#it's fine it's fine it's cool it's fine inconsistencies abound it's fine

[cuubism]

for @magnusbae, as usual 😂

--

“If you relent now, you may be offered a small degree of mercy,” Dream told his captors from where he was sitting cross-legged in the summoning circle. Irritating, to have found himself summoned again. He was going to have to devise better protections against this sort of thing. At least he had his clothes this time, that was a small comfort.

A greater comfort was the certain knowledge that someone was coming for him. Rare, that feeling, and brilliantly warm in its newness.

One of the men sneered down at him. “You aren’t in a position to be talking about mercy, Dream of the Endless.”

His name spoken in such a way sent a prickle up Dream’s spine. The disrespect.

“I speak not of myself,” he said, then fell silent, watching a look of unease flash across his captor’s face, the worried expression he sent to his compatriot. The realization, there, that he meant someone was coming after him, and the fear of what kind of being might be loyal to one such as him.

If only they knew.

“Although,” he continued, “there are a great many fates worse than death in this world. Perhaps death itself will be your mercy.”

They would not enjoy what Dream would do with them when he got out.

They ought to know what they were messing with. They had summoned him as Nightmare, used a spell that called to the darker elements of his nature. But then, human folly knew no bounds.

The men had not contained Dream very well, either. Tonight, when they slept, he should be able to slip into their dreams and compel one of them to break the circle. That was if someone else did not get there first.

Dream hoped someone else got there first.

He felt it was only fair to get a little show in return for his trouble.

The men looked truly unnerved now, but Dream offered no more explanation. Let them stew in what they had wrought. It was satisfying, incredibly satisfying, to watch them shake in it.

--

Dream did not have to wait long for his reckoning.

The door flew open, banging into the wall. Hob stood in the doorway, haloed by the hallway light, one hand grasping a crowbar that Dream knew he usually kept in his car. Dream’s summoners were armed with guns, but Dream was not concerned, and not only because Hob could not die.

“Hello, Hob,” he intoned. The other men looked between the two of them, shocked into inaction.

“Hi, love,” said Hob. His tone was light but the look in his eyes was not. “You alright?”

“I feel deprived of my day off,” Dream complained. “We had plans.”

“Hmm. That we did.”

One of his captors, the one who had scorned his offer of mercy, finally regained his senses enough to raise his weapon. Dream propped his head in his hands to watch.

Some days, Dream wished he could have seen Hob on a proper battlefield, sword in hand, ruthless, brutal efficiency on full display. There was no elegance to the way Hob fought, only experience, instinct, and an utter lack of pretension characteristic of one who had used those skills for illicit gain and survival rather than showmanship. Dream loved every second of it, especially when it was brought to bear for him.

Hob cracked the man across the hand, knocking his gun aside, then smashed him overhand with the crowbar. Dream heard the man’s skull audibly split.

Hob spun for the other, who was scrambling for his gun. Dream watched with disgust. Such amateurs dared to summon him? They knew not what they meddled with.

Hob backhanded the man across the cheek before he could even properly grip his gun, and the man shrieked, falling backwards. Hob turned to Dream. “You wanna…?” He waved a hand as if to indicate plunge him into endless torment.

Dream shook his head. Such sorry excuses for men did not deserve his effort.

Hob shrugged and smashed the man over the head with the crowbar again, not quite killing him but pushing him very close to his sister’s embrace.

Footsteps down the hall, and then two more men burst into the room. One held a cattle prod instead of a gun; Dream could only assume it had been meant for him, and they simply had not found cause to use it yet. Hob’s gaze zeroed in on it, and something dark sharpened in his eyes.

“You’ll regret that, but you won’t have long to do it,” he said, dropping his crowbar as he ducked the man’s lunging blow with the cattle prod to grab him around the back of the neck and knee him in the gut. The man doubled over, gasping, hand spasming as he dropped his weapon. Hob twisted him into a headlock, his arm an iron bar across the man’s throat.

“Next time you mess with beings beyond your understanding,” he growled, “consider that they might have someone waiting at home for them.”

Dream’s breath caught. He watched as the air seeped out of his captor under Hob’s grip until he slumped to the floor. This was all far more satisfying – and attractive – than he’d even anticipated.

He was so caught up in the vicious heroics of it all that he didn’t realize the final co-conspirator had pointed his gun at him until Hob said, very low and very dark, “I wouldn’t.”

Dream looked up at the last man standing, either the smartest or dumbest of the group based on his current antics, depending on which way one looked at it. His hand was shaking where it was pointing the gun at Dream’s chest.

“I’ll kill him!” his captor insisted, voice squeaking up an octave in fear. Was Hob frightening? Dream supposed he was, from that angle. The thought thrilled something in him.

“I wouldn’t,” Hob repeated, the man’s fate should he do so very clear in his voice. A bullet would not kill Dream, of course, but bound as he still was by the summoning circle, it would probably hurt. Besides, it would upset Hob, and that was not acceptable.

The man looked wildly between Dream and Hob as if trying to decide who would be less likely to kill him. At this point, he would probably be better off jumping into the summoning circle with Dream and being consumed by his nightmares. The look on Hob’s face was not charitable.

True to Dream’s supposition, the man swung back around to point his gun at Hob, but hesitated half a second before firing. Hob moved in the space of that hesitation, moved like shadow in a way Dream’s nightmares themselves could learn from, grabbed the man’s arm and forced it up and back so the moment his finger pressed down on the trigger the bullet went right between his eyes.

Blood splattered. The body dropped. Dream didn’t bother to watch; instead, he was watching Hob. The sweat just prickling his brow, the way his chest rose and fell with exertion. The utter steadiness of his hands.

Hob strode over to the circle, brushing through it with his foot, then stepped in to crouch beside Dream. He took Dream’s face between his hands, looking him over with concern. “Are you alright, my love?”

“Quite.” Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile; he leaned into Hob’s hands. “I enjoyed your heroics.”

“Oh?” Hob’s concern fell away, replaced by humor. “Did you?”

“Mm. You were gallant and ruthless.”

“Didn’t think those could go together,” Hob said.

“And full of contradictions,” Dream added, and Hob laughed. Dream rested his hands on Hob’s sides, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. “I believe you may be featuring in some nightmares now. For the ones who are remaining, that is.”

Hob hummed, evidently not upset about it. “Should see yourself.” He traced under Dream’s eye.

Dream had thus far neglected to let his eyes slip back to their more human appearance after the summoning. When he smiled, his teeth felt a bit sharper than usual. “They summoned Nightmare, and Nightmare is what they received.”

Hob kissed his forehead. “Summoned,” he repeated, a banked flame in the word. “Oh, I hope you weren’t scared.”

“They trapped me poorly, I would have escaped as soon as night fell. But failing that…” Dream pressed Hob’s hand to his cheek. “I knew that you would come for me.”

Hob pulled away again to look at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. There was something in that look, too, beyond fondness. Like he was proud of Dream, almost. “Always.”

He helped Dream to his feet. Dream didn’t need the help, but Hob’s touch was pleasant. He leaned into Hob’s side as Hob rested a hand low on his back.

“You know…” he mused, “it can be quite tiring for one to be summoned.”

Hob looked at him sidelong. “Are you trying to get me to carry you?”

“…If it is on offer.”

Hob sighed heavily. “Suppose it wouldn’t be a proper storybook rescue mission otherwise.”

“Precisely,” Dream agreed.

“You’re a menace,” Hob declared, but obligingly bent and scooped Dream up in his arms. His body was pleasantly warm after the exertion of the fight, and solid as always.

Dream tipped his head against his shoulder, hiding a smile. “Gallant,” he murmured.

They were nearly to the door when there was a fluttering of wings, and Death was standing in the center of the room. She looked from Dream in Hob’s arms, to the bodies scattered on the floor, and back again, an aggrieved expression on her face. “Please tell me this wasn’t elaborate roleplay.”

“It is my understanding that role play should not come with a body count,” Dream told her solemnly, and she shook her head.

“Whatever it is, I’ll leave you to it.” She tipped her head at the bodies. “I have work to do.”

“Sorry,” said Hob, not sounding very sorry.

Death sighed and waved them away, crouching beside one of the collapsed men. She whistled. “You did a number on him.”

“Nobody gets to try to capture Dream anymore,” Hob said, indignant, arm tightening around Dream’s shoulders.

“Quite right,” said Death. She looked up at them again with a small smile. “Take care of him, Hob.”

Dream should have felt more offended by this. But it was hard to care about much when Hob was carrying him so delicately.

“Always will,” said Hob, his tone soft but certain, and Dream pressed his face into his chest.

“You know,” Hob murmured as they left the building and stepped out into the cool evening air, “it could be elaborate roleplay.”

Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile. He leaned back against Hob’s arm to look up at him. “In the Dreaming all things are possible. No permanent bloodshed required.”

Hob smiled down at him, sharp and fond at once. “My thoughts exactly, darling.” 

[kelleyswitf-blog]

Incorrect Ways To Maintain Diesel Engine

Since the cost of replacing the diesel engine in your pickup is about the same as buying a new car from the dealership—it’s important to keep it alive as long as possible. Although almost everyone thinks of themselves as diesel experts, bad maintenance and usage practices abound. We know this because these easy-to-fix mistakes are keeping diesel shops very busy across the country. We’ve made a list of the top 10 deadly sins, which are damning far too many diesels to an early demise.

1. You’re Not Changing Your Fuel Filter

A clogged fuel filter can damage expensive injection pumps and injectors. Diesel fuel injection systems create a great deal of heat, and they rely on unobstructed fuel flow to keep the pump and injectors cool. As the fuel filter plugs up, the flow of fuel is restricted. In extreme cases, this extra pressure can cause a filter failure, which sends contamination directly into the injection system.

2. You’re Not Changing Your Air Filter

When the air filter gets clogged, fuel economy begins to suffer. A clogged air filter also causes the turbo to spin faster as it attempts to supply the engine with air. If dirt gets past the air filter because it was not installed properly or there is a leak in a boot—severe turbo, valve, and piston engine damage can occur in minutes. Driving down a gravel road may be all it takes to scour the cylinder walls.

Changing your in-cab air filter on a regular basis will make your fan motor live longer and keep your hard-to-clean air ducts less dusty. This will make you want to keep your truck alive longer.

3. You’re Not Changing Your Oil

Oil filters are important because they remove contaminants found in the oil. Oil analysis laboratories examine samples of oil from diesel engines and can determine a motor’s health without performing major surgery. The tests include a spectral exam that establishes the amount of wear metals in the oil, which indicates the level of bearing failure or other mechanical problems. Silica (dirt) is by far the biggest factor in engine wear and intrudes past seals and filters. As it combines with carbon, silica forms an abrasive called carborundum, which is similar in hardness to diamonds.

 Silicone is an oil additive and anti-foaming agent also measured by the labs. From this information, you’ll be able to see how far you can extend your oil change. Coolant in the oil can indicate a major engine problem—some say glycol is the number one engine killer. The flashpoint of the oil is also typically tested. This information will tell you if you have fuel in the oil, which also accelerates engine failure.

 4. You’re Forgetting to Mind Your Fluids

It’s important to change your engine oil, coolant, transmission fluid, and power steering fluid. One look inside the valvebody of a modern automatic transmission reveals the precision internals that need clean fluid in order to operate properly. Not adding a bypass engine and transmission oil filter to your engine isn’t murder, but it could be considered neglect. These devices work by screening the fluid down to 3 microns or less—that fine filtering would clog a full-flow filter. They can do this by only taking a small amount of oil at a time—so as not to affect normal flow. Installing a coolant filter is like giving your truck a liver or a kidney. Although the initial expense hurts—your truck will pay you back. Bad coolant will clog passages, which will cause overheated parts.

 5. You’re not Letting Your Engine Warm Up

Don’t be that guy who starts his cold engine and immediately revs it up. The only thing you’re showing off is that you don’t know your turbo and engine bearings won’t get lubricated properly with cold, thick oil. Let your engine warm up like you warm up in the morning. Let the glow plugs and intake heater do their job. Fire the engine and give it some time for the combustion heat to warm the engine evenly.

This practice is very important on extremely cold mornings. Hot and cold engine parts expand at different rates, so gaps can form, which could cause leaks or gasket failures. Wait until your engine oil and coolant temperature gauges show you are in the right operating range. You do have these readings…don’t you? Also, if it’s really cold, don’t turn the steering wheel too much right away or you could risk blowing a hydraulic hose. The other thing that’ll keep your engine running longer is preheated coolant. The more cold-starts your diesel is subjected to, the shorter its lifespan will be. Inconsistent metal expansion and poor-flowing (thick) lubricants don’t provide protection from moving parts.

Another thing to worry about is fuel washing the cylinder walls before compression ignition can occur. Here is a message we got from a reader from the North Pole: “I have both batteries heated, the block heated, and two heating pads on the oil pan. The transmission is not heated, because it’s a stick. The intercooler is totally blocked as well. I might just put a pad on the transfer case and front differential, but it warms after about a mile of driving in four-wheel drive.” Diesel-fueled auxiliary heaters are also an option. It’s also just as important to let your diesel cool off before you shut it down. A turbo timer will do this automatically for you, because if it gets shut off too soon, oil will overheat, break down, and destroy turbo bearings.

6. You’re Not Reading the Smoke Signals

Don’t assume you can get by with worn-out injectors. If your truck is smoking black more than usual, that’s a possible sign your injectors need replacing. Another sign they are bad is if they start making noises. A diagnostic tool is able to individually shut down each injector to see which one is the culprit. White smoke often indicates coolant in the combustion chamber—either a sign of a head gasket failure or EGR cooler failure (if equipped). Blue smoke usually indicates engine oil in the combustion chamber—either from leaking piston rings or a bad valve seal. Insufficient compression can also cause a smoky engine.

7. You’re Not Keeping Your Truck Clean

Even if your truck is in perfect mechanical shape, it can still fall apart underneath you because rust never sleeps. Those who live in the Southwest don’t really have to worry about rust because it is too dry for the chemical reaction to take place. Everybody else should make it a point to keep paint chips filled with touchup paint and have a fresh coat of wax applied at least three times a year. During the winter months, when chemicals are applied to the roads to melt ice, you can’t wash your truck enough. During the rest of the year, avoid splashing through puddles, make sure your mudflaps are functioning, and try to avoid gravel roads if possible.

8. You’re Overheating Your diesel Engine

We’ve watched the vicious cycle of modify, race, and then destroy one’s engine play out more times than we’d like to see, but some people still don’t believe certain truths until they learn them the hard way. When making any modification to your diesel, it’s absolutely necessary to keep track of all the engine temperatures. Even stock vehicles can use the extra insurance that comes with knowledge of the coolant, exhaust gas temperature (EGT), and engine oil temperature. You can also use this information to diagnose oil coolers or cooling system failures.

9. Centrifugal Force Is Wearing Your Truck Out

For those on a tight budget, the unforeseen cost of a new set of tires (because the old ones prematurely wore out) can be a truck’s death sentence. Poor alignment, along with under-inflated tires, can cause bad fuel mileage and tires with uneven wear patterns. A bent rim or severely unbalanced tire can cause axle-bearing failure. An out-of-balance driveshaft can cause axle pinion bearing wear and transmission or transfer case damage. It’s also important to keep the U-joints greased or replaced. Driveline maintenance also includes changing your differential fluid.

  10. You’re Poisoning Your Fuel Tank

According to the marine diesel industry, most engine problems begin in the fuel tank. This is because water intrusion is more present on the seas than it is on land. Still, according to BP, “Under normal storage conditions, diesel fuel can be expected to stay in a usable condition for 12 months or longer at an ambient of 68 degrees Fahrenheit.” Yet the lifespan of diesel drops to, “6 to 12 months at an ambient temperature higher than 86 degrees Fahrenheit.” As diesel fuel ages, BP points out that, “fine sediment and gum forms in the diesel brought about by the reaction of diesel components with oxygen from the air. The fine sediment and gum will block fuel filters, leading to fuel starvation and the engine stopping. Frequent filter changes are then required to keep the engine going. The gums and sediments do not burn in the engine very well and can lead to carbon and soot deposits on injectors and other combustion surfaces.”

[vitalmindandbody]

Jackie review- Natalie Portman stupefies in singularly intimate portrait

No door handle is in a regular lieu , no space is a regular shape

Really, though, why do you want a small kinfolk SUV? Whats wrong with a regular clas barroom or, for anyone without a big hobby, a hot hatch? Is it like that thought whatever it is you do an MA because nobodys amazed by a certain degree any more, and then you end up knowing a ton about French feminism for no reason? Im not being anti-intellectual. Im not even being anti-SUV. Im simply being very slightly sceptical about the Toyota CH-R.

This is the most over-designed vehicle Ive ever come across: the dash is fancy with diamond patterns, the body work is lousy with pointy fragments , no doorway administer is in a regular plaza , no window is a regular influence if it is feasible to segmented. Nobody knows why they require their windows to look like bugs, or why the back end must continue to be simulated on an 80 s movie about a moving ship( which doesnt dwell; stop Googling ). I guess you could ever ask, but that would seem discourteous, like requesting someone if their “hairs-breadth” is meant to be that colour. All of this plays merry carnage with the rear visibility. This was not the car on which to test the proposition none actually need to see a parking camera; simple-minded smart park assistance( unmelodious, constant beeping) will do just fine.

There is a hybrid alternative, which gives it a brilliance, below 90 g/ km carbon emission, but in the regular 1.2 petrol instrument that I was driving, the mileage was unremarkable. Its light-headed and zippy, and the steering is trustworthy, but again, if thats the kind of event youre into, why did you buy these sorts of auto? A Golf will go like shit off a shovel. I guess you might crave boot space. There is space in this boot. You wouldnt want to applied a filing cabinet or a pair of spaniels in it, but you wouldnt be swearing the gods for your second infant when you went on holiday.

Its pretty quiet and smooth in town, but on the motorway it detects thin: theres a lot of ambient gale interference, a little bit of complain in the highest gears; seat and visibility in the back are constrained enough that any journey over half an hour results in fare claustrophobia.

Seriously, all this for the dignity of being able to step up into the car rather than precisely in, and a slightly lower journey than others on the road, who the hell is laughing at you anyway because of your spoiler. Id preferably choose simple-minded, humble and low-slung. Small, budget-ish SUVs are ugly by nature( oh my God, the Nissan Juke !) but this one makes a feature of it.

HTAG 1 TTToyota CH-R: in numbersHETAG 1 TT

IMG 2 TT

Price 27,705 BTAG 1 TT Top accelerate 118 mphBTAG 2 TT Acceleration 0 to 62 mph in 10. 9 secondsBTAG 3 TT CO2 emissions 136 g/ km BTAG 4 TT Combined mileage 47.1 mpgBTAG 5 TT Cool rating 4/10 BTAG 6 TT Eco rating 7/10

Read more: https :// www.theguardian.com/ technology/ 2017/ jun/ 24/ toyota-ch-r-car-review

Pablo Larrans likenes of the first lady before and following John F Kennedys assassination doesnt play to the standard tropes of Hollywood biopics. Its a singular vision

Jackie, Chilean director Pablo Larrans English-language debut starring Natalie Portman as Jacqueline Kennedy, boasts a commonly used framing design but theres nothing familiar about Larran and screenwriter Noah Oppenheims treatment of their iconic subject.

Structured around Theodore H Whites Life magazine interview at Hyannis Port a mere week after the assassination of her husband John F Kennedy, Jackie unfolds in a mosaic-like form, tracking only the brief but definitive stage in their own lives while still managing to cover a lot of field. The narrative doesnt only move back and forth between the shocking daylight in Dallas, the ordering of the presidents funeral, her the amount of time spent accompanying her husbands coffin to Arlington cemetery, and her earlier time in the White House it often twirls, whirling the series of events together into a dizzying whole.

Larran has never told a true-life story in a predictable demeanour( he took a metafictional approach in his likenes of celebrated poet and politician Pablo Neruda in his last movie, Neruda ), and he doesnt here. Coupled with a daring narrative approach, thats bound to turn off some viewers, Larran submerge his movie with a cacophonous tally by Under the Skin composer Mica Levi that burrows uncomfortably deep. He likewise hit in grainy 16 mm, often in severe closeup, lending Jackie an uncommonly raw character for a biopic of its nature.

Portman is altogether astonishing in the character. Apart from sharing a wide smile, she doesnt much resemble Kennedy. She is however endowed with an overwhelming beautiful much like the real-life anatomy that Larran moves great give of in key incidents to illustrate the galvanising consequence Kennedy had on those around her. Most importantly, Portman thoroughly nails Kennedys breathy and docile-sounding articulation, without letting the affectations get the better of her. Her accent doesnt characterize her characterization it infuses it with a steadfast vitality.

As written by Oppenheim, Kennedy is a wonderfully complex persona, abounding at the seams with inconsistencies. During her long interview with White, shes drawn as both fractiou( Are you giving me professional admonition ?, she challenges after he makes the error of proposing molted do well in broadcast journalism ), and extremely vulnerable( describing her husbands assassinate shatters her picket ). In flashbacks to happier daylights expended get acquainted with her duties at the White House, Kennedy is hesitant and inquisitive.

What fields Portmans take, however, is a key cycle immediately following the assassination that discovers Kennedy shower her husbands blood off her fuzz, are working to rip off her crimson-stained pantyhose, and then finally, is available in bed alone. The intimate access is wrenching in its matter-of-factness.

Despite Jackies autumn festival placement( it world premiered at Venice, and is currently screening in Toronto ), frequently reserved for Oscar hopefuls, Larrans character study doesnt play into that narrative. Its a singular eyesight from an uncompromising administrator that happens to be about one of the most famous women around American record. Jackie is not Oscar bait its great cinema.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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