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derinthescarletpescatarian · 3 years ago

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Time to Orbit: Unknown

There’s a problem with the Javelin Program.

Well, there are probably numerous problems with the Javelin Program. I’d imagine that constructing several dozen interstellar spaceships, packing them with static humans and launching them in the direction of any remotely viable exoplanet within detection range comes with all kinds of physical, medical and engineering challenges. But I’m not an engineer, so the problem that’s glaringly obvious to me (and apparently not to the Powers That Be) comes down to three points:

1) The sorts of people you wanted to send to colonise far-off planets previously unreachable by humankind possessed fairly specific skills, priorities and personality types.

2) The sorts of people likely to volunteer to be drugged and packed in a long metal tube made by the lowest bidder and sent across the void of space to the inhospitable unknown with no hope of ever seeing home again possessed fairly specific skills, priorities and personality types.

3) The crossover between these two groups is vanishingly small.

‘Oh, but Aspen,’ I hear you protest, ‘that’s what screening processes are for. Surely, with the sheer volume of people willing to volunteer with such a mission, the Powers That Be have their pick of competent, qualified candidates, even if they have to pick through the chaff for them?’

Well, let me tell you something about how rigorously Javelin candidates were screened, how high their standards. All you really need to know about the process is that they let me aboard. Without question.

Yeah, we’re in trouble.

I knew all of this when I let the doctors sedate me for chronostasis, which just proves that I’m an idiot and damns the screening process further. I knew that the next time I opened my eyes would be when it was time to leave the care of the trained, dedicated crew carefully selected to shepherd us over lightyears of empty void and be thrown instead upon the mercies of, well, of other people like me.

But as I wake from stasis, I can already tell that something is wrong. The insistent beeping of the reanimation alarm rings in my ears and I’m already shivering from the chill of the stasis fluid still clinging to my body. The safety restraints have disengaged, the breathing tubes feel stiff and uncomfortable in my nose, and only one thing is on my mind: where are the doctors?

There should be people here to remove me from the equipment before I woke. I should be in a hospital bed, or on a stretcher, with the sounds of people all around me.

Here, there’s only the sound of the reanimation alarm. What the hell is going on?

Fortunately, we’ve been trained on how to self-revive, in the case of a mass evacuation or a similar emergency. I don’t hear any evacuation alarms, but the fastest way to figure out what was going on was to get out of the stasis tank, so. I carefully reach around to the port at base of my skull (my muscles scream at every movement, an effect of the chronostasis) and disconnect the cerebral stimulator. That delicate process out of the way, I set about disconnecting the various other tubes attached to my body, working by feel. I haven’t opened my eyes yet. I know that the light is going to hurt when I do. I don’t remove the actual IV lines, just take the needles out; the ship’s doctor can pull the lines out later.

Pulling the breathing tubes from my nose, I gag at the unexpected smell of old blood and rot. That’s… probably not great. For a moment I wonder what could be rotting on the ship, before I realise that that’s a stupid question; even in the event of a major accident, everything would’ve been thoroughly cleaned up before the scent reached me in this stasis ring. If that was impossible, the area in question would’ve been isolated from the air cycling system. The smell in my sinuses isn’t coming from the air, it’s coming from my sinuses.

In chronostasis, all cellular processes, including healing, are dramatically slowed. The breathing tubes must have scratched up the inside of my nose when inserted, allowing blood to pool and break down in my sinuses. Gross.

What bothers me most is the rot. I hope that doesn’t mean infection, or dead tissue. Chronostasis should slow any infection at the same rate it slows healing, but maybe I was unlucky. I suppose the doctor can worry about that.

I can’t put it off any longer. I sit up, wait a moment for the movement to stop hurting, grit my teeth, and open my eyes.

It… doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. There’s almost no light in the chamber. The indicator lights on the stasis chambers around me provide barely enough illumination to make out the shape of the chambers themselves, and a dim red glow to my right somewhere indicates the exit, but the main lighting is off.

No alarms. No people. No lights.

Hmm.

I struggle out of the chamber and check my body for any input or output lines I might have missed. I’m naked, wet, and cold, but appear to be in one piece, apart from the array of sores and bruises that one expects from chronostasis. My stasis chamber is just a big box, maybe the size of a single bed, now full of discarded lines and restraints all still wet with stasis fluid, and underneath it is a drawer. I open the drawer and pull out the heated blanket, which I throw around my shoulders, and a little bottle of saline and glucose. At least it’s mostly saline and glucose, I think. All I know for sure is that we’re supposed to drink it immediately upon revival. I take a sip and screw my face up at the taste.

Okay. So. First steps?

Really I should go and find the crew. Figure out why I’d been revived, and why no one was here to meet me. The sight of all of those other stasis chambers, all closed up and concealing their presumably very static cargo, bothers me. This clearly isn’t an evacuation. Why am I awake?

Maybe it was a computer glitch. Maybe when I walk out of here, the crew will be just as surprised as I am. That’d be a fun encounter.

There were legitimate reasons to wake up a single colonist. The Courageous, my javelin, has four crews of twenty one people, each supposed to take five year shifts on our journey. If any crew member is killed or otherwise unable to perform their duties, they could be replaced from one of the other three teams. In the extremely unlikely event that all qualified members of all teams are unavailable – let’s say, for example, all of the doctors die – they’ll be replaced by a revived colonist. We’d all taken aptitude and temperament tests before stasis to figure out our specific places in the chain of succession for each role on the ship.

They’d told me my results before putting me under. Of all the roles, the one that I was highest on the list for was ship psychologist. I was one hundred and seventy sixth. With the four crew psychologists, that meant that at least one hundred and seventy nine of the right people had to die for me to be revived for ship duty. More, if I were revived for a non-psychology role.

So, yeah, it probably wasn’t that. And also, I just couldn’t let this point go, if I were being revived for duty, the doctor should have revived me in the medbay. Where was everyone?

I finish my drink (rinsing my mouth didn’t lessen the disgusting smell in my sinuses like I’d hoped it would), pull my rapidly cooling blanket tighter around my shoulders, and glance around in the hope that some solution to the mystery might present itself. The room looks like a tomb full of metal and plastic sarcophagi laid out in ordered rows, each with a little screen at the head like a memorial plaque. Mine now reads REVIVE SUCCESSFUL, the row of status lights below all green, which just means that I was alive when disconnected from the system and that if I died now then it was someone else’s problem. So I should probably go and find someone else, so it could be their problem instead of mine.

I don’t know the specific layout of the Courageous. Under normal circumstances, I was only expected to be on board long enough for a basic health checkup and to climb into a landing pod. But it’s pretty damned hard to get lost on a javelin. The ships are just long tubes sectioned off into several rings, each ring with a specific purpose. They’re sectioned this way so that if there’s some critical failure in some part of the ship, that ring can be removed and the two good sections reattached to each other. The ship flies through space in a straight line like, well, like a javelin, and spins on its central axis to provide inertial gravity, sticking my feet to the wall like clothes in a dryer. All this means that there are only two directions to go, if one doesn’t want to walk in a big circle – towards the front of the ship, or towards the back. All the navigation and control stuff is most likely, I figure, at the front of the ship, so that’s where I need to go. That’s where the crew probably are, right?

I… don’t know which way the front of the ship is.

Fifty-fifty chance, right? A dim red light indicates the nearest exit; I head over. There’s no locks or security verification or anything at the door. The twenty one people who were supposed to be awake were presumably well trained and knew where they should and shouldn’t be, so putting locks on everything would just waste everyone’s time.

I go to open the door, and hesitate, struck suddenly by a horrible thought. This door should, in theory, lead to an airlock, which should lead to the next ring. But.

What if it doesn’t?

I woke up alone, in a revive chamber with the lights off, no evacuation alarm, and everyone else still asleep. That doesn’t make sense. Unless… unless there’s no crew here, no power for full lighting. Unless I’m not on the Courageous any more.

A javelin can ditch rings with critical problems, to preserve the rest of the ship. What if that had happened here? What if my stasis ring had had to be discarded? It would certainly explain my circumstances. There might have been a problem with my stasis chamber that caused the system to wake me up as an emergency measure, or it might simply be running out of battery power, abandoned in space, and be dropping the chronostasis fields on the chambers one by one. I was just unlucky enough to be the first.

Or maybe I wasn’t the first. Maybe that rotten smell isn’t in my own nose at all.

Panicking a bit now, I slam my hand against the door button. It opens immediately. I take this as a good sign; it didn’t need to pressurise, and if it was left at the same pressure as the inside of my ring, then that probably means that the other side is attached to another pressurised ring, right? If we were floating in space, the airlock would be depressurised, right? (Are external airlocks usually kept at the pressure of the inside of a ship or the vaccuum outside? This wasn’t covered in my emergency training.) The inside of the airlock is plain except for a basic status panel; I rush over to have a look. Seals intact, air quality acceptable, airlock pressure 1 atmosphere, aft ring pressure 1 atmosphere, fore ring pressure… 1 atmosphere.

I almost fall to my knees in relief. The rooms on both sides of the airlock are pressurised. I’m not just out in the void of space.

I mean, I am out in the void of space, but I’m in a proper spaceship. Which is… not as great as being on a planet, but y’know, I’ll take it.

I push the button to open the other side of the airlock. The door behind me automatically closes, which strikes me as something that’s going to get annoying if I have to travel between rings a lot (we can’t just leave the doors open?), but safety is important, I guess.

The lighting in the next ring isn’t any better. Is the whole ship on emergency power? In the red light cast by the emergency light above the airlock, I can make out some computer terminals against the wall, near the airlock. Probably for monitoring the stasis ring without actually having to go in there. I tap a random key on the nearest one and the screen lights up.

-Hello, crewmember! I’m having difficulty IDing you. Could you tell me who I’m talking to?-

Oh, the ship system is friendly. I’m sure that won’t get annoying fast. I type,

Aspen Greaves.

- Hello, Aspen! Could you hold your chip to a reader for verification and a data update? -

Reader? What reader?

What reader?

- There is a metal plate on the wall to the right of this terminal. I can read your location from a distance and compare to my files, but direct reading/writing to your chip requires proximity. Please place your right forearm to the plate. -

I know where in my arm the chip is. They’d implanted it a week before sedation, so that the wound could heal properly before going into chronostasis. I press my arm to the rectangle of metal on the wall, and the computer beeps at me.

- Chip and system information updated! Crew member verified. -

The lights come on, sudden and blinding. I suppose they’re set up to light inhabited areas, and now that the computer’s flagged me as a crew member, I qualify for the privilege of being able to see.

- Permissions and protocols unlocked. Welcome aboard, Captain Aspen! How can I help you today? -

I stare at the screen. My blood runs cold.

Captain?

There’s a mistake. Can you check my rank again?

- Highest rank occupied by Aspen Greaves: captain of the Javelin Courageous. Can I look up anything else for you, captain? -

Everyone aboard the ship had had to take temperament and aptitude tests to determine our relevant capacity for fulfilling all of the roles on the ship, and were ranked as emergency personnel accordingly. As I’ve said, I rank highest as a ship psychologist, a role I’m 179th in line for, including the crew.

I’m 2,467th in line for the role of captain. And frankly, I think that’s too high.

What’s going on here?

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Want to read the rest of Aspen’s story? Time to Orbit: Unknown is a candidate for the poll determining what web serial I’ll write next! Patrons can vote for their favourite story here.

#writing #web serial #time to orbit: unknown

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vybewitme · 4 years ago

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Ive known this girl for almost two years in july. We only 3 amazing months together in the beginning then we parted ways for 8 months. During those 3 month we genuinely fell for one another. She wanted to do her thing and i was cool with it but it hurt both of us when were apart. I let her, i had move on. Luckly we are talking again but its different the love is still there but im trying for us to get back to us laughing all the time and just being us around one another. But she seems unreachable, thinking i dont love her like i once did before. I mean yeah, i do but not like before. I dont think she's interested in trying to go grow beyond what we was. I think she still looking for the old us or me and its gone. Truthfully im afraid im going to lose her again and this time for good because she doesnt want to talk when we on the phone but she calls to sleep. And our conversations have no depth their shallow. How do as a man overcome something like that. Because i want a women who i can share things we despite what has happen. Have conversations without feeling the space and disconnection between us. Because she may think one thing, "this dont make me happy anymore" and thinking the other,"how can i engage more with her, how can i make this girl happy like i once did"?

I’m no expert at this but based off experience y’all both have to keep it 1000 with one another, talk it out and if y’all are on the same page and those feelings are still strong then I say go get your woman back. But if those feelings aren’t there, then you gotta be truthful to yourself and let her go so y’all both can find that right person for y’all. Letting go isn’t easy but Holding on to what it use to feel like can do a lot more damage than good. So Tell her how you feel, truthfully. She’ll have no choice but to respect. Good luck bro

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lexxnova · 4 years ago

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Well first you gatta make yourself happy. Life ain’t a movie and love isn’t something you just play like a game . If it’s genuine emotions it’ll show. But thinking ways of creating those emotions and trying to just make her happy is ganna make both of you miserable. Don’t fight what’s there or not there . Just accept what you guys either have or don’t have

#ask #asks

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doubledepressowithtwobrownsugars · 4 years ago

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I ain’t reading all that

I’m happy for you tho

Or sorry that happened

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years ago

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05/26/2020 DAB Transcript

2 Samuel 9:1-11:27, John 15:1-27, Psalms 119:49-64, Proverbs 16:1-3

Today is May 26th welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we continue through this final full week of this 5th month of the year. It is wonderful to be around the Global Campfire together and just know no matter what's happening we are not alone. We are in this together. We always have been and here we are now together, allowing God's word to come into our lives for today. So, we’re reading from the English Standard Version this week and continuing our journey through second Samuel. David, this little shepherd boy who became famous for killing a giant and then had to run for his life and grow up really fast and sort of live as a national hero, unwittingly, and has…has arisen to become the king of all Israel. And, so, we’re kind of moving through a patch where we’re…we’re understanding his reign. He is now the full-blown king of Israel. So, today, second Samuel chapters 9, 10, and 11.

Commentary:

Okay. So, Jesus is having a really moving, very profound conversation with His friends and this is obviously before He moves into His time of suffering. And, so, it's a very, very intimate conversation that's happening. And what He's telling them is that that they need to abide in Him, to remain in Him, to stay in it. And the example that He uses is of a vine and branches. So, we can of a vine, we can think of a tree, we can think of branches that come out from that tree and we can say that we, you know, we know like if you go to cut the branch off the tree the branch is gonna die because it is disconnected from its source of life. And, so, Jesus is saying, “remain, endure, abide, stay where you are. Don't disconnect from your source of life.” And I’ve been watching the trees. I watch trees a lot as the seasons go by. And, you know, we came out of winter and everything looks like it's dormant, right? There’s…the trees are there, but there's no life. It seems as if there is no life there. And yet then springtime comes and the season changes and life springs forth and then the season changes and its in full bloom. Like, life is a seasonal thing. And sometimes we can be in like a winter season and feel dormant and feel dead and fuel stuck and just like try to figure out a way to get away, like just become a part of a different tree, just get out of here even though that will disconnect us from our very source of life and we will die. If we would abide, if we would remain, the seasons will change, new life will come. This is often that we don't see things…I mean like the seasons are in front of us in nature. The seasons of life are before us, but we rarely ever pay attention. And, so, things can be like we can be having a difficult season and decide we don’t want to have anything to do with the tree anymore. Like, we want to just go find something else even though if we would abide, if we would remain, if we would wait the seasons change. It’s just that so often we’re kind of sold this concept that we should be in complete overwhelming sense of harvest and blessing at all times. Like it should always be that way for us. We should just walk around with gold falling…falling out of the sky, like everything should work right for us. When that's really not the nature of things. And we can be like, “yeah but I'm a child of God and the most-high God owns the cattle on a thousand hills” and all of these things are true, but if we’re…if we want to understand life on earth then we have to look at God in the flesh. Like, we have to look at the example that God gave for us in human form in the person Jesus and see how He lived and then set our expectations accordingly. And in our reading today He was telling them, “if they hate me, they'll hate you too. Like, basically if you wanna bring light into the darkness, then this is so noble, and the harvest is ripe, and so ready, and I will be with you in it all. Like, you are intertwining yourself with God. Like the vine is God and you are the branches. Like, you have this chance to be a part of something really cosmically monumentally important, but it won’t be easy.” This is like sometimes when so…so often…and man…I have to like wave both hands over my head…like…I’m the chief…like me…me…me. When things aren’t going so well it’s so easy to go like, “what's happening What have I done wrong? What's going on? Why are you mad? Like where are you? Where have you gone?” When these are the very, very times to abide, right? Like to be rooted and to be still and to wait for the season to change.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that and we take it to heart. It's so beautiful…it's so beautiful, the kindness, the compassion, the instruction, the love that it is in today's reading. And, so, as we personalize it, as we take it on board into our own lives, we invite Your Holy Spirit. And may we abide, may we rest in You, may we stay connected, may we remain in You and You in us today. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base. That makes it the website. That’s where you find out what’s going on around here. That’s where the Global Campfire burns. And it’s home. So, stay tuned stay connected.

Be aware of the Community section of the website. That's where you find the different links to the social media channels. The…like the women's group or DAB Friends or the Daily Audio Bible Announcements and stuff like that. It’s also the home of the Prayer Wall, where prayer is continually happening. And, so, you can reach out there or reach in there any…any time. So, be aware of that. Stay connected in any way that you can, in any way that want to. This is all going on before there was a coronavirus and it will be going on long, long after. No matter what, we have a place to stay connected. And, so let's do that. And let's pray for one another and let's shoulder each other's burdens. And let's be in this journey of a lifetime to through the scriptures. Let’s be in it together.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. I am profoundly humbled that we are even here and that we have been here every day for these years. That has happened because we've been in this together. There's no other way or reason. And, so, it's humbling. So, if Daily Audio Bible’s bringing life to you then thank you for throwing a log on the Global Campfire. So, there's a link on the homepage. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if you prefer, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi Daily Audio Bible this is Maria a missionary in Mexico. I’m out here in the barn so you might hear a lot of animal noises. Man, there’s so many people I want to call…shout out to. Was it, Jane that did the focus fix on Christ until still? Thank you. That was beautiful. God’s Smile and her hubby Peter. Wow, what a blessing you guys are. You always make me smile. I can feel your love God’s Smile. Michaela from Gloucester, I love it that you praying for the people who are Muslims, during Ramadan. Thank you. Stephanie from Banglador, Joanne from Happy Valley, Lady of Victory and Kingdom Seeker Daniel. Rosie in Oklahoma thank you. Rachel and Ben from Pennsylvania. Merinotha from Georgia. There’s Denise, airport missionary. So many people. I could just go on and on. Thank you. I think about you, I pray with you and pray for you. I want to lift up right now the people who are the unreached people groups. Another lady prays for them. Thank you. With voice of the modern prayer request. That is why were in Mexico. I never thought I’d come as a missionary to Mexico because I’ve always had a heart to reach people who never had a chance to hear the gospel. And this COVID is really hard on some of those unreached people groups who might even live in the city, but they don’t really speak the language, Spanish very well. They speak their indigenous languages. And, of course, this COVID is hitting them hard. The schools are saying, “teach your kids to read, teach you kids math.” While they’re literate, a lot of those parents. Their kids are in school, but they don’t know how to teach their kids. So, please be praying for us as missionaries here in Mexico reaching the indigenous people groups of Mexico. And pray for wisdom, pray for the people groups in Mexico, that they would come to know the Lord Jesus. Thanks guys. Bye.

Hi this is Rachel from Pennsylvania. Dear Lord, I want to lift up Ben who ran away. I pray that he will be safe and that You will bring him home and that You will address whatever it is that is making him want to run away from home. I pray that he will grow up to be a strong man in You Lord. I also want to pray for Rachel and Emily for their protection and healing and for the woman in Ohio who is church planting. I thank You for her and her desire to start a church. And I also want to pray for her sister’s salvation Lord. You know what is holding her back from You and I just pray that You will soften her heart and change her and…and bring her to You. I also want to pray for Joe in Pennsylvania and his family as they have a family member who’s transitioning from this life to the next. Lord please give them peace and comfort and I pray that You will be with Joe’s Father and that he will not suffer and that he will be with You in heaven. I also want to lift up the lady who has 100-year-old house. I pray for…for her. Please give her direction and show her what You have next to her Lord. Bless her and make sure that all her needs are met. I pray that You will help with the sale of the house and bring some…

Hi this is Arizona Steve. I’m just calling in today for the first time ever and asking you all for prayers my wife Nancy. She’s having surgery today because she broke her femur and is going to have a partial hip replacement. She’s been struggling over the last 30 years with rheumatoid arthritis, multiple surgeries for joint replacements, and a lot of pain and suffering. Anyway, I just ask you for prayers for a successful surgery and healing, so she’ll be able to come home. Thank you all. I love this…I love this podcast. I listen every day. And that’s all.

Thank you thank you everybody. It’s Lisa from San Jose and I’m calling to thank you for your words of encouragement and your prayers over me during this time. It’s been like a week and half since my husband passed and I…I’m going through the emotional roller coaster part of it all. I’ve got a lot of work to do. And yet I feel like I have to take time to breath. I just bless the Lord I bless the Lord for his mercy. Thank you, Lord for taking Craig in such a peaceful way. And thank you everybody for holding me up in praying for me. Thank you, God’s Smile for reading that chapter in Revelation. And that…there’s been many you who’ve prayed for me. Thank you. God’s been answering my prayers holding me up letting me know that Craig is in heaven with Him. He’s dancing a jig right now. Anyway, friends and family are surrounding me, supporting me in so many ways. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Just bless the Lord. Thank you, family. Okay family. I’ll let you know how it’s going a little bit later but keep the prayers coming they’re keeping me together. Lisa from San Jose.

This is Tired but Trusting in Texas but I’m changing my name to Trusting in God in Texas because even though I’m still tired…I apologize that my voice is always like this from my sinus problems…and even though I’m still tired I trust is in God and God alone and I’m trusting Him to strengthen me for all the work He’s called me to do to take care of these children and that even some adults with these disabilities. Will you pray for our clinic, pray for us, pray for me and my husband to be able to keep on going and do what God has called us to do. But I’m also calling in today to pray for Chris a lay pastor from New York who now lives in Washington with his wife’s family and his new baby. And he’s had his church fall apart and he’s losing faith. I’m just praying God that you will help him be faithful and that you will help him to remember that you are a God and that you have him and that you will keep him as the apple of your eye. Zechariah 2 verse 8 - for thus says the Lord of hosts, he sent me after glory to the nations which plunder you for, he who touches you touches the apple of his eye. Please help him Lord Psalm 17 verse 8 - keep me as the apple of your eye. Please just help him Lord to cry out to you to cast all his cares upon you. First Peter 5:6 and 7 - For you are the one who holds his hand. Psalm 18 verse 6 - you hear his prayer. Thank you, God Almighty in Jesus’ name.

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captainderyn · 6 years ago

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Drabble List#2 for Ien and Noq but like 2 separate parts. 1When Ien gets captured and Noq goes to bail him out. 59: “Look at me.” 13: “Who did this.” and 2then after the one kiss prompt 17: “This is going to hurt.” 56: “Would you hold still.” 49: “Take your shirt off.” Just general patching him up and checking to make sure nothing is broken.

Thank you so much for the asks @claudela! I adored having prompts that all worked together into one cohesive story and goodness knows I’ve been living for writing these two! Hope you like it

Ien was going to languish in this prison for stars knew how long.

That may have been a little dramatic–it was unlikely being caught smuggling illegal goods would truly net him a life sentence, even if this was the Empire he had stupidly been caught in–but staring at the shimmering red plasma barrier in front of him or the slate grey walls around him was exceedingly dull and didn’t foster boundless optimism.

Nor did the thumping in his head or the grating discomfort radiating from his side. Both not gained from his speeder’s exceedingly poorly timed malfunction that had sent him sprawling face first into the Kaasi dirt, but instead gained from the quite unhappy law enforcement agents who had found him with their illegal goods. Ien could still taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth; could feel it dried on his upper lip from his nose and slicking the short hairs along his hairline to his forehead.

Damn it.

He slumped further down against the wall, shoulders dropping as he looked down at his hands–cut up and blistered from hauling cargo and fighting back with dirt and blood under their nails. He wasn’t going to get out of here on his own, not unless he’d like a plasma bolt through his brain. Baize certainly wasn’t going to be any help, not from the way he had scoffed away Ien’s pleas for help because hello, he was stuck in a hostile Kaasi jungle and then had the nerve to simply disconnect their comm connection.

He wasn’t going to get any help there, nor from Deryn, who was somewhere unreachable from the static he had reached. The thought made him sink into the cesspool of self pity, slipping into a healthy pot of the realization that he was alone and completely isolated that sent a violent pang through his chest.

So caught up in the downward spiral he nearly missed the commotion from outside his cell block, the conversation that came in broken and muted through the durasteel door.

“That captain….release…”

“Can’t…no clearance…”

“On my request…let him be–”

The door slid open and while Ien’s brows knitted in confusion he didn’t dare look up–there were many people that came in and out of these cell blocks from his few day experience and he wasn’t certain any of them would take kindly to even being glanced out. He may have ended up in this situation on his own reckless abandon but he did have some semblance of street smarts. He didn’t even dare to look up when from the corner of his eye the plasma wall of his cell flicked down.

He just sat in his corner, eyes on his hands, which fiddled nervous around and around. Self preservation was superior over curiosity.

“Ien,” He closed his eyes at the familiarly cadenced voice, not quite willing to believe if luck was truly on his side. Almost gently, tentatively, a hand slid under his chin, tilting his head up. “Look at me.”

Ien opened his eyes, blinking at the familiar red eyes looking back at him, the long, dark hair he had run his hands through on more than one night hanging in a ponytail over such an aparatition’s shadow. Noq. Confusion must have shown blatantly across his face, he could feel it even if he couldn’t muster the words to voice it and Noq seemed on the verge of answer his unspoken question before his eyes darted over the bruises under Ien’s eye, blossoming across his cheek and across his nose, the cuts and rusted blood, and darkened. His thumb brushed over Ien’s lower lip–bloodied from where he had bitten it in the fall, and his voice was chillingly cold. “Who did this?”

“Uh…” he hummed, stalling at the sudden intensity. “I don’t…there was a posted guard, you might have…uhm…come across him? Out there. But…I just want out.” Despite the shame that flared in his gut his voice hitched in pleading at the end. With each moment they stalled there was a higher likelihood he’d be stuck here among the durasteel walls–something that threatened to drive him insane.

“Of course I’m getting you out of here.” Noq softened but for a moment, fingers brushing Ien’s jaw as he stood–glancing over his shoulder as Ien stared at the uniformed guard stalking through the door, the man in question. “In just a moment.”

He approached the guard with poise and grace, though there was almost something predator like in the deliberate way he moved. The guard, even in the face of such intensity, lifted his chin. “You aren’t authorized to do any such thing. I’ve already called by superiors to remove you and determine just what–”

There was a harsh smack as Noq’s hand connected with the guard’s face, a thump as the man fell to his knees, clutching his gut. “That is for the pilot.” Noq nudged the man’s fallen comlink closer to his hand. “Call of your men, they won’t touch us.”

Wiping his hand on his pants with a disgusted look Noq turned back to Ien, helping him to his feet and when his steps fumbled, slipped an arm around his waist as Ien braced himself against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Ien, take your shirt off.”

Ien nearly choked on the water he had been swirling around his mouth, jerking up to look at Noq with raised brows and wide eyes. “S’cuse me?”

The sigh sent his way was long-suffering as Noq dropped a medkit next to Ien, waving a hand at him in a ‘off’ gesture. “Please. I just need to see what they did. ”

Reluctantly, if only because he wasn’t used to anyone inspecting injuries of his except for him, he slid his now battered and tattered jacket off his shoulders, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and slid it over his head, bunching it alongside him.

Noq frowned, already reaching out to the ugly, darkening bruise along Ien’s ribs. “My apologies, if this hurts.” He said half a second before pressing his hand–if gently–to the angry spot. Ien jerked away, pain flaring through his side in a violent burst with a equally as violent string of curses.

“Fuck! Nine cold fucking hells–” he bit back the other unsavory phrases his mind conjured, glaring at Noq and the offending hand. “Try that again, I fu–dare you.”

A dry amusement flickered through Noq’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but there’s only so many ways to check if they are broken.”

“I think I’ll manage if they are.” he bit back, scooting away from Noq as he reached for him again. “No, I’m not falling for that twice.”

“No, you won’t.” Noq was faster than he, catching Ien with a hand pressing down on one blue-freckled shoulder and stilling his retreat. “Now would you just hold still, it will only make it go faster.”

“I don’t think I’m—shit–” Ien hissed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling and sucking in a shallow breath, as Noq pressed at another tender spot. “Being given much a choice.”

“I could simply toss you on the streets,” If Ien wasn’t mistaken Noq was teasing him, a small smirk on his lips. “But that wouldn’t be ideal.”

“I’pose not.” Ien agreed in a mutter, eying Noq as he rummaged in the medkit and pulled out a bacta patch and prepped the adhesive on it. Even still he couldn’t bite back the sharp–if slightly more muffled–curse as the patch was smoothed across his battered ribs, Noq’s hand smoothing it over.

There were worse places he could have ended up.

#my writing #I answer things!#swtor #swtor smuggler #chiss #swtor fanfic #oc: Ien #other people's ocs: Noqten #claudela #Ien and Noqten #FRICK I love writing them #Ien is a drama-tique little garbage man

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bandsanitizer · 7 years ago

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Youngblood: Every Track

Except for the Target Exclusive tracks because I haven’t heard them yet.

I personally found this album great because instead of connecting through the music with personal experience, it feels more like diving into and empathizing with the emotions 5sos are giving in the songs. Also, please note the following “analysis/review/babble” is purely from my own inference and opinion. It’s not fact, and I don’t claim it to be, so be kind please. I’m not asking to fight or meaning to hate, I’d love to discuss the album, though.

————————————————————

1. Youngblood

Prior to the album, I didn’t care for the song. I mean, it’s good, but I preferred the live version and just wasn’t the biggest fan. After listening to it with the whole album, though, I now see why it’s the title track and better understand Michael saying it really sets up the whole album.

Sonically, the song offers the mix of pop and rock, old and new, that the entire album has. Of course, it’s more pop, just like the album.

Lyrically, it captures a back-and-forth feeling of a relationship and summarizes the feeling of the album. The whole album feels like a relationship, mostly a break-up. What we’re experiencing emotionally and hear in the lyrics, all ties into a relationship and most obviously, can connect to some of the band’s struggles over the past three years.

Specifically, the falling out of relationships, which I presume, is part of why Luke and Ashton have more writing credits than Calum and Michael. Again, that’s speculative. Still, nothing wrong with being influenced by their love life.

Youngblood, is a song that captures all of the good and bad of a relationship, but through the view of post-break-up. It’s about coming back for something that isn’t good for you and hanging onto a love that isn’t all that loving. It truly makes the album whole, and it’s a jam.

The chorus (THE DRUMS) are so amazing.

2. Want You Back

I’m not going to lie, the first two songs released weren’t my favorites at first. They just didn’t feel the best. Still, I’ve come to like Want You Back the more I listened to it.

I think this song really marked a changed in 5sos’ sound and while it didn’t do well on the charts, I think it was a nice way of introducing fans to a new era of 5sos. Both sonically and lyrically, it’s quite modern pop and captures that “stuck” feeling. It’s like being unable to move forward, but incapable of going back.

It’s a great second track to follow Youngblood, because it really expands upon the relationship described in the title track. It takes you to that place inbetween the leaving and coming back, the push and pull, that’s present in the first song. I’m growing to love it more and more.

Also, Luke saying “fucking” is amazing. And the falsettos kill.

3. Lie To Me

Why is it so short? I need more than 2.5 minutes of this song.

Their HARMONIES. Like, we all know that when 5sos sing together the world is a brighter place, but this song is the ultimate. Their vocals are perfection in this and I’m living for the contrast in the beat/bass with the melodic lyrics and guitar. Fucking love this song.

Confirmation Luke has a lying kink? Yeah.

It’s a softer song and kind of just feels like wishing you didn’t have to move on? It’s like watching someone move past something that still hurts you and you can’t quite grasp why. One of my favorite from the live shows and I’m still waiting for the video.

4. Valentine

The opening is just so beautiful. I like the vocals that accompany the bass at the start. It’s has the vibe of like an chill, kind of lowkey club. It’s not big or bold, very intimate.

THE SINGING OVERALL JUST KILLS ME. Michael’s solo? Calum’s solo? It’s like my soul leaves my body every time I hear the song. Ashton’s backing vocals? KILLER.

The message is really sweet. It’s this idea of Valentine’s Day being special, but also the importance of this love extending past the commercialized February 14th. It’s soft and tender. Truly loving. I didn’t know I needed a Valentine’s Day song until now. It’s also got the feel and sound of a song to have sex to. It’s just some lyrics are quite sexual and it has the same feel of a candle-lit bedroom and yknow all that stuff.

It’s a bop.

5. Talk Fast

I have little to no clue what Luke sings in the beginning. Outside of that, this song makes me want to dance. It’s really weird cos it’s not a super dance-y song, but it’s just a song that makes me feel hyped-up.

I don’t really know what it is, but the “woah oh oh” in the chorus is just perfect to me. The whole rhythm that plays through the verses is catchy. This song is really weird to me as it’s the least like my tastes and it just... I really like it but I don’t know why. It’s like I want to drown in the vibe and rhythm of the song.

This is a song about a love set to fail, but still diving head-first into the relationship anyways. It’s not about serious feelings or commitment, it’s more about the current moment and the mood of just living on the fast and hyped feelings.

6. Moving Along

Okay, so like I have an ENTIRE idea for a music video for a song. It’s sort of like how Big Time Rush would have episodes that just lead into the performance of one of their song. This has such a beach-y vibe and I want to see 5sos do a music video for this song in Aloha shirts and shades at a beach or resort. I have SO MANY IDEAS.

I just love how this song feels. It’s like lyrically, the song is sad, but the musical aspect is so so upbeat. It’s something very All Time Low-ish, but not as pop-punk/rock. ONE OF THE BEST ON THE ALBUM. Also, the drum fills are amazing. I love them.

It’s a song that kind of explains those days when you’re bitter? It’s not being full-on angry, but it’s not sad and it’s not happy. It capture the idea of how people deal with loss in different ways and at different rates. Not everyone will move on at the same time, and if you’re someone moving on later, it can suck sometimes.

After a break-up, it’s hard to think how someone could move on from love so fast, so sometimes we hold onto the idea that it could be just as hard for them to move forward. This song feels like that. It’s watching someone wonder about someone’s who’s gone and not really be sure how they feel about this whole “moving forward” thing.

Again, absolutely love this track.

7. If Walls Could Talk

All songs prior to this, we had already heard, so this was like the “NEW MUSIC!!!!” point. I started tearing up solely because it meant officially going into the new era. I love this song so much. It’s another song that I have a music video concept for.

I really like the contrast between the verses and the chorus, with the addition of the acoustic guitar. It’s a real mix of a singer-songwriter pop and the typical feel of something more Halsey? If that makes any sense.

HOLY SHIT. ASHTON’S VOCALS. He sings the falsetto part of the chorus and it’s fucking beautiful. I want to drown in the sound. This song complements his voice so well.

I swear to god 5sos better perform this song live. The lighting concept could be so so cool with this track. If they let this song die, I will personally fight them. I’ve never met them, but this is a track that isn’t the perfect live song, but it would also be soooooo fucking cool to just see them play this song live.

I love the idea of a secret love that kind of love that’s going on. It’s this idea of all these secrets and definitely something sexual. It’s basically about getting naughty, but also could be deeper and about a relationship that isn’t good to begin. It’s kind of like we shouldn’t but do.

It’s such a good song. AND THE BRIDGE and following chorus... HOLY FUCK.

8. Better Man

This song was the complete opposite of what I expected. I was thinking of something more like “You found someone better” not “You make me better”.

It’s clear this is about finding someone who seems to change you for the better. It’s about being at a low but then someone just comes into your life and spins it around. It’s a love song, really. I love the sound, but I would love for an acoustic version, too.

Luke’s vocals. I don’t know what it is but I want to have the chorus played 24/7. His voice just sounds soooooo amazing in the song. He sings “Better” and I just cannot. I WANT TO BOTH CRY AND DANCE WITH AN S.O. WHEN I HEAR THIS SONG.

By far, it’s gotta be one of my favorite Luke songs out there.

9. More

The opening of this song feels like it came from a car commercial. Lol

But wow. I love the sound to this song. THE DRUMS MAKE ME WANT TO DIE. WOW.

And what the fuck is that prechorus? I LOVE when 5sos slows down in the middle of an upbeat song and idk... This song does it so well. MOSTLY I JUST LOVE THE DRUMS AND FALSETTOS.

Calum’s solo is quite nice and tHE GUITAR? FUCK ME UP.

I want to light myself on fire when I hear this song. It’s not really a song I need them to do live, but I can definitely see it making the set.

It emotionally is confusing and a bit disconnected, but it’s kind of what the song is about? It’s that search of what used to be as a relationship seems to fizzle out. It’s like it’s so close but unreachable.

Lyrically, I’m in love with this song. All the lyrics in this song just... I strive for the way it makes you picture something, but it’s not a specific something. It’s like an image of a feeling.

10. Why Won’t You Love Me

This is the first song I actually started crying for. It makes me so fucking sad. It’s like, of all the songs, it’s the one that truly makes you feel what 5sos is feeling, as opposed to necessarily connecting to it in a personal experience?

The opening verse breaks my heart. It captures the idea of touring and flying and just being so far away and how distance prevents a relationship from working out. The second verse is a bit less specific, but captures this idea of being in a love that is reciprocated, but at not really? It’s there but not. It’s about a difficult situation of distance and time and circumstances that don’t feel right and prevent the love from being as good as it could be.

Really, the whole song makes me so emotional. It’s such a sad and painful song of wanting something that you’re so close to having but just can’t? It’s not even an unrequited love as much as it’s getting tired of the feeling of lonely that comes with the distance. It’s not really about not loving, but more about loving so much that every second waiting feels like centuries and its so constant that you just can’t really hold on. It’s from one person who’s constantly traveling and physically distant and it’s kind of hard for them to let go and accept that the person they love can’t keep doing the long-distance thing.

I just feel so emotional with this song.

11. Woke Up In Japan

This song is so swanky. I don’t know that just the word I think of. It’s a sweet kind of song and I like the tone that plays leading into the chorus that’s like that opening sound to SLSP. This song is really lovely and a morning-after kind of story. It’s having had so much before and then finding the bed empty and just being like, “Oh” and you can’t complain because the night was great but it’s still lonely and disorienting when you wake up.

I’m in love with the sound of the song. It’s a head-phones on slow head-bob type of track.

I like the way their voices are, it’s cool how it sounds like morning voices cos it matches the concept of the song.

12. Empty Wallets

The opening is so misleading and it makes me angry because the song gives me Bridgit Mendler vibes? Y’know her older music like “Hurricane” and such? The verses have that kind of vibes and I HATE HOW MUCH I LOVE IT. And then the chorus, musically, gives me more of Twenty-One Pilots type of feel. Could just be me... I’m not the best at this association thing.

I just love how there’s three different feels through the whole song.

It’s about a love that doesn’t ask for the material things. It’s more about the feelings and riding the roller coaster of life together. It feels like having happy dates without leaving the house and just finding a relationship that can be a free (in both senses of the word).

I’m not sure what to make of the bridge, but it kind of makes me think of a love that comes and goes but always kind of feels the same.

I’m really into their vocals, specifically the falsettos (the chorus) and Michael’s solo in the bridge. And the music is just really good. A nice vibe to it and I REALLY WANT THEM TO DO THIS SONG LIVE.

13. Ghost of You

There’s only a few songs that are guaranteed to make me cry every time I listen to it. Those songs include Lea Michele singing, “Make You Feel My Love” on Glee, Taylor Swift’s “Ronan”, and Simple Plan’s “Welcome To My Life”. Yeah... They’re all different and mean different things, but they’re so important to me and I hold them very dearly to my heart and they make me so emotional.

Ghost of You is now a song to add to that list.

It’s a mix of the guitar from “For the First Time” by The Script, the general vocal feel of Coldplay music, and a little bit of the melody from like “Firelies” by Owl City.

It’s a lyrical masterpiece. Michael and Ashton said it’s be a fan favorite and it sure as hell feels like it. There’s something so sad and raw and lonely about the lyrics. While it’s a post break-up song, it just generally has that feeling of losing someone but not knowing how to let go.

My favorite part of the song is at the end when Luke sings “That my feet don’t dance like they did with you”. It’s a heartbreaking lyric of realizing that you aren’t the same person you were before they left. It’s searching for happiness alone, when you thought you’d always have someone there.

But what hurts most is that I knew that this song was going to be sad. First off, the title. You can’t have a song named “Ghost of You” and it be anything but sad. Secondly, they wrote it with Mitchy Collins. I have only heard “Broken” from his band, but just that song secures the idea that he can write a sad song. Third, 5sos hyping the song meant it was going to be pretty sad because the songs that do best overall with the fans are the sad songs.

Thus, I expected a sad song, but FUCKING HELL 5SOS. I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS.

Everything about the music and the lyrics and they way they sing the song is just so heart-wrenching. It makes me want to curl up and sob because I can feel their pain in their singing and I can relate my own feelings and experience to it.

I swear, 5sos better not let this song die. I dont care if we never hear any other dead song ever, I just so badly want this song to make the set list for the tour. I want this to be a song that 5sos holds onto because it’s so heart-breaking and beautiful.

They know how to write sad song and this is like Amensia-level sad. It’s like we were all talking about Lie To Me but HELL THEY DROP THIS? The song shows how much they’ve matured and grown and just how much they’ve experienced. In the same way Jet Black Heart solidifies the lyrical genius of Michael and Calum, Ghost of You really showcases the skills Luke and Ashton have as songwriters.

This is definitely one of my favorite songs off of the album, if not my favorite.

14. Monster Among Men

Personally, I consider this song to be a sequel to Jet Black Heart. Conceptually, it carries the same idea of being poisoned or broken and afraid of how that hurts the person you love. It’s a sequel, though, because it talks about not calling it off again and just captures the idea of working past those issues to truly be able to say that you’re not going to leave, you’re not going to be the demons that haunt you or the darkness you can feel consumed by. It’s an empowering song

Plus, MICHAEL GORDON CLIFFORD. FUCKING SHIT HE KILLED THIS SONG. His vocals are just so good. He’s grown so much as a singer and the amount of control and emotion he has with his voice always blows my mind. Then the chorus is so cute? I love the keys and the music being upbeat and Calum’s lower vocals in the background. The chorus vocals in general are just top notch. And THE GUITAR SOLO??? MICHAEL G. CLIFFORD IS KILLING THE GAME. (Also loving Luke singing “Asshole” and both of them counting)

I love this song so much, it’s currently tied with Ghost of You.

15. Meet You There

I’m head-over-heels in love with the bass in this song. It’s so beautiful and catchy and I want to dance. This song also feels a lot like fire? Like it’s a perfect song for them to do on tour so it bETTER MAKE THE SETLIST.

I love the music and lyrics. It’s quite summer-y and, as I said, it’s a song I just really want to dance to for some reason. I don’t know who’s vocals I love the most, but the bridge where Michael sings is fucking perfect.

The concept of the song is like the idea of ��If you love something let it go, and if it’s meant to be it’ll be.” It’s this idea of being able to spilt and grow as individuals and then possibly come back together. Honestly? It’s basically what the four of them experienced with the hiatus, in growing on their own and coming back together and meeting on common ground with the album.

I very much like this song.

16. Babylon

This is the new Calum song. Don’t get me wrong, I love “Invisible” and will always die when his solo in IYDK plays. But holy shit, this takes the cake. It basically fulfills the need for Calum to do Bad Dreams.

Calum Thomas Hood is so talented, and this song perfectly shows that. His voice and the bass in this song is killer. The lyrics are phenomenal and the concept is so beautiful. It’s a very very smart song, as Babylon was a city that was HUGE. It grew and expanded, until after wars and conquests, eventually was taken under different control and collapsed. Additionally, one of the possible reasons for the absence of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon include war and erosion. Easily, the idea of Babylon is something growing big and eventually falling apart. This is carried with the concept of the song. It’s about a love that grows and builds and goes so hard but then burns itself out. I love the whole idea. I just love this song so much with all that it means, how it sounds and the feel it gives.

I think it was a great choice of song to close the album with because unlike the rest of the album, it’s very final. There’s no sense of longing or wanting the past back. It’s not about second chances or going back-and-forth. It’s just a tragedy. There’s a beginning middle and end, and the end isn’t happy, but it’s a clear and set closure. It completes the album very well and is one of my favorite 5sos songs. It’s reminiscent of the band’s older sound, but also capture their ventures and changes well.

————————————————————

Overall, this album is relationship-centric. I know it doesn’t tackle huge issues like SGFG did, but this album is clearly for 5sos more than it’s for the fans. It’s not as much about songs with messages for the fans to find safety in, but rather songs that allow 5sos to express everything they’ve been dealing with for a while. And I truly find it to be beautiful.

The album is a great step forward and truly gives them a lot of room for whatever sound they want. Additionally, it captures how talented they are as artists, in singing, writing, and playing. It’s a masterpiece and I am so proud of them. While do have favorites, it’s the only album I can 100% say I love every song on. It’s an album I want to play and listen to 24/7. The whole thing is just so cohesive and I love with all my heart. I am just so so so so proud of 5 Seconds of Summer.

No matter where this new chapter takes the band, I hope it does them well and gets them the respect they deserve. I truly see this as their best album yet and I can’t wait for what’s to come. I’m so proud and it makes me happy that they are, too. It’s an album worth listening to and deserves so much recognition because it’s truly inventive in it’s mix of genres and sounds, creating something that feels so familiar, but also unique, fresh, and new. 5sos created something beautiful and I’m just so happy that they shared it with us.

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phantomrose96 · 7 years ago

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A Breach of Trust: Chapter 23

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10-18 )

(Act 3: Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24)

When Tetsuo slipped back into the office on the morning of October 10th, everything sat exactly as he’d had left it, as though nothing had changed. The papers on his desk had been left untouched. They were printed copies of casefiles Tetsuo had been picking through before he left work on the evening he encountered Reigen, the evening he’d entered the Mogami house, the evening he’d learned the truth of what had been happening to his hazy memory, of what had been inside him.

Tetsuo skimmed a hand over the papers, as though to check that they were even real. They didn’t seem real, nor did they look it. They felt like they belonged in a photograph, filed away in some strictly “before” time of his life, when now he was so terrifyingly mired in “after”. The two weren’t compatible. Nothing could possibly exist from the time when he felt safe.

“Hey stranger. First day on the job?”

Except for Isa.

Tetsuo glanced up from his papers. Isa stood at the edge of his desk, weight leaning slightly into the hip she used to support the stack of papers held between her body and right arm. The stack was easily two inches thick, and Isa did not use her right hand to support it. Both hands were occupied with near identical Styrofoam white cups. Tetsuo craned his neck to see into them. The contents of one were a swirly, milky beige. The other was black.

“Sorry lady. I may be new, but I’m happily married,” Tetsuo answered, catching up with her teasing.

“Haha,” Isa responded, her voice flat. “You’re not my type anyway, beardy.”

Tetsuo raised his hand to his chin, skimming. Stubble grated against his fingers like tiny Velcro hooks. “Jun says I scratch her face up.”

“Then shave it.”

“Maybe I like it.”

“Here,” Isa extended her left hand, offering the cup of black coffee. “A peace offering.”

“Station coffee, really Isa?”

“The one and only.”

Tetsuo took the cup, feigning offense, before letting his shoulders slump down in resignation. He took a sip from the cup. “It’s nothing like what I can grind for myself at home. I already regret being back.”

Isa readjusted. She swapped her cup of coffee to her free hand and hoisted the papers higher against her hip. She set her own cup to her lips, the lethally sugary one, and drank half of it in one go.

“Tastes fine to me.”

“You poison yours with sugar. You’re masking the fact that it’s bad.”

“My new partner isn’t this hard to please.”

“Yeah, how’s it been working with Ando?” Tetsuo asked.

“Hmm?”

“Haruki Ando. The younger man you left me for.”

“Oh is that what happened.”

“I get it. I’m not as young and spry as I once was. 32 is ancient. You need some excitement in your police career.” Tetsuo drew his words out, mockingly singsong. “Just toss me into the old folks home where I can waste away playing bingo and envisioning what sort of happiness Ando brings you.”

“Haruki Ando is like my baby brother. Every day I fight the urge to send him to bed with a cup of warm milk.”

“Oh? Then who am I like to you?”

“Also my baby brother. I’m older than you. Also Mr. Dead-at-32, what exactly are you implying about someone who’s 34?” Isa raised her cup to her lips again, a light smile betraying her jest. She drained her cup and dropped the Styrofoam into Tetsuo’s trash bin. “Working with Ando has been fine. He’s at least got energy, but I can’t ever take it easy. Like I’m serious about the little brother thing. He’s pretty much a kid. I have to take charge all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“Didn’t you raise like five younger siblings?”

“Four. And yes. And it sucked. That’s why I’m your partner, so I can mooch off your take-the-reigns attitude. I miss sleeping in the passenger’s seat.”

“You’re gonna have to bear it a bit longer. I’m just back on desk duty.” Tetsuo spread his arms, motioning to his desk in full. “Sitting my ass in this chair and not moving all day, that’s my job prospects for the future. I’m still on physical recovery or something, no field work. You’re stuck with Ando for now.”

“I didn’t say it was bad working with him.”

“Admit it, you miss me.”

“He misses you more. He asks about you incessantly.”

“Oh?”

“Officer Isari this, Officer Isari that. When we run out of small talk he just asks random crap about you. He wanted to know if you wrestled a bear once.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t. You fired a blank to scare it off.”

“Right. Shoot. I’ve been embellishing that story.”

“He believed it. Ando admires the hell out of you. He styles his hair to be like yours.”

“Really?”

“You never noticed?”

“No!”

“Well go find him. The hair gel’s not a coincidence.”

“I like Ando’s hair. I should ask him what gel he uses.”

“He’d be over the moon to tell you. And then he’d ask you a hundred follow up questions. I’m hoping he starts pestering you now instead of me.”

“Good! I need to get my bear cred back.”

Isa snorted, and her shoulders relaxed a bit. She shifted her papers from one hip to the other, her smile easier now.

“It was nice having the coffee pot actually full while you were gone Tetsuo, but I think I prefer having you back. I won’t keep staring into empty space every time I look up at your desk.”

With a small resigned smile, Tetsuo set his own cup to his lips and drank. He scarcely tasted it. He felt too disconnected from it all. The unfaltering hum of fluorescent lights. The muffled rumble of voices from behind closed doors. The officers of the Seasoning City Precinct were assigned to desks in a shared office space, broken up into islands of two or three a piece. Isa’s desk stood perpendicular to Tetsuo’s, part of the same island, and the desk directly across from his belonged to an officer who’d been on maternity leave for some months.

Isa felt real enough—she’d been part of it all, or at least she’d been present, even if she didn’t know exactly what had happened in the Mogami house. She knew that Tetsuo’s sick leave had been a lie. But beyond their island of three desks—his, Isa’s, and the absent woman’s—reality dropped off. The tall gray filing cabinets that stretched to the ceiling felt distant. The fast staccato clanking noise, as cabinets were pulled out along their tracks, seemed unreachable. The printer, stiff and white bodied, churning out hot papers for those who milled around it. That wasn’t quite real. The coffee pot set up on the counter behind them, where the scuffed tile flooring had tainted darker with years of clumsy spills. Idle chatter. Phone ringing. Buzzing. Unrendered. Temporary. Static.

Purgatory.

Waiting in fear of the moment Mogami finally--

“Tetsuo.”

“Huh?” Tetsuo snapped back to attention.

He blinked, and found his eyes unadjusted. Everything looked bleached and blurry in the few moments that he lost focus. He set his eyes to Isa instead, and took her in as real. Loose ponytail holding her dark hair back behind her neck, with a few stray strands framing her expressionless face. Dark eyes, piercing but not unkind, beneath a brow that scrunched slightly upward in concern. Isa placed her coffee cup down on Tetsuo’s desk and leaned her hand into the wood grain.

“I zoned out a moment.” Tetsuo gestured weakly to the coffee in his hand. “I was thinking about my dark roast at home.”

Isa nodded, and the silence fell back over them.

“Are you okay, Tetsuo?”

“Yeah. Just adjusting again.”

“Because if you’re not—“

“—A slow start—“

“—I need to know. I’m your—“

“—My partner, I know—“

“—partner, yeah. Okay. So you’ll tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“If something’s wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay so I’ll ask again—“

“—Isa—“

“Are you alright, Tetsuo?”

“Come on, Isa. 7 am? You can’t make me—can’t pressure a guy to just—bear his soul before 7 am.” Tetsuo raised his coffee cup. “Before I’ve even finished my coffee.”

“That’s at least your third cup.”

“Fourth.”

“Tetsuo.” Isa stepped forward and she set a hand to Tetsuo’s shoulder, forcing eye contact. “What happened to you? What’s wrong?”

“It’s…difficult.”

“I’m good at difficult. So are you.”

“Not this kind of difficult.”

“What kind of difficult?”

“The kind that makes it hard to talk about.”

“I won’t judge you. I know about your fantasy elf seductor roleplay group, I can’t possibly judge you for anything after that.”

“That’s a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.”

“That’s not my point.”

“And it’s a lot cooler than it used to—“

“Tetsuo.” Isa’s grip tightened, and Tetsuo looked her in the eyes. They were clear, calm, imploring. “Please…?”

And most importantly, her eyes were stable. Stable still after seeing Mogami’s corpse, the thing that had broken Tetsuo into pieces. Stable after seeing his own breakdown. Suddenly the anchor that Tetsuo had prided himself on being for so long.

Tetsuo wondered how many times Isa had looked toward his desk in the last few months, and how many times it had been Mogami staring back.

Tetsuo breathed in deep, and he felt the exhaustion rattle through his ribcage, the roll of dread that washed him head to toe after forcing it down for so long. There was a pit in his stomach that he lived with permanently now, and hot flashes of panic that burst down his spine at each remembrance of Mogami’s eyes, his sallow skin, the red barrier, and the feel of cold steel against his throat.

“Um…So…” Tetsuo muttered, slowly, quietly. “I’m trying to think where to start…”

“Take your time.”

“You know how I’ve been complaining about feeling spacey for a while…?”

“Officer Isari!”

Both Isa and Tetsuo jolted. Isa stepped aside, angling her body to follow the voice. As she moved aside, Tetsuo’s eyes connected with Officer Haruki Ando. He was a good head shorter than both Isa and Tetsuo, his chestnut hair fluffed out, held with a bit of visible gel. His green eyes radiated with an energy that seemed practically fake. Tetsuo had seen nothing but somber faces. It was hard to process a show of genuine happiness.

“You’re back! You… you look much better than the last time I saw you. That’s a relief. Are you… back for good?”

“Ah, I think so,” Tetsuo answered, rubbing at the back of his neck. He avoided looking at Isa, his attention fully fixed on Haruki’s green eyes. “I just um…hell of a fever. Doctor never saw that sort of thing set in so fast. I’m fine though. Not contagious. Just ah…taking it easy.”

Haruki nodded, and Tetsuo watched that flicker of concern cross his face. “So um…the Kageyama case?”

“That…fever dream. Fever nightmare? Really um, I’d appreciate if you didn’t dwell on it. Or mention it.”

“Oh, oh oh of course not no!” Haruki answered. He shook his head and crossed his arms in an X over his chest. “Not a soul of course. Officer Maki said over the telephone—I mean I wouldn’t talk about this anyway. So just. Um. There’s no lead on the Kageyama case…?”

Tetsuo shook his head. He offered up a sad smile. “None…”

“Okay,” Haruki answered, a bit deflated. “Well it was um, it was a pleasure being Officer Maki’s partner.” Haruki shifted his attention to Isa, and bowed shallowly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“No ‘ma’am’ I’m only like 30.”

“Sorry. Thank you Officer Maki!”

“I’m still your partner Ando.”

“It was a pleasure to—huh?”

“Yeah. Tetsuo’s doing desk work. You’re still stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t call it being stuck.”

“See I can’t deal with this kind of optimism.” Isa pointed to Haruki, chin tilted toward Tetsuo before she fixed her eyes back on Haruki. “How do you do it Ando?”

Haruki threaded his fingers together, eyes shifting between Tetsuo and Isa. “I’m just…happy to be working with experienced people I respect.”

Isa let out a sigh. “I can’t even tease him.”

“Well, you guys should go work on your teamwork. I’ve got desk duty, with like a million things I’m supposed to sort and email and file. I think I’m on phone duty later.” Tetsuo made a face. “I’ll need more coffee.”

Tetsuo stood, and he side-stepped Haruki and Isa on his way to the filing cabinet.

“Oh, um…” Isa trailed off. “I worked nightshift, so I get off at noon, but do you want to grab lunch when I get off?”

“Sure, um, if I’m not swamped with work.” Tetsuo answered, guarded. “I’m probably going to be slow these first couple days getting used to new filing duties.”

“Officer Maki I’ll get lunch with you…”

Tetsuo stopped listening. He headed across the room to the filing cabinet set against the far wall. Tetsuo leafed through the cabinet, filled only with single cards identifying case files and numbers. The buzz of the lights filled his ears again, the distant roll of a phone, mumbling chatter that didn’t concern him. He ran the file until he found a specific card, with a specific file, and pulled it from the drawer.

He took the long way to the back room, hugging the walls away from his desk. His key unlocked the back door, which gave way to a room dark and chilled and just a bit damp. Filing cabinets lined every wall, floor to ceiling, identified by number. It was the back room where cold cases went to die.

Tetsuo retrieved the ladder, and set it down on the dust-strewn ground. He climbed it three shelves up, to a section of files relatively recent compared to the archives that went back decades and decades (Mogami’s case was in those decades-back files, somewhere.)

He stopped at the drawer whose label matched his card. He pulled it out fully, and leafed through it until his clammy hands settled on Kageyama, Shigeo.

Tetsuo pulled the file out. He dusted it off and weighed it in his hands.

He dismounted the ladder, and unlatched the tab holding the file together. Sterile report after sterile report filled the file, printed, dated—statements from the parents, from the teachers, neighbors, the little brother. Tetsuo’s eyes skimmed over the singular mention of “Mogami” from Ritsu Kageyama, and he shuddered.

Tetsuo lifted the step ladder and dragged it to the back of the room, where the concrete walls and floor sapped the heat, and the singular hanging light above swayed with the air currents. He drew out a filing cabinet whose edges had rusted with decades of wet summers, and pulled out the file whose corners had soured yellow with time.

Tetsuo’s finger tips, cold, seemed to spark electric at the touch.

Mogami, Keiji.

…

Mob had fallen asleep on the couch again, a tv movie-turned-infomercial playing as a hum to the background. The sales pitch was smooth, and quiet, and created a sort of calm to the small apartment that Reigen couldn’t quite describe. Lights low, Mob snoring quietly beneath the two couch blankets, a near-silent sales pitch for jewelry filling the empty air as Reigen sat at the table, laptop open, researching restaurants.

It was an atmosphere that Reigen could sink into, so starkly different from the evenings he’s grown used to—lights off, cold brightness of the television flickering through late-night programs surreal and jarring, falling asleep in a haze, blurry and drunk on the couch, so that when he woke the next morning contorted on the couch, he could not even properly remember falling asleep.

Reigen stood from the table.

At 6:00 pm, with a bit of excitement, and a bit of trepidation, Reigen nudged Mob awake.

Usually he let Mob keep his strange hours of wakefulness and rest, since Reigen himself had little set schedule, and a rather weak appetite, and found it easier most of the time to just adjust to Mob’s whims. Today though, he woke Mob, who looked up for a few seconds of blurry confusion before fully lifting his head and yawning.

“Reigen?”

“Come on Mob, wake up. We’re going out.”

Mob glanced to the window. His brow creased.

“It’s dark out already.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that late. It’s only 6.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out to eat. To a restaurant. It’s this ramen place that’s walking distance from my office. I used to go there a lot years ago, but it got kinda outside my budget. Eating out in general. Food kinda got outside my budget, actually. But I mean, today’s special, Mob.”

“Special?”

“I was looking up other restaurants, but a lot of them are pricey. Not great yelp reviews either. Not that I take those at face value really since I figure most people only log on to yelp if they want to complain, right? I mean that’s what I’d do. I think. If I ever went out to eat. Anyway though this ramen place is great. It’s kind of a bar really, with a drape over the front. Hole-in-the-wall kind of place. But hey, cool crisp fall air like this? It’ll be nice. Cool breeze and hot ramen. I wonder if the bar tender still remembers me.”

Reigen moved toward the front door, where he lifted his light coat from the rack and pulled it on, one arm at a time. He bent down to get his shoes, and found Mob had caught up behind him, grabbing the small pair of white sneakers set beside Reigen’s loafers near the door. Reigen slipped his shoes on, and in the time it took for Mob to tie his own laces, Reigen grabbed the colorfully-wrapped parcel from beside the coat rack and slipped it under his coat.

…

On the drive over, Reigen kept the windows cracked. Cool dry night air swirled through the car, the glimmer of streetlights, shop signs, and taillights speckling them through the windows. Reigen threw sidelong glances to Mob, who had nearly pressed himself against the passenger’s side window, watching the flurry of night life lights go by. It was the first glimpse Mob had gotten of the night since he and Reigen first met, and given the state Mob had been in, Reigen figured it was probably the first chance Mob had gotten to appreciate any of it.

Reigen pulled down a side street, and parked the car in an empty spot along the side of the road, and decided to ignore the parking meter on the gamble that no one was checking them.

“Come on Mob, this way.”

Reigen motioned with his shoulder to the other side of the street. The back of apartment buildings rose like monoliths—cold solid brick exteriors with fire escapes climbing like segmented iron snakes. Smoke furled out dense and heavy from the roofs, and over top them was the gentle glow of the cityscape beyond. Reigen pointed to the bottom, dead center, to the patterned red and orange drapes that fell to about shoulder height, hiding behind them a warmly-lit interior that smelled rich and dense with broth. As they crossed the street, laughter boomed from inside.

Reigen brushed the drape away first, and Mob came in under his shoulder, glimmering eyes set to the hanging paper lanterns, the handful of people seated along the length of the bar, some huddled near a glowing red heater, others slurping ramen up between chop stick guides, two older men with scraggly white beards clanging shots glasses together and singing off key until they lost their breath to laughter. Reigen followed his line of sight to the woks on the stoves in back, pork and egg roasting, crackling, simmering beside the vats of noodles dipped in broth brought near to boiling. Two men dressed in white attended to the stove, yelling heartily to each other over the buzz of the patrons.

Reigen stooped slightly, so that he stood close to Mob’s ear. “This okay?”

Mob hesitated, his wide eyes shooting about, possibly overwhelmed. Slowly, he nodded. “It smells incredible.”

Reigen brightened. He took the nearest stool, and angled himself away from the drunk singing men. He nodded to the one open beside it, which Mob climbed into. A gust of air whipped through the curtain, and Mob shivered, though he hardly seemed to notice. His eyes drank in everything around him.

“Two ramen please, with all the toppings you usually put on them, plus extra pork. Today we’re celebrating.” Reigen spoke to one of the white-clad men, who answered with a nod. Reigen turned to Mob. “Do you know why we’re celebrating?”

Mob focused back on Reigen, who leaned in, intent, eager. Mob blinked, and then shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“It’s October 10th. It’s my birthday. I turned 28 today. I didn’t even realize my birthday was this close until yesterday, which I think says a lot about the kind of life I lead but besides the point.”

“Oh,” Mob answered, and then he straightened. “Oh happy birthday. I didn’t get you a gift.”

“Of course you didn’t. How could you get me a gift you didn’t know it was my birthday. I hardly knew it was my birthday. Besides the point. Besides, you know, this already is the gift.”

Mob didn’t answer. He stared back, confused, face lit with warm orange tones from the paper lanterns above.

“If this had been a normal birthday I’d probably be spending it at a very different kind of bar hanging out with people who probably wouldn’t remember my birthday anyhow. This is um…different from that.”

“Is this better?”

“Infinitely,” Reigen answered along a breath. He breathed in deep, and then exhaled, and then continued, more sober. “And, you know, I mean I almost missed my birthday. But you uh….you missed the last four. Of yours. I can’t imagine. If Shishou ever. I mean. You didn’t know how old you were, so…” Reigen reached across the counter and grabbed the set of chopsticks laid out for him. He took one in his hand, pencil like, and pointed it to Mob. “It may be my birthday, but it’s also four of yours. We’ve got ground to make up.”

“Oh,” Mob answered, thinking the words over. He straightened a little, almost shocked, and looked at Reigen. “Does this really count?”

“Only if you want it to. Does this seem like a good four birthdays together?”

One of the chefs turned and pushed two bowls across the counter. Reigen pulled his closer, and Mob followed suit. Reigen breathed in, the smell almost intoxicatingly rich—a dark broth, thin noodles acting as a bed for slices of hard boiled egg, their yolks dense and crumbly yet runny at the center, six slices of pork heartily brazened on the outside, left delicately pink in center, deep green leeks slice diagonally, scallions scattered, crinkled mushrooms holding broth in their folds, fishcakes that spiraled pink at the center, bamboo shoots overlapping like the threads of a wicker basket.

“Yeah, this seems good,” Mob answered.

Reigen breathed in deep again, and he grabbed his chop sticks, and set to the bowl. But not before he checked that Mob had done the same.

They took their first bite at the same time.

Reigen swallowed, and cleared his throat, and gestured to Mob. “How is it…?”

Mob stared into the bowl for a moment longer, then looked up to Reigen. His cheeks had flushed pinker, his eyes more watery than before.

“It’s delicious.”

“Yeah,” Reigen agreed, as he raised the bowl to his lips. “It is.”

…

Reigen let the engine stall for a moment, hands on the wheel in indecision, as he idled outside a building cast in shadow, dark to the world save for the few bright spots of street lamps against its brick façade. He glanced to Mob in the passenger’s seat, dozing again, and Reigen considered backing out.

“Hey, Mob. You gotta wake up again. Just one more thing, yeah?”

Mob blinked awake again, head swiveling left and right to take in his surroundings. He’d left a spot of condensation on the window with his breath. Mob used his sleeve to wipe it off and stare outside, into inky blackness.

“What’s here?”

“I’ll show you.”

Reigen stepped out, and waited for Mob to follow before he locked the car door. The front door of the building had a wire grate over its window, and a directory of names written on the side panel. Some were actually business plates, others—new or temporary—were written on masking tape.

Reigen flipped through his keyring and unlocked this door.

“Second floor, third door on the right, just follow me.”

Reigen flipped on light switches as he went, illuminating cold dark white walls with a glow that buzzed for the first several seconds after being flipped on. Reigen shivered, and entered the stairwell, and climbed the metal-grated set of stairs to the second floor. Mob lagged, a bit winded by the climb, so Reigen slowed his pace.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Mob answered, though his eyes betrayed uncertainty, fear perhaps. “Where are we?”

“Hang on, it’s right over here.” Reigen traced down the hall, not bothering with this set of lights, instead allowing the glow of the stairwell to trickle down the hall and light the contours of the door knob he targeted. Reigen flipped to a different key, and set it to the door, and it clicked.

Reigen opened it. Cold air drenched him from within. Reigen hit the lights, and turned the radiator on, and watched his breath crystalize in front of his nose as the office came back awake until its harsh white lighting.

Mob entered behind him, curious, arms hugged against his body for warmth.

“This is my office,” Reigen said. He set his hands to his hips and swiveled in place. “It’s…where I used to run Spirits and Such. And it’s still where I work now, doing the private investigator stuff, but it…used to be Spirits and Such.”

Mob spun in place too, taking in the lone desk and desk lamp, the filing cabinet against the wall, the single window in back.

“Are you cold, Mob?” Reigen asked.

“A little.”

“Well here.” Reigen pulled the wrapped parcel out from his coat and tossed it to Mob. “For you. Happy birthday.”

It took Mob a moment to respond. He eyed Reigen, as if asking permission, and Reigen nodded him on. Mob tore back the wrapping—pink with white polka dots—and unfurled from the parcel something thick, and warm, and red. Mob held it up fully, paper dropped to the ground, revealing a red hoodie.

“I wanted to get something with the Spirits and Such logo but I…only started planning any of this yesterday. I’ll get it emblazoned later. Like um, one of those iron-on things, or maybe embroidered. I googled and there’s places that do that. So it’s kind of a stand in right now, but um, picture it as having the Spirits and Such logo okay?”

“Okay,” Mob answered.

“I lied a little bit, earlier, by the way, about there not being a present for me. I’m actually giving myself a present,” Reigen continued, hands spinning together a bit. “I’m reopening Spirits and Such. No more of this…None of this PI stuff, anymore. I had one last hurrah with that and I am done.” Reigen’s eyes shifted to Mob, and he chewed his tongue, breath puffing with ice as Mob pulled the hoodie over his head. “So um, that brings me to part two of this. Which is…up to you, Mob. But um. When I reopen, do you, would you um—what I offered earlier��do you want to work for me? As my psychic sidekick? My psy-kick?”

“Your psy-kick?”

“It’s a pun. Listen we can workshop it. I just mean.” Reigen spun his hand through the air, settling in a fist with his thumb pointed at himself. “I’m psychic. You’re psychic. We may as well put our powers to good use, yeah? Get the ball rolling on this again. I remember where most of those boxed-up things go. Plus um, it’ll be different this time. If any evil spirit tries to jump me, I’ve got you now to save me.”

“Save you?”

“Save me.”

“Reigen my powers aren’t as strong as yours. I don’t think I can save you.”

“Trust me kid, you don’t even know.” Reigen moved behind his desk, large exaggerated steps as he spread his arms wide to frame the back wall. “Big banner, right here! Get something professionally done with the logo. Or hmm, maybe banner goes outside. Want the inside to seem a bit more professional. But not too professional, yeah? You want your psychic exorcist to be a bit eccentric. I should put that poster back up, the one with my face, that sort of thing screams ‘wacky eccentric’.”

“The candles and the jade doll too?”

“Not the jade doll Mob. The jade doll is going away forever. But yes to the candles. And the juggling balls. I can’t believe I ever gave up that hobby.”

“And you want…me?”

“Absolutely! You know, you know you know,” Reigen took to pacing, hands churning through the air and fingers furling, unfurling, until he stopped and pointed purposefully at Mob. “That’s how a real psychic learns! In the field! Struggling against spirits and bartering with them for knowledge! You learn the most important things you’ll ever hear from them. In fact, I had no one to train me in my powers. I had to negotiate with spirits—evil ones sometimes—to learn. It was a curse laid upon my grandmother that first gave me my powers, but I learned to reign them in, under my control, with the wise knowledge of spirits with thousands of years’ experience. THAT’S the sort of thing that would teach you to control your barrier. That’s where the real secret lies.”

Reigen dropped his hand, and he stared at Mob, who seemed smaller beneath the folds of his hoodie. His breath still puffed icy in front of his face, cheeks and eyes sunken in the harsh overhead lighting, but there was interest, intrigue, excitement.

“…So long as I don’t hurt anyone.”

“Not a soul. Not on my watch.”

Mob looked to his feet, then the floor, then he scanned the length of the office, until his eyes settled on Reigen.

“Then yes. Yes I do want to work with you here.”

“Awesome.” Reigen moved behind his desk. He pulled out the top drawer, where a pack of cigarettes slid to the front. Reigen grabbed the whole pack, unopened, and dropped it into the trash can beside his desk. “And you know, after you go home…? Even once you’re home, and this is all behind us, you could still um…come back here, and work with me, yeah…? Plenty of kids have part-time jobs. Think of it as um…work experience.”

“Yeah,” Mob answered simply, seemingly unaware of the enormous weight his easy agreement lifted from Reigen’s chest. The radiator heat trickled through the air, wafts of warmth in the room abysmally bright, abysmally empty, against the backdrop of night sky through the window, flecked with stars, streets below speckled with moving lights. It was a different kind of world they occupied then, a different sort of separated from everything else. Something colder, crisper, but more invigorating. A cold bright empty white-walled room with just the two of them, planning their future, as their breath curled around their necks. “I’d like that.”

…

The front door to Reigen’s apartment clicked, unlocked, and it was already warm when Reigen set foot inside. He shrugged off his jacket, and stepped out of his shoes, and shut the door to the brisk October night air. The lights had remained on. The infomercial reel still ran. Soft lighting, and gentle noise, and a warmth Reigen was not used to feeling inside his own apartment.

Reigen glanced to the clock. 10:07 pm.

“You know, Mob, I picked up one last thing.”

Mob stared on, unspeaking, as Reigen moved to the cleaned-out fridge. He opened the freezer side, and pulled from it a small bakery box. He set it on the counter, lifting the flap to reveal a small white-frosted cake inside. Reigen reached into the upper cabinet and pulled out two plates, both clean, and from the nearest drawer he fetched two forks and a hefty knife, washed as well. It was strange, almost, not to pull something used from the sink, and wet it clean. This time nothing remained in the sink. Nothing remained unclean. It was a house put together, cared for, lived in, comfortable to come home to.

“Do you like cake?” Reigen asked.

Mob stepped closer. “You bought a cake?”

“A small one. Yesterday. It was on sale with the coupons.”

“Oh.”

“It’s got ice cream in it, and this um…It’s chocolate by the look of it. Like chocolate crumble inside. Vanilla ice cream, and chocolate crumble, and regular cake part.

Reigen held the knife to the cake. He leaned down on it, putting most of his weight into the cutting of the frozen ice cream layer until it finally relented, hitting with a thock against the cardboard bottom of the box. Reigen repeated this twice more, cutting two roughly even size pieces, which he plated, and set to the counter.

“Can I get milk too?” Mob asked.

“Yeah of course.” Reigen reached for the drink cabinet, but Mob had beaten him to it, hand rising and snagging a glass from the bottom-most shelf. Mob moved to the fridge to retrieve the milk, and Reigen scooted past behind him to put the rest of the cake back in the freezer.

“You got that?” Reigen asked as Mob pulled the jug of milk from the fridge.

“Yeah.”

Alright. Reigen shut the freezer. He moved back to the counter, grabbing his plate and fork, and setting down at the table. He watched the infomercial a moment, trying to make sense of what was being advertised. It looked like a ladder of some sort. Reigen wondered if he even owned a ladder.

The sound of pouring milk drowned out the advertisement. Reigen shrugged, and dug his fork into the cake, and took the first bite. It was good—it was great, in fact. The ice cream melted against his tongue, smooth and creamy, the chocolate crumble gave it a heartiness and richness, the cake part fluffy and soft. Or maybe it was a terrible cake—and Reigen just never got cake enough to know the difference.

The scrape of a plate leaving the counter, the clink of a glass being lifted. Reigen scooted a bit to the side subconsciously, so that Mob would have more room to take the seat beside him. Reigen stared at the television again, because now one of the advertisers was climbing the ladder.

Something smashed behind him.

Reigen jumped, head whipping to the side in panic as he took in the scene. Mob stood, plate in one hand, glass in shattered against the ground, milk soaking into his socks as a shimmering minefield of glass rung him, like islands in the white sea.

“Oh, well shoot. I don’t have a lot of those glasses—“

“I’M SORRY!”

Mob dropped down into a crouch, arms thrown violently over his head which trembled alongside his whole body. Breath gasped in and out of his throat, a heaving wheezing noise of panic as Mob curled further in on himself and cried out, muffled into his clothing, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drop it!”

“Hey, hey hey hey!” Reigen jumped from his seat, cake forgotten, and stepped through the puddle of milk and glass, only half-aware of the sharp shards that might shred his feet. He reached a hand out, but Mob recoiled violently, until he stumbled back and braced his back against the wall.

“I didn’t mean it Shishou it was an accident it was an accident I didn’t mean it I didn’t—“

“Mob!”

“I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it I swear I didn’t mean it—“

“Mob!”

“Shishou please Shishou please Shishou please—“

“Mob I’m not Shishou!” Reigen shoved forward, feet wet, and took Mob by the shoulders. Mob looked up, eyes wet, startled and frozen. “Mob… Mob, I’m not angry. I’m not angry and it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just a glass. It’s only a glass, Mob. And I’m not angry. It was an old dirty glass anyway, Mob. An old dirty glass I don’t care about and I won’t miss and it’s 100% okay it’s okay, I promise.”

Mob’s hitching breath evened just a fraction, his hunched shoulders unfurling as his eyes surveyed Reigen for any evidence of a trick, or deception, or deceit. He looked down at his own shaking hands, and the air around him, as if only just processing what he saw.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why I’m not mad. Dropping something by accident is okay.” Reigen tightened his hand on Mob’s shoulder, and he looked back and forth between Mob’s eyes. It filled him with a twisting sort of helplessness, seeing what lay behind Mob’s eyes. Seeing the kid that ‘Shishou’ had so thoroughly broken. That all Mob’s pain, and all Mob’s horror, and all Mob’s suffering traced back to this one single Shishou, and that this man had brought about an evil that Reigen himself perhaps didn’t have the power to heal. It threatened that precarious future Reigen had just claimed, the one where he got to stay with Mob, healed and safe.

“Mob…please. Your Shishou is dead. He is dead, Mob. Your Shishou is dead, and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s okay Mob.”

“No, I’m…” Mob paused. He hiccupped, voice still hitching, body still trembling. “I’m sorry Shishou is dead. I did something to make him kill himself. I know it.”

“Good, Mob. Good…”

Mob stared up, jaw slack, baffled. “No… No, no, you’re angry about it… Shishou was your friend, and I got him killed. I’m sorry.”

Reigen pulled back, doubt squirming in his chest, black with revulsion. “What? No. No no, I never knew your Shishou. I wasn’t friends with him, Mob. I would never be friends with that man.”

“I heard you! No, no I heard you.” Mob leaned forward, his hands locking onto Reigen’s arm. “Through the basement door I could hear you talking with Shishou. You visited twice to talk with Shishou. You were friends!”

Reigen leaned back. Floor wet, mind buzzing, staring forward, mouth dry. Suddenly the taste of cake and ramen were a thousand miles away, from a different lifetime, from a “before”, when Reigen had just been thrown so terribly into “after”.

“Wait…wait a moment… Wait a moment… Basement door?”

Mob nodded. “I… I lived there in Shishou’s house.”

“And Shishou… bought supplies for you, Mob…?”

“Yes…”

“What… what did you eat Mob?”

“My barrier shreds all real food, so it was just soup. I…I got tired of it.”

The buzzing in Reigen’s ears grew louder. His hand slipped off Mob’s shoulder. A hollow pit of dread opened up in his stomach, revulsion, horror, guilt. Glimpses of the Mogami house, fetid and rotting, too vile to stay in for even a single night. The cans of soup, left on the counter by a dead man who did not need to eat. And Reigen, asking for more, wanting the pieces to fit, seeing what couldn’t click and now, suddenly…

“Reigen…?”

“Mob… What was your Shishou’s name?”

“Why are you asking…?”

“Mob please, just tell me this.”

“You seem different. Are you mad?”

“I’m not. Mob, please tell me, what was your Shishou’s name…?”

Mob hesitated. He pulled his hands away from Reigen, and answered with only a whisper.

“…Mogami. He was Mogami-Shishou.”

The name twisted tight like a fist in Reigen’s chest. It flooded his veins with an icy horror, a nauseous understanding, a horrific feeling that threatened to hollow him out from the inside.

The hum of the television. The buzz of the lights.

“…Reigen?”

The rushing of blood in his ears. The tingling numbness in his fingers.

“…Reigen…?”

He’d been there. Right there, on the floorboards above. Mob had not made a peep. Not a sound. Not a single indication. Reigen had left that house assuming it was empty. He’d left Mob to rot.

“Reigen, please…?”

It was cold now, in this house.

Chapter 24

#A Breach of Trust #ABoT #ABoT Update #43 MINUTES TO SPARE #HOT DAMN

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is-xox · 4 years ago

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I think if the connection is gone, there’s no reason to force it. The more you push for it, the further and distanced she’ll be. The best way to go about this is to give her space and let her figure out what she wants while also giving yourself some space to figure out what you really want out of this. One thing is that the same love is never found twice, even with the same person.

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necromantic13 · 7 years ago

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[3] Moira O’Deorain - Bitter Medicine

Part Three of HACKER VS. GENETICIST: SNIPER REVENGE. There will be at least one more part. I’m rolling a lot of canon and fan theory together here so take it for what it is.

Part One Part Two

Where’s the fun in playing fair?

Every day, Sombra prised a little harder on the tiles of Moira’s life, and every day she unearthed a little bit more about the geneticist’s sordid past. It was, at first, illuminating: she found details of her past work, from the inception of her controversial studies in foundational genetic manipulation to her subsequent disavowal by Overwatch during the Venice incident. The trail of logs and GPS ping data showed that Moira had ventured out on her own soon after, hired by all manner of intrepid criminal organizations to fund her work for their own gain - including Talon, and for much longer than Akande had implied - perhaps for longer than he knew. She found evidence of her help in secret Talon operations, the details of which were buried under heavier firewalls and more circuitous IP rerouting than her initial dig would unveil. It was enough to know they were there; she would get to the center of this mess eventually.

She also found private notes, long ago sequestered into a dusty inbox, from Dr. Angela Zeigler. They were decidedly unprofessional in nature, and Sobra could feel herself blushing as she unwrapped a part of Moira’s life she hadn’t expected to find. Recounting of rendezvous, wistful desires for the future, and the persistent use of the pet name darling littered the long forgotten digital trash bin, lost to all but the most persistent of hackers.

Sombra, swiping gently at her screen so as not to disturb the spider sleeping quietly at her side, wondered if any embers of that fire still burned in the cold soul of Moira O’Deorain. A fire could be used as a weapon if stoked in the right direction. Her past was sordid, to be sure, but by all accounts the woman was proud of her morally-corrupt work. It was the personal stuff that really got to people like that.

It was enough for one evening. Disconnecting, she slipped down into bed, letting the spider curl against the curve of her shoulder. She was close to something big, and once she had it, she’d better know what manner of threat Moira O’Deorain presented.

Later that day, she had a meeting with Akande and some of Talon’s passel of lower-ranked operatives to gather intel on a recent operation. They delivered it in the form of flash drives - flash drives, as though this were still 2020 and microgenetic source code weren’t something that had been invented, perfected, and mass-produced a decade ago. She rolled her eyes and accepted it with as much grace as she could muster, resigning herself to using one of her retrofitted computers instead of absorbing the intel directly into her cybernetics like she preferred. Hopefully there wasn’t anything too sensitive on those files.

“Give me an hour, boss,” she promised, ignoring the awestruck look of the three operatives in the room. She had, it seemed, sown her reputation well.

Akande nodded, dismissing her from the room.

Work made Sombra hungry, so she headed toward the kitchen to snag what was left of the sandwich she’d had for dinner last night. The fridge was packed, and as she was shifting around a jug of milk and carton of eggs to reach her roast beef on rye, she heard a pair of voices descending the stairs.

“But you must, Lacroix,” Moira’s sharp, self-assured voice echoed as she entered the room abutting the kitchen. “Your health is of the utmost importance after all.” “I am fine, Dr. O’Deorain,” came Widowmaker’s response, light and detached as ever. It carried the same strain it always did when she conversed with Moira. “We all went through a rigorous exam last month - there is no need for a follow-up.”

They rounded the corner, Widow a step ahead of Moira and looking decidedly displeased at her shadow. Sombra caught her eye; she was tired. She’d seemed more tired than usual lately.

“Hello, Sombra,” Moira said as she stepped into the room. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Amélie.”

“That’s not her name, Moira.”

The doctor waved her words away, dismissing them immediately. “She mentioned experiencing fatigue as of late, and pains about the joints. I’m simply suggesting she let me examine her.” She stepped around Widowmaker to sit in one of the room’s many chairs. “You care for her, yes?” She gestured toward the spider. “You have more influence over her. Tell her to do as I say.”

The lines around Widowmaker’s eyes were strained, and in any other situation she would have offered a tongue-lashing so severe it would have left Moira deafened. Instead, she stayed silent, a parade of unreachable emotion visibly taunting her.

Sombra smiled at the geneticist.

“Maybe she just needs some convincing. How do you plan on healing what ails her?” she asked, voice deadly-sweet. Widowmaker looked over at her, frowning, knowing her well enough to recognize when Sombra’s act began.

“Simple calisthenics. Stretches. I don’t imagine genetic therapy would be required at this stage, but if there is any degradation of the joints themselves, it may be necessary along with a round of rapid nanobiotic healing.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Sombra said, regarding the lines on the back of her glove as though it were the most interesting thing in the room.

Moira chuckled. “In inexperienced hands, certainly. As the one who conceptualized the methodology, I am more proficient than your average user.” Moira spoke in such a way that indicated she loved nothing more than to hear herself recite the record of her own brilliance. Sombra understood that well enough - she did the very same thing.

But she was speaking of Widowmaker as though she were a thing, and not standing right there, and that was where the similarity ended and Sombra’s choice was made.

“You - really?” Sombra replied, doing her best to look impressed. “I didn’t realize that. Everything I’ve learned about nanobiotic regeneration indicated Dr. Zeigler was the inventor.” She feigned innocence as she attempted to distract Moira from the topic of the spider’s health. It worked like a charm - Moira was silent, regarding Sombra with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

“I assure you, nanobiotic reconstruction was my pioneering work.”

Sombra shrugged, half-smiling in apology. “Sometimes even my data is wrong. Perhaps she worked on it with you? A student of yours, maybe? Coworker?” Her finger was on the button, ready to press it as soon as the opening was there; as soon as she was ready to leverage what she knew.

Moira laughed in response, but there was no part of her mirth that extended past her voice. “There were many up and coming great minds during my younger years. Dr. Zeigler was certainly among them, although our paths crossed rarely.”

“Doesn’t that just figure.” She laughed, looking idly at her fingernails. “Zeigler ending up getting the credit. Makes sense, though, if you think about it. She’s the darling of the science community, after all.” She looked up, one eyebrow raised to punctuate her weighted words, hoping her subtle threat wasn’t lost on the geneticist.

It wasn’t.

“I see,” was all she said, turning back to Widowmaker. “Have a good evening.” Sending a scathing look Sombra’s way, she left the room.

Widowmaker looked at Sombra for a long moment before speaking. “What are you doing?” she eventually asked, her voice soft.

“My job,” was all she said. “Speaking of, I have some numbers to crunch for Akande.” She turned on her heel, making it two steps before she thought better of leaving so abruptly. Returning to Widow’s side, she put a hand on her cheek and kissed her with what she hoped was reassurance. “I’ll see you later?” she said.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

Hesitating a moment, she nodded. Dropping her hand to her side, she headed for the office she shared with Gabriel down the hall.

She could feel the spider’s eyes on her back as she left: cold, stoic, and concerned.

Moira was professional, if cold to Sombra whenever they passed each other in the mansion. She took her tea in her room, made no attempts at small talk, and at least when Sombra was around, avoided referring to Widowmaker as anything but Lacroix.

She thought she’d won, at least for the time being. In a battle of wits pitting Talon’s master hacker against their master geneticist, she’d somehow come out on top.

A part of her worried she’d missed something; that there was a hidden pit located somewhere in her path, but until she had more to go on, she allowed herself to bask in the knowledge that she’d bested the doctor and, she hoped, won everyone some well-needed peace from her constant self-righteous presence

The next morning, as she began her daily delve into Moira’s past, something strange happened. The firewalls around Talon’s deeper databases were...gone. Not disabled or weakened, but entirely, completely eradicated. It was as though they’d never even been there in the first place.

Sombra smelled a trap, but it was a trap with bait too tempting to ignore. With a single wave of her hand, she dove in.

What she found horrified her to her core.

Someone had uploaded entire feeds of video data, timestamped over a decade ago and featuring a distraught Amélie Lacroix on a metal gurney. Splayed out like a lab rat, she saw Moira digging needles into her scalp, monitoring beeping machines, and recording every sordid detail of her work into a recorder. She heard the confused woman’s cries for help, wondering what was going on, where she was, and why her. She called for Gerard to save her, pleas unanswered save for Moira’s excited voice, empty of empathy as she increased the dosage of whatever she was pumping into Amélie until she fell silent.

Curiosity borne of abject terror kept her eyes glued to the screen. She didn’t want to see any of it, but she simply couldn’t look away. It was in her now, downloaded to her central database, there to stay until she went in and manually purged it.

Until she forced herself to touch it again.

The screen went black after a few minutes of graphic video documentation, and left her staring into the blackness of her own palm. There was nothing accidental about that. Moira had left it for her on purpose; left it for her to stumble into unprepared.

She hadn’t won, after all.

“What’s wrong?” Widowmaker asked after the silence had gone on for some time, looking up from where she was folding her laundry on the dresser.

“Nothing, nothing,” Sombra insisted, unable to suppress the tears streaming down her face. She scrambled gracelessly off the bed. “I have to go.”

Pushing past the spider’s outstretched hand, she left the room, Widowmaker’s voice shouting her name after her as Sombra ran.

Want more? Head over to Part Four. If you like this, maybe check out Glitch in the System for more spiderbyte!

#moira o'deorain #sombra #widowmaker #spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #olivia colomar #amelie lacroix #overwatch fanfic #overwatch

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denise-katherine · 7 years ago

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Disappearing Act

We only began to fight when I asked him to commit, and I mean really commit to me. Within 3 months of dating I was pregnant. And with that came intense pressure on the relationship. After the loss of the baby I wasn’t the same. I wanted desperately to be pregnant again and to be a family with him and he promised to make this happen.

In retrospect I put a lot of pressure on him and in a lot of ways he tried to make this happen and he tried to make me happy. But he wasn’t capable of giving me what I needed. Not emotionally, physically, or financially.

So instead of being honest with me and with himself he would simply lie. He would tell me what he thought I wanted I hear and when the truth came out and I was devastated and trust was destroyed, he would deal with the aftermath.

Evan’s way of dealing pressure and discomfort was to disappear. I should have know this. The warning signs were there but I thought he wouldn’t do it to ME.

In 2010 Evan’s father had a heart attack in their kitchen. Evan was the only one home and witnessed this. He told me about how his father hit his head as he fell to the ground and Evan had to clean the blood off of the floor.

How the whole family planned to build a ramp to help his father get into the house even as the doctors were telling them there was no hope and his father was gone. And as his father lay dying in the hospital, as his family gathered around, making plans to help his father regain his mobility even though they had been told he was no longer in his body, evan decided this was a good time to disappear.

Evan got in his car and he went to Atlantic City. As his father lay dying in the hospital, as his family sat in denial that he was never waking up, evan got in his car and he left. Not only did he leave, he “lost”

His phone. He would tell people that he left it in a cab, but I later figured out that most likely wasn’t true. See, in the face of pain evan needs to disappear totally and part of that is to disconnect from his phone as well.

So when Evans father passed away, evan was unreachable. I had texted him when I learned of his father’s death. I thought long about that text. I wanted him to know how Dad I was for him. He was a good friend, and in a way I loved him even then It was still more than 2 years before we would be together. He never got that text. His phone was long gone.

I don’t remember the first time Evan disappeared on me but just thinking of the many many times he did throughout the years brings back the physical pain of being punched in the gut.

This is how it would go. We would have plans. Usually we would just have normal weekend plans to go to the movies or dinner and I would get a text. The text would always look a little different than a normal text and I began to know by just glancing if it was a “disappearing” text. It would go something like this, “lm disappearing for a few days. I’m shutting off my phone. Don’t text me or call me. I’ll be in touch after the weekend.”

My heart would sink. My gut would hurt. I would become completely frantic. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself or how I would get through the next few days. I didn’t understand why this was happening, why he was doing this to me, why he was causing this pain. Typically we had attempted to make a baby only the night before...what was happening?

I would become paralyzed with anxiety. All I wanted was for him to answer my text or my call. To turn on his phone. To tell me where he was.

What had I done to deserve this? We weren’t fighting. Nothing was going on. He would just disappear. Out of nowhere. I had no way of knowing when it would happen.

And then he would come back. And at first he would act cold and distant, like I had done something to deserve this treatment. I would collapse in tears and shear exhaustion in his arms. I would beg him to never do that to me again. I would tell him how much I loved him and beg him to just hold me. I would say let’s just lay here and be together. He would never apologize and after a while I stopped asking. He never took responsibility for hurting me. Not once.

#narcisistic #heartbreak #you broke my heart #you broke me #disapear

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imwithdumbs · 5 years ago

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6/5/2020

First things first, HELLO TUMBLR! IT HAS BEEN A WHILE. I haven’t opened you for so long. Sumpah lama gila tak bukak. Our last entry was back in 2018 and tau2x je dah 2020, what? And I’ve got to say that we are only on the 6th day of the first half of the year, but it has been nothing but difficult. Kenapa tiba2x muncul sini? You must be wondering kan. Well dah lama gila, I feel like writing. Lama gila. And you know me, I prefer writing tulis tangan but it’s almost impossible with the amount of me time I have. Silat, assignments and everything. We are both growing up, fulfilling assigned commitments, one after another. Not gonna lie, there are times where I just hate everything, every one. So bear with me, I really want to write often here. If I can. Let’s wait and see.

I chose to finally log in with so much hope. To express myself better because I swear to God, it’s suffocating. My heart hurts so bad but at the same time, I don’t know what I am feeling. I feel so very disconnected. From everything. It’s very lonely here hehe. I don’t want to fall into another phase of depression because I know things are going to be difficult for every one. Including me. I know I won’t be able to hold myself back once I make a step into that torturous pit I call ‘hole’. My kind of hell. It’s hellish there. Full of nothingness. Ironic isn’t it? Empty but it feels so so filled. With uncertainties, wounds and regrets.

After what happened, I TRIED to give myself space to just grieve. But it was so hard and I just went back to putting up that ‘I’m alright’ wall. A wall. That’s it. A wall I so desperately want to shatter. It is so so suffocating. I wish I could just CRY and get it fucking over with. But it is so so difficult. You know that feeling where you think everything is starting to despise you, very much against you and you’re just halted, blocked. No one is giving me a hand and even if there is one, it’s unreachable. I am just hoping that this will end. This fucking pre-hole thing. I hope my inner demons would just shut the hell up and let me fucking relax and be my okay self again. Because to be honest, I hate THIS me. SO FUCKING HELPLESS.

Over the years, I swear I was definitely improving. Little by little. Gradually getting myself rigidly standing again. But it only took one thing to break me down.. it’s an effing cycle, I tell you. I just hope things will be better soon. Just like always. I want to have myself back.

(p/s: thank you dumb dumb ah for sticking through. things have been hard for you too but you are always there for me. just thank you.)

Thilah :) <3

#cakcibeng #it'sdumberhere #dumb two

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rdmfavcpls · 7 years ago

Text

Date - Chapter 5 - Talk

Story: Date

Category: Digimon

Pairing: Ami/Arata past Arata/Marippe

Rating: T

Summary: Nokia likes to imagine herself as a matchmaker, thanks to some well-time words, she got Yuuko and Fei together. They were easy. She didn’t have to worry about herself because Yasu was her boyfriend, Sakura finally got with Ryota. Yuugo was more focused on his therapy, so that just leaves Ami and Arata. Her toughest assignment.

Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to the fanfiction user Samrit for being the amazing reviewer on fanfiction for my Ami and Arata stories. I hope this matches up to your expectations.

Disclaimer: I do not owe any rights to the franchise.

Chapter 2 - http://rdmfavcpls.tumblr.com/post/165664175752/date-chapter-2-double-date

Chapter 3 - http://rdmfavcpls.tumblr.com/post/166734802492/date-chapter-3-picinic

~~Story Begins~~

Chapter 4 - Talk

Arata groaned as he got up to retrieve his digivice at 4:15 in the morning with an incoming call. Of all the times to leave his digivice in the living room. He looks at the front door as he entered the living room and shakes his head. Ten days since she left on her trip and he wants to welcome her home just once. She always beats him home when he’s at school and she’s at work, but she has twenty more days away.

Why was he in the living area again? It’s not because of the eerie creaking sounds within the walls or the drips and kata noises in the hall. He’s not used to them but Ami reassures him they are harmless. He turned back around to head back to bed when his digivice started ringing again.

That’s right, his digivice.

He walked over to it and answered it, not seeing it was an unknown number or that it was coming from somewhere in the United States.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Mr. Sanada?” someone spoke in English causing Arata to blink sleep away, his tired mind cannot process English right now.

“Yes, that’s me,” Arata responded with a rough accent but he hopes the point is across. He could hang up, it could be a scam. Something is telling him it’s not however.

“Phew, so glad we contacted you!” the man was speaking faster than what Arata could understand.

“Uh.. my english isn’t good, can you slow down?”

“No time. Don’t worry about the international bill we will cover it -” International bill? “We need you to keep Ms. Aiba talking, make sure she stays awake, okay?” Ms Aiba? Ami!

“Wait-” Arata said but he got a transferring tone. He looked at his digivice seeing the call was from the states. The holographic display was disabled on the caller’s end so he disabled his. He held the digivice closer to his ear as the tone stopped. “Hello?”

“Arata?” Ami’s voice spoke. Her voice sounding drowsy, exhausted, and forced.

“Ami, are you okay?” Arata asked his mind and body now awake, no longer caring about sleep.

“I’m fine. The doctors are just overreacting,” Ami said and he can imagine her with a bright smile, trying to calm his fears. “They think if I fall asleep, I won’t wake back up.”

Arata hands shake as he places his digivice on speaker, he has to sit it down otherwise he might break it. “You are obviously not fine if they tell you that.”

Her voice is slowly sounding more awake. “Are you okay?” she asks and it throws him for a loop. He’s not the patient that the doctors want to stay awake, he’s not even the one who is close to a doctor! “You sound terrified,” Ami says.

“I am,” Arata says quietly, so quietly that he’s unsure if she heard him or not. He’s not even sure that if he said it in the first place so he repeats. “I am. I’m terrified, completely terrified! I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why I am the one chosen to keep you awake!” Than, it is like he doesn’t have a filter on his mouth because the next thing he says, surprises him. “I’m terrified that I won’t see you again!”

Silence. It was so deafening that Arata started to miss the kata noises.

“There was an attack in New York City, where Mom and I are at,” Ami says softly and he can tell that she’s worried about him. “Mom was showing me where her latest project was at, telling me about it. I-I don’t remember all the details, it went by in a flash. Mom is okay, she’s showing her recording of what happened before we got separated to the police. The attacker was using his hostages to gain a bargaining trip. He didn’t know I was there, I used stealth hide and followed them. I guess it’s a benefit of still being partially cyber huh?”

“Why would you do that?” Arata asked.

“NVNG. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I’m a detective, remember, it’s almost natural for me. Plus he is on the International Wanted List, if I let him go, Kyoko would be mad,” Ami explained. “The detectives that were working couldn’t get in, he had the electronic lock jammed. I was already inside the room but I was able to see what the password into his computer was. While they were trying to negotiate with him, I got into his computer and removing the signals that were jamming the lock.”

Silence.

“Ami,” Arata said.

“Sorry, I’m trying to piece it together, I-I don’t want to give you the wrong events,” she said. “The next thing that I remember was the detectives bursting in, the man getting ready to shoot, but I jumped him on his back, causing him to shot the ceiling. Than he slammed me hard into the brick wall. I have a bad concussion for sure. The doctor's, they just want to monitor me, make sure it doesn’t lead to something worse.”

“So, are you okay?” Arata asked, his mouth dry.

Ami laughed, “My head is throbbing, pounding, but after getting slammed hard into a brick wall, it would be scarier if I didn’t feel anything. I’m sorry, if I woke you.”

“What?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Ami said. “I couldn’t remember my cousin’s name at the moment but I remembered you. My mom wanted me to be talking to someone who I know, who I can trust, so I asked for you.”

“I feel honored,” Arata said. “I didn’t know what time zone you was in. So how is New York City?”

“It’s here, I miss home,” Ami responded. “Hold on.” Silence. A lot of silence. “Arata?”

“I’m still here,” he responded.

“I-I know it’s going on six-thirty there and school will be starting but -”

“I’m not hanging up,” Arata interrupted not even realizing two hours plus went by. “You are more important than school.”

“Arata!” Ami said shocked and to be honest, he doesn’t blame her. He’s never missed a day. He can imagine Ami feeling his forehead to see if he’s sick or Nokia shaking him asking where the real Arata is at. “But-”

“I don’t care,” Arata spoke, his hands gripping his pant legs tightly.

“They want me to stay awake for one more hour. After one more hour, you can do what you like, sleep or school.”

“What will you do?”

“Eat, possibly if they bring me food, but sleep.”

“Will you be okay with sleeping?”

Ami let out a simple chuckle, “Of course, the doctors are-”

“I was referring to your nightmares,” Arata interrupted.

Ami’s chuckling stopped suddenly, “How do you know about them?”

“When we binged watched my horror animes,” Arata said. “It seemed like you was pleading your life for someone else’s. I was going to wake you and ask you about it but you stopped when I touched your shoulder.”

“Did I say who?” Her voice sounded so sad and distant, he’s heard it before, during a time he wishes to forget. That voice it breaks his heart.

“I don’t think so. You did apologize to me by name, but you was still fast asleep. I don’t think you realize I was there.”

“I’ll be alright, even with my nightmares,” Ami said. “I’m sorry if I disturb you.”

“Ami, explain them to me.”

“My nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious and we have some time to spare so humor me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out.”

“All I got was ‘take me, not him’ and ‘I’m sorry, Arata’. You was whimpering and shaking, not much to go on.”

“Would you like a hint?”

“No, I want you to explain it to me.”

It was quiet but Ami finally answered. “It’s me trying to bargain with Eater Arata to get the real Arata back. The nightmare usually ends with you gone from existence, but it didn’t end that way on that particular night,” Ami explained.

“The night I found out?”

“Yes,” Ami said before the call got disconnected leaving Arata frantically trying to get the connection back again.

“This number is for outgoing calls only,” the recorded voice for the hospital spoke.

Arata hung up and went to Digi-line and call her digivice only to receive, “This number is currently unreachable. Try again later. If you know this number is still active, please call Kamishiro Enterprise.”

Arata’s eyes were downcast trying to figure out what he could do when an idea took over his body as he typed out a message.

Arata: I need your advice, ASAP. When and where can we meet?

Nokia: Pretty much sure that you have the wrong contact.

Arata: No, I don’t. Please Nokia.

Nokia: Meet me in Shinjuku at 8:30. If it’s as desperate as you make it sound than you’ll ditch class.

Arata: I’m already ditching school today.

Nokia: 8:15 than.

Arata quickly got changed into his usual outfit and left the apartment, locking it as he called his school, letting them know he won’t be in today.

#Digimon #Digimon Story #digimon story cyber sleuth #I think I have the numbers fixed #some have prologues some dont #Ami Aiba #Arata Sanada #nokia shiramine #Yuuko Kamishiro #yuugo kamishiro #Yasu #Fei #Marippe #arata x ami #Nokia x Yasu #yuuko x fei

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eksbdan-blog · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://passingbynehushtan.com/2019/10/17/christ-hermeneutics-death-spiral-pt-3/

Christ vs. the Hermeneutical Death Spiral part 3: Red Flags

This is an article in a series. Please see:

Christ and the Hermeneutical Death Spiral Part 2 Christ vs. the Hermeneutical Death Spiral, Part 1

Corrupt Hermeneutics: Hermeneutics and the Theologian

If you pick up a book or article on corrupt hermeneutics which argues for an antidote, which is not merely descriptive or retrospective, you’re always going to see it discussed with a wide range of historical alternatives. You might be surprised if I make the complaint that for theology, this is not a good thing and its a red flag for corrupt hermeneutics.

Christian Theology, and therefore any discussion of meaning, is supposed to be set on the basis of an organic instead of superficial dependency upon the belief and demonstration of a supernatural agency that works before the theologian, not after him. The logic follows that whatever you propose as a theologian it should be an offering not grounded first in reason, will, emotion or any other insular humanly produced industry or epistemic locus but set in a thing which insists on an other-worldly alternative to our own formulations. But the urge is always for the theologian to follow the broad spirit of the age, to fit in, to propose something that is immediately accessible to the prevailing methods and presuppositions.

To choose one “rule” from column A and speak of it as good or bad by comparison to those in column B which are the same kind of items is from the start this red flag for which I speak for bad hermeneutics. The pulling of modern and historical alternatives to your theory of meaning for comparison is not a red flag and not our giveaway, quite the contrary. It’s this engagement in a rigorous scholarly exercise to test a proposition against another when none of them carry their own force of meaning to make such a comparison necessary.

You know something is wrong. No one is going into combing through Truth and Method and Heidegger and speak about how Ricœur’s is a superior position on the nature of meaning if meaning showed itself unambiguously as centered on a historical person. No one is going to write reams of paper speculating what kinds of species of animal life should live in heart of the Congo or in unexplored regions of the earth if we have explored those regions and know. No one is going to say “I think alien life in the Sirius star system is carbon-based” or “I think it’s silicon-based” if we have gone there and know. But in Christianity, we burn up all our intellectual capital and time reading and lauding this kind of speculative theology instead of investigating the transcendent artifact we say we have in hand. Our scholarly hermeneutics is a red flag that we know nothing, and obviously prefer it, since it never adds anything more to what the simple historical phenomenon of the word of the Hebrew prophets delivers to the mind without them.

We forget that a revealed God is one who offers knowledge otherwise impossible. Original Christianity no matter how secretly embarrassing its methods and Truth might be to the thinker, never was and could never be a faith that triumphs in any way by joining that which is doggedly against it and could come only from brains and brawn.

It presents not a line of reason through an eloquent and perfectly parsed rhetorical flourish and neat organization, or a good idea that is a better alternative to another idea not so good, but insists a truth that is ultimate is saving is no idea at all. Truth is a simple fact of history that shows God’s existence, nature, and plan, set before its audience which either overwhelms or underwhelms them in our demonstration of its love or its hatred and indifference.

This is meant to set a baseline for all talk about meaning: do we really want the Truth, not or only a personally compatible version of it? If you want the truth, choose the one that looks like what is not here but belongs here.

The Christian theologian is always supposed to be an investigator and champion of the Christian idea against irrational, unfounded, constructed and merely fashionable ones. The real definition of the Christian theologian is something more like a pneumenaut of entirely new spaces, seeing entirely new things revealed 2000 years ago, spirits riding on a ship not physical and made by human hands, not like an astronaut who can only penetrate new matter beyond old matter.

In the theologian’s presentation, if the analysis of another hermeneutic and comparison to the chosen hermeneutic is done to show error by contrast, that’s what we want, but not if what you propose is essentially the same as the error you eschew.

For me to positively demonstrate this error, or if it even exits in part, it is still effective to show error by contrast, but not by the same kind of contrast which is the same as the error. What is needed is to show the whole of the defective enterprise by its difference to something alien to the whole process, which is not fundamentally like it, since this is supposed to be that otherwise impossible Christian revelation. The theologian is removed from all contrived systems from the start. Zooming out, staying at a distance where one is informed of them as an observer, not an inhabitant, and performs analysis from the perspective of wholes instead of parts.

He tries to determine the extent to which the indispensable assumptions of the approach he proposes (and by extension the text in which he proposes to apply a certain hermeneutic) is compatible with others in respect to its ability to render a meaning that agrees with and magnifies the meaning of transcendent substances instead of relatively prosaic superficialities. If your going to contrast what is presumed to be alien to a mundane or defective idea to show their incompatibilities, our operational rule is that the idea must at least be as radically different as a prosaic thing to the alien thing.

It’s the presumption and belief that we have something unique and radically foreign which is not a method, not an idea and not a feeling, but a public, supernatural event.

Gadamer was right in that the process is at least supposed to be more about Truth’s than Method’s, but Truth in Christianity is without his entirely subjective control of its meaning. Yes, we have become inured and numbed by “science,” by the idea that, if our eyesight to resolve a destination is failing, no matter where we set our minds to go, a proper number of precise steps, instead of a proper number of precise steps in a particular direction, will bring us home. The takeaway here is that a destination as part of the science of methods that are reasoned to and constructed by humans are always in orientation with the tendency for human insularity and independence. If the destination is not supposed to be human, at least in part, then if we have any eyesight left we had better use it make sure the course to it matches, not that we are walking. If the destination is foreign then the method should be foreign, that is, the supernatural destination object is itself the makeup of the lens through which we clearly find our orientation to it.

If you think that I am building to something like “use the spirit and he will tell you what it means,” this is no more idiosyncratic and subjectively grounded than it is to the equally human scientific method, which is great for the settling of the emotions and discovery of matter but useless for anything else.

“Spirit” is a concept, an idea, we must remember. Millennia of human religious history is about the entertaining of this concept endlessly in philosophical discussion, but our belief is that the Cross established “Spirit” as a reality in history. If that is true, the Cross destroyed “spirit” forever as unknown, unreachable, unfathomable, and a product only of the mind and emotions. The same with the ideas “God,” “truth,” “faith,” “evidence,” “righteousness” and “sin. To then say “spirit” and not biblically qualify it and establish it without the possibility of disconnection in a perspicuous and universal fact not revealed by science or subjectivity, believing that it’s nonetheless with power and a real thing of objective transcendence, is a worship of a human concept as much as Grant Osbourne’s Hermeneutical Spiral can be a worship of method.

An emotional attachment to an insular idea and then several of a certain kind of rational steps, or an intellectual attachment to rational steps and then to an idea, instead of one to and from the supernatural appearance of phenomena, is an attachment to us, not it. If this supernatural phenomenon is said to originate in what is essentially reason and emotion itself, orientation to it and exclusive dependence upon it for your means of meaning is not the loss of meaning, reason or love, just a degraded one in which you are now a helpless dependent. The belief in it as transcendent is still the symbol of its own kind in ontological relation to its being of creation, but only a being that will die with it. You can have all the love and good feelings and intellectual pursuit you want, but I hope that it comes from a real place that is imperishable.

All of the foregoing is why our kind of approach to the problem here is not going to burden you with hundreds of pages of explanations and illustrations of one author’s philosophy against another. This is decided for us, because, as I have said in another way, you won’t find a nut through a painstaking search under the shade of a tree that does not bear them. We need to match the kind ofnut for the tree, but to do this we need to speak about trees not as atoms or ideas or the result of a natural process but as totalities from a distance.

Not that a close examination of the tree is not essential to its speciation and then it’s fruit. I only propose that because we as Christians have lost the ability to make sense of and revere biblical totalities and ultimate’s, and have spent so much time under a humanly constructed tree given as the only one we are supposed to visit, we have called that tree divine because we don’t know how to leave it and find the other one that need not be called anything to be divine.

The Tree is the Tree of Life. It’s not some other tree. The first step then in leaving a perishable tree and finding that Tree of Life is to break our gaze upon the dying one, and its identifying bark, leaves and stems, and fix it on the horizon until our eyesight improves to see distances. We might just see on the horizon the good tree we left long ago that we wandered away from, and then start our trek back to it with only it as our destination. We don’t start with speculation, we start, again, by honestly determining what looks most like is not from here but belongs here.

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Corrupt Hermeneutics: Lost in Method

Planting explosives on the hulls of theologically liberal ships and bringing them to the bottom is easy. They are pretty, with plenty of pastel paint applied, of fashionable design, but they are not guarded, they leak like swiss cheese the more they are in the water and their keels were poorly laid down from the start. Its almost as if they were built and manned as momentary flights of fancy to only express a conceptual ship of ideal shape but, having invested so much in it there is nothing left to give the seaworthiness.

Now, conservative vessels are another matter. They are always built strong and seemingly unassailable. Not created for the show but the go. They lack personability and aesthetics, the inner appeal, but excel in prudence and sound design. They are also aesthetically deficient. Prudence may seem better than pretty, but this is not saying that conservative ships are better overall than the liberal ones, nor the liberal better than the conservative unless there is a ship already at hand that was not built by human hands, has ethereal beauty, design, inexhaustible propulsion, and has no need for a guard because it can’t be destroyed.

Liberal theology is just too easy to knock down. It’s not a challenge. It’s also not necessary if the point is to convince, not emote.

Orthodoxy, conservatism, holds the Bible as authoritative and revered. It is a no-brainer that the leftist idea of the Bible as one spiritual document to be stacked upon a hundred others as equals, written only by the inspiration from the minds of ancient, clueless and superstitious agrarians, is liberal a theology that is a non-starter for a faith which is supposed to be exclusively generated and fired by its unique revelatory contents. Orthodoxy believes this, but for all its posturing it refuses to even entertain the thought that a ship, and ancient and transcendent artifact, is their sole transcendent vehicle to bring them to God.

Indeed, their pride is in their systems, their reasonability, their carefulness, the dependence upon “facts” generally, arguments that appeal to logic. History as it was and not how we wish it were, the fact of the natural blackness of the human heart, and many others that are hard for anyone still thinking to eschew. But it’s not these that we have a problem with, the problem is putting them first, and when they are put first it is guaranteed that “logic,” “history,” “reason,” “fact,” and even “God” in a theological discussion are not going to be servants of God. They will be our gods.

I want to first come at this from the perspective of the god of organization, procedure, structure, logic. Because we have been so blinded, so trained to admit a solid demarcation between what is an idea and what is thought only a dispassionate and neutral process in our thinking, you may grow weary when I speak about the idea of “God” as a god, or “faith” as a god, as if to say there is no God and no real faith possible. No, not in the farthest reaches of the imagination. I am advocating Christian fundamentalism that is too fundamental for the fundamentalists and too radical for the radicals, as it always was. This is not about whether Biblical concepts or a biblically endorsed method are true, it’s about whether these are going to be your direct point of contact with the Biblical revelation.

We will find that when they are not, that Revelation, that is, the theophany of a God of history as it presents itself to the mind and heart, is allowed to be what it is: its own self-contained, self-generating, self-attesting method and cause for deep and penetrating illumination and emotion which are implanted in the individual and work organically with him, to a degree even without conscious reflection. We reflect on and understand why the Christ and the Apostles never laid out a formal systematic theology, never pointedly established a formal definition of “meaning,” never thought it necessary to define “revelation” and certainly never needed to take an extra effort to assure us what “meaning” means.

Grant Obsorne or anyone else is not singled out by any means. They are only examples of any such lost attempt you will see. He is mentioned only because he’s a classic symbol of organization and scholarship that invites the reader to a rational, balanced method for meaning, in a conservative fashion. He also symbolizes, so much against our natural inclinations, the out of control hermeneutic that I suggest.

In this kind of work, which applies even more so to those liberal, the reader must be a certain kind, and not the one who must absorb the great truths of the biblical text only by control of that which has no biblical equivalence. Almost all others won’t see the bait and switch because, well, how could one possibly reject a text-to-context hermeneutic? And if you accept it then you need to use it. If you use it, you will become its defender. If you become a defender maybe your still a Christian, but only insofar as the degree of what you defend is fundamentally like anything that was given by God to render meaning that is spoken of in Scripture which is said to contain meaning, not just guide a possible path to it.

Superficially, is there anything wrong here with the Hermeneutical Spiral? No, not in the least. It’s an excellent demonstration of moderation and sober reasoning. Is there anything wrong with losing sight of the issues in play and applying these rules, keeping in mind these dangers of fallacious and unwarranted applications? No, of course not. Do I recommend its reading and application? Of course, I do, I endorse it. But in its descriptions of egregious errors and proper application of a solution will we see the most egregious and fundamental type of error or solution? Will we see the point of revelation, the uncovering of a truth of Christianity that might have been lost which was the loss of the faith itself? Will we find the Holy antithesis to a fallen faith? Never in an eternity of years of simians in a room full of typewriters.

But, you say, this is not the purpose of the book! My response is that, in a nutshell, is the problem.

Here is the beginning of Osborne’s book:

Context

The Historical Context

The Logical Context

Studying the Whole: Charting a Book

Studying the Parts: Diagramming the Paragraph/ 3. Arcing

Rhetorical or Compositional Pattern

Grammar

The Preliminary Task: Establishing the Text

External Criteria

Internal Criteria

Grammatical Analysis of the Text

The Historical Development

The Verb System

The Noun System 3

Prepositions, Particles and Clauses

Exegetical Procedures

Semantics

Semantic Fallacies

The Lexical Fallacy

The Root Fallacy

Misuse of Etymology

Misuse of Subsequent Meaning

The One-Meaning Fallacy

Now, this is valuable stuff. Background specific information and a thorough understanding of fallacious conclusions. All these issues of bad interpretation are not optional to our education about biblical meaning at its beginning.

But if there is one thing we should also be able to agree upon is that all these concepts, in every line of this outline, are something that need not have been precipitated or necessitated by exclusively an outside, supernatural agency. You can say they were motivated or inspired by one, but these direct objects of our apprehension of meaning are not that agency itself.

We can choose to believe that the author was motivated in producing this by a real supernatural, objective revelation of God, but we can’t see it for ourselves in these chapter headings because it is never used to modify and qualify them. You don’t read anything that shows or forces the supernatural, nor do you see in the subsequent treatment of these subjects only a historical, supernatural, biblical thing as a guide and magistrate over the results of the biblical meaning in which it leads. Unless of, of course, its another opaque and constructed hermeneutical agency, the concept “God.”

Please do not confuse this with me saying that there is no “God.” My argument is the opposite of this. It means that the concept “God” is not God, it’s only an idea that must be made by us in order to index, organize and mark the place where is to be found the phenomenon of God himself as he gave it to the world. We have been trained to think that our constructions are Truth, are divine, when they are only very crucial but transcendently unoriginal symbols of it.

The human motivation and its product are one and the same: invisible to casual observation, locked without an apparent need for unlocking to that which they are not. Yet a supernatural agency working objectively in history is precisely the bedrock of the definition of revelation in the Bible, and some form of the re-appearance of this historical display in the New Testament is not only the prescription and definition of meaning but the bedrock of faith. They are both supposed to be supernatural. The rule and the product are either of human contrivance or they are both of divine agency on their way to meaning and understanding.

This is not to say that human conceptualizations are bad, and certainly not human language. They are essential. We would be living on an animalistic level without them. But this fact is what hides instead of reveals.

This Christian assumption, if such direct transcendent control by supernatural knowledge is lacking, can only bring us to a similar level equal with unrevealed, pagan religion: the religion of “feel it, know it,” or “measure it, know it.” These ways of knowing can’t produce products of open alien phenomena which are both accessible and clearly of another world which Christians say came 2000 years ago.

If there is a supernatural motivation of the author that sits behind a knowing by “procedure” or “intuition,” everyone is supposed to have access to its products, it has to be a part of “procedure” and “intuition” and its subject to objective scrutiny as to its reality. If not, how much you want to bet the author does not believe that any such genuine, objective alien artifact exists outside of subjectivity or matter? That it is not believed that such a thing happened 2000 years ago and certainly has no machine-code level part in an investigation in how to read the bible right?

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The upshot is that mere ideas, which are independently without revelation’s explicit established contextualization and definition, are human products, not divine ones, that can and must to a great extent originate entirely within the mind, between humans alone, and die there if not proven strictly tied to ultimately foreign realities. That objectively transcendent, scriptural revelation of which I insist uses concepts for its representation, but that is an entirely different thing than saying concepts are revelation itself.

You see, I am really interested in being more fundamental than any fundamentalist, and more radical than any radical. Deception is not only an argument failing on the basis of bad premises and logic that nevertheless reaches a really attractive and desired conclusion that we wrongly accept. Deception is a conclusive idea failing because of no direct supernatural dependency but accepted because it is a child by a beautiful, grand and intelligent procedure that we love more. Deception is produced by easily exposable tricks of affection and nuanced and subtitle tricks of reason. Liberalism and conservatism are like twins fused at the hip, who also share the same brain. They represent fundamental and radical carnality, but not fundamental and radical spirituality, in which no such chimera exists.

This is the one hermeneutical rule that is, by far, the most important, because if you lose it you will begin to unconsciously handle ideas as a container, a controlling source of divine knowledge, instead of a dependent content. You cant control meaning with an artificial and dependent creation and moral choice of man. When this happens, nothing you can think or say about the transcendent will have, if it exists, a supernatural controlling premise and will be, although appearing noble and pious, ultimately worthless for the task it pretends.

God does not give ideas, God gives phenomena as the overarching magistrate over the content of meaning, and all generated ideas are supposed to strictly obey that phenomenon alone. This is to say that meaning flows directly from the observation and reaction to that appearing of the divine, and that objective divinity is not an idea, reason or a feeling about things except as accurate or twisted reflectors of it.

I point this self-evident fact out in this way not to say that Osbourne’s outline, the subjects with which he deals, and the manner in which he deals with them, are in error. I use his book to show that the solution to any subject-to-object problem in biblical hermeneutics to which he leads cannot be toward a subject or object which is motivated by or resembles “conceptual” or “propositional” “knowledge.” Not consciously misaligning them as a preface to the whole thing to show a lack of dependence upon an insular dialogic is to join it in a disastrous explanation of Christian meaning.

It may take a while for me to give you the kind of revelation about Christian hermeneutics as is expected of the theologian, to clearly point out what of divine hermeneutics he typically is not motivated, so I ask some patience. On the surface, it may seem that I am picking nits or am seriously misinformed, but I assure you, this is far from the case.

Again, going forward, to not find ourselves under the same dying tree we need to take in the whole thing with a certain blinder off and from a distance. We are not advocating against Osborune or anyone else for that matter. We are advocating for a new start upon which to reorient their approaches and make an evaluation as to the extent of their usefulness in knowing the one indispensable essential hermeneutical rule of the NT. Which, by the way, they never do broach unless to deny its existence.

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Corrupt Hermeneutics: Methods and Meaning

If you ask any conservative scholar to comment on any errors in the foregoing “Lost in Method,” there won’t be much. But the reason they won’t disagree with this re-emphasis on a biblical revelation to ground and control meaning, a revelation which they say are trying to explain and serve, is that everything I said about “revelation” and “supernatural” can be taken as represented by a proposition, not phenomena. Phenomena without which there is no possible meaning and no salvation.

A proposition is “Jesus is Lord,” or “the blood of Christ cleanses of all sin,” or “God is sovereign.” But did you ever stop and think whether these propositions display a supernatural appearance of God? Whether they can be said the same in an essential sense, in the sense of knowledge, the equal of God? They can’t and they aren’t. Although the human indwelling of God is supposed to be essential to teach them rightly, why is this indwelling only spoken of by them in the form of being and not particular kind of knowledge publicly accessible and demonstrable of Him which would be impossible to obtain without him giving it to us?

I constantly talk about this biblical vital center and the equivalent of God implanted in the mind which is supernatural and impossible to duplicate by man. Now I say that it acts as its own dynamic magistrate over meaning that produces the required moderation, moral thinking, and circumspection to render the original meaning of the text without a conservative scholarship that uses other means to teach it. I will get back to this and the issue of propositions later that is thought the equivalent to Truth and a counterbalance to the problems of an uncontrolled subjective interpretation, but first let me ask you to think about some set-up ideas.

With “methods and meaning” there is a means of reaching a product and an end-product. Subject is fundamental to any of the usual ruminations on hermeneutics, so I must put something down from the get-go.

You have people essentially arguing for the application of a system of procedure and those for the needs of the reader. Then you have those who take both into account, that both are important, and you must come up with a scheme that pulls from the text something accurate and equally allows it to apply to an individual. Neither lobe nor a happy middle, however, is what a good biblical hermeneutic is about.

The fact is that this objective supernatural phenomenon of which I speak dynamically creates its own method and meaning for the subject. If it’s kept in view, it continually pushes out the incorrigible implication of the text into man’s mind and spirit without the need for constant reflection on self or reasoned systems. In short, the method and meaning are itself some kind of appearance of God before the reader sees anything pertaining to its testimony and elucidation by another.

This diametric, “method and meaning,” is different here than saying “there is a proposition and a means of determining or constructing that proposition.” For a Christian, a “method” is not a human method, and “product” is not a human product except in the sense of it being human intelligible. They are prepared for integration into his noetic condition and ability, but not determined by it, having come from a place far away which has created the possibility of a noetic condition and ability in which an essential moral act can take place.

A proposition, like “Jesus is Lord” or “Paul understood sin as debit,” are concepts; creative products of the mind. It’s the end, or conclusion, of the result of a chain of evidence, other propositions, data, potentialities, theories. The concept is a construct used to represent those, not those predicates themselves.

Concepts are not bad. They are the most precious abstract, mundane thing humans have, and make him human. But they are only tagging in symbolic fashion a group of predicating information as a totality so that a thought can be built to form a greater one made from more knowledge and allow him a trans-human end.

A belief is an arrangement of concepts, but emerging from and controlled by various sources of real information. The proposition or concept “Jesus is Lord” is not a supernatural object of worship, it’s only a marker for a number of data points pertaining to displays of that object. These are supposed to support the belief that Jesus is a supernatural object of worship, which are themselves supernatural because Jesus is presumed so. These data points are not your dreams, your feelings, your tradition or anything mundane and unconfirmable by anyone else, because these are not public transcendent displays and open to inquiry and independent confirmation. They need to be “truth,” reality, facts, and have the potential of showing it openly. Therefore, “Jesus is Lord” is a concept which is of a supernatural implication, but is not supernatural evidence or reason, and then can’t be treated as the source of divine epistemic power to independently inspire or carry what Christians call faith.

“Truth,” which is often used for “meaning,” should not be. Although a concept, “Truth” has not a fundamental meaning, in the biblical sense, of a construct or a mere voluntary conclusion. It’s one of those essential concepts that can be removed without destroying a mind.

“Meaning” is what reality implies to consciousness, not what it is. “Truth” is fundamentally that which corresponds to reality, and reality is something objective that invades subjectivity but not created by it.

Meaning and Truth is ultimately a phenomenon, an appearance of an object or fact otherwise hidden if It does not make itself known, and induction and induction are human methods for consciously connecting the cause and the phenomenal effect, but only necessary as conscious controls when Truth is put as a proposition, not a phenomenon, where the phenomena controls the process of linking. Because we have lost contact with any sense of an abiding “Truth” which has its own power of persuasion to choose and guide a method of its resolution to the great questions of existence, we confuse “Truth” to mean only a personal construct and confuse a method to it as a universal truth in itself. “Truth” in the biblical sense aligns more with supernatural “method” than with “meaning.” We derive our meaning from Truth, the theophany of God which is objective, not Truth from our meaning, which is morally tied to it but morally voluntary for the individual.

Using “truth” for “method” as I suggest as working interchangeably in biblical hermeneutics, if applied to any other study, will swallow it whole and destroy it. Science,” for example, the method, is in casual conversation put for the truth it is capable of resolving, and in doing so you begin to believe its capabilities unlimited, reaching far beyond what it is capable into metaphysics. Therefore science has become a kind of cultish belief that resembles more the unfounded pagan faiths of antiquity than it does the original aims of the scientific method: it has no revelation of transcendence, but zealously makes pronouncements of them. “God does not exist,” “matter is all that ever was and ever will be.” Extreme objectivity destroying its professed and revered objectivity, where extreme subjectivity is its only refuge.

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The fallacy is also found in insular experientialism, as with the New Age, the Occult and many charismatic groups. We now use “Truth” for “meaning,” a personal independent power of talismanic quality to fire and inform the intellect and emotions that do not need a justifying means outside of the person holding it. Extreme subjectivity destroying its dependent and revered spiritual subject, where an extreme objective state is the only result, leaving them as mere bodies/minds with entangled and contradictory feelings and beliefs only for the benefit of that particular body/mind.

Both essentially start and end in the same place: here in the world. However, in the biblical revelation, as we will see, when Truth is an appearance of God to the physical or noetic senses and also the method of its elucidation, hermeneutics becomes locked exclusively to the divine mind both methodologically and meaningfully. It’s not given up to humanly contrived systems that can break down are misinterpreted. The result is that the subject is entirely controlled in the entire process of understanding and illumination by the active invasion of that mind by a divine objective object which is, in turn, the equivalent of that mind.

Noun Flattening

This tendency to make truth a method and method truth outside of this theophany, which I suggest must exist in a real revelatory document, is what I call a kind of noun flattening. As I said, used in biblical hermeneutics this is deadly, and that is why Christian hermeneutics is being destroyed, because it’s not Christian, it’s secular dressed up as Christian, yet is nonetheless the world interpreter of what Christian meaning means.

As I continue to describe this noun flattening or noun norming as uncontextualized or qualified uses of theological keywords in our theology, I don’t mean that the theologian is not using “Faith” or “God” or “love” while not having in mind a particular kind which is real, or that he is not going to explain them later. I mean the destruction is happening because of casual use of them in sentences without qualification. When they are not qualified as to a specific biblical revelatory device, it is guaranteed that they will be subsequently thought of and used as having independent propositional power, as in a secular understanding of Truth, and never qualified at all. The scholar’s work will then essentially be an argument or description of the power of understanding and meaning through discussion, reason, and ideas, not through this appearance of God of which I speak.

When we study hermeneutics, we often find goals and methods (conclusive concepts and directional concepts) generalized, used with operational terms used to only categorize crucial concepts. The reason why we do this is because “meaning,” supposedly the ultimate goal of hermeneutics, has lost “meaning” because “meaning,” our keyword, is itself become a flattened, or uncontextualized concept, as has “Truth” and “Method.”

Now, this is fine, except for Christian theology. Why? Because before any one or a number of key theological words, meaning is already supposed to be qualified conceptually by a presumption about the ultimate nature of reality, the ordering force behind it and the revealing of that force.

We are are not talking about getting meaning from your insurance policy, Moby Dick, or Newton’s Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica. Newton’s is a little different writing about only natural things since he assumed God was behind everything, but his discussion is about physics, not God. There is no threat that the reality of matter is something that will have to be argued for and either won or lost. So, if a flattened concept like “inertia” is used it is a certainty that it will be understood properly as long as matter is not seen as fiction. It emerges to explain matter and, if it dies and falls out of use because of the discoveries of science, science is not degraded but is perhaps refined and improved with a clearer view of reality as matter.

But you cant treat theology like science because, well, our natural reflex is not necessary to disbelieve that there is a God, but that there is an indispensable revelation him that we are as responsible for in our theology as we are of “God.” If you use “faith” without qualification when there is a biblical one, then “faith” becomes, in this reflex, defaulted to “God,” the idea, and then to nothing, a feeling, a comfortable delusion, the result of a conscious and controlled calculation, or to our insular selves and a mere a ideational plaything. Hermeneutics is supposed to be, however, “Christian Hermeneutics,” not “Hermeneutics,” and Christian Hermeneutics literally means “the study of meaning within those who take it from the revelation of Messiah.”

Lose that fact and Christian hermeneutics becomes a discussion of methods, errors, histories, and arguments for meaning like science does its unqualified nouns, without any necessary reference to its controlling authorities and its meaning first. This results in time to the death of theology, not its improvement.

Outer-Space, Inner-Space

To illustrate this, let me give an analogy of which I am fond.

Imagine all existence in the perception of man beginning as a big house, with outer, surrounding space and inner space. Everyone is born into the inner space. No human created the inner space. We are only living there. The only thing that is changeable is the paint and anything that was in this interior room before, and then what is made by the occupants out of what was there before.

There is also an outer space to this room that is inaccessible. The outer space is imagined existing because there is a small window built into the inner space on the side of its outer perimeter, without which an outer space would not be possible to thought. That window is blackened from the outside. Like the walls, this window can be boarded up but it can’t be removed. There would be pitch-black darkness in this inner space were it not for the light that man himself produces by work, such as from a fire.

Think of the inner space as mankind’s natural epistemic state in relation to transcendence. He starts out with only his body, mind and matter in what seems to be the only area of existence. But there is a compelling and inextricable portal in the conception of existence to another one, of a reality where everything we know is its contingency, controlling and living far beyond him and his exhaustive understanding. The occupant is dependent on matter, food, water, gravity, light, air, his body, others. Like mankind to his circumstances, he is transitory and dies because he needs something else other than what he knows to stop it over which he has no control. This suggests the existence of that which is not contingent and that which is, yet produces this space in which man can live.

But it’s only a compelling idea. It is thought about and many books are written on some version of this analogy (axiomatically, Plato’s allegory of the Cave), but no one knows really if such an outer place exists. It could just as well be a trick of thought. Mans dependency to a force or thing which was before man and lives long after him is only an analogy to outer space, but this is not proof of such a space.

But this window exists and can’t be removed, even if it could be, without dire consequences because without it even the thought of improvement would only be limited only to a more efficient avoidance of pain. This window is what even Hegal might have called the directionality of history in the achievement of human freedom. The positing of “the Good” and the whole concept of morality by Plato. The presumption of eventual complete disclosure of the processes and forces of nature through the scientific method and our release from the confines of nature thereby. Hope that things will get better if we take a certain course. That there is an authority above us to which we might go.

Without the window, there is no basis for philosophy, science, religion or thought unnecessary to immediate bodily survival. The idea of “spirit,” “consciousness,” “will,” “dimension,” “contingent-eternal,” “hidden and disclosed,” “symbolic and substantive,” “body and mind,” “cause and effect,” “subject and object,” “known and unknown.” Everything begins with present human perception and then a state beyond matter, in the mind, which is itself not limited to matter, but in its weakness is constantly changing and pulled by what it is not, can’t be seen, what is obscure and arcane, undiscovered, coded, superior. The window gives consciousness upward movement, improvability, and hope beyond the circumstance. There is something beyond us and something close, and what is beyond us might give us some of its perfections and eternality, and leads us toward it, allow us into its space, without which there is no such movement except to eat, sleep, dream, have sex and die in the same conditions as in the beginning.

What happens one day is that through eons of living in this inner space and building great systems of faith and philosophy pertaining to this outer space, within many manmade partitioned rooms, a blinding light comes out of that window. This makes that structural crease between outer and inner no longer just a matter of a foundational symbol of transcendence that moves the occupants of the inner space to an unknown and foggy improvement of knowledge compelled only by a powerful, fundamental analogy. The light means for the first time that there is a real outer-space to conceptual outer-space, and someone maybe just turned the light on.

The light is the most significant event in the history of the inner space and has profound implications. For the first time, it sets the bar for the standard of speculation about transcendence. Now, serious thought about it cannot only be a matter of feeling, desire or idle and unfounded speculation. For the first time there is light coming from out there, and now an insistence on a present and public demonstration of this outer space before any serious talk about an outer-space.

But you still don’t know for sure. Maybe there is nothing out there but light, and the light is light but seemingly carries no content.

What happens is that the light is too strong. Yes, it lights every corner of the inner space, making no need for man to create improved light sources, but it’s just too bright. It hurts. Unable to know anything more of this transcendence but that now there is light, most of the occupants start to make partitions for study, partitions of great philosophy, science, and theology, but now with a deep debt to this light, which made Truth perhaps possible, objective and non-speculative. But because the partitions are not tall enough to sufficiently block the light and return the room to pe-light conditions for which their eyes are adjusted, they tear down the old partitions and make new, higher ones, moving deeper into the inner space where the light is not as strong. But then, since the light is not as strong, they have to make their own light sources, like electric lamps of various light colors, shapes, and intensities to replace the loss.

While all this is going on, there a few people that stay on the perimeter of the inner space at the window, because the appearance of that light had a deeper effect on them. They stare as long as they can at the window and try to train their eyes to handle the light. Perhaps they can see through it and come to see who or what is producing it. What they come to see through the intensity is not only the person who turned the light on, and other beings as well, but many things inside that outer space. Everything they see there is analogous to what is in their area, yet imperishable and original, making its contingency to us clearly not possible, but ours to it.

The theology of the inner partitions, however, have been under their lamps for so long they have developed their own language, even after millennia since the light first appeared. They know very well what this light means and from where it is coming, and can’t ignore it, yet have learned to think and write in a way that, as before the light came, puts it back into a dependency of people, when only the imagination and personal choice determined it. The way they do this is to use the words that imply the light yet use sentences that don’t refer to transcendence as its exclusive dependency, which makes them open to the one known only under artificial lighting. This allows everyone within the inner rooms to justify their existence there when they should be at the window.

But here is the judgment of these people who have been standing at the Window to those locked away in their man-made inner rooms of scholarship:

You’re not supposed to say “window,” as they do, you should say “Window of transcendent light.” Otherwise, “light” can be some kind of man-made or voluntary light.

You’re are not supposed to say “person,” but person seen in the transcendent light.” Otherwise, the person could be a chimera, a bare concept, someone “enlightened” within the inner space or anyone for that matter.

You’re not supposed to say “being” but “being seen in the transcendent light.” Being could refer to the philosophical concept of ontology, an ultimate human person that comes from years of technological or emotional improvement, not necessarily revealed only in that light.

If what is seen through the window is a table of some kind, you don’t simply refer to it as “table,” but that it is the “table not in the inner-space.” If not, “table” will be any table.

This is noun flattening. It’s a very sneaky way of being an astronaut that has all the clout of a pneumanaut. It forces or gives the ability of the reader to limit all things within the inner-space in which we have become ultimate explorers.

When a thing loses identifying speciation it can only be spoken of in terms of genera or family, and later as an Order, then as a Phyla, and then not at all if that insular thing is falsely proposed as an ultimate and essentially foreign thing. It does not matter if the word is used in a context that is right for it, and its speciated in later sentences. If it’s used casually and disconnected from its particular referent which is predicting and eternal, the writing is at least unconsciously operating under the assumption that concepts alone transmit and contain Truth. The apostles could get away with this, using the words that implied something special and transcendent, and take it for granted, but we cant in an age where even the ideas of “truth” and “reality” is under assault and destruction.

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Corrupt Hermeneutics: Red Flags

Here are some of my giveaways that what we are reading is not compatible with the original Christian view of revelation.

The medieval interpretive Quadriga, we have “Moral” and “Anagogical,” “Literal,” “Allegorical.” There is not a whole lot to see here, but these methods, giving a compact summary of what is possible, suggest one for sure, which is not one of them.

Most of the time when the Quadriga is brought up its to comment on the allegorical method, by far the most divisive today. Of course, the issue of seeing anything that does not appear there naturally is always going to raise the hackles of those that strive for moderation, prudence, and reason in their interpretive efforts. But I think the more important takeaway is the impression that this makes those for whom the Christian revelation is of a character that does not first seem to inspire landfalls of meaning for which our first instinct between us and it must be something like “remain calm, carry on.”

I also don’t think that a sudden Foxnews newsreel of a billion heavenly beings descending from the clouds all over the world to necessarily call for moderation as our first reflex, with all we know and have been looking for in biblical texts, or to start devising a system by which our understanding of this event will be properly classified. This is not to say that 2000 years after an earth-shattering miraculous event should not give reflection to interpretive classifications and systems, but it does mean that if what we received was really believed to be unequivocally a demonstration of the fact of God and his nature interpretations first reflex is an undiluted awe and a retelling of what occurred to induce it.

It seems to me that any progress in our reflection to this event that is not a simple effort to connect the dots between what was written and what has occurred is not really an expression of the awe of witnessing a supernatural event, but doubt, such that it must be controlled by reason and artificial, conceptual filtering structures if it is to be raised to a level of cognition which is capable of understanding it. This is then quite different than a supernatural event changing and controlling meaning, as the relation of God to his people. It’s about people changing and controlling the event and then God.

I’m not nitpicking, I’m only describing the difference between what Christ and the apostles laid down and what we have done in response, which is not a simple reaction but various and sundry expressions of engagement with our own power to produce awe, if you will, instead of using God awe. The fact is not to be minimized that Jesus the Messiah and those immediately after him who were witnesses of him never devised such categories and never thought it even necessary, for example, for future generations to understand that when they said “scripture” they were talking about the Old Testament, and particularly of its revelation of Jesus and the consequences of his fulfilling of prophecy. Why do we di differently?

This seems like a minor complaint until we continue to see a pattern.

Corrupt Hermeneutics: Noun Flattening and Beyond

Conceptual flattening or noun norming words are mostly an unconscious attempt to conflate ideas with multiple biblical dependencies into one that inexorably carries none. But these are words that can’t function in a biblical context unless modified by another which represents not a religious concept or name but a refers to its specific biblical, miraculous predicate. If we don’t deliberately supply what the apostles and Christ took for granted, done providentially to set a context for a test of our faith by motivation, in a world where “science” means “truth” or “truth” means “me” we will lose even the most crucial concept to human cognition: God.

The interrogative strategy of Jesus, who himself was to faith the equal of the prophetic revelation concerning him, asked messianic questions, or related a parable or incident, holding back that proper answer and awaiting it from the hearer who could see it. This strategy was to keep faithless out of the Kingdom, those who are unmoved by this supernatural scriptural phenomenon proving God while drawing those who were already prepared. Christ’s divine opinion is that if you don’t know his answer, or don’t believe it, speaking religiously and holding it back, either consciously or unconsciously, is the same and its and His denial.

Our strategy of faith destruction is making sure we disobey Him. Our hermeneutics are like people on the street crying “meaning, meaning, meaning.” It is not until you approach them and ask them for this meaning that you find a blank stare and empty hands. Turning from you, they continue to shout “meaning, meaning, meaning”, meaning that they have none except “meaning.” We have meaning, or meaning is very, very close at hand for our examination and choice, but we prefer “meaning” to Christ and his special, non-conceptual one.

In this internal or external norming sin. Because words are not speciated by their informational authorities upfront, the reader is not compelled to take them as such unless the writer makes a separate effort to do so. But the informational authority for faith in the New Testament is “prophetic faith” not “faith.” “Christ” is taken as the last name of Jesus, when it means “Messiah,” an informational authority pointing to the same prophetic revelation. “Righteousness” is flattened as a righteousness of physical doing, performing something physically, the deontological equivalent being the belief in a religious proposition when in the New Testament righteousness is more like the same: a righteousness around the handling of prophetic knowledge, around doing things and believing things with and for the sake of the fulfilments of God by his Messiah Jesus. “Word of God” is not a general Word or any biblical word you wish that turns you on or helps you make it through the night, but that same specific Word. Again, it’s more like “The Prophetic Word of God pertaining to Jesus Christ.”

The flattening by Jesus was one thing. Its to give the truth a deliberate shield from these others. This other one is done by the carnal mind because there is a default tendency to use what we already have instead of going out and acquiring something else. What we have is culture, numerous seemingly easy paths to any goal, many voices of instruction, conversational shorthand, personal bias in speaking only about what is appealing and self-affirming instead existentially challenging, good feelings and intellectual stimulation. A flattened concept with no phenomenal authority closes down what is intended to be an open, focused transcendent pathway and simultaneously opens another one inside the psyche that brings up instead an unlimited horizon of self-actualizing possibilities without such authority.

Discussions of Methods in theology are further presented as general principles that need not be taken for granted to refer to the transcendent world as science does with the idea of “gravitation” to the temporal world because transcendence is not of our natural experience and knowledge and is against our natures. In theology, there must be built-in, referential indicators of an ultimate and demonstrated supernatural Truth or it will be thought of like something originating and ending in the temporal world alone. It is not the occult, the New Age, heterodox beliefs, alcohol and drugs, sex or a general conception of “sin” that is killing us, its certain kind of sin, and one that is normally undetectable and seemingly innocuous, which is the sin of maintaining of prosaic language in talk about the greatest and most transformational event in human history.

For example, “Historical Grammatical.” Historical-Critical.” ‘Reader Response.” These biblical interpretative approaches are differentiated by trivial and identical presuppositions on how to frame if to frame at all, supernatural phenomena. I ask the reader to think back to any work on hermeneutics he has ever read. None refer to that phenomena, only to a broad, scientific principle of reading something correctly, and if a particular “meaning “is suggested it is a meaning that is as flattened as its symbol. For example, “Cross” means “sacrifice” or “love” or “death” or “altar” or “evangelistic work where one accepts the possibility of one’s death.”

Within these methods are “hermeneutical circle” and “hermeneutical spiral.” The person and text are at the center, constantly referring to individual parts bringing in all relevant parts to capture Truth as a whole, or meaning moves from text to context. The Rabbinic form is “text to text.” For Gadamer its dialogical, questions and answers in his “Fusion of Horizons.” Derrida and many others: “Deconstruction.”

In the same pattern, there is another anti-Christian urge in hermeneutics: not only to leave an ultimate, categorical meaning open to carnal choice but then to forcefully set it within the bounds of the world in a precise but corrupt place.

The Enlightenment established the pattern for all later attempts: the goal of hermeneutics was the author’s intent. It is not difficult to see that the “intent of the author” is not beholden to a certain author or a certain intent. You supply it, and since it applies to anyone it was accordingly never about the intent of the author of the revelation who is God, and certainly not the historical and revealed Messiah. It means whoever is writing the book. The author is James, Isaiah, and Luke. This forces discussion of revelation impediments as sources of meaning rather than revelation itself, becoming only people speaking as the author, and then if people under a cause of inspiration that can degrade into autosuggestion or hallucination, confused again by time, culture and language.

Now, the author is not important, only the self-actualization of the text as it serves the emotions of the reader.

“In short, a true hermeneutics was rendered impossible by an approach that failed to let the text speak for itself. The hermeneutical switch from the text to the individual resulted from a switch of focus from the accessibility of the text (in terms of a method for interpreting a text) to inquiry into the structure of understanding itself. The focus of interest has thus shifted from the text to the self, and the significance of this shift is still being explored. The result is that the reader is. now seen as the creator of meaning rather than the text, and the act of “coming to understanding” has become an individual self-discovery, more than a process of decoding textual meaning. The author is now seen as entirely removed from the text or the discovery of meaning.” (Hermeneutical Spiral, p. 467).

Osbourne is dead on, but what our “conservative” divines are not understanding is that a solution to radical subjectivism should not have been “let the text speak for itself.” Please don’t misunderstand, I am not saying that the rule of letting the text speak for itself is not true. That is, in fact, my number-one rule. I am saying that we are allowing a prosaic rule stripped of the fundamental biblical context to pretend its competency to authoritatively drive a discussion about the meaning of metaphysical events. Those events are the nexus of meaning, not ideas of any kind, especially supernaturally gutted ones.

This not to say that the text should not be left to speak for itself, and it does not mean that the true meaning should not be understood and applied personally. We must affirm both. It means that “let the text speak for itself” contains many self-defeating choices as to what the text is and how it speaks. Because none of them are necessarily implied in the innocuous idea “let the text speak for itself,” it’s a certainty that the ultimate nature and biblical source of “text” and the ultimate nature of “speak” as it was originally understood could be destroyed by this rule. It has to be “let the prophetic revelation of Messiah speak for itself” because that contains and forces the incorrigible supernatural phenomena of history in the cause of God’s promise and the effect of Christ’s fulfillment of that promise as the one aim of a hermeneutics of God, not man.

You see that we are trying to imitate science here. You can’t do that with Christian metaphysics because our metaphysical investigations and discoveries are dependent upon the reality of an alien artifact, entirely foreign to this world, in which all meaning pertaining to ultimate things is contained. If you don’t believe it you can’t be called a Christian in any sense, and to be Christian means that the prophetic of the Messiah is where the faith is described, delivered and clarified.

Christian Hermeneutics is far from a matter of illumination from reason, a process or feeling, which are human-insular. Since it does not naturally belong here it is possible to closet it, deny it’s real, ignore it, store it somewhere hidden, put it behind a glass display case or lose it entirely. You can’t lose matter, mind, sensibility, reason, Devils Tower or Sirius B. If you don’t constantly use messianic prophecy as your lens to meaning and refer to it in your key ideas, Christian meaning will be the equivalents of matter, mind, sensibility, reason and the Devils Tower. This is the first rule of Christian Hermeneutics, not “let the text speak for itself” or “what does this verse mean to me?” or “reader response,” or “the intent of the author.”

Hermeneutics, to one degree or another, is, and rightly so, attempting to attack the perceived problem of subject and object in the search for meaning in a text. Subject gets in the way or there is too much of an objective bias that misses the reader. The problem, we will see, is solved in the agreement between an objective supernatural phenomenon of scripture that penetrates a supernatural locus within man designed by God to do nothing more than accept and process it according to its rules, which are not necessarily fully understood.

The identification of this object has been lost, and therefore such methods and schools are formed and employed. There is no need for any of them, and, quite hidden to us, they destroy Christian meaning instead of bringing it out. The apostolic period never found the need to establish a definition of school of hermeneutics and we should stop and reflect on why this was as a response to an original understanding of the Word of God, instead of looking at that period as an ignorant and primitive state that was improved only by modern, effectively anti-supernatural hermeneutics.

Please look at these articles:

What is the Word of God?: A Prophetic Think Tank

Christ and the Noun Norming of Transcendence: Passing by Nehushtan

Matthew 5 and the Adultery of the Heart: Passing by Nehushtan

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