#like neither of these had any relevance to the documents they were written on

[snoozingbear]

obsessed with these lists i found on two separate documents at work

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

The most baffling part of WKM is that everyone trusts and adores Damien, despite him being the only one in politics and actively in office. Mark made the mayor character the most trusted and loved. How????

(uh oh, you unlocked my 'Love Damien' mode)

You came to the right person! This is a great question and I will gladly go on a rant to try and help shed a little light on this!

In short, it's exactly because of how you phrased your question. There's a politician. He's seen as nice and trusted and loved. It seems like something that shouldn't be, and you assume the worst of him because it has to be an act for whatever reason; and that is because of the general view of politicians at the moment. I'm not touching IRL topics with a ten foot pole, but I will say that at present, there is a sorta wariness/a 'they don't care about us' vibe toward politicians in certain countries (including my own). That's something that then seeps into media.

Think about it. If there's a politician in a show of any sort (especially one holding office), they're usually up to no good behind the scenes or are unreliable - just like how a librarian might be cranky, for instance - in a sort of caricature. Off the top of my head I can remember seeing... A mayor that wanted to evict an entire community to build a business something-or-other to make lots of money, a mayor who branded a local team of agents as non-trustworthy when they went against his pretty crummy views (which could be the same show tbh), an absolutely useless buffoon of a mayor who needed the help of children to constantly save his city from supervillains, and a politician (maybe a mayor?) who constantly clashed with the chief of police in a city. This isn't even considering the times a politician character (whether or not they hold office) is involved with criminals, bribery, is being blackmailed, or even has a criminal record of some sort.

Damien is an exception to this trope. It may or may not be completely intentional, but it's genius on Mark's part. You walk in, see this well-dressed man with a rather cheesy Mayor badge pinned on... And people would immediately get suspicious... Something which Mark called people out on at a panel! Don't forget, every character was framed in a way to give reason for them maybe being the killer. I watched WKM (and got vaguely into the fandom) a week after it finished, so I missed the speculation in between each episode. From what I've seen, it appeared that a lot of people were wary of Damien, though I'm not too sure if it's because they were like "IT'S JUST DARK IN DISGUISE DON'T BE FOOLED" or if it was because of his job and mannerisms. Either way, it turns out his worries were genuine, and he was innocent of any crime that night, which completely subverts the expectation of a politician in a show. He's a rare breed - someone that has good intentions and a good heart, who wasn't 'tainted' by politics in some way.... But ends up getting corrupted anyway through matters far beyond his control.

Not only that, there's two important points that I think people forget and I'll go into better detail of under the read-more because this is getting pretty long.

-

1. The character that is the viewer has known Damien since university. That means they've been friends minimum... Let's say five years, but probably closer to ten. You're going to be more at ease and more 'yourself' around people you are very fond of, and Damien's face lit up the moment he noticed the viewer arrived. Since the viewer would be going into this cold the first time it's viewed, they wouldn't feel that bond and might think Damien's friendliness is an act. 2. While he is the Mayor, he's not The Mayor at that moment. He's merely a Mayor by title alone. For the events of Who Killed Markiplier?, he's just Damien. It would be different if we had walked into his office, but we arrived at a party with people Damien was comfortable with. He had no need to impress anyone because they were friends. Remember, the reason the badge exists is to tell the viewer what Damien does. Otherwise he could be any sort of businessman or guy in a fancy suit, and the explain everything video states that everyone thought Mark got the suit for a wedding when he shared a photo.

(Both points are showcased nicely in the very first scene we meet Damien if you compare the way he talks to the Detective - someone he barely knew - to the viewer - who has been a friend since university. When talking to Abe, Damien stands poker straight (almost rigid) and rests his hands on his cane. One hand moves to emphasise something, but the rest of his body remains still. There's a polite, yet formal, air to him. Here, he is The Mayor. I'd bet they were having casual conversation on how they met Mark or some other generic topic to break the ice. Then the pair notice you and that conversation is instantly DROPPED. Damien immediately lifts his cane as his entire body turns to the viewer. That smile isn't one that's given out of politeness. He's now Damien. There's no need to put on an act when it's a familiar friend. He still stands straight, but his body language and facial expressions are far looser and more casual. Gestures are with both hands now. His expressions are more playful, including widening his eyes to emphasise his tease about the viewer's skill of poker. This continues until he walks off-screen where, I presume, he was going to say hello to William.)

We don't know the extent of how much anyone trusts anyone else, but one of the big exceptions is the Colonel. I know I've written a headcanon on a roleplay blog about this, but he didn't know you, so he was polite, but distant and aloof. He had no reason to even care about you. We saw a good example of William acting like this the morning after. HOWEVER, after spotting the viewer talking to Damien outside at the end of the first episode, he notices a connection. The moment he knows you are Damien's friend he opens up with no hesitation in the second episode and is rather friendly toward you from then on. He trusts you because he trusts Damien, which to me suggests that our Mayor keeps good company and has a good judge of character. Plus, no one really has a reason to think ill of Damien. He and William have an argument focused on William's reaction to Mark's death (and don't forget that Damien wanted to apologise but William kept running away), while Celine shuts him down for Damien trying to get her to reconsider her idea; but neither are motives for them to be suspicious of Damien. Chef and George are indifferent, while the Butler is probably indifferent but feels comfortable enough to make a drug joke with Damien in earshot (and Tyler's IC stream as Butler had it that he thought well of Damien, but this might not be considered canon). On the other hand, you could say that the Detective is wary of Damien, but he was suspicious of everyone between all the work he did and the warning he got from Mark, so it's not completely reliable.

Speaking of, I haven't forgotten about the Detective's study and how there's a record sheet for Damien with something scribbled out. Unfortunately, I don't think it's something we'll ever get clarification on. I double-checked the explanation stream and there wasn't any mention of what was on it... But I feel like I heard Mark say something like 'forget about what is there, focus on why it's there', or how it got there in the first place? Maybe it was for another project, but the idea is more that the Detective's work was built up over time, and not in the span of that weekend; rather than focusing on every little piece of writing that can be seen. Perhaps there is something shady in Damien's life... But since it wasn't relevant to the 'story' we were being shown, it was omitted. This could very well be where people take the idea of a corrupt politician and run with it (and I have seen some excellent roleplayers over the years work with that!), or they could be like me and say that the crimes were things he was framed for. Or maybe, as I'm writing this, it could be like how Abe had documents for things that didn't happen in WMLW, and that the crimes he scribbled out were ones that Dark would do later... But that's going into theorist territory and that's not at all relevant to what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I've rambled on waaay too much as it is. He's trusted and loved as a character because he's so human. Mark pointed out in the explanation stream that Damien was the only one to question what was going on. He was upset, mourning, and had no idea what to do. It's a vulnerability that you don't see from people often, especially if they are supposed to be leaders.

If there's anything people wanna add or point out, jump in and do so! :D

[josefavomjaaga]

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 6, Part 4

Sorry as usual for the long delay. I really had to finish some other work. When we left off, Murat was still in Corsica, planning his landing on Neapolitan soil.

In Ajaccio, Murat's imminent arrival was soon known, and on the 23rd, when he made his entrance, a reception awaited him that sealed his doom. For now he was drunk from joy and a feeling of victory. His pride, his ambition, together with his adventurous, extravagant imagination, won over him to such an extent that he remained completely deaf to calm ideas, to rational arguments. "This is how my Neapolitans received me," he exclaimed to Franceschetti in the evening, "whenever I returned from the field to their midst!" And after a while: "Yes, so be it! I will live or die among my people! I want to go to Naples, let us not miss a moment to be there!" To make the measure of his delusion complete, a letter from Count Borgia of Rome, sent to him via Porto-Longone, came into his hands in these days, describing the mood in Naples as immensely favourable to him, and King Ferdinand as hated everywhere. Lambruschini, who could teach him otherwise, was, as we know, not even in Naples at that time, let alone that any news had arrived from him, which, incidentally, in the mood in which Murat now found himself, would hardly have changed his decision.

The next few days were spent preparing for departure. As a side piece to the Bogognano Manifesto, he now had a "royal decree" drawn up which could almost be called Napoleonic, so much thought was given in it to the most insignificant details. The constitution is to come into force on 1 January 1816, and the convocation of the chambers is to be initiated without delay" (Art. 1). "All civil servants, officers and dignitaries discharged since May 21 shall immediately resume their official positions; the former division of the army shall be restored; all grades, all allocations, all promotions, honours and rewards made during the last campaign shall remain in force (Art. 2, 8, 10). On the other hand, all those appointed since that day shall immediately leave their posts, otherwise they will be declared rebels, inciters of civil war, traitors to the fatherland, put outside the law and treated as such (Art. 3, 4). Neither the royal palaces, summer residences and estates were forgotten, for which the former court servants would once again have to take care, nor the king's horses, equipages and carriages, for which the chief stable master and his staff were made responsible (Art. 13, 14). "All our adjutants and orderly officers must appear without delay at Our Headquarters and rally around Our person" (Art. 18). . . The decree, consisting of 20 articles, was calculated to 36. It provided for the composition of the ministry, for the filling of the leading military posts in the capital and in the provinces. But because it was pointed out to the "King" that a premature appointment of these personalities, most of whom were in Naples, would only expose them to Ferdinand's revenge, Murat agreed to the relevant articles being suppressed. The decree and the manifesto were then sent to the printers at Ajaccio, in order to have a sufficient number of copies of both at hand at the first moment. The place and date of execution were left open; both headings were to be filled in as soon as they were in place.

On 28 September, everything was ready for departure. The desired vehicles were prepared and equipped as needed: there were five trabacoli and one felucca, larger barques (gondoloni), as the Barbaresks used them for their raids; the crew to be embarked, officers, soldiers and seamen, numbered about 250. Immediately before embarkation, the "King" promoted all officers by one rank each and awarded the Order of Both Sicilies to those who were not yet decorated with it. The relevant decrees were written in all royal chancery style, so that the clerks available in Ajaccio had to be diligent enough in their work.

Joachim entrusted the supreme command of the flotilla to the frigate Captain Barbara, a Maltese by birth, who had been given the baronate by Murat.

On 25 September, Colonel Maceroni had arrived in the port of Bastia, from where, after learning that Murat had departed from Vescovato, he had telegraphed his imminent arrival in Ajaccio. At noon on the 28th, he arrived in the capital of Corsica and went to Joachim without delay to inform him of the conditions of the Great Powers, to hand over the travel documents for the journey to Trieste and to enclose his most urgent ideas not to reject the offer made to him out of hand. At the same time, the British Captain Bastard, who had long ago arrived in the port of Bastia with the frigate Mäander and two sloops of cannon, offered to take the ex-king across the sea. But it was impossible to have a sensible word with him. If the Corsicans, for whom he had never done anything, had welcomed him so enthusiastically, would this be less the case in Naples, which he had showered with benefits as king? And should he abandon the hundreds who had now joined him to the revenge of the French government? And if his enterprise failed, what could happen to him? That his person should be secured and that he should be kept in some remote place like his brother-in-law! - When his faithful congratulated him on the unexpected salvation opened up to him by the offer of Emperor Franz, he exclaimed: "Of course, I will go to Austria, so that one morning I may be found strangled in the bosom of my family! I would rather go to Constantinople! But no, even there I would be killed!" Nevertheless, he wrote a letter to Maceroni in which he did not necessarily reject the proposal of the allied powers, but reserving the right to consider it as soon as he would be with his family. He explained that he had to decline Bastard's invitation because it had been made in an improper manner: "une sommation trop peu mesurée"; no doubt the captain had addressed him simply as "Marshal Murat".

Carabelli also arrived in Ajaccio that day and had a conversation with the ex-king, without achieving anything other than encouraging the ill-fated man in his intentions.

Helfert comments on the arrival of the Neapolitan Carabelli in a footnote with reference to two other reports:

Franceschetti p. 39-41 and Colletta-Gallois p. 30 f. present the matter as if the Neapolitan government had sent Ignazio Carabelli, who is supposed to have joined his brother Simone after his arrival in Corsica, in order to play the agent provocateur with Murat and lure him to Naples. This is not only contradicted by Ricciardi's explicit testimony, but also by the entire situation and mood at the Court of Naples, where Murat's ventures were feared, not desired. It is downright nonsensical when Colletta-Gallois add the remark: "Ainsi on était informé à Naples de tout ce qui se passait en Corse". Was there an undersea telegraph at that time? Lambruschini, who certainly hurried to bring his well-meant warnings to the ex-king, needed seven days from Rome to Bastia, 6 to 12 October, and Ignaz Carabelli was certainly not sent by Minister Medici before mid-September, probably only after the 18th, when Jablonovski had his conversation with the king. Now Carabelli, who no doubt had a government ship at his disposal, may have managed his passage to Bastia more quickly than Lambruschini; but from Bastia he still had the arduous land route or the circumnavigation of Cape Bianco in the north or Cape Bonifazio in the south - Maceroni had taken a full three days from Bastia to Ajaccio!  - so that he certainly did not meet Murat before the 28th, which is also consistent with explicit witness statements. And then one should have been informed in Naples "de tout ce qui se passait en Corse"!

The text continues:

Before midnight Murat wrote a second long letter to Maceroni, in which there was no longer any question of yielding: "I will never accept the conditions which you have been instructed to impose on me; for me they are nakedly and simply tantamount to an abdication, for which I am offered the sole advantage of being allowed to live in perpetual slavery and under the arbitrary control of a despotic government. I have not abdicated, I have the right to reclaim my crown if God gives me the strength and the means to do so! I place freedom above all else; captivity is death to me. What treatment have I to expect from these powers who made me spend two months under the daggers of the assassins of Marseilles! I have laid down my life a thousand times in battle for the fatherland: shall I not be allowed to lay it down once for my own interest?"

Immediately afterwards, he went to the ships, the anchors were lifted and they set out into the open sea. The citadel of Ajaccio, whose crew had not dared to take any action against the Muratists, sent a few live rounds after the flotilla, which, however, did no damage because the flotilla was already out of range. The sky was clear, the sea calm. But on the 29th a storm came up and the small squadron had to drop anchor on the 30th at the deserted island of Tavolara, on the north-east coast of Sardinia. On 1 October, they set sail again and on the 4th were so close to the coast of Naples that they could see Vesuvius. The ex-king's mad plan of taking Ferdinand by surprise in Portici now flashed through his mind again, but he let himself be talked out of it and they steered south towards Calabria. On the 6th Paola was in sight. Efforts were made to anchor: a storm arose and four of the ships were driven far out to sea, only the felucca of Battalion Commander Courrand remained near the vessel carrying the "King". On the 7th they waited for the others to return; when they did not show themselves, a landing was nevertheless to be attempted. A muleteer and one of Joachim's old guard came along the way and Major Ottaviani was disembarked to question them. Their answers did not inspire confidence; they also attracted the attention of the beach guard, from whom two blind shots were fired, demanding obedience. Ottaviani was again put ashore, then two sailors and Baron Barbara, who identified themselves to the local authorities as "Frenchmen on a journey to Tunis"; for Barbara had provided himself with passports to that effect in Corsica. Nevertheless, the officials became suspicious and detained Ottaviani and one of the sailors; only the other sailor and Barbara were released. Murat did not want to abandon his men, but in the end he followed prudent considerations and set sail for Amantea and then even further south.

Courrand's behaviour now became so suspicious that Captain Pernice and Lieutenant Moltedo, who were on his ship, insisted on being transferred to Barbara's barque; indeed, Courrand disappeared with his vessel the following night and was never seen again. Murat had only one ship left, and now for the first time pusillanimity came over him. He had only a handful of men with him; he saw that his enterprise would be foolhardy. He ordered Galvani to throw the copies of the manifesto and the decree into the sea and decided to sail to Trieste in order to make use of the offer of the Emperor of Austria and of his passport, which he had prudently kept with him. But for this they needed money, food and above all a larger ship. They were near Pizzo and Murat wanted to disembark here in order to procure what they needed. Barbara objected to this plan, an exchange of words ensued, Murat became passionate, and all his good intentions were blown out of the water. The ideas of the more superior, and the entreaties of his faithful valet not to run to his ruin, did not succeed: he, the "king," commanded, and the others had to obey. "I have only done good to the Neapolitans," he cried, "they cannot have forgotten me, they will hasten to my aid!"

The barge struck the shore, the officers were eager to jump out of the ship, but Murat refused them: "It is for me to be the first to set foot on the soil of my kingdom." And with that he was ashore. He had enough deliberation left to order Captain Barbara to lead his ship into a sheltered bay close by to be ready for any eventuality. It was on the 8th of October, a Sunday, between 11 and 12 o'clock in the morning.

[ais-n]

hi!!! firstly i just want to say i LOVE ICOS with my whole being. i read it for the first time in high school abt 5 years ago and read it again over quarantine last summer and it drew me in and wrapped me up wholly, i couldn’t put it down. i love the story and characters so much.

i also love writing very much and have always written small stories, fan fiction etc., the past couple weeks i’ve felt inspired to write fiction of my own, a novel of sorts with my own original plot and characters, and i wanted to ask you for some advice/ words of wisdom.

how did you plan out the characters you wrote? or did you more just let them write themselves? and did you plan out chapter by chapter how the plot would unfold before writing, or again let it happen as you wrote it? i’ve found it easier for me personally to let things happen as i write, and that the characters do things and say things i never planned for, was wondering if you felt the same or if you were more organized lol.

also what platform did you use to write on?

sorry for the long post, i hope you’re doing well.

Aww thank you, that's so sweet! I'm glad you like it :)

Side note, before I forget to mention - I just made a subreddit for my writing/stuff which will include ICoS things... I'll be adding more info on there this weekend hopefully, and I'm sure I'll do another post over here too but the link if you want it is https://www.reddit.com/r/aisylum/ It may be a place to find some other stuff in the future if you think of anything. I was thinking of doing an AMA or Q&A type thing over there too. Obviously, always feel free to ask here too <3 I love either place. Just wanted to mention while I'm thinking of it :)

I'm so happy you've been inspired to write - good luck and great job! I think that sounds absolutely awesome and I bet your story will be fantastic :)

We kind of did a bit of a hybrid.... I really wish I had the original bulletpoint list for what the book was originally going to be, but "Sonny" and I had opposite ways of looking at things. "He" would delete things as we went, and I would squirrel it all away until later lol So "he" deleted a bunch of bulletpoints/early info as we went because neither of us actually expected anything to come of any of it, so I also wasn't super anal about keeping track of things way early on. I might still have some documents buried somewhere with info but offhand I don't know where.

Anyway so I kind of am more like you in the way you write, but I will sometimes make the effort to try to plan a bit, especially if there's a cowriter. For ICoS for example, we had a rough outline planned of what was going to be the story, we started writing, we let the characters/plot/etc go where it needed to go, that meant things we hadn't planned from the start came in. The original story was basically mostly Evenfall, then skip Afterimage and Interludes for the most part but not entirely, and then we didn't really have a hugely detailed end initially from what I recall but we knew generally what was going to happen, so some of the stuff from later Fade would probably have been in the bullets. But when we got to the end of Evenfall, whatever was our next bulletpoint just did not feel right; we knew all the other stuff that starts Afterimage would happen instead.

For my long ongoing LGBTQ+ fantasy series I'm working on, the first book is finished but I'm editing it to change/add some significant stuff. I have a whole bunch of info on that which I've compiled over the years, so to an extent I have a general idea of plot things that will go down in the rewrite and also in the future into the other books, but a lot of details and even bigger points are left untouched. I prefer to let the characters/story/world/plot go where it wants to go, and I just have general points that I know make sense or have to happen eventually, and I look for how to fit them in as organically as possible to the way the story is going. If that makes sense. I will occasionally try to really work out exact storyline bullets but I get so bored so quickly that I never finish.

Because I like world-building and character development, I actually find it more fun and more useful for my organizational skills (any that exist, anyway, lol) to be aimed more toward that. Rather than focusing on the story and what the plot will be and what character will say what in which chapter, I prefer to dig into the past of the characters, dig into the world, the magic system or whatever is relevant, and have that info all squirreled away somewhere if needed. That way, as I'm going forward with writing the characters/story more organically, if things are going around what I initially thought the plot would be, this gives me something to then pull from for inspiration on how to incorporate this new plot/etc into the world more seamlessly, and make it feel more at home. And if you have all that info on characters, it also makes it easier to throw in things that flesh the character out more, and that can all lead toward character development in the future.

Boyd, for example - when we first had the valentine thing come up, it was just going to be a thing that happened that showed their miscommunication and how fucked the Agency was. But then it didn't make sense to me for it to just be a thing mentioned once and never again. So then that added to Boyd's story; now he was a valentine, so if it made sense or it was relevant, that was a thing that could or should come up. As the story progressed and the world grew, and with that the Agency and other factors were more fleshed out, it became more and more relevant. Then, by the time Fade came around, it was fully integrated into Boyd's story because by that point it would be weirder if it weren't - and because it made total sense in the characters' perspectives and the different organizations' perspectives and the story as a whole for the things to happen the way they did. But all of that, of course, then informs Boyd's mental health, physical health, and overall stability. Which then affects how he interacts with the world and other characters, which then affects the plot to an extent because of the choices he would make that may be different now, in the context of these life experiences, compared to prior to those life experiences. If the valentine thing never happened in Evenfall, a lot of Fade would be different. When we had that coming up in Evenfall, we didn't know another book was coming at all, let alone 3, let alone that it would end up having such a significant impact on the story and character development. But that's just kind of an example of building on things as you go, which is what I tend to do, personally.

As for the program - in the beginning we just used Word I think, and talked on AIM or something. It's been so long I don't totally remember. But for most of it we used Google Docs because that made it easy to share and write/edit at the same time.

Also, haha never be sorry for long posts - as you can see, I will almost always go longer ^_~

Hope you're doing well too! Thanks for your interest :)

[shannonbussberg]

Shannon Marie Bussberg is a psychopath who caused me great harm in many ways. I'm writing this as an explanation to warn off any who come in contact with her. I'm not trying to exact vengeance on her. The only thing I want from her is the money that she stole from me. A sincere and deep apology, of course, would be nice, but she would never do that. The first part of the writing below largely comprises something that I sent to Shannon recently, and the rest is addressed to you, the reader. Please keep an open mind.

***

(Note: I sent an earlier version of this writing to Shannon, hoping that she would make restitution. She said that she wouldn't, and that she came here to live with me to help me with my depression. Complete BS. Shouldered no blame at all.

Shannon,

As you know, you stole, through forgeries, all the money I had, and you put me in deep shit, not to mention throwing me into tons of debt from all the credit cards you took out in my name. I was in trouble with the IRS over the documents you forged, my credit was nonexistent, and I was psychologically destroyed. You put me in a space that I would never trust anyone ever again. You know all that you did to me, and you never tried anything to make it right.

Although you cost me so, so much pain and suffering, I’m willing to let most of that go financially. But I want recompense for the money you stole and the inflation on that money. Also the damage caused to my teeth when I was unable to afford repairs because of your thefts. Steve might lend you the money--he helped you out financially when you got in trouble for taking money from credit cards under my sister's name. So maybe he'll do that for you now.

(You know, you used to tell me that you're going to Hell. I of course assumed that you were exaggerating. Now I wonder what all other things you're done. An aside: you used to tell me that you would never pay back your student loans, and that as a result you'd have to go to school periodically for the rest of your life to avoid paying the loans back. That did bother me, because it basically meant that you'd be stealing from other students in the future. More recently I saw that you'd somehow got a master's degree. That seemed strange, since you're not a good student--having me do as much as your school and work stuff for you as possible when you were here. So I assumed that you got the degree from online courses, as part of your loan payback avoidance plan. Sure enough I see that your school has optional online coursework.)

If you don’t try to make things right, here’s what I will do. First off, I’ll tell the truth to your whole family. (It was so horrible to have to listen to your mother try to “explain” to me that you were living with me in order to try to “help” me--a lie you told your parents in order to cover the long period while you were not working, while living on the stolen money. Apparently you told her that you were my caretaker of some sort. I'm definitely going to set her straight on that.) My story will be a complete one, and you know that I don't lie. Plus I have *tons* of documents to back me up—everything from police and post office documents, to the forensic document examination report, to copies of the actual documents that you forged. (Plus I became something of a document examiner myself, so that people could see with their own eyes that you’re a forger. For example, doing your school years, you changed the way you form a particular letter--for example, in the forged signature for my last name--in a way that is nearly completely unique in this day and age. And the documents you created have all the hallmarks that document examiners know about forgeries.)

But I will use the internet as well. Social media of all kinds, of course. Forums, relevant sites. Anyplace I can find, with, as before, documents that back me up. People need to know who they’re dealing with in their lives.

***

To the reader: Shannon Marie Bussberg and I live in different states, and met online through a kinky match site. For a long while, we communicated with email and text. Then she told me that she was entering summer school at a prestigious university near me. This was a total lie, as I later learned from them when I was contacting them for writing samples for the document examiner. She ended up living at my place while she pretended to go to school. Then she stayed here with me after school supposedly ended for the term, and lived here for years, meanwhile stealing everything I had (except for a half ownership in the family house). She worked for a little while, but soon stopped, preferring to bleed me while she destroyed me. I loved her, which was a huge misjudgment on my part. In my defense, she hid her lies very well; she is a very good psychopath, and I never noticed any lies while she was here. After she used up all of my money and more, she stole from my sister, who was not in love and less gullible and vulnerable than I. That put the police on her tail, and Shannon, seeing a bleak future ahead for herself if she stayed, went back to Indiana. She, no doubt hoping that everything would blow over and she'd be able to return to continue parasitizing me further, perhaps taking the house (she had wanted to marry me, and I suspect that was the house was her objective for that). I truly thought she was innocent, for way too long. But since she was now back in Indiana and no longer had access to my mail (though she wanted me to send my mail to her, for her to "sort"), a letter from the IRS, telling me about taxes that I knew I didn't owe, was shocking. I still thought that, somehow, she was innocent, but before long I realized the truth. Looking back, I know that she only came to live with me for two reasons: my trusting vulnerability and her unusual sexual proclivities. She never loved me. The bottom line, for readers that encounter her, is that Shannon is a psychopath, is a very convincing liar, and neither looks nor acts like a psychopath. You should skip first impressions, and observe her for a while. I'm particularly concerned for her son, and the effect her behavior has on him.

On to my tidbits directed to Shannon.

⦁ 00, which was our code for a particular form of sex practice. I'm certain that's the main reason that you came to this city. The practice was disgusting and dangerous for me. And you should know that I’ve suffered permanent serious physical damage because of it. Maybe I should describe it in detail, but I'd truly like to avoid sharing it in public if at all possible, even though it gives a great insight into your evil. I'll probably wait for a little while to see whether you're going to make things right, and if you don't, give a more full account. There’s so much related info to tell people, such as the time you tried to drown me in the bathtub. Keep in mind, Shannon, that the story makes you look far worse than me.

⦁ You told the police—TWICE—that I sexually abused you. The irony, of course, is that our roles were exactly reversed. It’s interesting that, when I told the detective that I wanted to press charges against you, he predicted, matter-of-factly, that you would make that claim against me. At the time I didn’t believe him, but he was right. By his statement I guess that many women lie a lot about such things when claims are made against them.

⦁ When you stole the car (yes, OF COURSE I have documents about that as well—and I talked to the prosecutor later), you left a lot of my CDs in there. Then, when I got furious with law enforcement and the judicial system for picking on my poor, innocent (sarcasm), girlfriend, I persuaded you to go to your home state with me so that I could try to straighten things out for you. I don’t know why you agreed to go there, because of course you wouldn’t let me talk to the prosecutor and thereby learn the truth. More important these days is that you wouldn’t “permit” me to go to the police to pick up the CDs from the car, obviously because you were afraid of hearing the truth from them. The result is that I not only didn’t get the CDs, but I didn’t even remember all of the artists and titles, so that I couldn’t replace them. Of course, that's just one of many messes you left behind for me to try to straighten up, such as the reader you stole from the library, the tons of library fines over books you stole, all the services you secretly attached to my landline, and the bill that you ran up on the cell phone that was under my name but that you were the one that used.

⦁ When you decided to screw me over, you knew that any letters and such sent to my address increased your chance of being discovered. So you went to a nearby town's post office, and opened a post office box there. You even added my dead mother's name to the box. I still have the forged federal application in your handwriting.

⦁ One of the writings you left behind was a letter to my money fund, telling them to make you the beneficiary if I die. You sucked up my money so fast and thoroughly that you never had an opportunity to actually send it in, but of course I still have it, with your handwriting. But the take-home message is that you were hoping for my death. Or maybe planning it? If you had played it straightforwardly, you could have just asked me to write it myself.  Back in those innocent days, I would have done it for you eagerly.

⦁ When you knew that time was running out between you and the police because you also stole from my sister, you prepared, behind my back, for your departure. You hid all kinds of your stuff in the attic behind the costumes you and I had gathered. That’s how I got so many writing samples for the document examiner to use. Previously I had written to your former employers for any scraps. Treasure trove, afterward.

⦁ When you left, we stayed in contact for a while, before I knew the full truth of what you had done. You asked me to mail your sewing machine to you, while you encouraged me to drink a lot of vodka so I’d finish the task. And you even had me send you money for food. You used me like a parasite does, knowing full well that I was going to have to go through total financial hell in the near future. What kind of human being does that to someone else? A psychopath.

⦁ I noticed that you were looking for a car right after you left. Which is really, really wrong, because I had no car at this point and you left me with no money for a car of my own. Which makes me wonder: there was a lot of money that we could have used to buy a car before, but instead you insisted on continually getting rental cars (supposedly paid for by your father, but really paid out of the money you stole from me). Why did you do that? Buying a car outright would have made my money last longer, so this makes no sense, even for a psychopath. Is it because it would be more obvious that I alone was paying for the car for the both of us?

⦁ I emailed with your former roommate or friend (was her name Elizabeth?—I can’t exactly remember, although I can dig it up if necessary). She said that you were the most deceptive person she’d ever met. I will give you that—you certainly don’t have the *appearance* of a psychopath, shy and quiet acting and all.

⦁ Afterward, in an email to Stacy, you said that my sister and I were totally screwed up. But neither one of us hurt anyone, while you stole from both of us and destroyed one of us.,

⦁ I remember when we were first started off with emailing back and forth, I was online, both day and night. Later I asked whether it seemed strange that I was always available, and asked what you’d thought about that. You said that you’d assumed I was a genius child, keeping school hours. I was shocked, because we were conducting some seriously kinky conversation. Didn’t you worry about damaging the kid psychologically? Nope, you said.

⦁ An aside: In college, you ran away without telling anyone, leaving people thinking, for a long time, that you were dead. (Documentation is available in newspaper copies online.) When you told me about it later, you showed me a picture of your father during the time your parents spent searching for you. He was exhausted and depressed. But instead of that making you feel bad about what you had caused, you were proud that you had evaded detection. At the time, I assumed that I was reading your emotions wrong. But I now know better.

⦁ I just remembered: Once you and I happened to be driving behind a strip mall after hours. A cop car started following us. You were cool. You suggested to me that I should get out and pretend to be examining the tire tread for a stuck rock. That worked fine, and the cop moved on. I told you that I had been nervous. You told me that you hadn't been, because you always assume that you are smarter than the police. That seemed incredibly arrogant to me. True, you might be smarter than some individual cops. But you don't have their training and experience, the capability to call other police on the radio for backup, and weaponry. Every once in a while you'd let such incredible arrogance show through.

⦁ I remembered this as well. Once you joked, about a woman whose child had been killed, that it was no big deal since she can always make another. After you left here, I read a lot of books about psychopaths, to try to figure you out. The author of one of the books told the exact same joke, as an example of how psychopaths have a lack of empathy. I always wondered whether you told the joke because you had read in the same book, while you were reading to try to understand your own self.

⦁ After the police went to Indianapolis to interrogate you, they told me that you'd agreed to pay me back everything you stole. But you never sent me anything at all. I aim to change that. Please don't make the mistake that if you just ignore this email, I will simply drop it all.

[the1959project]

December 31, 1959

Ahmad Jamal, 1959

New Year’s Eve 1959 was as fruitful as New Year’s Eve 1958 — the night with which this project began. In New York, you could see Sarah Vaughan at the Waldorf or Sammy Davis, Jr. at the Copa (if you were loaded), Count Basie and Joe Williams at Birdland, Dizzy Gillespie — “evoking, from his homemade speaking tube, the wondrous sounds of a world yet to come,” as the New Yorker described it — at the Metropole, Ornette Coleman in his revolutionary run at the Five Spot with Randy Weston as support, Horace Silver (“experimenting to see what will make the human nervous system dissolve,” another New Yorker-ism) at the Jazz Gallery, Earl Hines at the Embers, Ernestine Anderson at the Apollo and hundreds more musicians remembered and forgotten making up the soundtrack to the end of one heady decade. 

The best summary of the decade written by its contemporaries, that I’ve found, came from Stanley Robertson of the Los Angeles Sentinel — a former editor at Ebony who returned to newspaper work while pursuing a pioneering career in TV.

60 years later, most of his assertions and observations are just as relevant. If I had been more organized (an evergreen caveat), I would have read them at the beginning of the year and not at the end — but the fact is, at the beginning of the year I had only a tenuous grasp of just how much information and insight I was about to uncover. 

Throughout the course of this project, I’ve been asked — understandably — why. 1959 is only a cliche within a relatively intimate group of jazz heads; outside of their poo-poo-ing (anything but rehashing Kind of Blue and Dave Brubeck again, am I right?) and, of course, Fred Kaplan’s under-read tome, it’s mostly anonymous. Essentially, if you know about its significance in jazz you’re weary of it, and if you don’t it seems completely random. 

But the idea of a 1959 jazz timeline was one that I couldn’t shake. Yes, great records; yes, jazz history. But around those pillars of the music was so much blank space. Blank space that I realized I had the tools to fill — books and archives and music and Google — even if only for myself. There was simply too much material waiting to be put in some sort of discernible order, too much incredible music that begged a different kind of context and background — one based less on how the music sounded and more on the environment in which it was made, and who was listening. I figured I may as well try, not anticipating in the slightest that I would actually make it to the end of the year — much less that anyone would care either way. But, crazily enough, here I am, and here you are. 

What I’ve learned could (and hopefully will?) fill a book. The most surprising parts should have been the least surprising — the profound impact of racism, sexism and homophobia on what music got heard and how. Race in particular — again, duh — lies at the very core of American music history, and thus jazz history. To me, it goes both ways — jazz’s central role in American cultural history gets undersold precisely because it is Black music. 

New York wasn’t technically segregated, but the kinds of jazz you might hear on 125th Street and below 14th Street might as well have been from different worlds. The stuff that white people listened to is the stuff that we still talk about; the stuff that Black people listened to is generally presented as secondary — a reality that is obviously perverse given the fact jazz is and has always been Black music. Miles existed somewhere in between, as he was wont to; the fact that he was beaten by the NYPD immediately after releasing the most enduring jazz album — perhaps the album that truly launched the LP era? — ever will never not make me tear up. This is the crux of the whole thing: Who gets to be important? Why is jazz niche — still more often understood as a lusty cliche than an actual artistic movement — and not at the center of our understanding of 20th Century American intellectual and creative life? Racism, obviously. 

The jazz that was huge in 1959 tended towards two quite disparate poles: strange big band music made by white bands for white audiences that sounds flatly jarring to listen to today, and music by Black jazz artists who were uninterested in pleasing (mostly) white critics — music that was deemed by those critics to be redundant or sentimental or trite. Ahmad Jamal, sitting cheerily at the top of this post, is a case study of the latter phenomenon. Without actually having the numbers, I would hazard a guess that he was the top selling jazz artist (who anyone still listens to today) of 1959. “Poinciana” was running jukeboxes, and the success of At The Pershing inspired the rapidfire release of half a dozen more LPs. 

But Jamal is not generally cited as one of the canonical artists of 1959, or of jazz. Neither are Dinah Washington or Sarah Vaughan, who had their biggest hits (”What a Diff’rence A Day Made,” “Unforgettable,” “Broken-Hearted Melody”) in 1959. Same story with Erroll Garner, who sold out Carnegie Hall in 1959. Same with Ramsey Lewis, who spent all year on the Billboard charts with his remarkable album Down To Earth, as well as Jimmy Smith, Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, Shirley Scott, and many others. Ray Charles, in his completely idiosyncratic way, was plucking the friendliest parts from jazz and placing them into era-defining pop music. 

The difference isn’t in the quality of the music, it’s in who was listening. 

Some people have asked if I’m going to continue this project with 1960. The answer is no, because I have an actual job and about 500 other projects of similarly ambitious scale that I would like to tackle. But I hope that if you enjoyed it, you might use it as a way to look at the music you listen to differently. There is so much more to know about each of the records I posted here, and all the ones I didn’t post — we live in a time of literally unprecedented amounts of information, and this period was particularly well-documented. So listen to the albums, but then check the Wikipedia page to find the other albums, and look at the liner notes to see where the Wikipedia page is wrong, and read some old magazines and newspapers to see where the liner notes were wrong, and find some live performance that people even crazier than I am have dug up and posted. All it takes is a little curiosity, and the surprises are so worth it.

In any event, thank you so much for following along and happy hunting! I, for one, can’t wait to hear all the great new music coming in the next decade. 

[whiteliesuk]

White Lie: Churchill is a wholly good war hero; we should continue to endlessly make the same WWII movies about him as the grumpy, difficult, irate, but oh-so-loved Prime Minister

The reality:

Anyone who’s followed me on any social media platform for any period of time will know how much I despise Churchill. In fact, I sit here restraining myself from launching into a massive tirade… In the interest of keeping some level of decorum and in the hope that readers will take me with some level of seriousness, I’ll refrain from calling him a shithead.

It instils a sense of rage knowing that Churchill was posthumously voted by Brits as the greatest Briton when you know his true colours. The removal of his bust from the White House was enough to create a political scandal on both sides of the pond. Dear god spare us from yet ANOTHER movie/TV series about the man saving Britain in the Second World War. Last week I watched the Darkest Hour to get over a sudden and frustrating break up. Did the movie add anything new? Absolutely not. But note to all womenkind: watching movies about reprehensible men will help you get over reprehensible men.

Politicians have scrambled to be equated to Churchill as though it’s a mark of pride and honour: Blair was compared to Churchill after dragging us into the 2003 Iraq war; Johnson has identified as Churchillian. To be fair, in both these instances, the comparison to Churchill is not entirely misplaced: the former was warmongering and terrorised innocent civilians in an illegal war while the other is a racist reprobate.

You can’t learn about the true nature of British colonialism and not be disturbed by the British obsession with Churchill. An obsession that’s driven by an insistence to see him as a one-dimensional war hero who saved Britain from fascism. This is not to say that Churchill didn’t play a part in saving Britain from fascism (I plan to dispel the myth that Britain alone won the war, without a MASSIVE helping hand from its Empire), but that there is so much more about Churchill that makes him deplorable.

Churchill’s well-documented white supremacism & bigotry

It takes a simple Google search to clue oneself up on Churchill’s racism. There was no two ways about it, Churchill was a white supremacist. Born in 1874, educated at Sandhurst and a Harrovian (always be wary of this lot), he was brought up believing the simple story that superior white men conquered people of colour and brought them the benefits of civilisation.

An explicit example of his beliefs in white superiority was recorded in US Vice President Henry Wallace’s diary: in 1942, Wallace challenged Churchill’s beliefs on Anglo-Saxon superiority during a meeting. Wallace wrote in his diary that Churchill had drank ‘quite a bit of whiskey’ and said in retort: ‘why be apologetic about Anglo-Saxon superiority, that we were superior, that we had the common heritage which had been worked out over the centuries in England and had been perfected by our constitution.’ And neither was this merely a drunken slip. Churchill was never shy to utter some of the most racist and vile things: he hated people with ‘slit eyes and pig tails’; people from India were ‘the beastliest people in the world next to the Germans’; he admitted that he did ‘not really think that black people were as capable or as efficient as white people’; and that ‘Aryan stock was bound to triumph’.

But he only said racist things, right? Even Johnson admitted that Churchill sometimes expressed opinion that would be ‘unacceptable to us today’, but it’s what he did, namely his defeat of the Nazis, that matters. To many, Churchill is the equivalent of the racist, old, white boss/manager/CEO who belonged to an older generation, who of course believed and therefore said those things. As long as he didn’t act upon them, then it’s all fine. This prevailing belief explains why the country voted for our currently unashamedly racist prime minister (lest we forget Johnson once referred to ‘cheering crowds of flag-waving piccaninnies’; to African people as having ‘watermelon smiles’; and saying that Muslim women in burqas looked like ‘letter boxes.’)

I would challenge the notion that it’s fine for your boss/manager/CEO, let alone Prime Minister, to be racist in what they say. In fact, Paul Weston, Chairman of the Liberty GB party (a far-right anti-immigration, Islamophobic political party), was arrested in 2014 on suspicion of racial harassment after reading aloud from Churchill’s own book The River War: ‘How dreadful are the curses which Mohammedanism lays on its votaries! Besides the fanatical frenzy, which is dangerous in as many as hydrophobia [rabies] in a dog, there is this fearful fatalistic apathy. Improvident habits, slovenly systems of agriculture, sluggish methods of commerce and insecurity of property exists wherever the followers of the Prophet rule or live.’ Clearly, simply saying what Churchill did could be considered a hate crime.

But I’ll humour those that take the ‘actions speak louder than words’ line and set Churchill’s diatribes against his context and actions:

Churchill was not merely an armchair aristocrat who waited to achieve his political ambitions, but a soldier who set off as soon as he could to take his part in ‘a lot of jolly little wars against barbarous peoples.’ And kill Churchill did: Churchill raided and laid waste to the Swat Valley (now part of Pakistan), destroying houses and burning crops; in Sudan, he bragged of personally shooting at least three ‘savages’. In South Africa, where ‘it was great fun galloping about’, Churchill defended British built concentration camps for white Boers, saying they produced ‘the minimum suffering.’ The death toll was almost 28,000, and while at least 115,000 were swept into British concentration camps, Churchill wrote only of his ‘irritation that Kaffirs should be allowed to fire on white men.’ (Shock, horror, the British were guilty of using concentration camps too. A blog post on this to come.)

On that note, we return to Churchill’s bust in the White House: George W Bush had left the bust near his desk in an attempt to associate himself with Churchill’s heroic stand against fascism (Bush joins the ranks of politicians who deserves an association to Churchill, but not in the sense he intended). Barack Obama had it returned to Britain because his own paternal grandfather, Hussein Onyango Obama, was one of the 150,000 rebellions Kikuyus forced into detention camps during Churchill’s post-war premiership: when the British government began its campaign to suppress the alleged 1952-60 Mau Mau uprising in Kenya, all to protect the privileges of the white settler population. Approximately 11,000 Kenyans were killed and 81,000 detained. In that light, we’ll allow it, Obama.

In 1920, as Secretary of State for War and Air, Churchill advocated for the use of chemical weapons on the ‘uncooperative Arabs’ involved in the Iraqi revolution against British rule: in an official memo he stated that he ‘[did] not understand the squeamishness about the use of gas… I am strongly in favour of using poison gas against uncivilised tribes. It would spread a lively terror.’ Historians have bent over backwards to excuse this particular comment: Warren Dockter, a research fellow at the University of Cambridge and the author of Winston Churchill and the Islamic World, said that Churchill was only ‘proposing to use in Mesopotamia… lachrymatory gas, which is essentially tear gas, not mustard gas.’ Don’t worry all, he wasn’t actually intending to kill people, just to commit a terrorist act. Oh, and Churchill was in favour of using mustard gas against Ottoman troops in WII, Dockter admits, but that was at the time when other nations were doing it too, so it was obviously alright for him to actually intend to kill the masses then.

Finally, as Colonial Secretary, Churchill offered the Jews Israel, although he thought they should not ‘take it for granted that the local population will be cleared out to suit their convenience.’ Simultaneously, he dismissed the Palestinians already living in the country as ‘barbaric hoards who ate little but camel dung.’ In an address to justify why Britain should decide the fate of Palestine to the Peel Commission in 1937, Churchill was again outspoken about his white supremacist ideology. Specifically, he sought to justify the British displacement of peoples throughout history:  ‘I do not agree that the dog in a manger has the final right to the manger even though he may have lain there for a very long time. I do not admit that right. I do not admit for instance, that a great wrong has been done to the Red Indians of America or the black people of Australia. I do not admit that a wrong has been done to these people by the fact that a stronger race, a higher-grade race, a more worldly-wise race to put it that was, has come in and taken their place.’

In thoughts, words, and actions Churchill was racist, and his position as a politician meant that his white supremacism had real, tangible effects. Many of which still has relevance today. Despite this, Martin Gilbert, Churchill’s most revered biographer, said that in writing Churchill’s story: ‘I never felt that [Churchill] was going to spring an unpleasant surprise on me. I might find that he was adopting views with which I disagreed. But I always knew that there would be nothing to cause me to think: ‘How shocking, how appalling.’ History is not only written by the victors, but also by historians who are willing to excuse those victors’ vile and abhorrent behaviour.

And I’ve not yet mentioned how Churchill’s so-called heroic actions during WWII killed an estimated 1.5 to 3 million people. Part 2 to follow.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Heart of Thunder - Chapter 07

This chapter is a bit shorter than I wanted it to be, but oh well...

Link to AO3

The door fell shut with a quiet click and for a second longer Cor refused to look around to his two best friends – his family, as Nyx had called them. He knew what he would see when he turned around.

“Cor,” said Regis, voice pleading.

“No,” Cor returned, more out of an old reflex than anything else.

He turned away from the door and came face to face with the saddest green eyes he had ever seen. Clarus just stood next to their King, arms behind his back and an eyebrow raised in expectation. A loud sigh climbed up his throat and Cor did not bother to keep it in.

“Ask,” he prompted and crossed his arms.

Clarus still didn't say anything. The Shield had always been of the opinion that the silent treatment worked best, Cor knew, and more often than not it had caused another sort of trouble.

Regis on the other hand gave him a gentle smile, barely visible beneath his beard, and part satisfaction part thankfulness. The kind of smile he always wore when he was able to harmlessly mess in the private lives of his friends. None of them, neither Clarus, nor Cor, nor Cid or Weskham had ever had the heart to deny him his bit of fun. No matter how aggravating it may be at first.

“Why did you not tell us that you were seeing someone? Is it because he is male or because he is Galahdian? You must know that as long as you are happy in any relationship you enter, neither Clarus nor I will truly have anything against it,” Regis told him while Clarus nodded to signal his agreement.

“I wasn't,” Cor said in way of an explanation.

“You weren't what?” Regis prompted.

Cor suppressed a sigh. Wasn't it obvious? He would never hide a relationship he was in because the other person was also male or “below his station”. Even in his thoughts Cor could see the massive air quotes at that statement.

Most people tended to conveniently forget that Cor himself had been born outside Insomnia and had only become a citizen within its walls when he had entered King Mors' services. Before that he had been a half starved kid swinging his father's sword around.

“I wasn't in a relationship until yesterday,” Cor elaborated very matter of fact.

Regis opened his mouth and closed it again when he heard that. Clarus heaved a heavy sigh. The Shield muttered something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like: “I should have known”, as his gaze travelled towards the ceiling, as if to plead with the Astrals for more patience.

“Please tell us what exactly happened, Cor”, Regis requested gently with just a hint of exasperation and desperation.

Cor was impressed.

“It started on my patrol outside the city four days ago. Nothing noteworthy happened until I was on my way back and came upon a group of people in need for help. Not long after I helped them deal with the wildlife trying to kill them, it turned out they were poachers, so I killed the ones trying to attack me and arrested the rest. They are awaiting their sentence now.”

He paused for a moment, trying to decide how to continue.

“So you're the one who has some of the Lords in such a tizzy,” Clarus said, amused.

Cor smirked.

“Is this about the complaint Lord Sagitta wants to bring forth about your so called inadequate behaviour?” Regis asked only a tad resigned.

A wave of sympathy welled up within Cor as he nodded. Some of the nobles of the court could rob you of your last nerve and more of your time than they deserved. Lord Sagitta was one of those Lords.

“It must be because of the meeting I had with him and Lords Caulis and Hypocris yesterday, about the poachers I took prisoner.”

Regis hummed thoughtfully. “I can see how Lords Caulis and Hypocris might get involved in this. But Lord Sagitta? The Minister of Outside Affairs shouldn't be concerned with a group of poachers the Marshall dragged back for sentencing.”

“I think it has something to do with the coeurl pelts I found,” Cor stated dryly.

“Ah,” made Regis. “Yes, I can see that.”

“You should really look into finding a new Minister, Regis. Lord Sagitta has clearly been accepting bribes, I told you that before,” Clarus spoke up.

“I know my friend. Sadly, finding substantial evidence to this accusation has been proven to be rather unfruitful,” Regis sighed.

“I'll get Monica on it”, Cor offered.

“Yes, please do. Ms. Elshett has proven very competent in helping to deal with the last mess”, Regis decided after a few seconds of consideration.

“Now, please enlighten us: how is all of this relevant to you getting engaged?” Clarus asked.

“I claimed the coeurl pelts as my battle-spoils”, Cor started up again.

“Of course you did. No wonder Lord Hypocris was practically frothing at the mouth when I saw him in the halls yesterday. Those pelts are worth a fortune”, Clarus interrupted. “What are you planning to do with them?”

“My original intention was to gift them to the Galahdian community,” Cor explained now slightly annoyed at the interruptions. “I do not know much about their culture, but I do know that coeurls are considered sacred animals.”

Both other men blinked in surprise. Cor frowned.

“Really, Regis? I understand Clarus not knowing, but you?”

Clarus shot him his best I-don't-like-what-you're-insinuating-here look while Regis frowned.

“I think”, he spoke at last, “the Council for Cultural Understanding has been rather remiss in their work.”

Cor took a deep breath. It wasn't Regis' fault. It truly wasn't. His best friend did what he could but some things simply flew under the radar when it was up against keeping Niflheim at bay and keeping the government functional with all the schemes that had slowly been piling up over the years. A man could only do so much.

No, he did not blame Regis for this oversight. But they had been on Galahd for however short a time. They had seen their art, listened to their language, heard their music and eaten their food. The coeurl motive had been everywhere, as had what he thought to be some kind of snake, though Cor didn't know what its significance was.

Not to mention the story he had told Monica this morning.

“I can look into it”, he proposed.

“Are you sure you can manage that with everything else you have been doing?” Clarus spoke up, worried.

Cor shot him an unimpressed stare. “The only ones actively fighting are the Kingsglaive. I might have some time in which to do this.”

“Cor.” The Shield shot him a warning glare.

“I'm sorry, my friend, but you know why-”

“I know, Regis. I know”, Cor said, softer now than the harsher tones with which he had spoken before.

It truly wasn't fair to the King. The man did his best, but sometimes the best was simply not enough.

A heavy silence settled around them.

“We keep getting distracted. You wanted to give the Galahdians a gift worth a fortune. And then?” Clarus prompted.

“They call themselves Galahkari – Galahkar is the singular. I knew that all of Galahd considers coeurls sacred and when I overheard two Galahkari talk about their connection to the Ulric line, I thought it best to give them to Nyx. So I got one of the five pelts cleaned up, went to the Glaive's training grounds yesterday and gave it to him. As it turns out, gifting an Ulric a coeurl pelt is a sure-fire way to get engaged to one.”

Cor's fingers skimmed over his new necklace as he watched his two friends exchange a look. He knew that look. It was their Cor-did-something-reckless-again look.

“You could not just have cleared up this misunderstanding?” Regis asked hesitantly.

“And insult them and their culture even worse than most Insomnians already do? No”, Cor stated.

“Are you sure the two of you fit together?” Regis pressed.

The Marshal frowned. “I may not know him well, but I know Nyx Ulric doesn't do anything half-arsed. He is as committed to this as I am.”

“What Regis wants to know”, Clarus cut in, exasperated, “is if the two of you can be happy together. Arranged matches are a fight all on their own, and that battle ground is one you don't have much experience in, Cor.”

Without conscious thought his fingers picked at the black bead of the necklace and felt the detailed, if slightly uneven, engravings of the wing. Strength found in protecting something you hold dear. But also a symbol of royal protection.

Regis and Clarus followed his movement and their gazes softened, some of their worry easing. It was obvious that much thought had gone into making this necklace, and that Nyx had made it himself spoke of determination, patience and an iron will to truly make this relationship work.

“We talked about it, this relationship. Oh, don't look so surprised. I can talk things out, you know? I could have said no to the necklace, and we would have gone our separate ways. But this is a one in a lifetime opportunity and I wasn't going to waste it. Maybe now we can finally get over the divide between us, the religious differences caused. Weren't you ever curious as to why the Galahkari forsook the Astrals like they did?”

“I have always wondered”, Regis admitted after a few seconds of silence. “There are so few written accounts left from that time, it all has been more guesswork than anything else.”

Clarus nodded, thoughtful. “From the few documents my family still has, we know Gilgamesh was somehow involved with this. But how exactly I cannot say.”

Cor tilted his head, thoughtful. Now that would be an idea.

“Cor, no”, Clarus ordered, his mien stern.

The Marshal just looked at him until Clarus pinched the bridge of his nose and Regis shot him a resigned look.

“Just don't do anything too rash, please?” Regis said.

Cor nodded, already thinking about how he could convince Nyx. They could file it under a reconnaissance mission and camp outside for a week. Just them, hunting, maybe taking down some Niffs and a visit down Tealpar Crag. Satisfied with this plan, Cor nodded again.

“Have you taken Sir Ulric out for dinner yet?” Regis suddenly asked.

“No”, Cor admitted and squinted at the King in speculation.

“If you want to unofficially announce your engagement, I would recommend the Red Shroud.”

Cor had heard of the Red Shroud. Who hadn't? It was a regular place for journalists to lurk in search for the next social sensation. The high-end restaurant was near exclusively for nobility and a neutral ground for alliances through marriage to be forged.

If he were to go there with Nyx he would send a very clear message. That they were in a relationship, for one, that they were seriously considering marriage and that the whole thing was arranged.

“I don't think that's a good place for now”, Clarus came to his aid.

“Probably not”, Regis hummed, tapping his fingers against the handle of his cane. “Then you should take him to a place that serves food he likes.”

Cor nodded. That he could most certainly do. And then they could talk about his idea of a camping trip in addition to a few other things they needed to clear up.

Regis gave an amused chuckle. Clarus and Cor looked at him inquisitively.

“You know what this means?”

“No, what?” Cor asked.

The King's eyes glittered impishly. Cor suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

“It means I can finally give you that lordship I have been meaning to grant you, and you always denied.”

“Regis, no”, Cor groaned, resigned.

His only answer was an unrepentant laugh.

“And don't dare not to invite us to your wedding. My wife will haunt you, if you don't.”

[ncfan-1]

Things I want to write for Three Houses (and may not actually wind up writing), a (most likely) incomplete list:

- Pre-canon fic with Petra, Edelgard, and Hubert. Gen.

- Fic for my headcanon of Edelgard’s stepmother, the Empress Berengaria. We know that this Empress must have existed, for Edelgard references her father having already married for political purposes by the time he met Patricia, but we know nothing about her. My headcanon of her is that she is by birth a member of House Nuvelle, that she was a supporter of Ionius’s attempts to consolidate his power, possessed a minor Crest of Cethleann, and that neither of her two children by Ionius numbered among the few (only three, in my headcanon) royal children who possessed any Crest at all. The fact that Edelgard was one of only three royal children with a Crest made her much more dynastically relevant than she otherwise would have been, and when Patricia was exiled, Berengaria took one look at baby/toddler Edelgard, said something to the effect of “It’s free real estate”, and snatched that kid right up before one of the consorts could get to her. Berengaria pushed hard for Edelgard’s candidacy as the next Emperor; she knew she’d never get anywhere promoting her own children (kid with a Crest wins over a kid without any day of the week), and installing a child she’d raised as the next Emperor was the best chance she had of ensuring that her and her own children’s would be preserved during the reign of the next emperor. She did care for Edelgard—and Edelgard definitely thinks of Berengaria before she thinks of Patricia when she thinks of ‘Mother’—though it’s less clear whether she loved Edelgard. Berengaria locked horns with Lord Arundel often over Edelgard’s custody. Just before the Insurrection of the Seven, Berengaria was assassinated via poison, and most assume it was Lord Arundel who killed her. The fic will be gen, obviously.

- I want to finish In This Valley of Dying Stars. Fic’s Dimileth, though it’s pre-ship, given its space in the timeline and the fact that neither Dimitri nor Melusine are in a good place mentally while it takes place.

- Want to write the sequel to In This Valley of Dying Stars, aka “Melusine finds out exactly what’s up about her and she takes it really poorly.” Dimileth, takes place just post the S-support, though the ship isn’t really the main focus of the fic. Melusine’s existential crisis kicking into overdrive is the main focus of the fic.

- A couple of oneshots set in the same ‘verse as In This Valley of Dying Stars and the as of yet untitled sequel. One of them focuses on Melusine, Flayn, Seteth, and Manuela, after Melusine overexerts herself using Divine Pulse and is unconscious for roughly a day and a half as a result. The second is the search for Rhea in Enbarr after the final battle. Enbarr’s the biggest city on the continent, and without Hubert’s letter, finding her… Yeah, that takes a while, and it’s taking even longer considering that there’s still fighting throughout the city even after Edelgard’s death and Dimitri is in no state to fight after taking a dagger to the shoulder. Both are gen; the first is entirely gen, and the second one mostly gen (In that there’s Dimileth simmering in the background, but it’s not the main focus of the fic).

- A fic set during the timeskip of Azure Moon, in which the explanation for why Mercedes is wearing a cap and veil post timeskip that looks a lot like the headgear worn by the nuns around Garreg Mach is that she took religious orders during the timeskip. Partly because she wants to become a nun, and partly because, while nuns don’t have to take vows of chastity in this universe, anyone who takes religious vows, even if they’re remaining a part of the secular world, is protected by law from being forced into marriage against their will. Even if the Empire has taken over Fhirdiad, where Mercedes lives, the prevailing culture is still very pro-Church, and thus, the men her adoptive father brings around the house take one look at her headdress, only have to hear her say, “No, I’m afraid I don’t particularly want to marry you :)” and are out the door, usually shooting dirty looks at her adoptive father in the process. Said adoptive father is too chickenshit to make her take off the headdress—especially considering she had four separate copies made up of the official document commemorating her taking religious orders, and three of them have been sent off to people who would not be at all inclined to give them to him to burn.

- Timeskip fic of Marianne’s evolving relationship with Margrave Edmund.

- A multi-chapter AU where Dimitri turns into a Demonic Beast during the timeskip, and the only way for him to turn back into a man is for him to let go of his rage and hatred of Edelgard enough that it isn’t consuming him anymore. This one’s… Yeah, it’s gonna be rough. And at least somewhat gruesome (Maybe more than somewhat). Main characters are: Dimitri, Melusine, Felix, Marianne, and when they show up, Rodrigue and Dedue. Gen. The only ship is Marianne x Linhardt, it’s mostly in the background, and it’s here primarily because it’s thematically appropriate and I love them. The violence and themes might be enough to make it M-rated. I’ve been mulling this one over for a while: here’s a snippet. The tag for this one will be ‘Demonic Beast AU.’

- Ingrid and Leonie get a support chain. Basically, it’s Leonie wondering “why is this noble girl asking me to show her how to make candles out of leftover cooking grease?” and finding out exactly why. Gen.

- Seteth comes to the monastery and deals with people reacting to the unvetted, unqualified stranger being promoted to a position of high authority over them. Gen, here’s the post I made speculating about it.

- Rhea and Seteth in the monastery, just being siblings at each other. Gen.

- Silver Snow Seteth having a reckoning over the damage wrought by the Crest System, and over everything he’s been complicit in since coming to live and work in the monastery. Basically a “That moment when you realize that the system you’ve been complicit in upholding has fucked over everyone you care about whose names aren’t Rhea and Flayn, and now everyone you care about may well die thanks to the secrets you and Rhea have been keeping,” to bridge the gap between what we see of him in the game and what we hear of him in his unpaired ending. Gen.

- Ingrid’s relationship with her mother, which I imagine as being at least somewhat fraught. Gen.

- The Sacred and Profane (titled such because I am so very original), centered around Rhea’s first couple of attempts at making a vessel for Sothis out of the children she created from her blood. Gen. The only fic idea I haven’t written yet that actually has a title.

- A fic centering around Lysithea and Ferdinand’s relationship if the game had fleshed it out more. Because I love their interactions in their paralogue, and I would have liked for them to have a support chain. Will probably be set in Azure Moon or Silver Snow. Could be gen, could be fucked-up shippiness. Anything is possible.

- An AU where Rhea learns to see Melusine’s mother as a person in her own right rather than simply a failed vessel, and thus treats Melusine like a person as well. So she handles things a bit differently after Melusine is born, and thus, Jeralt never leaves the monastery with her. And yet, things manage to go almost as poorly as they do in canon. Gen. Will be tagged ‘Grandmother AU.’

- An AU where after Edelgard resurfaces after having been experimented on and successfully implanted with the Crest of Flames, Rhea snatches her up and declares her a ward of the Church because those kids were descendants of someone she gave her blood to, dammit. Things… do not go well. Gen.

- Post-canon in Crimson Flower, Edelgard and Lysithea have a tense conversation just before Lysithea undergoes a procedure to have her Crests removed. Gen.

- Shapeshifter Marianne AU. Not sure if it will be gen or have ships in it.

- A fairy tale AU where Melusine is a lot more like her namesake. Probably Dimileth, and probably the least likely thing on this list to actually get written.

[thethingsihavelearned]

The Historicity of Jesus According to Non-Christian Sources

These last few articles have been leading up to this topic on the historicity of Jesus. We defined truth as being that which corresponds to reality, and we considered why it is actually important to answer the question of the historicity of Jesus Christ – is he a real historical figure, or is he merely a myth or an allegory.

First, understand that it is impossible to know anything from history with absolute certainty. Because no one can capture every aspect of a particular event, we cannot know for certain that the event in question happened in a particular way, in contrast to how we can know precisely the answer to a math or physics problem. For example, I cannot prove without question that Alexander the Great was born on August 8, 358 BC, at night, but I can prove to you without question that 2 + 2 = 4, quite literally. I will spare you from that proof for now, but my point is that historians cannot prove things in the same way that students of the hard sciences can. Historians must determine to what conclusion the facts most strongly point, and we can know things from history with reasonable certainty. It is similar to the dichotomy in law between trying a civil case and trying a criminal case. In a civil case, the lawyer must demonstrate that the preponderance (or majority) of the evidence supports his conclusion. In a criminal case, the prosecutor must prove his case beyond a reasonable doubt. Historical research is more like the civil case than the criminal case. We must determine which conclusion the majority of the evidence supports.

There are several ways to address this question of the historicity of Jesus that occur to me. First, one can examine the historical record, other than the Biel, pertinent to the time period during which Jesus lived, which is what we will do here today. In Evidence That Demands a Verdict, Josh McDowell looks at the allusions to Jesus Christ in the following sourced: Toledot Yeshu, the rabbinical source from the fifth century; the Qur’an; Suetonius, the second century Roman historian; Pliny the Younger, governor of Bithynia from 111 – 113 AD; Mara bar Serapion, the 70 AD stoic philosopher; Cornelius Tacitus, the Roman historian who wrote his Annals around 100 AD; and Flavius Josephus, the first century Jewish historian. All of these sources have one thing in common, which is that they were not Christians, but in their writing about the first century, they had to discuss Jesus because he was the most prominent historical figure of that time period; otherwise, their records would have been woefully incomplete. McDowell also discusses the historical document about that time period that the Christians wrote. Some example he examines are the First Clement and the letters of Bishop Ignatius, both from the early part of the second century. Another mode of attack would be to prove the veracity of the New Testament, which liberal scholars seem to doubt for no verifiable academic reason, and consider what it says about Jesus. Finally, from a philosophical standpoint, one could use syllogisms to elucidate the logical necessity of Jesus based on what we perceive about God’s character. The philosopher would show how the triune God’s perfect harmony of love and holiness logically necessitates the life, death, and resurrection of God the Son. It makes sense for a beautiful argument, but at this juncture, it seems pertinent to me to use the works of Jesus’ critics to draw conclusions about his life. I hope you will enjoy it as well.

Using these non-Christian sources to glean information about Jesus is useful because no critic of Christianity can label them as biased toward the Christian position. Early church fathers such as Polycarp and Clement of Rome, not to mention the Bible, certainly have a lot to say about Jesus; however, the critic could claim that these Christians lie or exaggerate to support their own arguments. I would disagree with this contention. Many of the early church fathers died a martyr’s death, never renouncing their faith in Jesus. I am no psychologist, but I would think that if these men were lying regarding Jesus, they would have admitted to their lying in the end to save themselves from the hangman’s noose. The fact that these martyrs maintained their position even to death strengthens their argument, showing at least that they believed strongly in their claims about Jesus; therefore, their writing is worthy of consideration. Notwithstanding, for now, we will consider Josephus, Tacitus, and some of the other non-Christian sources.

In History, as in law, the most valuable evidence is first-hand. In a court of law, second-hand evidence is inadmissible as hearsay. For example, if Sally witnesses Johnnie’s car wreck and tells Suzy all about it, Sally’s testimony is admissible and relevant, while Suzy’s is inadmissible because only Sally actually witnessed the wreck. In like manner, the further in time a historian writes his record from the time at which the event happened, the more likely it becomes that the report contains inaccuracies. First-hand reports recorded on the day of the event make the best evidence, and other records lose value loosely in proportion to a combination of the distance in time they are from the event and distance in people. There is a children’s game where children gather in a circle, and child one whispers some phrase into the ear of child two. Child two whispers phrase to child three, and the process continues accordingly around the circle. Without fail, the phrase is always different when it makes its way back around to the first child. Similarly, time and the people chain tend to weaken the strength of historical documentation such that the report of an eyewitness on the day of the event is best, and second-hand and third-hand testimony becomes weaker the further in time the testimony is recorded form the original event. With this historical analysis lesson in hand, let us now attempt to examine some of the historical record regarding Jesus.

Fist, consider the attestations to Jesus in the Qur’an. The Muslim prophet Muhammed dictated the Qur’an. Ergo, it stands to reason that the Qur’an probably harbors some polemic devices against Christianity, yet look at the information it contains about Jesus. According to the Qur’an, Jesus performed miracles, uttered prophecies that came true, and was born of a virgin. It also argues against the Christian doctrines of Jesus’ divinity, the Trinity, and even Jesus’ crucifixion. I believe the only reason that the Qur’an mentions Jesus at all is because his fame was already so widespread at the time of its writing. The Qur’an, purporting to be a religious book, had to include some true information about Jesus to give it any credibility whatsoever. Although its denial of Jesus’ crucifixion, as well as several other errors, probably tolls its death bell, its information about the miracles surrounding Jesus’ life mirrors that of the other historical accounts we will analyze. The Toledot Yeshu is similar to the Qur’an in that it is likely polemical against Christianity by its very nature. It is a Jewish commentary written around 450 AD that discusses Jesus Christ, calling him essentially a false prophet, certainly denying his godship. The Toledot proposes that Jesus was a disrespectful charlatan who mastered demonic magic to gain a following. It says that the Romans crucified Jesus and erroneously reports that his body was stolen by his disciples and ultimately recovered by the Sanhedrin. Clearly a Christian would disagree with this polemic’s contention about the recovery of Jesus body, but notice the tacit referent to three core Christian tenants. First, where the Toledot says that Jesus mastered magic, it is attempting to account for Jesus’ well-documented miracles that he performed throughout his life, interestingly doing so in the same way that the Gospels say that the Jewish leaders did so during Jesus’ lifetime. Second, it agrees that Jesus was crucified. The Toledot disagrees with the Christian as to the purpose of Jesus’ crucifixion, but it agrees that Jesus was indeed crucified. Finally, it attests to Jesus’ resurrection. It says that Jesus’ body was stolen and later recovered, again mirroring the story that Matthew, in his Gospel, tells us that the Jewish council fabricated. The Toledot Yeshu had to address these three issues regarding Jesus because his story was already so widespread by the fifth century. Like the Qur’an, the Toledot Yeshu likely does not contain any independent information about Jesus due to its late date, but, here again, Jesus’ critics help to verify the Gospel account of Jesus’ life.

Next, let us examine some documents written much closer in time to Jesus’ life. In the second century, knowledge about Jesus had not been disseminated as widely as it would be, but the process had begun. Suctonius, the second century Roman historian, mentions “Chrestus” as the reason for Jewish disturbances and their expulsion from Rome in 49 AD. “Chrestus” almost certainly is a misspelling of “Christus”, which is the Greek spelling of Christ, and Suetonius’ record tells us, at the very least, that differences in opinion about Jesus within the Jewish community aroused the attention of Rome. Mara bar Serapion, a Syrian stoic philosopher, writes about Jesus in a letter to his son in 70 AD. Mara describes Jesus’ teaching, calling Jesus the “Jew’s wise king.” Neither of these men were Christians, nor were they particularly invested in the Christian movement. Nevertheless, both discuss Jesus in their works around the end of the first and the beginning of the second century.

Cornelius Tacitus presents a different situation altogether. From his works, it is obvious that he despised Christians. Tacitus lived between 56 and 120 AD, and historians today consider him to be the greatest Roman historian of all time. He writes about Jesus in his Annals toward the end of the first century. Tacitus claims that Christians worship Jesus Christ as their god and that Pontius Pilate, under Emperor Tiberius, crucified Jesus in the 30s AD. Tacitus considered the Jews to be an inferior race, likening them to rodents, so he would not have used Jewish sources in his records; ergo, Annals represents a source that is completely independent from the Gospels and that attests to Jesus’ life and death by crucifixion. How about that lasting confirmation from a man who admittedly hated the Christian way.

Finally, Flavius Josephus mirrors Tacitus in his timeline and his disdain for Christianity, as well as his independent support of the Gospel record of Jesus’ life. Josephus was a Jewish historian and politician who lived between 37 and 100 AD. He wrote Antiquities of the Jews to explain Jewish history to the Romans. Josephus was probably related to Caiphas and Annas, the two Jewish high priests during Jesus’ life, who instigated Jesus’ crucifixion, and Josephus shared their opinion about Jesus and his followers. They viewed Christianity as a cult that endangered the Jewish nation, and they wished to eradicate it. In Antiquities, Josephus mentions James, the brother of Jesus Christ, being one of the early leaders of the Christians and describes James’ death by stoning. He also discusses Jesus being the crucified founder of the sect and the man who Christians worship as God. Josephus describes these two topics while castigating the Christian faith, and his information likely came from the very men who crucified Jesus. With Flavius Josephus, we have another source independent from the Bible that calls Jesus the founder of Christianity who really lived and whom the Romans crucified. In fact, Antiquities of the Jews even presents Jesus as resurrected, although, admittedly, this detail seems to have been added at a later date by an interpolator.

These works represent only a sampling of the references to Jesus in ancient historical documents. McDowell refers to even more documents in Evidence That Demands a Verdict, but these should be enough to put to rest any doubt about whether or not Jesus really live in history as the Bible claims. These sources, other than the Qur’an, also confirm the Gospel account of Jesus’ crucifixion. Frankly, the last two references alone, one from a Roman historian and the other from a religious Jewish historian, disprove the absurd contention that Jesus never lived or was not actually crucified. Jesus Christ really in live in “space-time” as Francis Schaeffer like to say. He is no allegory or mythical character invented by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. It is up to you to decide if you will believe God’s promises and accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. If you have not already, I sincerely hope that you will.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” – John 1:14

[queenofcats17]

Unraveled by Timothy Lawrence

I’ve never written anything in the Borderlands fandom, but I saw this post by @0pixer and I guess I’m writing it

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Timothy Lawrence’s life has significantly improved now that Jack is dead and he’s managed to get a job that doesn’t involve killing people. He’s very done with killing people. Rhys has given him a job at ATLAS doing...Well, his official job has something to do with media relations or something. Mostly he makes weird videos where he goes weirdly in-depth about various subjects. Usually books. Sometimes movies. Once he deconstructed a Bunkers and Badasses campaign with the help of Rhys and Vaughn. He’s gained quite a following.

Today, his video opens as it often does, with Tim standing in front of a black background which he may or may not pin pieces of paper to in some strange string board. He’s grown his hair out a bit since joining Atlas, and his ginger hair has started to come back along with his freckles. Today he’s wearing a sweater with a cartoon cat on it.

“As you all probably know, I have an English degree. Before I started working for Jack, I went to school for English. I was going to be a writer.” Tim’s expression is some mix of irritated and existential wondering who his life had ended up this way.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat and continues. “I have an English degree. And today I’m going to use it. To take apart this awful romance novel!” He holds up a book with a giant grin. It looks like something you’d pick up at the drug store and has a stylized illustration of Handsome Jack and a swooning damsel on the front.

“I’m going to tear this apart.” The glee is readily apparent on Tim’s face. He looks absolutely ecstatic to destroy this book, both figuratively and literally. Because he will be burning this once the segment is over. “Despite being told that this is a bad idea and it’s just a book, I’m going to do this anyway!” 

“As if we could stop you.” Sasha’s voice comes from off-screen. Tim disregards this, his smile widening. 

“Vaughn and Fiona found this while scavenging the charred remains of Helios for supplies.” Tim opens the book, flipping through a few pages. “They were just going to burn it for fuel, but then Fiona read a few pages and it was so bad she brought it back so we could all laugh at it.” He starts giggling in anticipation. 

“I kind of remember Jack having these things produced, but, well,” he pauses and lets out an undignified snort. “He had a lot of shitty propaganda produced. I’m pretty sure Rhys owned all of it.”

“I did not!” Rhys’ indignant voice comes from behind the camera.

“Bro, half the stuff in our apartment was Handsome Jack merch.” Vaughn’s voice comes from behind the camera as well. There’s a huff, presumably from Rhys. 

“Alright, fine, but I didn’t have that.”

“Well, as an expert on all things Handsome Jack, you wanna tell us how the Jack in this masterpiece measures up to the real thing?” Tim asks with an innocent smile. 

“Why would I know?” Rhys asks. “You were the one who worked with him!”

“But you were the one who had him in your head,” Vaughn says. “Oh, I never really asked, but did he see your dick? I always kind of wondered if he did and he made any comments or-” There’s a muffled screaming sound from off-screen, presumably Rhys yelling into a pillow.  

“Anyway, let’s move on~,” Tim says in a sing-song voice. “So. First off, what is the plot of this book?” His expression grows comically grim. “That’s very important to talk about if we’re going to tear this thing apart.” 

There are various stifled giggles and snorts as the others in the room try to keep themselves together. 

“The book follows Felicia, an accountant from Atlas who gets sent to Pandora by her,” he pauses and flips to a page. “‘Horrible heartless bastards of bosses’.” 

“Definitely not biased.” Fiona snorts derisively.

“Why would you even suggest that?” Sasha gasps, although it’s clear she’s trying to fight back laughter. 

“Felicia has been sent to Pandora to deliver an important document, but she’s a delicate flower who isn’t suited to Pandora’s harsh climate and inhabitants. She can’t survive in this awful awful world.” Tim continues to summarize the book as if it isn’t propaganda disguised as a trashy romance novel. “Almost as soon as she touches down on the planet, bandits kidnap her, sure that her employers will pay handsomely to have her back. But they abandon her to the locals! Felicia is lost in despair until...” He looks dramatically up at the camera. “She’s rescued by none other than Handsome Jack!”

There’s a dramatic gong crash, followed by a panicked yelp. 

“Warn me before you do that!” Rhys’ muffled voice hisses. 

“Sorry,” Vaughn whispers back.

“Both Jack and Felicia are wary of each other, they are from rival companies after all, but Jack cannot let a defenseless woman suffer in the company of bandits.” Tim bites back a condescending laugh as his showman act starts to break. “So he kills all the bandits, which might be the only thing in this book that actually seems plausible. Anyway, after he kills all the bandits he takes Felicia back to Helios. There’s a lot of that whole enemies to lovers trope, along with Atlas trying to convince Felicia to secretly spy on Jack, but in the end, they fall in love and have a lot of sex. Very very in-depth sex. More in-depth than I am comfortable reading.”

“Is the sex accurate?” Sasha asks. Almost immediately, Tim goes bright red. 

“Fuck! I don’t...I don’t know!” He stammers. “It’s not like I watched him have sex!”

“So he didn’t make you have sex for him or anything?” Fiona asks. “I thought he’d have at least one person he made you take his place for. He seems like the kind of asshole who’d do that.”

“He didn’t want me ruining his reputation,” Tim mumbles, still partially hiding behind the book. “He thought I’d get nervous and freeze up. Which, uh, I...I did do a few times.” He quickly shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, this is an awful book! Not only is the grammar awful, but the story structure doesn’t even make that much sense.”

He puts the book down, dragging in a box with a bunch of pieces of paper inside.

“I’ve written down my complaints,” he starts tacking up pieces of paper on the board with thumbtacks. “Firstly, how did Atlas manage to contact Felicia again after she gets onto Helios? They say in the book that all her Atlas tech is destroyed and go into great pains to describe how the bandits discarded her personal belongings and ripped off her clothes. There’s no way they’d even know she was alive, especially with how many precautions Jack takes to keep people from knowing she’s there. And they don’t even give any explanation for how Atlas figures out she’s on Helios! Second, why on Earth would Jack bring a woman he didn’t even know onto Helios? Sure, he thinks with his dick most of the time, but he didn’t get to be CEO of Hyperion by accident. Do you have any idea how paranoid he was? I couldn’t even take a piss in peace the whole time I worked for him...”

The next few minutes are filled up with Tim picking apart every inaccuracy and issue with the book, with a healthy dose of him complaining about what a dick Jack had been to work for. No one stops him A good portion of his rant is also taken up by him talking at length about how this was not how sex worked. 

“Has this person ever had sex? Because this is not how it works. I can count on one hand the number of sexual encounters I’ve had, but none of it was ever like this. I mean, for fuck’s sake! I don’t think this person has ever even seen a vagina, much less tried to bring the owner pleasure!” 

The more notes he tacks up on the board, the more disheveled he gets. His sweater is quickly discarded, his hair comes out of its ponytail, and his shirt becomes untucked. Sasha and Fiona can be heard laughing uproariously at various points throughout the video.

“Also! The creatures!” Tim jabs a finger into another note. “This author has obviously never spent any time on Pandora because neither varkids nor skags act anything like this!” He turns briefly away from the board, gesturing to someone offscreen. “Joining me to talk about these inaccuracies is Sir Alistair Hammerlock, whose sister I am both very attracted to and incredibly afraid of!”

“I would very much prefer not to speak of my sister.” Sir Hammerlock walks in, looking a tad uncomfortable. “Saying her name tends to summon her. Like some sort of witch.”

“Then let’s talk about skags and varkids and how they’ll kill you!” Tim says brightly, with an almost unhinged smile. 

“Well, that is something I’m more comfortable with.”

Sir Hammerlock launches into a speech about the finer points of skag and varkid biology and behavior. Not all of it is relevant to Tim’s critiques. Most of it is not relevant to Tim’s critiques. But it gives Tim some time to collect himself and look less like an insane professor. And Sir Hammerlock seems so delighted to be talking about the fauna of Pandora.

“In conclusion,” Tim says when Sir Hammerlock has finished. “Please don’t try any of what you read in this book. You will die. Painfully. Probably screaming.”

“Yes. Quite.” Sir Hammerlock nods, glancing at the notes Tim has tacked up and Tim’s still rather disheveled appearance. “I’ll be seeing myself out.”

“We’ll be sending your payment in the mail!” Vaughn calls after him. Tim turns his gaze back to the camera, gleeful and giddy once more.

“This book is so bad.” He giggles. “I hate it so much. Which is what makes this next part even better.”

“Should I get out the trashcan?” Sasha asks. 

“Yes. It is time.” Tim’s smile grows. Sasha appears with a large metal trash bin, which she deposits in front of Tim. Tim drops the book into the trash bin and Fiona appears to squirt some sort of liquid inside. It’s quickly clear that this liquid was lighter fluid, as when Tim strikes a match and drops it into the trashcan a pillar of flame shoots up. 

“The evil has been cleansed!” Tim cackles, sounding eerily like Jack. He’s illuminated eerily by the raging flames and actually looks a bit menacing. The camera cuts off after this, presumably so that they can put out the fire. 

[secular-jew]

Zio Upbringings and Kvetchings in the Trumpian era

Zio Upbringings and Kvetchings in the Trumpian era.

I'm an American Jew who has does not suffer from moral wavering. I'm also an American Reform Jew that is neither Kashrut nor Kosher-observant.

My synagogue growing up was located in the the Boston suburbs, nestled amidst Protestant communities and dotted with Jews who somehow landed a port shy of Ellis Island. Attended shul almost exclusively during important Holidays and Hebrew school weekends through Bar-Mitvah.

At the age of 10, I remember the start to the Soviet-armament-supplied multilateral Arab-state war against Israel, a Pearl-Harbor style event lasting three harrowing weeks and almost wiping Israel off the map.

Word spread fast to reach North American Jews some 5,500 miles (8,800 kms) to the west. I remember hearing the tragic news Saturday morning during Yom Kippur services. The attack occupied 100% of the Sermon delivered by our Rabbi, who was known as Moses because he actually looked and spoke like Moses. He worried aloud that this could portend the end of our homeland, but concluded that the spark of Zionism was eternal: something that could never be extinguished by modern would-be colonizers. This thought that resonated deeply inside my soul.

This was thankfully a war that Israel survived, but was also a battle that Golda Meir ultimately lost, as she resigned just 1 month following her Labor Party's 1974 election win. Remember her final words as Israel's leader: "I have reached the end of my road."

My first physical intersection with Israel occurred in my late teens and early 20's, when I visited extensively what was the modern chapter of an 4,000-year old ancient Jewish story. Exploring 1979-1982 Israel meant stints to some obvious places; Jerusalem, Tel-Aviv, Haifa, Jaffa, Tiberius, and Eilat, Sinai (including a climb up/down Mt Sinai), the northern Golan Heights, the donut-hole known as Hebron, and the Dome of the Rock, the Jew's oldest extant relic. This is the place where Abraham is said to submitted to God's request that he sacrifice his son. Strange how this shrine has now submitted to a colonialist Islamic overlord.

Then came the Kibbutz experience, which meant living the communal lifestyle in Lower Galilee, sleeping on cots in the international guest quarters, up at 4:30am transported out to the fields, and picking pears until it got so hot, you felt like you were standing on the side of the sun.

All well worth the effort as the work day ended around lunch, at which point, we ate a lot of hummus and squeezed copious quantities of ruby-red Israeli grapefruits chilling in large stainless steel refrigerators. After lunch, we cooled down in the community pool, and in the evenings, hung with our Israeli contemporaries while listening to Bob Marley or the Doors, and smoking hashish for the first time. These are two experiences that transcended culture. I felt so at home, and even gained a Sabra girlfriend by the name of Rachel רָחֵל‎ (pictured).

In short, what I considered to be a typical Reform Jewish-American upbringing. (Or American-Jewish?)

Fast forward to present political leanings. Raised a JFK-liberal (liberal in its true meaning; rooted in idea-tolerance and acceptance of diverse views).

As a middle-schooler, I recollect being enamored by McGovern, although not sure exactly how or why. We were all indoctrinated into believing Nixon (one of the greatest friends to Israel, not something I had any clue about) was innately evil. Looking back at that period now, my political stylings appear to have been crafted mainly by academia, the news media, and my peers - all who seemed driven by a sanitized, 1980's version of TDS that could have been called: 'Nixon Derangement Syndrome.'

Once legal age, I was a 'de rigeur' Democrat, which thankfully lasted only a few short minutes. Not able to cast a vote in the 1976 election, I remember nonetheless favoring Jimmy Carter, a folksy down-to-earth ex-peanut-farmer who seemed very popular in the state of Massachusetts where I grew up. Carter morphed into nothing less than a clueless and spineless "progressive" who oversaw the dismantling of principled American leadership.

In high school, a few of us in the dormitory got to stay up late every night to watch "The Iran Crisis–America Held Hostage: Day "xxx" (where xxx represented the number of days that Iranians held the occupants of our U.S. Embassy hostage). The only TV in the building was located in the dorm-masters living room. I watched sitting next to my hall-mate Abdullah Hussein, the same person who became the King of Jordan and who sits on the Hashemite apartheid throne today. We had many discussions in which I defended Israel and lauded her accomplishments in defeating Arab imperialism, while Abdullah retorted with accusations of Jewish occupation and bloodlust at Deir Yassin. I did not have enough knowledge of the incident or of earlier examples of Arab genocide (such as the Hebron massacre and other Jewish genocides) to counter-punch effectively.

During my college years, I tended towards Democrat "moral" policies and candidates, until that goofy Georgian came along. At first, I naively admired Carter's straightforward folksy persona. But eventually, the President’s peanut incompetence drove me to #WalkAway from a party-lone Democrat.

I was proud of myself for making an independent decision (pun intended) and have little idea if any of my peers followed suit, but suffice to say, I have voted forcefully against Democrats up and down the ticket pretty much ever since, with a few exceptions. I consider Trump an pragmatic Independent masquerading as a Republican, not dissimilar to Democrat Bloomberg - who as Mayor of NYC masqueraded as a Republican.

Much as my odium for Carter drove me to #Jexit and advocate for Reagan, my contempt for Obama's virulently anti-America values drove me to become a self-assertive 'deplorable.' Between Reagan and Trump, every other voting-booth decision appeared to present itself as largely a Hobson's choice between a lesser of two evils.

Although Trump possesses virtually no tact and represents the antithesis of my personal style, I appreciate the skill and speed with which he accomplishes things, from building tall luxury residential condos -- to creating a global brand, to the refurbishment of Wolman's Rink in Central Park. His support of Israel, unlike his predecessors, is legion, documented, and consistent. Trump not only moved the Embassy to its rightful place, not only installed an incredible Ambassador, not only praises Israel at every turn, he constantly rebukes Israel's enemies (who should be everyone's enemies). I love that Israel renamed the Golan Heights in his honor. It's almost better than getting the Rec Room in the Ft. Lauderdale condo named after someone rich in your extended family.

Today? There's no political party for me. The Democrats are a shrill hodgepodge of looney-tunes and ill-tolerant blabbermouths who are given way too much airtime on CNN and what I now call MSLSD (aka, MSDNC).

In terms of policy, On social issues like marriage equality, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Liberal. On local/national fiscal issues, I'm a decided Conservative. On international affairs, I'm a Hawk who majored in International Relations while attending Sciences-Po in Paris (an excuse to massively inhale croque-monsieurs) and firmly believe the US had relevant ethical global leadership responsibilities, a mantle given up by Europe. This meant leading from the front, not from behind. My philosophy became characterized by the notion that appeasement of tyrannies led by autocrats or theocrats was a policy doomed to failure, proven again and again throughout every civilization. Appeasement in the face of aggression has led to more death and destruction, and more insecurity, not less.

It's becoming evident, sadly, that history promises to repeat. Why? This seems to happen in a matter of a few generations. Case in point: Millennials (aka snowflakes) who are too far removed from the trauma of warfare to comprehend evil. Millennials steeped and indoctrinated in re-written and falsified academic narratives. Millennials who virtue signal intolerantly through the lens of victimization. The generation that seems to have lost a sense of moral courage and severed any emotional ties to the 'never-forget' tragedies that are meant to not be forgotten.

My thoughts on our homeland:

I'm a devout 2-state (Israel-Jordan) Zionist as per the 1917 Balfour Declaration and affirmed by the 1920 San Remo Conference (attended by Chaim Weizmann). I see Israel as an inherently Jewish state in its DNA, but which is secular in its jurisprudence.

Next year in Jerusalem.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 19)

Author’s note: This one took a bit longer than I expected to edit, but it’s an important part! I hope you guys like it. Let me know what you think. :)

Warnings: illness mention, injury mention, arguing, panic, food mention

Word count: 2867

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

Roman had been rather distracted in his classes lately, and to be honest, it was starting to affect his work. In his defense, he felt that no one would be able to blame him if they knew what was going on. Finding Patton, a not-quite-five-inch-tall, half-drowned, sick and scared mouse-man who had to be nursed back to health and whose trust had to be painstakingly earned, was something that he felt plenty of people would consider distracting. Roman would argue that he was dealing with it very well, thank you very much.

Of course, it wasn’t as if he could just tell people what was going on—and they wouldn’t believe him, anyway, even if he wanted to do that—so his professors were just getting very annoyed with him lately, assuming he was just slacking off and not paying attention. (Okay, so maybe he wasn’t paying as much attention as he could have, but again, tiny, sick mouse-men were distracting!)

So, Roman was already in a foul mood when he got home from his morning classes on Thursday.

He let himself into his and Logan’s apartment and closed the door behind him. He leaned his head back against the wood with a heavy sigh, then pushed himself off of it and walked out into the kitchen. He put his backpack in its usual spot in the corner and stretched, reaching up towards the ceiling with a groan.

“Long morning?” asked Logan, looking up from where he was scribbling in a notebook.

“You could say that,” Roman sighed. He glanced at the living room, silently debated for a second, and then walked towards the doorway. He didn’t know if Patton would appreciate seeing him; and sure, they were going to see each other when they ate lunch either way; but he just wanted to say hello and to check on the little guy. Plus, Logan had mentioned that Patton should become more at ease as he grew accustomed to their presence. He couldn’t grow accustomed to them if they always stayed away.

All Roman really wanted was for Patton to feel safe. To know that they weren’t going to hurt him.

With this in mind, Roman entered the room. He knocked quietly on the doorframe just before he did so, wanting to give Patton a warning. He could imagine that a giant—which he was, from Patton’s perspective—suddenly bursting in might be rather startling.

“Hey, Pat,” he said, putting on his best smile. Patton was on the table, bundled up in all his blankets, but his arms were free. He was drawing, the little box of supplies Roman had given him at his side.

Patton looked up at him.

“How was your morning?” he asked.

Patton shrugged, twiddling with the colored pencil lead he held in one hand.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but I really like your new outfit. You look nice.”

Patton glanced down at himself, shifting. Roman couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“It’s pretty remarkable you know, that you can put together a whole outfit like that in a day,” Roman continued, and he meant it.  “Did you stay up all night working on it? Did you get enough sleep?”

Patton looked away, seeming a little awkward now. He shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he backtracked, his heart sinking, “or to bother you. I just wanted to say I’m impressed.”

Patton glanced up at him. Maybe Roman was just seeing what he wanted to see, but he thought he saw a hint of pride in Patton’s eyes.

“Anyway, lunch is soon. I’ll leave you alone for a bit ’til then.” He gave Patton a little wave and went back out into the kitchen. Logan was still sitting there, at the table, bent over his notebook. Roman sat down heavily next to him.

Logan looked up and regarded him for a moment. “What would you like for lunch?” he asked. “I can cook today.”

“I don’t care. Whatever’s easiest, I suppose.”

Logan nodded and got up, leaving his notebook and pencil on the table. As he flipped it shut and went to prepare lunch, Roman caught a glimpse of one of the pages. Frowning, he pulled it over and reopened it. He read the contents of the page in a heavy silence.

A moment passed before Roman picked up the notebook and walked over to where Logan was standing at the counter.

“Ah, Roman, would you mind handing me the—.”

“What the hell is this?” Roman asked, waving the notebook under Logan’s nose.

“One of my notebooks,” Logan said, frowning. “I would appreciate if you didn’t touch my personal effects.” He moved to take it back, but Roman held the book just out of reach. Logan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason for this childish exchange?”

Roman huffed at him and opened the notebook to a particular page. It held a rough sketch of what at first glance seemed to be a human, until one saw the long tail. The body and each limb were marked with measurements, and there were notes written in small script on the side. Data and observations and questions. About Patton.

“You’re studying him!” Roman snapped, keeping his volume low so that Patton wouldn’t overhear.

Logan seemed confused. “I am afraid that I do not see the issue. As a member of the scientific community, it is imperative to attempt to further humanity’s knowledge of the universe as much as possible. Even putting that aside, it is important to understand Patton as best as possible in order to determine how to help him.”

“He’s not some test subject in a lab!”

“I know that, Roman. I have neither harmed Patton nor pressured him to provide any information that he did not want to provide.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t want you measuring him.”

“I took those measurements when we first brought him here,” Logan admitted. He turned off the stove so that what he was cooking would not burn. “Not only as scientific data—which is, regardless of Patton’s personhood, important to collect—but also in case it became necessary in the future.” He was starting to sound agitated. “Had we been the ones to make him clothes, or needed to put a cast on one of his limbs, or attempted to as accurately as possible determine a dosage of medicine, or had any other relevant event occurred, these measurements could have been instrume—.”

“Those are excuses,” Roman said, his voice deathly quiet. Logan broke off at his tone. There was a long moment of silence before finally, he spoke again.

“Are you telling me I should not attempt to understand the world around me? Besides, the data I have collected is not of the conventional, experimental sort, but rather a collection of observations, developing hypotheses, and recommendations of future actions based on said hypotheses.”

“Goddamn it, Logan, I’m telling you not to treat Patton like he’s some scientific discovery. He is a person, a sick and hurt person who needs our help. He doesn’t need you seeing him as your ticket to a Nobel Prize, or whatever you’re doing this for. Don’t pretend it’s out of some kind of ‘scientific duty’ or that you’re doing it to help him.”

Logan reached for his notebook once more, but he unsurprisingly failed to snatch it. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “I can’t just… not document my findings.”

“You can learn about him the normal way,” Roman said. “Like any normal human being learns about other people. As an equal. Not something to be studied.”

Logan looked towards the other room, towards the wall behind which they both knew Patton was. “Perhaps I have been a little overly engrossed in understanding him,” Logan finally sighed. “At first, at least. Although I do maintain that my notes are invaluable data.”

Roman figured that this was about as close as he would get to Logan admitting he was wrong about this. He’d take it for now, if only because he didn’t want to keep arguing. He slipped the little notebook into his inside jacket pocket, ignoring the hurt look Logan gave him at the action. “Let’s just have lunch.”

…

Lunch was a somewhat tense affair.

Patton seemed to pick up on it, probably from Logan’s part. Roman was using his usual cheerful, gentle tone towards the “mouse-man”, looking for all the world as if nothing was wrong. Logan sometimes forgot how good of an actor Roman was.

Logan himself, meanwhile, was only picking at his spaghetti. He was doing his best to act normally, too, but it was difficult.

After a while of mostly being left out of the conversation—which was, admittedly, more just Roman speaking and Patton occasionally nodding or saying a single quiet word in response than an actual conversation—he heard Roman say, “I hope you don’t mind if I leave early. I have a meeting to go to, unfortunately.” Roman stood up, empty bowl in one hand. He looked apologetic. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he promised. And he left.

With Roman gone, a little of the tension Logan felt was lifted. The college student shifted, setting his half-finished bowl of spaghetti on his lap. He looked over at the small being before him, the impossibly small person. He was still eating, his actions guarded as always.

“We’ll have to get some more suitable dishware soon,” Logan commented when Patton was almost done eating, trying to be conversational and get rid of the awkwardness from earlier. Patton had his fork, yes, but they only had so many bottlecaps. And other forms of dishware would be easier to clean than something with so many grooves.

…

Patton glanced up when the human spoke, his fork pausing halfway between the bottlecap and his mouth. Logan looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps Roman and I could purchase some doll furniture tomorrow.”

Patton dropped his fork. It landed at the side of the bottlecap with a quiet tink that Patton barely heard.

“—tton?” Logan’s voice said above him.

Patton’s gaze very slowly rose to Logan’s face. He could feel his heart thudding, pounding like a frantic drum in his chest.

….

Logan jolted in alarm as the tiny person suddenly shot to his feet and darted away from him, his gait unsteady but hurried.

Except… there was nowhere to run. Patton was still on top of a table. “Where are you—?”

Logan got up quickly. Patton had staggered to the other side of the table; but trapped and clearly without a plan, he turned back to hide behind a stack of books that sat near the cage.

Logan took a split-second pause before he slowly lowered himself to be eye-level with the stack of books. “Patton?” he called very softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

There was a long silence. Patton stayed hidden. Logan didn’t move, knowing he needed a gentler touch.

“Please—I want to help, but I don’t know how I have upset you. If you tell me, I’ll know not to do it again.”

“I’m not a doll!” Patton suddenly cried out, still hidden.

“I know that,” Logan said, baffled. “Why would I believe you to be one?”

“I—I’m not a d-doll, I’m a—I’m a person.”

“No one here believes you to be a doll,” Logan affirmed calmly, although his mind was racing. He didn’t like the implications that this development had for what Patton might have been through before they found him. Of he and his roommate, Logan was the less creative, but his imagination was quickly supplying ideas of what truly traumatic experiences could have caused such a knee-jerk reaction, such terror, at the mere idea of being seen as a doll.

But what had set Patton off? Logan thought about what had happened right before the “mouse-man” took off. He’d only been talking about potential dishware for Patton.

…About potentially using doll furniture for it.

Ah.

“My apologies, Patton,” the college student said, and he truly was apologetic. “It was not my intention to upset you. You can stay hidden if you so desire. I won’t force you to come out. However, you still have more food over here if you want it. It is important for you to maintain your caloric intake, especially during your recovery.”

There was still no sign that the tiny person was going to come out any time soon.

Logan wasn’t sure what to do here. Part of him wanted to leave, let Patton come out and eat on his own while he was gone, but in his current emotional state Logan couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t try another escape attempt. Especially while as panicked as he was, such an attempt could end very badly for Patton.

“Patton,” Logan said softly, trying again. “I would never treat you as a doll. Neither would Roman. We know that you are an intelligent, sentient being and would not wish you to be otherwise. You are free to be yourself, I swear.”

Logan could see Patton’s fingertips, curled around the edge of one of the books. He decided to wait.

After a few minutes, Patton reemerged, still more than half-hidden by the books, but visible now.

Logan glanced at him, but didn’t hold eye contact, as he knew that that might come across as intimidating. He just continued to wait hopefully.

“You—you’re really not going to make me… make me be a doll?”

“I promise.”

“But… but you still won’t let me go.”

Logan sighed. “The only reason we are keeping you here is because you are not well enough to be alone. As soon as you are well enough, you may leave. Roman and I are doing all we can to make you as comfortable as possible. If you have any requests, all you have to do is ask. If we are doing something wrong, inadvertently making you uncomfortable in some way, all you have to do is let us know.”

There was a long silence after Logan finished speaking. Then Patton closed his eyes tightly for a second, as if steeling himself; and despite how much he was trembling, he deliberately approached the human. He settled himself by his food again, only marginally further from Logan than he had been before.

Logan couldn’t keep the relief from his face as he and Patton resumed their meal.

…

“I request that you return my notebook,” Logan said as soon as Roman walked through the door.

Roman shot him a glare, but he seemed too tired to argue, so he just took the notebook out of his jacket pocket and threw it at Logan, who barely managed to catch it.

“I’m going to take a nap.”

“Roman, wait,” Logan said as Roman started to walk away. “Would you at least read what I have written before you judge me so harshly?”

“I already did,” Roman said pointedly, facing away from him. “You know that.”

“All of it?”

“What do you mean, all of it?”

Logan opened his notebook, taking a pen out of his pocket. He flipped to the page he wanted, and he marked something down in bold letters. Then, he flipped through the rest of the pages, exaggerating how loudly he turned each one, knowing Roman could hear him doing so. Roman turned around. He held out his hand, his expression hard.

Logan handed it over and watched as Roman leafed through it, scanning over each page.

“I was never going to publish anything,” Logan said quietly. “You do know that, correct? I assure you, although I may have been excited at the discovery of Patton at first in a more purely scientific sense, over the past few days, as I learned more about him and realized that he contains a sentience on par with that of ourselves, my concern has grown more and more to be solely for his well-being. The other notes and observations I recorded will never be given to others, and I will never treat him as anything other than a person.”

…

Roman read through the notebook, his eyebrows drawn together. After the page Roman had seen with the sketch, measurements, and physiological observations, were various additional pages labeled things like ‘Diet’ (he noted the underlined phrase ‘very fond of cheese’), ‘Health’ (here were noted Patton’s injuries, symptoms that Logan had noticed, and how they were improving), and ‘Topics and Behaviors to Avoid’. Roman stopped at that last one. Logan had listed, in neat bullet points, things that might make Patton uncomfortable or scared. The list included ‘grabbing’, ‘yelling or loud speech’, ‘prolonged eye contact’, as well as numerous other points. At the end, in ink that had barely dried, was a single word in capitalized, bolded letters: ‘DOLLS’.

Roman looked up to see Logan watching him in silence. He handed back the notebook.

“Okay. So maybe you haven’t been treating him like a lab rat,” he relented. “But why write ‘dolls’? Could you explain that to me?”

Logan glanced towards the other room, as if worried that Patton might have overheard their whispered argument.

“Certainly.”

...

Tag list: @arc852 @thats-so-crash @romanasanders @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @anyay666 @bluebloodstains @nightmarejasmine @side-for-sides @infinitesimal-grey @cobythinks @justanotherpurplebutterfly @punsterterry @dylan-winchesters-blog @wolfie-kinz @i-like-cookiez @smol-jar-of-pickles @musicwithalex @brookeisanerd @scorching-scotch @of-swords-and-princes @thepoolofthedead @a-black-pegasus @brooky71 @downrightdanny @rainbow-sides  @anxiousvirgilsanderss @picklesandbeyond @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @gaylotusthatexists @quoth-the-sparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @faithfreedom @heck-im-lost @gayfandomsaremything

[sciencespies]

Birds and bats have strange gut microbiomes—probably because they can fly

https://sciencespies.com/biology/birds-and-bats-have-strange-gut-microbiomes-probably-because-they-can-fly/

Birds and bats have strange gut microbiomes—probably because they can fly

A Kenyan fruit bat, Epomophorus wahlbergi. Credit: Holly Lutz

At a time when kombucha is commonplace on cafe menus and “probiotic-fortified” has become the newest health buzzword, our guts have never been more relevant. With good reason, humans have begun paying more attention to the bacteria living in our guts—our microbiomes. The microbiome helps fight disease and aid digestion, playing a pivotal role in many creatures’ wellbeing, from canines to primates to rodents. But for the first time— largely in part due to museum collections—scientists were able to compare the guts of mammals, birds, reptiles, and amphibians alike. It turns out that not all species rely so heavily on their gut microbiomes. In fact, birds and bats have oddly similar microbiomes, and neither appear to rely on them much. “Why?” you may ask: to accommodate their ability to fly, scientists think.

“If you’re carrying a lot of bacteria in your gut, it can be pretty heavy and may take resources away from you,” says Holly Lutz, a research associate at Chicago’s Field Museum and postdoctoral researcher at the University of California San Diego. “So if you’re an animal that has really high energetic demands, say because you’re flying, you may not be able to afford to carry all those bacteria around, and you may not be able to afford to feed them or deal with them.”

“When we first started this project, I thought that it would make sense that we’d see similar associations between animals and their gut microbes when the animals shared a similar diet. Our pie-in-the-sky idea was that flight could impose a similar type of selection on which microbes animals host. What was shocking was that we didn’t find that birds and bats share a similar microbiome per se, but rather that both lack a specific relationship with microbes,” says Se Jin Song, the study’s co-first author from UC San Diego.

To figure out the relationship between gut microbiomes and these vastly different species, Lutz and her colleagues got down and dirty: analyzing the fecal samples of around 900 species of animals with a backbone—the first study of its kind to analyze both mammal and bird microbial diversity on a global-scale.

A phylosymbiosis tree diagram demonstrates the wide variety of gut microbiome composition in bats and birds (marked with black bars) compared to other mammalian species. Credit: UC San Diego Health Sciences and mBio

It was a large, collaborative effort, bringing together researchers, museum collections, and zoo directors from around the world. Like something you’d see in an Indiana Jones movie, Lutz ventured into the dark bowels of remote Ugandan and Kenyan caves with a flashlight in tow and scrambled up rocky walls to collect samples from African bats.

Once all the samples were gathered, scientists used high throughput genetic sequencing to process them. DNA was extracted from individual cells using specialized detergent and filtration methods, after which scientists could target a specific gene common to all bacteria in order to “barcode” bacterial communities present within each sample. By pooling samples from individual hosts—referred to as “libraries”—they were then able to sequence samples en masse and make the broad comparisons that formed the foundation of the study.

Scientists expected to see gut microbiomes line up according to the family trees of the animals in which they live. In general, animals that are closely related to each other have similar gut microbiomes, because they evolved together—a pattern referred to by scientists as phylosymbiosis.

That’s why they were surprised to see that bats’ gut microbiomes had little in common with their fellow mammals. Bats’ gut microbiomes were actually more similar to birds than any other group. The takeaway? That in birds and bats, there’s little relationship between how closely related species are and how similar their microbiomes are.

The link between birds and bats isn’t in their ancestry, but in their lifestyles. Birds and bats are vastly different and only distantly related, but they both independently evolved the ability to fly. Lutz has a hunch that birds’ and bats’ need to be light for flight changed their guts. Their intestinal tracts are much shorter than those of comparably-sized land mammals and carry far fewer bacteria—giving flying animals less stuff to haul around. There’s also the possibility that their guts aren’t providing the necessary food to bacteria to maintain the symbiotic (mutually beneficial) exchange that would make living there beneficial to bacteria.

In addition to having shorter guts and fewer bacteria, the bacteria that birds and bats do have tend to vary a lot. For all mammalian groups besides bats, there were visible patterns of specific bacteria found in closely-related groups. However, with birds and bats you see all types of individual bacteria scattered across almost haphazardly. “It’s almost like they’re just picking up whatever’s around them and they don’t really need their microbes to help them in ways that we do,” says Lutz.

Scientists hope that learning more about the nuances of other animals’ microbiomes can tell us more about our own. The species that don’t rely as much on their gut microbiomes can provide a particular insight. “If we ever are putting ourselves in some kind of extreme situation where we’re disrupting our microbiome, there is something that we can learn from animals that don’t need their microbiomes as much,” reflects Lutz.

Lutz notes that this discovery wouldn’t have been possible without museum collections from around the world. Specimens of bird and bat guts tucked away in cryogenic chambers filled with liquid nitrogen in the Field Museum’s Collections Resource Center were pulled out to help provide the broad samples needed for a study of this size.

“The scope of this paper —in terms of species that we sampled— is really remarkable. The diversity of collaborators that came together to make this study happen shows how much we can achieve when we reach out and have these big and inter-institutional collaborations,”says Lutz.

Explore further

Bats don’t rely on gut bacteria the way humans do

More information: Se Jin Song et al, Comparative Analyses of Vertebrate Gut Microbiomes Reveal Convergence between Birds and Bats, mBio (2020). DOI: 10.1128/mBio.02901-19

Journal information: mBio

Provided by Field Museum

Citation: Birds and bats have strange gut microbiomes—probably because they can fly (2020, January 7) retrieved 7 January 2020 from https://phys.org/news/2020-01-birds-strange-gut-microbiomesprobably.html

This document is subject to copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study or research, no part may be reproduced without the written permission. The content is provided for information purposes only.

#Biology

[theonyxpath]

Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.

— Hippocrates

The God-Machine is sick. The God-Machine has always been sick. The God-Machine will, someday, become sick. It’s hard to tell with an entity that so flagrantly violates causality. Ultimately, the Contagion is as universal as the God-Machine that hosts it. There is scarcely a place on Earth the God-Machine hasn’t touched at one time or another, and therefore there’s scarcely a place on Earth that couldn’t host an outbreak of the Contagion. All scholars of the Contagion can really say is that history is replete with breakouts, moments where cultures and even reality itself collapsed around a point, or a person, or a practice. 

Accounts of unexplainable events on such a scale stretch back as far as ancient Mesopotamia, where we first know of writing as a common practice, and therefore where written history begins. Some believe that the flood myth itself, present in so many cultures, reflects a massive, ancient outbreak, one which nearly ended the world, that is only preserved in oral histories. Not every historical record of a cataclysmic event represents the Contagion breaking through into our world through the vector of the God-Machine’s Infrastructure, of course. Earthquakes, volcanoes, meteors, and all manner of perfectly natural disasters are capable of presenting as an out-of-context problem in ancient records or literature. The Sworn, however, are not an entirely modern phenomenon themselves; contemporaries of these events, ancient or otherwise, did what they could to stem the Contagion’s spread — and must have seen some success, or, their modern descendants say, they would not be around to talk about it. 

Five outbreaks in particular, however, are most relevant to the modern day, and specifically to the five factions of the Sworn, some of whom can claim traditions (if not contiguous organization) stretching back more than two thousand years. None of the factions sprang fully-formed into being. Instead, they were the result of like-minded individuals coming together in the wake of apocalyptic events, and together creating an idea that would, despite lurking only in the shadows of the world, endure the test of time. When the Sworn argue amongst themselves, more often than not these five outbreaks are the ones cited as proof that one faction or another has the right of it. 

San Lorenzo Colossal Head 11: 900 BCE

The Head is massive, with details finer than any other colossal head. Even Tu, the last Olmec king seated on a crumbling throne, didn’t know which of his ancestors commissioned it. The Head had always existed, bearing the likeness not of a king, but a god. This divinity was not named, not known like the Dragon or the Feathered Serpent. It was not listed amongst the great Eight, or even any of the lesser Gods his people revered. Yet it sucked up all prayers and all life, leaving the island in the middle of the Coatzacoalcos River barren. Tu could see the future, full of desolation and endings, as clearly as he could see the gleaming metal and polished, ivory human bone behind the head’s stone facade.

The San Lorenzo Colossal Head 11 is a secret of archeology. While San Lorenzo Colossal Heads 1 to 10 are on display for tourists, the eleventh head was sequestered away when testing revealed metal alloys undiscovered by man, and elements not on the periodic table, laced in the stone. All public records of it were suppressed, though rumors and pictures survive on the Deep Web. Attempts to carbon-date it consistently fail. The head’s features are Olmec, with a broad nose and full lips, although it is more androgynous than other Colossal Heads. Large discs stretch the ear lobes, and the mouth gapes open wide as if it hungers. Its headband is incredibly detailed, full of maze-like patterns and tableaus of worship. Efforts to document the scenes portrayed in the headband have likewise failed. The sheer volume of detail, untraceable lines and figures wedged together, wears on the observer’s mind. Since its discovery, archeologists have identified 1) a city of curving spires rising towards each other from the ground, 2) human figures worshiping a towering creature with arms so large they reach the ground, and 3) a head resembling Colossal Head 11, mouth opened wide as lines of humans walk into its maw. A handful of observers have recorded different tableaus, alternating widely between a beautifully ordered utopia and a barren wasteland, but the three above are the only ones seen by more than one person. Mages, believing the Head to represent an Exarch and doing their own investigation, have had more luck.

The Head hails from the first Olmec City circa 1150 BCE. No amount of divination can reveal its creator, and none of the known San Lorenzo kings match its physical features. It’s the tallest of eleven San Lorenzo heads, at twelve feet, and impeccably detailed. The Head spoke when it was finished and unveiled, delivering a message in the first language. Priests flocked to the Head, always rushing back to the safety of their known gods once they gleaned the Head held both the end and salvation of all things. Subsequent kings ordered it buried, placed in a temple overlooking the city, and thrown in the river. None recorded its message, for those who understood could not remember it, and those who remembered could not understand it. It sucked up prayers intended for the true gods, drove kings to madness and greatness, and slowly spelled out demise. This was its Contagion: it trapped the city between the erratic extremes of obsession until it consumed all else. The skills of stonemasonry and agriculture, passed down for five centuries, faded against the presence of the Head. People forgot to eat. Children starved in their baskets as mothers were so closeto deciphering the god’s riddle that all else needed to wait. Kings sat on their thrones, so lost in thought that they were unable to govern the city, the answer lying forever just beyond their grasp. The first Olmec went into decline and was abandoned around 900 BCE, dying on the soft whisper of obsession consuming everything else.

The First Language

The first language is the code that governs the God-Machine’s programming, the Celestial Ladder, and the essence of Creation. It transcends time and space, and those who first mastered it tore it into a thousand pieces so none could follow them on this path to ascendant power. Azothic Memory retains fragments of it though, allowing Prometheans to master the dominant language of their surrounding as the first language is the root of alllanguages. This also grants all Prometheans +2 on checks to identify the San Lorenzo strain, and gives the Tammuz a further +1 bonus to resist infection.

Survivors took the Head’s feverous message with them as they left the ruins of the first city. They still did not understand its message, nor could they remember it any more clearly than a dream fading fast against the world’s light. None of them had even been alive when the Head first made its appearance, yet the Head reached for them through the stitches in time, taking them back to that first and only time it spoke. It carried on in their blood and wormed its way into their minds: The message must be understood. Where they went, Contagion followed. Sculptors throughout Olmec civilization worked bloodied fingers to the bone, sacrificing life and sanity, in an effort to re-create the Head of God. Not until the fall of La Venta, the last great Olmec city, did this strain of San Lorenzo 11 stop. 

Unfortunately, the disease lingered and mutated in the earth itself. It re-emerged when the Aztecs built their city of Ten?chtitlan near the site of the lost city. They did not create any Colossal Heads, but instead turned to blood and sacrifice to decipher the message. They came close too, warriors and kings self-mutilating to read the God’s portents in the enlightenment of pain. They thrived as they solved the paradox of the message, which held both Contagion and its cure, and created an empire that spanned the Valley of Mexico. Perhaps in the vast multitudes of time and space, Contagion ended here, five centuries after the first recorded outbreak. Time is also linear though, and whatever progress the Aztecs made was buried alongside them by the cruelty of Hernán Cortés.

The Rosetta Society

The San Lorenzo outbreak spread when the city fell, embedding itself in survivors’ genetic codes and passing through contact in the form of an all-consuming obsession to decipher the message. The Olmecs suffered from it, as did the Aztecs, the Mayans, and Mesoamerican cultures like the Toltecs and the Totonac. So might the Rosetta Society, which claims Mesoamerican origins and certainly exhibits a singular focus on interpreting the meaning behind Contagion, also be infected? The answer is up to the Storyteller. It’s been a thousand years since the Mayans contained the San Lorenzo outbreak, and even Contagion could simply lose its virulence over that time. If it did carry into the Rosetta Society though, the San Lorenzo strain exhibits as the Obsession Condition in addition to the Carrier Condition. Given how insidious the San Lorenzo strain is, exhibiting as mania and eventually leading to a mental breakdown (both common enough in Sworn as it is), neither the Rosetta Society nor the other Sworn have reason to believe they’re infected. 

If the San Lorenzo strain did survive inside the Rosetta Society, it remains hidden from the other Sworn. This could either be due to a mutation of the disease, or because the strain, one of the oldest in the world, has lost some of its virulence and is now easily overlooked. In this case, Sworn might not see it until it’s too late and all of the Rosetta Society is infected, or if they have active cause for suspicion and take a very close look. This hidden strain would reduce the Prometheans’ bonus to recognize it to +1, though the Tammuz do keep their bonus to resist it.

The Mayans had more luck surviving the ages, though they face marginalization and discrimination in contemporary Mexico. But their luck ran dry in deciphering the message. They searched for its meaning in blood, in ball games, and in the stars. They came close in Uxmal, the thrice-built city, where they grasped the last remnants of the San Lorenzo strain and buried it deep within the Magician’s Pyramid. The project consumed four hundred years, with building starting in 600 CE and ending in 1000 CE, and a single night as a magician erected the pyramid to escape a death sentence. It took three pyramids, layered inside each other like eggs within eggs. But finally, it was done: Contagion distilled through blood, earth, and air, and contained within a great, near-impenetrable pyramid. Containment is not a cure, but it sufficed for the Mayan people and no outbreaks of the San Lorenzo strain have been recorded since. If Mages worry what the Spanish might have taken with them when they looted the Magician’s Pyramid during their conquest of Yucatán, that is certainly no fault of the indigenous people.

The Contagion Chronicle is currently on Kickstarter.

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The Hell of Faith: ‘Dreadful Possibility’ and ‘Terrible Reality’ at Once

There is a sense of mounting intensity in the Church. Within the last ten days alone, the following has happened:

Pope Francis and Ahmad Al-Tayyeb, the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar Mosque, signed a “Document on Human Fraternity,” which says that “the diversity of religions” is “willed by God in His wisdom.”

Subsequently, many have reacted, directly or indirectly, to the serious theological questions this document raises. Included among those writing on the subject are Phil Lawler (“Not all religions are part of God’s plan”) and Bishop Athanasius Schneider (“The Gift of Filial Adoption”).

Four days after the joint statement of the Vicar of Christ and the Grand Imam, the former Prefect of the CDF, Gerhard Ludwig Cardinal Müller, published a “Manifesto of Faith” in seven different languages. This very powerful statement has been praised by Bishops (including the aforementioned Bishop Schneider), and by other clergy and laity. But it has also ruffled the feathers of another German Cardinal, the progressivist Walter Cardinal Kasper, whose inter-religious sensibilities appear to have been offended by his more doctrinaire countryman and brother cardinal. In a similitude bound to cause confusion among ecumenists, Cardinal Kasper compared Cardinal Müller to Martin Luther. Moreover, an unsurprising collection of progressivists has gathered to condemn the “Manifesto,” including the Rev. James Martin, who took to Twitter over it.

And only Tuesday, we learned of the publication of a new book by an ostensibly well informed French sociologist claiming that a full eighty percent of the clerics working in the Roman Curia are homosexual.

Difficult times.

Let us turn our attention to one section of Cardinal Müller’s “Manifesto of Faith,” wherein the eminent author considers the basic truths of the four last things. Having mentioned death, judgement, and Heaven, he goes on to state these hard truths concerning hell:

There is also the dreadful possibility that a person will remain opposed to God to the very end, and by definitely refusing His Love, “condemns himself immediately and forever” (CCC 1022). “God created us without us, but He did not want to save us without us” (CCC 1847). The eternity of the punishment of hell is a terrible reality, which — according to the testimony of Holy Scripture — attracts all who “die in the state of mortal sin” (CCC 1035). The Christian goes through the narrow gate, for “the gate is wide, and the way that leads to ruin is wide, and many are upon it” (Mt 7:13).

To keep silent about these and the other truths of the Faith and to teach people accordingly is the greatest deception against which the Catechism vigorously warns. It represents the last trial of the Church and leads man to a religious delusion, “the price of their apostasy” (CCC 675); it is the fraud of Antichrist. “He will deceive those who are lost by all means of injustice; for they have closed themselves to the love of the truth by which they should be saved” (2 Thess 2:10).

Earlier in his “Manifesto,” Cardinal Müller had written of the sad state of ignorance that exists among the faithful. Far from excusing them from their Christian obligations and giving them a free pass to Heaven, that state of ignorance is a danger to their immortal souls: “Today,” wrote His Eminence, “many Christians are no longer even aware of the basic teachings of the Faith, so there is a growing danger of missing the path to eternal life” (emphasis mine). This pastoral concern reminded me of what that great shepherd, Pope Saint Pius X, wrote in his Acerbo Nimis: “It is a common complaint, unfortunately too well founded, that there are large numbers of Christians in our own time who are entirely ignorant of those truths necessary for salvation. … And so Our Predecessor, Benedict XIV, had just cause to write: ‘We declare that a great number of those who are condemned to eternal punishment suffer that everlasting calamity because of ignorance of those mysteries of faith which must be known and believed in order to be numbered among the elect.’”

The “Manifesto” mentions salvation numerous times, and does so in a way that avoids the common errors of our day, errors like presumption, indifferentism (for he associates salvation with Christ and His “Mystical Body,” the Catholic Church), or the soft-core modernism that makes eternal life something natural to man. Evidently, as the above paragraphs on hell would indicate, His Eminence is no disciple of Hans Urs von Balthasar.

In the several paragraphs that follow, I am borrowing very heavily from a polemical piece that my beloved mentor and superior, Brother Francis, M.I.C.M., wrote many years ago. Both to shorten the text and to remove the not-presently-relevant particulars of the polemic, I am applying a very heavy editorial hand.

All the truths about hell belong to those mysteries which are not the proper object of reason. The best that we can do with hell rationally is to show that it is not absurd. The Rationalists make hell absurd to begin with, and then they try to make it empty — or to make believe that it is empty. In a book on Catholic Doctrine by the Very Rev. William Byrne, D.D., published in 1892, hell is defined as “the state or place of those condemned to eternal punishment.”

It is very hard for us to see from reason how any crime of man can ever deserve eternal punishment. “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” is reasonable. When a man kills another man, kill him, but why send him to eternal fire? Why send the unbaptized baby to an everlasting punishment of loss (soon to be explained) for a crime he did not personally commit?

But the hell of Faith is not a punishment for crime, but for sin; and sin adds to crime an entirely new aspect — the aspect of contempt or even hatred of God. It is because the everlasting God commanded “Thou shalt not kill” that murder becomes more than a crime — a sin.

The essence of hell consists in the loss of the Beatific Vision, a punishment common both to hell (proper) and to the Limbo of the unbaptized. The torments of hell (poena sensus) — those punishments for actual sin that are superadded to the pain of loss of heavenly beatitude (the poena damni) — belong to the accidental part of the eternal punishment. They are completely absent from Limbo. With regard to these, the same Father Byrne we have already quoted says:

“All the damned do not suffer alike. The punishment is proportioned to the malice and gravity of their sins. ‘Give unto her double according to her works.’ (Apoc. 18:6.)”

But even the guilt of original sin, by which we inherit a nature lacking the supernatural requirements (and even the supernatural desire) for the Beatific Vision, carries with it the loss of that infinite good. Naturally speaking, that good of heavenly Beatitude can neither be desired nor missed by any creature not reborn by grace.

The souls of unbaptized infants can be naturally happy. Part of their natural happiness consists in a connatural love of God, their Creator — a love and happiness not forfeited as a result of original sin. But these souls have not inherited the primordial state of grace which belonged to Adam before the fall, nor were they regenerated (born again) by the waters of Baptism.

We have, as we might say, an imperfect knowledge of hell which comes from the virtue of Faith. But, just as no man really knows darkness who has not seen the light, no man fully comprehends the doctrine of hell until he has the Beatific Vision. We cannot know hell now any more perfectly than we can know Heaven; and we know about Heaven merely because He Who came down from Heaven has deigned to reveal that truth to us.

If you ask the natural man to describe what to him would be Heaven, he can at best describe a hell, more or less comfortable. For Jesus, our Savior, revealed to us not merely the way to salvation, but the reality itself, and we have to take salvation on His entirely supernatural terms. “Now this is eternal life: That they may know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent” (John 17:3).

And now, I would like to conclude these thoughts on hell with the exact words of Brother Francis, taken from his wonderful book of meditations, The Challenge of Faith:

1. It is possible to imagine a hell that would be incompatible with a merciful, or even with a just God; but that would not be the authentic hell of Scripture, of dogma, and of Faith. 2. The essence of hell is the loss of the Beatific Vision; therefore it is the loss of something whose very reality is known only through faith. 3. Even in hell, not only the justice and wisdom of God, but also His mercy and love must be in evidence. This we cannot see now, but we will see in eternity. No one is punished in hell beyond the measure due to his sins. 4. Where sufficient awareness exists of the danger of being separated from God for all eternity, no other punishment of hell need be emphasized; but the fires and worms of hell must be preached where weakness of faith or its complete absence make light of the loss of God. 5. Without the faith, the best that our nature would desire, would amount to nothing better than a comfortable hell. This is actually most peoples’ conception of a heaven. 6. The first effects of the action of grace is to give us holy desires: hungers and thirsts for things far above this world and all that it can offer. 7. The men of holy desires, alone, understand.

For more on the subject, I point the reader to a longer piece I wrote: “There Is a Hell, and It Makes Perfect Sense.”

Let us, in gratitude, pray for Gerhard Ludwig Cardinal Müller. And let us pray for the Church Universal. The confusion and scandal of these last ten days are nothing compared to what’s coming.

But remember, “he that shall persevere to the end, he shall be saved” (Matt. 24:13).

FEB 13, 2019 Written by: BROTHER ANDRÉ MARIE

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