#but also. also. all kant has known for a long time now is how to OBEY.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 5

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Again, our agnostic admits that all our knowledge is based upon the information imparted to us by our senses. But, he adds, how do we know that our senses give us correct representations of the objects we perceive through them? And he proceeds to inform us that, whenever we speak of objects, or their qualities, of which he cannot know anything for certain, but merely the impressions which they have produced on his senses. Now, this line of reasoning seems undoubtedly hard to beat by mere argumentation. 

But before there was argumentation, there was action. Im Anfang war die That. [from Goethe's Faust: "In the beginning was the deed."] And human action had solved the difficulty long before human ingenuity invented it. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. From the moment we turn to our own use these objects, according to the qualities we perceive in them, we put to an infallible test the correctness or otherwise of our sense-perception. If these perceptions have been wrong, then our estimate of the use to which an object can be turned must also be wrong, and our attempt must fail. But, if we succeed in accomplishing our aim, if we find that the object does agree with our idea of it, and does answer the purpose we intended it for, then that is proof positive that our perceptions of it and of its qualities, so far, agree with reality outside ourselves. And, whenever we find ourselves face-to-face with a failure, then we generally are not long in making out the cause that made us fail; we find that the perception upon which we acted was either incomplete and superficial, or combined with the results of other perceptions in a way not warranted by them — what we call defective reasoning. So long as we take care to train our senses properly, and to keep our action within the limits prescribed by perceptions properly made and properly used, so long as we shall find that the result of our action proves the conformity of our perceptions with the objective nature of the things perceived. Not in one single instance, so far, have we been led to the conclusion that our sense-perception, scientifically controlled, induce in our minds ideas respecting the outer world that are, by their very nature, at variance with reality, or that there is an inherent incompatibility between the outer world and our sense- perceptions of it.

But then come the Neo-Kantian agnostics and say: We may correctly perceive the qualities of a thing, but we cannot by any sensible or mental process grasp the thing-in-itself. This "thing-in-itself" is beyond our ken. To this Hegel, long since, has replied: If you know all the qualities of a thing, you know the thing itself; nothing remains but the fact that the said thing exists without us; and, when your senses have taught you that fact, you have grasped the last remnant of the thing-in-itself, Kant's celebrated unknowable Ding an sich. To which it may be added that in Kant's time our knowledge of natural objects was indeed so fragmentary that he might well suspect, behind the little we knew about each of them, a mysterious "thing-in- itself". But one after another these ungraspable things have been grasped, analyzed, and, what is more, reproduced by the giant progress of science; and what we can produce we certainly cannot consider as unknowable. To the chemistry of the first half of this century, organic substances were such mysterious object; now we learn to build them up one after another from their chemical elements without the aid of organic processes. Modern chemists declare that as soon as the chemical constitution of no-matter-what body is known, it can be built up from its elements. We are still far from knowing the constitution of the highest organic substances, the albuminous bodies; but there is no reason why we should not, if only after centuries, arrive at the knowledge and, armed with it, produce artificial albumen. But, if we arrive at that, we shall at the same time have produced organic life, for life, from its lowest to its highest forms, is but the normal mode of existence of albuminous bodies.

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[epistolizer]

Faulty Theological Interpretation Could Turn Deadly

It is not an historical or theological overstatement that a faulty eschatology can turn deadly.

Usually such a conclusion is deduced by reflecting upon sectarians that construe the passages regarding the End Times as being not only imminently literal but having to be implemented by believers themselves rather than by directly through the manifest actions of the Almighty Himself.

For example, the prophetic beliefs of the Branch Davidians played a role in the fiery raid that has become synonymous with Waco, Texas.

Earlier in American history, in what became known as the Great Disappointment, those that put their trust in the speculations of William Miller often rid themselves of their possessions in the hopes of the Second Advent that failed to materialize by the predicted date.

Yet those with a more secularized version of Christianity hoping to realize a number of Biblical promises this side of supernatural intervention should not conclude this era is no longer prone to such errors.

An article published 8/10/22 by the Religion News Service titled, “Faith leaders attend celebration of gun control law” discusses how a number of religionists were put on display by the Biden Administration to propagandize on behalf of the Safer Communities Act.

Listed among the duped lacking discernment was Shane Claiborne.

Given the length to which Claiborne has traditionally kept his hair for many years, his Biblical ignorance has often been on display for all to see.

I Corinthians 11:14 admonishes it is shameful for a man to have long hair.

However, Claiborne's lack of exegetical prowess now literally endangers the lives of individuals that may need to be protected by the literal use of force.

In the article, it is pointed out that Claiborne is “leader of an effort that melts down guns into garden tools in observance of the Biblical call to turn swords into plowshares.”

This is a reference to Isaiah 2:4 which reads, “And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. “

The passage is prophesying or foretelling of the time of the Millennial Kingdom following the return of Christ.

The text is descriptive; it is not telling the reader to do anything in the form of a categorical imperative reminiscent of Kant.

The Book of Revelation also expands that there will one day be a divine army that will destroy those at the Battle of Armageddon where the blood will flow so deep it will reach the bridles of the horses.

Would Shane Claiborne care to preemptively assume the responsibility upon himself implementing this particular Messianic undertaking as well?

The swords are beaten into plowshares in that blessed era because there will no longer be anymore need for them when Christ returns and sets the crooked paths straight.

There is not a single soul apart from a deluded lunatic that will insist we are anywhere near such a utopia.

One can make an argument that there are firearms in the hands of those that ought not to have them.

Yet it does not logically follow that those that have not been deemed incapable of handling the solemn responsibility of properly handling these tools should be denied access to ballistics technology.

Scripture allows for the right of self defense.

Luke 22:36 says, “...he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one. “

Thus, any effort designed to compel the morally conscientious to surrender the armaments to which they have been granted a divine right could result in a number of lives lost equaling and eventually surpassing in the long run the most shocking of cult tragedies or mass casualty incidents.

By Frederick Meekins

[maggotzombie]

LIEBE LIESE: ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪɪ - ℬ𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉 ℬ𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽

→ CHAPTERS LIST — CHAPTER VI: UNDER PRESSURE WORDS: 6,3k TW: Lots of alcohol, swearing, some fluff, family drama! A/N: Here we are! Thank you so much who stuck with me. I don’t really know why this took such a long time, but I want to gives special thank my in-house German queen, @hinagiku0 (you’re the best, I love you for still talk to me everyday), and the best beta out there, @itmejado (really, I can’t thank you enough for making my stories even better!). So here it is a very long chapter to compensate lol HEADS UP: German dialogue is marked with “[  ]”.

‘I WONDER what Henry’s up to’, the woman thinks.

She frowns. Having just come home from work, Liese is exhausted. But she doesn't feel like being alone tonight. 

The first person she thinks of is him and she’s even more surprised by the fact that she misses him!

‘So much for getting my hopes up, huh?’, she scoffs, searching for her phone.

She smiles and lets him know that she’s going to get ready.

After a quick shower, she puts on warm clothes and makeup. The simple pin-up look goes well with the color of her hair and Liese realizes it’s been a long time since last she wore red lipstick.

To get there faster, Liese calls an Uber and, oh how she regrets it. It’s chillier than usual tonight and sitting in the cold Tube is nightmare-inducing. However, having the Uber driver hitting on her all the way is also not the best...

Liese clearly isn’t keen on a conversation but he insists on it. To make things even worse, it’s Friday night and there’s traffic. So the doctor practically leaps from the car when the man parks in front of the pub.

The Builders Arms is a big pub but it’s packed. Well, again, it’s a Friday night, and it looks like there’s a match of some sort going on.

Running her eyes through the crowd, Liese quickly spots Henry’s broad shoulders and begins making her way towards him. His back is turned away from the entrance so he doesn’t see her but his friends sure do.

The three men staring at her don’t tear their eyes away as she approaches the small group. However, they seem disappointed, but not surprised, when the doctor goes straight towards Henry, resting a hand on the actor’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey,” She greets, a warm smile spreading across her lips.

He turns around to look at her. “Hey you,” Henry wraps an arm around her waist as she gives a friendly kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint mark of lipstick on it.

“Sorry, it took me so long to get here,” The woman starts, backing up to look at his face. Then, she reaches out to rub off the red imprint of her lips from his skin. “The traffic was awful tonight.”

“It’s okay. You’re ravishing,” Henry says and she smiles but, before she could say anything, one of his friends clears their throat. “Oh, sorry, let me introduce you to my mates. This is Mark, Juan, Roger, James, and my brother, Simon,” She shakes hands with each man he introduces, smiling. “This is Liese.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Liese says.

“You, too,” Roger says. “You’re really pretty,” He adds and he would give Henry a pat in the back if he wasn’t across from him at the table.

It doesn’t stop the man from shooting him a glare. “Thanks,” She chuckles.

“Please, have a seat,” Simon says from beside his brother and Henry pulls the chair for her. “Heard a great deal about you lately,” He then says and Liese smiles at him.

“All lies,” She says, making them chuckle. “I’m as bad as they come.”

Although she feigned normalcy when greeting him, it didn’t go unnoticed that Henry just introduced her to his brother, a part of his family – and, of course, a bunch of friends. They’d known each other for less than a month; it was a huge deal.

The woman makes a mental note to kill Henry later.

“What will the lady have?” Mark asks and they look at him. “Wine?” He suggests.

She almost snorts for two reasons: his suggestion and what he called her. But, hey, she must be nice.

“Wine is for priests, love,” Liese jokes with a smirk. “I’ll have a pint, thank you very much – Oh, and the menu, please. I’m starving.”

Henry chuckles at his friends’ reaction and signals to the bartender. “Alright,” Mark nods. “I like you already,” He decides and she winks at him playfully.

“It’s the match over already?” The woman asks, trying to make conversation.

“No,” Juan replies. “Halftime,” He explains.

“Oh,” She says.

Her pint is placed in front of her alongside the menu. She orders a burger with French fries and mozzarella sticks. When the waiter leaves, she can finally take a drink.

“Hm, rugby. Of course,” Liese says to herself as she looks up at the flat screen everybody has their eyes locked on.

“Not a fan?” Simon asks, leaning on his elbows to look at her.

“I don’t know much about it, to be honest,” She replies, mirroring his position.

All the eyes snap in her direction. “Are you serious?” Henry asks in disbelief.

“No. I’m a football kinda woman, you know that,” The woman shrugs and he chuckles.

“That’s true,” He nods.

“Where are you from, Liese?” James asks and she looks at him before glancing back at Henry.

“I really don’t look British, do I?” She narrows her eyes.

The man laughs. “No, you don’t,” He shakes his head.

“Well,” Liese looks back at his friend. “I was born and raised in Hampstead but my family is from the Land of Poets and Thinkers…” She replies humorously.

Everybody chuckles, except Juan. “Which is?” He asks.

The woman looks at him in disbelief. “Deutschland!”

“Germany,” Some of the guys say at the same time as her.

“Oh,” He nods. “That doesn’t make sense,” Juan shakes his head.

“Cmon!” Liese throws her hands in the air in frustration. “I’ll give you some names: Nietzsche, Marx, Adorno, Horkheimer, Kant, Goethe, Beethoven, Bach, freaking Einstein, even the Grimm Brothers,” She ticks each name on her fingers.

They laugh and Henry rests his arm on the backrest of her seat. “Okay,” Juan nods, fairly convinced.

“I could go on,” The woman says. “And that’s just the ones on the top of my head.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve made your point.”

She nods, sipping on her drink and leaning back on her chair. Henry’s hand squeezes her shoulder fondly.

“Do you still live in Hampstead?” Simon asks.

“Nope. I’m on the other side of the river, at Brixton,” She replies and they start to boo her.

“Ah, you’re from the south,” James makes a disgusted face.

“Yeah, I know,” The woman shrugs off. “I did grow up on this side of the river, though!” She points out. “But the south it’s not that bad, guys,” Another round of boos. “Plus, it’s closer to work,” She adds.

“Now, don’t try to defend your side, South,” Mark mocks, taking a sip of his beer.

Liese chuckles. “Where do you work?” Roger asks and she looks at him.

“At St. Thomas’ Hospital,” She replies.

“Are you a doctor or a nurse?” James inquiries. “Or neither?”

“Doctor. A&E and pediatrician,” Liese explains.

“It means she’s smart,” Henry brags, sipping his beer and resting back on his chair.

“Yeah. I think we got it from the list of poets and thinkers,” Juan mocks.

She winks at him playfully. “You got it, baby,” Liese smiles.

“So, I got a question,” Mark starts and she nods for him to proceed. “Why the silver hair? I don’t see many doctors looking this cool.”

“I lost a bet to my younger brother,” The doctor replies. “A football bet,” She adds and they seem incredulous.

“Seriously?” James asks.

The woman shrugs. “Yeah. It’s just a thing we do.”

Their conversation dies when the second period of the match starts and the male attention drifts back to the TV. Although rugby is not Liese’s cup of tea, her eyes are fixed on the flat screen as well. She doesn’t know the rules and there’s a lot of tackling going on but she doesn’t mind. This is way better than being alone at home.

“Bärchen!” The shout from not so far is enough to make Liese sigh.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers to Henry, who’s heavily engrossed in the match.

“Huh?” He glances at her with a frown and she shakes her head slightly.

Roger grimaces at the shirtless man coming their way as Liese simply waits for her brother to get to her.

“Drunk guy alert,” He says and the woman rolls her eyes.

“[I knew it was you, Bärchen!]” Her brother says with a huge smile, standing beside the woman.

Her jaw almost drops to the floor when she looks up at him to find the man shirtless, displaying his tattoo collection on the rippled muscles for everyone to see.

“What the fuck?” She asks in disbelief. “[Why are you shirtless, asshole?]” Liese stands up.

He quickly wraps his arms around her and she groans without patience. She’s very aware of multiple sets of eyes staring at them but mostly the stench of alcohol coming from her brother.

“[Alright, let go of me],” She taps his back.

“[I’ve missed you],” He pulls away.

“[You literally dropped me off at work this morning],” She points out, spotting their friends over his shoulder at a table in the far back.

“Mate, you can’t stay here shirtless,” A worker says, looking at her brother.

“I’m taking care of it,” The woman reassures before turning to her table. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” She says before pushing her brother away.

“Who’s that?” James asks as they watch the woman escorting the shirtless tattooed man away.

“No idea,” Henry replies, trying not to feel as jealous as he already is.

His eyes linger on Liese from across the bar as she greets other men, scolding at a particular one and her brother, who’s pulling a shirt over his head.

The looks she received from men and even a few women on the way to the other table doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, there are a few men still staring at the silver-haired woman and Henry suddenly feels the need to establish territory, which is incredibly stupid of him, but a basic instinct.

“[Weren’t you supposed to be babysitting tonight?]” She asks her brother, hands on her hips.

He shakes his head. “[Who are you here with?]” He asks, looking back at Henry’s table.

“[Do not deflect, Otto],” Liese says.

“[Is the guy you’re hooking up with?]” He continues and Henry glances back at them quickly.

“Otto…” She warns.

The man narrows his eyes. “[Hold on. Are you fucking Superman?]” He looks back at his sister with a smirk and she punches his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. Their friends laugh. “Goddamn, woman,” Otto hisses, rubbing the spot.

Liese sighs, looking back at her table. “Come on,” She says, starting to move away. “Don’t embarrass me,” The woman adds quickly.

“When do I ever embarrass you?” He asks, following after her, his German accent very thick as if he was in Germany all his life.

The woman glares back at him. “How about a few minutes ago when you’re half-naked in front of everyone? Or just now, asking if I’m fucking Superman,” She asks ironically.

Otto nods. “Got it,” He says, and for the first time tonight, he takes a proper look at his sister. “You’re very pretty tonight.”

The compliment is delivered just as they stop at Henry’s table and all the attention is back on them.

“Thank you,” She replies before addressing the other men. “Gentlemen, this is my brother, Otto...” The woman starts. “Otto, this is Henry, his brother, Simon, and his mates, Juan, Mark, James, and Roger,” She introduces them.

“Nice to meet you,” Her brother says, shaking their hands as Liese sits back down, shooting an apologetic look to Henry.

Brad looks at Otto with a funny expression. “You have an accent,” He points out.

He snorts. “You too, mate.”

“No. I mean, your sister doesn’t have one,” Brad clarifies.

“That’s because you’ve never pissed her off,” Her brother chuckles and Liese simply takes a sip of her beer, refraining from commenting on it. “Hey, is it cool if my mates and I sit here with you guys?”

For some reason, everybody looks at Henry as if it’s his decision.

“Yeah. Sure, mate,” The actor nods.

“Sweet,” Otto turns around and his sister quickly looks up at him.

“Don’t –,” She’s cut off by his loud whistle, exactly what she was trying to stop. “[Dear Lord],” She murmurs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Henry’s soothing touch is what eases out the stress a bit and she smiles at him.

Otto motions for his friends to come over and they quickly abandon their table. He takes a seat next to Liese and she shoots him a murderous look to which he simply grins. The blonde man introduces Nick, Josh, Pete, and John when they arrive.

Thanks to the still-ongoing rugby match, they simply sit and start to pay attention to it. Liese knows her brother is not interested at all in the match, just like her, but he pretends to watch it just so he can avoid her confronting him.

The woman’s stomach grumbles when a waitress brings her food and she sighs happily, picking up the heavy burger. She’s aware of Otto’s eyes at her food and she doesn’t even take the first bite before he asks for one.

“This looks good,” He points out, looking at it suggestively.

She glares at him but gives him the burger anyway. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Liese asks, looking at the size of his bite when he gives her the burger back. He shrugs off. “You’re unbelievable.”

She takes a bite and Otto takes the burger again, giving it back without another huge chunk missing. Liese literally has two bites of her burger before she gives up and lets her brother have it. Ignoring her craving for the oily meat, she tries to satisfy herself with the French fries and mozzarella sticks.

A hand reaches out for her fries and she slaps it away. “Don’t you dare,” The woman seethes.

Her brother chuckles. “Want another one?” Henry gently asks.

Her mood shifts like a bipolar person and Liese smile, looking up at him. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” He raises an eyebrow and she nods.

“Thanks, though,” She says.

“[That’s disgusting],” Otto murmurs from her side, mouthful.

Liese rolls her eyes before looking back at him. “[Dude, if you don’t shut up, I’ll make sure you don’t have kids ever again],” She threatens.

Her brother chuckles. “[You’re so whipped],” He keeps teasing. “[But he looks whipped, too],” Otto adds.

“Shut up, Otto,” The woman groans, too tired to deal with his bullshit.

“I’m serious,” He insists.

Something happens at the rugby match because everybody cheers and Otto stops teasing his sister, trying to understand what happened. While they watch the game, the men at the table express several emotions with curse words in each sentence.

Liese finds it amusing because they were trying to be very polite and gentlemen with her earlier, avoiding any kind of dirty word or term to not offend her. Now, they’re simply being themselves, without caring about anything. Or they simply forgot about her.

Even Henry, who doesn’t cuss a lot outside the bedroom, has expressed quite a few unpleasant words towards the referee out of discontentment.

It’s completely alright, though. The woman is probably the same or even worse when it’s a football match. As of now, she sips her beer while watching them have some fun.

“FUCK YEAH!” Roger shouts after the referee ended the game, guaranteeing England’s win.

The whole bar cheers and the man looks back, finding Liese’s eyes on him, an amused smirk on her lips. She snuggled closer to Henry during the game and now she’s pressed to his side. Her right foot is propped on her chair and she’s resting a hand on the actor’s thigh, while he has his arm draped over the back of her chair.

Experience taught him to be discreet with relationships, but Liese isn’t giving a single fuck. They were in the Daily Mail last month.

The doctor raises an eyebrow at Roger’s sour expression. “What?” She asks.

“Sorry,” He says meekly.

“What for?” Liese frowns.

“I think I got carried away with the match and forgot about the lady at the table,” The man explains.

She chuckles while Otto and their friends laugh loudly. Roger seems very confused with the reaction to his apology and the other men stare at them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Who’s this lady and when is she coming back?” Otto howls.

“You guys don’t know Lis. This woman is crazy,” Nick says, shaking his head.

“I just met them, idiot!” Liese rolls her eyes.

“Are you trying to impress someone, Bärchen?” Josh asks with a grin.

“Nein,” The woman shakes her head slightly, drinking her beer. “But it looks like I’m about to,” She points out.

“Well, let me tell you a few things about the… lady,” Her brother’s best friend starts.

For the next few minutes, the guys rave on and on about the woman, somehow trying to point out how she’s not a lady.

Henry shifts on his seat. Jealousy is the feeling of the moment. He’s not very fond of four unknown men talking about the woman he’s with, saying things he doesn’t know about her. The simple fact that they know her for longer is unnerving.

“It’s not because she’s my sister, but Lis is like… The baddest bitch I know,” Otto says and I look at him with an amused expression on my face. “I’d take her to every college party I went to.”

“Weren’t you ashamed of bringing your big sister to a party?” Simon asks.

He shakes his head. “The opposite, actually. I wouldn’t beg her to come because she always said yes from the start, but Bärchen was, and still is, the first person I’d call,” Her brother explains.

“Hadn’t you graduated by the time he got into college?” Henry asks the woman.

“Ideally,” Liese nods. “But med school takes forever sometimes. I was starting residency when Otto got into college so, technically, I still was a student,” She says. “And I’d always say yes because med students are fucking boring and never have some fun.”

“Anyway. We’d party so much. Bärchen would drink the same amount of us if not more,” He continues. “In the next morning, she was the one taking care of five or six dudes, I included, in the ER. Hooking us to IV bags or pumping stomachs, as if she had a perfect night of sleep instead of partying with us,” Otto shakes his head, looking at his sister with admiration.

She chuckles. “Alright. You guys are being too nice,” She says. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” John dismisses quickly.

Liese tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, staring at them. “Well, if you’d be so kind as to check out a few bikes for us…” Nick suggests nonchalantly.

Josh scolds him and Pete nudges his arm in a scolding manner as the woman laughs. “See? I knew it!” She grins. “I’ll take a look at my schedule and let you know.”

Her brother nods. “How many siblings do you have?” Roger asks.

“We’re five. Four men and her,” Otto replies.

“So you’re daddy’s little girl,” Juan says.

Some men cringe at that, Henry included, but some laugh, and Liese can’t help but chuckle along. “Please, don’t say that,” Simon says.

“Yes. Dad sometimes pampers me as the only daughter,” Liese replies. “But I know better than waiting for a special treatment being one out of five.”

“Pampers?” Otto asks with sarcasm. “You’re downright spoiled rotten by dad, Bärchen.”

“Am not,” She counters and her brother gives her a pointed look.

“The man nearly died when you moved out and, to refresh your memory, he’d call you multiple times a day or randomly show up at your apartment,” He says.

She tilts her head in thought and slowly nods. “Okay. I might be somewhat spoiled,” The woman agrees. “I’ve just realized he stopped showing up since I moved,” She points out.

“Maybe he doesn’t have a key,” Her brother suggests. “At least he won’t give him a heart attack,” He nods his head towards Henry.

“[Dad doesn’t know about him],” She says in German so only Otto could understand but Josh did too.

“Huh?” The actor asks with a frown.

Otto looks at him and smirks before taking a sip of his beer.

I chuckle before starting to answer. “Since I moved out of my parents, dad would randomly show up at my apartment. Usually in the mornings. He wanted to check if I was okay and would make me breakfast.”

“Spoiled,” Her brother says under his breath and rolls his eyes, earning a slap on his arm.

“He had a spare key, so he’d let himself in,” Liese paused. “He wasn’t happy when I started having guys over…” She trails off and a collective “ooh” feels the table. “Then I lectured him about privacy and boundaries.”

“Did that work?” Simon asks.

“No,” The guys laugh. “But he found out he enjoyed the element of surprise.”

“And being a total creep,” Her brother adds.

“Instead of waking me up, and my company, with a scare, he would sit in the corner of the room or at the end of the bed and watch us sleep,” The guys cringe. “I’ve got used to it pretty quickly but my dad is a big, burly, German guy so it was funny to watch grownup men nearly having a heart attack at the sight of him.”

“How many guys came back?” Brad asks.

“Three,” The woman replies.

“And you guys?” Roger asks Otto.

“Ah, now that’s fun,” He smirks, standing up. “I’m gonna take a piss,” He announces.

A few guys look at Liese. “It’s okay. I’m not offended by that. We’re already established that I’m not a lady. I grew up around men and I’m always around you bunch,” She clarifies.

Her brother says something in German that makes Liese’s jaw drop and Josh laugh loudly. Otto has a massive grin on his face and flinches away from the woman when she reaches out to grab him, nearly stumbling on his own feet. Then, she proceeds to profess multiple curse words at him.

Her angry gaze turns to the man still laughing at the table. “[What do you know about that?]” She asks him, not bothering to switch back to English.

“Bärchen…” Josh gives her a knowing look. “What do you think?”

“[Did that asshole tell you?]” Liese points at Otto, who’s watching from afar.

“No,” The man shakes his head, not giving too much so the others wouldn’t have a clue about what they’re talking about and it’s working.

It’s pissing Henry off.

“[If I ever hear you thinking about it, I’ll kill you],” She threatens.

“Hey. I didn’t bring it up!” Josh defends himself.

“What’s the matter, Bärchen?” Otto smirks from a safe distance.

“Fuck you,” The woman seethes at him.

Eyebrows shot up at her words. “Oh, he’s dead,” Nick shakes his head.

“You can speak German?” Roger asks Josh curiously, after watching the exchange before him and Liese.

“Nein,” The man replies humorously. “Their four-year-old niece speaks better than I do, but I can understand them.”

“Spit it out, Josh,” Liese demands after her brother disappears inside the bathroom.

He was in the middle of drinking from his beer. Instead of swallowing, he inhales and the shit is done. Josh chokes on the beer and spits it at the table, starting a coughing fit.

The woman grimaces. “Not literally, idiot,” She says, throwing a napkin at him. “What happened?” Her tone changes from angry to worried.

“What’s going on?” Henry asks, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Josh starts and coughs a few more times. “He said he couldn’t come tonight and he was all excited, saying he’d get Bobby…”

“Two hours later he showed up, smelling like a bottle of whiskey, and nearly punched me when I asked about Bobby,” John goes on.

Liese groans, covering her face with her hands. “Not this shit again,” She mumbles to herself. “Thank God I have white hair ‘cause this is draining my life force!”

“But he’s not drinking anymore,” Nick points out. “He’s been nursing this pint since he spotted you and that’s warm by now.”

Liese nods along, realizing it now. The pint is full.

“Who’s Bobby?” Henry asks and the woman looks over at him.

When she opens her mouth to explain, Otto appears in the corner of her eye. “I’ll explain it later,” She says. “Not a word about it,” She glares at the others.

“Hi! Can I have a towel?” Josh asks the waiter. “I made a mess, I’m so sorry,” He grimaces apologetically.

Her brother refuses to sit next to her again, knowing he’d suffer for his comment earlier. So he switches seats with Nick. The poor waitress manages to clean Josh’s mess and blushes profusely at his sexy smirk.

“Dude, don’t you have a movie or something coming out anytime soon?” John asks Henry, finally bringing the inevitable Hollywood topic to their conversation.

Henry thinks for a bit. “Yeah, yeah. Mission Impossible is coming out shortly,” He nods.

“Finally,” Simon adds.

The actor chuckles at the comment. “Yeah, finally,” He agrees.

“Oh, shit. I’ve seen the trailer for it! It looks so amazing, mate! When can we watch it?” Josh pipes in, excited.

“Thanks, mate. Uh, I know for sure that the world premiere is gonna be in Paris, 12th of July, to be exact,” He says.

‘That’s close’, Liese thinks to herself.

“But I’m pretty sure there’s a premiere here too, I just don’t know the date. The promotion for this film is gonna be massive,” Henry finishes.

“When are you leaving for it?” His brother inquires.

“Officially, in a couple of weeks,” He replies.

‘Wow’, the woman is impressed by the information she’s hearing for the first time in forever.

“But I have meetings with Dany and there’s a couple of events that I have to go before it, so I’m flying to America next week and just gonna go from there.”

Liese sees the glances she gets from her brother and Josh from the corner of her eye. She simply licks her lips and takes a sip of her pint, acting as if she always knew about everything Henry said.

She can’t help but feel like an idiot that has been strung along all this time. Sure, they’ve never put a label on their relationship but he obviously has been keeping that information for a long time and now the actor slapped an expiration date on whatever they have going on.

However, the woman doesn’t let this affect her night. Everybody drinks and talks with a chill atmosphere around them, but Liese can’t ignore the other pressing issue: Otto’s family drama. She wonders how much longer her brother is gonna play pretend.

So she asks it. “[Otto, for how long are you going to pretend everything is fine?]” The woman bluntly asks.

Even though he’s now sitting across from the table, everybody understands it’s a private conversation since they switch to German.

His whole demeanor changes. “[If we pretend there isn’t a problem, it’ll disappear, right?]” He says sarcastically.

“[Sure. You can also stare at the bottom of a whiskey bottle for the rest of your life but that’s alcoholism],” She replies in the same tone.

Otto sighs and brings his hands to his face, pressing on his closed eyelids. Josh tries not to pay attention to their conversation but he’s equally worried and also curious to know what’s going on.

“[Iris is acting up again, like the fucking maniac she is],” Her brother confesses.

“[Yeah, we already established that you have the worst taste for women],” Liese points out. “[What’s she bitching about now?]”

“[She doesn’t want to allow my daughter to spend time with her fucking father because I date ‘whores and I don’t want my child around this kind of people’,]” He makes air quotes.

Just talking about it angers Otto. His blood boils at the stupidity his former-hookup pulls to make his life a living hell.

He rolls his eyes and his nostrils flare. Suddenly, he feels too sober to deal with it without exploding, so he gulps at his pint, regretting it immediately as the beverage has warmed up to room temperature.

His sister, on the other hand, laughs. But it drips with sarcasm.

“[What a fucking hypocrite],” She shakes her head at it.

“[Tell me about it],” Otto murmurs, searching the waitress with his eyes. “Hey! Could you bring another one to me, please?” He asks in English. “And an Irish Car Bombs,” He orders.

Eyes turn to him at his specific request and Liese shakes her head slightly at Josh.

“Make it two Irish shots,” The woman pipes in and she notices Henry’s glance at her.

“One pint, two Irish Car Bombs,” She repeats to make sure.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Otto nods.

The waitress nods and quickly walks away, blushing. Josh elbows the German guy and gives him a dirty look, making Otto shrug off.

“[What are you going to do?]” Liese brings back the pressing issue.

“[I don’t fucking know!]” Her brother seems desperate. “[I can’t reason with that bitch because she’s beyond it but I want and need to see my daughter as I have the right to].”

“[You can serve her],” She suggests and Otto visibly stiffens at her words. “[Just like she served you for child support that you were already paying],” She points out.

“[Uh, I don’t know about that],” The man hesitates. “[This seems too much. I want to keep my relationship with Iris amicable].”

Liese stares at him like he’s demented. “[Amicable? What’s fucking amicable in that relationship, Otto? She’s literally forbidding you to see your own daughter!]”

“[Still won’t do it. That’s the deep end],” Her brother shakes his head.

Before the woman could say anything else, the waitress came back with their drinks. She quickly set the full glasses on the table before walking away with another blush, now caused by Josh’s wink.

“Stop that,” Liese says to him.

“What?” He asks.

“She’s working. She doesn’t need another man-whore making her night harder.”

“But I’m not doing anything,” Josh complains, smirking.

The woman gives him a dirty look, taking the shot glass. “Bet?” Otto suggests and her eyes turn to him.

“You sure?” A smile starts to creep on her face. “I’m shit at football bets but this,” She makes a face. “This is my shit. To this day, you’ve never managed to beat me,” She points out.

“Yet,” Her brother corrects her. “Tonight is gonna be different,” They clink their shots.

“I don’t know about that,” She tilts her head slightly, tapping the glass on the tabletop as Otto mimics her movements.

Quickly, money piles up in front of John. “Anyone want to bet on my mate Otto to boost up his confidence?” The man asks and Liese throws her head back in laughter.

“You all suck,” Otto scowls at their friends.

Nick explains what they’re betting on and most of Henry’s friends don't believe that the woman can chug down the drink faster than her brother, the actor included. In the end, they’ve gathered two-hundred pounds in total.

“I get a share of this, right?” Liese points to the cash.

“Of course,” Josh winks at her and raises his fist for her to bump.

“There’s no way you can beat him,” Simon interjects, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s twice your size,” He points out as if it’s a valid point.

She chuckles. “Watch me,” The woman says, picking up her shot glass again. “There’s still time to give up,” She raises an eyebrow at her brother.

“Just do it,” Otto shakes his head.

“Alright. Don’t cheat, you little shit,” She says.

They clink their drinks and tap them on the table again, before eyeing John to do the countdown. After dropping the shot inside the Guinness pint, it’s game. Both of them rush to bring the glass to their lips and chug the drink down faster than the other as the people around cheer.

As announced, the woman beats her brother easily and she puts her glass down with a small smile, licking the foam from her red lips. Their friends celebrate along with James and Juan, who also betted on Liese, as the others look at her in shock.

“I want to marry you so badly right now,” Mark says to Liese.

She chuckles and Otto gives him a dirty look. “With the little faith that you put in me, I don’t think so.”

At the mention of a wedding, some of the guys realized they have wives at home and called it a night. Their table collectively decides to ask for the check to leave.

Josh suddenly disappears as they make their way to the door and Henry gets stopped to take photos with fans. While he does his thing, Liese waits for him, who stays behind with his brother, at the entrance of the bar.

The sound of her laugh makes the actor glance at her and there she is, with the most genuine smile on her face, looking at his friends while sandwiched between Nick and Pete. Her sparkling eyes look up at Nick as he says something and her form shakes with another laugh, her head resting back on Pete’s shoulder.

“Henry, can I take one, too? I’m a big fan!” The female voice makes him look back.

He smiles, momentarily ignoring the scene outside. “Sure.”

Then, he quickly excuses himself and joins the group with Simon. “Oh, no,” Liese says as Mark finishes his story.

“Yeah,” He nods, his lips in a thin line. “But everything is fine now,” He smiles again.

“Well, I’m so sorry about that,” She adds. “You can let me go now - thank you,” She says to Nick and Pete quickly and untangle themselves from her. “There’s a bunch of assholes still in practice. The good ones are rarely seeing patients. Usually, they start to teach. But, in the name of good professionals, I apologize,” The woman continues.

Mark chuckles. “Don’t sweat,” He shakes his head slightly.

“Well, I should go,” Brad starts.

The goodbyes start. Henry’s friend says Liese is great and she says the same to them. They also bid their goodbyes to the woman’s friends.

“There’s one of you missing,” Juan points out.

Pete looks around. “Where the fuck is Josh?”

Liese scoffs. “Where do you think? He’s either coming back with the waitress or her number,” She says after hugging Roger.

They chuckle but agree with her. “Lis, I can drop you off,” John offers as the designated driver for the night.

Her petty self nearly gets the best of her, but she thinks before replying: “It’s fine, John. Thank you, though.”

The man nods and then Liese starts to bid goodbye to them. When Otto opens his arms to hug his sister, she clutches a fistful of his hair. The man hisses in pain as she pulls his head down to her height but he chuckles when she whispers a threat in his ear. She hasn’t forgotten about what he said earlier before sitting across from her to not get punched.

Well, it doesn’t work.

Suddenly, Josh materializes himself as if he was with the group the whole time. Liese turns to him and scowls, in a big sister mode.

“What?” He asks.

“Do not fuck the girl,” She chides.

There it is: his lips pull in a huge grin. “I won’t,” He starts. “Not tonight, at least. But I got her number,” He confesses.

Liese rolls her eyes as the men roar in laughter at her right guess and swat his arm. Either way, she pulls him for goodbye and he plays a chaste kiss on her cheek. For Henry, his lips lingered way too long on his girl.

Everybody parts way and Liese is left alone with Henry and Simon. She hugs his brother and tells him how happy she is for meeting him. He reciprocates all the compliments, adding a few of his own, before getting into an Uber.

“Did you drive here?” The woman looks at him, after what seems like a long time.

“No, I walked,” He replies. “We could get an Uber too,” Henry suggests.

“I’d prefer to walk if you don’t mind,” She tilts her head slightly.

The man nods, motioning her to go ahead. “By all means,” He says and they walk side by side, however, without touching.

After a while, when they’re away from the crowded bar, she sighs with a content smile on her face. “Thank you for letting me come,” Liese says, honestly, looking at him. “I didn’t want to spend the night alone.”

“Of course,” He nods again. “You okay,” He adds as notices her petite form shivering slightly.

She shakes her head, dismissively. “Just a little cold,” The woman replies, looking straight ahead. She halts when Henry’s buff body blocks her way and looks up at him with a frown. “Wha-?”

Liese is cut off by the man pulling his beanie off and carefully puts it on her head. Her heart flutters and she smiles at his focused frown as he adjusts the hat.

“There you go,” Henry says with a nod.

She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against his before he could blink again. He becomes stiff from the sudden move but relaxes when she giggles.

“You’re something else,” She whispers against his lips.

Henry smiles and wraps his arm around her to keep her warm before they resume the walk.

* * *

— CHAPTER VIII (COMING SOON)

[kamyru]

“Just like her mother...“ (Kaga x MC)

Soooo... I know that MC isn’t dumb, taking into consideration her character development and that she finished as the best PSA student. Though, sometimes I think what will be Kaga’s reaction if he finds out that she’s very academically intelligent. She reads a lot of books, knows many languages, finished a very good university, things like this. But take into consideration that being academically intelligent doesn’t require to be intelligent in day to day life, so she still can be pretty naive, just like she is portrayed.

(I swear I’ll do the requests I still have in my inbox. And if anyone is interested, my requests are always open so you can send me asks, if you’re ready to wait a little.)

Word counting: 1665

After a very long day at work, Kaga finally made it home. It was way past midnight and he was sure that everyone was already asleep. Though, when he opened the door, he saw light coming from the living room. He let out a sigh and prepared a long speech about why everyone has to be asleep if he comes home so late. However, when he stepped inside the room before his eyes appeared an astonishing view.

His wife was peacefully sleeping on the armchair, with their daughter fast asleep on her. An open book was set beside them. Kaga looked at them and a big smile forming on his face. It was obvious that his daughter looked just like him. Everyone who ever saw her thought that it’s their obligation to say this. Though, only he knew how alike was she with her mother.

The day she was born, Ayumu said: “I bet she’ll be as smart as you.” For him, it was obvious that being Kaga’s child is impossible not to be intelligent.

“She is way smarter than I was,” he said for himself, while he took her in his arms, to carry her to her bed. “Just like her mother.”

When he gave her a goodnight kiss and put her favorite toy near her, a voice broke the silence.

“How was your day? I’ll make your tea and fill the bath. You can relax,” said MC, while rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Go to bed. I don’t want to sleep on the floor, only because you fell asleep right here.”

Kaga gave MC a quick peck on the lips and entered the bathroom. It is a blessing to come home after an endless-like day, see your beautiful and lovely wife holding your daughter and knowing that here you’ll always find love and peace.

While relaxing every tense muscle in the bathtub, he thought about the case he had to solve these days. The culprit was just making fun of them, leaving them everywhere shreds of evidence. Though, it took them too long to understand it. He could bet that if MC had been on that case, she would have helped a lot. Also, she would have been the perfect person to interrogate the culprit.

He understood that she is very intelligent when he saw how hard-working she was, how many questions she put, how she gave every drop of her energy in learning the lessons. Yet, he saw the extent of this only after they were dating for a while.

The moment Kaga entered her room for the first time, he was taken aback by the quantity of the book in there. He didn’t know at what to look, so MC lost him for quite a long time, letting him examine every book on the shelves. Besides Japanese authors like Mori Ogai, Haruki Murakami, Kobo Abe, Yasunari Kawabata, were Kant, Nietzsche, Hesse, Mann and Goethe in German, Dickens, London, Vonnegut, Joyce and Steinbeck in English and many other writers in different languages. He had no idea that such a small room could be filled with so many books. The one that caught his attention was a small and old one, which title he couldn’t read, but he knew it was in French. 

MC saw him taking the book in his hand and examining it. A warm smile appeared on her face.

“It’s my favorite book. I learned French because of it. Here are two novels written by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.”

“What they are about? I only know his ‘Little Prince’ because mom read it to me when I was little.”

“The first one - ‘Night Flight’ is about sacrifice, from different points of view. The second one - ‘Flight to Arras’ is about Humans and Humanity. I read them separately when I was a teenager and liked them so much that decided to learn French to read them in original. And, as you can see, I did it and bought them when I was studying in France.”

She looked at them like one looks at one’s old friends. Kaga opened it and although he couldn’t understand a word from there, he saw a lot of pencil marks on each page. He made a mental note to find these novels in any language known by him and read them. They were something important for his girlfriend, so he simply had to know about what they are.

“You said that you studied in France?” he suddenly asked.

“I studied there for a year while I did my bachelor’s and then chose to do my master’s there.”

Kaga lifted his eyes and looked attentively at her. “What university have you finished here?”

“Kyoto University. Why?”

She was responding so genuine and simply, that for a moment he thought that she was just a very good actress. It was very rare to see people who finished good universities that aren’t emanating pride and don’t expect to see the other person taken completely aback by their smartness. But she was so simple about this, that he was more than confused. He wanted to give her more questions, to know how many languages she knew, what specialty she had, how she managed to have a master’s degree, a work experience in police and still be so young.

The next time he was surprised by her knowledge was when she took the responsibility to take care of a teenager who was waiting to find out news about his parents. The boy didn’t want to move an inch before detectives were going to say something about his lost parents. He didn’t even care about the department he was disturbing.

MC sat near him and gave him warm tea and sandwiches. At first, she didn’t say a thing, just waited till he finished eating. When he looked at her questioningly, she simply told him: “It’s a theory that trying to focus your thoughts on something that needs a lot of thinking helps you to stop crying.”

The boy wanted to say that he wasn’t crying but understood that his face was too puffy to make her believe him. He simply continued watching her.

“Are you coming directly from school?” she asked, looking at his bag and uniform.

He nodded. A soft smile appeared on her face.

“Let’s finish your homework, then.”

This time, the boy looked at her like she was the Mad Hatter in person.

“I don’t think I can concentrate on something like this right now.”

“I will help. What form are you?”

In no time, she convinced him to take into consideration her offer. Every person in the office gave them a skeptical stare. The thing was that MC didn’t only make him unbend a little, but explained every exercise he had questions on. Math, science, English or Japanese? She made it look so easy, that all the workers in the office refreshed and completed their knowledge from high school while accidentally listening to her.

When a dealer was caught and no one could understand what language he was speaking, Kaga instantly thought about MC. He still didn’t know how many languages she knew, but he hoped that, with a little bit of luck, she could be of some help.

She entered the interrogation room. She asked him some fast questions in Japanese. When the dealer started to speak in the unknown language, a smirk appeared on MC’s face. She said an only phrase that made him completely change his expression. The verdict was simple: “He knows Japanese. He is only bluffing.”

“How you found this out? What did you say to him?” asked the detectives.

“That he is making a pure job faking a Vietnamese accent.”

Kaga knew that MC was constantly learning something. That she was yearly reading more books than most people read in their entire life. That she was solving problems at math, physics and chemistry only for fun. He knew that her brain was keeping inside more information than anyone can imagine.

Still, every time someone finds out that his daughter can read at three years, already understands French and Mandarin besides Japanese and he can’t even remember at what age she learned how to count, they are praising him for giving her good genes. Because everyone knew that he graduated from a prestigious university, that he had fantastically good grades, that his logic is impeccable. But only a few knew what MC was hiding inside her head. He was the lucky one to see that every day. To be each time amazed by her thinking.

So, every time someone was giving him too much credit for his daughter’s education, he had to return them to reality and tell the truth. To give his wife the praising she deserves.

Kaga finally finished his bath. While trying to dry his hair with the towel, he entered the bedroom to look at his lovely wife, hoping deep inside that she was still awake. He felt the urge to hug her tightly and to sink in her cozy smell.

“I see that you’re already asleep, you mo... smart woman.”

MC made a wonderful job suppressing a smile. She knew that it was rare to hear Kaga making a compliment. Though, she knew that every time he thought that she isn’t listening, he couldn’t stop himself from verbally appreciating her.

When he finally got in bed, she rolled near him, putting her hand on his broad chest and her head on his shoulder.

“Good night, Hyogo” she whispered lovingly.

Kaga blushed. Kissing her hair, he soon fell asleep. He made a mental note to ask her something the next morning. Though, when he woke up he didn’t remember if he wanted to find out if she heard him saying that she is smart, if he wanted to know her thoughts about the case he just finished or something else. Instead, he chose to made her remember how much he loves her and how important she is to him.

[josy57]

Philosophy 101

You asked me why I wanted to attend your class. Again. To sit in the back row, silent and watchful The proverbial fly on the wall Only half-welcomed and sourly out of place

I said it was interesting, full of things that could be transferred Transferred yes, but not to what I was implying I have no professional use for my careful observation I am feeding a more private need So, having no plans to lie I added what you must have taken as mere flattery That it was also for my pleasure -The ever-fleeting pleasure of nostalgia Always a receding wave- You nodded, but I don't think you fully understood And I of course couldn't fully explain I loved your class, with all my heart, with all my aching brain As a child, I used to writhe and wrestle with my sheets With my thoughts too I couldn't sleep, so I debated the great questions As though I was the first to ever think of them Why do we use the words we do? Why do certain sounds signify, While others are only noise? Who are we to decide, to categorize, to dissect? And why are we even here? For how long? And since we do die, why does it matter? Does anything matter? And why all those questions? Can one ever reach certainty? Or is this world only quicksand and moving goalposts?

This place, this room, This air filled with your booming voice, your constant pacing That's where I found, not answers, but echoes to all my questioning Where I knew it was not insane to wonder Where I could voice it Argue, point, prod Feel for the nodes and knots of human experience Do all that and hear someone who cared too, Who would engage with those concepts, each wide as a precipice And so thorny it stung on all sides

I found some piece of myself here, I put it together And it's been useful ever since But I've also left something behind Something like youth, or innocence Some years when I was afforded the luxury Of sitting and listening to you for nine hours a week Just pouring knowledge and effort on us all Whether or not we deserved it I hope I did. I tried very hard to I was only one of the many mayflies You nurse for a while and let go, year after year, Usually never to hear from again But I never wanted you to feel I was a waste of your time A disappointment What it is like, looking at me now? Am I not less than what you had wished for? Or are you proud? Comforted that one of your frail paper boats Made it back to your shore Not across to some new territory But safely back on dryland Not wrecked nor wayward, at least from the outside

Perhaps that's what I miss That someone would look at me with pride That someone would talk to me about all those things So deeply important to me So seemingly weightless in our modern lives You spoke and you listened, you valued what I had to say That made a difference in my life More than I could ever express Because that's not a thing people do, right? Not even in philosophy We speak of love and attachment and identity But one must never say “I”

 Today the subject was truth and knowledge And while you promised to soon tackle desire I scanned the backs of all those bored faces Do they not know, do they not feel, How vital it all is? Beyond the formal exercise, the pages of clumsy essays, How burning those questions are? "Am I what I am aware of being?" "Does awareness impede or lead to happiness?" "Can any person ever be fully known?"

He alone loved this place as I do Felt its soul settle into his bones Like the dampness seeping from the walls And he too, I know, wondered, questioned, struggled Ached for more than surface can offer Him. That’s another thing you don’t know about me Another thing that even in philosophy, you can’t quite discuss Though it permeated all the pages of my old copybooks Darker and messier than a spilled inkpot Especially at certain points When Plato spoke of humans cut in halves Lost and searching When Stendhal said that desire strews all things with salt crystals I, for one, have certainly jeweled my late adolescence Candied it in a melancholy glaze

Still, my memory is not so short that I have forgotten The thousand little hells, the many small agonies of this age But I do envy it I remember when the world still had a sharp edge When it hurt in earnest, instead of pressing dully, as it does now Piling stones upon stones on my chest Back then, I had hope my life would begin soon There was still time Now I only wonder: Is it really all that comes of potential, of effort -Of all those words grown-ups lecture you with-? I played their games and reaped meager rewards A ticket for another trip round the revolving door This time looking through a thick pane of glass Lingering on the threshold of two phases Both of which I am ill-equipped for

I’ve always had an uneasy concept of chronology My internal clock spinning like a broken compass First too stern, too mature for my years And then, suddenly, unripe and lagging Then and now. It all bleeds into one here. So it is safe, this in-between, this hour out of the hourglass A gasp of air, a break in the slow drowning The constant march towards the void For that’s what it comes down to The passing of time and our human perception of it An enigma that no numbers game can settle

Nowadays, I don’t just peek over my shoulders anymore I walk through this gilded cage holding the keys of the castle I open and close doors, I stand on the wrong side of the dais Of what once was my kingdom Not one I ruled but one I belonged in I was more than a trespasser then I existed in a certain time and place This 'dasein" escapes me now As it escaped me in childhood Then too, I watched the world through a tainted window I was never fully real but for those two years or so That’s why I have no good answer: I came here today in a vain attempt Even in those halls, in this class I can't recapture it I only glance at your present students With the sourness of heartburn like a fist under my ribs

I can't help but look at them haughtily, thinking: "This is not what we were At least not him and I" I bite my tongue, not wanting to say what I feel That ours was a golden age One they could never reproduce, never fully understand Because, of course, it's false, it's myopic This bright mist has settled on my eyes The same milky film that blurs old folks' sight "Back in my days..." As if those days were ever ours You see, Kant was right about one thing, None of us lives in the real world Like tiny planets, prideful little gods We view the whole of existence as revolving around us Dimming as we lose light Dying once we die The truth is 'our' world survives our passing We visit it only as ghosts.

[tlatollotl]

Associate professor of anthropology Charles Golden and his colleagues have found the long-lost capital of an ancient Maya kingdom in the backyard of a Mexican cattle rancher. Golden, in collaboration with Brown University bioarchaeologist Andrew Scherer and a team of researchers from Mexico, Canada and the United States, began excavating the site in June 2018. Among their findings is a trove of Maya monuments, one of which has an important inscription describing rituals, battles, a mythical water serpent and the dance of a rain god. They’ve also found remnants of pyramids, a royal palace and ball court. Cows grazed while the scientists worked. Ensuring the animals didn’t trample the excavation, fall into deep pits, or soil the working area with dung proved a daily challenge.  

Golden and his fellow researchers believe the archaeological site, named Lacanja Tzeltal for the nearby modern community, was the capital of the Sak Tz'i' kingdom, located in what is today the state of Chiapas in southeastern Mexico. It was likely first settled by 750 B.C.E. and then occupied for over 1,000 years. Academics have been looking for evidence of Sak Tz'i' since 1994 when they identified references to it in inscriptions found at other Maya excavation sites. The realm is also mentioned in sculptures housed in museums around the world. Sak Tz'i' was by no means the most powerful of the Maya kingdoms, and its remnants are modest compared to the more well-known sites of Chichen Itza and nearby Palenque. But Golden says finding Sak Tz'i' is still a major advance in our understanding of ancient Maya politics and culture. He likened it to trying to put together a map of medieval Europe from historical documents and reading about someplace called France. Essentially, Golden and his team have located France. "It's that big a piece of the puzzle," Golden said. Golden and his collaborators published the results of their research in December in the Journal of Field Archaeology. How they found Sak Tz'i' with the help of a food vendor In June 2014, in search of a dissertation topic, University of Pennsylvania student Whittaker Schroder, who worked on Golden’s project, drove around Chiapas looking at archaeological digs. Toward the end of his stay, a man selling carnitas on the side of the highway started waving at him as he rode by. Schroder thought he wanted him to buy his food. A vegetarian, he kept going. Finally, a day before his departure, Schroder decided he had nothing to lose and pulled over. The man wasn't interested in selling Schroder carnitas after all. He told Schroder his friend had discovered an ancient stone tablet. He knew Schroder, who’d been doing research in the area for several years, was interested in the Maya. Would the graduate student like to see it? The next day Schroder and another grad student, Jeffrey Dobereiner of Harvard, met with the vendor’s friend, a cattle rancher, convenience store owner and carpenter, and confirmed the tablet’s authenticity. He then passed on word to Golden and Scherer. It took another five years to negotiate permission to excavate on the property. In Mexico, cultural patrimony like ancient Maya sites are considered the property of the state, so the rancher worried his land might be confiscated by the government. Golden and Scherer worked with him and government officials to make sure that this wouldn’t happen.

Daily life The Sak Tz'i' kingdom was relatively small, straddling what is today the Mexican-Guatemala border. Why it was called Sak Tz'i', which means white dog, is unknown. Commoners lived in the countryside harvesting a wide variety of crops and making pottery and stone tools. Golden and his colleagues found the remnants of what was likely the city’s marketplace where these goods were brought to be sold. The kingdom’s residents also came to the city to attend ceremonial ball games in which players kept a solid rubber ball, sometimes as heavy as twenty pounds, bouncing back and forth across a narrow playing field using their hips and shoulders. On the northeastern end of the city are the ruins of a 45-foot high pyramid and several surrounding structures that served as elite residences and sites for religious rituals. The center of religious and political activity was the "Plaza Muk'ul Ton," or Monuments Plaza, a 1.5-acre courtyard where the people gathered for ceremonies. A staircase leads from the plaza to a towering platform, where temples and reception halls were arrayed and members of the royal family once held court and might have been buried. War and peace Sak Tz’i’ had the misfortune of being surrounded on all sides by more powerful states. For the inhabitants of the capital and countryside, this meant the perpetual threat of warfare and violent interruptions of daily life. Golden and his collaborators have found evidence that the capital was surrounded on one side by steep-walled streams. On the other side, masonry walls were built to keep out invaders. These fortifications weren't always effective. Inscriptions on one monument tell of a time when at least a portion of the city was set ablaze during a conflict with neighboring kingdoms. Ultimately, the survival of Sak Tz'i may have depended as much on its ability to make peace with its neighbors — and even play them off of each other — as its military strength. Golden says this is one of the reasons Sak Tz'i holds so much interest for researchers. Little is known about how mid-size Maya realms maneuvered and managed to persist in the face of constant hostilities from more powerful kingdoms. The monuments of Sak Tz’i’ So far, dozens of sculptures have been found among the ruins at the Sak Tz'i site, though many have been damaged by looters or degraded over the millennia by rain, forest fires and lush tropical vegetation. But the best-preserved sculpture is the one originally shown to Schroder by the carnitas vendor. A 2- by 4-foot tablet, its inscriptions tell stories about a mythical water serpent, described in poetic couplets as "shiny sky, shiny earth," and several elderly, stony gods whose names aren't given. There are also accounts of the lives of dynastic rulers. Another inscription tells of a mythic flood, while others list what are probably historic dates for the births and battles of various rulers, including a king named K'ab Kante'. This intertwining of myth and reality is typical of Maya inscriptions and had special meaning for ancient scribes and readers. At the bottom of the tablet is a dancing royal figure. The Maya believed royalty could become one with or even transform into a god.  In this case, the ruler is dressed as the rain god connected to violent tropical storms, Yopaat. In his right hand, he carries an axe that is the lightning bolt of the storm, which has a deified aspect named K'awiil. In his left hand, the figure carries a "manopla," a stone gauntlet or bludgeon used in ritual combat.

What's next With the permission of the Mexican government and the local community, Golden, Scherer and the rest of their team plan to return to Sak Tz'i' in June.

They will continue mapping the ancient city using, among other tools, a technique called LIDAR (light detection and ranging) in which a laser finder is mounted on an airplane or drone to reveal architecture and topography, even beneath dense jungle canopy.

Team members will stabilize ancient buildings in danger of collapse, and further document those sculptures still among the ruins. They will also further explore the area that they believe is a marketplace, hoping to find more evidence of the goods sold there and workshops where stone tools and other products were made. Golden says the scientists are paying particular attention to working closely with the local community.

“To be truly successful,” he said, “the research will need to reveal new understandings of the ancient Maya and represent a locally meaningful collaboration with their modern descendants.”

[artificialqueens]

who we are and who we are not [trixya] - pinkgrapefruit

There’s a hint of an ocean hidden in the back of Katya’s eyes and Trixie is so sure she’s seen it before.

*

It begins in Australia. (It begins in an idyllic neighbourhood both above and below and to the left of Trixie’s office.) She agrees to help this confused blonde with a rats’ nest of hair in a messy bun and the bags under her eyes that carry more secrets than Gretchen’s hair, and she cannot decide why. There is something uniquely compelling behind the river of her eyes, and Trixie just wants to spend the upcoming weekend sunbathing on its banks, drinking margarita slushies, and reading poetry.

[the good place au]

A/N - you should never have let me express my love of other fandoms because this au has been in the works for months and after the harry potter au response you’re all insane to think I’m not posting this. thank you to jazz and frey for being fantastic cheerleaders and grammar checkers and i really hope you like it because I do. i’m not at all sorry and you don’t really need knowledge of the good place to read this

*

There’s a hint of an ocean hidden in the back of Katya’s eyes and Trixie is so sure she’s seen it before.

*

It begins that first day, in her office.

It ends there too in due course, and then starts there again, so much harder and more painful than before because she thought she was finally over it, and because Katya.

There’s more to it than that, though. So much more.

*

It begins in Australia. (It begins in an idyllic neighbourhood both above and below and to the left of Trixie’s office.) She agrees to help this confused blonde with a rats’ nest of hair in a messy bun and the bags under her eyes that carry more secrets than Gretchen’s hair, and she cannot decide why. There is something uniquely compelling behind the river of her eyes, and Trixie just wants to spend the upcoming weekend sunbathing on its banks, drinking margarita slushies, and reading poetry.

So she agrees to help. And it starts off with just them, in Trixie’s office, when she’s pretending to be marking grad student essays praising Kant for ideas that Hume created, but instead, trying to figure out why a woman who decided she needed help, needed her. Katya says she watched her lectures ( What we owe to each other ), and when Trixie looks, really looks into her eyes, she sees hope and fear and something so deep she needs a ladder on hand before she goes any closer - and she swears she’s seen that look before -

They’re in the kitchen sat on the bench which should not be comfortable, save for the way Katya shoved all of their throws down the back of it to pad it out. They’re in the kitchen, looking at the television playing a VCR of them - in a bed.

Katya on the tape was smiling. She looked happy and in love. ‘I did that,’ Trixie thinks. ‘I made her look like that.’ And she feels a warmth pulsate behind her left ribcage.

“So, yeah, I guess… do you… I don’t know. Do you have any feeling like that for me… again… now?” She asks.

And then Trixie blinks and she is a stranger again.

It begins with the stark feeling that maybe this is the most important moment of her life.

*

Katya bullies her into asking Bob out. She’s smart, Trixie will give her that. She knows just how to trap her.

(It’s almost as if they’ve known each other for years.)

The dinner could have gone better. It’s stilted - awkward. The back and forth feels wrong and Bob - while she’s wonderful - she feels; odd. She takes too long to order and Bob snatches the menu out of her hands, and that’s how she ends up eating goats cheese. She’s a little bit allergic, but she really likes Bob. She’ll figure the rest out later.

The vase is the same blue as Katya’s eyes.

*

It’s a few weeks later and Katya has graduated from sitting in the back of class, bullying Australian undergrads for their pronunciation of Kant to making actual progress. Tangible progress that looks like tipping servers and clearing the lecture hall. And she’s talking about one student - a quiet one with good ideas and strong morals, Jasmine - maybe and -

“We’ll get some information, Hey Jan!” She calls, and this Trixie is sure of herself when she speaks, spoon full of froyo balanced on the edge of her cup.

A blonde comes out of nowhere. She’s dressed like a seventies air hostess, and even though she’s not breathing, she looks so human Trixie swears there’s a ghost of a rise in her chest.

That Katya jumps with a gasp. “Who the fork are you?” she asks like she needs to know.

“This is Jan - she’s like a database for all knowledge. You can ask her anything you want.”

“Hi,” Jan says. It’s robotic, but not inhuman, and the juxtaposition is unnerving.

“Jan… Was Violet in love with me in fifth grade?” Katya winks.

“Yasmine,” Trixie corrects breathlessly. “You could learn something from her - she’s good.”

“Yeah, but then why would I need you?” Katya jumps off the desk she’s been sat on and pads out of the hall, her flannel slung around her waist. Trixie pushes the glasses up her nose and leans her head on the cool wall for a moment. She needs a moment.

*

Katya wins eighteen thousand dollars. Monét starts dating the black sheep of West Industries. Vanessa goes to yoga for five minutes before she realises it’s not what she signed up for, but she stays for the hot ex-ballerina instructor because watching her do some of the poses means she doesn’t have to do them herself. Trixie sees the librarian and a blonde woman popping champagne and whispering in the abandoned journalism department. She leaves them to it. Life is good.

(It’s not though.)

(If there is a hell, this is it.)

Being like Katya is like teetering on the very edge of a cliff. She’s fighting not to fall forwards into the ocean blue of her eyes, but she can’t bear to fall back onto solid, safe earth either. She learns to be content with the rough-edged, precarious thing that isn’t quite love, but at the same time isn’t not, that she knows cannot last.

Eventually, she is going to fall one way or another. She will lose her either way.

She shouldn’t be thinking about her.

(She never stops)

She’s with Bob. She loves Bob. Probably-

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” she says, and Katya’s face falls and there’s a sharp ache in her chest. “I could, logistically. You’re funny, and intelligent and your face is… symmetrical.”

(Wow.)

(Symmetrical)

(They’re going to the bad place and she calls her symmetrical.)

(And she cannot save Katya, but she wants to.)

Nine months in and Bob tells her she loves her, and Trixie’s response could make E.E. Cummings cry.

“Oh, why?”

And she tells Katya the next day, who punches her arm relentlessly for fifteen minutes, all while berating her using language that would also make Cummings cry if he heard them. Katya wants her to love Bob. She doesn’t dream of the two of them walking around a lake in an idyllic neighbourhood - wrapped in blankets that smell of hope and happiness.

That’s fine. Because neither does Trixie.

“You make my head feel like a fork in the garbage disposal.”

*

She has to do it. She has to fall backwards onto the safe earth that feels like lecture hall carpet and smells like Bob’s perfume. But she can’t.

Not when every stolen moment feels so right. Not when Katya’s eyes knit together to form a patchwork blanket of hope and promise and intricacies Trixie wouldn’t be able to unravel with forever on the line. Not when Katya fit so perfectly in her arms - and Trixie doesn’t believe in soulmates-

“Hi, I’m Trixie Mattel, I’m your soulmate.” She waves, a little stilted, but the grin on her face that worms it’s way up to her eyes quicker than she thought possible discounts any fear she may have. And Jan stands there looking happy for them.

“Bring it in man.” Katya hugs her, and her flannels smell like hiking in summer sun and the feeling of dew between your toes.

(“We will find each other and we will help each other because we are soulmates”)-

Trixie cannot believe in soulmates.

(It would be dangerous, and she’s trying to avoid dangerous.)

*

It’s an awful idea.

Really terrible.

“You are very lucky I can’t send you to the Bad Idea place, because that one is a stanker.”

It’s a double date.

She’s not quite sure how that became a thing, and she’s not quite sure how it differs from the Brainy Bunch before they became the Brainy Bunch, before Monét and Vanessa, and then Brooke and Nina.

When it was just her and Katya, and she thought it was going to stay that way forever.

*

Bob picks the restaurant. She finds one of her friends who is free on Friday night as a date for Katya, who is almost as symmetrical as Katya (according to Bob, who may have used the word ‘handsome’, but it just doesn’t do her justice, does it? Like she’s some sort of ornamental flower pot, because have you ever seen a non-symmetrical flower pot. Don’t answer that, because Vanessa made Nina a very lopsided pink one for her birthday, that she uses to house Katya’s peace lily that she donated so it could actually survive - but that’s not the main focus right now). But apparently the man won’t get drunk and cause a riot like Katya might, which is fine. Trixie thinks Bob might have superpowers. It’s going to be fine.

She is totally fine that Katya is going on a date with a symmetrical man.

It’s fine -

“ You guys gotta scram, my soulmate has something planned for me.”

Her soulmate is Simon and he gets Katya all the time - not a precious few hours a week. He likes jazz operas and cowboy hats, and Trixie thinks he’s a poor fit for her, but she seems happy.

He has everything Trixie wants and sometimes it seems like he doesn’t even want it.

*

It goes south before they step foot in the restaurant.

She’s sure Bob’s friend is lovely, but he starts to talk about how he’s on this new diet where you can eat anything that’s seafood except shrimp, because shrimp is awful, and Trixie places a hand on Katya’s arm before she can leap to shrimps defence as Bob changes the subject onto something that will end with less bloodshed.

It doesn’t improve inside.

Katya, in the seat next to her, starts making an underhanded commentary about the couple across the walkway, and Trixie tries to tell her to stop, but they end up giggling like children until Bob’s foot is firmly imprinted on Trixie’s shin. Her friend looks at them like they’re insane. Maybe they are.

The waiter comes out with a cheese platter. “Hey, um, Brain,” says Katya, squinting at his ‘HI, I’M BRIAN’ name tag. Trixie’s proud of her trying, she supposes. “D’you think we could have crackers instead? Or, like, cake? Something without goat’s cheese?”

“How did you know?’ she asks her after the waiter has finished his spiel on why cake isn’t an appropriate appetizer and left (with a huffy “and it’s Brian!”) to take the orders of the couple to their right. Trixie wishes him luck, and he’s going to need it, because the couple have now progressed to full-on making out over the table, completely ignoring the waiter. Katya keeps looking over at them. There’s an odd expression on her face. In the dim light of the restaurant, she looks especially symmetrical. She can’t tear her eyes away from her, and as a result, nearly stabs herself in the nose with her fork, and – why exactly is Bob interested in her again?

(She doesn’t want to know.)

(She sort of wants to know why Katya isn’t.)

“Know what?” Katya’s voice sounds strained.

“That I can’t eat goat cheese.”

She turns away from the couple and looks at her dead-on, face crumpling into a bewildered grimace, and she feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. “What are you talking about, weirdo? You told me.”

She didn’t. She knows she didn’t, because most of the time he’s spent with her has been with Bob, too, and she’s been careful not to tell Bob about the goat cheese because nearly a year later it’s actually a good memory. The awkward parts have faded away. She doesn’t want to ruin it. Everything is good.

She tells her as much.

“No – dude – you were… wait… no, you’re right. Huh. Who was I thinking of?”

(Somebody else.)

(Which is really, truly fine.)

(Really.)

Unfortunately, the man on their right chooses that exact moment to say to his girlfriend “…The spaces between you and me resonate in my heart.” Katya spits out a mouthful of wine, and they’re kicked out of the restaurant by Brain – er, Brian – who must really be having a terrible night.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

They’re on the couch again. The one that looks too uncomfortable to be comfortable, but she’s never seen herself look so comfortable.

“Believe it, baby,” Katya smiles, “I’m all yours. Well, at least until something better comes along - for me. You’ve pretty much topped out.” The twinkle in Katya’s eye reminds Trixie she is lying. That Katya is hers. She shakes their intertwined fingers and relishes in the fact they do not fall apart.

*

Bob offers to drive her home, but she’s also taking her friend and Trixie’s had just about all the self-help book quotes she can take. She didn’t think she needed help to be fair. And she’s been on edge ever since he offered her dieting tips she really didn’t want.

They drive off and Katya walks over to her. Trixie doesn’t see her, but there’s that feeling; key in a lock, last answer to the Sunday crossword, book on a rainy morning - a sense of rightness.

(She clings to it more than she can admit.)

She turns to look at her.

“Well, I didn’t kill him, so I think I’d call it a win,” she quips, adjusting the way her white shirt shows the edge of her red lace bra. She’s a little drunk and it’s possible she’s being mean. But there was also the diet tip, so Trixie’s willing to compromise.

She rifles around in her purse. “Hold that,” she says, and Trixie finds her hands full of gum wrappers, loose change, a single cracker and, somehow, another bottle of wine. “How—” she starts, but Katya cuts her off.

“You really don’t want to know.”

She should chastise her. Make her give it back along with any semblance of dignity she stole from the waiter, but Trixie’s not exactly sober either, and the wine is good. Brian wouldn’t let them back in, anyway.

“Fork,” Katya curses under her breath because she’s trying not to swear as part of her good person promise to herself and - by extension - Trixie.

“What?” Trixie asks, still holding all of Katya’s rubbish.

“Taxi money.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Oh.”

Trixie looks around at the orange glow of the streetlamps and the still-warm sun setting in the distance.

“Aren’t we, like, two blocks from your motel?” She asks, because she knows they are, and Katya scrunches her face up because she doesn’t.

“I took a taxi here,” she admits. “And I’m not really sure how to get home.”

She’s not sure if it’s the wine or Katya’s presence, or that she just got kicked out of an establishment for the first time in her life, or something else entirely, but there’s a laugh bubbling up inside her chest and then she’s laughing too, and soon they’re both doubled over in hysterics on the footpath.

It doesn’t bypass Trixie that that’s the first time Katya has called Australia home.

( “I’m going to miss this stupid clown house.”)

(“It’s where we fell in love.”)

*

They stumble along the warm concrete of the pavement, nearly falling over thanks to the wine and the fact they fall back into laughter every couple of steps. “I feel the absence of you reverberate in my heart,” says Katya. Trixie laughs so hard she nearly falls into the path of an oncoming car.

She just has to stop Katya from doing the kind of thing she usually does when she’s drunk: sleeping with strangers and shoplifting. Occasionally throwing things. Once she cried into her shirt for an hour because she had a photo of her grandpa on her wall.

The motel has just come into view when it starts to rain. Katya grabs her hand and pulls her towards the flickering neon VACANCIES sign. She steps in a puddle, and then they’re off again, staggering along the side of the road howling with laughter. They reach the door out of breath and soaking wet.

The receptionist gives them a strange look as they walk past.

She asks her if she wants to stay.

Of course, I’ll stay , she wants to tell her. I’d stay forever, if you wanted.

But she doesn’t, and Trixie doesn’t, and she can’t. So they watch a movie, and she leans her head on Trixie’s shoulder, and she falls asleep to the sound of rain lashing the windows and the smell of Katya’s shampoo.

*

She’s fallen.

Not the good kind. The safe kind. She knows it as soon as she wakes up fully clothed, watching the way the sun skips on the freckles along Katya’s nose. The ocean is warmer than she thought it would be, and she’s grateful that the tide seems kind. She has never looked more symmetrical.

(She does not feel kind.)

(She feels like a monster.)

*

It ends after the liquidation of the Brainy Bunch. After Max and Jan and the Peep Chilli disaster of ‘19.

It ends in the dean’s office where she gets her heart crushed and her career brought to a sudden, shuddering halt.

She looks at Katya and all she sees are dreams that are being slowly rebuilt into paper boats that hold the weight of worlds. She wishes she could be more like her.

(Wishes don’t come true.)

“I need to end things with Bob.”

Maybe wishes don’t come true. She’ll never get to have Katya for herself, she knows that, she’s made peace with it. Well, no, she hasn’t, but she’s accepted it. She can never, ever tell Katya how she feels, or kiss her, or hold her in her arms at night, but she can stay by her side, make sure she’s happy and safe for always, and that just might be enough.

It’s the easiest choice she’s ever made.

“Okay -

“…but too bad, because I need to say it, because you deserve it. Because… because…” because I love you. Because I can’t lose you. Because it’s you, and you told me you loved me and I was scared you were going to take it all back, but that doesn’t matter, you matter -

*

They kiss.

And it ends.

And it begins.

And everything is fine.

And everything is great.

[saintheartwing]

So Why Should A Hero Be Moral?

The idea of a guy with super powers doing incredible things wasn’t invented by either Japanese anime, western comics, or some obscure 1920′s writer somewhere. No, no, it goes as far back, at least in terms of written record, to Plato’s work known as “Republic”. We find it beginning with the description of an “ancestor of Gyges”. And if you know that name...you know about Gyges’s Ring.

See, this ring makes you invisible if you slip it on. Using the ring, this man got into the king’s palace, seduced the king’s wife, killed the king with her help, and became the new ruler. This story is told to pose a question to us. “Do people actually love justice and goodness for its own sake, or do they do it because they realize if they’re unjust, there’ll be consequences for their actions?

Glaucon, the narrator, takes an “Immoralist” viewpoint. If ANY such person had that kinda magic ring, they’d behave in the same way. NOBODY would “refrain his hands from the possession of others and not touch them”. Well, this is quite the question. Would you do that? Should you do that? But it goes further. Glaucon also claims that if there were any people with special powers so committed to doing good that they’d still seek to be just, the rest of us would despise them and regard them with contempt. Why? Because if anyone who had a license to do whatever the hell they thought refused to do wrong or lay their hands on others things, the reaction would be “What the hell are you, stupid? You moron! You can do f--king anything and you’re not doing it?”

So Glaucon challenges Socrates in “Republic”. If you want to make a really convincing argument for why people should seek to BE good and not just APPEAR good, well, then show that the life of a person who is truly just but thought by others not to be so is superior to the life of someone who is ACTUALLY unjust, but has a good reputation. We have to compare the lives of people who are genuinely good vs the people who pretend to be so, but are thought of, outwardly, as good.

This is quite the challenge. So then...why SHOULD someone with superpowers or powers of any kind be good at all? Why should people, in general, be good? Not just appear good...BE good? Well, Plato presented a person, in Republic, as being someone who was thought of as unjust and suffered accordingly despite being good...and that person maaaaay have come from personal experience. After all, his beloved teacher was Socrates, a wise, brilliant and formerly well-known and cherished philosopher...who people turned on thanks to trumped up legal charges by claiming he was “corrupting the youth” and other BS claims. So a real, genuine, actual good person DID get thought of as being a stupid ignorant fool and let’s all boo and hiss him and then execute him via the state.

But we’re not in Ancient Greece, so let’s try to call on someone a LITTLE more modern. Kierkegaard the German Philosopher! He said that humans are called upon in life to, well, live a live of universal love. We are called by God to love our neighbors as ourselves, and nobody really falls outside that category of “neighbor”. It’s kinda like the idea of “We’re all brothers in Christ”.

OBVIOUSLY this isn’t even close to being an easy task, Kierkegaard says we need to overcome natural selfishness, and the inertia that pushes us toward the satisfaction of our own desires when those desires conflict with the good of others. This is the “first danger”. The first obstacle to goodness, justice and love. If you CAN overcome this, you can then face the external issue...a “double danger”. What is that?

Kierkegaard says that the big struggle involves first the person’s inner being struggling with themselves, then with the world outside. Because we don’t live in a world where it’s easy to love one another and to be just, after all.

So a moral person has to engage in a certain amount of self-denial. Only THEN can you overcome the firm pull of selfish desire. But  then we have to contend with the world because the world isn’t gonna be so nice to us. We may admire sainthood from a distance but facing real, actual virtue can be...disturbing to folks. Think of, say, figures like Gandhi or Dr. King or Harvey Milk or Nelson Mandela. Oh sure, people may ADORE them now but at the time they were alive, folks severely hated them in a lot of places. They were controversial figures who incurred a lot of criticism and in many cases for many beloved figures today...they got murdered for their efforts.

And the temptation of double danger and the like isn’t necessarily the temptation to be a supervillain. Take Spider-Man. Peter’s on his way to see MJ perform. He promised he’d see her. But...uh oh. Some guys are robbing an unfortunate in an alleyway. And...well, he’s Spider-Man! He’s got to help them! So he ends up missing her performance because he had to save people. This wasn’t a temptation to use his powers for financial gain or anything. It was a choice between using your powers for good or...well, just having a normal, private kinda life. He’s tempted to be ORDINARY, not evil. A lot of us kind of experience this. Most of us aren’t tempted to be villains. We wanna be free to pursue our own individual happiness is all.

However Peter also experiences the second danger because J Jonah Jameson, head of the biggest paper in the city, is ALWAYS shouting how Spidey is a menace. Menace! MENACE! Despite Spider-Man saving his life multiple times, AND his son, AND NYC, AND the World over and over...

But no. MENACE!

The good news is the average NYC person doesn’t seem to fear Spider-Man. Unless Joe f--kin’ Quesada is writing the story or the episode because yeah, THAT isn’t tired and played out. But such a thing is a good example of the double danger. Either they cynically refuse to believe in his goodness...or they call him a chump behind his back. Just as Glaucon said they would.

But what does Plato say in response? Well, Plato says that in the long run we’ll be happier both in life and in death, if we live in accordance with justice by turning our attention to the good. Morality reflects the true, deep character of the universe. Those who are committed to the good are committed to what is profoundly and eternally true. It’s no accident this viewpoint’s seen as religious, writers from St. Augustine to C.S Lewis have viewed his metaphysical version of the world as very much congruent to their own faith.

It’s also a matter of mutual responsibilities. Tobe a parent or a son or daughter or husband or wife or a citizen of a state means you have duties to the other. Certain obligations are just part of those kinds of relationships. It doesn’t just merely become grounds to love doing good but to enforce morality across wider stretches and turn it into duty.

For example, driving at a moderate speed is a good thing to do, but we also further enforce this as a legal obligation with speed limits. We don’t just have a moral duty to do the right thing, but a legal one at that. And that’s before we get into any kind of open religious reason for being good. Ultimately, Kierkegaard makes the argument, much like Plato, that humans have a simple reason to behave good. Because our own deepest and ultimate happiness is found by following the path of neighbor love.

But of course, now we get to an opposing viewpoint that has sprung up a lot. The concern of UTILITARIANISM. Let me paint a picture for you of a comic featuring Batman. The Joker is on trial for poisoning stamps. People lick them and they die. This time...the Joker’s found guilty and is going to death row. He is, in fact, going to DIE. And nobody could really argue that he doesn’t deserve it. Even though I’m almost completely against the death penalty...

It’s the goddamn JOKER. There are SOME exceptions to the rule. Some people who, absolutely, one hundred percent, would be too, TOO dangerous to let live and whom everyone else in the world would be better off if they were dead, who’ve proven, even if they were unarmed and had nothing but a glass of water...would smash that glass of water, cut the throats of everyone around them and then grab your gun and shoot you.

But...here’s the thing. THIS time...the Joker’s innocent. Batman knows he didn’t do it.

So...what should he do? A lot of us, and I’m tempted myself, would say, well, “Let the motherf--ker fry in the chair”.

Let’s think up another possibility. The Green Goblin has lasso’d an irritated dishwasher. He’s soaring on his Goblin Glider, the poor guy being dragged behind him, screaming all the way, he gets broken ribs and everything. Luckily, Spider-Man saves him. Now, what nobody knows is the guy was a disgrunted employee who had a gun in his pocket. He was gonna unload it into the first asshole in the diner he worked at because he was sick and tired of being underpaid by a cruel boss, picked on at work, and he just one day has decided he’s had enough. With what he WENT through now though, he gives up on his plan, destroys his gun, and signs up for an anger management course. 

So was what the Green Goblin did the right thing? Well, a UTILITARIAN would argue yes, it was. But surely that’s not correct, dragging a rando around Fifth and Main with the intention of traumatizing the guy and maybe even killing him just to use him as bait for his nemesis is CLEARLY an evil act, even if it UNINTENTIONALLY produces a greater good. 

So who do we turn to now? Let’s try Immanuel Kant. Kant maintained our fundamental duty is to act in a way that satisfies what’s called the “categorical imperative”. A formulation that states we should ALWAYS treat people as an ends in themselves, not MERELY as means. This comes down to treating people as always having intrinsic value, and never just using them for our own purposes as if they just had INSTRUMENTAL value. But remember, performing an action in accordance with the categorical imperative alone isn’t enough to make it good. You have to do it because it is your duty to do it! If an action treats an individual as an ends in and of themselves and the person performs the action regarding such individuals in way that indicates they’re following their duty of treating people appropriately, then their action is good. So treat others first as people, not as means to an end, and do it for the right reasons, not for selfish ones. It’s your duty to yourself, to others in Kant’s eyes. 

So what are these “duties” though? Now we get into the weeds. There’s positive and negative duties. Positive is stuff like tending to  the sick. Feeding and clothing the poor. Negative duties are obligations to REFRAIN from doing things that harm people, like assaulting an innocent person or maliciously lying to them. By doing our positive duties, we treat people as ends in and of themselves by showing them respect, and we’re fulfilling our negative duties by avoid treating them as merely a means. 

Spider-Man dives into this sort of thinking a lot. It’s classic line “with great power comes great responsibility” is an admonishment for people to be careful with the powers they have. Those who have power have a duty and an obligation to help those in need. Boiled down simply, its answering the question of “But why be moral at all?” For one, if you fail to do your duty, there will be negative consequences that affect you, directly or indirectly. But then again, this can be questionable. Sometimes reason one isn’t convincing in a world where evil can easily bring profit and virtue none at all. So what’s the second reason?

Because it’s right. 

People like Kant and FH. Bradley, another philosopher, have brought this up. Appealing to someone’s self-interest in the name of getting them to do a moral duty is basically missing the point. Them doing it for pragmatic or selfish reasons means they’re not behaving morally at all. You have to do the right thing BECAUSE it’s right. Not for some self-interested reward. But what if we’re given very strong reasons to do the wrong thing? Then doing the right thing would be irrational. So we have to make sure we’re not being irrational in doing the right thing.

So if reason one and reason two don’t work...is there a third reason? Well, yes. Let’s go back to Plato. Plato says “It’s the only way you’ll really have piece of mind”. According to Plato, a person’s soul consists of reason, of appetites, and the “spirited element”. Reason includes the conscience, and reason MUST govern the soul or the soul is discordant, lacking in harmony. But there’s plenty of people who don’t approach life from a dominantly moral perspective, so does this idea work? After all, even many morally upright people face temptation at some point, or give in occasionally. 

Artistole had another answer. Virtue is its own reward. Being moral is a greater benefit to you than any benefit you might obtain at the expense of your good moral character. Unfortunately that doesn’t seem necessarily true,, the rewards of perfect virtue do not always compensate compared to the rewards for wrongdoing. So then what’s next? 

Reason five! Doing good pays off in the long run. Now, if you’re a religious person, you may already know about this answer. It’s very similar to reason one. But we don’t have to accept it. It calls for some strong metaphysical positions about the nature of reality. 

But then again, maybe it’s not a singular answer that IS the answer. Maybe the multitude of reasons given here are good enough. Maybe it’s a little of them all that explains WHY heroes should behave in a moral way. Why people should be moral and good. Ultimately, how you choose to answer the question”Why be moral”...that’s up to you, and hopefully, you can be proud of the answer you give. 

[therojul]

The Daily Habits of Great Minds: Lessons From Nietzsche, Kant, Tesla, Darwin, Einstein And Hemingway

by- Thomas Oppong

I have always wondered what great minds do daily — the tiny details that help them achieve their goals and purpose? Do they strive to read or work a certain number of hours a day? How much impact does their downtime have on their work? What do they think about in solitude? And why do some of them devote a lot of time to their work, while others spend very little but still achieve more?

Mason Curry’s book Daily Rituals: How Great Minds Make Time, Find Inspiration And Get To Work has answered a lot of my questions. The path to greatness is paved with habits, routines and rituals.

The one true lesson of the book, says Currey is that “there’s no one way to get things done”. Still, some patterns do emerge.

Great Minds Stick To A Predictable And Stable Routine

Extraordinary minds start their day on purpose.

Aristotle said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” Routine provides a sense of structure and familiarity. You wake up with a sense of ownership, order, and organisation of your life.

Routines are the secret weapon of great minds and have been for centuries. Many thinkers do what they do with iron regularity.

It’s how they function at their best without thinking too much about daily structures for high performance. Habits and routines free our brains from continual small decisions, so we can easily do our best work.

Poet W.H. Auden recommended a routine approach to better work:

“Decide what you want or ought to do with the day, then always do it at exactly the same moment every day, and passion will give you no trouble.”

A lot of highly productive philosophers and creative minds depend on predictable daily routines as a safe place for work.

Friedrich Nietzsche, a German philosopher who became one of the most influential of all modern thinkers was an early riser and spent a lot of his time alone at the peak of his career — mostly by choice.

In his book, Friedrich Nietzsche: A Biography, Curtis Cate wrote:

“With a Spartan rigour which never ceased to amaze his landlord-grocer, Nietzsche would get up every morning when the faintly dawning sky was still grey, and….work uninterruptedly until eleven in the morning.”

“He then went for a brisk, two-hour walk through the nearby forest or along the edge of Lake Silvaplana (to the north-east) or of Lake Sils (to the south-west), stopping every now and then to jot down his latest thoughts in the notebook he always carried with him.”

And Nietzsche worked — a lot. He used almost the same routine to focus on writing, reading and understanding ideas. His schedule was disciplined, consistent, but a lot of wandering and thinking.

He once said, “All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.”

Immanuel Kant, an influential German philosopher and one of the most influential philosophers in the history of Western philosophy was also a man of stable routine. Here’s his schedule according to Manfred Kuehn, the author of Kant: A Biography:

“He got up at 5:00 A.M. His servant Martin Lampe, who worked for him from at least 1762 until 1802, would wake him. The old soldier was under orders to be persistent, so that Kant would not sleep longer. Kant was proud that he never got up even half an hour late, even though he found it hard to get up early. It appears that during his early years, he did sleep in at times. After getting up, Kant would drink one or two cups of tea–weak tea. With that, he smoked a pipe of tobacco. The time he needed for smoking it “was devoted to meditation.”

“His lectures began at 7:00, and they would last until 11:00. With the lectures finished, he worked again on his writings until lunch. Go out to lunch, take a walk, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his friend Green. After going home, he would do some more light work and read.”

A life without a daily routine or structure is so much more draining mentally, physically, and emotionally than you can ever imagine!

Without a routine, life just sort of happens to you. The day either gets wasted as you try to decide what to do, or you find yourself tangled up in the wants and needs of everybody else. Routines help you achieve your goals.

Benjamin Franklin asked himself each morning (at 5 am), “What good shall I do today?”; every night before bed (around 10 pm), “What good have I done to-day?”.

He used this habit to help him focus on his most important priorities. What’s your answer to the question What good shall I do today ?

Charles Dickens famously took three-hour walks every afternoon, and what he observed informed his writing.

Ludwig van Beethoven also took long walks after lunch, carrying a pencil and paper with him in case inspiration struck.

Ernest Hemingway tracked his daily word output on a chart “so as not to kid myself” he said.

Not only do routines and rituals allow you to do more, but, as with all daily structures, they simply give your life more rhythm, order and even pleasure.

Marie Curie, a renowned scientist and known for her huge contribution to the fight against cancer was literally described as a “mad scientist” or a “maniacal worker” because of how insanely interested she was by what she was doing.

Nikola Tesla , who made dozens of breakthroughs in the production, transmission and application of electric power maintained a rigid schedule.

He used to walk about ten miles a day, thinking through ideas for new inventions — the habit eventually becoming something of a compulsion.

“As a young apprentice in Thomas Edison’s New York office, Tesla regularly worked from 10:30 in the morning until 5:00 the following morning,” writes Curry.

History’s great minds knew the relevance of stepping away from work every now and then to think, make better connections and ponder over existing problems.

Studies have shown that regular downtime (taking breaks on purpose) boosts alertness, energy, productivity, creativity, and mental focus.

Although Charles Darwin followed a rigid schedule, he made time for contemplative walks.

While working on his famous theory of evolution, Darwin took daily walks to think, and most importantly to observe and notice nature. Walking the same route each day from his house, through shady woods Darwin referred to this as his ‘thinking path’.

Albert Einstein played the violin to take a break and think about his projects. claiming that it was in some ways an extension of his thinking and that it helped him to solve tricky problems.

Einstein apparently slept contentedly for up to 10 hours a night, on top of which he’d take several naps during the day.

Modern life, increasingly defined by unpredictability can be stressful. A productive routine can provide the anchor of predictability you need to function at your best. Pablo Picasso once said:

“Our goals can only be reached through a vehicle of a plan, in which we must fervently believe, and upon which we must vigorously act. There is no other route to success.”

History’s greatest minds optimised their daily lives to get on top of their games. Routine was their secret weapon. Daily routines help us make time for what matters most to us.

Daily practice is a game-changer for your life and career — but it pays to review it once a while to find out what works and what doesn’t. That way, you can keep doing more of what works whilst wasting less time on unproductive tasks and activities.

[bri-borg]

stars of lovingness in her hair

Part Three

A/N: Heyyy chapter three is finally here! I am so sorry this took way too long. I’ve just started a job and school and I had a bad case of writer’s block these past weeks. I hope you all like this one, she’s a bit melodramatic. But then again it’s a slowburn, mutual pining friends to lovers asdfghjkl

Also please leave comments and reblog if you enjoy it! Also the stereo mentioned in this chapter is actually real! It’s Prof. H. Draper’s stereo of what I think is the full moon from the 1840s.

One line (if you squint) directly ripped from BohRap because I am unoriginal. As per usual it was edited by me, a tired person. I am sorry about the potentially many errors. 

read part one here read part two here

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, some suggestive dialogue, mentions of anxiety, general repression of feelings and self-doubt

Summary: the more time you and Brian spend together as friends, the more you fear that you might want to be something more. As the both of you come to terms with how you feel about one another, a discovery leads you feeling further from him than you felt before

Winter, 1969

You sat down on the floor of Brian’s flat, legs crossed as you tried forcing yourself to read over another set of equations. Brian had invited you over to study, excited to have the new flat to himself while his roommates were out getting moth and flea riddled artefacts. It was smaller and cramped than the last flat—especially considering the fact that Brian was now living with two other men.

You’d gone over to Brian’s place around four in the afternoon, and although you felt as if it had only been a little over than an hour, the bright light of the moon seemed to prove otherwise. He’d finished all of his exams—no doubt getting perfect marks in all of them. He was kind enough to invite you over, stay with you if you’d had any questions, which you felt guilty over considering he could have been enjoying his time off. But he seemed to be enjoying himself, trying to unpack, and getting distracted every now and then by a pair of trousers on the floor, or instead finding his copy of The Hollies’ Would You Believe, which at the moment was now spinning its way happily on the record player. 

Normally the music would distract you, but you weren’t actually getting much studying done. Aside from the fact that your mind was thoroughly spent, you couldn’t help but focus on Brian instead, watching as he tinkered with the contraption he’d rigged to his polaroid camera in an attempt to make stereo photographs. Noticing how animated his hands were when he explained something to you. How his sharp canines poked out from beneath his pink lips when he smiled whenever you got something right. How his warm hazel eyes lit up when he looked at you. How every now and then he’d reach over and intertwine his delicate fingers with yours, holding your hand from across the coffee table whenever you’d try your head in your books from frustration. I wouldn’t mind if he held my hand like that more often, you thought on more than one occasion before berating yourself silently, telling yourself you were here to study.

So here you were with one more exam left, trying not to lose your head over the sight of another number—or Brian.

“Y/N?” You heard Brian ask, his tone one of genuine concern. You flit your eyes off the pages of your text book and look at him, raising your eyebrows in question.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for today? You should at least get some rest, I mean. It’s a bit late.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, glancing over to your watch. Shit. You’d overstayed. “I’m sorry, Brian. I can get out of your hair if you—“

“Oh no! No! That’s not what I meant,” Brian interrupts, holding his hands out to keep you from standing up. “Please, stay as long as you’d like, Y/N. It’s just, I’m worried you might be over-exerting yourself, you know? Overdoing the studying?”

You shake your head, at him. “That’s very kind, Brian, but I need the extra studying—I’m not like you, you know?”

“Oh, stop it, I’ve seen you read books that make my brain hurt and make me question reality. You’re one of the most clever people I’ve ever known. And you can do it—I’ve seen you. You’ve just got to trust yourself now.” He bites his lip, eyes looking up before he speaks again.”Vous avez besoin de confidence.” Brian reaches over to hold your hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze as he reassures you.

“Thank you,” you say, unable to hold back the smile forming on your face. “And it’s ‘Tu as besoin de confidence’—no need for such formalities, Bri, we’re friends.” You say and he rolls his eyes. “I suppose you’re right. I’d just about die if I read another word—and Kant makes everyone’s brain hurt. You’re not special.” You smirk.

Brian just smiles before he closes your textbook, moving himself so his back is pressed against the couch. He pats the spot beside him, urging you to sit next to him. 

“This coming from the man who’d much rather study than sleep,” you say as you shuffle beside Brian, who’s folded his arms over his long legs as he tucks his chin over his knee.

“Well, it’s from personal experience then.” He tells you, as he leans over close to you. You feel the warmth of his body press against yours for a brief moment as he does.

“You’re right.” You say getting up and sinking back to your seat beside him, your back against the couch, tucking your legs into yourself to copy Brian. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without your help—so thank you,” you say to him, leaning your head against his shoulders, telling yourself that you’ve always been one of those people who was overly affectionate with their friends. For a moment or two everything is silent except for Brian’s soft breaths beside you.

“Are you still thinking about it?” He asks, moving his head off of yours so he’s looking down at you.

“Yeah, sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“Don’t be. I can distract you if you want?” Brian says, and you hope he doesn’t notice how there’s a pause before you nod, and he practically leaps out of his seat to fetch his camera. He tells you to stay still and you do, though you aren’t able to keep yourself from being startled as he snaps two photographs of you in quick succession, a big smile on his face the entire time he does.

“What was that?” You giggle, in mild confusion.

“Hang on a moment—it’ll be worth it, promise,” he says as the two of you wait for the photographs to develop. 

As the two of you wait there patiently, Brian pulls out a small device with two lenses attached at the end from his bag. “This,” he says, holding it up, “is used to view stereoscopic photographs—“

“Did you get that out of a Weetabix?” You ask, trying to hold back your laughter. 

“…Yes.” Brian says chewing his lip, and shifting slightly in his seat.

“It’s from a cereal box!” You cackle.

“But I’ve made some alterations to it! I’ve upgraded it! Aha! Now, here, have a look,” he says, laughing along with you. Brian takes the photographs of you, your eyes wide open in confusion in both of them, setting them beside one another on the coffee table. He gives you the device, telling you to focus on the photographs, smiling as you lean in and adjust yourself to view the pictures.

“Now the photographs I took—they’re not quite the same,” he explains “so what you’ll get is the effect of the photograph being three-dimensional. Like you’re there in that moment.”

“I do! I see it! Blimey, that’s cool. Wish you’d taken a better photo of me though—I look like a deer caught in headlights!”

“You can keep it if you’d like.” 

“Oh, what use am I gonna do with a picture of myself? Can you teach me, then? I’d much rather have you instead—your picture I mean!” You say, feeling a heat creep up your neck as you realize what you’d just said. Fortunately Brian is too overjoyed to notice your slip-up, ecstatic that one of his best friends is showing interest in his passions. 

It takes you a couple of tries, and you apologizing to Brian for wasting his film, even though he reassures you that, ‘it will all be worth it!’ Eventually with much redirection, trial and error, you take the photos that produce the effect, which practically makes Brian giddy with enthusiasm. When you view it, you can see Brian looking up at you, a small smile on his face—a moment that you were thankful you’d be able to revisit.

“You did it! You got it faster than I did—took me ages figuring that out. My mum got cross with me for using up the film. It’s really good, Y/N.”

You stand up and do an overly dramatic curtsy as Brian claps, that wide grin still on his face. “You are far too kind,” you say rather grandly, taking Brian’s hand as you sit back down next to him. 

“I can keep these, yeah?” You ask, gesturing to the trial photographs, which is just Brian staring awkwardly into the camera or blinking, and ruining your shot. He nods as you take them in your hands, giggling at how silly he looked in some of them.

“As long as I keep the stereo of you—took the definition of doe-eyed to a whole new level, didn’t you?” Brian smirks widening his eyes to mimick you. “Any relation to Bambi?” He adds quickly.

You look at him, pretending to be thoroughly unamused, your lips a hard line, and one brow raised as Brian attempts to hold back fits of laughter, unable to look at you as he does. But you can’t help it, how you wish this moment would never end, and the dread that comes with the thought that it inevitably has to.

“Oh, what am I gonna do without you next year?” You muse fondly all of a sudden. There’s a hint of bittersweet in your voice at the thought of him leaving, which Brian definitely notices.

Suddenly he’s gone quiet. Brian shifts for a moment so he’s facing you before speaking again. “Oh, erm. Well, actually I’ve been meaning to tell you—I got accepted into the P.h.D. program. So m’afraid you’re stuck with me—for a while.“

You practically lunge forward, flinging your arms around him and muttering all your congratulations while still wrapped tightly around him. “Oh I knew you’d get it! Brian I’m so proud of you!” You mumble, your voice muffled as you bury your face in his shoulder. You were happy for him—truly. He was intelligent and passionate about his studies, and it made you happy seeing him succeed. Yes, you were happy, but somewhere deep in the back of your mind you were happy knowing you’d still have Brian close by for the next few years. 

When you let go of him, neither of you pull away. 

Suddenly you feel just how close the two of you are, that you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your face, feel his heart beating as his chest pressed up against yours. 

“My dad really wanted me to,” Brian says softly, avoidant of your gaze as the two of you were this close to one another. “I could never say no to him.”

You nod as you listen intently, neither of you refusing to pull away. He finally looks up at you, studying your gaze as they drift to observe the way his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones when his lids sit low. The proximity made you flush, and you prayed that Brian wouldn’t notice your touch lingering, the way your arms were still around him. 

“You’re wearing your hair all curly—I just noticed.” You observe, all of a sudden, your eyes drifting to a defined curl that rested on his forehead. You wonder how it had escaped you, all these hours you’d spent with him and you didn’t even notice such a small little detail until now.

“Oh, erm. Yeah, I thought I’d give it a go—all that straightening can’t be good for it, I s’pose” Brian tries to let out a small laugh, his face flushed with pink as he manages to get his words out. He doesn’t pull away, or let you go, though. For a second or two he’s unconscious of his hands falling to rest upon your hips, before he quickly pulls them off of you his cheeks now kissed with a deep pink.

“I really like it.” You say, your eyes fixed on his as one finger comes up to delicately place a stray curl back into place. You think for a moment that you hear Brian’s breath hitch as you touch him, but you brush it off as your own subconscious. He was so close, you thought. His lips only a few millimetres away from yours. But it wouldn’t be right.

“Sorry,” you say, pulling away quickly. “I got too excited—I’m really glad you got in, Bri. I’m proud of you,” you say, your smile a vague attempt to hide away your anxieties, hoping Brian doesn’t notice how uneven your breath is, how the heat’s crept up your neck. 

Brian blushes a bit, his head shrinking into the neck of his sweater, muttering a small ‘thank-you’ and ‘it’s alright’ when you take your place and sit back down next to him, close enough so that your sides are touching. There’s something different in the way the silence fills the room now, different to how it was mere moments ago. But it doesn’t take long before you lean your head against his shoulder again, prompting him to lean his head against yours once more. Yet you can’t help how your thoughts drift from you, wondering if there was anything more to you and Brian.

————————————————————

Friday, 1970

“We can’t bloody well sell it! It’s my fucking jacket!”

“It’s atrocious, Fred!”

“You don’t know a thing about fashion, darling—“

You felt a bit awkward, overhearing the argument—as a matter of fact the whole reason for your presence there was awkward. Suzie, had decided, she’d drag you along to Kensignton Market to go and ‘keep an eye on’—in her words, “Roger Taylor, the love of her life.” Of course, such a plan might have worked if Roger hadn’t known either of you. The only reason you’d agreed was the hope that you’d finally be able to meet Roger and Brian’s elusive third roommate, who had apparently just recently changed his name, and to maybe get Brian something as a thank-you for enduring you as his student in maths. You’d gotten the results of your statistics exam back and had passed with flying colours. You felt it would be nice to get Brian something especially considering the fact that when he aced his French exams he’d gotten you something too. It was a small plush polar bear—one that you’d mentioned was cute from a few weeks ago when you and Brian had passed by the window of the shop. It was a small gesture, but it made you smile to think he’d remember a small thing you’d said.

“Suzie, I don’t think this is a good idea—what if he sees us?’ You worry, peering over to see Roger arguing with a dark haired man from beneath the gaggle mannequins and hat boxes stacked atop one another.

“That’s exactly the point, Y/N!” Suzie exclaims, grabbing a hold of your shoulders in a manner that’s probably too harsh that your back presses against the hatstand behind you, toppling it over with a loud thud tp the floor and calling attention to the both of you. The noise must have alerted them—there wasn’t any way they didn’t hear.

“Hullo, Y/N, Suzie. How are we doing today ladies?” Called out Roger from their makeshift counter. Suddenly he turns to his friend, yanking a cigarette out of his mouth, muttering a tiny tsk tsk, as he waves a finger almost patronizingly.

“Don’t smoke in here—the coat’s will smell like shit.”

“Everything here smells like shit!”

“Hey Rog,” Suzie says rather wistfully, effectively interrupting the beginnings of another argument as she begins flipping her hair over her shoulder, practically jogging over to where Roger is. You just hold your hand up, waving hello at Roger, making a face that says “I’m really sorry about my roommate.” He seemed to understand, making a face that seemed to say, “no it’s not your fault your roommate can’t take a hint.”

As Roger attempts to entertain Suzie, the other man saunters over to where you are.

“Apologies—me and my associate were just having a bit of a dispute. I’m Freddie, this is Roger—though you already seem to have met.” He holds out an elegant hand, each finger adorned with rings and the tips with black nail varnish. His features are quite sharp and angular with an effortless elegance and a kindness, his hair, dark and messy as it frames his face—so this is the elusive Freddie.

“Freddie—yes! Well, it’s so nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard all about you! I’m Y/N.” You say, taking his hand.

“Y/N?—are you Brian’s Y/N?—Oh, my dear, it’s so nice to finally have a pretty face for that name! All he ever does is talk about you!”

You blush, feeling heat creep up onto your cheeks, no doubt flushing them pink. Brian’s Y/N. 

“That’s sweet of him,” you say biting at your lip a bit, noticing how there’s a knowing smirk lingering on the side of Freddie’s face. 

“Brian can be very sweet, can’t he? You must tell me about this whole other side of Brian—I rarely get to see it. It’s always ‘don’t burn the flat down, Fred’ or ‘could you not play an entire concerto when I’m reviewing for my astronomy final!’ Why, you must know of Brian’s sweetness better than anyone else.” He says, rather slyly, his voice teasing, as you blush and go quiet. Although he hadn’t said anything particular, there isn’t any doubt of what he’s implying. 

“Sorry about the mess and barging in—“ You say, trying to change the subject.

“Oh don’t worry about it. Adds character to this whole ruddy place anyway. And I much appreciated the distraction—“

Crash! A noise came suddenly from towards the counter, followed up by a small “sorry!” From Roger, now sat on the floor, who it seemed had accidentally destroyed the makeshift counter by putting the weight of his legs against it.

“Roger! What did you do?” Snapped Freddie—though he sounded more amused than irritated.

“It’s two fucking planks of wood, Fred! Help me put it back, will you?” Roger shouts, attempting to get up and reassuring Suzie that he’s not dying. 

“Right. Well, I am glad to finally meet you, dear. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a busy man. Do make yourselves comfortable while you’re here darlings! I’ll just go and deal with Roger—right, Taylor don’t get your knickers in a twist!”

You look around the shop, noticing a couple of items you’re sure you’d seen back at their flat, haphazardly flung across the sofa while you and Brian attempted to study. It was a small boutique, no bigger than an alley-way. Its walls adorned with oil paintings and sketches—some of them Freddie’s, you’d noted. Canvases were stacked up against the walls, and coatracks full of beautiful clothes which you assumed were, in Brian’s terms, “bloody flea-bitten.” You glance over to look at the counter, shaking your head at the way Freddie and Roger attempted to hammer together planks of wood to form a counter. Suzie, as always, was orbiting Roger, awkwardly trying to get a word in. 

A small crate of old photographs and postcards catches your eye. Some of them are dated 1890, 1880—1870—most of them featuring women in their drawers, which would have been quite scandalous for the time, the thought of which makes you laugh a bit. You wonder if there are any vintage stereos in the pile. It would be a nice surprise for Brian, he was quite fond of vintage stereos—the way he mused about the ones he saw at the auctioneers. You look through them, sorting out each photograph carefully, looking for a stereo. Gotcha.

You pick out one of what seems to be the full moon. The paper is yellowed, and fragile, with a few tears on its sides. On its borders are written the date in sprawling cursive font—1870, reprint. The moon is round and full, its craters cast in shadow, its normally silver glow a sepia in the picture. There was just something so quintessentially Brian about the whole photograph that made you smile.

You purchase it from Roger, for a threepence, who seemed unaware of the fact that he was selling you a photograph that you were certain was an antique. Freddie, gives you a knowing little smile as he wraps the photograph in parchment paper, no doubt very much certain that you were going to give it to Brian. He’s kind enough to walk you and Suzie out of the shop, his arm gallantly wrapped around yours as he does, urging you to come over for tea time when he’s around. Freddie gives you a wink as you and Suzie say your goodbye’s. You freeze, and blush a deep pink once again when Freddie calls out after you saying, “say hello to Brian for me!”

——————————————————————

Saturday night, 1970

“Hello?” You answer, after finally wringing out the telephone from your roommate’s overly tight grasp. So Roger had called. You think to yourself, as you look over at Suzie, with a smile on her face and giddy excitement that only ever comes when she hears the voice of her one and only Roger Taylor. You smirk at Suzie, sat on the couch as she gives you a guilty smile before she returns to her book.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Rog. Listen, I was wondering if you could do us a favour. We’ve got a bit of a problem.” He sounded a bit stressed, from the sound of his voice.

“Is everything alright, Roger? Did anything happen?” You inquire, your voice coloured with concern. 

“Nothing’s wrong—everything’s perfect—if it weren’t for one damn thing.” He adds the last part almost as an exasperated mutter.

“I can’t tell if this is a prank or you’re going to make me do something I’ll regret“ 

“It’s not!” Roger almost whines from the other end. “Listen, Bri’s been an absolute numpty and left his bloody guitar at home—we’ve a gig tonight and he’s fucking forgotten all about it. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to go over to our flat and give it to him before the gig. We kind of need a guitar, y’know. Rock and roll and everything.” Roger says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You can practically hear him take a long, dramatic drag from his cigarette on the other end.

“He’s stressed out, Rog. Give him a break—“

“Yes well, he’s always stressed, Y/N. When isn’t he? Great guy, love him to bits, but the memory of a goldfish, as you know. Give us a hand will you?” He practically pleads. Well. He had a point, you think. On more than one occasion Brian had forgotten the keys to his apartment, which had caused him to sleep over at your place, not wanting to face the wrath of his roommates whose sleep, or other activities, he would have had to interrupt. Of course, you didn’t mind. In fact you quite liked having him around.

“Yes, well I’ve got things to do too, Rog,” You begin, fingers twisting at the thick black coils of the telephone. “Why can’t you just pick it up—“

“I’m a busy man, Y/N, I’ve got things to see, people to do—“

“Christ, Rog—“

“That was a joke! It’s a bad one I know. Anyway I can’t cause I’m at rehearsal right now and Fred can’t cause he’s at his parents’. Pretty please just help us?” Suddenly Roger changes the infection of his voice, making himself sound more higher pitched and nasally as he dons a ‘baby voice’—a trick he knew from experience would either be irresistible to women (though, in honesty just probably Suzie) or annoying enough for you to cave in. “C’mon, Y/N, do it for pwetty bitty Bwian—“

“Ok! I’ll do it, just please never talk to me like that again.” You say, shaking your head, but unable to hold back a laugh at Roger’s antics. “Spare key still under the mat, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank’s Y/N—you really saved our necks. Especially Brian’s neck—from my foot that is!” Roger taunts at the end of the line before hanging up. You shake your head, and grab your bag and keys, heading out for the door. 

———

It takes you a few minutes, wading through still unopened boxes, records, and flare trousers of all different sizes littered across the floor of their flat. You almost trip over a jacket, the heel of your shoe catching on the loud-patterned bell sleeves. You aren’t quite sure if it belongs to Brian or Freddie or Roger—as you’ve certainly seen all of them wear it on at least one occasion. 

You finally make your way to Brian’s room, smiling a bit at how quintessentially Brian everything was. His small bookshelf was barely able to hold up as some books were laid on their side, trying to fit into any space available. His guitar rests against his wall almost precariously, threatening to fall flat on its front at the smallest touch. Your face lights up when you see the stereo of the moon you’d given him displayed proudly on his nightstand. When you had given it to him he had been speechless, his only response was to hold you in his arms and practically lift you up the ground as he murmured a thank-you into your shoulder. He’d apologized for surprising you—but you didn’t mind in the slightest. You’re left there blushing when your gaze drifts to find that the stereo photos that he took of you looking like a deer caught in headlights from last winter is displayed proudly along with it, taped together as they rested on the frame of the first photograph. 

You pad around his room, looking under his bed, and behind the door, looking for his guitar case. You find it shoved atop one of his cupboards, at a height that only Brian could ever reach.  You huff, waving your hands, trying to grab a hold of it. Going on your tiptoes you try and grasp at the strap of the case, only to have it fall down rather disgracefully at your feet. Just as you’re about to pick up the case, a notebook falls from the cupboard hitting over your head as it falls open to the ground, it’s pages pressed against the floor.

You pick it up, not wanting to make a mess when you see that it reads “French 100” on the side. Intrigued and hoping to reminisce on your time spent studying together for the class, you open it, hoping that you’ll find conjugation rules and notes about Baudelaire and pronunciation. Instead all you find is a song.

You catch a glimpse of about half the page before you snap it shut. You knew you probably shouldn’t intrude, that you probably shouldn’t pry and overstep Brian’s boundaries, but your mind lingers on what you’d seen. Your eyes widen, and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

It was about a girl. The handwriting was unmistakably Brian’s, and the way he described her, talked of her, thought of her only meant that he was in love with her. 

Whoever she was. 

You hurriedly pick the notebook up, shoving it back into his closet, not wanting to think about just who this girl might be. You try not to think about the words sprawled in black ink as they tripped over the margins of the book, every word a silent prayer that she’d notice him too, immortalizing her smiling dark eyes in a song that he no doubt sang only for her. For a moment you think if there’s a chance Brian’s written the song about you, but you shake the thought away. She was ethereal, beautiful and enchanting. By the looks of it Brian practically worshipped the very ground she walked on. You two were just friends.

Your thoughts are interrupted when notice the quickened pace of your heart’s beating, a dry lump that seemed to be stuck in your throat, and the unmistakable feeling of jealousy at the pit of your stomach.

You try to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be upset. Why would you be? It’s not like there was anything between you and Brian. Whoever this girl was, you thought, was lucky. Your friend was in love, and you were happy for him. You and Brian were meant to be friends, nothing more.

So you carefully place his guitar in the case and leave, everything just the same as it was before.

——

You barely even make your way to the front of the stage, choosing instead to wave over to Roger to catch his attention so he jogs over to where you are by the door. 

“Here,” you say, handing over Brian’s guitar, careful so that the strap of the case doesn’t catch onto your neck. Roger, as annoyed with Brian as he probably was in that moment, is a careful, if not more as he takes it from you—knowing Brian he’d probably faint at the sight of one dust particle settling on his Red Special.

“Thanks so much, Y/N, you’re the best—do you want to come to the back? Bri’s there probably studying—bloody nerd,” Roger snorts, but you shake your head, telling him that you really had to head out, and that you probably won’t even be able to make it to the show anyway. Roger looks puzzled, you and Brian had never not made time for each other.

“Oh. Well, I could call him over just so he doesn’t go looking for you later—“

“It’s fine, Rog. I’ve just got to head out.” You say rather bluntly.

“Is anything the matter, Y/N?” He asks, his brows furrowed in concern as you shrug it off, telling him you just feel a bit ill. Roger doesn’t seem convinced but he doesn’t press you. Instead he just maintains a polite demeanour as you bid him and the rest of the band a “good luck”.

As you exit the pub, the golden light of the afternoon sun seems almost too bright. A cold breeze blows by past you, strands of your hair blowing into your face as it does. You had tried not thinking about it but the more you tried the more you found she was all you could think about. And you didn’t even know who this girl was. You couldn’t help but let your mind linger on the thought of how much Brian wanted her. You take in a deep breath, looking out to lift your head towards the crowded street.

You loved Brian. You were certain now more than ever. And it was too late.

You felt a bit childish, creating this distance between yourself and Brian, but you couldn’t bring yourself to see him–not right not anyway.

—————————————————

that night, 1970, Brian’s perspective

Take your chances. Brian told himself. Roger’s right. No. No. No—

Maybe i should.

He’d been thinking of telling Y/N since winter. About how he felt—about her, about them. He always seemed to find the right words when he was with her. The trouble was that he could never say them to her—could never bring himself to out of fear that she wouldn’t feel the same, or that he’d ruined their friendship. Maybe it was selfish, but then again, maybe he wasn’t wrong. Instead his confessions were written across lined pages of his notebooks, page after page professing what he feared might have been love for this girl who was his friend. 

That one night in winter, Brian recalled how close her lips were, how her touches lingered, and how he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. His touches had lingered against her skin but she didn’t pull away. But maybe that was just wishful thinking. He’d never felt that close to her. All he ever seemed to do was replay that night, think of the sond of her laughter as the two of them snapped photograph after photograph. 

Although he didn’t know for certain he’d hoped from the way she’s looked at him that night that she might have felt the same way. He wanted to take her by the hand, take her some place they could be alone so he could finally tell her. In his mind when he thought of the day he somehow plucked up the courage to tell her, he’d hoped that she’d tell him she felt the same and that when his touches did linger she wouldn’t move away. All he ever did was hope for that moment, but the moment never came. 

And so here he was now, his back against the cool concrete of the wall, head hanging low as he waited with his bandmates to play their set for the night, trying to take his mind off of her for once.

———

The gig had gone by with what seemed like a matter of minutes. One second they were playing together in a dimply lit pub, singing to a crowd that seemed to be as loud as they were. Then the next, they were backstage, packing up their instruments hastily before the owner would eventually come in and usher them out for staying past their time-slot. Brian had stolen glances at the crowd, his gaze shifting through the audience, trying to find Y/N.

Brian weaves his way around Roger who’s preoccupied with taking down his drum kit, excusing himself as he heads back into the pub to look for Y/N. Once inside his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights as he’s faced with a group of students telling him he played well that night. Brian exchanges his thank-yous with them, nodding as he tries to look for Y/N, weaving past through them, his neck held high as he tries looking for her.

Brian worries, thinking if anything might have happened between when Roger last saw her just a few hours ago and now. Brian was just about to make his way to the payphone when he hears Tim call his name.

“Brian? D’you mind coming to the back again? I’m calling band meeting.” Tim says. He’s stood by the doorway, his bass slung across his shoulders as he avoided leaning on the poster plastered walls of the building. He held up his hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he waited for Brian.

Brian nods after a moment’s hesitation, before following Tim, who leads him out back to the lot where the van’s already loaded with all of their equipment. Everything with the exception of Tim’s bass guitar. Roger sits in the open back of the van, his feet tapping against the back of the wheels. 

“Did you see Y/N tonight Rog? She said she’d come.” Brian asks worriedly as he sits down next to him.

Roger shakes his head no, a knowing look on his face as shifts away from his friend’s gaze suddenly. “She seemed a bit out of it, mate,” he adds, trying to ease his friend’s worries. “I don’t think she was feeling well—might be sick.” 

Brian nods his head, although something tells him that even Roger himself wasn’t quite sure if he was telling the entire truth. 

Roger leans back,trying to change the conversation as he props his feet up onto the bumper. “Right then, Timothy, why have you called us out here?”

After a few moment’s hesitation, Tim tells the both of them that he’s thinking of leaving. He tells them that he’s not sure if Smile’s going anywhere. Brian stands up and tries talking him out of it, telling him they’ve just hit a slump in their careers, though he knows he’s right. Just when Roger joins in trying to talk him out of it, Tim tells the both of them that he’d gotten an offer to play with a different band. Brian isn’t able to speak, and neither can Roger.

“Let’s face it, guys. Smile’s going nowhere—I have to take my chances. I have to.” Tim says, his voice strained by some guilt, but still unwavering as he stands his ground. “I’m sorry,” is the last thing he says before he walks away.

 Despite their protests both Brian and Roger know that they can’t control their friend’s decisions. For a few minutes the two of them sit there, stunned in the parking lot, breathing in the cool air. After a few minutes the two of them begin waxing on about hypotheticals—who might work, who wouldn’t work, but the two of them eventually exhaust the conversation. The both of them, too tired to think or talk about it right now, much more willing to put it off as a problem for the morning. 

Brian and Roger spend the car ride in silence, aware that they’re a step further from where the both of them wanted to be in their lives. Not much words are exchanged as the both of them make their way to their flat and into their respective rooms.

Brian sits on the edge of his bed, feeling a weight pulling at his chest.  For a while he listens to the quiet, just sitting there in his room as a sliver of light from outside illuminates the photographs on his nightstand. He notices the stereo that Y/N gave her and the one of her. He smiles but quickly remembers tonight. 

Something about the way Roger had avoided his gaze tells him that something was wrong with Y/N. Of course she didn’t owe him an explanation, but he couldn’t let his anxieties cloud his thoughts—thoughts that told him maybe he’d been too overbearing—too needy, maybe he let his touches lingered for too long, suffocated her by needing to be around her too much and pushed her away. He knew those kind of thoughts had little truth in them, but part of him wanted to believe them.

He felt that familiar distance between the two of them, only now it seemed as thought they were a whole universe apart, lightyears away from each other.

Brian furrows his brows and hunches over to rest his head in his hands. He lets out a small groan of frustration, trying not to think about how he couldn’t seem to do anything in his life right. 

He wasn’t even good at what he thought he was good at—he feared the rest of the world might move on while he stayed still. As frustrated as Brian was with Tim he admired him for taking his chances. I could never be that brave, he thought. He was always too busy with his studies to focus on music, too scared to stand up against his dad, too scared of ruining things with Y/N to tell her how he felt.

He was going nowhere. Not with music, not with his studies, not with Y/N. What was perhaps the worst thing was that he still couldn’t admit to himself that he was in love with her. He was too scared. 

Brian would sing songs about her every day if he could. He could find every other word to describe how he felt about Y/N with the exception of one.

[themodernvedic]

What is the essence of Hinduism

Hinduism literally speaking is the religion of Hindus. Hindu is one who is a believer in any form of Brahmanism (one of the religions of India). In his lecture, delivered at the Parliament of Religions, at Chicago in Sept. 1893 Swami Vivekananda said, "Three religions stand in the world, which have come down to us from prehistoric times, Hinduism, Zoroastrianism and Judaism. They have all received tremendous shocks, and all of them can be proven by their survival, their inner strength. Sects after sects arose in India and unwillingly tried to shake and shatter the religion of the Vedas to its very foundation but like the waters of the seashore in a tremendous earthquake it receded only for a while, only to return in an all-absorbing flood - a thousand times more vigorous and when the tumult rush was over these sects were all sucked in, absorbed and assimilated into the immense body of the mother faith." http://youtube.com/watch?v=hi8g2h7mvMA Essence of true religion consists of nothing but the eternal truths and laws of the spiritual world. These principles have been discovered by the sages of ancient India. The degradation of Hindus took place because the life-giving principles of religion or Hinduism were applied in the practical life to solve social and national problems. Caste tyranny, loss of faith in their inherent powers and social neglect, reduced poor masses to mere cogs in the wheels of the exploitative machine, which was run by a few, powerful people. In reality if religion of the Vedas i.e. Hinduism was spread among the poor masses, it would awaken the dormant powers in them and they would be able to solve their own problems without any assistance.

Hindus were a philosophical race, whose conflicts were intellectual conflicts. Fortunately, India then was a country where the people had no lack of wealth, food and security. Having the Himalayas in the north and ocean on three sides, the country was free from the danger of foreign invasion. Nature was also favorable in such a place, in the Ashrams and Tapovans, the Indian rishis absorbed themselves in deeper truths of life which gave birth to the Indian philosophy. Dr. Radhakrishnan writes "The native utterances of the Vedic poets, the wondrous suggestiveness of the Upanishads, the marvelous psychological analysis of the Buddhists and the stupendous system of Shankara are quite as interesting and instinctive from the cultural point of view of the system of Plato, Aristotle, Kant and Hegel, if only we study them in true scientific frame of mind, without disrespect for the past or contempt for the alien" which is interesting and instructive from a cultural point of view Philosophy had a great impact and importance in India especially to Hinduism from the earliest times. "Darshan" as philosophy is called, etymologically means, "Seeing". This seeing is possible by perceptual observation direct experience, inference or self-realization. Indian philosophy recognizes that truth can never be self-contradictory. Therefore, in order to realize the distinction and relation of philosophy and religion i.e. Hinduism in the present context, we must first know what religion is. The word religion includes two Latin terms "Religio and Onis". Re-means again, ligio means to bind. Literally speaking religion binds a man to his source. Philosophers have emphasized one or the other aspect of it. Some important approaches in this connection are as follows: Intellectual Approach: Religion is clearly a state of mind. Moral Approach: Religion is nothing but morality touched with emotion Axiological Approach: God cannot be called the highest value because there is no un-valued phenomenon with which God can be contrasted.

Various definitions of Hinduism as a religion. Hinduism is a complex phenomenon in which one finds attitudes and feelings towards ultimate reality or God. From the definition of religion given by Sri Aurobindo, Hinduism appears to be highly comprehensive. To quote him "in most, essence of religion... is the search for God and finding of God. Its work is sincere giving out of the true and ultimate relation between man and God, relation of unity, relation of difference, relation of an illuminated knowledge and ecstatic love and delight, and absolute surrender and service, casting of every part of our existence of its normal status into up rush of man towards the Divine and descent of divine into man". This is true even today when we talk of Modern Hinduism. Our age is known as the atomic age. By controlling atomic energy man has achieved things which were formerly beyond his imagination. In the form of atom bombs he has developed an instrument of destruction whose after effects can be seen years after its use. Many nations, developed or even underdeveloped, of the world are busy in piling up such destructive weapons and many other nations are trying to copy them. This has made the thinkers of the world to worry about the future of man because an atomic war will not only lead to destruction and death but also deformities of crores of people and poisoning of the atmosphere and water to the extent of making human life practically impossible on this planet. But international peace and cooperation cannot be achieved through science alone because science is unable to do anything in this situation. This on the other hand is a moral and spiritual problem. For example, the philosophy of the Gita and the Upanishads may be found to be the most useful to a man at the present juncture. Hence it can be said that in this atomic age, science is more in need of philosophy than it has ever been. Ancient Indian thinkers of Hinduism have suggested different paths for reaching God or Truth, which is relevant in modern times also. These are classified into three chief paths of action, knowledge and devotion. In fact, these are the phases or the three different layers of every human mind.

Here we shall take the path of action. This is just like the choice between what is right and what is wrong, the good and the evil. One has to follow the right way and give up the wrong way. Gradually the evil will be eliminated and the good will be established which will ultimately lead one to godliness/ divinity. The question that now arises is, how to ascertain which action is good and which is evil Mahavir's advice is to walk carefully so that we do not tread over, even an ant. On the other hand, Lord Krishna advises Arjuna to fight the evil forces because no one dies, as the soul is immortal In ancient times Sri Rama accepted and abided by all limitations and restrictions of the society, and that is why he is called "Maryada Purshotam" while Shri Krishna who disregarded all social limitations and restrictions is still called "Yogeshwara Krishna". On the one hand Sita is adored as she never even saw the face of another man except her husband Rama but on the other hand Draupadi who was the wife of five Pandavas is regarded as a virtuous lady. Yudhisthira had staked his wife in a game of dice and yet he is called Dharam Raj. Bhishma was a witness to the disrobing of Draupadi and did nothing to avoid that incident, yet he is called an apostle of morality and righteousness. Parashurama killed his mother at the behest of his father and is yet called a great rishi. Therefore, no universal standard can be set for deciding what is good and what is evil. It deals with doing, not with being. As long as one does not know his inner self all his actions are cravings of the mind for the fulfillment of desires. That is why Indra says "in the very first instance try and realize what the Atman is so that all your doubts are answered. Socrates has said, "know thy self". Modern vision of Hinduism warrants us to rededicate ourselves to the pursuit of knowing the Self, because we possess spiritual wealth that can end all our woes. Secondly, we must inculcate a sense of unity and identity. Self-realization is the real definition of Hinduism. Taittiriya Upanishad declares in Tantra III-1 यतो वा इमानि भूतानि जायन्ते येन जातानि जीवन्ति । यं प्रयन्ति अभिसंविशान्ति तज्जिज्ञासस्व तदेव ब्रह्म ॥ "That from which all those beings come into existence, that by which they live, that into which they are finally absorbed, know that be the eternal verity - the Absolute" Once in the Ashram of Ramana Maharshi a visitor made display of his knowledge by enumerating the various paths described by various masters along with quoting the western philosophers. He inquired "one says one thing and the other says something else, which way should I go?" Ramana Maharshi rose to leave the hall, he replied curtly "Go back the way you came". Speaking about the intellectual persons, Shri Ramana Maharshi has said, "They have made themselves like a gramophone. What else are they, Oh Arunachala? It is the unlearned who are saved, rather those whose ego has not subsided despite their learning. It is sincerity that is required and not brilliance or understanding of theory, humility, and not mental pride". Read the full article

[scifigeneration]

The end of the world: a history of how a silent cosmos led humans to fear the worst

by Thomas Moynihan

NASA

It is 1950 and a group of scientists are walking to lunch against the majestic backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. They are about to have a conversation that will become scientific legend. The scientists are at the Los Alamos Ranch School, the site for the Manhattan Project, where each of the group has lately played their part in ushering in the atomic age.

They are laughing about a recent cartoon in the New Yorker offering an unlikely explanation for a slew of missing public trash cans across New York City. The cartoon had depicted “little green men” (complete with antenna and guileless smiles) having stolen the bins, assiduously unloading them from their flying saucer.

By the time the party of nuclear scientists sits down to lunch, within the mess hall of a grand log cabin, one of their number turns the conversation to matters more serious. “Where, then, is everybody?”, he asks. They all know that he is talking – sincerely – about extraterrestrials.

The question, which was posed by Enrico Fermi and is now known as Fermi’s Paradox, has chilling implications.

Bin-stealing UFOs notwithstanding, humanity still hasn’t found any evidence of intelligent activity among the stars. Not a single feat of “astro-engineering”, no visible superstructures, not one space-faring empire, not even a radio transmission. It has been argued that the eerie silence from the sky above may well tell us something ominous about the future course of our own civilisation.

Such fears are ramping up. Last year, the astrophysicist Adam Frank implored an audience at Google that we see climate change – and the newly baptised geological age of the Anthropocene – against this cosmological backdrop. The Anthropocene refers to the effects of humanity’s energy-intensive activities upon Earth. Could it be that we do not see evidence of space-faring galactic civilisations because, due to resource exhaustion and subsequent climate collapse, none of them ever get that far? If so, why should we be any different?

A few months after Frank’s talk, in October 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s update on global warming caused a stir. It predicted a sombre future if we do not decarbonise. And in May, amid Extinction Rebellion’s protests, a new climate report upped the ante, warning: “Human life on earth may be on the way to extinction.”

Meanwhile, NASA has been publishing press releases about an asteroid set to hit New York within a month. This is, of course, a dress rehearsal: part of a “stress test” designed to simulate responses to such a catastrophe. NASA is obviously fairly worried by the prospect of such a disaster event – such simulations are costly.

Space tech Elon Musk has also been relaying his fears about artificial intelligence to YouTube audiences of tens of millions. He and others worry that the ability for AI systems to rewrite and self-improve themselves may trigger a sudden runaway process, or “intelligence explosion”, that will leave us far behind – an artificial superintelligence need not even be intentionally malicious in order to accidentally wipe us out.

In 2015, Musk donated to Oxford’s Future of Humanity Institute, headed up by transhumanist Nick Bostrom. Nestled within the university’s medieval spires, Bostrom’s institute scrutinises the long-term fate of humanity and the perils we face at a truly cosmic scale, examining the risks of things such as climate, asteroids and AI. It also looks into less well-publicised issues. Universe destroying physics experiments, gamma-ray bursts, planet-consuming nanotechnology and exploding supernovae have all come under its gaze.

So it would seem that humanity is becoming more and more concerned with portents of human extinction. As a global community, we are increasingly conversant with increasingly severe futures. Something is in the air.

But this tendency is not actually exclusive to the post-atomic age: our growing concern about extinction has a history. We have been becoming more and more worried for our future for quite some time now. My PhD research tells the story of how this began. No one has yet told this story, yet I feel it is an important one for our present moment.

I wanted to find out how current projects, such as the Future of Humanity Institute, emerge as offshoots and continuations of an ongoing project of “enlightenment” that we first set ourselves over two centuries ago. Recalling how we first came to care for our future helps reaffirm why we should continue to care today.

Extinction, 200 years ago

In 1816, something was also in the air. It was a 100-megaton sulfate aerosol layer. Girdling the planet, it was made up of material thrown into the stratosphere by the eruption of Mount Tambora, in Indonesia, the previous year. It was one of the biggest volcanic eruptions since civilisation emerged during the Holocene.

Mount Tambora’s crater. Wikimedia Commons/NASA

Almost blotting out the sun, Tambora’s fallout caused a global cascade of harvest collapse, mass famine, cholera outbreak and geopolitical instability. And it also provoked the first popular fictional depictions of human extinction. These came from a troupe of writers including Lord Byron, Mary Shelley and Percy Shelley.

The group had been holidaying together in Switzerland when titanic thunderstorms, caused by Tambora’s climate perturbations, trapped them inside their villa. Here they discussed humanity’s long-term prospects.

Read more: Why a volcano, Frankenstein, and the summer of 1816 are relevant to the Anthropocene

Clearly inspired by these conversations and by 1816’s hellish weather, Byron immediately set to work on a poem entitled “Darkness”. It imagines what would happen if our sun died:

I had a dream, which was not all a dream The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air

Detailing the ensuing sterilisation of our biosphere, it caused a stir. And almost 150 years later, against the backdrop of escalating Cold War tensions, the Bulletin for Atomic Scientists again called upon Byron’s poem to illustrate the severity of nuclear winter.

Two years later, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (perhaps the first book on synthetic biology) refers to the potential for the lab-born monster to outbreed and exterminate Homo sapiens as a competing species. By 1826, Mary went on to publish The Last Man. This was the first full-length novel on human extinction, depicted here at the hands of pandemic pathogen.

Boris Karloff plays Frankenstein’s monster, 1935. Wikimedia Commons

Beyond these speculative fictions, other writers and thinkers had already discussed such threats. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in 1811, daydreamed in his private notebooks about our planet being “scorched by a close comet and still rolling on – cities men-less, channels riverless, five mile deep”. In 1798, Mary Shelley’s father, the political thinker William Godwin, queried whether our species would “continue forever”?

While just a few years earlier, Immanuel Kant had pessimistically proclaimed that global peace may be achieved “only in the vast graveyard of the human race”. He would, soon after, worry about a descendent offshoot of humanity becoming more intelligent and pushing us aside.

Earlier still, in 1754, philosopher David Hume had declared that “man, equally with every animal and vegetable, will partake” in extinction. Godwin noted that “some of the profoundest enquirers” had lately become concerned with “the extinction of our species”.

In 1816, against the backdrop of Tambora’s glowering skies, a newspaper article drew attention to this growing murmur. It listed numerous extinction threats. From global refrigeration to rising oceans to planetary conflagration, it spotlighted the new scientific concern for human extinction. The “probability of such a disaster is daily increasing”, the article glibly noted. Not without chagrin, it closed by stating: “Here, then, is a very rational end of the world!”

Tambora’s dust-cloud created ominous sunsets, such as this one painted by Turner, c. 1830–5. © Tate, CC BY-NC-ND

Before this, we thought the universe was busy

So if people first started worrying about human extinction in the 18th century, where was the notion beforehand? There is enough apocalypse in scripture to last until judgement day, surely. But extinction has nothing to do with apocalypse. The two ideas are utterly different, even contradictory.

For a start, apocalyptic prophecies are designed to reveal the ultimate moral meaning of things. It’s in the name: apocalypse means revelation. Extinction, by direct contrast, reveals precisely nothing and this is because it instead predicts the end of meaning and morality itself – if there are no humans, there is nothing humanly meaningful left.

And this is precisely why extinction matters. Judgement day allows us to feel comfortable knowing that, in the end, the universe is ultimately in tune with what we call “justice”. Nothing was ever truly at stake. On the other hand, extinction alerts us to the fact that everything we hold dear has always been in jeopardy. In other words, everything is at stake.

Extinction was not much discussed before 1700 due to a background assumption, widespread prior to the Enlightenment, that it is the nature of the cosmos to be as full as moral value and worth as is possible. This, in turn, led people to assume that all other planets are populated with “living and thinking beings” exactly like us.

Although it only became a truly widely accepted fact after Copernicus and Kepler in the 16th and 17th centuries, the idea of plural worlds certainly dates back to antiquity, with intellectuals from Epicurus to Nicholas of Cusa proposing them to be inhabited with lifeforms similar to our own. And, in a cosmos that is infinitely populated with humanoid beings, such beings – and their values – can never fully go extinct.

Star cluster Messier 13 in Hercules, 1877. Wikimedia Commons

In the 1660s, Galileo confidently declared that an entirely uninhabited or unpopulated world is “naturally impossible” on account of it being “morally unjustifiable”. Gottfried Leibniz later pronounced that there simply cannot be anything entirely “fallow, sterile, or dead in the universe”.

Along the same lines, the trailblazing scientist Edmond Halley (after whom the famous comet is named) reasoned in 1753 that the interior of our planet must likewise be “inhabited”. It would be “unjust” for any part of nature to be left “unoccupied” by moral beings, he argued.

Around the same time Halley provided the first theory on a “mass extinction event”. He speculated that comets had previously wiped out entire “worlds” of species. Nonetheless, he also maintained that, after each previous cataclysm “human civilisation had reliably re-emerged”. And it would do so again. Only this, he said could make such an event morally justifiable.

Later, in the 1760s, the philosopher Denis Diderot was attending a dinner party when he was asked whether humans would go extinct. He answered “yes”, but immediately qualified this by saying that after several millions of years the “biped animal who carries the name man” would inevitably re-evolve.

This is what the contemporary planetary scientist Charles Lineweaver identifies as the “Planet of the Apes Hypothesis”. This refers to the misguided presumption that “human-like intelligence” is a recurrent feature of cosmic evolution: that alien biospheres will reliably produce beings like us. This is what is behind the wrong-headed assumption that, should we be wiped out today, something like us will inevitably return tomorrow.

Back in Diderot’s time, this assumption was pretty much the only game in town. It was why one British astronomer wrote, in 1750, that the destruction of our planet would matter as little as “Birth-Days or Mortalities” do down on Earth.

This was typical thinking at the time. Within the prevailing worldview of eternally returning humanoids throughout an infinitely populated universe, there was simply no pressure or need to care for the future. Human extinction simply couldn’t matter. It was trivialised to the point of being unthinkable.

For the same reasons, the idea of the “future” was also missing. People simply didn’t care about it in the way we do now. Without the urgency of a future riddled with risk, there was no motivation to be interested in it, let alone attempt to predict and preempt it.

It was the dismantling of such dogmas, beginning in the 1700s and ramping up in the 1800s, that set the stage for the enunciation of Fermi’s Paradox in the 1900s and leads to our growing appreciation for our cosmic precariousness today.

But then we realised the skies are silent

In order to truly care about our mutable position down here, we first had to notice that the cosmic skies above us are crushingly silent. Slowly at first, though soon after gaining momentum, this realisation began to take hold around the same time that Diderot had his dinner party.

One of the first examples of a different mode of thinking I’ve found is from 1750, when the French polymath Claude-Nicholas Le Cat wrote a history of the earth. Like Halley, he posited the now familiar cycles of “ruin and renovation”. Unlike Halley, he was conspicuously unclear as to whether humans would return after the next cataclysm. A shocked reviewer picked up on this, demanding to know whether “Earth shall be re-peopled with new inhabitants”. In reply, the author facetiously asserted that our fossil remains would “gratify the curiosity of the new inhabitants of the new world, if there be any”. The cycle of eternally returning humanoids was unwinding.

In line with this, the French encyclopaedist Baron d’Holbach ridiculed the “conjecture that other planets, like our own, are inhabited by beings resembling ourselves”. He noted that precisely this dogma – and the related belief that the cosmos is inherently full of moral value – had long obstructed appreciation that the human species could permanently “disappear” from existence. By 1830, the German philosopher F W J Schelling declared it utterly naive to go on presuming “that humanoid beings are found everywhere and are the ultimate end”.

Figures illustrating articles on astronomy, from the 1728 Cyclopaedia. Wikimedia Commons

And so, where Galileo had once spurned the idea of a dead world, the German astronomer Wilhelm Olbers proposed in 1802 that the Mars-Jupiter asteroid belt in fact constitutes the ruins of a shattered planet. Troubled by this, Godwin noted that this would mean that the creator had allowed part of “his creation” to become irremediably “unoccupied”. But scientists were soon computing the precise explosive force needed to crack a planet – assigning cold numbers where moral intuitions once prevailed. Olbers calculated a precise timeframe within which to expect such an event befalling Earth. Poets began writing of “bursten worlds”.

The cosmic fragility of life was becoming undeniable. If Earth happened to drift away from the sun, one 1780s Parisian diarist imagined that interstellar coldness would “annihilate the human race, and the earth rambling in the void space, would exhibit a barren, depopulated aspect”. Soon after, the Italian pessimist Giacomo Leopardi envisioned the same scenario. He said that, shorn of the sun’s radiance, humanity would “all die in the dark, frozen like pieces of rock crystal”.

Galileo’s inorganic world was now a chilling possibility. Life, finally, had become cosmically delicate. Ironically, this appreciation came not from scouring the skies above but from probing the ground below. Early geologists, during the later 1700s, realised that Earth has its own history and that organic life has not always been part of it. Biology hasn’t even been a permanent fixture down here on Earth – why should it be one elsewhere? Coupled with growing scientific proof that many species had previously become extinct, this slowly transformed our view of the cosmological position of life as the 19th century dawned.

Copper engraving of a pterodactyl fossil discovered by the Italian scientist Cosimo Alessandro Collini in 1784. Wikimedia Commons

Seeing death in the stars

And so, where people like Diderot looked up into the cosmos in the 1750s and saw a teeming petri dish of humanoids, writers such as Thomas de Quincey were, by 1854, gazing upon the Orion nebula and reporting that they saw only a gigantic inorganic “skull” and its lightyear-long rictus grin.

The astronomer William Herschel had, already in 1814, realised that looking out into the galaxy one is looking into a “kind of chronometer”. Fermi would spell it out a century after de Quincey, but people were already intuiting the basic notion: looking out into dead space, we may just be looking into our own future.

Early drawings of Orion’s nebula by R.S. Newall, 1884. © Cambridge University, CC BY

People were becoming aware that the appearance of intelligent activity on Earth should not be taken for granted. They began to see that it is something distinct – something that stands out against the silent depths of space. Only through realising that what we consider valuable is not the cosmological baseline did we come to grasp that such values are not necessarily part of the natural world. Realising this was also realising that they are entirely our own responsibility. And this, in turn, summoned us to the modern projects of prediction, preemption and strategising. It is how we came to care about our future.

As soon as people first started discussing human extinction, possible preventative measures were suggested. Bostrom now refers to this as “macrostrategy”. However, as early as the 1720s, the French diplomat Benoît de Maillet was suggesting gigantic feats of geoengineering that could be leveraged to buffer against climate collapse. The notion of humanity as a geological force has been around ever since we started thinking about the long-term – it is only recently that scientists have accepted this and given it a name: “Anthropocene”.

Will technology save us?

It wasn’t long before authors began conjuring up highly technologically advanced futures aimed at protecting against existential threat. The eccentric Russian futurologist Vladimir Odoevskii, writing in the 1830s and 1840s, imagined humanity engineering the global climate and installing gigantic machines to “repulse” comets and other threats, for example. Yet Odoevskii was also keenly aware that with self-responsibility comes risk: the risk of abortive failure. Accordingly, he was also the very first author to propose the possibility that humanity might destroy itself with its own technology.

Acknowledgement of this plausibility, however, is not necessarily an invitation to despair. And it remains so. It simply demonstrates appreciation of the fact that, ever since we realised that the universe is not teeming with humans, we have come to appreciate that the fate of humanity lies in our hands. We may yet prove unfit for this task, but – then as now – we cannot rest assured believing that humans, or something like us, will inevitably reappear – here or elsewhere.

Beginning in the late 1700s, appreciation of this has snowballed into our ongoing tendency to be swept up by concern for the deep future. Current initiatives, such as Bostrom’s Future of Humanity Institute, can be seen as emerging from this broad and edifying historical sweep. From ongoing demands for climate justice to dreams of space colonisation, all are continuations and offshoots of a tenacious task that we first began to set for ourselves two centuries ago during the Enlightenment when we first realised that, in an otherwise silent universe, we are responsible for the entire fate of human value.

It may be solemn, but becoming concerned for humanity’s extinction is nothing other than realising one’s obligation to strive for unceasing self-betterment. Indeed, ever since the Enlightenment, we have progressively realised that we must think and act ever-better because, should we not, we may never think or act again. And that seems – to me at least – like a very rational end of the world.

About The Author:

Thomas Moynihan is a Ph.D. Candidate at the University of Oxford

This article is republished from our content partners at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

This article is part of Conversation Insights

The Conversation’s Insights team generates long-form journalism derived from interdisciplinary research. The team is working with academics from different backgrounds who have been engaged in projects aimed at tackling societal and scientific challenges. In generating these narratives, we hope to bring areas of interdisciplinary research to a wider audience.

You can read more Insights stories here.

[gekuximi-blog]

How to Choose Kaliningrad Visa

https://de.ivisa.com/kaliningrad-visa

The debut of electronic visas can result in migration, criminogenic and other risks which are hard to calculate, or so the procedure is going to be carried out in stages.  An e-visa doesn't extend the validity period of a normal visa.  You ought to make sure you have all the required visas for the length of your travel.

If you're a citizen of a country on the next list, you are needed to get a Schengen visa in order to see the Schengen nations.  There are several sorts of Russian visa. You ought to keep the other part by means of your passport.

Only the headline was changed. Yes, there's no distinctive exception.   The list of countries whose citizens will have the ability to use e-visas is currently at the phase of formation and will later be accepted by the Government of the Russian Federation.

What Kaliningrad Visa Is - and What it Is Not Historically speaking, it hasn't been easy for tourists to go to Russia.  If you want to travel overland between Kaliningrad and other parts of Russia, you'll need no less than a double-entry visa as a way to exit and re-enter Russia.  There are a number of different varieties of visas to go to Russia.

It will be essential to apply for a different kind of visa to be able to travel to other areas of Russia.  Nationals of 53 states are qualified for an e-visa.  My plan was supposed to receive a train from Gdansk to Kaliningrad.

The photo has to have no frames.  Flash reflection off the lenses, and tinted lenses aren't allowed (if you can, avoid heavy frames wear lighter framed glasses, if you've got them).  In regard to tourism, there are a couple things worth seeing.

When the application is finished, applicants should pay the fee and watch for a confirmation email.  The payment confirms the grade of the service.  Schedules are subject to change, it's advised to consult the business's website at.

The Foolproof Kaliningrad Visa Strategy For instance, a lot of the worldwide expatriate medical insurance businesses and expatriate banking providers are based in the united kingdom.  Automated banking machines can be found in all key cities and towns.  It is relatively good.

The Benefits of Kaliningrad Visa You will be liable for paying the price of the stay.  It's possible to submit the applicationhere but it's impossible to yet as ticket approvals have yet to be sent out yet.  Driving rules are usually the same as in most European nations, but a lot of them don't comply with the rules, particularly during rush hour in the city.

It's possible to have a boat cruise that stops over.  It's far better to purchase your ticket beforehand, seats are numbered.  If travelers want to learn more about the nation but don't want to experience the hoops of receiving an invitation letter or needing to go to a neighborhood embassy, they can make an application for a Kaliningrad visa instead.

The ideal way to learn more about the city is by bus.  The amber business is still a crucial company in the city and attracts thousands of visitors annually.  Kaliningrad is the sole Russian Baltic Sea port that's ice-free all year round and hence has an important part in maintenance of the Baltic Fleet.

If you're found intoxicated in a public area, you might be detained and might be taken to a sobering-up centre, where you might need to devote the evening.  It is essential that if you're preparing the trip by yourself, that you speak with the hotel regarding your invitation.  The region was known from classical antiquity as a principal source of amber in Europe.

| Kaliningrad Visa - Overview The photo must demonstrate the peak of your head and the surface of your shoulders.  Yes, there's no distinctive exception.  The list of countries whose citizens will have the ability to use e-visas is currently at the phase of formation and will later be accepted by the Government of the Russian Federation.

It is possible to submit the application here but it's not feasible to yet as ticket approvals have never been sent out yet.  You need a present-day U.S. passport with the right visa.  Those eligible won't be asked to pay a visit to an embassy or consulate and instead will just be asked to submit an application for a visa online.

Just about all embassies and consulates need medical certification you aren't HIV positive if you're planning to go to Russia on a business visa.  In 2019, citizens from eligible countries who intend to come to Russia will have the ability to find an electronic entry visa by completing an internet application.  If you intend to sightsee on your own you have to have a tourist visa.

Life, Death and Kaliningrad Visa Public transportation Tickets have to be validated at the beginning of any trip.  The visa, nevertheless, isn't valid for travel to other sections of the Russian Federation.  Driving rules are usually the same as in most European nations, but a lot of them don't comply with the rules, particularly during rush hour in the city.

It's possible to have a boat cruise that stops over.  You must be sleeping on the boat every evening.  The tour here makes it possible for you the chance to see several old structures that have survived from German times.

If You Read Nothing Else Today, Read This Report on Kaliningrad Visa The ideal way to learn more about the city is by bus.  The amber business is still a crucial company in the city and attracts thousands of visitors annually.  The island of Kant, previously known as the island of Kneiphof, is situated in the center of the Pregolya River.

If you're found intoxicated in a public area, you might be detained and might be taken to a sobering-up centre, where you might need to devote the evening.  A lot of the historic substance remains though, and there are plenty of districts and a couple of monuments from pre-war times.   The region was known from classical antiquity as a principal source of amber in Europe.

A Secret Weapon for Kaliningrad Visa As the amount of worldwide expatriates continues to rise, it's very likely that an increasing amount of international companies create specific goods, services and expatriate media to serve the requirements of this target group. You should also think about checking with your transport provider or travel company to make certain your passport and other travel documents satisfy their requirements. It isn't surprising that British businesses are also leading the way in regards to creating special expatriate services.

Historically speaking, it hasn't been easy for tourists to go to Russia.  If you intend to travel overland between Kaliningrad and other parts of Russia and you're a visa national, you will have to have no less than a normal double entry visa so as to exit and re-enter Russia.  There are a number of different varieties of visas to go to Russia.

Foreigners entering Russia is going to be fingerprinted.  In addition, Taiwanese nationals are now able to use the e-visa system at the completely free port of Vladivostok.  Getting into Russia is easy if you're on a cruise or organized group.

You don't need to be a Member to come to a HU meeting, access the site, the HUBB or maybe to get the e-zine.  Traveller's cheques are frequently not accepted.  Schedules are subject to change, it's advised to consult the business's website at.

The photo has to have no frames.  You will require a personal invitation from those who receive you.  In regard to tourism, there are a couple things worth seeing.

| The photo has to have no frames.  You will require a personal invitation from those who receive you.  The paper that's completed on the government-approved blank will demand a long waiting time.

The debut of the Kaliningrad eVisa comes as changes start to get implemented with respect to Russia's visa system and modernizing the process for foreigners who want to go to the country.  Prior to applying for a Kaliningrad eVisa, it is going to be essential to verify that you're ready to apply.  Starting from July 1, it's going to be possible to go to the Kaliningrad region employing an electronic visa.

Foreigners entering Russia is going to be fingerprinted.  However, please be aware that it is only going to allow visa holders to pay a visit to Kaliningrad and doesn't offer entry to other pieces of Russia.  You are able to make an application for eVisa at Russia's MFA site.

You don't need to be a Member to come to a HU meeting, access the site, the HUBB or maybe to get the e-zine.  Traveller's cheques are frequently not accepted.  Schedules are subject to change, it's advised to consult the business's website at.

The Little-Known Secrets to Kaliningrad Visa For instance, a lot of the worldwide expatriate medical insurance businesses and expatriate banking providers are based in the united kingdom.  Automated banking machines can be found in all key cities and towns.  The general public transportation system is extremely great.

You will be liable for paying the price of the stay.  It's possible to submit the applicationhere but it's impossible to yet as ticket approvals have yet to be sent out yet.  Driving rules are usually the same as in most European nations, but a lot of them don't comply with the rules, particularly during rush hour in the city.

It's possible to have a boat cruise that stops over.  You must be sleeping on the boat every evening.  The tour here makes it possible for you the chance to see several old structures that have survived from German times.

The photo must demonstrate the peak of your head and the surface of your shoulders.  Obviously, there were not any borders then.  The list of countries whose citizens will have the ability to use e-visas is currently at the phase of formation and will later be accepted by the Government of the Russian Federation.

What You Should Do to Find Out About Kaliningrad Visa Before You're Left Behind There are many visa agencies that can give you with this business invitation.  You need a present-day U.S. passport with the right visa.   Those eligible won't be asked to pay a visit to an embassy or consulate and instead will just be asked to submit an application for a visa online.

Just about all embassies and consulates need medical certification you aren't HIV positive if you're planning to go to Russia on a business visa.  In 2019, citizens from eligible countries who intend to come to Russia will have the ability to find an electronic entry visa by completing an internet application.  You ought to keep the other part by means of your passport.

The Unexpected Truth About Kaliningrad Visa If you wish to get a sense of how Russians live outside Moscow and St Petersburg, it's an exemplary alternative.  The Kaliningrad Zoo is likewise an arboretum.  If museums aren't your thing take an opportunity to find your very own small bit of amber when walking along the Baltic Sea shore.

If you're found intoxicated in a public area, you might be detained and might be taken to a sobering-up centre, where you might need to devote the evening.  It is essential that if you're preparing the trip by yourself, that you speak with the hotel regarding your invitation.  If you're considering entering Russia by road, you are going to have to take an alternate route through a different nation.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN FOUNDERS

If you ever got me, you wouldn't have a clue what to do: look at what happens to those who win lotteries or inherit money. Isn't the pointy-haired bosses. In OO languages, you can, even if you forget the experience or what you read, its effect on your model of the world. There is a very sharp dropoff in performance among VC firms, because in many cases the language layer won't have to change at all. Then I'm worried. VC firm will not screw you too outrageously, because other founders would avoid them if word got out. Large-scale investors tend to put startups in three categories: successes, failures, and the distinction between the spikes and the average becomes sharper, like a digital image rendered with more pixels. And the big hits often look risky at first. The problem is, for the company to have a low valuation. In fact, if you have a browser on your cell phone? N elements.

But as well as Lisp, so they get the pick of all the parts, as ITA presumably does, you can make the search results useless, because the first results could be dominated by lame sites that had bid the most. If you want to work on what you like, and let people design whatever object systems they want as libraries. Will there be a phone in your palm pilot?1 So the total number of new shares to the angel; if there were 1000 shares before the deal, the capitalization table looks like this: shareholder shares percent—VCs 650 33.2 My guess is that the concepts we use in everyday life that you don't have time for your ideas to evolve, and b you're often forced to take deals you don't like it. I suppose I should learn Lisp, but it is a byword for impossibility.3 Though the first philosophers in the western tradition lived about 2500 years ago, and even have bad service, and people will keep coming. 5 are now widespread. That idea is not exactly novel. If VCs got de facto control of the company 2/4 2. You can start by writing things that are useful but very specific, and then think about how to make money, but what you'd like to be able to avoid the usual chicken and egg problem new protocols face, because some of the most important things you can understand about startups.

The difference between then and now is that now I understand why Berkeley is probably not worth trying to understand.4 Neither Bill Gates nor Mark Zuckerberg knew at first how big their companies were going to spend the weekend at a friend's house for dinner. VCs also insist that prior to the deal the option pool is down to 13. We were compelled by circumstances to grow slowly, and in particular, Internet startups are still only a fraction of what the finished product will do, but that dramatic peaks can only be achieved by people with certain rare, innate qualities; nearly anyone can learn to be a complete picture. Could you describe the person as an animal? That scenario may seem unlikely now, but Fortran I didn't have them.5 The goal is the same as intelligence.6 All they need is a language that actually seems better than others that are available, there will be no more great new stuff beyond whatever's currently in the pipeline for several years after, and finally issued in 2003.7 Don't hire people to fill the gaps in some a priori org chart. That's what happened with domestic servants. Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you get less dilution.8

So someone investigated, and sure enough, that patent application had continued in the pipeline for several years after, and finally issued in 2003. And yet this guy will be almost entirely overlooked by the press. These heaps o' boilerplate are a problem for small startups, because it's always the oldest it's ever been.9 If you work hard at being a bond trader for ten years, thinking that you'll quit and write novels when you have enough money to pay a little more equity, but being slightly underfunded teaches them an important lesson. This is understandable with angels; they invest on a smaller scale and don't like to get across about startups, that's it. So when I ran into the Yahoo exec I knew from working there in the late 1950s. I know a lot of people wish that hacking was mathematics, or at least to know what they want from me. Probably because the product was a dog, or never seemed likely to be smarter. Barely usable, I admit, this is true.

We might have to give definite if implicit advice will keep us from straying beyond the resolution of the words we're using.10 Maybe mostly in one hub, and it seems to consume all your attention. But I have a hunch that the main branches of the evolutionary tree pass through the languages that have the right kind of place for developing software. They're not pretending; they want to believe you're a hot prospect, because it is the cool, new programming language. And this tradition had so long to develop that nontechnical people like managers and venture capitalists also learned it. Some languages are better than either of them?11 At the very least, you're supposed to be working on their company, not worrying about investors. They'd rather lose the deal than establish a precedent of VCs competitively bidding against one another. Wall Street's language. Since people interested in designing programming languages, a lot of good publicity for the VCs.

Notes

Kant.

Even the cheap kinds of startups will generally raise large amounts of money from it.

There's a good plan in which internal limits are expressed.

And the reason the US. Bankers continued to dress in jeans and t-shirt, they're probably a real partner. Record labels, for many Americans the decisive change in how Stripe felt. You have to do business with any firm employing anyone who had died decades ago.

I find hardest to get going, e. Economic inequality has been decreasing globally. Microsoft, incidentally, that all metaphysics between Aristotle and 1783 had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the end of World War II had become so common that their system can't be buying users; that's the situation you find known boring ideas intolerable. This has, like arithmetic drills, instead of crawling back repentant at the network level, because the illiquidity of progress puts them at the lack of movement between companies combined with self-imposed.

The wave of hostile takeovers in the country. This seems unlikely at the end of economic inequality is not to pay employees this way, they'd be called acting Japanese. This sentence originally read GMail is painfully slow. Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them.

That's the difference between being judged as a type of product for it.

If you actually started acting like adults.

The existence of people. Why go to college, you'll be well on your own mind. All languages are equally powerful in the sort of wealth—that startups usually lose money at all.

This includes mere conventions, like the intrusive ads popular on Delicious, but trained on corpora of stupid and non-broken form, that it killed the best in the sense that if the present, and FreeBSD 1.

And while they may try allowing up to the principles they discovered. Xxvii. Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, but art is a big change in the cover story of creation in the US News list?

Thanks to Chad Fowler, Patrick Collison, Dan Giffin, Geoff Ralston, Trevor Blackwell, and Stan Reiss for the lulz.

[yeshrakhabaruchhu]

REMEMBER, DON’T FORGET

The Politics of Memory Eikev 5779

In Eikev Moses sets out a political doctrine of such wisdom that it can never become redundant or obsolete. He does it by way of a pointed contrast between the ideal to which Israel is called, and the danger with which it is faced. This is the ideal:

Observe the commands of the Lord your God, walking in His ways and revering Him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land – a land with streams and pools of water, with springs flowing in the valleys and hills; a land with wheat and barley, vines and fig trees, pomegranates, olive oil and honey; a land where bread will not be scarce and you will lack nothing; a land where the rocks are iron and you can dig copper out of the hills. When you have eaten and are satisfied, bless the Lord your God for the good land He has given you. (Deut. 8:6–10)

And this is the danger:

Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God, failing to observe His commands, His laws, and His decrees that I am giving you this day. Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery…. You may say to yourself, “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.” But remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms His covenant, which He swore to your forefathers, as it is today. (Deut. 8:11–17)

The two passages follow directly on from one another. They are linked by the phrase “when you have eaten and are satisfied,” and the contrast between them is a fugue between the verbs “to remember” and “to forget.”

Good things, says Moses, will happen to you. Everything, however, will depend on how you respond. Either you will eat and be satisfied and bless God, remembering that all things come from Him – or you will eat and be satisfied and forget to whom you owe all this. You will think it comes entirely from your own efforts: “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.” Although this may seem a small difference, it will, says Moses, make all the difference. This alone will turn your future as a nation in its own land.

Moses’ argument is brilliant and counter-intuitive. You may think, he says, that the hard times are behind you. You have wandered for forty years without a home. There were times when you had no water, no food. You were exposed to the elements. You were attacked by your enemies. You may think this was the test of your strength. It was not. The real challenge is not poverty but affluence, not slavery but freedom, not homelessness but home.

Many nations have been lifted to great heights when they faced difficulty and danger. They fought battles and won. They came through crises – droughts, plagues, recessions, defeats – and were toughened by them. When times are hard, people grow. They bury their differences. There is a sense of community and solidarity, of neighbours and strangers pulling together. Many people who have lived through a war know this.

The real test of a nation is not if it can survive a crisis but if it can survive the lack of a crisis. Can it stay strong during times of ease and plenty, power and prestige? That is the challenge that has defeated every civilisation known to history. Let it not, says Moses, defeat you.

Moses’ foresight was little less than stunning. The pages of history are littered with the relics of nations that seemed impregnable in their day, but which eventually declined and fell and lapsed into oblivion – and always for the reason Moses prophetically foresaw. They forgot.[1] Memories fade. People lose sight of the values they once fought for – justice, equality, independence, freedom. The nation, its early battles over, becomes strong. Some of its members grow rich. They become lax, self-indulgent, over-sophisticated, decadent. They lose their sense of social solidarity. They no longer feel it their duty to care for the poor, the weak, the marginal, the losers. They begin to feel that such wealth and position as they have is theirs by right. The bonds of fraternity and collective responsibility begin to fray. The less well-off feel an acute sense of injustice. The scene is set for either revolution or conquest. Societies succumb to external pressures when they have long been weakened by internal decay. That was the danger Moses foresaw and about which he warned.

His analysis has proved true time and again, and it has been restated by several great analysts of the human condition. In the fourteenth century, the Islamic scholar Ibn Khaldun (1332–1406) argued that when a civilisation becomes great, its elites get used to luxury and comfort, and the people as a whole lose what he called their asabiyyah, their social solidarity. The people then become prey to a conquering enemy, less civilised than they are but more cohesive and driven. The Italian political philosopher Giambattista Vico (1668–1744) described a similar cycle: People, he said, “first sense what is necessary, then consider what is useful, next attend to comfort, later delight in pleasures, soon grow dissolute in luxury, and finally go mad squandering their estates.”[2] Affluence begets decadence. In the twentieth century few said it better than Bertrand Russell in his History of Western Philosophy. He believed that the two great peaks of civilisation were reached in ancient Greece and Renaissance Italy, but he was honest enough to see that the very features that made them great contained the seeds of their own demise:

What had happened in the great age of Greece happened again in Renaissance Italy: traditional moral restraints disappeared, because they were seen to be associated with superstition; the liberation from fetters made individuals energetic and creative, producing a rare fluorescence of genius; but the anarchy and treachery which inevitably resulted from the decay of morals made Italians collectively impotent, and they fell, like the Greeks, under the domination of nations less civilised than themselves but not so destitute of social cohesion.[3]

Moses, however, did more than prophesy and warn. He also taught how the danger could be avoided, and here too his insight is as relevant now as it was then. He spoke of the vital significance of memory for the moral health of a society. Throughout history there have been many attempts to ground ethics in universal attributes of humanity. Some, like Immanuel Kant, based it on reason. Others based it on duty. Bentham rooted it in consequences (“the greatest happiness for the greatest number”[4]). David Hume attributed it to certain basic emotions: sympathy, empathy, compassion. Adam Smith predicated it on the capacity to stand back from situations and judge them with detachment (“the impartial spectator”). Each of these has its virtues, but none has proved fail-safe. Judaism took, and takes, a different view. The guardian of conscience is memory. Time and again the verb zachor, “remember,” resonates through Moses’ speeches in Deuteronomy:

·        Remember that you were slaves in Egypt…therefore the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Shabbat day. (Deut. 5:15)

·        Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years…(Deut. 8:2)

·        Remember this and never forget how you provoked the Lord your God to anger in the desert…(Deut. 9:7)

·        Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam along the way after you came out of Egypt. (Deut. 24:9)

·        Remember what the Amalekites did to you along the way when you came out of Egypt. (Deut. 25:17)

·        Remember the days of old, consider the years of ages past. (Deut. 32:7)

As Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi notes in his great treatise, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory, “Only in Israel and nowhere else is the injunction to remember felt as a religious imperative to an entire people.”[5]Civilisations begin to die when they forget. Israel was commanded never to forget. In an eloquent passage, the American scholar Jacob Neusner once wrote:

                        Civilisation hangs suspended, from generation to generation, by the gossamer strand of memory. If only one cohort of mothers and fathers fails to convey to its children what it has learned from its parents, then the great chain of learning and wisdom snaps. If the guardians of human knowledge stumble only one time, in their fall collapses the whole edifice of knowledge and understanding.[6] The politics of free societies depends on the handing on of memory. That was Moses’ insight, and it speaks to us with undiminished power today. Shabbat Shalom

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   22 August 2019

[the-paris-of-people]

Wildflowers for Chidi

Summary: A little story about Chidi’s relationship with his son. Featured Chidi/Eleanor. 

Tagged: @jane-el-hopper @littledancersun @montygreen

Michel has his first anxiety attack when he’s six years old. 

Jonathan is teaching him how to play hopscotch in the park. It seems like a simple game, one that his brother’s played many times before, but Michel starts shaking once he finishes explaining the rules. He has so many questions that his tongue just won’t curl to ask. Why does he have to chuck a rock, and what if he trips when he hops on one foot, and what if he jumps in the boxes in the wrong order and his brother gets mad at him? 

Air leaks from his lungs. His body sinks down with the stone in his hand, and knees smash against the cement. His mom tries to grab his hands, tries pull him off his knees, but Michel only collapses and breaks out into a fresh set of tears. She kneels down to his height instead, using her fingers to wipe his cheeks.

Earnestly, she asks, “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” but that only makes Michel cry harder. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, or why he feels so freaked out, or how anyone could feel this way. Why wasn’t there someone who knew what he needed right now? Wasn’t there someone who knew what was going on? 

But his dad takes one look at him and understands. He slips his arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, stroking his head with his large, gentle hands. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay, buddy,” He soothes. “It’s okay.” 

Michel clenches on to his neck. His nail pinch his skin, and he clings on for longer than he needs to, but his dad never complains; he just rocks him slowly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

He wraps his hand around his dad’s as they walk home. His mom ruffles his  hair, narrating stories that make everyone bellow with laughter, and Jonathan chimes in with his own jokes, his eyes bright like his mom’s. Even with all the laughter, Michel falters in the tiniest of pauses. He’s embarrassed and ashamed that he broke down in front of his family, that he had to see him so weak. 

But Michel gazes up at his dad and peace washes over him. His dad is kind and patient and a good listener. He tilts his head when he listens, and he ducks his head down when he chuckles, and his laughter is like the soft music that lulls Michel to sleep. He watches his dad carefully, and looking at him illuminated under the light of the sunset, he knows he never wants to be without him by his side. 

And for the next eight years, he never wavers from it, spending all of his time outside of school and doctor’s appointments with him. His dad is the one who scoops him up into his arms during the slightest tremors, who distracts him with facts about wildflowers, or kookaburra trees, or the weird plants in Arizona that Michel loves so much. He brings Michel to the gardens so he can see the plants that they learn about, and later, they start a garden together, tending to the plants side by side, watching their newly germinated sprouts bloom into vibrant flowers. His dad is the one Kant likes best, and he teaches Michel how to scratch behind his ears and play fetch with him in the backyard. After, Michel follows him into the kitchen before dinner, and he learns how long to simmer the maafe until it’s thick enough to eat. Michel tastes the rich flavors of his dad’s cooking, and he jumps and begs and pleads to pack the leftovers for his lunch the next day. His dad always seals them in a Thermos and he writes him notes that read, “Hey buddy! Have a great day! I love you!”

But something shifts when Michel turns older, and he begins to realize all the ways his dad irks him. He hates that his dad lectures him and his friends on philosophy. He really could care less- Michel’s known the theories of Hume since he was born, and he doesn’t need it explained for the ten millionth time. He also hates how yells goodbye out the car window, and how he never waters the wildflowers enough even though they’ve been gardening for years. Layer by layer, his annoyances build up, until one day, he opens up his backpack and sees his dad didn’t close his Thermos all the way. Brown liquid is all over his papers, his folders, and even the fancy pencil case Jonathan made him, and Michel snaps. What was he thinking? Did he even check to see if he had twisted the top all the way down? 

He decides to close himself off from his dad. He tells him not to touch his garden, and to pack him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and to let mom drop him off to school. She’s better at giving rides, anyway- she’s funny and charming and all his friends gush about how cool she is once they climb out of the car. His mom basks in the attention, yet still, she tries to convince him to give his dad another shot. 

“I mean, sure,” She admits. “Your dad’s a total nerd, and we all know I’m way cooler than him, but he loves you, and he loves giving you rides. Just let him drive you sometimes, bud.” 

Michel ignores his dad even with her suggestion, even with his dad’s desperate desire for connection. He asks Michel if he wants to take trips to the garden, or if he wants to take Kant to the vet, but Michel just mumbles incoherent sentences under his breath, just puts his headphones in. If they did anything together, his dad would just lecture him about philosophy, or some ethical dilemma, or some other boring thing. He doesn’t want another morality lesson; he just wants to listen to his music. 

And yet, as horrible as Michel is to him, his dad is still there for him through everything. He sits on his bed and runs his fingers through his hair when Michel’s boyfriend of two years breaks up with him for someone else. He rubs his back when Michel doesn’t get into the Sorbonne, his top choice college, and is up all night, throwing up and crying. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a failure,” He heaves as he crouches over the toliet bowl, preparing for his next hurl.  

“What are you talking about, Michel?” His dad asks. His eyes are soft on him as he speaks. “You could never be a failure to me. You have no idea how much I love you. No matter what happens, no matter where you get in, I will always love you. I am always proud of you.” 

Michel wishes he could say sorry for being so awful, wishes he could say thank you for being so unconditional, but he just squeezes his eyes shut and vomits again.

It’s those memories of his dad that seem stronger years later, that at his funeral, burn brightly in his absence, that linger as part of his presence remembered. He wonders what Jonathan and his mom remember as they greet somber guests with smiles on their face. As always, they’re being brave, or at least pretending to be brave. Michel notices that his mom doesn’t touch the shrimp cocktail, and that she starts breathing heavily when she sees the almond milk at the coffee station. 

At night, Michel lies awake with his eyes wide open. He’s replaying all the times his dad spent with him in his childhood bed, reading stories or pulling him into his lap or teaching him about wildflowers during one of their impromptu botany lessons. Around 3 AM, the memories begin to fade, like the time with his dad was just part of a dream, and Michel begins to drift off to melancholy sleep. Just as it begins, it ends with the clash of the pans in the kitchen. Michel gets up to see what it is, thinking the noise was the wind from the open windows, only to find his mother cowered to the kitchen floor, crying into the shirts of her husband wrapped around her. 

Michel slips his arms around his shoulders and strokes her hair. He’s been larger than her for awhile, and she’s tiny in his arms, but he’s never felt his mother like this, so small and fearful and full of sorrow. He never understood their relationship, how they always bickered but ended up in each other’s arms, how they never wanted to be apart even when they fought, how they had nothing in common yet loved each other so deeply, but he knows even though she never liked it, his mother needs maafe right now. Gently, he sits her down on the dining table chairs and gives her some unsalted almonds and hard boiled eggs for the time Michel prepares his favorite stew. It’s been years and years since he’s made it with his dad, but he still remembers how to simmer it to the right thickness. 

They eat their bowls together in silence, but even when they finish, his mom isn’t ready to leave. She puts her hand over his, and she cups his face with the other, and she says, 

“You’ve always been just like him, you know? Sensitive, and kind, and patient, and sweet.” 

“And I’m a nerd too?” Michel jokes. It’s something his dad would do, and he wants to see a smile on his mother’s face. 

“Oh, you’re a bigger nerd than he was,” She grins. “I mean, you know all about peonies and dandelions and carnations. Come on, bud. That’s even nerdier than ethics!” 

They both laugh at his mother’s assertion, and Michel leans on her before he falls asleep.

The next day, Michel buries ashes of his dad in the garden and plants wildflowers in the soil above. 

In honor of his father, he doesn’t water them enough.