#dispel malaise go!

[kodoandsangha]

Chicken of the Executive Function

[alt id] a picture of a Magic the Gathering card that reads Chicken of the Executive Function

Dispels malaise

You are granted executive function for one turn.

You have been visited by the chicken of the executive function. Stop scrolling and go do one thing you’ve been putting off.[/end alt]

[scriveyner]

then they begin: 21 (2022)

then they begin 22/36 wc: 1631 rated: M

Mar. 18th

It was Kaze who spun the tale as they sat around the late afternoon campfire and ate. He was much older than the other wolves, and knew more of their lore than even Kiba, who lingered outside of the circle. They all listened with rapt attention about how when the moon rose full and red, heavy with blood in the late-night sky, that everything was different.

“Not all wolves transform under the Blood Moon,” he said. “It is a reprieve, a rest from the cycle that consumes the cursed… but those who do, they’re not like the others. Their lineage is one rife with the Old Magicks, and it runs deeper and truer than any curse…”

#

“There’s nothing to that legend,” Gotou said, standing outside the restaurant with a lit cigarette in his hand.

“You weren’t with the pack during a Blood Moon,” Kiri said. He stood shorter than Gotou by half a head—and had frowned at the cigarette but Gotou ignored him. He got enough of that from Masayoshi, thank you. Kiri glanced slyly at Gotou. “You change, then?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

Kiri chewed the inside of his cheek and looked away. “Kiba didn’t,” he said.

They stood in silence and watched the foot traffic pass in front of the restaurant. Masayoshi eventually emerged, having settled the bill (and a few more selfies for kitchen staff), and Kiri stepped away from under the awning. “Thanks for lunch,” he said, and Masayoshi inclined his head.

“It’s the least I could do, Kiri-san,” he said cheerfully. “I did tie you up!”

Gotou and Kiri exchanged an amused, pained look. “Where are you staying?” Gotou asked and Kiri raised an eyebrow.

“Around,” he said, evasively. Kiri looked at the sky and exhaled. “He won’t do anything tonight,” he said, finally. “Kiba is waiting for the Blood Moon, to do whatever he’s planning. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah.” Gotou stubbed out his cigarette. “You’ll be in touch?”

Kiri nodded. He raised his hand in a half-wave before stepping into the flow of pedestrians that had built up in the late weekday morning. Masayoshi waved back, and then put his hands on his hips and rocked forward on his feet. “I’m tired, Gotou-san,” he said. “Let’s go home?”

“Okay.” Gotou was still unable to shake the feeling that there was something else wrong here, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it quite yet. He shook his head to dispel the malaise, looked over to Masayoshi and smiled. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

#

They fell into bed together, Masayoshi completely exhausted and Gotou himself just worn out from everything that had happened. Masayoshi apparently had some meetings that he was supposed to attend that he either forgot about (most likely) or completely blew off (Gotou approved of this second option, though he very much doubted it was the case); when Masayoshi slept through his phone vibrating beside his ear Gotou answered it instead.

It was always hard to tell what he could get away with in regards to Ishihara; she didn’t seem like she disbelieved him when he explained that Masayoshi was sick with just a small stomach bug and Gotou couldn’t bear to wake him after he’d finally fallen asleep…but he wasn’t certain if he’d gotten away with it.

When he set Masayoshi’s phone down on the coffee table he realized he hadn’t been as sneaky or subtle as he thought, because Masayoshi had one eye cracked open and was watching him intently.

“You shouldn’t lie, Gotou-san,” Masayoshi informed him drowsily, still clearly half asleep.

“It’s just a little lie,” Gotou murmured, climbing back onto the bed. Masayoshi rolled onto his back as Gotou dipped his head to deliver a gentle kiss.

“You still shouldn’t lie.”

Gotou hesitated, staring down at Masayoshi. “My whole life is built on lies, ‘yoshi,” he said—heart frozen in his chest, thinking of text messages and the moon above—but Masayoshi put his hands on Gotou’s cheeks and stared up at him, brow furrowed.

“You don’t have to lie about that anymore,” he said, and Gotou smiled sadly at him.

“If I was found out,” he said, covering Masayoshi’s hands on his face. “They’d take me from you, you know? You have to get comfortable with the little lies, Masayoshi, because they protect a big one.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone take you from me,” Masayoshi said fiercely. He sat up on his elbows and Gotou shifted, dropping onto his side on the small mattress beside Masayoshi. “I wouldn’t, Gotou-san! I’ll protect you!”

Gotou closed his eyes, tired to his very bones. “Okay,” he said, not willing to face the argument this was leading to.

“Besides,” Masayoshi was sitting all the way upright now, looking down at him. “I’m your mate, aren’t I?”

Gotou’s eyes flew open. He’d forgotten just that quickly, with all the other information that Kiri had delivered. “Masayoshi,” he said, sitting up as well. “That’s… I mean…”

“You didn’t know.” Masayoshi said cheerfully, although the color had risen to his cheeks. “That’s okay, Gotou-san, but…I kinda wanted the ceremony anyway.” He leaned over, into Gotou’s personal space, nose brushing his and eyes bright. “Next time though, you better mean it.”

Heart beating hard in his chest, Gotou brushed his hand over Masayoshi’s cheek, looking into those vivid blue eyes…and realized something he’d known all along anyway, in his heart of hearts. He kissed Masayoshi and breathed, “idiot. Don’t put words into my mouth, okay?”

Masayoshi blinked at him, confused, and Gotou smiled at him. “I do mean it. I did then, and I do now. You’re my mate.”

“Gotou-san!” Masayoshi threw his arms over Gotou’s shoulders and nearly bowled him over. Gotou huffed out a breath of irritation, but put his arms around Masayoshi anyway, nuzzling his face into the space between Masayoshi’s neck and shoulder. He closed his eyes, Masayoshi’s weight warm and comfortable, and relished how he felt just right in Gotou’s arms now. “Don’t go out tonight,” Masayoshi said into his shoulder, without raising his head, and Gotou brushed his hand through Masayoshi’s hair.

“Not tonight, ‘yoshi,” he said, and Masayoshi shook his head before lifting it so he could meet Gotou’s eye.

“I don’t mean for that,” he said, blushing despite himself. “I just meant…I want you to stay here with me, tonight.”

“Next month,” Gotou said. “It’s a lunar eclipse, Masayoshi.”

“The Blood Moon?” Masayoshi asked. “What happens?”

“I don’t know.” He stared past Masayoshi, at the ceiling and past it. Daylight was etched up there, it was afternoon now, nearly evening. So many things had happened leading up to this point, it was overwhelming. He thought about the letter he’d received notifying him of a return to work date, his suspension cleared; he’d be back to work soon and that would make everything infinitely more complicated. A six month suspension had seemed like forever, when it was issued; how it had flown by. “I thought I knew what happens, but…now I’m not so sure.”

“He’ll come for you then, huh?” Masayoshi said. “Kiba.”

Gotou nodded. Masayoshi’s face changed—it was a familiar expression, one of determination—and Gotou smiled at it. “I won’t let him hurt you, Gotou-san. We’ll figure this out, together.” Gotou tugged him back down into the bedcovers, and Masayoshi went with him.

“I know you won’t,” Gotou said, and Masayoshi kissed him.

#

The moon rose late that night, the sun already long gone from the sky. Gotou lay on the bed despite Masayoshi’s tutting about fur all over the sheets, and he stared lazily out the cracked-open blinds. Gotou couldn’t see the moon from this angle but he could feel it, a pressure system that was cooking beyond his control.

Masayoshi lay beside him on the bed, attention on the television and one hand sitting gently on Gotou’s back, fingers occasionally scratching into his fur.

Mates, huh? This wasn’t so bad. This, he could live with…even with the moon under his skin, urging him to get up and go roam, to try to find Kiba before the Blood Moon rose in the sky, before Kiri could do whatever he planned…

Kiri.

Gotou’s ears flicked. How convenient it was that Kiri had shown up out of the blue like this. He couldn’t quite sense the other werewolf’s angle, but Kiri had always been straightforward with him, and he’d never given Gotou any reason to doubt him before.

The timing, though. He couldn’t help but be suspicious.

This all would be easier, without Masayoshi. He’d be able to kill Kiba with no regrets and move on, like Kiri.

That didn’t mean it was better.

He sighed out his nose and let out a small whine. Masayoshi lifted his hand and Gotou hopped down off the mattress, stretching out and pacing a small circle around the apartment to stretch his legs. Masayoshi sat up to watch him and didn’t move until Gotou hopped back on the mattress beside him.

“Everything okay?” Masayoshi asked, and Gotou wagged his tail—and then lowered his head and butted Masayoshi in the shoulder. I love you, he thought fiercely, and Masayoshi caught his head and smiled.

“I love you too, Gotou-san,” he said.

#

“I heard, if you kill a transformed wolf under the Blood Moon that you gain their power.” Sanae leaned forward, gaze intent on Kaze from across the fire, her unbound hair bundled over one shoulder and damp from the lake.

Kiba’s voice cut across the crackle of the flame. “Sanae.”

Gotou watched Kaze study Sanae, and then shake his head. “The Blood Moon comes rarely, but often enough,” he said. “It reveals us for what we truly are. Men, wolves…” his eyes reflected the firelight, as he watched Sanae, “or monsters.”

<< Part 20 || Start || Part 22 >>

[passionate-reply]

KMFDM - “CRAZY HORSES”

One of my dad’s favourite pastimes is watching music chart compilation videos. They’re basically supercuts of whatever songs were in the charts, in some year, in some country, back to back and uninterrupted. And I like watching them too. I’d recommend trying it some afternoon to just about anyone who’s very interested in music. I find that we often have stereotypes about what charts and what doesn’t, and sitting down to actually look at the charts themselves quickly dispels many incorrect notions you may have. Even as someone who mostly tends to prefer and seek out much more “underground” music, I still hear some songs in there that get my attention.

One of those songs that really did catch me off guard was the Osmonds’ “Crazy Horses.” Often cited as an early ancestor of hard rock and/or metal, the song is much more abrasive and chugging than a typical track from the Osmonds, who came out of the mid-century family-band industry and accordingly were best known for saccharine pop. It also tackled themes of ecology and technological malaise, the titular “crazy horses” being automobiles, and not some sort of drug as many listeners initially feared. The album of the same name even features the band posing in a junkyard. It’s easy to see why, beyond just being a chart hit in its own day, it’s continually attracted the attention of metal, industrial and related genre enthusiasts.

After the strident riff on an early Wurlitzer organ, intended to evoke a horse’s neigh, piqued my interest, I was especially excited to see that among the many artists who have covered the song, there was at least one industrial band, the mighty KMFDM. But I’m honestly a little bit let-down by this version, originally released as a B-side to their single “Godlike,” in 1994. When I listen to the Osmonds’ original, I really get the sense that these staid Mormon lads are really going off the rails and having fun exploring something new. There’s a certain energy there that I think KMFDM can’t quite touch, being genre veterans. “Crazy Horses” is a bit below their level. Although I do love hearing a real synth belt out that horse noise!

[erstwhile25]

The Ashen Rook - Meet the Crew.

.So I’ve got a number of NPC’s I use for my stories, in a perfect world, they would be my alts, unfortunately it’s a bit of a shuffle to get alt’s past Balmung’s gate.  So instead, they only show up when I’m writing stories, and running events in game.  They’re a rolling ball of tropes, but they’re doing their best, and I wouldn’t want anyone else flying my ship. ((My thanks to Artbreeder.com for allowing a talentless hack like me to mock up my characters likenesses))

Noyra - The gentle Sea Wolf giant with an artist’s soul, she seems the type that would be more at home blowing glass baubles on a quiet secluded beach.  Circumstances however have dictated a different sort of life for her, one where she is constantly at the vortex of chaos and violence.  All the love she would have given to her chosen craft instead goes towards the Ashen Rook and it’s crew, the gods help any that would do harm to either.  

Ser Laloquer Rosen - Intelligent, cunning, and very much aware of it, this lalafell scion of Ul’dah dreams of the days when his services were still in much demand.  Once of the premiere surgeons and alchemists of the desert city, he found himself outcast when his work ran afoul of the machinations of the Syndicate.  Now he makes his way and living as the Ashen Rooks medico, albeit with no small amount of fuss.  He prizes intelligence, and despises those who would prefer ignorance, so much so that he devotes his spare time aboard the Rook to helping it’s crew learn to read and write.  

Isral Qol’quit - flamboyant, charming, and quick with a smile, this Miqo’te serves as the first mate and quartermaster aboard the Ashen Rook  A virtual repository of songs, stories, and poetry, Isral uses all of these to dispel feelings of boredom or malaise among the crew.  There is however one tale he refuses to tell, and that is how he was expelled from his tribe.

Syf Askerfelt - Violence incarnate, this blind highlander spearmaster never met a problem she couldn’t solve by making it soil itself.  Descended from the now defunct tribes of fishermen hyur that dotted the islands of the Rothlyt Sound, Syf is the last echo of a people about to fade from existence.  If she has any say in the matter they will not go quietly into the night.  She occupies a paradoxical place in the Rook’s crew, who are primarily concerned with saving their ship...while she considers herself a ship killer.

Mazie Tarfoot - The youngest and least experienced of the Ashen Rook’s crew, this Midlander daughter of Limsa attempts to make a name for herself on the open seas.  Hardened by a life as the eldest child of a broken family in a city of pirates, Mazie still finds herself being surprised by the wonders that the Rook encounters on her journeys.  She’s determined to show the others she has what it takes to be a sailor of the salt waves...she just hopes there’s something left of herself after the fact.  

Kail Gerrad - The captain of the vessel known as Rook, a little too human to be a hero.  This ship is his home, this crew is his family, and you won’t take either from him without a fight that will cost you dearly.

[ashensamurai]

HERE WE GO BOYS

a 15/20 with no casting cost is actually pretty solid. so easy to cheat out

entirely correct. it is not legal at all lol and never should be

it has no mana cost. and yes, that absolutely can happen! take a look at the modern format's darling; crashing footfalls.

so, the whole "Dispel Malaise" thing isn't valid at all. it just doesn't work. however, it does bear similarities to how cards from the D&D sets and the Universes Beyond cards have flavored their abilities. for example; Mind Flayer's "Dominate Monster" ability.

Chicken of Executive Function does need a clause such as "When [CARDNAME] enters the battlefield..." or "When you cast [CARDNAME]..." to trigger its "granting of executive function" (which would probably function similarly to the Monarch mechanic or the city's blessing, perhaps even dungeons or The Ring) to work properly, but it is similar to those.

and last but not least... Yes! Absolutely.

Here's Nameless Race. it was printed in The Dark in 1994, which was the first set to really make use of creature types (in the form of goblin tribal, of course.) Back then, creatures were commonly "Summon [CARDNAME]" in that spot, like "Summon Preacher" or "Summon Exorcist". With errata and The Grand Creature Type update, a lot of these were fixed (and another such thing happened recently, with Phyrexian becoming its own creature type and old Phyrexian cards being errata'd to be Phyrexians.) However, Nameless Race, is just a Creature. It has no other types. So yes, it's entirely possible!

I may have gone on for a while but i hope that answers your questions :)

[quarantineroulette]

Minor Disappointments’ 10 Least Disappointing Releases of 2019

I wasn’t going to compile a 2019 year-end list for a number of reasons (lack of time to listen to new music, general malaise, little time to write), but I’ve read so much bad end of year music writing that I feel like I must either stoke the embers or assist in extinguishing it. I don’t think I’m doing either here, but everyone likes list so here’s another.

I haven’t had time to really think about 2019 in songs but my favorite this year was, no kidding, a Tindersticks song featuring Robert Pattinson. Speaking of...

10) FKA twigs - Magdalene

  I really wish I hadn’t remembered that Pattinson and twigs dated because it put a slight damper on my enjoyment of this album. Instead of appreciating it in all its genre-destroying glory, as I did on my first listen, subsequent spins led to me becoming sidetracked by tabloid speculation over what RPattz must have done to have wronged this very singular artist. So, whether this is your first listen or 50th, forget all that I just wrote and instead let twigs fill your empty mind with her sometimes delicate, sometimes Kate Bush-evoking, wholly epic songs.

Favorite moment: It’s pretty commendable and bold to place the lead single as the closing track, especially if its something as monumentally gut-wrenching as “Cellophane.” Also, that video is the visual treasure everyone says it is, no fooling. 

9) Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

If you’ve ever heard Karen Carpenter’s Beatles covers you might have some idea as to what this record is like. But beyond Natalie Mering’s cozy vocals and timeless compositions is an undercurrent of ambient mystery that sets everything ever so slightly askew. At times, Laurel Canyon vibes are completely dispelled for more crepuscular textures, as in the album’s centerpiece, the Julee Cruise-esque “Movies.” Who knows where Mering will go next, but her path, whether from the California sun or glow of the silver screen, is certainly bright. 

Favorite moment:  “A Lot’s Gonna Change”, “Andromeda”, “Everyday” - as strong of a three song run as on any release this year. 

8) Angel Olsen - All Mirrors

The cynic in me wanted to resist this album, but as soon as the cinematic strings kicked in on “Lark” I decided the enormous amount of critical hyperbole that was being thrown at it was mostly warranted. Stately, dramatic, occasionally synthy and largely devastating, All Mirrors taught me that sometimes you may find many of your favorite things in the unlikeliest of places. Please insure your heartstrings. 

Favorite moment: “Spring” which, like a lot of great songs, sounds a little like a fairground ride breaking down. 

7) Danny Brown - uknowhatimsayin¿

This might be the funnest album I’ve listened to all year. It can be hard to do positive but “Best Life” is as heartening as Nardwuar’s interview with Brown and fewer things are happier than that. With his fifth album, Brown has proven he can ably do every mood with aplomb. And if using cleaning references as euphemisms is your poison, then, hell, he can do that too. 

Favorite moment: “Hoes on my dick ‘cos I look like Roy Orbison.” Need I say more?

6) Omni - Networker

One of the strongest post-to-the-nth-degree-punk bands from the latter 2010s, I still have Omni’s 2016 debut, Deluxe, on heavy rotation. Networker, the trio’s third record and first on Sub Pop, has no shortage of twists, turns, technical dexterity, quirk and compositional audacity. Looks like I’ll be overplaying this one too. 

Favorite moment: I could listen to “Courtesy Call” over a hundred times and I still wouldn’t be able to guess what direction it’s going to go in. 

5) Aldous Harding - Designer

 Of all the artists on this list, I find Harding the most inspiring in both her songwriting and her performing style, which is arresting to say the least. The songs on Designer are paradoxically accessible and impenetrable, with seemingly breezy songs like “Weight of the Planets” leaving you with a feeling that’s a cross between a “wow!” and a “huh?”(perhaps a bit like this). Most impressive of all, Harding draws to mind such greats as Nick Drake, Syd Barrett and Nico while always sounding completely like herself. I honestly don’t know what layer of reality Harding is from, but we should all be thankful she’s residing in ours for the time being. 

Favorite moment: “The Barrel” had been in my YouTube queue for ages; after finally watched it I was left confused, mildly disturbed, amused and completely beguiled. This kookily hatted lady is just semi-dancing in a heavily-draped room for nearly five minutes and it’s the most fascinating video in years. If the video wasn’t entertaining enough, it also happens to have one of the funniest and sweetest comment threads on YouTube. Oh yeah, and the song is brilliant. 

4) Deerhunter - Why Hasn’t Everything Already Disappeared?

Deerhunter have really only misstepped once for me and that was with 2015′s Fading Frontier. Seeing as this is the band’s first full length since then, I had quite a bit of trepidation going in. Of course, a lot can happen in four years and Why Hasn’t Everything... is a thankfully thrilling addition to the band’s canon. Whether it be Cate Le Bon’s production, Bradford’s growing ease as a performer and eccentric, Lockett’s unexpectedly Low-esque "Tarnung,” or all of the above, this may well be Deerhunter’s most consistent release since Halcyon Digest. I’m even slightly tempted to say it’s better than it, but the sacrilege is too great.

Favorite moment: “What Happens to People” -- totally unique to the Deerhunter canon and already a classic. 

3) Lana Del Rey - Norman Fucking Rockwell!!

I never thought I could ever love an album with a Sublime cover on it, but here we are. In all fairness, the inclusion of “Doin’ Time” matters little when the originals on this treatise on Americana is so glorious.  Between the torchiness and the LA-specific witchiness of songs like “Bartender”, there’s not much on here that I’m able to resist. There may still be haters but “The Greatest” drowns them out a little more with each play.  Favorite Moment: “And we were so obsessed with writing the next best American record” - yeah, thank you for doing that.  2) Karen O & Danger Mouse - Lux Prima Truth be told, the first time I listened to this record I cried when it ended because I didn’t want to leave its world. There may have been more radical records by newer artists in 2019, but hearing Karen O doing what she does best, as well as trying many new things, was such a joy to me. I’m probably among only a handful of people who wanted to hear Karen do a straight up disco song in 2019, but we got it and it’s something to be treasured for years to come. To paraphrase Sparks + Franz Ferdinand, collaborations don’t (often) work, but thanks to O’s flawless vocals and Brian Burton’s sometimes Dave Fridmann-esque production, this one is an exception.  Favorite Moment:  I’m tempted to say the whole thing, but “Turn the Light” and “Redeemer” are maybe two of the biggest surprises on an album of many. 

1) Purple Mountains - Purple Mountains 

Purple Mountains is quite possibly a new touchstone in gallows humor. Given David Berman’s suicide less than a month after the record’s release, what should now be a grim and discomfiting listen is so mordant and wry that it somehow overpowers its bleakness. More striking than perhaps even the moments of humor is the album’s tenderness, so beautifully represented in songs like “Snow is Falling in Manhattan” and “I Loved Being My Mother’s Son.” Although it’s undeniably tragic that there will be no more words from Berman, the ones he’s left us with will fascinate and move us for decades to come. 

Favorite Moment: Unsurprisingly, Berman’s lyrical dexterity on this album is beyond measure. From the internal and slant rhymes in a line like “see the plod of the flawed individual looking for a nod from God” to the layers of meaning in “the light of my life is going out tonight”, the wordsmithery here is mesmerizing. If I had the time, I would gladly write an essay on how Berman used color to further emphasize a point. Thanks for the music, David, but thanks especially for the words. 

[reddus-sideblog]

Pathfinder Update: Favours Owed: The Bostadt Boogie (Part 5)

It’s here, the finale of our adventures in Bostadt! Finally you will all know the fate of Reoh the Slayer, Bostadt, and our protagonists! I’m a bit out of it today but I’ll try my best to get this all written out.

So our protagonists returned to the surface of Bostadt, luckily just before the royal guard’s captain would send in the city’s guard to purge the caverns beneath the city. He was rather surprised to see us back at all, especially with all the time that had passed, but we were given our sizable reward, as promised. However, this neither provided us with the answers we wanted nor did it do anything to free Reoh.

Valka took it upon himself to ask for us to be shown around the castle, and part way through the tour he slinked away to investigate things in the castle for himself, leaving Tisiphone and Kii to be lead around the halls until we realized that the particularly talkative one had disappeared under our noses. Valka found a laundry room, and, even better, he had found where freshly launder sets of clothes for the help around the castle were being stored. Wasting no time Valka donned a maid dress to appear inconspicuous and then went about with his normal clothes all bundled up in his arms as though he were delivering them somewhere.

Valka ended up poking through the noble quarters and accidentally ended up in the room of a certain prince, who was there with his entourage. The prince was no other than the one we had encountered the other week, a certain Prince Hekhata Tygrys (not the one from underground) who they had last seen torturing the gnomish businessman! At first Valka kept his cool and was undercover, but, unfortunately for him his purple hair is quite notable, and him wearing his maid dress backwards was quite obvious. Valka gave up the charade as soon as he realized that they were unlikely to harm him, and threw down his clothes to partially take off the maid dress and at least fix it’s orientation.

It was at this moment that Tisiphone and Kii burst into the room after Valka, to find him stripping, while in a maid costume, with his normal suit in a pile on the floor. The ladies were, to say the least, momentarily scandalized and not sure what they had walked in on. After Kii and Tisi recovered they were also a bit taken aback by Prince Hekhata being there. While the girls and Hekata’s friends, the gunslinger and the elf, were on guard, Valka and Hekhata tried to ease everyone’s tensions (this was not helped by Hekata’s elf bodyguard, who had been resurrected, shouting “SHE KILLED ME!” at Kii when told to calm down). While Hekhata was not imminently forthcoming about anything immediately helpful he did point us towards the king’s chambers, and told us to go see the king, and try talking to him.

We went a bit down the hall to the room where the king was bedridden. The royal guard were obviously standoffish, but Hekhata disarmed them with his easy, Western charm. Once in the room it was evident that something was wrong with the king. He was far from well, and seemed barely lucid, if at all. Valka and Kii tried talking to him, but to no avail. Hekhata prodded our heroes from the sidelines, encouraging and playfully chiding us in equal measure. Valka tried to see if he could medcally determine what was wrong with him, and Kii, keen as ever, attempted to sense for a more magical source of the malaise. Indeed there was something quite wrong with the king, and the source of it was the amulet on his person. Before long the head of the royal guard came to the room, demanding that we explain ourselves.

Kii, quick as lightning, drew her rapier, and flicked it twice, one cutting the amulet’s chain and the second flinging the amulet to Tisiphone. Having tossed it off to the Southerlander she held the royal guard head at the point of her blade. Tisi held the cursed amulet in her clockwork hand, and dispelled it’s power with her hatred for magic. The amulet fell apart into it’s constituent pieces, and the look on the master of the royal guard’s face was one of utter devastation. Slowly, Bostadt’s king roused from his stupor, and he was quite immediately enraged at the royal guard head, and charged the lot of us with capturing him, which was easy enough.

After he was taken away we had a private audience with the king of Bostadt to properly explain the situation, and all that had gone on since the Minister of War’s assassination. The head of the royal guard, in league with the banished usurper Prince, had offered that amulet to the king, to “help ease his nerves”, as he was clearly stressed about the whole affair. This got the king out of the picture, and the head of the royal guard engaged the lockdown, and, well, it all went from there. Tisiphone surrendered the pieces of the teleportation gate mechanism to the king, and bade him pardon Reoh. The king said that he would not do that, and let the trial go through, as now that the evidence very obviously pointed to Reoh as being innocent, he would rather the trial be used to at least somewhat recover Reoh’s reputation, rather than try to cover this all with a pardon. Honestly it was a very clear-headed and good ruling. The king awarded us a huge sum of gold and his thanks for our intervention.

The Upper City lockdown was finally over! Tisiphone, Kii, and Valka took their gold and went shopping, getting some horses for Valka’s carriage, and finally spending the night at the Silver Stag and having something of a feast to celebrate a mission well accomplished. Around the table the three made merry and drank, with Vera coming to hang out with them when he wasn’t busy with keeping the bar. Valka reflected a little, saying that Reoh had gotten a lot older than when he had last seen him a few years ago, and everyone looked a bit glum about it. Vera, trying to encourage them a little, said that, at the very least, he’d be around forever and ever, and so would Miss Kii! Valka... did not take this well, he was kind of struck by the mortality of men, and asked Tisiphone how long humans were expected to live (and of course Tisiphone, blunt as ever, said about 60 to 80 years, for most). Valka left the table in a bit of a hurry, running off to his carriage and leaving a bunch of food behind.

After a point Tisiphone realized that he wasn’t coming back, and she went after the distraught catboy. She caught him, sobbing on the back step of his carriage. The alcohol had gotten to both the gunslinger and the alchemist, so, for the first time since meeting her, Kii (alight upon the carriage’s roof) and Valka got to hear what passed for “motherly” comforting from the older woman. Tisi’s usual cantankerous attitude was absent, and instead she tried to assuage Valka’s fears and worries, very falteringly and poorly, as she was never one to provide a shoulder to cry on normally. Tisiphone’s far from touchy-feely, so the main warmth Valka received was the bounty hunter leaning on the carriage next to him.

Valka was, to put it shortly, scared of losing more people in his life, after his mother had passed away a few years back, leaving the Valka Tinctures company to him (which he had then proceeded to mismanage and ended up with very little aside from the carriage and whatever else he could haul around in it), his brothers had practically abandoned him, and he had precious few other people who had stuck by him, aside from Reoh. For all his reprehensible behaviour and noisome attitude it was hard for Tisiphone to see Valka as anything other than a bit of a lost orphan. She remembered how much she’d needed someone to help guide her when she was younger, after the incident that had maimed her, and had had no one that could understand her and help her. Tisi quietly vowed to help out the young catboy as much as she could, and do a damn sight better than Reoh had done.

Valka’s tears eventually dried up, especially after making sure that Miss Eriny wasn’t that old (Tisi bore the innocent probing of her seniority with as much grace as she could summon) and wouldn’t die too soon. Kii, for her part, thought of just how long ago it had been when she had first met Reoh, when she had been a very, very young girl, 40 years ago or so. She wasn’t even a fully grown woman by sylph standards yet, and as she gazed up at the moon and stars in the sky she ruminated on how she would probably outlive her current companions by a very, very long span. Everyone went to bed a bit humbled, saddened, and quiet.

With the dawn of the next day things looked a lot brighter. It was the day of the trial and Valka was getting ready to head out, and of course bring TIsiphone and Kii in tow. Valka checked on Kii (she was studying her spellbook), and then he tried to find Tisiphone in her room. Despite how VERY LOUDLY Valka knocked on the door Tisiphone did not answer it, that is until she emerged from Vera’s master bedroom to shut him up with a masterfully well-thrown pillow (from her flesh and blood arm as she was actually not wearing her clockwork arm). Valka then had it all figured out. Tisiphone was obviously getting up to something underhanded with Vera, and he would keep his lips sealed about their dealings. Tisiphone... did not know how to deal with this. Valka was far from what she would ever call “innocent” in most senses, but it certainly seemed like he did not entirely know what adults got up to behind closed doors yet.

Soon after the lot of us packed up and went to the courthouse in the Upper City. Before leaving Tisiphone gave Vera a little kiss, hiding their faces with her wide-brimmed hat (Valka asserted that they were exchanging secret information, Kii nodded conspiratorially). The trial was fair enough, and unsurprisingly Reoh was acquitted on all charges. Schwartz was unbelievably relieved, his case going from near-impossible to an utter cakewalk overnight. Kii and Valka were ecstatic, and Tisiphone was glad in her own, quiet, scowly way.

On the steps of the courthouse they met Reoh. Kii and Valka hugged him, like grandchildren eager and happy to see their grandfather. After they had had enough time hugging him Tisiphone cleared her throat. She approached the slayer and offered her right hand. Reoh shook her hand, and despite his age it was firm enough. Tisiphone squeezed his hand with her clockwork one, making sure that he could feel the strength of the mechanisms, ensuring that Reoh understood that he was not shaking her hand, but rather a very artificial imitation of what had been lost.

She gave him a curt nod and headed off to the carriage. The kids talked with Reoh a bit, and he said that he would be very glad to start his wandering again. Kii and Valka offered to let him travel with them, but he took a good look at Tisiphone, thought about it for a good moment and shook his head. He said that he’d stop by the Silver Stag, finally. From there he’d figure out what he would do after that as whimsy took him, and go wherever he was needed. Kii and Valka gave a bit of a tearful farewell, and waved him off as the carriage took off, away from the Upper City (after making a stop at the stone giant’s workshop to pick up that horse statue Tisiphone had commissioned).

Valka took up the reins and asked Tisiphone where they were to head to. Tisiphone smirked, saying to head South, they’d head to Dixon, in the Southerlands, so that she could finally retire from bounty hunting (and make good on something that she’d promised Vera some time ago). Valka driving the horses, named Twodd and Threed after the late Todd (Valka had become utterly enamored with that clockwork spy Tisiphone had made to bomb the Prince with and named it Todd, despite Tisi telling him not to get attached to it), did not last long, as Tisiphone kept “correcting” his technique, and eventually Valka just handed her the reins and went to go work on alchemy stuff and relax in the back of the carriage.

As the carriage got South of Bostadt the journey was comfortable enough, stopping in the sparser towns, and eventually having to pull over and rough it in the wilderness. Tisiphone was very pleased by this, Kii enjoyed sleeping under the night sky, and Valka was ambivalent, but he had his little house in the carriage, so he was comfortable enough. After only a few days of this the border of the Southerlands was approached... only for the group to find out that the main bridge Southwards was out. The only other way into the Southerlands was either to wait a few weeks for the bridge to be fixed, or else through the swamps... Valka and Kii weren’t very happy about this option, but Tisiphone ensured them it wouldn’t be all that bad (Tisiphone’s standards regarding what is exactly “bad” or even “horrific” had yet to be called into question), and she’d lead them through no problem.

So our heroes (?) protagonists took off down into the Southerland’s swamps... but that’s another story.

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

Wrote the scene where Jack & Gabe first meet in the nurse!Jack AU firesonic152 and I had chatted about.

Some days, life just fucking sucked. Some days, the pain, the discomfort, the indignity, the unfairness, the loss all just came crashing down together in one bury-him-alive, suffocating avalanche of depression to leave Gabriel nearly comatose, staring at the line of sun and shadow that drifted across the ceiling of the hospital room to mark time as the day dragged slowly, horribly on. If he kept still and let his mind drift, he could almost—almost—forget that the injury which had landed him in the VA hospital for his recovery had cost him both of his legs from the knees down. That his personal loss was so much less than the ultimate sacrifice made by some of the others from his unit only steepened his downward spiral on days like these. How dare he feel sorry for himself when he was still alive while so many others weren't? How dare he moan about fairness?

Some days, that was enough to drag him up before he sank too far into the quicksand of his depression. Other days, he had to claw his way back up, fighting with all the depleted energy left to him. Today was one of the latter. Too tired to fight back with all his strength, he had let malaise take him until the numbness had set in.

Around four or five in the afternoon, judging by the way the light on the ceiling had thickened in unnoticed increments to a warm honey gold, something broke him out of his trance. The day, which had crept by so slowly during the periods when he had been able to focus, was suddenly almost over.

He heard the door open, but had neither curiosity nor interest to attach to the sound. There were footsteps, the squeak of wheels, the quiet clatter of plastic cups of pills being set down on bedside tables. Time for meds, his brain informed him dully.

The nurse spoke with the other patients sharing the room. His voice was rough, and not particularly quiet, but apathy left the words flowing over Gabriel without their meaning sinking in, like water over stone. He was aware, distantly, of the voice and footsteps coming closer, but it wasn't until he caught a flash of riotously bright colors out of the corner of his eye that he finally turned his head to let his gaze take in something other than the ceiling.

His first impression was that the nurse was big. The guy was built like...well...like Gabriel. Like a soldier. Broad shoulders, trim waist, legs that filled out scrubs that all the rest of the staff wore loose as pajamas, arms that looked like they could bench-press a patient still in the bed. The tiny flutter of appreciation wasn't enough to completely dispel the fog deadening his thoughts, but it was enough to hold his interest. As the nurse checked his neighbor's chart, Gabriel checked out the nurse: blond hair in a military cut that was going a bit long on top and starting to show some silver, the glint of ball chain around his neck—his tags, maybe, if he had served like Gabriel suspected, pale skin that didn't see enough sun splashed with freckles over his forearms, nice ass.

He took in all those details while Blondie's choice of scrubs assaulted his retinas after a day spent soaking in the blandness of the ceiling tiles. The guy had picked a set with a dinosaur pattern. Not cool dinosaurs bristling with spines and claws and teeth, but rounded, cookie-cutter blobs in a neon rainbow piled up all over each other so that his entire torso was an explosion of bright colors corralled into vaguely recognizable forms by thick, black lines.

Gabriel almost heaved a sigh. He was going to be one of those cheerful, upbeat types, the ones who always had far too much energy and optimism for him to deal with on bad days. Rainbow dinosaur scrubs, for chrissake. Maybe—maybe—he hadn't been able to find anything else in his size, but so few of the staff Gabriel had seen so far wore anything aside from plain blue or green that he wasn't willing to bet on that. The dinosaurs had to be a deliberate choice.

Bracing himself for an onslaught of well-intentioned but completely unwelcome cheering up, Gabriel was just gathering the energy to turn his face away and pretend to be asleep when the nurse turned around.

The sight startled him badly enough that his breath caught. Expecting a smile as bright as those garish scrubs, Gabriel was met with a sneer as the nurse plucked his chart off the foot of his bed. Gabriel realized his mistake almost immediately. Two large scars slashed across the nurse's face, and the smaller one over his mouth had the unfortunate effect of tugging his lip up like a sneer. Of course, it didn't help that his brows were drawn in to either side of the scar cutting diagonally across the bridge of his nose. He didn't look especially cheerful....

“You're new—” He said suddenly, voice clipped and no-nonsense. “—so here's your warning: don't let the dinosaurs fool you. I'm not Nurse Sunshine.” He hooked the chart back on the bed, and reached for the cart he'd pushed in with him. “Meds,” he said, setting the cup of pills down brusquely on the small table next to Gabriel's bed, and following it up with a larger cup. “Water.” And with that, he turned to leave. He hadn't once so much as glanced at Gabriel.

Shaken out of his daze, Gabriel huffed a laugh. “You really get that often enough that it's gotta be the standard greeting?”

Blondie glanced back to look at him, and his lips twitched in what might have been a smile, had it stuck around for longer than a heartbeat. “You'd be surprised.”

There was no reason to call out again, but there was also no reason not to.

“What am I supposed to call you, then...Sunshine?”

He actually turned around this time, eyes narrowed. “Reyes. You're speaking to a man who is capable of switching out your meds for something that will make you wish for death.”

When the warning only made Gabriel grin, the nurse sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Jack.” He jabbed a finger at Gabriel and added for emphasis: “Do not call me unless you're dying.”

Gabriel saluted, and, this time, that flicker of a smile lasted just a moment longer. Then, Jack was gone and with him the single point of interest out of the entire day. The sun had dropped low while he'd been going patient to patient, but Gabriel only noticed it belatedly, as if Jack's departure had taken some of the light from the room.

Scattering those fanciful thoughts and slipping already back into the particular exhaustion brought about by a day spent weighted down by everything that had gone wrong in his life, Gabriel tossed back the pills, drank the water, and hoped that he would sleep without dreams.

[saulweissberg]

gone were the days of saul staying out until five in the morning at a club like sound factory or rawhide, heading home for an hour-long nap, then getting up and going to the office to begin his workday. despite some people’s opinions, saul had grown up! his nights out ended around midnight at the latest, and he rarely took any drug besides his prescribed medications or ibuprofen these days. any other night, he would’ve been caught smoking a cigarette out on the street instead of a joint. so, of course, it was deacon edwards that found him partaking in a bit of weed on a fine weekday night. the brother of his most recent ex-wife, and of course, one of his sworn enemies—the only person in town that hated him more was roman daniels, and he hadn’t even been married to roman’s sister. at least deacon had a reason to dislike him, annoying as it may have been to admit. (roman was just a dick.)

deacon the fucking deacon, living up to his name. saul remembered the days when they would bend over bathroom counters and snort ketamine together. what was the point of him acting so self-righteous all the time? they had been brothers-in-arms back then. they had become brothers-in-law. now, they were strangers. unfortunately, it was too late to back out out of the conversation, as saul had been the one to start it. an overwhelming sense of malaise flooded his body, which he hoped could be blamed on the weed—it had been a few years since he partook in that particular drug, perhaps he wasn't reacting well to it anymore. truthfully, looking at deacon made him sort of sad. even if deacon never liked him after saul married his sister, they had been family. again, now strangers; just one more in the serried genus of people left behind by saul’s many divorces.

saul never really understood where the rift came from. when they were younger, they had often come across each other in the new york city club scene, and they had generally gotten along. it wasn’t as if saul had even known that deacon and thalia were related when he first met her at the alfred e. smith dinner that fateful year, and he had no control over the twelve-year age difference between himself and thalia. as far as he could remember, he had been a decent friend to deacon, so why had the other man grown so hostile? saul supposed he would’ve been protective over a little sister if he had one—theodora was his best proximate—but deacon’s hatred of him intensified after the divorce. to the point that it was like saul divorced him instead of his sister. 

the epic rants against his character that deacon held in purportedly several bars scattered throughout blue harbor had quickly reached saul before he had time to dispel any rumors; the gossip mill worked fast in small towns, even faster than in new york’s high society, and saul hadn’t come to enjoy that until his divorce was no longer the topic of public conversation and other scandals took over (much more fun to gossip when it wasn't about himself!). it had been a few years ago—the rumor mill focusing on saul and his divorce from thalia—but he had never really been inclined to forgive deacon. deacon certainly never forgave him, as if the divorce hadn’t been mutually filed. saul had recently learned that it wasn’t so mutual on thalia’s part, but the fact remained: she was just as responsible for the divorce as he was, at least in a legal sense. so, deacon, you can wipe that fucking look off of your face, saul thought.

“hm, yeah.” he conceded with a shrug. he hadn’t wanted to argue the point that it could be bad for his career if the blue news reported on his open drug use, since he doubted deacon cared… or probably would’ve celebrated any downfall that came saul’s way. “i’d offer you some, but from the way you’re dressed, i’m thinking you want to be in top physical condition or something.” and he didn’t want to share his fucking weed with deacon, but figured that was probably obvious. saul looked down the street disinterestedly. “your druggie days are over, i suppose.”

The Labyrinth is reminiscent of those postmodern bars in Manhattan whose shareholders usually included your spate of TikTok microinfluencers, nepotism babies, and washed-up celebrities, who had dreams of inventing something but were usually just in the running for the most pretentious douchebag alive. He’d never gotten a hankering for the stuff, even in his own bar and clubbing days. Cute and kitschy names and flavors could only get him distracted for so long until his eyes will find the $25 or $30 concealed in gray font just to the right of it. 

(Of course, this is notwithstanding the Carly Rae Jepsen Night at Flaming Saddles where he’d accidentally found himself footing a $3,000 tab the next morning, having—apparently—bought everyone in the club at least two shots of Boy Problems Bourbon and Amaretto Run Away With Me. He didn’t stay long enough to figure out whether the proceeds actually did go Carly Rae’s charity of her choosing, but, hey, it was honest work.)

And, anyway, he’s not going to let the damn establishment distract him from his evening run. Since his private decision to come out of retirement, these runs have been more frequent as of late. After all, Deacon is no longer the man he is three Carly Rae Jepsen albums ago, but 45, and his below-average runtime indicates that he’s got a lot to catch up on. 

In the end, it’s not the familiar pull of a drinking establishment that makes him pause in his tracks. Speaking of pretentious douchebags…

For a moment, Deacon wants to turn on his heel, press forward about three-hundred meters, run as fast as he could to build momentum, and then collide into this big twig of a man and pass it off an accident—

—only to find the man already addressing him, with that contrived courtesy of his that really just comes off as grating to his ears. His shoulders fall flat in disappointment. Fuck, has Saul Weissberg got a better reaction time than I do now? Deacon indulges himself in the brief image of schadenfreude for a second—okay, five seconds—longer before he addresses him. “No, man. Weed’s been legal forever,” he shrugs, “er, it’s not like you’re doing cocaine in full view or something.” That is for the—well, the bathrooms of said postmodern bars in Manhattan.

[auskultu]

The Presidency: A Failure of Communication

uncredited writer, Time, 18 August 1967

Filled with misgivings about the war in Viet Nam and the violence in U.S. cities, confused by simultaneous demands for retrenchment and vast new spending programs, threatened with higher taxes and still higher deficits, the American public is in a restive, unpredictable mood. Its distemper infects an already cantankerous Congress, heightening the impression of drift and disarray in the nation's capital. In times past, the one unifying force in such a period of malaise has been the presidency. Yet Lyndon Johnson seems strangely insulated from his countrymen's doubts and fears.

One of his favorite rooms in the White House is a small private study a few steps down the hall from his ova! office. Heavy green curtains keep the sunlight out; the phone is muted to reduce noise. Here, under a pair of frontier paintings and a wooden eagle with "E pluribus unum" on a riband streaming from its beak, Johnson studies reports, chats with reporters and staff members. In this womb with no view, he is at ease, cheerful, convinced that the country and the world are in tolerably good condition. His judgment is reinforced by the cables and memos that reach his desk. From a sheaf of papers, he will recite encouraging tidings from his military advisers, a favorable report from Ambassador Ellsworth Bunker on the South Vietnamese election campaign, a note from Jack Valenti assuring him of his popularity. Mrs. Johnson dropped in during one such discourse recently. "That's not what I read in the papers!" she exclaimed.

Nose-Nuzzling. The President, of course, commands far more information about Viet Nam than any of his critics, and he has considerable justification for cautious optimism. His field commanders report that the military effort is going on schedule. The enemy is now being so badly hurt in the South that it is Hanoi that should be beset by gloom. But this is beside the point. Johnson is still unable to communicate to the American people a sense of what the U.S. is doing in Viet Nam, how U.S. interests are at stake as well as South Viet Nam's, the reasons for sticking out a long, enervating conflict.

Similarly, the President has appeared unwilling or unable to convey any sense of urgency about the urban crisis. At one time Johnson would seize the opportunity of a flood to chopper in and show the beleaguered citizens that their President was with them. Instead of being seen on the ghetto battlegrounds this summer, he has repeatedly posed for pictures chin-chucking and nose-nuzzling his infant grandson.

An ever-widening spectrum of public opinion is at odds with his leadership: farmers threaten to withhold commodities unless prices rise; liberals urge a massive new assault on ghetto ills; conservatives demand tough antiriot legislation; critics of the war demand withdrawal or an all-out effort to smash the enemy. Republican support for Viet Nam is eroding. Last week Martin Luther King advocated "mass civil disobedience" to "cripple the operations of an oppressive society." Massachusetts Senator Edward Brooke warned of "civil war" unless the President fights for his urban programs.

Eternal Search. Johnson's main response to the rioting so far has been to name a study commission that is not scheduled to make a final report until next summer. Connecticut's Senator

Abraham Ribicoff pooh-poohed the study, saying that the reasons for racial violence were already well-known. "We must end the eternal search for consensus," said Democrat Ribicoff, "and exercise real leadership."

After a period of unusually low visibility, Johnson surfaced last week with a speech, an open letter to Congress, and his first full-dress, televised press conference since March. Despite all the words, he did little to give his leadership image a lift; during most of the press conference he was of solemn mien, his head canted downward.

He did, however, indignantly dismiss press reports that the war is in stalemate as "nothing more than propaganda." To his critics on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, which is holding hearings to prove its contention that congressional authority in foreign affairs is being trampled upon, Johnson insisted he was within his constitutional rights to conduct undeclared war in Viet Nam. He reminded them of the broad Tonkin Gulf resolution, passed three years ago, in which Congress approved "all necessary steps, including the use of armed force" in Southeast Asia. If Congress has changed its mind, he said, it could always rescind that resolution.

Laundry List. Johnson also made some logical points to rebut the natter-ings of those who have prejudged the South Vietnamese elections as fraudulent. "We ought not to be astonished," he observed in a White House talk, "that the nation, racked by a war of insurgency and beset by its neighbors to the north, has not already emerged, full-blown, as a perfect model of two-party democracy." But even this statement was probably too late to dispel the public's skepticism about the elections, however ill-founded.

To proposals for a major new offensive on the slums, Johnson replied with a typical laundry list of measures already proposed. Not until these were all enacted and funded would the Administration consider new ideas. Two days after telling Congress that "we can no longer be satisfied with business as usual" when urban problems "are so urgent," he said to reporters that "several billions" would have to be squeezed out of the nonmilitary side of the budget to control the deficit in the current fiscal year. Thus, despite his admonition to Congress, it is clearly still very much business as usual for Johnson.

The Truman Analogy. In the confines of the White House, he works as energetically as ever for his policies. He pours out his arguments to a procession of newsmen and Congressmen, plans long-run sessions with leaders of business, labor and farm groups. He has been meeting incessantly with aides, assuring one of them recently. "This Administration hasn't lost its ass yet!"

His subordinates tend not to argue or to bring up the unpleasant business of the public opinion polls. Indeed one of Johnson's problems is a worsening dearth of idea men and "no" men willing to discuss bad news with him. He favors loyalty, submission and long tenure above all other virtues, and has eliminated gadflies from the White House staff and the higher echelons of Government. The phrase Great Society is rarely heard from official lips now, and there are no new coinages.

Johnson is most comfortable with men of long memory who buttress his own recollection of past Presidents' woes. He consoles himself with anecdotes of New Deal and World War II crises and of Truman's troubled days. "I remember in 1948," he says, "there wasn't a single person I could find who would say a good word about Harry Truman. There were 23 members of the Texas delegation, and only two of us would get on the train and ride with him." Perhaps the analogy explains the currently high influence in the White House of Lawyer Clark Clifford, who helped plan Truman's uphill campaign in 1948. In 1968, for all his sanguine murmurings today, Johnson may find himself in a similar position.

The President likes to think he has avoided some of the errors of his predecessors. And, indeed, he may have. However, the big difference between Johnson and the four Presidents he knew—Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower and Kennedy—is that for all his vitality, his political acumen and his impressive record of legislative achievement, he fails to communicate effectively and consistently with his constituency. Unless he can re-establish rapport with Americans in the coming months, his fortunes and those of the nation are not likely to improve.

[relentlessjoe-blog1]

Mid-Novermber 2018 to early February 2019: New Normal

It’s been a while since my last entry, and just from reading it I’ve noticed how much has improved.

Tension Headaches

This was pretty high on my list of priorities. They have slowly been decreasing in intensity and changed in nature. There are many contributing factors: CBD capsules, a solid exercise routine, stretching, and regular hot showers.

During December, I managed them by takng ibuprofen and relaxing my muscles through balms and hot showers. CBD capsules helped a lot too, they reduced pain intensity and helped during breathing exercises. They don’t, however, remove them outright. Instead, it’s more of an extra tool.

Midway through December, the neck pain that came with my tension headaches slowly began to disappear entirely. I’m inclined to believe this is due to the exercise routine. Particularly, strength training and the newfound muscle strength, improving posture, eliminating back pain and neck pain.

As a result, my symptoms began to change drastically. Now my headaches have shifted to what could be best described as ocular migraines. The ocular disturbances are actually pretty bad. I can’t see very well for about 10 to 20 minutes. Usually on one eye. I then get pain on a single side of my head, always the opposite side of the eye that experienced temporary partial blindness.

In January, I went to my doctor and she recommended a new treatment. 800 mg of ibuprofen with some extra medicine to protect my stomach from being devastated by the ibuprofen. So far, it’s working and I can go back to what I was doing a few hours after the onset of the symptoms.

Exercise Routine: Growing Pains and the Role of CBD Capsules

The first two to three weeks of the gym routine were tough. It required me to push through some pretty intense post-workout symptoms: strong fatigue, nausea, temperature imbalance, and upset stomach. These were due to DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) that I would experience the evening of the workout and the day after. It’s similar to light cold or flu symptoms.

Still, I persevered. I started taking a higher dose of the CBD capsules, 40 mg. Sometimes taking two in one day. I noticed a marked difference in wellbeing when I took them. I felt better while I exercised and they also helped immensely with muscle soreness and the other symptoms. Just a general feeling of wellbeing.

Mid-December, I began experiencing more of the good workout high, which was an extremely transformative experience. The days I felt really good became much more frequent. Add the CBD capsules to this and I was experience upmost wellbeing and good mood. This was only interrupted by other health issues like the headaches, seasonal asthma, sickness from cold and flu, and life’s problems. So, pretty good overall.

Around early January, the fatigue and malaise during the evenings began to limit themselves to the evenings of the days I worked out, not more. The days after a workout, I experienced muscle soreness, but very tolerable and normal.

Near the end of January, another shift occured. My fatigue and malaise at night began to lessen significantly, and right now I rarely need any CBD oil and capsules on demand for the symptoms I used to experience when I’d exercise. It’s simply a lot more manageable. I’m looking forward to see how things continue to change.

As for drawbacks besides those mentioned above, I would say that I experienced a bit of lethargy during workout days. A lack of motivation to do much, which is a bit of a paradox since I feel better overall. I’ve talked about this with my therapist, and they argue that I’m most likely experiencing less of a desire to change things precisely because I’m feeling so well. As such, there’s no strong drive to try and overcome. Basically, I’m comfortable and enjoying it.

This is a very new thing for me, and it’ll take some time to fully process it.

Reduced Anxiety: Still Going Down? Seriously?

This is a pretty significant change. I’ve become much calmer in general. I take a lot less CBD now, and take it more as needed than a daily ritual. This is great news, since ideally I’d prefer not to depend on it entirely. It’s still extremely helpful when symptoms spike, but I now think less about when do I take it and how much. I just use as needed and don’t worry as much.

Additionally, I’ve been resolving certain psychological obstacles (traumas, complexes, issues, etc) that have haunted me for months, years, if not my whole life. This is continuing to lower my stress levels overall.

I particularly noticed these changes during mid-January, after I recovered from a bad flu. I feel more centered and less scared overall. This is amazing, and goes to show how the road to recovery continues with time once you have a good form of treatment.

Obsessive Thinking Patterns: THC Microdosing Plays a Huge Role

I keep experiencing the benefits of CBD drops with some THC to dispel obsessive thinking. This has made it easier to notice the signs of obsessive thinking and when I start being consumed by it. A single drop is all I need and solves the symptoms. CBD only drops don’t have this effect. CBD drops are better at regulating and promoting calm, they don’t particularly help when my mind is spiraling in obsessive worrying. 

Sometimes I do experience both: obsessive worrying and anxiety symptoms. When this happens, both the CBD/THC drops and CBD drops work together to help me feel better.

To this day, I’m still a bit skeptical that such a little amount can have such a profound effect. Especially since I experience no side effects. It’s incredibly subtle but powerful. I used to take the drop multiple times a day but now I usually take it either every day or every other day. I’m slowly resolving more and more issues surrounding the obsessive thoughts. As such, I’m less triggered overall.

Unlearning Fear: The Process Continues

This leads us to the final point of this update: I keep unlearning fear. This is probably the best way to describe this whole process. My mind and body are unlearning fear. Not having those automated anxious responses are a huge sense of relief and are what ultimately lead to a greater sense of wellbeing. This also applies to obsessive thoughts and worries. They’re based on fears. Once I start unlearning those fears, the obsession spiral is cut at the source.

[lifeaftermeteor]

Apartment #718 New York, New York 206 January 2

Heero woke to an empty bed and warm light drifting in from behind the blinds at his window.  He lay still for a moment, listening to his heartbeat and concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his own chest as he breathed.  He fisted the sheets in his hands, feeling the cotton twist against his fingers.  You’re alive.  You’re safe.  It’s okay.  He repeated the words like a mantra in his head until they were free of the static that threatened to envelop them with distorted echoes.  Slowly, slowly, he sat upright and slid his legs over the edge of the bed.  He planted his feet and took several steadying breaths before standing and walking out of the room.

The apartment was quiet, an oddity given the last week and a half.  He padded barefoot down the hall and rounded the corner to find the apartment mostly empty as well.

Duo sat on the couch nursing a cup of what Heero assumed was coffee while he skimmed through something on his phone.  After a moment, he glanced up to find Heero hovering in the entryway.  “Hey,” he said.

Heero’s lips parted to answer but no words came.  He closed his mouth again and looked around the apartment, reaffirming that they were in fact alone.

“The others went out,” Duo said by way of explanation, drawing Heero’s attention back to him.

Another moment of shared silence drifted between them feeling oppressive.  Heero walked forward to escape it and joined Duo on the couch.  He curled into himself, his feet tucking in underneath him.  But then Duo muttered, “Come here,” and he was drawn down onto his right side, his head coming to rest on Duo’s thighs.  A hand came up to run thin fingers through Heero’s tousled hair.

The touch soothed him and Heero felt himself begin to drift in and out of the fog of his mind, unable to shake the malaise.  After a time, he heard himself ask, “Why did you tell Trowa about us?”

The fingers in his hair stilled.  After a moment, Duo moved his hand to Heero’s shoulder, an anchor to the present.  Then he said, “I needed some advice.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I needed some objective advice,” Duo clarified, subdued laughter in his words.  “It’s okay,” he murmured, the hand at Heero’s shoulder rubbing concentric circles of reassurance into his skin.  

Heero took a deep breath and sighed, unable to dispel the lingering lethargy that had seeped into his bones.  Again, he drifted.  He shifted to curl a hand over Duo’s leg, his fingers hooking behind the other man’s knee.  “He told me I should go back with you.  To Brussels.”  Duo’s hand stilled once more, feeling heavy where it rested against Heero’s shoulder.  “I…I don’t think I can.  Not yet,” Heero continued.  The words felt hollow on his tongue and yet he ached when he said them.  “This is my home.  For now.  I have friends here…”

“I know.  It’s okay,” Duo told him and then added, “I like your friends.”  He resumed his affectionate ministrations, lulling Heero away from his fearful thoughts.  Eventually, he said, “You can go back to sleep you know.  If you’re still tired.”

“What if the others come back and see us?”  Heero asked.

“I don’t care,” came the prompt reply.  Heero believed him and, closing his eyes, slid back into a deep sleep.

[happymedium4eco]

Ahhh more Joey Bada$$ inspired creations going to their new homes! 🙌🏼🌙 . Order this necklace through the @HappyMedium4eco store for $85 USD + shipping 💕 . https://www.etsy.com/listing/194765008/quartz-pyramid-malachite-and-tigers-eye . ✨Quartz✨ ~Facilitate flow of energy ~Channel: help with any condition ~Dispel negativity, re-energize “zest” for life ~Helps all conditions, pain, discomfort, malaise, low energy, ME, ear problems, diabetes, MS ~Balance heart, spine, weight loss ~Energy amplification, programmability and memory ~Heightened spiritual awareness ~Telepathy and psychic vision . ✨Malachite✨ ~Encourages empathy and desire for others perspective ~Capricorn, scorpio ~Promote emotional balance, bring calm, relieve depression and worry; insomnia ~Facilitates dream interpretation and meditation ~For immunity, heart, lungs, pancreas, spleen, pituitary gland, eyesight, teeth Tissue regeneration, physical balance, endurance, detoxing, easing childbirth, asthma, epilepsy, tumors, arthritis, rheumatism, inflammation, swelling, bone fractures, torn muscles, cholera Middle ages: believed to protect inner eye and relieve stomach conditions . ✨Tiger’s Eye✨ ~Helps get through difficult phases in life with courage ~Balances moods during stress ~Helps retain objective viewpoint ~Sharpens mind and intuition ~Helps eliminate worry, depression, and anxiety ~Grounding and centering ~Carries the frequency of creation ~Dispels duality . Custom orders welcome 🍃🌚

[vibratinglove]

Don't buy into the fear of going after whatever it is that you want in life! ☠️ . Order this necklace the @HappyMedium4eco store for $50 USD + shipping 🌎 . ➡️➡️ https://etsy.me/2GljRYp ⬅️⬅️ . ✨Star Mica✨ ~Clears and centers energies of the body ~Works powerfully with the heart and third eye ~Healing of perspectives and judgment ~Reflective, helps to recognize what we need to adjust ~Enhances flexibility . ✨Quartz✨ ~Facilitate flow of energy ~Channel: help with any condition ~Dispel negativity, re-energize “zest” for life ~Helps all conditions, pain, discomfort, malaise, low energy, ME, ear problems, diabetes, MS ~Balance heart, spine, weight loss ~Energy amplification, programmability and memory ~Heightened spiritual awareness ~Telepathy and psychic vision ~Stimulates nerves, fingernail growth and help to remove adhesion in connective tissue . Custom orders welcome 🍃🌚 (at Portland, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/BmAeFeTnV_X/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=8b9u80b0kks8

[tinymixtapes]

Music Review: Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

Car Seat Headrest Twin Fantasy [Matador; 2018] Rating: 4/5 The 2011 version of Car Seat Headrest’s Twin Fantasy begins with a variation of the iconic drum phrase from “Be My Baby.” Comprised of just a kick drum and two sticks clicking together, the album’s intro is a modest gesture. But gradually, “My Boy (Twin Fantasy),” the album’s inaugural song, grows more layered, culminating in a cacophony of messy, distorted guitars, clipping-prone drum tracks, and band autocrat Will Barnes’s quadruple-tracked vocals. That original Twin Fantasy (retroactively designated the “Mirror to Mirror” edition) showed that, like Phil Spector with his trademark Wall of Sound, Barnes was a maximalist. He favored elaborate multi-tracked arrangements and dynamic, lengthy song structures. Will Barnes, Car Seat’s sole creative force at the time, set out to prove himself as a bedroom pop auteur on the ur-Fantasy. That album, uploaded during Barnes’s sophomore year at William and Mary, was Car Seat Headrest’s seventh Bandcamp-exclusive release. Having conceived of the Headrest project less than two years prior, Barnes (who had swapped his surname with his mother’s maiden name for the nom de plume Will Toledo) found his artistic zenith in Fantasy amid a period of remarkable creative fecundity. It was a concept album, one that revolved around an imagined romance rife with “songs and hi-fives and weird sex” as well as the endlessly frustrating limitations of a theoretical relationship that could never be. Moving away from the unadorned aesthetics of lo-fi heroes like Guided by Voices and Moldy Peaches, Car Seat Headrest issued a pronouncement via Twin Fantasy that low tech need not encumber artistic ambition nor inhibit creative vision. At 19 years old, Will Toledo/Barnes was an undisputed wunderkind of indie rock’s SoundCloud generation. And it was obvious that sooner or later he’d grow bored with lo-fi. Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest So now brandishing a Bachelor’s Degree, a full backing band, and a record deal with Matador, Will is choosing to revisit his juvenilia and give it the high-fidelity revamp he didn’t have the wherewithal to achieve as a teenager. Thus, we have Twin Fantasy (Face to Face). At times, the new Twin Fantasy feels like a simulacrum of its predecessor. Improving the album’s fidelity, the band sacrifice the ramshackle charm of certain songs; “Sober to Death,” with its now crystalline guitar lines, loses some of the original track’s frustrated verve that was imbued in its crackling, lo-fi sound. The updated “Bodys” similarly compromises the frenetic urgency of the 2011 version’s compressed drum beat, exchanging that driving force for a carefully programmed drum sound that one could expect on an LCD Soundsystem record. Danceable, sure, but incongruous with much of the rest of the album. By other turns, however, Will’s maturation as a songwriter and producer breathe crucial new life into the album’s weaker links. Dialing back the tremoring reverb in his vocal track, Barnes injects some much-needed clarity into the formerly diaphanous “High to Death.” “I fell over, I fell onto the ground/ I wish I was sober, I can’t get up off the ground,” he sings, and this time around, his delivery truly communicates the penitence and self-loathing of a kid who’s been overzealously drinking and who knows he has the rest of the night and an impending hangover to reckon with. The original “High to Death” featured an interpolation of Pink Floyd’s “Jugband Blues” (“And the sea isn’t green…”), which was elided from Face to Face presumably for legal reasons. Likewise, “Beach Life-in-Death” included the line “A book of Aubrey Beardsley art corrupted me in youth,” which has since been supplanted by lyrics from the band’s cover of Frank Ocean’s “Ivy.” These abrogated lines, along with the references that transferred over to the new Fantasy (They Might Be Giants’ “Ana Ng,” Leonard Cohen’s, “Let’s Sing Another Song, Boys”), illustrate Will’s cultural omnivorousness. He’s yet another node in the vast tissue of indie songwriters who bury furtive literary, musical, and psychological references in their music and color their lyrics with a panoply of cultural touchstones sometimes obvious, but often esoteric. As a lyricist, Barnes serves as a focalizer who is desperate to pronounce his contrition and malaise, yet at the same time needs to proffer an ostensibly unrelated reference point to dispel suspicions of lugubriousness. “I feel so empty trying to explain this/ His name is William Onyeabor, he’s from the 70s,” professes Will on “Not What I Needed” from 2016’s Teens of Denial. Rather than address his ennui and disaffection directly, Barnes makes a passing reference to his opaque feelings and then promptly redirects our attention to the Nigerian funk legend. Something similar happens on “Beach Life-in-Death:” “I pretended I was drunk when I came out to my friends […] then I laughed and I changed the subject.” The Toledo persona Barnes has constructed for Car Seat Headrest primarily functions as a carapace and an idealized self. Toledo is the façade that can get away with lines like, “I got so fucking romantic, I apologize. Let me light your cigarette.” He works to excuse some of Barnes’s histrionics while at the same time acting as an agent of catharsis. Toledo has the proper confidence (or maybe the maladjustment) to disseminate his grievances when Will Barnes is too diffident. As he explains on “Beast Monster Thing,” from the EP How to Leave Town, “I co-write my songs with myself/ He feels the feelings, I write the words.” Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest And those words can be tautological and redundant. On “Sober to Death,” he sings “We have breakdowns and sometimes we don’t have breakdowns.” On “Famous Prophets,” he avers, “I’m not gonna end up a nervous wreck like the people I know who are nervous wrecks.” But these lines aren’t just pointedly banal pronouncements that emphasize the circuitousness of a relationship or internal dialogue caught in a stalemate; they’re the musings of a person who understands the paradoxical necessity and futility of articulating himself. Will’s lyrics now enjoy the undergirding of a backup band that he assembled upon moving to Seattle back in 2014. Lead guitarist Ethan Ives imbues into the album’s tracks a style of noodling that’s informed as much by late-60s acid rockers as it is by the casually virtuosic guitar heroes of 90s alternative rock. Andrew Katz’s drumming, with its dexterity on both a live kit and programmed pads, evinces a versatility imperative to the group’s protean sound. And Seth Dalby, as humble a bassist as there ever were, provides a seamless foundation for the group, adopting the restraint and self-effacement of a Tina Weymouth or Sean Yeaton of Parquet Courts. Although the album is still helmed by Barnes and his fastidious recording praxis, Dalby, Katz, and Ives serve as invaluable players, bringing nuance and energy to the updated Twin Fantasy. Twin Fantasy (Face to Face) will doubtlessly go down as the lesser of the two iterations. As a remake with markedly higher fidelity, the album is certain to aggravate Car Seat purists, just as Teens of Denial did two years ago. But to new(er) fans, Face to Face will satisfy the itch engendered by the gestation period between those two records and remind that Denial wasn’t Car Seat Headrest’s first sprawling opus. And while it may not carry the same intrigue of a college student self-recording a lo-fi opus between classes, this new Twin Fantasy elucidates the masterfulness of an incisive indie savant whose creative reach had, until recently, exceeded his grasp. Where Mirror to Mirror was the fervent murmuring of young artist discovering his potential, Face to Face is the throat clearing that snaps the world to attention. http://j.mp/2BwlnDH

[buddyrabrahams]

10 biggest disappointments of NFL wild-card weekend

NFL wild-card weekend is complete, and we’re down to eight remaining teams in the postseason. Four teams are going home after suffering losses. That means plenty of goats will have an entire offseason to reflect on what went wrong for them at the worst possible time.

Here’s a list of 10 big disappointments from the first weekend of the NFL playoffs.

Andy Reid, Chiefs

The Chiefs’ second half collapse on Saturday will do nothing to dispel Reid’s reputation as a guy who can consistently get you to the playoffs, but doesn’t know how to win there. Up 18 points at halftime, the Chiefs sleepwalked through the second half, ultimately losing out to a Titans team that some viewed as the worst in the playoffs. Not everything that happened was Reid’s fault, but he ultimately bears responsibility — especially since this keeps happening on his watch.

Officiating in Chiefs-Titans game

A series of reports on Sunday indicated that referee Jeff Triplette, who headed the crew that worked the Chiefs/Titans game, was retiring. If he is, he certainly didn’t go out on a high note. His crew made several bizarre decisions during the game, most notably ruling Marcus Mariota down by forward progress, wiping out a fumble that could have changed the entire game. The explanation for that ruling was woefully insufficient. Playoff referees are supposed to get these assignments on merit, but it’s hard to see how Triplette and his crew got that assignment, especially after a performance like that.

Pharoh Cooper, Rams

More than any other Rams player, Cooper seemed particularly rattled by the high-stakes playoff environment on Saturday night. He was caught in two minds on a short punt that ended up bouncing in front of him and hitting teammate Blake Countess, resulting in a turnover. Seemingly rattled by the first mistake, he fumbled a kickoff later in the first quarter, and seemed to be fighting the yips every time he went out there afterward. The Rams have had issues with special teams turnovers, and Cooper’s night put Los Angeles at a huge disadvantage early on.

Buffalo’s offensive playcalling

Offensive coordinator Rick Dennison’s number may be up after a stinker of an afternoon in Jacksonville. Yes, the Jaguars have an elite defense that unquestionably factored in the outcome, but he did little to help Tyrod Taylor and the Bills. The key moment came late in the second quarter, when the Bills had first-and-goal at the 1-yard line. For some inexplicable reason, Dennison elected to throw instead of handing the ball to LeSean McCoy, the team’s top offensive weapon. After an offensive pass interference penalty, the Bills had to settle for a field goal and ended up not scoring a touchdown all game. That series will haunt Buffalo. The Bills were not good, but they almost held themselves back at times with their playcalling.

Kaelin Clay, WR, Panthers

Clay’s huge first quarter drop was a study in momentum. If he catches the Cam Newton pass in the end zone, the Panthers go up 7-0 on the road and feel a whole lot better about things. It was an easy catch, too, and one that every NFL receiver should be making. Clay dropped it, though, and the Panthers were forced to settle for a 25-year field goal attempt, which Graham Gano shockingly missed. To make matter worse, the Saints immediately went downfield and scored a touchdown. Carolina losing by just five ended up being the icing on the cake. Clay won’t sleep well tonight.

Concussion protocol and handling of Cam Newton

Get ready to hear more about the NFL’s concussion protocol. The Panthers blaming Newton’s brief exit on an eye issue after taking a vicious hit to the head did not sit well with many, especially since the QB returned to the game very quickly. It’s pretty easy to cook up a theory in which the Panthers, facing a do-or-die drive in a playoff game, came up with the explanation to get Newton back on the field as quickly as possible. Many people think the NFL’s concussion protocol doesn’t work. This will do nothing to quiet them.

Darrelle Revis, CB, Chiefs

It was almost sad watching Revis play on Saturday. Once the game’s most feared defensive back, he was a shell of himself against the Titans. It was his deflection that enabled Marcus Mariota’s bizarre touchdown pass to himself, which was more bad luck than anything else. However, Revis only has himself to blame for his lack of effort on Derrick Henry’s game-clinching first down run. This may well be the end for Revis. He hasn’t exactly lit the world alight since coming back to play for the Chiefs.

The Rams’ composure

Many wondered how the Rams would deal with the bright lights of the playoffs. They’re a very young team led by a second-year quarterback and a 31-year old head coach. Ultimately, it did seem that the occasion caught them by surprise. The Rams struggled in the first half against the more experienced Atlanta Falcons, with the aforementioned Pharoh Cooper’s struggles seemingly indicative of the team’s tightness. In the future, it will be less of an issue, but the Rams seemed to learn how different the playoffs are the hard way.

Devin Funchess, WR, Panthers

Funchess rebounded a bit from his late season malaise, and his surface numbers look fine. He caught four balls for 79 yards, but his day could have been much more. Cam Newton looked his way as a big play threat, but it didn’t happen for him — he was targeted eight times and missed a few 50/50 balls that could have really put the Carolina offense in motion. While he certainly wasn’t Public Enemy No. 1 in the defeat, he will probably have his share of regrets after this one.

Tyrod Taylor, QB, Bills

The odds are high that Sunday’s game was Taylor’s last as a Buffalo Bill. Jacksonville’s smothering defense limited his time and options, but he did have chances, and demonstrated the shortcomings in his decisionmaking. He didn’t spot open receivers several times and missed a few other throws, completing just 17 of his 38 passes for only 134 yards. For the Bills to take the next step, they simply need a better quarterback than Taylor has shown himself to be.

from Larry Brown Sports http://ift.tt/2qFuYUR