likewise consider placing a small glass of orange juice in a remote corner of their garden to draw wasps away from an occupied area,' states Catherine Alyons. This pointer works best if you have a large garden space, and want to keep wasps away if you're preparing to have dinner in the garden.

Image credit: Craig Wall This is a fantastic tip for keeping not simply wasps but all other pests away while you have a peaceful meal outside. You can find citronella candle lights in most supermarkets and hardware stores. They typically already been available in quite containers, however you can likewise buy them as tea lights and utilize your own candle holders.

Image credit: Colin Poole Try to not leave your outside lights on any longer than required. Lights will bring in insects which includes wasps who prey on them. While our company believe killing wasps must really be a last resort if you have actually tried whatever to stop the wasps coming into your garden, however you still seem to be ducking from them every few minutes you may have a nest, and it may be time to take more drastic action.

Wasp Control Near Me

The sticky mix will draw in the wasp, who will crawl inside and most likely become caught and pass away. You can purchase a range of wasps traps that perform this function with more easily removable tops so you could launch the wasp after it becomes caught if you wish. However please bear in mind that the wasp will not be in the finest state of mind if you pick to do this, so please be incredibly mindful and avoid if you have an allergy to wasp stings. Find out more at Pest Busters.

Since whacking wasps is a huge no-no, you can get rid of specific wasps by spraying them with the soapy water mixture. If you have a nest in your house spirt dishwashing liquid into the end of a hose pipeline, run the water with soap suds appear, turn the pressure on high and blast the nest with the soapy water.

Handling a nest yourself can trigger all sorts of dangers. If you try to damage or dislodge the nest yourself the wasps might swarm to safeguard it's home. Smoking cigarettes wasps out is another tip frequently given out as a way to eliminate them, however we 'd encourage leaving this to specialists as the fires can quickly leave control.

Finding the Top technique to Wasp Removal Cost

It never stops working: When temperature levels start increasing, you undoubtedly enter your lawn to a consistent, tell-tale buzzing and zipping. All it takes is one sting to develop a healthy respect for all manner of wasps, hornets, and yellow coats. So keeping your outdoor spaces devoid of them is a priority.

While typically confused, they do vary in a few methods. The very first is size: Wasps are smaller, anywhere from one centimeter to two-and-a-half centimeters, while hornets are larger, at about one to one-and-a-half-inches long. Unlike bees, which are essential pollinators (learn the finest blooming plants to draw in bees here!. wasp removal cost.?.!!), wasps and hornets are meat-eating; they prey on smaller sized bugs like aphids and houseflies (so they are advantageous in their own way).

Top Insider Tips - Wasp Removal Cost

While it's possible to get rid of wasps, hornets, and yellow coats by yourself, keep in mind that they can be unsafe, particularly in big numbers, so if you remain in doubt, it's best to call a professional to help. Of course, if you dislike wasp or bee stings, you need to take safety measures and seek outdoors help.

Get Rid Of Wasps Near Me

First of all: Don't whack at them! Whacking at a wasp tells it to release pheromones that will set off other nearby wasps to perceive you as a threat, precisely what you do not desire to happen. If you're working ahead and attempting to avoid a nest from forming, you can attempt putting up a fake nest to hinder a genuine one from forming (wasps are territorial).

Is it little (just a few to a lots cells)? If so, you can wear (long sleeves, pants tucked into your socks, a head internet, gloves) and knock the nest down throughout the coolest time of day and ruin it. If it's larger, established several wasp traps a good range away from your house, and follow the instructions on the trap.

Take the cap off the top of the bottle. Location baitfruit juice, canned feline food, raw meat, overripe fruit, etc.in the bottom of the bottle. Turn the top of the bottle upside-down and location it inside the bottom part of the bottle. Tape the edges together. Place the trap far from your house (state, 20 feet away).

Get Rid Of Wasps Near Me

If your wasp nest remains in a location of your home where it isn't a risk and you won't disrupt it, you can choose to leave it be. Just be sure to keep your yard clean of fruit or trash, which might draw them closer to your house. Yellow jackets can build their nests both above and listed below ground, making them specifically pesky pests.

Smaller sized yellow jacket nests can be eliminated with the following approach: Don protective clothes as explained above when dealing with wasps. Working during the coolest part of the day, spray the nest with a wasp killer from a safe distance. Wait a day or two so that yellow jackets coming and going from the nest will have ample opportunity to come into contact with the toxin.

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Hidden Insider Tips - Get Rid Of Wasps

The majority of people who are stung by wasps will develop a redness or a minor soreness at the point of the attack. This does not imply that you have an allergy to stings. In the case of a true allergic reaction, the symptoms will generally be far more pronounced.(Ask a local Pest Control Service for more details).

Allergies are defined as reactions that conjure up the body immune system to overreact. The kind of wasp that causes the most responses are called paper wasps. A paper wasp nest can be found in woodpiles, in shrubs, or under particular eaves. They're structured with red, brown, black, and yellow marks.

⚡️ “Get rid of wasps in Birmingham”https://t.co/j0TNC4mXYN pic.twitter.com/3ityYUcIPd

— Monta UK Pest (@UkMonta) July 12, 2020

[milakudryy787]

Dragon lady vs. Dragons

This is an off spin of Sleeping beauty.

Her and the Marnila (lady of snakes) had come to an agreement of how they were gonna help eachother out conquering them. They werent welcome in their lashice world filled with pristine conditions and comfort' quarters.

They were sisters , however they never got along. One almost always tried to top the most beautiful one. When they were younger, Maleficent would always try to top the other. And Marnila would always be the victorious one.

They were enemies for a while because of the abuse Marnila constantly had to put up with around Maleficent. Anyhow, as they entered puberty ; these young woman learned more about being courteous and respect to the next person... whoever it may be. They were ready for the challenges that might have come their way.

Now. Its tragic how much we have to suffer for all the bad guys to go away. This time it seemed obscene, and in the mid tragic moment when they saw all hope was lost. A young widowed man with a a white shirt, trousers, and a blue cap. His appearance nothing short of gorgeous spread right over his killer smile and nice curly hair over nice eyes 'hazel, and a strong jaw framed perfectly with his cute nose. And what a body!

Anyway' this young man was strutting the through the halls when he observes an odd coincidental event. The two ladies were apparently discussing a serious matter in his vicinity., he could hear in earshot these two voluptuous woman with phrases coming out of their jubilant voices like; " how do we defeat them, sister? Marnila could use her amazing skills while I battle those demons from the outside. That is a configuration. I will not battle.them alone! One replied. We have to hurry, they are approaching very soon. My psychic abilities are never wrong, Marnila.

This shouldnt be our problem. Yes, though we can communicate with them in a fine pretense, the good of the people will indeed point the finger at us.

This calls for drastic action. My actions speak before your abilities to manifest into reality so all I'm saying is let me go first. The other one argued back with a firm no. This interaction lasted for a good mi item before one of them agreed to let the other go first.

We chanted together:

We know the logorithms. We know all about these demeaning creatures that lay before us. We are not fearful of them. We are observant and thus strong in what we want.to accomplish from the actions we will soon be partaking with those who will do what it takes to steer us wrong. We know what and who you stand for. We are not afraid.

"Should have we used our psy hic abilities....

No. One claimed that they had it in the bag

Yes. Before I lose all my marbles. Come on Marnila!

Marnila says politely... whispered gently.. do not mess with the despicable situation..not do we mess with any objectives or discourse actions which partake in this endless struggle. So our county could have a home!

Oh, Marnila interrupted steadily. My kitten Skittles was scared today. Her eyes were glancing at the triangular shape of the fly strips. I couldnt make it out but there was real fear in her eyes. And, since I have a telecommunication with cats I made it out for what it was. Danger was approaching. I must have warned my sister that day. She wasnt in the mood and didnt want to hear her. She was upset and truly pissed off at her indecent exposure not unjust to humanity or to herself but to everything that it stands for and mainly to Roberta. I wasnt envious Roberta, I just wanted to see what your particular abilities entailed. She scoffed. You were secretly always jealous of me you man swindler, backstabber, and vivacious tramp with a no good mindset of putting things in perspective from me. It made me realize that your vanity has almost ate you up whole and ita taken a little out of your prized heart.

Marnila replied, I was never meaning to stop your conquests. Geez, sis I was trying to stay out of everything and everybody 's business I didnt realize it created a booby trap in my mind. And no, my mind is and always ever be my prized possession. I dont have to explain this to you.

Chapter 2: The inquisition

Do you believe this lady is a fraud? She answered, no. Marnila is a reproachable sister, good gentlewoman by State of Law. They asked, yet an intermission has to be partaken, no? Yes, she sighed and dutifully admitted to the state of the crime her and her sister committed. They discussed it in further matter.

This is what they finally proposed. They will each do their time with permissible trips allowed betweenst themselves. This was only meant as a stand by.

They allowed spiritual pathways to open in their cerebral membrane so they would be able to exchange personal information that they were only allowed to hear. They observed all the information pertaining to the situation at hand and came to the same conclusion. At the same time, from different cells., recited this chime: We are nothing but slaves to the mission. Although, we are not failures to our perceptive prospects. Objectifying to that obvious approach, they settled on a truce. We get our Enemies at hello. We must confide in only eachother. We must not let those general confounders outrun the system! We must retaliate with a simple, swift move that will save us, them and the whole system! One whispered. They chimed repeatedly the first entry in their own lives to, simply put...defeat and conquer the culprit once and for all!

Now, as both sisters held hands solemnly with their heads down., emerged from the gates....they ran into a conquest. A dragon.

More is coming later! Thanks, chiao mon amours..mes amies...

[sincerity]

Personal shit, The Handmaid’s Tale, and Accepting How Things Are

I gotta get some thoughts out, and Tumblr is the best place to do it. This is gonna be scattered, and personal, and probably make me sound like an insane person.

So watching “The Handmaid’s Tale” is even more terrifying than reading the book. Actually seeing everything happening, plus the addition of a few things that make perfect sense, is horrifying. The scenes in the present day are especially awful - the scene with Moira and June at the coffeeshop, and PARTICULARLY the scene where Moira delivers an eerie monologue about how this all started to June’s husband Luke.

It’s no surprise that I’m a feminist. It’s no surprise that I sure as fuck didn’t vote for Donald fucking Trump. It’s no surprise that I sobbed when Hilary Clinton conceded the election - not because my preferred candidate didn’t win, but out of fear. Fear for my freedom of my female body, my freedom to love whomever I choose, my freedom as the daughter of an immigrant.

So let’s go into the past a little. My mom and dad divorced when I was young. I was never close to my mom growing up, and only in the past few years has she become my best friend, my biggest supporter, my biggest source of stability. I was always closer to my dad. He didn’t raise me with any strict gender roles or religion, I was free to do as I chose. My interests were music, reading, video games, watching sports. I didn’t wear dresses unless I had to. I talked back to anyone who I felt was disrespecting me - even if that meant talking back to my own father, and he was proud of me for that.

Or so I thought. Maybe he even was at the time, but something in him changed. It was a slow change, very gradual. It started with him telling me I should let guys win at darts or pool if I was on a date in my early 20s, when any victory I got against him at chess as a kid had to be earned. It grew from that to him scoffing when I would go to Planned Parenthood for my yearly “well-woman” exams, and saying that the people screaming at me and spitting on me for being a baby killer were just expressing their constitutional rights. Then he questioned Javier, the man who has been his landscaper since I was 12, demanding to see his legal immigration papers and all of those of his employees. He complained that I didn’t go to church, and when I said I wasn’t Christian, he complained that I had no religion at all (which I don’t, it’s not like he wasn’t acknowledging any other religion or anything at least).

Then my dad got sick. Really sick. He’d been sick since 2010, but in the last few years it’s gotten worse, and finally he was diagnosed with stage 5 kidney disease and put on dialysis after spending a month and a half in the hospital, and another month in a long term acute rehab facility to regain his strength. I had more compassion for him at this time, I tolerated it quietly. I did not persist, even as my anger at the political landscape grew. I fought with people who refused to listen to my beliefs, who insisted I was wrong, and my dad actually supported this - he even called out a cousin of his who said that I was “disrespecting” him. He was confused as to why. I loved that for once, he was on my side. It reminded me of when I was a kid, when he was always on my side, when he pulled me out of school for the day because I got sent to the principal’s office for reading “Jurassic Park” when I was 9.

I was getting closer to my mom then. She always listened to me vent about my dad, never speaking ill of him, saying he was sick, and getting older, and that I should be patient with him. I listened to her. Meanwhile, my dad would always say things like “I could tell you things about your mother that would make you never want to speak to her again” if I ever brought her up. I learned not to talk about my mother with him. I learned to stay silent. I learned all those lessons that are usually taught to little girls - be nice, stay quiet, don’t get angry - the lessons he never taught me as a kid, but were teaching me in my third decade of life.

It started to come to a head when I argued with family. My dad’s side of the family is very conservative. They believe Planned Parenthood are baby killers who sell baby parts. They believe in the Christian God and that other religions are wrong. They believe gay marriage shouldn’t be legal. It surprised me. My family had always seemed quite tolerant, but with the election of a president who outwardly talks about sexually assaulting and objectifying women, erecting a wall to keep out “undesireables”, and banning people of an entire religion from America, their true colors emerged. I removed several of them from my friends list on Facebook, and was actually blocked by two cousins I had always liked. 

My anxiety rose, a combination of the political landscape and the stresses of school and taking care of my dad. I went back on my medication. I scheduled an appointment with a new therapist. I felt like I was going to get better, but the panic attacks continued and worsened. One morning, I had an attack. I don’t drive when I take a Xanax, because it makes me drowsy and I’m already anxious about driving sometimes. I was supposed to take my dad to the doctor that day. I was too scared to call him, afraid of him screaming at me and making my anxiety worse. My fiance, my wonderful, loving, supportive fiance, advised me to call my mom. My mom would know what to do. 

I called her. She told me, once I could get the words out through my tears and staggered breathing, that she would take care of it - she would call my dad for me, and she would call me back. Twenty minutes later, she called back. She said, “You don’t have to worry about taking him today or any more. Call me back later, once you’ve gotten some more rest, and we’ll talk about what happened.”

Later that afternoon, I called her. She told me that at the end of the conversation, my dad said “I guess I don’t have a daughter anymore.” Bolstered by the courage and bravery that somehow always lives in me even in my lowest moments, I asked her, “Why did you leave when you and dad got divorced? Dad always said that you said ‘you can have her, I don’t want her.’”

My mom didn’t get mad. She laughed. She laughed for a solid minute. She said “Honey. You were born in 1985 in Las Vegas. If I didn’t want you, I would have just had an abortion. I left because it was easier for YOU. You wouldn’t have to change schools or homes, everything could stay the same if I just left.”

My mom knows that if I ever find out she’s lied to me, I won’t hesitate to cut her out of my life. She’s not bitter that I didn’t feel the same way about my dad, she understands. She says it was her mistake, for not trying more with me when I was younger. She accepts responsibility for her actions.

This was in early March. I haven’t spoken to my dad since, but watching “The Handmaid’s Tale” brings back lots of thoughts of my dad. I feel like this is the world he wants now. He wouldn’t mind if the crazy religious right took over the country. He wouldn’t mind if his own daughter was sent to be a Handmaid (for the record, I would rather die).

It’s a slow journey to insanity. It starts small, with acceptances of “how things are”. Never accept it. Don’t accept subpar treatment. Expect the best for yourself and everyone, and don’t accept it when people abuse you, or create unjust laws in a free America. Don’t accept it when you see a truck full of white men with a Confederate flag on it rip off a woman’s hijab (I reported their license plate to the police and helped the woman). Don’t accept it when a man grabs your ass on the train unapologetically (I punched him in the dick).

It goes beyond obvious things like that. “The Handmaid’s Tale” is proof. Don’t accept it when people say “this will pass”. Don’t accept it when bills are brought that infringe on people’s rights - not just yours, but anyone’s. This is America. This is a free land. We have the freedom to be who we want to be, provided we don’t harm others.

Start a revolution. Fight. March. Protest. Scream your beliefs from the rooftops, damn the consequences.Don’t be afraid to be who you are.

[10oclockdot]

True/False 2017 Festival Report, part 1:

in which I give capsule reviews of films that I viewed on March 2 and 3, the first two days of this year's True/False, in order of best to worst.

Casting JonBenet (Kitty Green, 2017) True/False alum Kitty Green, whose film Ukraine is Not a Brothel divided audiences at the fest three years ago, returned this year with a major work, fresh off its triumph at Sundance: a hybrid documentary experiment called Casting JonBenet. Green put out a casting call in the Boulder, Colorado area -- the site of the murder of child beauty pageant participant JonBenet Ramsey two decades ago -- looking for locals to audition for the roles of JonBenet, her parents, her brother, and a few more figures close to the case. One by one, these actors sit down in front of the audition camera, framed as precisely and hauntingly as an Errol Morris interview, and talk to Green about their knowledge of the case, their theories about the case, their everyday lives, and the tragedies in their pasts that would help them to get into their roles. The audition footage, shot in 4:3, comprises the bulk of the film, but is occasionally intercut with 2.35:1 footage of fragments of what looks like a larger JonBenet Ramsey project that was never made. Lest you assert that this was all underhanded and exploitative to hold an audition for a non-existent film, Green explained in the Q&A that she apprised the auditioners of the nature of this experimental project, and apparently all participants agreed to have their unscripted audition tapes turned into a documentary. Green added in the Q&A that it was quite difficult to explain the project to the auditioners since no one had made a film like this before (though it's actually pretty similar to Mohsen Makhmalbaf's 1995 film Salaam Cinema, but with some added formal ornament). Though the experiment has limited documentary value in the traditional sense, it nevertheless takes the temperature, albeit obliquely, of the community that's lived in the aftermath of this unsolved case. You also get to meet some regular people with stories nearly as bizarre as the role they're auditioning for. What's more, the film opens up inquiries into the nature of documentary truth and how it relates to the different orders of truth that an actor might seek when inhabiting a role. I found it mesmerizing throughout, and a few moments even had me bolt-upright in my seat. For instance, after playing footage of some auditioners discussing the theory that JonBenet's killer was actually her brother (who was a young boy at the time), Green cuts to a montage of child actors attempting to split open a watermelon by beating it with a flashlight. And as if moments like that weren't enough, it all ends with majestic staged sequence in which about two dozen of the actors perform as multiple copies of the same characters on a set of the Ramsey house. It nearly evoked a live-action remake of Rybczyński's 1980 short Tango, but far more operatic and far sadder.

The Force (Peter Nicks, 2017) A couple years back I happened to catch Peter Nicks's debut film, The Waiting Room, a Wiseman-esque documentary about the goings-on a major hospital's emergency room. His institutional focus continues in his sophomore project, The Force, which embeds the viewer in the troubled Oakland Police Department. The film opens just before a police academy graduation, where we see the graduating officers in a tight prayer huddle. The moment the prayer ends, they break into a raucous chant celebrating their identity as the 170th Academy class. And so the film establishes its dialectic: will this department base its esprit de corps on militaristic chest-thumping masculinity, or on a spiritual quest for their better angels? The film takes us on a two-year journey through that question, at times making me believe that the Oakland PD is absolutely reformable, and at other times making me believe that police departments in general, by some basic flaw in their institutional structure and ideological foundation, are beyond saving.        The Force is full of great insider footage that gives insight into the trials that beat cops and commissioners alike go through on a daily basis (during an excruciating tear gas training, the cadets are told, "You don't have the right to panic."). Eyewitness on an important moment in police history (2014-2016), the film tells the thorny facts of that history well. But throughout the film, Peter Nicks also deploys a series of subtle and utterly brilliant innovations on the art of observational documentary editing. Let me describe a few moments. Early in the film, a police officer is asking a man questions in a gas station parking lot when the suspect takes off running. Nicks's camera follows the action as well as it can, and a block away the officer tases the man as he's climbing over a fence. A moment later, as the officer describes the incident to justify his use of force, the footage from the incident replays, now intercut with the officer's body cam footage. These two pieces of tape corroborate his story. I know that the replay of footage doesn't sound like a major innovation (it's been around since at least Gimme Shelter), but the moment I saw it, it felt like a quiet breakthrough, or at least a powerful reminder of the evidentiary capacity of documentary, as well as the polytensuality of documentary images. Later in the film, another officer experiences a tense confrontation with an agitated man on the street. The officer manages to prevent violence from occurring, but by this point in the film we've already been made to realize multiple times that the Oakland PD is understaffed and its officers have to work 12-hour shifts that see them going from call to call, non-stop. As the officer drives away (we see him in close-up, with a thousand-yard stare), Nicks intercuts clips from the confrontation along with body cam footage of the same. Here, the replay functions as beleaguered memory. The empathy of the moment is remarkable.        There's plenty more to say about this expertly-made film, but it all boils down to one thing: I never thought I'd feel so much sympathy for the Oakland Police Department. From the very beginning, it's clear that Chief Whent sincerely desires to end corruption, that he cares about the community, and that he wants his officers to understand the validity -- even the patriotism -- of the anti-police protests. He tells them, "The core foundation of this country was a mistrust in government. And we are the most visible sign of that government." Elsewhere a Community Liaison pastor invited to address the unit adds, "The past stole your identity and ran up an incredibly high bill." It's a lesson we can all benefit from: we must know our history to know ourselves.

The Road Movie (Dmitrii Kalashnikov, 2016) True/False 2017 marked the North American premiere of this compilation documentary, an alternatingly rollicking and harrowing journey through the Youtube phenomenon of Russian dashcam footage. Director Dmitrii Kalashnikov said he went through over 3000 publicly-posted dashcam clips to make this film, which runs a bit over an hour and features a little over 100 clips ranging from driver's ed disasters to weather-related accidents to forest fire drive-throughs to surreal encounters with drug-addicts, swat teams, meteorites, and wedding parties. As a work of editing, it has some notable qualities -- particularly Kalashnikov's interest in oscillating between the funny and the horrifying -- but apart from its obvious voyeuristic enticements (in the Q&A, Kalashnikov said that all documentaries were voyeuristic), its main strengths are conceptual. For instance, what does it mean to take Youtube off Youtube, transforming it from a private diversion to a public, collective spectacle? What does it mean to make a supercut not of professionally-produced footage, but of amateur footage? If we accept the axiom that footage uploaded to Youtube marks a site of interest or desire (that is, people presumably do not upload footage that they do not find interesting, since they desire that others will take an interest in it), then what might such an aggregation of footage express about the collective fascinations and desires of the culture that produced it? Finally, I also noticed that throughout the screening, many audience members had trouble suppressing an impulse to issue hushed directives or invectives at the drivers of the cars on screen. The perpetual POV must have made it feel like we were watching a friend play Grand Theft Auto -- a friend who clearly, given the number of disasters we saw, definitely needed our advice.

Abacus: Small Enough to Jail (Steve James, 2016) Steve James (Hoop Dreams, Stevie) is a towering figure in documentary. His latest project was made for Frontline, so it's somewhat smaller in scope and ambition, but his skill has not faltered, and the story is an important one. The film chronicles the story of Abacus Federal Savings Bank, which to date is the only bank against which a fraud lawsuit was brought relating to the 2008 housing collapse. If you haven't heard of this story before or this bank before, don't feel bad. Abacus is, the film tells us, the 2651st largest bank in America: a little community savings and loan serving the first-generation immigrant community in Chinatown, New York City. The prosecution was, the viewer infers, a careerist move from the District Attorney's office. They must've figured that the Sung family, which founded and runs the bank, wouldn't fight it. But the family did fight it, spending millions over the course of six years. And that's the real story here: not our leaders' hopelessly unjust response to the 2008 financial crisis, not the DA's ignorant (possibly racially biased) targeting and concomitant underestimation of the family, not even the subtle but important cultural differences in the way first-generation Chinese think about loans and money in general (though that part's fascinating), but rather the story of the family itself: pulling together, fighting tooth and nail, and, sometimes hilariously, arguing with each other for minutes on end over little things, like what their father's eating for lunch. Even if this film didn't strike me as a major work by a long shot, the True/False audience was clearly behind the Sungs, even breaking into spontaneous applause when the not-guilty verdict was read. In the Q&A afterwards, Steve James said that from now on he'd like to have the True/False audience for all his films.

Stranger in Paradise (Guido Hendrikx, 2016) Stranger in Paradise is one of those agit-prop experiments with a great concept but not-so-great execution. It opens with a montage of footage from all over, from Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat to news footage of the refugee crisis. Voice-over intones the tale of a spherical lump (earth) on which there emerged a conflict between North and South, "the worship of a god who supplies and demands," and a moral crisis of human movement and hate. It was a bracing way to get us started. Act 1 stages an experiment in which a white male actor portraying the xenophobic political perspective of Europe addresses a room of real refugees (men and women of color) stuck on the island of Sicily, speaks cruelly and superciliously to them, and improvises responses to their real questions. Act 2 repeats the scene with a different group of real refugees, but this time the white male actor argues the opposite: that refugees help the economy, and that it's Europe's moral duty to give back to the people groups from whom so much was stolen during the colonial period. In Act 3, the same actor holds a kind of mock hearing for each asylum-seeker, explaining why they will or won't be granted entry into Europe, and in the Epilogue, a single long take, the actor holds a semi-staged conversation with some passers-by on the street, talking about the project we've just viewed. To be sure, the film's heart is in the right place, but the edge of its satirical knife is dulled by two factors: second, it's simply not shot very well, and first, for all its attempts to satirically subvert the reactionary narratives of the refugee crisis, it still puts a white European at the center and relegates the voices of asylum-seekers to secondary importance. It wishes it were a Peter Watkins film, but it isn't.

[sophie-zadeh]

First Impressions: Your split second Opportunity for Success

How Important are First Impressions?

My one-word answer to that is ‘incredibly’…

First Impressions are Incredibly Important

In most cases, they are the make or break moment in your opportunity for successful interaction and ongoing relationship, be it at work or play. Many studies show that first impressions are formed within seconds of seeing somebody (before we even speak), and these impressions are lasting. That said, sometimes we hear, or smell someone before we see them.

Imagine walking and smelling the pungent body odour of somebody walking up behind you–sorry to have put that thought into your head! Is your nose wrinkling with disgust? At that moment you’ll have formed your first impression of them. Or, what if you heard someone yelling right outside the room you’re in? Even though you can’t see them, you pick up enough signals from their words and vocal delivery to judge them. It all happens within seconds, and we don’t even realise we’re doing it–it’s a subconscious process.

Like everyone else, you probably think you don’t judge, but you do–it’s a survival mechanism, you wouldn’t be here today if you and your ancestors hadn’t made snap judgements about people, because people can be a threat.

Most people I ask when training or speaking on the subject raise their hand when I ask, “How many of you have ever crossed a road or diverted your direction to avoid an iffy looking character?”. I’m guessing your reply would be, “Yes”, too. That’s snap judgement. Feel free to share your experience of this in the comments section.

Why are First Impressions Important?

Your brain responds to what you see, hear or smell, to keep you safe from being physically attacked, or attacked by someone’s pathogens. That nose wrinkle when you feel and express disgust–there’s some scientific evidence that it functions to restrict airflow through the nose to reduce exposure to pathogens. These snap judgements and our responses to them are essential for our survival.

These days, for most of us, depending on where we live, are less likely to be attacked when we leave the territory of our clan, and less likely to die of an infectious disease. However, our brain still responds in the same way it has responded to threats for many thousands of years. It’s designed to keep us safe, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. Once our brain responds, our body follows–usually with a facial expression and distancing behaviour.

So snap judgements are essential for our survival and because of this we make them about everyone we encounter. Our modern-day threats may have changed, but our responses are the same. Sometimes we may change our direction to avoid being attacked, other times we don’t want someone to bother us–it’s not always a life/death situation.

Some studies show that we can be accurate in the snap judgement we make, yet others show that we aren’t. Often we’re bogged down with stereotypes that we can’t think beyond, despite us not even being consciously aware of these prejudices. Once we’ve formed an impression, it remains, because it becomes accurate–as confirmation bias kicks in.

What is Confirmation Bias

Confirmation bias is when we make a snap judgement about someone or something, and then, we do everything we can to prove ourselves right. It’s a subconscious process that no one is immune to. We subconsciously start to filter information that we take in and our interpretation of it. We also filter the information we recall at a later date.

If someone made a good impression on us, we see more good and filter out the bad. It’s like seeing someone through rose tinted spectacles. Even if they do or say something bad, we dismiss it, “everyone makes mistakes”. If it had been the other way round and the person made a bad impression initially, the bad thing they do or say will register as important, confirming our initial impression of them. It’s hard to change our minds because we’ve backed up that initial belief–whether accurate or not.

Let me just remind you of something here–you’ve been thinking of how you respond to other people, but let’s not forget that people are responding to you–always. Yikes!

First Impressions and You

If you’re freaked out at the thought of the people you meet making snap judgements about you, then you’re on the right track to make improvements. It’s that awareness that can lead to change and improvement.

If you hadn’t realised how important first impressions are, you would have carried on, as usual, creating the same kind of impression you usually make–hopefully it’s a good impression. Now, you’re empowered to change things.

Personal Presentation

Be aware of your personal presentation–how you come across to others. Personal presentation covers your outward aspect, the clothes you wear, hair, make-up, tattoos, accessories, etc., as well as your nonverbal behaviour–your body language, expressions and vocal quality. All these are things that can be changed relatively easily. Small tweaks can lead to significant changes.

You can learn more about creating a great impression by reading this post: Elevate your Success with Six Tips to Make a Killer First Impression

When are First Impressions Important?

In one way they are always important–from the perspective of keeping safe and making snap judgements about others. But if we look at this from the standpoint of you creating a good impression–when are they important?

At work and play making a good first impression could be the difference between making or breaking your career or social success. I’ve seen this first hand, with new people joining organisations, only to be disliked by almost everybody. Often, in cases like that, confirmation bias is fuelled as other people reconfirm negative thoughts, as gossip spreads. Coming across as too much of one characteristic–arrogant on the one hand, or lacking in confidence on the other, could be enough to spark negative impressions, interactions and ongoing relationships.

The problem is, everything we do–nonverbally–sends signals to others. Sometimes it’s accurate, other times it’s not. So while you may look arrogant or lacking in confidence, it may not be the truth. Incorrect first impressions can be unjust, but they still impact your life. The best possible defence to combat this is awareness of your nonverbal behaviours and knowledge of how to make adjustments to appear more positively. Give yourself a body language audit–record yourself interacting or on the phone, to see how you come across. You can learn more about creating a great impression by reading this post: Elevate your Success with Six Tips to Make a Killer First Impression.

Sometimes making a good impression doesn’t matter too much, for example, if the people you encounter aren’t going to play a future or significant role in your life. That said, you never know who is watching. What if, one of those strangers turns out to be interviewing you for the job of your dreams in the near future? Positive nonverbal behaviours and words are not likely to be enough to change an initial bad impression. You may have scuppered your chances of winning the role. Unfortunately, we do hear stories like this from time to time.

Impression Updating: Can you Reverse a Bad Impression?

While first impressions are incredibly hard to change, it’s not impossible. As Peter Mende-Siedlecki’s explains in his TED-Ed lesson, we can change our impressions in light of new information. This is called ’impression updating’, but it takes out of the ordinary behaviour to make this happen–behaviours we don’t see often.

Typically learning very negative, highly immoral information about someone has a stronger impact than learning very positive, highly moral information. But it’s not all bad. Highly competent actions and abilities also weigh heavily.

Should you Trust your First Impression? TED-Ed Lesson by Peter Mende-Siedlecki

Want to learn how to create a great impression?

Start by reading this post: Elevate your Success with Six Tips to Make a Killer First Impression

Or

Get My Alcomy’s free infographic on First Impression Essentials

Need more help creating a great first impression?

Book a coaching session.

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Book a training session–internal training, away day or team building.

Book a half-day (or more) training session for your organisation and get two free, one-hour coaching sessions!

Quote “train to gain offer” as you book.

[kathleen-lyons-the-writer]

I created this Creepypasta OC. Tell me what you think.

Name: Adeline Scott

Age: 19

Hair color: Black

Eye color: heterochromic blue and gold (her gold eye can see the past traumas of those she touches)

Skin color: pure white

Likes: cooking, sketching

Dislikes: injustice

Power/Weapon: Adeline does have telekinesis, but it is only ever activated by emotional distress (i.e., fear for her life or being the victim of a violent crime involving someone dear to her). Her golden right eye can see the past trauma of those she comes into physical contact with.

Bio:

Adeline Scott has never exactly had an easy life. She was an average student who regularly dealt with bullying because of her physical appearance. She was called Ghost Girl because she looked like she didn't exactly belong among the living. This, however, didn't stop her from being compassionate to anyone. Her mother had always told her that she too often wore her heart on her sleeve, being too emotional at times.

One day, when she was eleven years old, she had been walking home from school when she was cornered by bullies. This encounter was different, because now there was the threat of physical violence. She had begun to run, but one of the bullies threw a rock at her and it made contact with her head, making her bleed. As Adeline feared for her life, wishing that could be just left alone like she always had, the bully who had initially been the one who threatened her began to crumble in pain. Every bone in that bully's body began to crush simultaneously, making him appear to be the human equivalent of a crushed soda can. Adeline passed out from the sight in sheer and utter horror. This would be the only time this kind of incident would occur at this age.

When she woke up again, Adeline found herself in the hospital, bandages wrapped around her head and her right eye. Her parents were there at her bedside, breathing a sigh of relief. A doctor was there too, and he explained that due to the head trauma Adeline had incurred, her right eye had gone temporarily blind. The doctor pat her hand, saying she would recover well, and her head spiked with pain. A vision appeared in her head and she could see the doctor, younger than he was now, crying a the bedside of a young girl who had apparently been through some sort of accident. The scene changed again to a courtroom and there the doctor was again, in tears as a criminal walked free, probably the one responsible for the young girl's accident. Adeline blinked and looked at the doctor. She was confused at the vision she saw. The doctor seemed in a bit of shock at Adeline's confused deep blue eye peering at him, and then he lead her parents outside to discuss her treatment.

Days passed, and when the bandages came off, her right eye was revealed. The doctor and her parents were in shock. When Adeline asked what was wrong, her mother simply handed her a mirror. To Adeline's surprise, her right eye had drastically transformed from a tranquil blue hue to a haunting gold tone. The doctor said that usually eye color would return to normal a few days after trauma, but for even such a drastic transformation to occur was exceptionally rare. The doctor held her head still as he shine a light in her gold eye, and she saw another vision. It was the same scene as before, but Adeline had aquires more details. The girl was his six year old daughter, and she was hit in a hit and run by a drunk driver, the criminal who was being let go in the courtroom. A tear ran down Adeline's cheek as she saw the doctor crying as he knelt down in front of his young child's grave. Adeline looked up at the doctor, and she noticed that his eyes were red. Then it struck her; the anniversary of that child's death must have been recent for him to cry so much and he try to hide it. Her parents left, assuring her that they would return to discharge her the next day, and as the doctor left, she let out her voice for the first time since she had woken up in the hospital. "I'm so sorry about what happened." Her voice was raspy. The doctor looked at her in shock and then swiftly left the room.

After she had been discharged from the hospital, a nagging sense of injustice befell her. The man who had killed the doctor's daughter in a drunk cad accident was walking free and the doctor suffered for it. This nagging drove her to research everything about the incident, shutting herself in her room as she tirelessly looked for that man who seemed to have no remorse.

She didn't know what she was doing as she snuck out of the house a week later, grabbing her father's pocket knife that she had stolem when he hadn't been looking and hastily yet hesitantly walking towards the place where the unjust man lived. She stood across the street from that house, finally, and had been about to cross the street when a car parked in front. A familiar figured walked out. It was her doctor, and he had something in his hand. It was a gun, she realized. When the door opened as the doctor knocked, a woman stood there with her child. Adeline watched in horror as she saw her doctor snatch the child from its mother and pointed the gun at her, yelling at her to take her to the bastard that killed his daughter. Curious, Adeline got closed and watched through the window. The man who had been the killer of the doctor's daughter was in tears, begging the doctor to not harm his child. Adeline's eyes widened and she felt herself running for the door. She had just entered the door when the doctor pressed the gun to the kid's temple. the kid screamed and cried. Instinctively, Adeline took the knife from her pocket and then walked up behind the doctor. She tapped him on the shoulder and the doctor froze in terror. "This won't do anything. It won't bring her back, doctor." Adeline whispered. When the doctor let the child go and turned towards Adeline, he was even more shock. "You would kill this little boy to alleviate your pain? What just would thatbring for your daughter?" That nagging sense grew stronger and her eyes narrowed. Without warning, and to much of her surprise, the eleven year old Adeline Scott plunged the knife deep into the gut of the doctor who had been about to commit murder in order to get revenge for his daughter. Adeline then found herself saying cold and vengeful words to the doctor who looked at her with wide eyes.

"The eye of vengeance has judged your sorrow. May you find mercy in the afterlife."

Her breathing was heavy; she hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath in such a way. Then she heard the words from the man as he held his child and wife tight in his arms. "Thank you."

The nagging sense returned, but not as fiercely as it had with the doctor. She turned her eyes to the man and she shook her head. "You are not blameless either. If you allow your drunken stupor to take another innocent life, then death will come for you on swift wings." She took the gun from the doctor's side and then took one of the bullets from the magazine. She held up the bullet and then threw it at him. "Instead of someone else coming to do it for you, it will be your task to pull the trigger and atone for your sins." And with that, she left, returning to her house.

That nagging sense of injustice never returned, not until she witnessed a drunken man who happened to be her father was beating her mother to a bloody pulp, calling her a whore. Again that nagging sense clawed at the top of her spine. Taking action, she hit her father over the head with a lamp, killing him with one blow. She went to her father's side, touching his hand to make sure he was dead, and then she saw a vision of her mother in a grotesque display of intimacy as her father watched. At first her mother protested, but soon her mother's face contorted into an expression that wasn't pain like it had been before. She was brought out of the vision by her mother begging for her to call an ambulance. That nagging turned from a clawing to an all put slashing, and Adeline held a tight hand around her mother's neck, calling her unfaithful. And then the words came again.

"The eye of vengeance has judged you. Beg for mercy in the afterlife."

And without warning, her mother's neck snapped.

Adeline stared at the corpses of her two parents and tears ran down her cheeks. For the three people she had killed for just to be served, two of them her own parents, her compassionate heart was still on her sleeve.

She grabbed what she needed and then left that house, her emotional distress causing the

house to come crashing down.

That night, she whispered into the cool air.

"I walk alone, for I am an angel of vengeance."

((Long story, but you can't rush my writing ^^))

[fluffywarrior]

Women's March Reflections

Y'all have to understand something... My mother is a very conservative woman. She doesn't agree with liberal leftist feminism. I asked her the other night about what she thought about the Women's March the other night and she said, "it's bull shit. They didn't represent all women. A real woman works and has a career but always puts her family first. Abortions are selfish. Just because a woman wants to go to college and be free of responsibility is no reason to kill a baby. Abortions are murder and real strong women are the ones that keep the baby, still go to school, still have a career and put their kids and family over everything." There you have it folks. Strait from the strongest woman I know. My mom skipped college and made a bunch of sacrifices for me and my siblings through out our lives. Some of which she carries a lot of regret and burden for. I guess mostly because all that sacrifice didn't produce three thriving successful young adults. So in no way am I going to disagree with my mother. After she has been through in her life the biggest lesson I learned was that my opinion doesn't matter. I neither agree nor disagree with what any woman says or believes because I'm not a woman. I can't even begin to understand your struggles. All in all my mother still holds those old Reagan era moral values. She tries to be a good Christian woman. She busts her ass and even when we were poor as fuck as little kids never took a single dime from welfare. So when it comes down to me having to pay taxes that fund certain women's health issues or what ever I'm against it because I don't want to pay any taxes. It's a combination of how I was raised on top of knowing that even tho I could really use the governments help right now, I couldn't as a guy get any welfare. No food stamps, no unemployment. It just doesn't seem very equal to me. I understand the anger towards Donald Trump and how all his comments and actions were just swept under the rug. I understand that it's unjust that a bunch of white men get to decide what you can and can't do with your body. So I guess where I stand on abortions is that it's a personal matter. I can't say that I wouldn't want a girl I got pregnant to have or not have one unless I was in that situation. I'm not a big fan of kids at the moment so I'd probably lean more towards yes. Watch my mother disown me for being a murder because I'm selfish. I think the father should have an opinion on the matter unless he isn't around. But then again you're the oven for nine months. The rest I suppose I just don't know enough about. Sometimes to me it always seems like women are always shouting that they don't have enough and I'm like well shit, get in line, I've been killing the internet for a few years now I've barely managed to get famous people to subtweet me. Now if you want to talk about animal rights well I agree in a way. Dolphins and Killer Whales aren't going extinct so to keep them captive for human entertainment seems a bit cruel. But I support zoos that do keep animals in captivity that our going extinct or are marked for sport. My dad and I really don't get along but he did teach me one thing as a kid I agree now... "don't kill anything you're not going to eat." So with that said I don't support hunting for sport just to have something over a fire place. But I do enjoy turkey, duck, elk, deer and other wild game. What's more cruel? Ordering duck at a Chinese restaurant raised in a slaughter house or going out on a lake and giving it a fair chance at flying past your bird shot? I honestly support the dismantling of Super markets and Super centers like Walmart sams club and cosco and a return to home town local markets. Farmers raise animals free range and grow crops they can grow with free market trade across states to ensure you can still get all that's available. But if you still want the convenience that mass production provides then just stay oblivious to the treatment of animals in slaughter houses or quit eating meat. To you hard core vegans out there I'm sorry, but I'll take the blue pill and look the other way on meat and answer to God among all my other sins. I despise people who get pets and then can't even give them a good home. I'm not saying buy them presents or dress them up for every holiday but at least make sure they are fed, loved and have adequate shelter. I probably would never wear a fur coat because I'm not a 70s NYC pimp. I'm not a Yankee Doodle with a feather in his cap. When it comes to testing cosmetics on animals I really don't have an opinion. I don't wear make up, nail polish, exfoliate and I barely even moisturize. That's one for the women to solve. What are you willing to sacrifice for flawless skin and perfect palettes that. Lend with your skin tone perfectly while decreasing wrinkles and what not? So there. That's it. I'm sorry if you still can't unblock me because the mother y'all so desperately want me to fuck is a conservative Christian.