#bless neural filters

[fromkenari]

Michael Vlamis: [INSERT COLOGNE NAME HERE] Michael Trevino: I can smell this

Source

[sekaiiide]

HYEEELLPPP

okay so i know i shouldn't be paying for adobe still but i'm braindead in 2024 and i'm still on the $10 photography plan before it went up so i'm scared to cancel bc I don't want to lose that deal since it's not offered anymore ANYWAYS

is anyone else having an issue with photoshop right now where if you try to use smart sharpen (or any neural filter but the only thing i really care about is smart sharpen) your gpu just completely crashes? im on an amd radeon rx 580 with 32gb of ram, i know that that gpu isn't great by current standards but it was fine until literally last week and ive never had these issues prior to this week.

ive tried to run just photoshop on a fresh boot and it still crashes my gpu and im so stressed i have so much that i wanted to do

✨✨✨ good blessings to those who want to give a damn about this idk what else to say pls help me im very stressed✨✨✨

[firesongbard]

Retreat

A short snippet from my Post-Control long fic. Read more on AO3

T R A Y N O R

There was so much happening all at once.

“EDI, can you filter Admiral correspondence only to my omni-tool? I want to get a better look at Normandy flight systems.”

“Of course, Specialist Traynor.” Sweet music to her ears.

Sam transferred the most recent fleet positions to her omni-tool and headed toward the helm from the CIC, barely looking up from the small hologram as she did. She walked in as Garrus’ voice came over the radio.

“I just got off the line with General Quentius. They’ve got Harbinger on their tail. Don’t know what they did to piss him off, but if we can get in there and distract him, we’ll save a lot of lives.”

“Great idea! Let me pull up in front of the searing death eyeball of the giant mechanical space squid that’s been trying to kill us specifically for the last year.”

She had to agree with Joker. The Normandy was of much more use painting targeting for other ships, since they could generally get closer undetected. Most Reaper ships didn’t have a way to detect them without a heat signature.

“I’m telling you, we’ve got the weapons to get a shot off at its eye. We go in cold, EDI sets the targeting piggybacking off of Quentius’ computers, and we land the shot before it destroys the flagship of the Turian fleet.” Before Garrus finished talking, she found a better plan.

“Garrus, I’ve just sent coordinates to Hacket for that maneuver. The SR-2 is just too heavy to pull that turn, even with EDI’s help. The Geth have smaller ships, and in the time it takes me to explain to you why, they’ll already have a shot. Just tell General Quentius to be ready.”

“…Aye Aye, Traynor.”

Joker spared her a look as Sam settled in behind his chair. “Damn, who died and made you Admiral?”

“I’m just advising, Joker.” The knowledge that Admiral Hackett was taking her advice seriously would have been enough to send her into shock if she dwelled too long on it. “EDI, the next time we need to vent heat, will you let me know? I’d like to take advantage of it to create a distraction to offer cover for Balak and the Quarian Civilian fleet to escape the system.”

“Of course, Specialist Traynor.” This time, EDI’s wonderfully sultry voice came from the body seated next to Joker. “We could quickly build up heat with a small Drive Core maneuver less than 3 seconds before or after a weapons’ discharge.” Oh, bless this brilliant woman.

“Joker, can you find us a target near enough to these coordinates? I’ll give Balak and Zaal’Koris orders to be ready.”

“Aye Aye, Not-Admiral.”

“Very funny.”

“Jeff seems to think so.”

Sam jumped. EDI now stood very close to her. Wonderfully, terribly, uncomfortably close with her wry, low voice.

Combat, Samantha. Head in the game.

Venting heat left them dead in the water for exactly 4 minutes and 73 seconds, but the Volus bombing fleet was near enough that they offered cover. And in turn, the Normandy’s brilliant heat signature distracted from the less appealing targets of the Batarians and Quarians now headed for the Charon relay. Oh, if Reapers could feel neural-feedback!

“Jeff, the situation on the Citadel has changed.” Again, EDI’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Wait, what do you mean changed? Changed how? Changed good? Changed let’s-go-back-in-there-and-grab-Shepard?”

Before anyone could reply, Hackett’s voice came over the comms.

“All fleets, the Crucible is armed. Disengage and head to the rendezvous point.”

Sam stared at her carefully laid concert of space-battle plans, and swept the pieces away to determine exactly how long it would take to jump nineteen fleets through the relay. The Flotilla alone could take several days.

“Get Shepard. Got it.” Joker had his own display of the impossibility of getting everyone to the rendezvous point. If they left now, at full speed, they would be the first team to Charon. If they stayed…

“I repeat: Disengage and get the hell out of here!”

EDI placed a gentle hand on Joker’s shoulder. He threw off her first attempt to draw his attention, but she persisted. Her voice quieted, and she spoke so gently Sam felt like she was intruding for hearing it: “We must leave the system.”

It was enough to break anyone. Joker pulled his hands away and took a long look at the same ruthless calculus Sam had poured over. “Damnit.”

They made the jump to the Charon Relay.

[barb-aricyawp]

I’ve been craving me some caretaking! So, how about Bucky and Tony with a crowbar?

I adore this idea! Caretaking with a crowbar for Bucky. (for torture tuesday)

“The good news is, I found a crowbar,” Tony says, dragging it across the floor. A first aid kit is in his other hand. “The bad news is that we’ll need a crowbar.”

Barnes just nods.

It’s a big, heavy thing. Tony was hoping to find something smaller, but they’re trapped (imprisoned? stranded?) in a car mechanic shop. Not an operating room.

“I’m won’t sugar coat it,” Tony says. “The whole thing needs to come off.”

Barnes nods again. 

He seems to be taking the news in stride, so Tony continues. “I don’t know where the infection is coming from, but the mechanic’s rule of thumb is to just poke around until you find it, so I hope–”

“Don’t be nervous,” Barnes interrupts. His voice is pitched low, as if soothing a startled animal. 

Perhaps he is. Tony’s hands are clenched so tightly around the crowbar, that they’re beginning to shake. Barnes sees this, and smiles.

“If you fuck it up, I’ll be okay,” Barnes continues.

Tony appraises Barnes’ shoulder with skepticism. The flesh is puffed up and pink around the sharp edge of the prosthetic. It gives off a faint, foul odor. Like something is rotting underneath.

Barnes catches Tony’s look. “I won’t die. How’s that?”

Tony snorts a laugh, readjusts the crowbar into a singular hand. He tries to think of Barnes’ arm as a part of the Iron Man suit. But it’s different. Of course it’s different. There’s a human under the tool now. A man with layers and layers of scar tissue, with a metal arm bolted into his shoulder. 

And when Tony wedges steel between flesh and metal, the crowbar punctures Barnes’ infected blisters. To his credit, Barnes doesn’t even flinch.

Tony does. He winces and squirms as he rocks the handle towards Barnes, essentially prying the arm off. Something pops and grinds inside the shoulder. It begins to separate.

And then Barnes does flinch. He grimaces, turns away from the pain. Barnes’ right hand grips the edge of his stool so hard that the wood splinters. 

“What hurts?” Tony asks, slowing. “What am I ripping at here?” He should have asked earlier. Tony can just hear all the doctors in his life chastising him right now, a chorus of exasperation.

“Bolts,” Barnes says, “In my scapula, clavicle, and acromion. They’re shallow in the bone. It’ll heal. Keep pulling.”

Tony can’t do it. He says as much. And Barnes sighs. He reaches his right hand up, covering Tony’s hand. 

“Just keep it steady, this angle is weird for me,” Barnes says. “I’ll do the…rest of it.”

Tony’s anxiety is going to be unmanageable for weeks after this. 

Barnes pries his own arm off with the crowbar while Tony stabilizes it. He holds the metal prosthetic by the elbow, supporting its weight. Standing behind Barnes while he sits on the stool, gripping the crowbar over his head, cupping his elbow…

It all feels vaguely intimate.

The arm rips off. And, yup, the socket of the prosthetic is spiked with gory bolts. One of them is as long as six inches. 

Tony drops the crowbar, settles the prosthetic on the floor, and shuffles around to inspect the damage. “What the fuck, Barnes? You call those shallow?”

Barnes smiles, shrugs his flesh shoulder. “This isn’t the first time I’ve lied to you. Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Touché.” Tony scrubs a hand over his jaw, wincing at the mangle he’s made of Barnes’ shoulder. 

He found a first aid kit in the mechanic’s office. (A blessing, unlike the startling lack of drills. Or cars.) Given the accident prone nature of car repair shops, the kit is pretty thorough. Disinfectant is probably the best place to start. 

After liberally dousing the socket with alcohol, Tony fishes out a pair of tweezers to pinch bits of metal shrapnel from Barnes’ arm. “Remind me when this arm was made.”

“This is the third arm I’ve had, installed in 1972,” Barnes says blandly. “The socket is the original. I don’t know what year they made it.”

Tony pauses, eyes flickering up to Barnes’ profile. “You’re telling me, that the socket of this sophisticated cognitive neural prosthetic…” Here, he glances back at the dismembered arm in question. “…is Soviet era technology that no one bothered update. That’s what you’re telling me right now.”

Barnes just raises his eyebrows, inhales sharply…and exhales slow.

“They fucked you up, Barnes,” Tony mumbles before he can filter out the coarseness.

Barnes snickers. “My friends call me Bucky.”

[zentoronto]

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[aion-rsa]

TV’s Most Confusing Episodes From Doctor Who to Westworld

https://ift.tt/2WAmL4r

There has to be some confusion in a TV drama, a procession of things not-yet-understood. That’s the deal: accept temporary bafflement in the expectation that at some point, all will be revealed. Or even if it won’t be, at least there’s a reason it’s been left unsolved, like a Sudoku you’ve got jam on. 

Read more

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Enough, Scrappy-Doo! The TV Dogs Who Need to Chill the F Out

By Alec Bojalad and 3 others

TV

TV’s Most Stressful Episodes From Battlestar Galactica to The Handmaid’s Tale

By Alec Bojalad and 2 others

What doesn’t work is when a TV show that’s supposed to be taking you along with it, leaves you behind. That could be your fault (Did you stay awake? Skip an episode? Were you checking your phone? Was your dog doing that weird thing with the curtains so you had to get up and miss a bit?). Or it could be the fault of a TV show either too ambitious or inaccessible or illogical for comfort. We’ve chosen the episodes that left us scratching our heads; you can judge who’s to blame. 

Doctor Who ‘Twice Upon a Time’ (2017)

So named because twice is the minimum number of times you have to watch the 2017 Doctor Who Christmas special before you have the weakest grasp of what’s going on. Considering that most will have only watched it once, and that, from inside a boozy, gravy-based fug, it’s staggering how esoteric this one is – impressively so. As showrunner Steven Moffat’s farewell episode, it’s a distillation of the sort of clever, complicated, ambitious, self-referential writing he’s known for.

There are two Doctors (three if you count the post-Regeneration glimpse of Thirteen), two overlapping Doctor Who stories, a Dalek, an ancestor of The Brigadier, a ship’s pilot made of glass, a moving historical WWI moment and three companions who aren’t really there. (Or are they?) It’s about regret, or reminiscence, or saying goodbye. It’s definitely about something and is doubtless very meaningful and poignant once you crack its shell, but there’s the sense that, unless you’re one of the Who hardcore, it doesn’t really care for you to try. Why be so aloof? It’s Christmas. Let the rest of us play too. LM  

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Season 4 Episode 8 ‘I’m Not the Person I Used to Be’

This was a bold move from a bold show. When Santino Fontana chose to leave Crazy Ex-Girlfriend after his one year contract ended, the character of Greg – assumed by many to be lead Rebecca’s romantic endgame – was written out in early season two. Then in the fourth and final season, Greg returned but this time played by Skylar Astin. Instead of glossing over the casting change and pretending as though nothing had happened (like when, say, Ross’ ex-wife Carol on Friends or mercenary warrior Daario Naharis on Game of Thrones changed faces), Crazy Ex-Girlfriend hit it straight on.

This smart, innovative series had always been filtered through the unreliable perspective of lead Rebecca Bunch (hence the extravagant musical numbers that take place in her head). So when Greg’s character was recast, the show used it to comment on our impressions of other people. ‘I’m Not the Person I Used to Be’ lampshaded New Greg with a psychoanalytical reflection on changing perceptions and personal growth. It was brave. It was innovative. It was admirable. It was… really confusing and distancing. However great Astin was in the role, and however clever the idea was, New Greg was the point at which some Crazy Ex-Girlfriend fans began to peel away from a show clearly unafraid to leave viewers behind. LM

Westworld Season 3 Episode 8 ‘Crisis Theory’

The Westworld season one finale was confusing in a delicious, grinning ‘Oh, you clever devil’ kind of way. The Westworld season two finale was confusing in an exhilarating ‘Blimey. All right then!’ kind of way. The Westworld season three finale was confusing in a way that made you feel like you’d watched the entire Terminator trilogy on fast-forward while downing a 12-pack of Red Bull and trying to rewire the electrics in your house. It wasn’t a good feeling.

I still don’t know which world-dominating AI was which, who was fighting who, what the evil French guy wanted, how many people were secretly Dolores, whether Maeve still only existed in the Matrix, and why Jesse from Breaking Bad was the new Jesus. If free will still exists by the time season four comes, I’m using mine to either get a valium prescription or change channels. LM

Rick and Morty Season 4 Episode 6 ‘Never Ricking Morty’

“Never Ricking Morty” is a particularly divisive episode of Rick and Morty – even at this very website! Some of us loved it, while others weren’t big fans. One thing that’s undeniable, however, is that this midseason 4 episode is the show’s most complicated narrative endeavor yet. “Never Ricking Morty” takes place on a “Story Train,” meaning that the plot initially goes through your typical three-act storytelling structure.

Once Rick and Morty realize where they are, however, Rick understands that the only way out of the Story Train is to reject the conventions of storytelling altogether. This means that any natural storytelling inclination must be resisted. It also means that the show burns through about nine series finales worth of epic nonsense right at the end as Rick and Morty’s “canon” is sucked right out of them. It’s tremendously challenging to watch, much less understand, and the episode wants it that way. – AB

Russian Doll Episode 7 ‘The Way Out’

Like many other Groundhog Day-style “time loop” stories, Netflix’s Russian Doll goes out of its way to establish the “rules” of its sci-fi premise. Every time Nadia Vulvokov (Natasha Lyonne) dies (which happens with disturbing frequency), she returns to the night of her 36th birthday party, washing her face in the bathroom as Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up” plays. That much is easy to understand, and Russian Doll has fun seeing how far it can make Nadia last before perishing and returning to the night in question.

Once she meets another person stuck in a time loop, however, things start to get wacky. Russian Doll’s seventh episode, “The Way Out,” is about as off-the-wall an experience as you’ll find on television. Nadia’s loved ones start to disappear. Then she flashes back to memories of her mother. Before you know it, teeth are bloodily falling out. Russian Doll settles in for a relatively logical ending in its eighth episode, but this penultimate installment is pleasantly incomprehensible. – AB

The Nevers Episode 6 ‘True’

The Nevers’ premise is bold enough to begin with. The HBO series is set in a fictional Victorian era where a select portion of the population (most of them women) have been “Touched” or blessed with supernatural abilities. Apparently, however, bold wasn’t nearly bold enough. The Nevers’ sixth episode, which serves as a de facto season finale due to a COVID production delay, upends everything.

Read more

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Sky Atlantic’s The Nevers Proves That Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

By Lacy Baugher

TV

The Nevers Part 1 Finale Is The Most Surprising Hour of TV in a Long Time

By Alec Bojalad

This episode begins not in 19th century London like every other installment thus far, but in a far flung dystopian sci-fi future. Earth is barely habitable and humanity is on the ropes. The only possible hope that the human race has left is in the form of a powerful alien species known as the Galanthi. If this all sounds complicated, you don’t even know the half of it. “True” is notable for not holding the audience’s hand through this disorienting experience at all. The episode makes no attempt to tone down its futuristic jargon and it’s not entirely clear what’s even happening until halfway through. By episode’s end, it’s apparent how “True” connects to The Nevers’ original concept, but no one would be blamed for needing multiple rewatches to really get it. – AB

Farscape Season 4 Episode 7 ‘John Quixote’

Let it never be said that Farscape was a TV show afraid to take a big creative swing. In season 4, we get this trippy and confusing episode (written by series star Ben Browder), which sees Crichton and Chiana trapped in a virtual reality game based on the memories of Black-T Crichton (because, yes, this was after the storyline that saw the show’s main character split into two, equally valid humans) and a neural template from Stark. The game is designed to keep C & C trapped in the gameworld until they die so their consciousnesses will be trapped in the virtual reality—wait for it—forever.

This hour of TV actually holds up quite well upon rewatch, probably because it is packed to the brim with clever pop culture references, but an initial watch of this series installment is absolutely bonkers, featuring Aeryn as a southern belle, Rygel as a version of Monty Python’s Black Knight who can shoot fire out of his ass, and D’Argo as a lederhosen-wearing Hansel who, at one point, eats baked beans out of Jool’s intestines. I can only imagine what someone watching this episode out of context would imagine this show is actually about. – KB

Fringe Season 2 Episode 11 ‘Unearthed’

Some episodes of television intentionally challenge the viewer’s ability to interpret what the hell is going on, and some episodes of television are broadcast wildly out of order, seemingly bringing back a character killed off in the previous season for a humdrum monster-of-the-week installment. You may have guessed that I have a specific example in mind for that second category and, if so, you would be right. Written and filmed to be the 21st episode of Fringe’s first season, “Unearthed” was instead recycled to be a mid-season installment in the second season of Fox’s usually pretty great sci-fi drama.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

This might have worked—it’s a basic episode that sees the Fringe team exploring the mystery of a teen girl who is pronounced dead, only to wake up screaming an alphanumeric code while doctors are working to remove her organs—save for the fact that it features a Fringe team member who was killed at the end of the previous season. Honestly, I can laugh about this now, but, at the time, it was jarring and confusing, with the network (Fox, if you were wondering) offering no pre-episode or in-episode explanation offered for why the aforementioned deceased character might be up and walking. For this to happen in an episode that also features a guest character thought dead revealed to be alive is icing on the cake. – KB

The OA Episode 8 ‘Invisible Self’

The OA is one of the most aggressively bizarre shows in Netflix history. Created by and starring Brit Marling, this two-season sci-fi series is fit to bursting with strange, at times difficult-to-comprehend concepts. The storyfollows Marling as Prairie Johnson, a young woman who resurfaces after disappearing – only now she refers to herself as “The OA (or original angel)”. Prairie/The OA recruits several disciples who she promises to take to another dimension. In “Invisible Self”, the final episode of the show’s first season, it all somehow culminates into…well, into this:

Yes, what you’re seeing there is a group full of cult weirdos engaging in an interpretive dance to stop a school shooter. And mostly succeeding! The OA‘s second season gets even stranger in many respects but it’s hard to top the confusing majesty of this first season finale.

Twin Peaks: The Return ‘Part 8’

Legendary filmmaker David Lynch has absolutely no concerns about being dubbed “confusing.” In fact, when it comes to Lynch’s filmography, that’s kind of a feature, not a bug. In-between crafting mind-bending classic films like The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, and Mulholland Drive, however, Lynch took some time to stamp his name into TV history with the surprisingly straight-forward Twin Peaks. Sure, Twin Peaks was frequently abstract and strange throughout its two-season run but it had a coherent plot, which is more than many Lynch movies can claim.

That sense of narrative coherence all ends during a particular episode of the 2017 revival Twin Peaks: The Return. “Part 8” is absolutely bonkers. Episode co-writer Mark Frost described it as “what you might describe as a Twin Peaks origin story, [showing] where this pervasive sense of darkness and evil had come from.” In Frost and Lynch’s world, that sense of darkness comes in forms including but not limited to: the detonation of the first atomic bomb in 1945, oodles of primordial ectoplasmic fluid, a frog/cockroach creature, woodsmen manifesting out of mid-air, and of course: a performance by “The” Nine Inch Nails. It’s one of the most confusing episodes of television in history…and one of the best.

Dark – Every. Single. Episode.

When trying to pinpoint one episode to highlight for this article, Dark fought back and I came to the conclusion that every single episode of German multigenerational sci-fi series Dark is borderline impenetrable. Just when you think you have finally wrapped your head around what’s happening in the small town of Winden, Dark will throw in another layer to this timey-wimey, multiversal story that assures that you, in fact, have no idea what the hell is going on.

That being said, unlike some of the shows on this list, the confusing nature of Dark’s narrative isn’t a bug; it’s an intentional feature. This is a show that asks a lot from its viewers, but gives us satisfying answers in return. And it’s OK if you only ever have half an idea of what’s going on—if that’s the case, you’re doing better than most of Dark’s characters. – KB

The post TV’s Most Confusing Episodes From Doctor Who to Westworld appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[goodvibesatpeace]

Death, Ego and The Divine Feminine

“You must say goodbye before you can say hello. You cannot say hello before you say goodbye.

Grieving is a social experience. You cannot grieve alone.

You must do it with significant others.

You cannot live until you are willing to die. Fear of death stops one from fully living.”

These words written by Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler –Ross really struck a cord with me this month. Here she is describing the process of dealing with physical death. I am seeing how this mirrors the spiritual process of the death of the ego.

It has been an exceptional month for personal process.

This is my work- helping others process all their unconscious baggage so they can live life fully from their True Essence within rather than obscuring this from their own knowing by conditioned beliefs that limit them and karmic propensities that are little understood.

This type of work can be quite a responsibility and not for the faint hearted. It means often that one is the target of transference – In this case this is a psychological term that means you are being seen and related to not for who you truly are, but for what you may represent for another as seen through their particular lens based on their conditioning. It can be positive and also negative. In the negative version irrational feelings and attitudes from the past are projected onto another in the present.

Most people are doing this 95 % of the time. Most people live most of their lives not in the truth of the present moment but in the shadows of the past or the fantasy of a future that has not yet been created.

Until of course they take ownership of their own filter, accountability for their own actions or non- actions and get down to the real business of transcending their ego.

This month’s transference has shown up in those who are unable to allow their own feminine energy to become fully present and integrated into the psyche and are busy ‘killing’ her off in order to satisfy the ego’s requirements for self- esteem and value.An easy one for me to spot as I spent half a lifetime doing the same thing.

This becomes projected out on to whomever and whatever circumstance is representing the feminine in their reality.

The transference is based on inadequate mirroring in childhood from the mother. How it shows up depends on whichever is the egoic need that has not been fulfilled in early childhood specifically by the female caregiver/parent. This can be lack of nurturance or the inability of the caregiver to acknowledge and validate the child in its natural expression. i.e. “you need to become something different, better etc then I will love you.”

If you have done your work around these issues and carry the beautiful Divine Feminine (men and women) in a balanced way within your energy field, this is sensed by the imbalanced energy of other who will start unconsciously pulling in energy from your field and one can either be viewed as a mother figure for those in need of nurturance or can be reviled and rejected as the representation of the feminine energy that has not acknowledged and mirrored the child’s need for validation in the early years. Either way neither is true and sadly colors relationship with the feminine in the future life.This applies to men and women alike.

We are speaking of energies here not gender.

You will see from these examples why there is so much need for the energy of the Feminine to be brought forth in all human beings in these times of the great transition and why it is this energy that will “save the world” as the Dalai Lama so famously said.

I believe by this he meant when men and women are able to own their issues around these traumas of the psyche and empower rather than decimate their own feminine energy instead of moving into either co- dependence to take it from another or obliteration tactics that subdue any need for accountability – then the world will save itself.

It requires great vulnerability and courage to own these pieces in our selves. It means we have to move out of negation and resistance and admit this to our own conscious awareness before we can transmute the discordant energy. We are required to drop the negative pleasure we get from staying in our familiar responses to the old triggers.

Just bringing it to our conscious awareness does not remove this discordant pattern imprinted in the neural nets of the brain. This needs to be done energetically- so that we can create the potential for new neural pathways through the neuroplasticity of the brains neural networks. Then finally we need to make NEW CHOICES about how we perceive and show up in the world.

As a facilitator of this work I am constantly checking in moment by moment with my own field and with my own reactions, if any, in order to keep a clean and strong container to hold the work.

I do this all the time not just when I am working.

This field is sometimes felt as what some have described as power and elicits many different reactions depending on the individuals I may be in contact with and their relationship to perceived power.

What is being felt or sensed by the other is the “power” of Unconditional Love that will bring forth all that is unlike itself to the surface.

It is not “mine”. I am merely a conduit, as are we all to lesser and greater degrees for this beautiful energy generated by Divine Presence and I say bring it on! This is the very ground of our being and is always there waiting to be discovered, underneath all the stories, to emerge through us.

I keep on doing my own personal work. And I will keep on doing it. That means I own my own stuff and I pass back all that is projected on to me.

If anyone, whether as a client or just in life generally, is busy telling me what they see through their own filter and never once owns anything as their own I get mighty suspicious as to whether they are able to process their own issues properly.

It is a never- ending task as long as we are human and connected in to all humanity via the morphogenetic field of our race. Sometimes, even for the most experienced among us, it can be difficult to navigate these tricky dynamics. So I feel very blessed for my years of training and for the lived experience through the numerous wounds of the psyche that I have sustained and transcended.

But most of all I am in Gratitude and Appreciation for Divine Grace that will ALWAYS show the way out of the darkness and into the light when called upon.

The more we can say goodbye to the Ego and hello to our True Essence and realize we ALL need help to do this, the more we will move away from fear and begin to live abundantly and joyously in freedom and sovereignty.

Much Love

[trbl-will-find-me]

Searching For Signal (1/2)

Limetown AU. Commander Weir belongs to @inbatcountry17 (thanks, Bat!!)

Her datapad blinks in the darkness. SIGNAL HACK COMPLETE, it reads. She presses play.

“ADVENT, building a brighter future,” a woman’s voice coos.

“The gifts of the Elders!” The Speaker proclaims.

“Unification Day,” a man intones.

There is the sound of a tape stopping short.

“Twenty years ago, ADVENT promised us a better tomorrow. We were so eager to believe them, that we never stopped to ask the cost,” her own voice cuts in. “We looked up in horror, and decided it was better to look away, that survival with a price was still survival.”

“But, somewhere along the way, we lost track of the books. We stopped keeping score. We figured our debts were paid, but ADVENT never stopped charging us. Why?” 

“My name is Sally Royston, and I intend to find out.”

The music transition isn’t as smooth as she would like. It doesn’t have the polish of the shows she’d listened to once upon a time. Then again, she reasons, they probably had a little more to go on than a stolen datapad and some questionable software.

“Ask anyone in the city centers, and the odds are good you’ll find a common thread. It seems everyone knows someone who’s gone missing. Maybe they went off to join the ADVENT security forces. Maybe they never came home fro a trip to the Clinic. Maybe, they just vanished.”

“That number gets a lot higher when you look at minors in ADVENT’s care. I should know; I was one of them. In six years, thirteen people I knew went missing. That brings my personal missing count to fourteen when you add in my father.”

“That’s an awfully high number for these alleged urban paradises, especially compared to the so-called uncivilized havens. Yet, here we are.”

“Disappearances among the foster population followed a trend. The guardians take an interest in bringing the disappeared before the churches, claiming they have reason to believe the child under their had been blessed with the Elders’ favor. The clergy would take a special interest in that individual, taking the target under their wing, so to speak. Within weeks, the target would be gone, and the whole affair would be written off.”

“It’s a story that keeps repeating.”

A compilation of interview snippets fill the silence.

“A casual review of the Missing Persons reports described in these interviews confirm the details. I wasn’t able to follow up with any of my interviewees, however. Within days of contact, each and every one had likewise gone missing. If you’re curious, that brings my personal count up to twenty.”

“There is one other factor that unifies these reports: a single, red symbol, emblazoned with the word Avatar. What it means isn’t for me to say. There are no records. Any mention in intercepted ADVENT communication has been expunged. All evidence suggests that Avatar holds the key to the missing. But what holds the key to Avatar?”

The end music plays off and Betos nods. “You will certainly attract someone’s attention. I only hope it will be enough.”

--

“Did you all hear that?” V-Day crows. “Whoever this Sally Royston girl is, sounds like she’s on a mission. Little girl, if you’re out there, and you mean it, we’ll give you the time.”

--

Against her better judgment, she sends a missive.

She receives one in turn.

They reach an agreement.

She will need to learn to broadcast live. 

--

Leads begin to filter in through V-Day. She follows each and every one, collecting more reports of the missing. Her count grows by leaps and bounds as the people who reach out soon join their friends and family in the ranks of the disappeared.

Midway through her second broadcast, her datapad begins to flicker as someone, or something, attempts to access it.

“There’s something … there’s something going on here,” she says. “Bear with me everyone.”

“There are … there are hundreds of files being downloaded to my datapad from an … unknown source.”

She begins opening them as they complete. 

“These are … there are admissions files. Missing persons reports. Security files. They’re all marked with the Avatar logo. There must be … hundreds here. If you’re considering a trip to your local ADVENT Clinic, I might hold off.”

A folder downloads labeled Weir, W.

Commander Weir, she thinks. Her mother’s memories flood back to her.

“I think … I think it’s time I turn you back over to V-Day. Keep searching. Keep pulling the threads. Royston out.”

If we want a shot at taking this planet back, we have to find the Commander, she remembers her mother saying. Find Weir, and we find our chance.

She opens the folder, and is greeted with a single text file. There’s no place like home.

She scrubs a hand over her face. Breaking into the XCOM alpha site is a bad idea. She is acutely aware of that fact. 

It will not stop her.

--

Betos refuses to let her go unattended.

--

Her mother’s access codes still work. The old base still smells like a tomb, though it is curiously devoid of human remains, almost as if someone had been through to clean house. She notes, with no small amount of curiosity, that the crimson red banners her parents’ memories say should hang in tatters in Mission Control are absent.

Someone has already done her the favor of breaking into the Commander’s office. She suspects it was the same soul who took the banners.

She unplugs the computer from the wall, and connects it to a small Elerium core, then connects her datapad to the bulky device. It makes short work of the outdated security protocols, and she soon has a complete copy of the XCOM archives. She spends the next few hours preparing for the broadcast.

--

The introduction music still isn’t as polished as she would like. 

“When we last left off,” she begins. “I’d had someone or something access my datapad and leave me with several gigabytes worth of files. They conclusively tie many of the disappearances to this Avatar project. I still do not know the source of this leak, but I believe the documents to be credible.”

“Among these documents was a reference to one William Weir. Weir, for those of you who don’t know, was the Commander of XCOM, the organization that first fought to repel the invasion. Being the child of XCOM operatives, he was sort of a mythical figure growing up.  

She plays a snippet cut from a Council call.

“My parents painted Weir as a complicated figure, but one whom they ultimately respected, and more importantly, trusted. I grew up hearing tales of a brilliant tactician and shrewd strategist, one who innately understood the balance of risk and reward. The men and women under William Weir’s command followed him, perhaps not blindly, but with near absolute trust.”

“Which speaks volumes, given how little is publicly available on the man. Finding concrete details on his past is a tall order. He’s a West Point graduate, a US Army veteran, and beyond that, something of a mystery. From what I can piece together, he had some sort of longstanding tie to anti-alien efforts.”

She plays another Council clip.

“He also didn’t make a habit of playing nicely with world leaders. Maybe he always knew what was coming. The same people he fought with were the people who would hand ADVENT the world on a silver platter just months later.”

“The next clip I’m about to play is … disturbing.”

She swallows hard as the recordings of the base incursion sound forth onto the airwaves. Hives rise along her skin, the combined terror from her parents’ memories brought to life once again. She feels like vomiting, like turning the recording off and hurling the datapad across the room. Some ghosts are not meant to be revived.

There is a sickening crunch. 

“One of the only hard facts we have about Weir, or his fate, is this: when XCOM fell, Weir fell with it. His disappearance was perhaps humanity’s greatest loss; his continued Missing In Action status potentially our greatest hindrance.”

“What’s not clear is this: what ties him to Avatar?”

--

When they make it back to camp, there is an odd package of sorts waiting for her: a dead ADVENT scientist, dried blood around his mouth. Betos hands her a datapad. “He said this was to be given to you. 

She sits around the fire that night, picking at dinner, and begins sifting through its contents. She doesn’t have long to look, however. There is a folder labeled “S. Royston.”

She clicks on it, and is greeted with a video of the interior of some kind of ADVENT facility. At the far end of the room is a tank with a figure suspended inside of it.

“…calibrated wrong! It is extremely unlikely the subject could be conscious after all this time. Of course we know how critical this is to the Avatar project! But with the accelerated timeline you’ve placed upon us …”

The feed fizzles out. 

There are other documents, too: scans and reports. She recognizes what she believes to be a control chip, and what the reports describe as “heightened neural activity.” They confirm her worst suspicions, that the figure in the tank is XCOM’s missing commander.

Each and every one is emblazoned with the red Avatar seal.

--

She plays the clip on air that night. “It’s hard to fully describe this,” she begins. “I must have watched it ten times, trying to glean something from it.”

She feels something encouraging, but not intrusive, at the back of her mind.

“Between this and the additional data included, we can now conclusively say that Commander William Weir is alive, that ADVENT is holding him for some purpose related to the Avatar project, and that the Avatar project, whatever it is, isn’t going away.”

“Very astute, Miss Royston,” a voice cuts in.

“Hello?” She asks.

“You’ve come so far. But you still can’t quite put it together, can you?”

“Listeners, I don’t know who this is. They’re not with me.”

“That’s apparent.”

The presence at the back of her mind grows anxious.

“Why are you on my ---“

“Your little show? Only to give you what you’ve been looking for. Your precious answers.”

“…Who are you?”

“Montreal quarantine zone. Tomorrow evening. 5 PM. Palais de Justice.”

The presence gives her a strong sense: Absolutely not.

“You heard them,” she announces. “Special broadcast. Tomorrow night. Five PM.”

--

“There are some places even we will not tread,” Betos says. “If you will not reconsider, then I wish you safe passage.”

--

Her signal carries clear and strong, her proof that she is not alone.

“This is … probably a trap,” she says, her voice shaking. “But it’s the only way we might find out. So. We’re gonna do that. Together.”

Gingerly, she picks her way along the side of the building. “For those of you who, like me, never saw one of these lost cities when they were whole, they’re … kind of cool, actually. They don’t look anything like the city centers. I mean,” she pauses. “They kind of do. There’s these giant buildings, and they’re mostly glass, but there’s other kinds too. There’s … there’s more variety. They look like they might have been a nice place to live.”

She shivers.

“They’re way, way too quiet, though. And something’s definitely here.”

She stops dead, her voice dropping to a whisper. “ADVENT. ADVENT is here. With what looks like … flamethrowers? Everybody, this is really strange. They’re not interested in me.”

“Miss Royston?” A voice asks from behind her. “Come with me. Time grows short.”

“Who are you?”

“Peter Van Doorn. But that’s not really the answer you want now, is it? You’ve come a long way, Miss Royston. And you’ve got bigger questions. Come along. I promise, we won’t leave your audience hanging.”

She follows him down into a basement; the hair on the back of her neck stands on end. She should not do this. This is how her life ends, here on live radio.

She has not come this far to give up now.

The door shuts heavy behind her. Van Doorn gestures her to a seat, and takes one of his own, across the table from her.

“Alright, Miss Royston,” he says. “Ask away.”

“Who do you work for?”

“These days? I’m retired. I’m an old man.”

“Who did you work for?”

He sucks at his teeth. “Could answer you any number of ways.”

“Most recent employer,” she grinds out.

“I serve the great and glorious Elders.”

“ADVENT.”

“Naturally.”

“What did you do for them?”

“I assisted in strategic operations against known collaborators.”

“You murdered innocents.”

“Those who cannot be swayed to the Elders grace will be brought to heel by their wrath.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s life, my darling girl.”

“ I’m not your darling anything. What the hell is ADVENT doing with the civilians they’ve abducted?”

“They’ve been called to a higher purpose.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It most certainly is. D’you mind if I smoke?”

“I didn’t come here to play ping pong.”

“You don’t know what you came here for.”

“I came here for answers.”

“And that’s what I’m giving you.”

“I’ll take my chances elsewhere,” she says, standing and walking for the door.

“The Avatar project is an attempt to give the Elder Ethereals a more suitable physical host, one that is less prone to tissue degeneration. In order to manufacture these vessels, the most psionically gifted members of the human population, people like yourself, Miss Royston --- yes, we know about your little talent --- were culled. Their genetic material was harvested, and reborn into something greater.”

“How?”

“You’ve never availed yourself of a Gene Therapy clinic, have you? Ah, I suppose you’re too young.”

“You’re saying the Clinics are a front?’

“They bring all into the light of the Elders --- just not in the same way.”

She shudders. “I don’t believe you.”

“You want proof?” He asks, gesturing to his own datapad, now resting on his leg. “I’m happy to provide it.”

“Fine,” she says. “Let’s see.”

He keys in a few buttons. “It’ll take a few minutes. We’ll be done by then anyway.”

“Is that what you’re planning to do to Will Weir?” She is almost afraid to ask.

Van Doorn’s lips curl back. “Oh, no. Commander Weir has come to serve a very special place in our organization.”

“He wouldn’t,” Sally spits.

“A lot of faith in a man you’ve never met.”

“I trust my mother.”

“You trust memories that aren’t yours. Memory is so malleable.”

“He was the first,” she says. “He was the first one who disappeared.”

“Neither the first, nor the last. But I’ll give you that. His … aid was not given of his own volition.”

“What did you do to him?”

“We’ve given him a place of honor. He’s integral to the Elders’ vision for humanity.”

“A place of honor while you decimate the world he tried to protect?”

“What a rosy vision, Miss Royston.”

“They can’t get away with this. We’re broadcasting live. Everyone who’s listening knows now.”

“And they will all kneel before the glory of the Elders.”

“There’s gotta be thousands of people missing! Do you really think humanity will just give up now that they know?”

“Millions, Miss Royston. You’re a little late to the party, or did you really think you were the first to have made it this far?” He asks. “Please. You’re a child. You’re just the only one to have left a paper trail. Don’t you wonder why your associates keep ending up dead?”

She swallows hard.

Van Doorn reaches into a jacket pocket and sets two pills on the table. He takes one and swallows it dry. “I’m giving you an option. An out. You have your answers. You’ve broadcasted your cause. You have to pay for it somehow. These pills are the easy way.”

Sally’s eyes dart to the datapad; her signal is still clear. The upload continues unabashed. “I think I’ll take the other option.”

“Oh, they’re coming,” he purrs. “I’d take the pills, Miss Royston. It’s a far less gruesome end than whatever they’ll do to you.”

Her fingers wrap around the pistol in her bag.

“They know now. Someone will stop it. They’ll find Weir.”

“You want his location?  I’ll transfer it to you,” he says, tapping his datapad, “but I’m afraid you won’t have much time. And the second you broadcast it, well…” The man offers her a wry grin. “Oh, Miss Royston --- or, should I say, Miss Martin. You don’t have a wing or a prayer. So much like your father.”

Her voice catches in her throat. “You son of a bitch.” Briefly, she entertains the idea of shooting him, but realizes she’ll need the meager bullets she has against the oncoming forces.  “Why do this?”

“Because catching you? Is hard. You’ve got better angels looking out for you than you realize. It would seem your ongoing antics have caught his attention. But letting you hand yourself over? Well, that was easy. And someone with your talents? Well. You too will serve a cause. You can feel him, can’t you?”

Van Doorn smiles and laughs, then begins to choke as blood foams from his mouth.

There is a commotion at the door, heavy footfalls and the telltale jabber of ADVENT troopers. The man’s eyes roll up into his head and he slumps forward, dead.

“If you can hear me out there,” she says, “I apologize, but I think our show is about to be cut short.”

The door falls under the blow of an ADVENT trooper’s kick.

“You know what’s coming!” She yells, cocking the gun.  “You know what you have to do!”

Troopers pour into the room. Strong arms wrap around her waist, and one of the troopers raises a boot, preparing to smash the datapad, its screen blinking a comforting ‘UPLOAD COMPLETE.’

“Don’t let them win!” She shouts. “You have to keep fighting! You have to ---“

The feed goes dead.

On board the Avenger, John Bradford rises from his seat at the bar. He has work to do.

[bodimyndlab-blog]

Your job is to keep on learning! Learning isn’t limited to reading and studying. Learning is EVERYTHING! Taking care of your health, deepening your relationships with love, managing your time, building a company, giving more to charity! The smartest, most successful people on the planet are always learning. They thrive on it. They know if they stop learning they will not live the full life they are blessed with. In fact the more successful people become the more they invest their time and energy in learning because they realize more and more how valuable it is to their success. They love it. They are voracious readers – Bill Gates, Elon Musk and Warren Buffett all read over 3+ hours per day! They choose to make every situation a learning experience. The cool thing is that you can too! It is simply a choice to make life a study vs. a reaction to things that ‘happen’ to you and don’t go your way. :(: You can see the above as a sad face or a smiley face. Same thing if you are in a social situation you don’t want to be in, in a job you don’t want to be in or in a class you don’t enjoy. You can be unhappy about it and resist it or you can embrace it and filter for the learning opportunities. One great way to do this is not think about whether the circumstance is useful to you but how you can use it to teach others! When you become a teacher you learn better for a few reasons. You aren’t self absorbed and not thinking whether it’s worth your investment of time, right/wrong etc. Your brain is thinking about how to share it with others in a digestible way for them to apply. When you teach others you learn better. Everything in life is learning. Some may seem like a stretch but the truth is they all require a neural connection between your brain and your nervous system. Getting your body fit Sales Playing guitar Smiling Meditation Building a company Earning $1,000,000 Love Listening to your intuition Getting out of bed in the morning All of these require you to deepen your skill set more and more. Continued in comments... https://www.instagram.com/p/B1TyVUGAoHf/?igshid=vswx4hfvx6gd

[health-fitnesscare-blog]

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[itfeelslikeawave]

Will neural networks have low serotonin levels as well?

(excerpt from my WIP text about antidepressant phenomenology - I’ll probably cut this part)

I touch my wrist and the pressure activates a chip we now implant to every newborn baby. Touch once for neurotransmitter levels. Touch twice and you a network of nodes prints readouts of your digestive activity right into your optical nerve. I should feel good and I see I should feel good. With a quick gesture the numbers fade.

Pathological, involuntary psychogeography. My reflective consciousness maps every corner, screening periphery vision for signs of potential threats. On the bad days, streets feel like a multi-layered mine-field. Distances contract and expand, the flow of movement disrupted by sudden ruptures. What once was a careless movement, becomes a crooked path from A to B. The city was not made for me and yet I choose it every day as my habitat.

Affordances of digital technologies feed into my compulsions. It's a blessing and a curse. My condition becomes intertwined with Google Maps, Google Street View, Wikipedia, medical journals and discussion boards. I sometimes imagine that I would be living without a device capable of checking any speculative condition I feel I can have in a matter of seconds - would I be worse, or better? Maybe that's a meaningless question as all that matters is now. Did I already said that my OCD started when I got a new phone? Weird feedback loop of technology-enabled affects, emotions, reflexes and fears. I can trace the start, but cannot see the end. With every street checked for potential danger I wonder, how many could have changed between the year Google say the street view was taken. Walter Benjamin would love me. I have a big archive of selfies, taken when there's no mirror nearby, to check if my eyes aren't hurt. Two swipes and you can dissolve and confide your intrusive fear in the lens and 8 megapixel sensor.

OCD gets accelerated by technological developments, bringing forth new ways to cope and to fear as well. Sometimes I think that I was born in the wrong age. My relationship with automation is very ambivalent - it is emancipatory, but what about all the lasers I fear? At the same time, self-check counters are often more safe. Weird paradox. Am I a result of social conditions or just an accident?

My condition also makes me hurtfully aware of my sensuality. We can talk, write or make contemporary art for as long as we want, but really we are all alone. In high school, I wondered at times if everyone feels the same way about having a face as me. Try to describe what does it feel to feel. Impossible. Yet I have to try.

When I ride a tram after being struck by anxiety about cigarette burning my eyes, I swear I can almost feel my corneas, a thin wall between the reflected light from which objects arise and my retinas and nerves processing those signals. When I lie in my bed, wondering if the sensation I feel is just psychosomatic or I was actually hurt, I am torn apart between logics and affect. I think I know nothing happened, but I don't feel it. Essential duality of bodily signs and their interpretation. Thousand Plateaus in reverse, body-becoming-aware-of-its-organs. Un-becoming, or rather becoming from the other side. I cannot remember how I used to put on my clothes before I was afraid of myself.

When I fear I might have damaged my retinas, I blink against a white surface, trying to find anything unusual. Since I couldn't find any actual images of retinal burns online, I can only imagine they look like spots. I maybe have one. But such inquiry also makes you terribly aware of all the other mass that your brain then filters out, makes into coherent whole. In no particular order: floaters (you know, worm-like stuff), moving white dots (actually stuff in veins), black structures (actual veins), hourglass, blind spot, second blind spot, visual snow, opening of optical-nerve (just before falling asleep).

Did you know that when you move your eyes, you go blind for a sec and our brain makes up the imagine so motion blur won't make us dizzy? We are all living in illusions, one millisecond after another. All the talk about realism feels wrong. I guess Kant was right, after all.