#re: neither oceans or stars could separate them

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Back to the Future – Glass talks to Swedish actor Rebecca Ferguson about her roles in Dune, Mission: Impossible and the lessons we can learn from spaghetti

Rebecca Ferguson is on location in Budapest, possibly dressed up as a sci-fi high priestess with glowing blue eyes and a three-pronged bouffant. Dune, Denis Villeneuve’s 2020 reinterpretation of David Lynch’s 1984 Frank Herbert adaptation, needs reshoots of its own, so Ferguson is talking to me over the phone in between takes from what sounds like a galaxy far, far away …

In accordance with “soon-to-be-released-Sci-Fi-epic” law, Dune is shrouded in secrecy. As yet there are no behind the scenes featurettes, and no leaked stills to give an insight into Villeneuve’s vision for Ferguson’s character, Lady Jessica, the age-agnostic mother of Timothée Chalamet’s cosmic hero, Paul Atreides.

So, I do the only thing you can do when imagining the new cast of a reboot and attach Ferguson’s disembodied head to the beheaded body of her Lady Jessica predecessor. Et voilà, Rebecca Ferguson: live from Budapest, possibly looking like a futuristic, blue eyed, heavily bouffanted, Lynchian high priestess.

She’s called back from a location with better phone coverage and we’re discussing cities, from the “incredible” (Budapest), to the inhabitable (London, Ferguson’s second home), via LA, which, putting it mildly, fits neither criteria in the 37-year-old’s glowing blue eyes. “The idea of moving to LA has never, ever, ever been on my agenda,” she declares.

The first thing that strikes you about Ferguson is that she’s passionate talking about practically everything. “Look, there are people I love, who love it there … and I get it. When people there look at you and smile, there is a joy,” she pauses, reliving early encounters with LA, and smiles … “And a happiness which is so lovely and endearing and light – but I can’t take it too long. I just want to smoke a cigarette and kind of blow it in someone’s face.” An apology seems on the tip of her tongue, but she decides it would ruin the joke, and merely says, “I don’t actually smoke, by the way.”

She spends much of the year in a Swedish fishing village – “a different world”, she says, possessing all the things she loves: row boats, the ocean, her friends, grilling fish and just the right amount of smiling and joy. Ferguson’s open and only slightly sardonic disdain for the folly of wanton joy suggests, to me, two things. One: that while she clearly loves Sweden, the place of her birth and homeland of her father, the English side of her mother is potent.

And two: the ability to “get in and get out”, as she puts it, remains a priority. As a teen, Ferguson was unknown to the world but famous in Sweden as the star of soap opera Nya Tider. When the show ended and she was 15, she got out. “I studied, had a beautiful child, worked in restaurants, shops, God … in hotels – I did everything.” Everything but act, other than a couple of minor, un-recurring TV roles and student films in exchange for free lunch.

“I never wanted to go to drama school, mainly because I didn’t want to be like every other Swede in film. Not to criticise Lars Norén or … Ingrid Bergman, but all I could think was ‘I don’t want to be a drama student with a fucking purple beret on my head, I don’t want to be like them’. I think, now, looking back, I was just terrified I wasn’t going to get in.”

Eleven years after Nya Tider, Ferguson starred in Swedish language film, A One-Way Trip to Antibes. “And that was the gateway for me.” Soon after she was cast as Queen Elizabeth in BBC period drama The White Queen, which was less a conveyer belt towards ‘the big time’ as it was a treadmill cranked to 11. But playing Queen Elizabeth on the BBC isn’t without its drawbacks – play the role well enough and the whole world will think you’re English.

Being called Rebecca Ferguson probably doesn’t help, and her English is too perfect to be considered a second language. Most of all, though, it’s to do with the version of Englishness that lives so prominently in Ferguson: her mother’s version. “My mother is quintessentially English,” she says. “When she came over to Sweden, words and expressions like ‘whoops-a-daisy, ‘holy moly’ and ‘kerfuffle’ still existed – it’s how she spoke and it became the natural way of speaking for me, too.”

It made Ferguson a convincing Brit, laying the groundwork for the most seamless England/Sweden switcheroo since Ferguson’s own mother integrated so adeptly into her adopted home that, in 1975, she was awarded the ultimate endorsement: appearing on the sleeve of an Abba album. And yet, beyond the whimsical lingo, Ferguson is neither stiff, stoical nor repressed – three fundamentals of Britishness.

On chat-shows, she’s gregarious and tactile and warm, and this confuses people who go by the “if it looks like a Brit and sounds like a Brit …” metric. It’s a little like painting a cat with black and white stripes and saying, “what’s wrong with that zebra and why is it such an outrageous flirt?” “I’ve seen those bloody comments! It’s so weird. It makes me think I should stop touching people altogether, which is sad because, you know … we’re here, we’re together, we’re human beings.”

The problem is, when your wagon’s hitched to a vehicle like Mission: Impossible, where each instalment is an event, and every instalment ends with the promise of another instalment (Episodes 7 and 8 are in the works), chat show appearances are unending. Rumour is that number seven will be filmed in space, which is a worthwhile trade for the talk-show couch merry-go-round, depending on where you stand on heights. “In space? That’s news to me, but with TC nothing surprises me.”

TC is, of course, Mr Mission Impossible: Tom Cruise. “So,” I ask her, would she do it? “I would probably say ‘fuck off’ to that. Heights are my greatest fear and I’m not doing cognitive therapy acting … then again, I never thought I would jump 40 metres off that house in Vienna (Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation). That was bloody terrifying. But I did it … and got to do something that I never thought I would do, so maybe it is all just therapy?”

He’s a force of nature,” Ferguson says. “I’ve never met anyone like him.” There’s a unique fascination around Cruise, due to his personal life and the idea that the line separating him from his Mission Impossible character, Ethan Hunt, has become almost non-existent; that the actor has permanently morphed into the character, who now spends his days playing the role of the actor he once was. Which is a crazy suggestion, obviously, but Cruise is so intensely fascinating that I can’t help such ideas whirl through my head whenever I see him interviewed “out of character”.

I ask Ferguson what it’s like to have a relationship with someone so divisive, who invokes such strong opinions, and whether she feels strangely protective of Cruise. “I don’t think I can. I feel there’s no need to be protective of him. He’s powerful …  just the way he is. I feel like I’m supported by him all the time.” Nor does she tire of being asked about him. “He’s an interesting person to talk about, and a very interesting person to get to know.

The boyish charm, the need to always be doing fun things for everyone while making sure everyone feels safe … Sometimes we’ll start laughing and unbuckling our seatbelts just to fuck with him,” which weirdly is the only Tom Cruise anecdote I think I’ll ever need. “We’ve had some beautiful moments filming together.”

On which note, with our allotted 30 minutes long expired, I ask Ferguson what ‘together’ means to her, but she seems to have re-entered whatever foreign galaxy she started the interview in, and the question gets chewed up on its way over. She responds, “spaghetti?” which, after some clarification and deliberation, we decide to stick with, despite the kerfuffle. “Because togetherness is the opposite of isolation and segregation,” and nothing represents the importance of togetherness like than the profoundly sad sight of a lone strand of spaghetti.

by Charlie Navin-Holder

[cecilspeaks]

173 - The Hundred Year Play

Quoth the raven: [bird noises] Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, some exciting news from the world of theatre! The 100 year play is about to reach its final scene. Yes, this is the play that has been running continuously since 1920. Written by a brilliant playwright Hannah Hershman, designed to take exactly 100 years to perform. And the tireless volunteer of the Night Vale Players Playhouse have been going through those scenes, one after another, for decade upon decade. There’s little time to rehearse, for each hour brings new scenes and each scene will only be performed once the play moves on, in order to keep up with the tight schedule needed to execute the entire script before a century elapses.

It is a monumental work of theatre, but like all work, it must some day cease. Today, specifically. I will be in attendance at that historic moment, when the final scene is performed and the curtain closes on the 100 year play.   More soon, but first the news.

We bring you the latest on the lawsuit “The estate of Franklin Chen vs. the city of Night Vale”. As you know, this case has grown so large and complicated that I’ve not had the time to discuss it in my usual community radio broadcasts. But instead, have started a true crime podcast called “Bloody Laws, Bloody Claws: The Murder of Frank Chen”, in which I strive to get to the truth of just what happened on that fateful night when five-headed dragon Hiram McDaniels met Frank Chen, and then later Frank Chen’s body was found covered in burns and claw marks. It’s a confounding mystery. The Sheriff’s Secret Police announce that it seems really complicated and they’re not even gonna try to solve that sucker. “Oh, what?” a Secret Police spokesman muttered at an earthworm he found in his garden. “You want us to fail? You wanna see us fail? That’s why you want us to investigate this case, to see us fail at it?” The family of Frank Chen say they merely want the appropriate parties, in this case the city of Night Vale, Hiram McDaniels and an omniscient conception of God, to take responsibility for their part in this tragedy. The trial is now in its 10th month, and has included spirited re-enactments of the supposed murder by helpful Players Playhouse performers in between their work on the 100 year play. 3 changes of judge and venue due to “some dragon attacks and constant interruptions from a local audio journalist, who hosts a widely respected true crime podcast”. Still, with all this, we near a verdict. Judge Chaplin has indicated she will issue her ruling soon. “Like in the next year or so?” she said. “Certainly within 5 years. Listen, I don’t owe you a verdict, just because you’re paying me to do a job, you can’t rush me to do it. The verdict will be done when. It’s. Done.” Chaplin then huffed out of the courtroom followed by journalists shouting recommendations for episodes of their podcast to listen to.

I was present, you know, on opening night of the 100 year play. Ah, how the theatre buzzed! Of course this was partly the audience, thrilled to be at the start of such an unprecedented work, but mostly – it was the insects. The Night Vale Players Playhouse had quite a pest problem at the time, and still does. It’s difficult to do pest control when there is a 100 year long play being performed on stage at every hour of every day. The curtain opened those many years ago on a simple set of a studio apartment,  a kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come in, it’s open,” the man says. A woman enters, flustered. She is holding a newborn. “There’s been a murder!” she says. “The victim was alone in a room, and all the doors and windows were locked. “My god!” the man says and springs up. “Who could have done this, and how?!” the woman tells him: “It turns out to be the gardener, Mr. Spreckle. He served with the victim in the war and never could forgive him for what happened there. He threw a venomous snake through an air vent.” The man sits back down, nodding. “Aah! So the mystery is solved.” As a playwright, Hannah Hershman did not believe in stringing up mysteries a second longer than was necessary. The baby in the woman’s arm stirs. “Shush, shush little one!” the woman says. The man looks out the window where he cannot see the sky. “It might look like rain,” he says. “Who knows?” Thus began a journey of 100 years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s episode is sponsored by the Night Vale Medical Board, which would like to remind you that it is important to drink enough water throughout the day. Drink more water! Your body cannot function without water. Without water, you are just dust made animate. Water forms the squelching mud of sentience. Try to have at least ten big glasses of water. Not over the entire day, right now. See if you can get all ten of them down. Explore the capacity of your stomach. See if you can make it burst. You will either feel so much better, or an organ will explode and you will day painfully. And either one is more interesting than the mundane now. You should drink even more water than that. Wander out of your door, search the Earth for liquids. Find a lake and drain the entire thing, until the bottom feeders flop helplessly on the flatlands. Laugh slushingly as you look upon the destruction you have wrought. The power that you possess now that you are well hydrated. Move on from the lake and come to the shore of an ocean. All oceans are one ocean that we have arbitrarily categorized by language. The sea knows no separation, and neither will you when you lay belly down on the sand, put your lips against the waves and guzzle the ocean. The ocean is salty. It will not be very hydrating, so you’ll need to drink a lot of it. Keep going until the tower tops of Atlantis see sky again for the first time in centuries, until the strange glowing creatures of the deep-deep are exposed, splayed out from their bodies now that they no longer have the immense pressure of the ocean depths to keep their structure intact. And once you have drunk the oceans, turn your eyes to the stars. For there is water out there too, and you must suck dry the universe. This has been a message from the Night Vale Medical Board.

20 years passed without me thinking about the 100 year play. You know how it is. One day you’re an intern at the local radio station doing all the normal errands like getting coffee and painting pentacles upon Station Management doors as part of the ritual of the slumbering ancients. Then 20 years passes and everything is different for you. Your boss is gone and now you are a host of the community radio station, and there are so many new responsibilities and worries and lucid nightmares in which you explore a broken landscape of colossal ruins. So with all of that, I just kind of forgot the 100 year play was happening. But they were toiling away in there, doing scenes around the clock, building and tearing down sets at a frantic pace, trying to keep up with the script that relentlessly went on, page after page. And sometimes one of the people working on the play would wonder: how does this all end? But before they could flip ahead and look, there would be another scene that had to be performed and they wouldn’t have a chance. So no one knew how it ended. No one except Hannah Hershman, the mysterious author of this centennial play.

Soon after becoming radio host, during the reading of a Community Calendar, I was reminded that the play was still going on, and so decided to check in. I put on my best tux, you know it’s the one with the scales and the confetti canon. And then took myself to a night at the theatre. I can’t say what happened in the plot since that first scene, but certainly much had transpired. We were now in a space colony thousands of years from now, and the set was simple, just some sleek chairs and a black backdrop dotted with white stars of paint. A woman was giving a monologue about the distance she felt between the planet she was born on, which I believe was supposed to be Earth, and the planet she now stood on. I understood from what she was saying that the trip she had taken to this planet was one way, and that she would never return to the place she was born. “We… are… all of us… moved… by time,” she whispered in a cracked, hoarse voice. “Not… one of us dies… in the world… we were born into.” Sitting in my seat in that darkened theatre, I knew two facts with certainty. The first was that this woman had been giving a monologue for several days now. She wavered on her feet, speaking the entire four hours that I was there. And I don’t know how much longer she spoke after I left, but it could have been weeks. She was pale and her voice was barely audible, but there was something transfixing about it, and the audience sat in perfect silence, leaning forward to hear her words. The other fact I understood was that this woman was the newborn from the very first scene. Not just the same character, but the same actor. 20 years later, she was still on that stage, still portraying the life to the child we had been introduced to in the opening lines. She was an extraordinary performer, presumably, having had a literal lifetime of practice. And that was the last time I saw the play, until tonight, when I will go to watch the final scene.

But first, let’s have a look at that Community Calendar. Tonight the school board is meeting to discuss the issues of school lunches. It seems that some in power argue that it isn’t enough that for some reason we charge the kids actual money for these lunches. They argue that the students should also be required to give devotion and worship to a great glowing cloud, whose benevolent power will fill their lives with purpose. Due to new privacy rules, we cannot say which member of the school board made this suggestion. The board will be taking public comment in a small flimsy wooden booth out by the highway. Just enter the damp, dark interior and whisper your comment, and it will be heard. Perhaps not by the school board, but certainly by something.

Tuesday morning, Lee Marvin will be offering free acting classes at the rec center. The class is entitled “Acting is just lying. We’ll teach you how acting is just saying things that aren’t true, with emotions you don’t feel, so that you may fool those watching with these mistruths.” Fortunately, Marvin commented: “Most people don’t want to be told the truth and prefer the quiet comfort of a lie well told.” Classes are pay what you want, starting at 10,000 dollars.

Thursday Josh Crayton will be taking the form of a waterfall in Grove Park, so that neighborhood kids may swim in him. There is not a lot of swimming opportunities in a town as dry as Night Vale, and so this is a generous move on Josh’s part. He has promised that he has been working on the form and has added a water slide and a sunbathing deck. He asks that everyone swim safely and please not leave any trash on him.

Friday, the corn field will appear in the middle of town, right where it does each September, as the air turns cooler and the sky in the west takes on a certain shade of green. The corn field emanates a power electric and awful. Please, do not go into the corn field, as we don’t know what lives in there or what it wants. The City Council would like to remind you that the corn field is perfectly safe. It is perfect and it is safe. 

Finally, Saturday never happened. Not if you know what’s good for you. Got it? This has been the Community Calendar.

Oh! Look at the time. Here I am blathering on and the play is about to end. OK, let me grab my new mini recorder that Carlos got me for my birthday. It’s only 35 pounds and the antenna is a highly reasonable 7 feet. And I’ll see you all there.

Ah. What’s the weather like for my commute?

[Shallow Eyes” by Brad Bensko. https://www.bradbenskomusic.com/]

Carlos and I are at the theatre! The audience is a buzz, with excitement yes, but also many of them are the insects that infest this theatre. The bugs became entranced by the story over the years, passing down through brief generation after brief generation, the history of all that happened before. The story of the play became something of a religion to this creepy crawly civilization. And so now the bugs are jittering on the walls, thrilled to be the generation that gets to see the end of this great tale.

The curtain rises on a scene I recognize well. It is the simple set of a studio apartment. A kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come on, it’s open,” the man calls. A woman enters. She is very old, tottering unsteadily on legs that have carried for her many many years. “Please take my seat,” the man says with genuine concern. “Thank you,” she says, collapsing with relief onto the cushions and then looking out, as if for the first time, noticing the audience. I know this woman. I first saw her as a baby and later as a 20-year-old. It seems she has lived her whole life on this stage, taking part in this play. “My name,” the woman says, “is Hannah Hershman. I was born in this theatre, clutching a script in my arms that was bigger than I was. My twin, in a way. I started acting in that script of mine before I was even aware of the world. I grew up in that script, lived my entire life in the play I had written from infancy to now.” And she rises, and the man reaches out to help, but she waves him away. She speaks, her- her voice is strong, ringing out through the theatre. “The play ends with my death, because the play is my life. It is bounded by the same hours and minutes that I am.” the audience is rapt, many have tears in their eyes. Even the insects weep. “Thank you for these hundred years,” Hannah Hershman says. “This script is complete.” She walks to the window. “It might look like rain,” she says. “Who knows?” The lights dim.

Thunderous applause, cries of acclaim, and Hannah Hershman dies to the best possible sound a person can hear: concrete evidence of the good they have done in the lives of other humans.

Stay tuned next for the second ever Night Vale Players Playhouse production, now that they finally finished this one. They’re going to do “Godspell”. And from the script of a life I have not yet finished performing, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Many are called, but few are chosen. And fewer still pick up. Because most calls are spam these days.

[plaidshirtjimkirk]

“Will you stay with me? Tonight? I just— I’d feel better knowing you’re near.” for Spirk? ❤️❤️

Pairing: SpirkRating: TSummary: There were times when they knew they should have said it. There were times when things got in the way. [AO3]

.*The Circle*.

“Stay.”

…was what Jim hadn’t said: when McCoy retired, when the Enterprise at last dry docked for the refit looming like an ever-present nightmare, when the crew dispersed to other duties, when Spock slipped from his arms and ran so fast, so far. When everything he’d tried to hold so tightly and protect and treasure vanished, when he was pushed into accepting promotion, when the universe just…changed in the blink of an eye.

Jim was surrounded by companions, though. The other brass at Starfleet and wide-eyed cadets mesmerized by his presence, a shiny new desk and shiny new pips. Lori, messages from Bones with pictures of Georgia. Whiskey…

He stood on the balcony, his glass half empty and stared at the stars. Even they seemed like strangers now, and Jim wondered if he could ever feel more alone.

~

“Stay.”

…was what Jim hadn’t said, when he should have. Instead it was, “We need him. I need him.” But those words carried a different meaning, a temporary meaning. It was for humanity, for the mission, for a mutual benefit. And when–if–they succeeded, the purpose would be fulfilled, the well of loyalty would run dry, and the tiny skein once more connecting him to Spock would snap.

Space was a wide and vast ocean. When Spock took his leave from the conference room, Jim hadn’t pursued; on the contrary, he found himself thinking that an island couldn’t chase a ship sailing toward the horizon, no matter how badly it might have wanted to.

~

He could have said it, should have said it after the grasping of hands in sickbay, after V’Ger was no longer a threat, after drinking deep the kisses and drowning in old love.

“I missed you. I missed you so much, Spock.” Jim could confess that much at least: the truth, without demand or expectation.

“Then you will have me at your side once more? I do not presume–”

Tears pricked Jim’s eyes as he pressed his fingertips to Vulcan lips and nodded.

Hours later, a message from McCoy arrived stating that he planned to retain his active status with Starfleet.

~

The word was on the cusp of his tongue…so close, yet so far. Just like their hands, separated by glass. However, in the same way that it was futile to reach for each other with a boundary between them, Jim couldn’t bring himself to say something so selfish.

“Do not grieve, Admiral. It is logical.”

“No…” The admiral in question didn’t even recognize the weakness in his own voice.

“I have been…” The ta’al was offered, one last kiss. “And ever…shall be…”

“Spock!”

“…yours,” Spock said through the link and instantly closed it. His last wish was to spare his bondmate from the final moments–to face them and the pain and the severance all alone, even as Jim pounded at the glass shouting his name until his voice was hoarse.

Then, there was silence, and the absence of sound became deafening.

Jim remained with his back pressed to the chamber, staring at nothing through unblinking eyes. At some point, he realized he’d stopped breathing. He drew a shallow inhale.

~

The days were dark, cold. Then, a spark of hope lit a flame, and that flame consumed a world–but not before Jim escaped from it with Spock in his arms. Next came the refusion, the reunion, the return of the glass. That glass, this time, was metaphorical. Just as before, however, it couldn’t be shattered.

Whiskey. Bourbon. Andorian ale. Sometimes Amanda poured these drinks for her son-in-law while the HMS Bounty was repaired. Sometimes she poured them for herself.

Spock lived once again, though. His heart beat and his lungs took in the thin air of Vulcan. For Jim, just these things were enough, even if it meant his own heart would never be whole. It was worth it, entirely and truly. No take backs, no do-overs. Through love, all things were possible, even if it meant bringing the other half of his soul back from soaring over the bleeding edge of mortality.

…even if it meant having to walk away because that love was one-sided.

Jim watched the stars glittering above the house of Sarek. Somehow, he would get by. He would get through this. Spock lived. That was enough.

He meant it.

~

“Jim.” His name was softly spoken with affection and reverence.

The corners of Jim’s lips pulled outward into a genuine smile, and he intertwined his digits with the almost hesitant ones reaching for him.

“I do not presume–”

Fingertips pressed to Spock’s lips once again. “We already had this conversation after the V’Ger crisis. Don’t make me say it twice.”

One dark brow lifted and Jim laughed openly, his eyes wet with tears. “We just…” A huff. “We just go around in circles, don’t we, Spock?” He quickly wiped the moisture from his lashes and added, “But that’s okay, because a circle is endless. It always leads me back to you.”

“Jim.” A beat. “I am here.”

~

A soft chime indicated new correspondence had reached Spock’s PADD, so he reached across to the bedside table and retrieved the device.

“What’s up?” Jim nuzzled against his husband’s bare chest.

“T’Lar has sent me the data I have been expecting. The project is moving forward.”

There was silence between them as Spock continued reading, and Jim counted the heartbeats standing in for spoken word. At last, he whispered, “…Spock.”

Spock’s baritone voice rumbled, despite his quiet reply. “Yes, Jim?”

He could say it. He would say it. “Stay with me tonight.”

The PADD was immediately set down.“I have no intention of going anywhere, Jim.”

Jim’s mouth formed a lopsided smile and he pulled a Vulcan hand to his face, pursing lips softly to the fingers while breathing, “Thank you.”

~

“The journey is brief, but I will ask you to be safe,” Spock said the next morning, while adjusting the collar of Jim’s formal attire.

“Hey hey now! Aren’t I always?” Jim winked. “It’s a new chapter, Mister. The launch of the Enterprise-B is yet another page and I’m ready to turn it.” He offered a grin, warm and genuine. “I promise.” However, the cheer soon faded as Jim stared back into the eyes studying him. His brow furrowed. “What is it?”

For a moment, he actually expected Spock to tell him not to go. For another, he considered saying he wouldn’t. In the end, all Spock offered was, “I…regret that I cannot be with you.”

Ah… Jim chuckled. “Regret, Spock?”

Spock’s lashes fell and he merely offered a slight cock of the head.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on stripping any commands this time around like I did with Decker. I’ll be there for the maiden voyage and come right back to you.” A fingertip brushed over Spock’s right psi point. “We’re always together, though. Parted from me and never parted, right?”

A hand covered Jim’s. “I will be waiting.”

~

He’d almost said it, almost spoken the word.

“Stay.”

In the past, Jim had taught him that a feeling was sometimes all humans had to go off of. And though Spock had been long at peace with his own humanity by now, he still found it illogical to prevent his husband from attending the launch ceremony because of a strange sense of foreboding without merit. Jim was the guest of honor, after all. Keeping him from one last embrace of Enterprise-related limelight would be selfish and unfair.

This nagging intuition, though… Well, neither had traveled separately in recent years. It was anxiety. It was to be expected. Spock supposed he couldn’t fault himself for that, but what he was capable of doing was swallowing it. He did so in silence.

“See you soon,” Jim said from the transporter pad, and then added through the bond, “I love you.” He vanished into a veil of sparkles.

~

A circle is a circle.

Until it’s broken and one point has no way of reaching the other to complete it.

He should have said it.

He should have.

Spock looked to the stars. All that was left to do was wait for Jim to come home.

So he waited.

And waited.

Waited.

Stayed.

—–

a/n: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so sorry. I have no explanation.

[lswritingdesk]

2. Seers

In which baby Kyrie learns to be a Seer. No mention of Daniel Jackson in this particular fic. We’re still setting the stage here.

-

Kyrie had to take a teleporter to get to the City Cube where the bulk of House Jezerinac resided. It was inland, far away from the oceanic City Cube where her own House lived and ruled the seas. Kyrie found the streets oddly quiet without the dull roar of the ocean acting as background noise. She was nervous. Aside from the fateful day that she had visited the Fragment, and the odd days that she had accompanied her mother to the main market in Rata Sum, this was one of the first times that she had been outside of her City Cube. In fact, it was her first time unaccompanied. Now that she had accepted her veil, she was considered old enough to make the journey alone, and so when she received Elder Rhea’s instructions to appear at the Jezerinac City Cube’s Educational Centre on the sixth day of the week, her parents had sent her alone.

She had spent the week fiddling with her veil like she had been instructed, and she could now see relatively well without the veil darkened to its highest intensity. She was still getting used to the occasional flicker that occurred on one’s vision when using an electronic veil, but for the most part, she was getting used to it. 

The Educational Centre bordered the main square like it did in her own City Cube, which made sense, considering they were all designed by the same Architects. It was a blessing to her, because it meant she didn’t have to stop anyone to ask for directions. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to get out the words. She already looked different in her clothing of blue hues compared to these people’s greys and whites. She was dreading going into the Educational Centre. She entered anyway and found herself standing in a lobby with others milling about. She backed into a corner, trying to hide herself.

The tactic did not work. A young person came over to her, hands on their hips, and seemed to look her up and down, though Kyrie couldn’t be sure as the woman? was also veiled. “So you’re the Tethyos Seer.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Uh, yes,” Kyrie stammered. The person’s voice betrayed a woman, Kyrie thought, though she wasn’t sure. “My name is Kyrie.”

“Oh, we know what your name is. After Lilac came out of the Fragment not a Seer, and then you came out after triple the amount of time as the others and almost bled out on the lawn, almost everyone knows your name.”

“Oh,” Kyrie said. She didn’t like the thought of people knowing her without her knowing them. A second person joined them. 

“Don’t you have other clothes?” the second person asked. A male, this one, maybe. Also young.

“Clothes?” Kyrie asked, smoothing her hand over her tunic. It was one of her nicest. The maybe-male gestured at the cut-off sleeves.

“You’re not going to like it if someone brushes your arm,” they said.

“I don’t understand,” Kyrie said, genuinely confused. 

She could almost hear the eyeroll in the maybe-male’s voice when he said, “Like this.” He pulled off his glove and touched her hand. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the shock of his touch. She could feel everything he felt, hear every thought in his head. He thought she was an idiot, that was clear. “Didn’t they tell you anything?” he said, as rough hands separated him from her.

“Hey! Not cool!” the first person, the girl, said, pulling them apart. “She’s practically a baby and from a House that hasn’t had a Seer in generations. Who do you think would have told her the protocols? A ghost?”

“I don’t know, maybe an Elder? They should have sent her here better prepared than that.”

“We’re all sent here to learn, Tyrus. You were once clueless, too. And if I catch you pulling a stunt like that again, I’ll report you to a Teacher.” Tyrus huffed and slunk off. The girl turned back to Kyrie.

“I’m sorry he did that. He knows we’re not supposed to touch each other, even if you don’t.”

“What was that?” Kyrie asked, still shivering from the seconds of contact. 

“After your Thirteenth Cycle, after the Fragment, you can’t just touch people anymore. Not bare-skinned. If you do, it opens up their mind to yours. That’s why all of us are covered in cloth head to toe. I’m surprised they didn’t warn you.”

“They didn’t really tell me much,” Kyrie murmured.

“Well, it’s been a long time since a new Seer came from an outside House, so they probably just forgot that they have to tell you little things like that. They’ll get your clothing sorted soon, I’m sure, and tell you all the little things you don’t know. I’m Iris. Lilac is my sister. That’s how I know about you. I was there at the Fragment when you came out. I’m three Cycles ahead of you.”

“You’re not...mad about your sister? Isn’t there supposed to be one Seer per Cycle? Shouldn’t it have been her?”

“Mad? No. It could have been anyone. There were 7 Jezerinacs in your Cycle. Yes, it’s weird that none of them were the Seer, but we are taught that the Eternal Alchemy keeps balance in its own way. Don’t you get non-Tethyos Wavewalkers?”

“Frequently. But Wavewalkers are a lot more common than Seers.”

“Are you sad not to be a Wavewalker?”

“No, I wanted to be a Scholar and study the old Cities.”

“Is that what your sacred geometry showed you, before it took you on your side path?” Kyrie froze.

“Are- are we allowed to talk about that?”

“Who is going to tell a Seer, a Keeper of the Timelines, that they aren’t allowed to talk about timelines? You don’t know much because you weren’t raised around Seers, but you get a lot of free range being one. My mother is a Seer, so I grew up with the lore.”

“So we’re Keepers of the Timelines?”

“That’s one of our official titles. Our visions, our side paths- we have ‘extra duties’, as they call them, to help keep the timelines pure. There are a lot of forces and people who seek to corrupt the timelines for their own gain.” This was a lot to take in for Kyrie. Seers had always been mysterious figures to her growing up. She didn’t know their purpose or function, other than that they had visions and saw futures beyond the sacred geometries.

“Well, yes, it showed me that I would be a Scholar before it showed me my visions.”

“Don’t talk about your visions,” Iris warned, before Kyrie went any further. “Those have to stay your own, unless Elder Rhea asks. She’s the only one who can ask about your visions. But you can talk about your regular old sacred geometry all your own. I’m going to be a Teacher of Eights,” she said with a smile. “Old Cities sound interesting, though. We went on a field trip to one when I was a Ten. Did you?”

“Yes, and that was when I knew that I wanted to study them, though I knew I wanted to be a Scholar before then. I always preferred books over the sea.” A bell chimed and doors opened.

“We have to go in now. It’s the beginning of a Cycle, so there’s always an introductory presentation before they split us up based on skill level. Come, you can sit with me.”

The presentation filled in a lot of details that Kyrie did not know about Seers, though most of the people around her radiated a feeling of boredom. She drank it all in, though. In the end, she and Iris were sorted into the same learning group, and by the time the day ended, Kyrie felt like too much had been stuffed into her brain. Iris assured her that every learning session would be like that. 

Kyrie was sent back to her City Cube with instructions for proper clothing, exercises for her veil and Dreamscape, and more. When her parents asked her about her day, she found herself speechless. In a way, she had never felt so far apart from them. They would never fully understand that she couldn’t just embrace them anymore or share the contents of her studies, because they were so foreign to them. Part of her wished she was a Wavewalker so she had that in common with the family and House at least. But...she was beginning to embrace that she had a larger role to play. 

Her mother helped her find pale blue clothing in the market that would cover her newly sensitive skin and allow her to hold onto a piece of Tethyos without standing out in the navies and royal blues she wore the rest of the week. She wouldn’t let becoming a Seer take away everything. 

Her classmates in her regular classes gradually got used to her changes, and though they did not invite her to join in their activities as they once did, they no longer regarded her with outright fear. She no longer thought of transferring completely to the Jezerinac Educational Centre, where people wouldn’t mind her veil or Seer-ness. 

-

Gradually the Cycles passed, and the end of Kyrie’s Eighteenth Cycle came upon her. She applied and was accepted to the College of Statics, just as her sacred geometry had indicated. She had not dreamed of the garden in years, and she thought maybe her ‘extra duties’ would not come to pass after all. 

She and Iris had remained close, though the older girl had passed through the College of Dynamics and become a Teacher of Eights the year before. They still saw one another monthly at the Educational Centre, where they proved that their skills were still up to snuff in various tests and games. Neither had yet felt the pull to re-enter the Fragment as some of their peers had.

--

@heathenterkin​ @luckyninetales @logicheartsoul​ @sky-of-starflowers​ @kirazalea​ @star-fish23

[vantemei]

seokjin has known he wants to marry taehyung since their their second anniversary. taehyung had had to leave early to film for his ongoing drama of the time, hwarang, and he'd been gone before seokjin had even been awake but he had left a note. "i love you, i hope you dreamed of me - your taehyungie". the same note he always left when he had to leave early.

seokjin had had a slow day, one of his few days off to spend lazing around in their shared penthouse in gangnam. seokjin hadn't really planned to do much for their anniversary on the actual day knowing that taehyung would be exhausted when he got home from filming in the cold all day. taehyung took him by complete surprise when he showed up with a dozen roses and a beautifully wrapped customized gucci coat. seokjing had felt bad about not getting taehyung anything because they had agreed not to but taehyung had taken his hand and pulled him close and told him 'as long as i can keep waking up with you by my side for the rest of my life, you don't ever have to give me anything else.'

seokjin had cried and realized right then and there he was going to marry kim taehyung.

it's been two years since then and seokjin is finally ready to propose. they're both finishing their last few press events for separate dramas and movies since their both actors and they'll have enough time off to plan their wedding and take a nice long, relaxing honeymoon.

the only problem is, he keeps getting interrupted. the night he made reservations at their favorite restaurant he was about to pull out the ring when a camera flash had gone off and they both froze, heads whipping around to see a caught looking woman with her phone out. they had smiled politely at her and left, taking their orders to go and they spent the night re-watching descendants of the sun.

the next time was during taehyung's birthday. they had planned a nice small party with their close friends and seokjin had pulled taehyung aside to give him his first gift, an expensive shirt he had been eyeing during paris fashion week that seokjin had pulled a few strings to get before it was officially released. he was about to go down on his knee and propose when a drunk park jimin had burst their little bubble to give taehyung a celebratory birthday lap dance. seokjin didn't even have time to be annoyed between giggles and full blown laughter as his boyfriend tucked shiso leaves into the band of jimin's boxers.

if only he knew, taehyung was having the same problem.

kim taehyung had known he would marry seokjin since their fifth date. taehyung had been at a complete loss for what to do when the restaurant he had been planning to take seokjin to had been closed and seokjin had easily smiled and directed him somewhere else. they ended up at a small roadside food tent where seokjin proceeded to order to 'monster bowls'. a challenge meal with two two liter bowls of budaejiggae that would be free if eaten in under twenty minutes. seokjin finished his in fifteen and taehyung had looked at him wide eyed and red cheeked and decided right then and there this was someone he could spend his life with.

he had worried whether the restaurant he had chosen would be good enough, if his hair looked alright, if his clothes weren't fancy enough. sure taehyung was a popular up and coming actor but at the time he had been nowhere near the status of the famous worldwide handsome kim seokjin and after nervously being set up on a date with him by their mutual friend ken, and seeing seokjin speak familiarly with the elderly woman running the tent and smiling so freely, puns being told rapid fire and laughter filling taehyung's heart, he knew he was halfway to fallen and ready to dive headfirst the rest of the way.

he had only just worked up the courage to buy a ring, a beautiful simple silver band with their names inscribed on the inside, but every time he had tried to propose he had been interrupted by something.

the first time was when they were in hawaii on a short vacation between schedules. he had planned to take seokjin on a beach picnic only to be thwarted halfway to the beach when a massive storm warning had been issued and they had to book it back to their hotel where they stayed for the last three days of their vacation, completely rained in.

the second time had been a much simpler plan. he would wake seokjin up with breakfast in bed and the ring would be right on top of the tray, unavoidable.

taehyung had just finished pouring seokjin's coffee when a horrible choking noise had made him drop everything and taehyung had run in to the living room to find yeontan choking on something small. he had woken seokjin up and they had hurried off to the vet, hastily dressed with taehyung crying and holding his whimpering dog in the passenger seat.

apparently yeontan had found one of odengie and eomukie's small toys and tried to eat it, only to get it lodged in his throat. luckily he was ok but taehyung had completely forgotten about his plan to propose and became hyper vigilant of yeontan for the next three weeks.

neither of them have had a chance since. in fact, their schedules both became very full of press conferences and interviews for seokjin's new drama and taehyung's new movie.

they don't have a day off for two months until winter is almost over and by the time they both get home from the gala they attended together, they're too tired to do anything.

"bath?" seokjin looks at taehyung as they both kick their shoes off inside the door and the younger groans out a tired yes, tugging his jacket off slowly to throw it over the couch.

seokjin doesn't have the energy to tell him off for throwing his clothes everywhere as taehyung's tie soon follows and he just tosses his jacket there too. they trudge into their bathroom and stand side by side in front of their mirror as they take off their makeup. seokjin finishes first and presses a kiss to taehyung's shoulder before he walks down to their bedroom to change into his bathrobe. as he's grabbing it from their massive walk in closet he glances down at his shoes, the only clothes he and taehyung don't share and eyes his rarely worn white dress shoes.

without really thinking about it seokjin reaches in past the strategically placed sock and grabs the small black velvet box and slips it into the pocket of his robe before heading off to the kitchen to grab the champagne and strawberries. taehyung had been the one to invent 'treat yo self' nights after he had seen seokjin overworking himself and had called in to cancel his schedule for the whole day and made him stay home, pampering and loving him all day. seokjin had never felt more well rested and content in his life. the champagne is something seokjin added because it's the only alcohol taehyung really likes and it makes them feel extra fancy and the strawberries are a comfort food.

while soekjin is in the kitchen taehyung is back in their bathroom, having changed into his bathrobe (a matching ocean blue to seokjin's forest green one) and is lighting candles around their bathtub and watching the lavender bath bomb fizz away in the slowly filling tub. he feels the weight of the small rose shaped velvet box in his pocket from where he hurriedly placed it after grabbing it from beneath his large collection of berets on impulse.

the sound of seokjin coming down the hall makes taehyung smile, already able to tell seokjin is in a noticeably better mood than earlier from the sound of his soft humming. it also reminds him to grab his phone from the counter and scroll through his music until he finds the playlist labelled 'rosey cheeks' because he's cute like that and soon gentle music is filling the room.

"bath ready?" seokjin sets two champagne flutes and the bottle down on the large rim of the tub, the strawberries right next to them. taehyung just hums in response, turning to face seokjin and reaching for his hand. no matter how many years pass seokjin's heart will always flutter from the way taehyung's looks at him as he pulls him close; like seokjin hung every star in the sky and breathed life into the world. he said as much once and taehyung's response had been 'no star in the sky could shine brighter than you do in my eyes and every breath you take is my world alive a little longer'. taehyung has a tendency to say things like that and seokjin would normally blush and slap the arm of someone making cheesy comments like that but the way taehyung says it, knowing he means every words of it, reduces seokjin to a love struck mess, heart beating wildly and hands shaking until they can pull his lover into his arms.

it's what he does now, taehyung's hand in his, the other landing on his waist. seokjin does the same, one hand on taehyung's waist and the other intertwined as the soft notes of chet baker ring out.

"my funny valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart," taehyung's voice is deep and soothing, seokjin has always thought he would make a wonderful idol or singer. it's just as soft as his hand in seokjin's as he sways the elder along to the slow beat, eyes brighter than they've been all day and smile soft and loving.

it's moments like these that make seokjin really, truly understand how people would die for love. seokjin can't imagine a moment of his life without taehyung in it anymore. when he thinks of the future, five, ten, even twenty years from now, all he can see is taehyung by his side. seokjin used to be afraid of growing old. afraid of being forgotten or dying alone but now all he can imagine is taehyung with him.

taehyung with little crows feet in the corners of his eyes from so many years of smiling. taehyung with salt and pepper hair that will still be so soft to run his hands through. taehyung with years of love and laughter etched into his face and his hands, just as strong and just as big, still fitting just perfectly with seokjin's. taehyung who will still love seokjin with all of his being no matter how many years pass and seokjin who will love him just the same.

taehyung's hand pulls away from seokjin's waist and instead cups his cheek, thumb running over his cheek in such a fond way. seokjin's lips are soft and taste of peppermint tea and taehyung can't resist another slow peck before he moves to turn off the water.

they take their robes off and drape them next to the tub, climbing in on either side and stretching out across from each other, legs brushing together.

they talk about their days, taehyung massages seokjin's calves because he knows he's been on his feet most of the day. they trade silly stories from set and taehyung ends between seokjin's legs, back to his chest as he leans against his broad-shouldered lover and presses a soft kiss to his jaw. their hands are tangled and seokjin feed taehyung a strawberry with a smile and kiss to his cheek, closing his eyes as he leans down to press a few soft kisses to taehyung's neck. it's nothing passionate, just a soft brush of lips on skin that makes taehyung melt into his chest.

minutes pass like that. ten? fifteen? their bathwater is still warm. not the steaming hot it was at first but still nice enough to stay. they've made it through a good third of the strawberries and a glass of champagne between the two of them. taehyung reaches to refill the glass and seokjin suddenly remembers the ring in his bathrobe and he knows now is perfect. he grabs it quickly, back in his place before taehyung moves back to rest against him and he wraps his free arm around the younger's waist. taehyung shoots a smile over his shoulder and turns slightly so his legs are over one of seokjin's, nosing along his collarbones and presses soft kisses to his smooth skin.

"tae, i love you."

taehyung seems a bit caught off guard at how serious seokjin sounds but he stays relaxed, sitting up slightly to look at seokjin before he gives a soft smile. "i love you too."

"i love you so much tae, you make me so happy and i want to make you happy too. i just want to make you the happiest person in the world, you deserve that- god, you deserve so much more. but i want to make you as happy as i can for the rest of our lives."

taehyung seems to know seokjin has more to say because he stays quiet, his hand still linked with seokjin's giving a little squeeze.

"taehyung," seokjin slowly unclenches his fist where he's been hiding the ring, a beautiful golden band with the day they met carved into the inside, and holds it up to the wide-eyed boy. "will you marry me?"

taehyung is completely silent for a few moments, his mouth dropping open as he stares between the ring and seokjin. seokjin doesn't move. he isn't nervous really, just worried that maybe taehyung expected a better proposal.

taehyung is suddenly scrambling to reach over the side of the tub and he's reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out a box and it's seokjin's turn to gape as he opens it to reveal a beautiful silver ring.

"is that- were you-?"

"yes!" taehyung's voice is amused and disbelieving as he pulls the ring out and holds it up beside seokjin's. "i was going to ask you the same question."

seokjin laughs and then so does taehyung, bath water splashing up a bit as they cling to each other and laugh through tears.

"i love you so much jin, i would love to marry you." taehyung is the first to pull himself together and he holds his left hand up, ring finger extended. seokjin is still giggling giddily as he slips the ring over taehyung's finger and presses a kiss to it.

"and i love you taehyung. i would love to marry you too." taehyung is the one sliding the ring on this time and he copies seokjin, pressing a kiss to the silver band before reaching up to cup seokjin's face with his right hand, left intertwined with seokjin's and rings clinking together, and he pulls him in for a kiss.

the next day they make the official announcement to their friends and tell them the story, laughing at the disbelieving faces of their friends as they tell them they proposed at the same time after both being interrupted multiple times.

the tell the story at their wedding, and again when they renew their vows. they tell it to their children and to their children's children and the story gets passed down through their family for years. taehyung does get those crows feet wrinkles by his eyes and seokjin kisses them every night before bed. seokjin's hair line does recede a bit but taehyung tells him that it's easier to kiss his forehead that way. and they live their lives they way they always wanted to. together.

[xaoh-f-goon]

All the filler pages carry the same filler text (as a prop, obviously the in-universe book does not. Probably). I recognise the bulk of the text as from this edition of the Daily Punctilio, and the rest is also in the writing style of a newspaper, so in a roundabout way I believe I now have an accurate transcript for some of the first season’s articles. Mostly by Geraldine Julienne, though the last three articles feel different to this volunteer. I don’t think these appear elsewhere (ie, written for the show not copied from TUA) but please correct me if I’m wrong. It is not the first time I’ve recognised articles but not known where from, so clearly I have a Blind Spot yet to be fixed.  [It must be show-only as it refers to the Poes as married - Ed]

Transcript under cut. I have used my intuition to separate the articles. Content warning for major series spoilers, inaccurate reporting and repetitive writing.

“I think the way into a man’s wallet is through the stomach” she said! Women in the office is sure one for the books!

Well when Montgomery was on a snake expedition in the Western Ghats Mountains of Southern India he could hear an odd immature giggle. Montgomery thought he was going crazy after hearing this giggle over a few days he decided to go on a hunt. 

Finally good news to report on the orphan Baudelaire children. Citizens can rest easy as the children have found a new guardian Count Omar. Count Omar is a famous actor from the Grand Theatre in The City and has graciously accepted the children into his home. After a grueling few days the children were living with Mr. Poe and Eleanor Poe our amazing and exceedingly distinguished Editor-In-Chief. Mr. Poe announced today that Count Omar is the children’s closest living relative and has agreed to help the poor orphaned children by taking them into his lovely, clean and beautiful home. Our investigative photo reporters were able to snap some photos of the children entering Count Omar’s home. They look more than thrilled to be able to finally call a new place home again. Veronica, Klyde, and Susie Baudelaire can res easy now knowing that Count Omar is their closest living relative and is there to take care of them. Count Omar is a distinguished actor in The City’s community and has put on countless plays that he has written, directed, and starred in. Some you may know such as The Most Handsome Man in the World, and its sequel Why, I believe I’ve Become Even More Handsome! And a very suspenseful play One Last Warning to Those Who Try to Stand in My Way, a very enthralling play I do say so myself. Count Omar seems to be a very suitable guardian for the Baudelaire children and he has seemed to have taken such a great interest in their well-being that there is talk amongst the town that he is writing a new play and it is to star the children themselves. Our sources say that he wants the children to feel welcome in his and in his theatre community be showing them first hand what it is he does as a career and what they are now apart of. Our sources say that the play will be called The Marvellous Marriage and it sounds very exciting! Hopefully with the children settling into Count Omar’s home they can finally start to heal the burn wounds that the great fire left by taking their home and their parents. As reported a few days ago a great fire took place at the Baudelaire mansion burning it down to the ground and taking the lives of Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire leaving behind their three children. The Fire Department is still investigating the fire even though they are sure it was nothing more than just a terrible fire leading to a series of unfortunate events for the children. 

It has been a short time since the Baudelaire’s parents tragically perished in a blazing fire that took their lives and also their home. Veronica, Klyde, and Susie still remain orphans. Mr. Poe the husband of the great Eleanor Poe our Editor-In-Chief here at the Daily Punctilio is currently looking after the children till their closest living relative is found for them to live with. The children were seen standing in the ruins of their home. Sifting through ash and rubble looking for belongings they can take with them on their new adventure as orphans. It looks like the children are trying to find reminders of their past life and look for photographs to remember their late parents. We were able to speak with the children briefly before they left with Mr. Poe. To summarize what they said “we miss our parents dearly, and we could not have foreseen the unfortunate events that have taken place this afternoon” - Klyde.  “Our mother Beatrice had suggested we go to Briny Beach to enjoy the sunshine as if she knew we shouldn’t be in the house. I would never have thought that those would be our last words spoken to each other. I wish I could have hugged her for just a moment longer before letting go of her.” - Veronica.  We are not sure if Susie the children’s infant sister can truly comprehend the loss she has suffered. She will never know her parents which is a tragedy in its own. 

Our hearts break for these poor orphan children. Enduring a loss such as the loss they are currently enduring is simply to hard for one to comprehend. Unless they to have lost their parents and home in a fire that engulfed all their memories, and belongings containing such sentimental value, then they can comprehend and sympathize for the Baudelaire children. Hopefully the children can find their long lost relative and are able to begin healing and start rebuilding a relatively normal life. Although going through such a series of unfortunate events such as these ones they have been subject to so far seems very difficult to be able to continue a normal life. It seems the children have a great many struggles ahead as they begin their new lives alone. 

The only person who works at the library also owns it and there is a separate area where they live. Only some tourists usually visit the library to see what all the fuss is about but it is indeed just a library. Many find it to difficult to access the library so they simply go to the one in The City. As the investigation goes so far the VPD and the VFD believe it was a fire that started in the library and the heat that cracked the glass. It is unsure if the owner started the fire or if it was started by an arsonist trying to burn books that hold many clues to many things. Luckily the owner was able to escape and explained that some one had started the fire. A customer who looked like neither a man nor a woman. This person will be very hard to catch because of the lack of a description to the owner could give. What does a man nor woman look like, that is the question many are posing. The VPD and the VFD also say that cannot really investigate more because the library sunk to the bottom of the ocean near which is located near briny beach. The underwater libraries flooding will remain a mystery. Unless a new and easier way to get to the library is invented. 

Many citizens who live around The City’s train tracks are complaining of a loud tooting sound, sounds you hear usually coming from a train such as toot-toot. As you know the trains tooting sounds were taken out last year due to people’s complaints that they were annoying.

[aion-rsa]

Ma Rainey’s Life and Reign as the Mother of the Blues

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Netflix’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom stars Viola Davis as one of the most influential blues singers of all time. The real Ma Rainey was the first stage entertainer to bridge the gap between the white and the Black performance circuits. “If you don’t like my ocean, don’t fish in my sea,” Rainey warned in her 1927 song, “Don’t Fish in My Sea,” but the crowds couldn’t stay away. She was one of the first entertainers to play integrated shows in the Jim Crow South, and the first popular singer with authentic blues in her setlist.

“Madame” Gertrude Rainey was the “Mother of the Blues,” but the world knows her as Ma. She wasn’t the first woman to sing the blues. She’d actually heard it while playing vaudeville, tent shows, and cabarets. Rainey wasn’t even the first woman to record the blues. She began recordings when she was 38 in 1923, three years after Mamie Smith’s Feb. 14, 1920 recordings of “That Thing Called Love,” “You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down,” and “Crazy Blues” for Okeh Records in New York City.

A Georgia Cakewalk and Some Alabama Fun Makers

Ma was born Gertrude Pridgett on April 26, 1886, in Columbus, Georgia, or September 1882 in Alabama, according to a later census. Her parents were minstrel troupers Thomas Pridgett, Sr. and Ella Allen-Pridgett. She began singing professionally in 1896, after her father died. Her first public performance was in the 1900 stage show, “The Bunch of Blackberries,” at the Springer Opera House in Columbus. Pridgett soon performed on the tent-show circuit with troupes which set up their own stages.

Pridgett first heard country blues in 1902 while she was on the road, according to Sandra Lieb’s Mother of the Blues: A Study of Ma Rainey. At a stop in Missouri, she saw a young woman singer accompany herself on guitar playing a song in a pentatonic scale with blue notes. Pridgett added the song to her repertoire as an encore. The everyday anguish and joy resonated with audiences. Pridgett would continue to add songs she heard in the towns she played. 

In 1904, Pridgett married a singer, comedian and dancer named Will Rainey, and they toured as the duo Ma and Pa Rainey. “Rainey and Rainey, Assassinators of the Blues” played regularly until the pair separated in 1916. Ma went solo, touring with her own tent show, Madam Gertrude Ma Rainey and Her Georgia Smart Set, which included a chorus line of male and female dancers. The traveling troupe spent winters in New Orleans where Ma mingled with the cream of jazz masters.

In 1923, she was signed to Paramount Records by Mayo “Ink” Williams, who was the most successful blues producer of his time, the first Black producer at a major label, and the only person ever inducted into both the National Football Hall of Fame and the Blues Hall of Fame. Pianist Thomas A. Dorsey entered Rainey’s world in 1924. Dorsey, who would later go on to gain fame as a gospel songwriter, was also her manager and musical arranger, much like the trombone player Cutler (Colman Domingo) in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. He spotted the talent for Rainey’s touring ensemble, the Wild Cats Jazz Band. The musicians played blues, but also performed written sheet music to play contemporary jazz.

During Rainey’s five-year recording career at Paramount, she recorded with a rotating crew of musicians in various musical settings, but who all laid down genuine rural blues songs of heartbreak, betrayal, drinking, superstition, prison road gangs, and hard and easy loving. 

Rainey wrote or co-wrote about a third of the 92 songs she recorded for her label. With her strong voice, unapologetic lyrical sexuality, and onstage abandon, “the Paramount Wildcat” devoured contemporary women blues singers like Ida Cox and Sippie Wallace like appetizers. Ma wore that tag as proudly as the gold she adorned herself with after she became famous and became the “Golden Necklace Woman of the Blues.” Her only competition was known as “The Empress of the Blues,” and it was a very friendly rivalry.

Bessie Smith

Ma was performing with the Moses Stokes’ Traveling Show when she met Bessie Smith, the troupe’s new chorus girl dancer, in 1912. Ma was 26 and Bessie was 18. Chattanooga, Tennessee-born Bessie Smith had spent her childhood performing on street corners. Both her parents and a brother died by the time she was nine years old. Smith went on to be the highest paid African American performer of the “Roaring Twenties.” 

According to the book Bessie, by Chris Albertson, legends persist that Rainey kidnapped Smith, forced her to join the Rabbit Foot Minstrels and taught her to sing the blues. Bessie’s sister-in-law Maud Smith says the legend isn’t true, but it made for great publicity. While there are some accounts that Rainey was Smith’s vocal coach, it appears her suggestions were more about vocal stylings and performance. Both were virtuoso singers with distinct and personal deliveries. Ma’s slow driving moan and Bessie’s vibrant contralto were signatures. They performed together regularly and the two artists remained lifelong friends.

Both singers expressed themselves boldly, their lyrics were masterpieces of double entendre, and their lives were as risqué as the songs. The two Jazz Age divas proudly proclaimed their bisexuality. While neither confirmed rumors that they were lovers, Smith bailed Rainey out of jail when the Chicago police busted in on the singer in the middle of some erotic personal entertainment with some of her female dancers. And Rainey’s bisexuality comes through in her songs.

“It’s one of the things that I really loved about Ma Rainey,” George C. Wolfe, director of the movie version of Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, tells Den of Geek.* “One of the songs that she records… is a song called ‘Prove It on Me [Blues],’ in which she sings these incredibly bold, very unapologetic lyrics such as, ‘I went out last night with a bunch of friends. Must have been women because I don’t like man.’ And that was one of her hit songs in the 1920s. And so she lived her life unapologetically that way.”

And it’s not that she didn’t “want no man to put no sugar in my tea,” as she sang in “Bo Weavil Blues,” but “some of them’s so evil, I’m afraid they might poison me.” On some occasions, however, they came up with something interesting. “My man says sissy’s got good jelly roll,” Rainey confessed on her 1926 song “”Sissy Blues.”

In other songs she admits a fondness for younger men. Colman Domingo, who plays one of Ma’s band members in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, tells us the power of Ma’s life was that she could make these things happen in a country with systems as stacked against her 1920s America.

“I love in the film how she holds her woman with her nephew right there,” Domingo says. “And everyone knows that Ma is gay as well. I love that August is examining that, that she created her world. And in her world, she is the queen, and everything she says goes as well. They know. They know Ma’s proclivities in every single way. And that was also that pioneering spirit. She was fighting so many systems at that time, being a woman, being a gay woman, in a male dominated industry. She’s a true champion.”

In her 1998 book, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism, Angela Davis sees Rainey as a revolutionary who embraces heterosexuality and lesbianism, and observes the women in Rainey’s songs “explicitly celebrate their right to conduct themselves as expansively and even as undesirably as men.” Davis sees Rainey, as well as Smith and Billie Holiday, as inspirational models for how African American women can overcome racism, sexism, and capitalism.

Louis Armstrong

The iconic jazz legend Louis Armstrong was so inspired by Ma Rainey, he stylistically paid homage to her every time he put down his horn to sing. Even his facial expressions were reportedly reminiscent of Rainey’s. “Satchmo” played cornet on Rainey’s songs “Yonder Comes the Blues,” “Jelly Bean Blues,” “Countin’ the Blues,” and “Moonshine Blues.” The 1927 re-recording of that song is featured in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, but the original 1923 version was done with him, May, and Lovie Austin and Her Blue Serenaders.

Armstrong was also part of Gertrude “Ma” Rainey & Her Georgia Band’s rendition of the now-standard piece “Stack O’Lee Blues.” Ma was one of the song’s early interpreters, though her rendition actually carries the melody of the song “Frankie and Johnny.”

Along with Charlie Green on trombone, Buster Bailey on clarinet, Fletcher Henderson on piano, and Charlie Dixon on banjo, Armstrong also played cornet for Ma in mid-October 1924 for the blues classic “See See Rider Blues.” The song has been covered over 100 times. Rainey’s was the first version, and her recording was added to the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry in 2004. She holds the copyright.

Legacy

The singer, songwriter and astute businesswoman helped make black female autonomy mainstream. The horsehair wigs and the gold teeth she wore on stage empowered her fans. In Black Pearls, author Daphne Harrison said Rainey’s voice was “a reaffirmation of Black life.” Alice Walker cites Ma Rainey’s music as a cultural model for her novel, The Color Purple. In the song “Tombstone Blues” from the 1965 album Highway 61 Revisited, Bob Dylan pairs Ma Rainey with Beethoven. 

Rainey’s songs inspired poets like Sterling Brown, whose 1932 poem “Ma Rainey,” describes one of her concerts from the eyes of her audience. “When Ma Rainey comes to town, folks from anyplace miles aroun’ flocks in to hear Ma do her stuff,” he enthused.

Rainey also inspired the 1982 August Wilson play Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. In spite of Levee’s protests in that play and its Netflix movie adaptation, she did play Harlem. Ma did shows at The Lincoln Theatre on 135th Street near Lenox Avenue.

Cause of Death

Rainey retired from music in 1935, after the death of her mother and sister. She settled in Columbus and spent her time running the two playhouses she owned: the Airdome and the Lyric Theater. Ma Rainey died from a heart attack on Dec. 22, 1939 in Columbus, Georgia. “People it sure look lonesome since Ma Rainey been gone,” blues guitar legend Memphis Minnie bemoaned on her 1940 tribute “Ma Rainey” before humbly promising the good works of “the Mother of the Blues” would go on.

“Ma” Rainey was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame in 1983 and into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990. “To tell the truth, if I stop and listen, I can still hear her,” Langston Hughes wrote in his 1952 poem “Shadow of the Blues.” Madame “Ma” Rainey cast a long one.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom premieres on Netflix on Friday, Dec. 18.

*Additional reporting by Don Kaye.

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[damnhedidthat]

You know to distract myself from... myself, I'm going to throw you into a sort of initiation and say all the fucking questions. All of them. Accept it and loathe me to the end of your last breath.

You’re right, I loathe every inch of your being.

jasmine; what mythical creature do you wish actually existed?

The Greek gods, goddesses, and deities.

lavender; soundcloud or vinyls?

Vinyl. If I’m going for outdated might as well go for ancient.

primrose; what book does everyone right now need to read?

Oh god. I don’t know what books have been published. I’m going to play it safe and say Sight Of The Damned by Josh Neer.

lunar mist; do you like wearing other people’s shirts/jackets?

Never had the opportunity. Don’t know why I would.

bird of paradise; what was the best thing that happened to you this month?

Being knocked out for twenty four hours.

gardenia; what’s a promise you’ve recently made to yourself?

To finish Hal’s system by Sunday.

lion’s fairytale; would you rather be the sky, the ocean or the forests?

The ocean.

whirling butterflies; would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Yes.

marmalade skies; do you plan your outfits?

No.

apricot drift; how do you feel right now?

Tired.

everlasting daisy; what’s the last dream you remember having?

Drowning.

queen’s cup; what are you craving right now?

Caffeine.

lavender dream; turn ons/offs?

Offs: Extended foreplay, slow pace, cheesy dirty talk, “knocking”.

water lilly; when was the last time you cried? why?

Don’t remember.

lily of the valley; did the one person who hurt you most in your life apologize?

No.

winterberry; do you bite or lick your ice cream?

Bite.

honey perfume; favorite movie ever?

Shaken Hold (2403)

desert rose; do you like yourself?

Sure.

snapdragon; have you ever met or seen in person a celebrity?

Yes.

night owl; how many countries have you visited?

Most. About 12.

heliotrope; have you ever been in a castle?

No.

creams and sky; what’s the craziest/bravest thing you’ve done?

Died.

lantana; what’s on your mind right now?

A combination of sleep, homicide, and work.

pumpkin patch; what’s your zodiac sign?

Sagitta.

tulip; name 5 facts about yourself.

I don’t like the color yellow.I live in a second floor apartment.I own a sentient Roomba.I have three middle names.Portions of my nerves are soldered to cybernetic components.

daphne; do you believe in karma?

No.

queen of the meadow; ever been in love?

No.

wisteria; whom do you admire and why?

Not really anyone.

angel’s face; what was your favorite bedtime story as a child?

I don’t recall being told any bedtime stories.

remember me; did you make someone laugh today?

I don’t know if I did.

iris; do you believe in ghosts?

No.

lilac; if you could go back in time which time period would you visit?

None of them. They’re all awful. 

caramel kisses; would you want to live forever? why/why not?

No. Absolutely not. I’m already being forced through one lifespan, don’t throw any more my way.

primula; what makes you sad?

Can’t think of much.

rain lily; was today typical? why/why not?

Yes, with the exception of Mint.

queen anne’s lace; who do you trust the most?

Myself. Maybe Rox.

lady’s slipper; what did you have for breakfast today?

Didn’t. 

forget me not; do you have any regrets looking back in your life?

Sure.

lunaria; what’s your favorite fictional universe?

The પ્રાચીન વન, originally penned by હા અબ્રાતી but later re-conceptualised by یوهان پیشینی. I still prefer the original.

violet; favorite tv show?

Don’t watch TV much. Probably Burnt Roast.

sunflower; share a favorite quote.

“Stop fucking up the second chance when you weren’t given a first one.”

snowdrop; what does your ideal day look like?

Sleep.

tiger lily; do you have any hobbies?

IVR. Haven’t played in a while, though. Cooking. Reading. I don’t have much time.

peony; share a small random book passage that means something to you.

જંગલમાં કોઈ સમુદ્ર નથી. જંગલમાં કોઈ શહેરો નથી. જંગલમાં કોઈ આકાશ નથી. જંગલ છે અને અમારી માતા પૃથ્વી છે અને અમારી આત્માઓ યોદ્ધાઓ છે. અમે યોદ્ધાઓ છીએ જેઓ ભટકતા, યોદ્ધાઓ જે વિશાળ વિસ્તારમાંથી પસાર થાય છે, યોદ્ધાઓ શ્વાસ લે છે. અને જ્યારે આપણે શ્વાસ કરીએ છીએ, ત્યારે આપણે સમૃદ્ધિ શ્વાસમાં લઈએ છીએ.

tea rose; what’s something you always wanted to do but were too scared?

Leave.

honeysuckle; do you usually date people your age or older/younger?

I usually don’t date.

sweet pea; who means the world to you? why?

Hal. He is a version of myself that I hated, but separate from my body I have grown to love.

love in the mist; best books you’ve ever read?

Anything by હા અબ્રાતી.

foxglove; who is your favorite cartoon character?

Don’t really watch cartoons.

magnolia; coffee or tea?

Coffee.

crown imperial; would you rather be extremely rich or extremely loved?

Loved. I have plenty of wealth as it is.

snowflake; are you a dog or a cat person?

Neither. Dog if I have to choose.

bell flower; what is your biggest addiction?

Caffeine.

cosmos; do you ever think about the galaxy?

Yes.

moonflower; what’s your favorite color?

Gunmetal grey.

freesia; do you have a good relationship with your parents and siblings? why/why not?

Siblings, yes.

sundrop; are you a morning or a night person?

Night.

poppy; have you ever dealt with a mental illness?

Yes.

clover; how would your friends describe you?

Nonexistent situation.

dandelion; do you consider yourself and extrovert or an introvert?

Introvert.

lilly; what’s something you love watching/reading but you are too embarrassed to admit you do?

Burnt Roast.

anemone; describe yourself in 3 words.

What a jerk.

lotus; best memory as a child?

Visiting one of the exterra colonies.

angelonia; what is your eye and hair color?

Orange, and natural or current? Naturally black, currently blond.

dahlia; do you like crystals?

Sure.

buttercup; if you could change one thing in the world, what would it be?

Everything.

baby’s breath; what’s your hogwarts house?

Ravenclaw.

calendula; biggest pet peeve?

People who take longer to do things than they need to.

blanker flower; would you rather go to a cocktail party with your best friends or stay home and read a book/watch a movie with your pet?

Stay home.

blazing star; share a secret.

I don’t have any that I can share. Sometimes Hal curates my porn. That’s pretty much all I’ve got. I forgot to buy groceries last week.

carnation; would you rather live longer or happier?

Happier.

petunia; who’s story is your biggest inspiration in life? why?

Can’t think of any.

bluebell; do you wear glasses?

Yes.

nymphea; forest or river?

Forest.

orchid; do you like exercise?

Sometimes.

pansy; do you like poetry?

Sometimes.

morning glory; any special talent that you have?

Is intelligence a talent?

[malpabo]

[Op-Ed] Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo 2: “No given time”...a 20th anniversary that is created together

No matter how much trust has been built up between Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo, it will be a lie to say that they have never experienced any crisis. There has been many moments in the 19 years where the value of mutually dependent relationship they have each protected needed to be re-examined. There have been times such crises has been due to themselves and also times where it was due to the environment.

Amongst which, the most dangerous and difficult to accept situation is the former. When Junjin escaped a life-threatening accident, when Andy couldn’t be part of their 4th album’s promotions, when they couldn’t use the name “Shinhwa”, Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo wasn’t greatly shaken by it. In fact, they supported each other and created a strong presence.

However, little things make waves in a calm ocean. Just like how family members are greatly hurt by insignificant things, Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo, having independently created their relationship, have experienced numerous upsets in their 19 years.

But, this isn’t the fault of anyone. An idol provides a service and the fandom consumes it and because of that, the emotions experienced is different. To put it simply, provision and consumption, because they are fated to be on different positions, understanding and consideration for each other is necessary in order to bridge the gap.

Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo have steadily worked hard to bridge that gap. After their military service, Shinhwa has released a new studio album every year and held concerts, and each album had a different concept and genre. Feedback from dissatisfaction over the concerts are immediately reflected in the next day, and if they are criticised for having the same setlist, they will either add a new performance or change the arrangement.

If the fans want them to appear on variety shows, they have done so, and they have also tried communicating through Naver’s V-live, a media that’s different from the past. They also instilled faith when they say things like “We are eternal”, “We want to continue till the day we die.” In order for their title to not just be “longest-running idol”, and to let fans feel pride because of that, they have showed a passion that comparable to their junior idol groups.

For the fans, they too have adapted to the different methods, such as strategising streaming times, buying albums, and have worked hard sending text messages, in order for Shinhwa to win on music shows. They regularly go for music shows and concerts, and shook their fan lights. They silently stayed by Shinhwa’s side during tough times and provided consolation. 

A singer’s future is not created simply by the existence of a fandom, neither does a singer’s future unfold by itself simply through the existence of the singer. Similarly, for Shinhwa and Shinhwa Changjo, because they have both worked hard, and that is why it is an unchanging truth that they have been the best at overcoming limitations as a singer-fandom relationship.

Shinhwa doesn’t say that the long-running of the team is due to themselves. Neither do they unconditionally give the credit to the fans alone. This is a result that could be achieved only because they have leaned on each other and passed through time together. For Shinhwa to exist till the end, everyone must make it with the same goal.

Now, the formula of “Shinhwa = long-running group” is a given. In reality, each year they spend together rewrites history for the music industry. However, the more that is the case, the more there is a need for them to remember to “not lose the preciousness from being tricked by familiarity.” Just like how the time spent till now was not easy, they did not arrive at their 19th anniversary simply by doing nothing. The same goes for next year’s 20th anniversary. There is no time that is a given.

In their 13th studio album, there is a song “Like A Star” that Lee Minwoo penned the lyrics for while thinking of the fans, and it goes: “There’s definitely no separation for us, we’ve been protecting it till now/All the trials are pages of stories to flip through”, and “Stars in the night sky/I shine because of you/Brighter than anyone”. They cannot forget about “each other”. Shinhwa’s future is made by Shinhwa and the love from the fans.

sr: FNNews Translation by malpabo.tumblr.com Please take out with credits.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 19

In which Tuon deals with a disgruntled monarch, decapitated fairytales, and difficult decisions

Chapter 19: Gambits

Chaos. The entire world was chaos.

Well you are not wrong, but also that’s not exactly news.

We’re with Tuon, it seems. Which means we’re also back in Ebou Dar. And while it may not be fair to blame fictional cities for their plotlines, Ebou Dar and Malden can piss off and fuck each other in the ear with a balefire cannon at this point for all I care.

Anyway. Hi Tuon, I hope you’re enjoying Ebou Dar, make sure not to get stuck there.

The Seanchan have brought order – or at least, their form of order – to Ebou Dar. Yay?

Karede!

She thinks of him as ‘faithful Karede’. Aww.

She had been dodging assassinations since she could walk, and she had survived them all. She anticipated them. In a way, she thrived because of them. How were you to know that you were powerful unless assassins were sent to kill you?

That says rather a lot about Tuon, or perhaps explains a lot about her. That’s a harsh way to grow up, and one that could easily break a person, but she views it not only as normal but as something that has advantages – something useful. She also sees it as part and parcel of her role and her duty, and thus embraces it.

This is her worldview. She doesn’t see in this something that should or could be changed, or something she would rather live without. She just takes it as fact, and fits herself to her place – as Seanchan society and culture has taught her to do.

Like the others of the Blood, she wore ashes on her cheeks to mourn the loss of the Empress. Tuon had little affection for her mother, but affection was not needed for an empress. She provided order and stability.

This is again so indicative of who she is and where she comes from. For her, and for Seanchan the way it exists – or maybe existed, before Semirhage happened – this is truth. Her kind of power is one that provides order and stability, and one that means assassins will be sent after her. One that demands she shape herself entirely to her role, but does not require affection. Benevolence, maybe – or at least, Tuon seems to take that view – but not affection.

Her whole relationship to emotion in general and her emotions in particular is interesting. It’s not that she’s purely stoic, exactly, but rather that he has incredible self-control and an ability to detach herself-as-Tuon from herself-as-Empress when she deems it necessary. She seems to feel and analyse simultaneously, assessing what she feels from a more ‘neutral’ perspective and determining what to do about it.

She sat down, wearing a pleated gown of the deepest sea blue, a white cape fluttering behind her.

That is an excellent aesthetic. A+ fashion choices, Tuon.

Yuril joins the club of badass secretaries. Congratulations. Here’s your honourary paperweight.

Here I am, Tuon thought, surrounded by my might, damane on one side and the Deathwatch Guard on the other. And yet I feel no safer than I did with Matrim. How odd, that she should have felt safe with him.

Given his propensity for playing with pyrotechnics, that is odd. But then I suppose his knife skills and his army and his database full of memory.mp4 files make up for it.

The war in Seanchan would not end quickly; but when it did, the victor would undoubtedly raise him- or herself to the Crystal Throne as well. And then there would be two leaders of the Seanchan Empire, divided by an ocean, united in desire to conquer one another. Neither could allow the other to live.

There’s always another battle. It seems close to impossible for this to be resolved before Tarmon Gai’don, so instead it sets itself up as another conflict that could easily carry over into the start of the next Age.

Maybe the rest of the world will change enough to render this irrelevant, or maybe a lasting peace will be brokered, but it seems unlikely.

Of course, they could just decide to become separate nations, but that would be too easy. Maybe Tuon will send ships across the ocean to re-conquer that continent, and then hundreds or thousands of years later, a new Corenne will come back, and we’ll start all over.

Selucia is Tuon’s new Truthspeaker, mostly because she has the glowing commendation of not being one of the Forsaken.

She also keeps all her old duties alongside the new ones, which makes this one of those promotions that’s ostensibly an honour but actually is just shitloads of work.

Whether or not she really was Forsaken, Anath had met with the Dragon Reborn, imitating Tuon. And had then tried to kill him.

And now everything is even more fucked than it already ways. Thanks for that, Semirhage. Also, good to know where we are in the timeline.

Beslan’s dressing like the Seanchan now, and he performs the correct obeisance to Tuon. So things have changed since the night Mat and the others fled, it seems. Harder to hold onto righteous indignation and rebellion when you’re the monarch of a conquered country rather than its heir. It’s always easier to be angry when you’re not the one faced with the hard decisions. Or rather, it’s a different kind of anger.

Beslan rose, though he kept his gaze averted. He was a fine actor.

And he probably is acting – because at this point it’s either that or die. He’s now in the position his mother was; he may still hate the Seanchan, but he doesn’t have much in the way of options right now. The best he can do, from his perspective, is to make whatever accommodations he must in order to retain enough power to maybe be able to at least do something for his people. Otherwise the Seanchan could just get rid of him and raise someone more amenable.

So Tuon is still Daughter of the Nine Moons? Has she not been officialy…Empress-ed yet, then?

She could almost have believed he was just being submissive before the woman who would soon become Empress. But she knew too much of his temperament, through both spies and hearsay.

Yeah, he’s still trying to fight them.Or find a way to fight them. That might prove…difficult.

Selucia gets right to the point, and Tuon steps in to let Beslan know that she knows everything. Oops.

Then, surprisingly, he rose to his feet and stared her directly in the eyes. She wouldn’t have thought the soft-spoken youth had it in him. “I will not allow my people to—”

“I would still my tongue if I were you,” Tuon interrupted.

Credit to Beslan. And really, it’s not so different from some of the things Mat has said to Tuon. It’s just that they’re in different positions, and Mat was able to talk to Tuon, rather than just to the Daughter of the Nine Moons, and he holds a place in the Fortellings she’s received. Here, now, Beslan cannot challenge her; her interpretation of her role does not permit it. She isn’t just Tuon now, and she isn’t alone, and he isn’t Mat.

“Seanchan is in upheaval,” Tuon said, regarding him. He appeared shocked at the words. “Oh, did you think I would ignore it, Beslan? I am not content to stare at the stars while my empire collapses around me. The truth must be acknowledged.”

That’s an interesting statement from her. From where she stands, it is true. In her thoughts, she is not one to favour denial. She tries to assess things as they are, and face the unvarnished truth. But that doesn’t mean she’s immune to denial. Take her refusal to believe that Shadowspawn exist. Or take her insistence that her choice to not learn to channel makes her different from damane. The ‘it is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities’ argument would hold a lot more water if she weren’t willing to then channel the exact same power through a damane. As it is, upon learning that she, like all sul’dam could learn to channel, she latched immediately onto an explanation that would allow her to preserve her worldview.

People aren’t good at having their worldview challenged. We don’t like it. So she can acknowledge the truth here, and she can even believe wholeheartedly that she always faces and acknowledges the truth, and still fall prey to these traps. She self-analyses more than many, but she still has blind spots – and sometimes very large ones. She can achieve a certain level of detachment, but it’s nearly impossible for her to detach herself from her entire nation and culture – because without that, what is she? And so she isn’t able to look at the Seanchan’s place in the world from a truly unbiased perspective, and acknowledge that there may need to be compromises and changes.

(The same applies to some extent to those conquered; many of them still want to fight the Seanchan off, which at this point is…not going to happen. The Seanchan are here, and that’s unlikely to change, and so other things must change instead).

“You must know I have no thirst for power,” Beslan said. “The freedom of my people is all I desire.”

Ah, Beslan. It’s admirable and brave and it’s probably true, but it’s also probably hopeless.

“You are misguided, and that means you can change, should you receive the proper knowledge.”

It’s so frustrating to watch Tuon say these kinds of things, because SAME GOES FOR YOU, TUON.

But it’s a good kind of frustration, because it’s so very perfect for a character in her situation. She represents and embodies and is wholly suffused by Seanchan society and values and worldview, and to deny that would be to lose that entire sense of order and identity. It’s not a question of power, even; it’s a question fundamental to the existence of her entire world and her entire self. So you get this hypocrisy that doesn’t realise it’s hypocrisy. She genuinely doesn’t see the contradictions here, doesn’t see that these exact words could apply to her as well.

He looked at her, confused. Lower your eyes, fool. Don’t make me have you strapped for insolence!

Don’t make me. As if she couldn’t simply choose not to. Except, from her perspective, she couldn’t. It doesn’t even occur to her; strapping is the punishment for insolence, and so if he is insolent he will be strapped and it will be his fault. She is bound by these strict rules of order just as they are, even as she is the one enforcing them. So non-Seanchan see her as a tyrant and she sees herself as a necessary piece of a functional society. And it would appear that she is necessary to the functioning of Seanchan society, which says something about Seanchan society.  

She sees the laws and social codes of Seanchan as hard-and-fast truths. He should lower his eyes not because the law says so, but because in an absolute sense, that is what he is supposed to do. She believes this is order, and thus that it applies to everyone in every situation, regardless of who they are and where they come from. This is the ultimate truth and the ultimate state of order, and the laws of her country are thus more than simple laws; they are entirely above reproach or examination. They simply are.

Which is, you know, terrifying.

All the kingdoms on this side of the ocean would need to bow before the Crystal Throne, eventually. Each marath’damane would be leashed, each king or queen would swear the oaths.

And she sees this as absolutely inevitable and absolutely necessary. Because, again, this is how things are. This is the truth. This is order. This isn’t her way of thinking versus their way of thinking, or a simple matter of cultural differences: it’s The Truth against ‘misguided’ views and chaos.

Which, again, is horrifying. But this is a part of why I like having Tuon’s POV, because it raises these kinds of moral questions. Tuon stands for and represents a culture that is rather…hard to defend, but she also does so in what she genuinely believes to be the best interest of her people, but that doesn’t change things for the people living under this rule. So what does that make her? She’s lived her whole life surrounded by – indoctrinated by – these values and she believes them to be absolute truth, and they form a major part of her sense of self. So does that excuse her? If so, to what extent and for how long, once she is exposed to something different – if not itself without flaws?

And I like the way the narrative handles this, because it seems to leave it very open for the reader to come to their own conclusions – or not to, if they so choose. She’s presented very honestly, in both her virtues and her flaws. She’s given a viewpoint, and the reader is able to see her both as Tuon and as the Daughter of the Nine Moons, depending on the situation. Her virtues are shown clearly, and her motivations are made known, but the narrative also makes no attempt to hide or soften the harsher aspects of who and what she is – for instance, she trains damane; she isn’t let off the hook for that particular practice. The reader gets a full and fair picture of her, and is then left to figure out what to do with that.

“[Tylin’s] death is…unexplained,” he said. The implication was obvious. “I do not know if Suroth caused her to be killed,” Tuon said, softening her voice. “She claims that she did not. But the matter is being investigated. If it turns out that Suroth was behind the death, you and Altara will have an apology from the throne itself.”

Given the significance apologies hold in Seanchan culture, that’s no small promise. Yet again, Tuon is being far more open and honest than someone in Beslan’s position would expect. She wants the best for Altara, and believes that’s what she’s doing, and she also holds fairness and justice in high regard.

“The throne belongs to you. This is the ignorance of which I spoke. You must lead your people. They must have a king. I have neither time nor desire to do your duty for you.”

It’s such a fascinating conflict because…they agree on this point. Tuon doesn’t want to sit and micromanage Altara. Beslan wants to lead his people. They just have vastly different interpretations of what that looks like. Tuon’s not actively seeking to subjugate unwilling people and force a cruel set of regulations on them, because the way she sees it, that’s not what she’s doing. She’s bringing them order and peace, under their own ruler, who is then able to do his duty. Everyone in their place, everything running smoothly, what could possibly be wrong with that?

“You assume that the Seanchan dominance of your homeland will mean your people lack freedom. That is false. They will be more free, more protected, and more powerful when they accept our rule.”

Well, except for those who will be collared or otherwise enslaved. And those who live in constant awareness that Listeners are everywhere and that they must remain in their rightful place or else face severe consequences. But sure. Whatever you say.

“With the might of the empire, you will be able to hold your borders and patrol your lands outside of Ebou Dar. You speak of your people? Well, I have ordered something prepared for you.” She nodded to the side, where a willowy-limbed da’covale stepped forward with a leather satchel.

“Inside,” Tuon said, “you will find numbers gathered by my scouts and guard forces. You can see directly the reports of crimes during our occupation here. You will have reports and manifests, comparing how the people were before the Return and after it.”

Yay, propaganda! It may even be true. But part of good propaganda is presenting only the pieces of the truth that support your message.

Though Tuon, of course, has no intentions towards deceit, here. She believes her own propaganda, and doesn’t even see it as propaganda. Crime rates are lower, and therefore things are better under Seanchan rule. Which, for some people, is probably true. People who would be neither nobility nor Blood nor da’covale under anyone’s rule will continue living their lives, and some may find it easier and more peaceful under the Seanchan, because the alternative at the moment, in most of the world, is chaos. But there is a cost to be paid for that peace and security.

Also, there are other factors to consider. The chaos encompassing most of the world isn’t solely because they’re not occupied by the Seanchan. To say ‘this is how people were before the Return, and this is how they are after it’ implies that the Return is the sole cause of any changes, and while it is certainly a factor, it’s hardly the only one, what with the approaching apocalypse.

“The Empire is a resource to you, Beslan. A powerful ally. I will not insult you by offering you thrones you do not want. I will entice you by promising stability, food, and protection for your people. All for the simple price of your loyalty.”

And the freedom of a not insignificant portion of your people, and the humanity of any women who can channel, and the lives of any men who can. Make sure to read the fine print before you sign.

The thing is, she can promise food and stability and protection. But, like anything else, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. She just doesn’t see it that way, because the sacrifices that order requires aren’t sacrifices, as she sees them.

Beslan is given the generous choice of martyrdom or capitulation.

Which actually, if you take survival instinct out of it, could be a difficult choice for a truly altruistic ruler. Do you surrender and hope that, by retaining at least some power and position, you can find a way to mitigate the harm that would otherwise be done, and maybe hold out long enough to find a way to continue resisting? Or do you die as a symbol, to inspire your people to rebel in your footsteps, and to give them an example of courage and refusal to surrender, and a name to rally around?

“You will step forward and reign as your people need you to do. I promise you that I will not direct the affairs of your people. I will demand resources and men for my armies, as is proper, and your word cannot countermand my own. Aside from that, your power in Altara will be absolute. No Blood will have the right to command, harm, or imprison your people without your permission.”

So I have a question, Tuon. Do women who can channel count as ‘people’ or as ‘resources’ in that scenario?

Yet again, though, from where she’s standing and her culture, she’s being incredibly fair and generous. I really enjoy this.

Also it still grates on me that the Seanchan say ‘men’ to refer to soldiers and recruits for their armies, when those armies apparently don’t discriminate by gender. It’s a little thing, perhaps, but it makes the concept feel inconsistent.

“I will accept and review a list of noble families you feel should be raised to the low Blood, and I will raise no fewer than twenty of them. Altara will become the permanent seat of the Empress on this side of the ocean. As such, it will be the most powerful kingdom here. You may choose.”

As such, your power in Altara may be absolute, but it will be power following the structure of Seanchan society, which will be imposed upon you in the name of courtesy and acceptance. As such, you will have freedom, so long as it’s freedom we would approve of. As such, you will not have freedom or true autonomy at all.

“But understand this. if you decide to join us, you will give me your heart, and not just your words. I will not allow you to ignore your oaths.”

There it is. You will surrender your own choices and will and decisions, and be subject to those imposed upon you by the culture you must now adopt, if you wish to keep your life.

It’s a contradiction, but she doesn’t see it that way. It would be different if she did; it’s a little easier to accept things like this so long as they are openly and honestly acknowledged. But as far as she’s concerned, there isn’t anything to acknowledge, because as far as she’s concerned, everything she has said is true.

“A rebellion would mean only suffering, starvation and obscurity. These are not times to be alone, Beslan.”

She’s right in that last part, certainly. These are not times for division, they are times for unity and alliance, even when it is perhaps uncomfortable. There are no easy choices. There may not even be any good choices, in some cases.

Poor Beslan.

“I, Beslan of House Mitsobar, pledge my fealty and service to the Daughter of the Nine Moon and through her to the Seanchan Empire, now and for all time, save that she chooses to release me of her own will. My lands and throne are hers, and I yield them to her hand. So I do swear before the Light.”

What other choice does he have, really? It probably is the best thing he can do at this point.

And it’s almost word-for-word the same as the oath that, for instance, Alliandre swore to  Perrin. It’s interesting how different situations cast the same actions in different lights. Beslan swearing to Tuon. Alliandre swearing to Perrin. The Aes Sedai swearing to Rand. Theodrin and Faolain swearing to Egwene. Egwene demanding fealty of the Salidar council. The gai’shain of Malden swearing fealty to Faile.

Behind Beslan, Captain-General Galgan stepped forward, addressing the King. “That is not the proper way to—”

Tuon silenced him with a gesture. “We demand that these people adopt our ways, General,” she said. “It is fitting that we accept some of theirs.” Not too many of those ways, of course. But she could thank her long conversations with Mistress Anan for allowing her to understand this.

Except she hasn’t understood it, not completely. She understands the importance of compromise in theory, and is therefore willing to accept small things. Little things that don’t actually matter, because they don’t matter. Beslan has sworn fealty to her, and so who cares what specific words he uses, so long as he keeps to his oath?

And that is a valuable thing to learn – that certain things may be different on the surface but the same in essence. Those things, those differences, she is willing to accept. That’s a valuable thing.

But she’s not willing to accept greater changes, or even accept that it may be necessary to compromise on larger things. Things that she sees as integral to the maintenance of order and the functioning of society as she knows it. That’s a similar lesson, but not actually the same one, and it’s one she hasn’t learned yet.

Understandably, because it’s not an easy one. But still.

These people were odd. But she would have to understand them in order to rule them

Yes. And to her credit, she genuinely believes this and she genuinely tries to act upon it. She does seek that understanding, and she wants not just to rule but to rule well and fairly.

She just tries to understand them through her own understanding of the world, and it acts as a filter. Everyone does this, to some extent or another. She’s a really interesting example of how intention alone isn’t enough to guarantee success. And again, the reader is left relatively free there in determining how much of a role those intentions play in how Tuon is judged or regarded.

“Are you certain you’re not ta’veren, my Lady?” he asked. “Because I certainly wasn’t expecting to do that when I walked in here.”

No, she is actually just good at her job, for better or for worse.

Selucia more or less says that, via sign language that isn’t capitalised. Clearly this is because when she’s serving her function as Truthspeaker, it would be weird to speak in the same font as the Father of Lies. There can be no other explanation.

“King Beslan, you may withdraw or remain. It is your right to attend any public conferences I have in your kingdom, and you need no permission or invitation to attend.”

She really does value integrity. It may be a vastly different interpretation than many are accustomed to, but she holds herself to very careful and very high standards, and she is careful about things like this. She knows Beslan probably doesn’t know the exact details of the role she’s placed him in, and she is both gracious and straightforward here in clarifying an aspect of that while also according him the respect she believes he deserves.

And Galgan present’s Rand’s banner, along with his renewed request for a meeting. “Seriously, I’ve been trying to book time on your calendar for a month now and you’re always out of office can we at least skype or something this is getting ridiculous.” Welcome to politics, work, and/or adulthood, in which no two people are ever free at the same time. It’s a law of the universe.

“This morning when I arose,” Tuon said, “I saw a pattern like three towers in the sky and a hawk, high in the air, passing between them.”

Hmm. She thinks it indicates upcoming difficult choices – which is kind of like saying that a hurricane indicates upcoming winds – but I’m trying to figure out if there’s something else these particular symbols could represent. Towers and hawks we have in abundance, but this particular combination isn’t ringing any bells. I suppose it could just be random, but…

How did these people live, not knowing the omens?

This right after she dismissed the notion of ta’veren as one of this land’s many ‘superstitions’. I really like this, though – it’s not subtle, but it comes across as very accurate. If you’ll excuse me talking about myself for a minute, I’ve lived in a few different countries and spent a lot of time in others, or in international environments, and this sort of thing happens with an almost laughable frequency. And sometimes it is this obvious, but no one realises until either someone has a sudden flash of insight or a third party points it out. And even then there would usually be a period of both sides attempting to explain why they do thing X, and why X makes sense, when the answer is usually more along the lines of ‘because it’s deeply ingrained in this culture’ than anything else.

Cultural norms are strange things, is what I’m saying, especially when you’re first confronted with some that you never even consciously registered until encountering their absence or opposite accepted as completely normal somewhere else.

(That said, if you make tea in a microwave I will fight you).

Anyway.

Galgan doesn’t think meeting Rand is a great idea. Honestly, at this particular point in time, I’m not sure Tuon meeting Rand is a great idea.

“does the Empire not have other concerns at this time?”

It reminds me of what Egwene said – that the Tower actually can’t focus on the Dragon Reborn until it sorts out some of its own shit. Different situations, though. Basically, everyone who’s focused on the Dragon Reborn needs to step back a bit and make their own beds first. And everyone who’s avoiding any thoughts of the Dragon Reborn needs to wake up and smell the coffee.

Damn it, Word, stop repaginating my 3400 page document.

“He must bow beore the Crystal Throne before the Last Battle can begin.”

There are just so many ways of interpreting that, and all I am certain of is that the correct interpretation will not be the obvious one.

Given how this sort of thing usually plays out in prophecies and other fantasy semantic shenanigans, I’d guess it’ll end up with Rand bowing to Tuon as a sign of respect, but not as a concession.

Tuon’s less focused on wording and more focused on ensuring that Galgan won’t kill her in her sleep. Not yet, anyway.

“Aside from setbacks in Arad Doman”

I’m 92% sure ‘setbacks’ is Rodel Ituralde’s code name.

“The other concern has been the large number of marath’damane concentrated in the place known as Tar Valon. I believe the Highest Daughter has heard of the great weapon they used to destroy a large patch of land north of Ebou Dar.”

Shit. Well, here we go.

“This wondrous ability they have to transport instantly from one place to another”

Damn it.

“I believe that a strike at the very heart of our enemy’s lands would not only be possible, but highly advantageous.”

And there, you might encounter a…setback. By the name of Egwene al’Vere. Elaida also thought a strike at the very heart of the rebels would be possible and highly advantageous.

Come to think of it, she thought the same of a strike at Rand.

This will undoubtedly end well for everyone, is my point here.

True, those marath’damane who had travelled with Matrim had said that they would not take part in wars. Indeed, marath’damane who had once been Aes Sedai had – so far – proven useless as weapons. But could there be some way to twist their supposed vows?

Says she who just wondered how the people of these lands could possibly set some oaths above others. Says she who holds vows and oaths as sacrosanct.

But vows and oaths only apply to humans with agency and autonomy, so I suppose that neatly eliminates any cognitive dissonance this thought might otherwise have caused. How convenient.

Bloodknives? Cool name, and apparently they’re some sort of suicidal super-soldiers. That sounds like good news for everyone involved…

“The Dragon Reborn will not react well to this raid,” Tuon said to Galgan.

No, and also the Amyrlin Seat will not react well to this raid and, just a friendly piece of advice, you might want to start concerning yourselves with that.

“Is he not connected to these marath’damane?”

“By some reports,” Galgan said. “Others say he is opposed to them. Still others say they are his pawns. Our poor intelligence in this area lowers my eyes, Highest Daughter.”

Nah, your intelligence is fine. The correct answer is ‘all of the above, but not exactly’.

“Perhaps the raid will enrage him – but it will also weaken him, which will place you in a better position for negotiating with him.”

Looking at the wreckage formerly known as Dumai’s Wells, I would caution that ‘enraged and weakened’ is…not exactly a combination that puts Rand in a negotiating mood.

Undoubtedly, this was the difficult decision of the omen. But her choice seemed very obvious.

While you’re busy learning about these lands, Tuon, I suggest you look into this genre as well, or really just fiction in general, because ‘undoubtedly’ combined with an interpretation of something like an omen or a prophecy is as good as saying ‘so the opposite of what I say is correct’.

No one objects to the plan.

No one in this room, anyway. Egwene al’Vere strongly objects to this plan. They just don’t know it yet.

Tylee!

“She is one of my finest officers.”

This delights me. Pretty much everything about Tylee delights me.

“It is obvious that you are tired, warrior,” Selucia Voiced.

Warrior. I love it. Also poor Tylee. At least she survived that attack…also you know that post that goes around sometimes? The one that says ‘sometimes you just need to see your favourite character(s) breathing hard and covered in blood’? I don’t know that Tylee qualifies as a favourite, exactly, but she’s a favourite minor character and the general…uh…aesthetic…of that definitely applies. Characters exhausted or at the end of their endurance and pressing through it even though you can see the effort it costs them. It’s a thing.

“If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” Tylee said, voice betraying exhaustion. She nodded to her man, and he opened his sack, dumping things onto the floor. The heads of several animals. A boar, a wolf, and…a hawk? Tuon felt a chill. That hawk’s head was as large as a person’s. Perhaps larger. But they were not…right.

Oh shit. Time to be confronted with those imaginary children’s tales. That must be…fun. Especially given what that implies about all the other things Tuon and the Seanchan have discounted as mere superstition.

“I presume that the Highest Daughter knows of my military venture against the Aiel,” Tylee said

…oh. Not the Shaido. The Aiel.

This isn’t going to end, is it? Two groups, widely viewed as invaders, with sparks being fanned between them. Too much has happened already for this conflict to simply fade.

The Aiel following Rand, unsure of whether they will ever return to the Three-fold Land. The Seanchan, returning to lands they claim as their own, determined to remain. The Aiel, the nation most loyal to Rand. The Seanchan, who believe they will command his obedience. The Aiel, invaders who adapt, and the Seanchan, invaders who demand that all adapt to them. It’s such a lovely set of contrasts amongst the two most ‘foreign’ cultures, and there’s almost a sense of future tragedy being set in motion here, as they are drawn into inevitable conflict, these two peoples who have never met, but are not given the chance to meet peacefully.

“I believe them to be what some on this side of the ocean speak of as Trollocs. I believe them to be coming here.”

Chaos.

Well we all saw that coming.

Tuon felt she should be shocked. But, oddly, she wasn’t. So Matrim was not mistaken about this, she signed covertly to Selucia. And she had assumed Trollocs to be nothing more than superstition. She glanced at the heads again. Revolting.

Selucia seemed troubled. Are there other things he said that we discounted, I wonder?

So she picks up on the implications of this pretty quickly, at least. It isn’t just Trollocs. It’s a blow to their whole worldview and understanding of how things work. Which is something of a recurring theme especially in the Seanchan-based chapters – this idea of how a person’s background shapes their worldview and what happens when that is shaken or challenged. It isn’t strictly limited to the Seanchan – the whole world is in a state of flux and has been for more or less the entire series, and characters and nations are having to fight to hold onto or claim their identities and worldviews and selves.

I like that Selucia can question this, though. She’s well-chosen as a Truthspeaker, it would seem, in that she is able to face and speak difficult truths. Such as the idea that they discounted important information, and that they were mistaken to do so. That they might need to rethink some pretty major things.

I should very much like to have him back. She froze; she hadn’t meant to admit so much. She found her own emotions curious, however.

I like this thing she does, where she analyses her own emotions from a place of near-detachment. It’s weirdly relatable.

Selucia finally tells everyone to calm the fuck down and stop shouting, and they listen, because Selucia is that kind of presence.

“But this only makes it more urgent that we subdue the Dragon Reborn.”

Words like ‘subdue’ just…don’t tend to work very well on Rand. Nor do boxes, just in case you were getting any ideas.

“If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” Tylee said, bowing.

“You are allowed to speak.”

“These last few weeks, I have seen many things that have given me thought,” Tylee said. “Even before my troops were attacked, I was worried. The wisdom and grace of the Highest Daughter undoubtedly let her see further than one such as I, but I believe that our conquests so far in this land have been easy compared to what might come. If I may be so bold…I believe that the Dragon Reborn and those associated with him may make better allies than enemies.”

YES. I LOVE HER.

I also love that she is willing to say this, to the Daughter of the Nine Moons. It’s a dangerously bold statement, even phrased as diplomatically as this, and there’s no way she doesn’t know that. She is very aware of her place, and whom she is talking to, and of how close her suggestion comes to something that could be interpreted as criticism of the Highest Daughter. And she says it anyway. Unasked – she isn’t responding to a direct question with a reluctantly honest opinion, but is actually taking the initiative and speaking up, just barely in turn. Because it’s that important, and because she believes it that strongly.

It is also almost word for word what Tuon said to Beslan about the Seanchan. That they would be better allies than enemies. It’s a beautiful form of turnabout, and I love how that’s been something of a theme in this chapter. How everything is doubled and reflected, in such a way that the parallels and contrasts are obvious to the reader but entirely unnoticed by the characters.

It was a bold statement. […] Many of the low Blood would be so in awe at meeting one of the Empress’s household, much less the Highest Daughter, that they would not dare speak. Yet this woman offered suggestions? In direct opposition to Tuon’s published will?

Indeed she does. Because Tylee is fucking awesome. She’s exhausted and probably terrified, but she will say this because it needs to be said. And she’s right. This is a time when they all have to put other conflicts aside and make difficult alliances sometimes, in order to fight a much greater enemy.

“A difficult decision is not always a decision where both sides are equally matched, Tuon,” Selucia said suddenly. “Perhaps, in this case, a difficult decision is one that is right, but requires an implication of fault as well.”

Selucia is also badass, and yet again able to speak hard truths. That’s her mandate, of course, but she’s also able to see those hard truths in the first place.

To Tuon’s credit, she for her part is able to then listen to those statements, and take them into account when thinking things through, rather than getting angry or trying to deny them.

And yet, meeting with the Dragon Reborn, in person? She did need to contact him, and had planned to. But would it not be better to go to him in strength, his armies defeated, the White Tower torn down?

No. No, it very much would not be better to do that. For anyone. ‘Anyone’ here including ‘literally the entire world and all future generations’.

She needed him brought to the Crystal Throne under very controlled circumstances, with the understanding that he was to submit to her authority.

Yeah, that’s what Elaida thought, too. Why don’t you ask her how well it worked out for her?

Thankfully, she decides against that particular course of action.

“avoid confrontation with the Dragon Reborn. And reply to his request for a meeting. The Daughter of the Nine Moons will meet with him.”

Take two.

Order must be brought to the world. If she had to do that by lowering her eyes slightly and meeting with the Dragon Reborn, then so be it.

It’s another laudable quality of hers, that she is willing to set aside some of her pride for the sake of doing what needs to be done.

It’s just the interpretation of ‘what needs to be done’ or ‘what is right’ that sometimes causes…problems. What a surprise.

Oddly, she felt herself wishing – once again – that Matrim were still with her. […] Stay well, you curious man, she thought, glancing back at the balcony, northward. Do not dig yourself into trouble deeper than you can climb to freedom. You are Prince of the Ravens now. Remember to act appropriately.

Ha.

Next (TGS ch 20) Previous (TGS ch 18)

[zuvluguu]

The Case for Christ Consciousness By

Joran Slane Oppelt

“The most important Gospel you’ll ever read is the one that you write.” 

– Reverend Russell Heiland

Did Jesus Exist?

There’s a curious 40-70 year span that occurs between Jesus’ death and the time that the apostles and their descendants were “inspired” to write the Gospels. That, combined with the fact that more than half of the Gospels weren’t even written by men alive during Jesus’ time, gives one cause for wonder. I, myself, wonder if I would trust the acquaintances of my friends (even if I considered them “disciples”) to correctly quote me two generations later about something as important as what I believed to be the “good news,” the living Word of God.

There’s also the ancient and familiar origins of the Jesus myth itself. The story of Jesus was not new to people at the time. In fact, Jesus’ life story has so many elements in common with other (and pre-existing) Mediterranean and Middle Eastern god-man hybrids — like the Persian story of Mithras (whose birth was attended by three shepherds), the Egyptian legend of Osiris (who was assassinated by conspirators, defeated death and returned to rule the afterlife), the Greek Dionysus (who celebrated a “last supper” with twelve trusted associates before his execution) and Zoroaster (also from Persia, who was “born of a virgin mother” and come to “crush the forces of evil”). Even the Hindu deity Krishna (thought to have lived anywhere from 3228 to 3rd Century BCE) is thought to be the inspiration for the Jesus myth (his father was a carpenter, his birth was marked by the appearance of a star, he healed the sick and the lame).

Any (or all) of these stories could prove to be the inspiration for the Jesus mythology, but not vice versa. In fact, St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430 CE) wrote, “This, in our day, is the Christian religion, not as having been unknown in former times, but as having recently received that name.”

So, if Jesus’ life was simply a more effective re-telling of re-hashed pagan and Occident stories and legends, then why does he matter? And, if we could separate the mythology of Jesus — of which so much has been added to after his “death” — from the message or teachings of Jesus, what might distinguish him, philosophically, from the hordes of other virgin-born messiahs of the day?

Love

Let’s start with Jesus’ ministry and his message of universal love (Agape), which is a different type of love than the world had seen to that point, and different even from the idea that God (the father) “so loved the world” that he sent his only Son to die.

Most of the so-called Axial sages (800 – 200 BCE) — from Socrates to Confucius to The Buddha — instructed their students and disciples in Oneness or non-duality, or to hold the entire world in their hearts. It was a spiritual (not to mention monotheistic) leap that was happening worldwide. A call to think beyond egocentrism (our selves and families), and ethnocentrism (our tribes and nations) — to attain a worldcentric perspective. This was a new paradigm that, to this day, few people attain. But, while The Buddha contemplated desires, and Judaism preached compassion for thy neighbor, and the Indians practiced ahimsa (non-violence), Jesus didn’t ask, he demanded Love from his followers. In fact, there are those that say a deep, sustained and unconditional Love is the central tenet of the Christian faith.

Jesus said, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”

He also instructed us to reveal that love to the world, to wear it on the outside.

“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works.”

This not-so-simple practice of love, compassion and Ultimate Concern (and a few armed Crusades here and there) got Christianity pretty far along in the world. It was even carried across the ocean to America, where it replaced the indigenous nature religions and today remains the largest religion on the planet, with Islam in second place and quickly closing the gap.

Heal Thyself

During the late 19th century, there arose entire movements in the United States around the ideas of faith healing. According to these schools of thought, not only was the Spirit of Christ in every fiber of our bodies, but the body and mind of Christ was also held up as the exemplar of perfect health and physical regeneration. A pure, energetic being made of light — with no disease, no attachment, free from karma and sin. A kind of ideal man, “full of grace and truth.” In fact, one of Osiris’ names (after his resurrection) was Wenennefer, which meant “the one who continues to be perfect.”

These New Thought movements (Christian Science, Unity) claimed that “Infinite Intelligence or God is the sole reality” and that “we are children of God, and therefore do not inherit sickness.” Sickness, therefore, might be the failure to realize this truth, and healing accomplished (partly) by the “affirmation of oneness with the Infinite Intelligence or God.” The image of Jesus as a divine healer was fully embraced. After all, Jesus had cured all forms of ailment (from blindness to leprosy), raised the dead, and performed all manner of medical miracles.

Unity founders, Charles and Myrtle Fillmore were so taken up by the healing power of prayer through the Christ Mind — that after ridding themselves of illness (a bad hip and tuberculosis, respectively), they began to host nightly prayer sessions and opened their home to all kinds of afflicted. This prayer service — a kind of guided meditation — which began as a small group gathering at the same time every night, continues on today in the form of a fully staffed 24-hour call center in Kansas City, MO.

Unity also began teaching a system known as the “Twelve Powers,” which identifies energy centers in the body (similar to chakras), which correspond not only to the Twelve Apostles but also to spiritual and psychological functions like “Will,” “Imagination,” “Power,” and “Love.”

Faith healing is, of course, not exclusive to Christians, and if we consider recent discoveries in quantum mechanics and the controversial field of zero point energy, then factor in Jung’s collective unconscious as it pertains to the science of mind, it’s possible that “faith healing” isn’t based on faith at all. When Jesus said, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst of them,” the statement could be more true than he intended. For, it’s quite possible that a healing intention holds real power no matter whose name you’re healing in the name of.

Christ Consciousness

Jesus was also the way-shower for the three faces of God (1st, 2nd and 3rd-person perspectives of Spirit), demonstrating at once that communicating about God, to God, and as God are not separate functions or faculties.

Lynne McTaggart wrote in her groundbreaking book The Field, “We are quantum beings. All living things are connected by an invisible web. The brain perceives the world through quantum frequencies. Everything is indivisible and living consciousness is not isolated. In effect, there’s nothing that is not part of this field. There’s nothing that is not God.”

If our continually-expanding consciousness, the ability to take more and more perspectives — not to mention the primordial drive toward increasing biological complexity — is directly related to the unfolding of the entire cosmos, then we — our interiors and exteriors — are all part of that whole. It is one action. It is, in fact, Spirit-in-Action.

Our mind, then, acts as a kind of compass, lens or prism, refracting and re-broadcasting this consciousness throughout our entire body (gross, subtle and causal) and the bodies of others, the way a transmitter carries information. And in our various attempts to improve, focus or attenuate our minds — through study, contemplation, prayer or meditation — we hold in place an ideal, a mind that is unclouded, that is both crystal-clear and ever-unfolding. A mind that is a reflection of the Cosmos itself. This is the mind of Christ, this is Christ Consciousness. And by any other name, it is the perfection always within you, “the part that is unchanging, and indestructible.”

You Are The Christ

In The Life and Morals of Jesus, also known as “The Jefferson Bible,” (a project finally completed by Thomas Jefferson in 1820) Jesus’ words are stripped of all other narrative, presenting his teachings in one place, and revealing them for what they are — a passionate form of spiritual wisdom the likes of which the world had never seen. In this context, the Sermon on the Mount begins to resemble something more like the Dhammapada or the Tao Te Ching — a sometimes poetic collection of universal insights into the human condition, with the power to effect real change in people and the world.

If we can never fully know who Jesus was, maybe we can find a real and deep understanding of what Jesus means to the world. After all, the Buddha was a prince whose lineage can be verified using any manner of genealogical sources, but we don’t need to see a certificate of birth to understand the message of The Enlightened One — that attachment to objects or desires leads down a painful path of inner conflict.

Jesus said, “When you see a cloud rise out of the west, straightway ye say, There cometh a shower, and so it is. And when ye see the south wind blow, ye say, There will be heat; and it cometh to pass. Ye hypocrites! Ye can discern the face of the sky and of the earth; but how is it, that ye do not discern this time?” Was he asking us to turn the scientific principles we would apply outwardly to geology and cosmology (principles that didn’t yet exist) onto the inner workings of our own minds? Was he suggesting they were one and the same?

Just as Jesus is popularly depicted parting his robes to reveal his glowing chest — open and vulnerable — we must peel away the layers of the myth to get to the pure heart and intention of Jesus, the man. Regardless of his origin, is it possible that Jesus was a rabbi, and a teacher, and a healer that was misunderstood, misquoted and possibly deified after his death? Is it possible that Jesus was more “enlightened” or smarter than his peers? Did Jesus’ brain contain a higher level of neuroplasticity than those that existed at the time, allowing him to access and retain higher states of consciousness? Was Jesus the Son of Man? the Son of God? All of the above?

Is it possible that the answers to these questions are already within your own heart?

[waratahlass]

Homeward bound

A new adventure should only begin when the previous one has ended so before i start the first chapter of life aboard the good ship Trim, I will finish telling the story of Waratah Lass.

After two and a half years of sailing, mostly alone, I was ready to re connect with those closest to me, so i tied WL up on a typhoon rated mooring in Guam and boarded a plane home in December.

12.01am on the 1st of January 2016 - Dancing amongst the Aussie bush alongside my brother, sister, two of my best mates and another 1000 northern rivers locals seeing in the new year. Being immersed in such a social environment so soon after spending weeks alone at sea made for a profound experience - to say the least.

That summer holds some of the best memories of my life. By the time i was on a plane back to the boat, I had a huge smile on my face and tears welling in my eyes as i reflected on the strengthened bond with my family and new friendships i had made. I also had a new plan. Sail home. It was a big decision but not a difficult one. It meant abandoning the planned voyage to Japan but it felt right and i think that’s vastly more important than stubbornly sticking to an original goal. Darwin, the nearest Australian port, was twice as far away as Okinawa, the nearest Japanese port.

Guam, an isolated American metropolis, wasn’t somewhere that i felt particularly at home so on my return to the boat at the end of February I wasted no time in preparing and provisioning for the upcoming passage that would take me south over 26 degrees of latitude to Darwin via Palau and Indonesia.

Provisioning was easy, taking advantage of Guam’s large American supermarket chains. With food, fuel and water taken care of, I departed Apra Harbour on a warm sunny morning in perfect sailing conditions, course set for Palau, with the wind over the port quarter.

Writing this entry over a year after the event means i have forgotten some of the finer details, but overall i remember this 5 day passage as one of the most pleasant, sailing in near perfect conditions the entire trip without starting the engine until entering Palau’s fringing reef. About 48 hours before arriving, I was accompanied by one of the largest pods of dolphins i had ever witnessed. Several hundred individuals. It was as i was sailing amongst this mega-pod that i hooked a rather large Yellowfin Tuna. Struggling to wrestle the fish into the cockpit, i estimated it’s weight at near 50kg’s. It’s fillets filled every inch of my 30 Liter freezer. Far more than i could eat myself, but knowing that i would soon be able to offload all surplus to locals and fellow cruisers.

Taking in the surroundings as i motored through the channels between islands was like stepping back in time. At first glance, there seemed to be no sign of human inhabitation. Just lush Jungle clad limestone islands, jutting out of turquoise water which would regularly come alive as hunting fish burst through a bait ball on the surface. Sea birds circling a tight circle above, before tucking their wings, free-falling into the boiling water and resurfacing with their prey. What a pleasant contrast to the concrete-clad freeways and shopping malls of Guam.

I spent two wonderful weeks in Palau, exploring some pristine anchorages, free diving ledges dropping into the abyss, sleeping under the stars on deck and doing a little spearfishing. I met a lovely Norwegian couple, Helge and Jane on an aluminum sloop that were kind enough to give me a ride in their dinghy ( I was down to a plastic 8ft rowing dinghy i had acquired in Guam) through the famous German Channel to some of the worlds most spectacular dive sites. I contemplated staying longer in this beautiful part of the world but once again, it felt right to keep moving towards Australian shores. I’m sure i will have the pleasure of sailing into Palau again someday.

The route home would take me through the remainder of the Philippine Sea, around the westernmost part of West Papuan mainland through a narrow strait opening into the Arafura Sea before i made a course almost due south for Darwin, navigating around a few Indonesian islands. My main concerns were centered around having too little wind and the tiller pilot (small electronic autopilot) failing so that i would have to hand steer and motor for days on end. I certainly wasn’t thinking about the risk of piracy, that is, until I was 400 miles from the nearest land, completely alone,  and a large, sketchy looking fishing vessel had been following me all day, not responding to my calls on ch16 and shadowing my every course alteration. By then, piracy was at the forefront of my mind!! I peered intently through binoculars to see if i could make more sense of what was unfolding. My heart sank when they launched 5 small high powered tenders that began speeding towards my little sailing boat. My little sailing boat which had now become my fortress. I scurried below to lock hatches and frantically typed a message via sat phone to two friends detailing my position and situation. The worst scenario weighed heavily on my mind - If they truly had malicious intentions, I would be taken off my yacht for ransom. Armed only with parachute flares, i stared nervously out the window watching them quickly close the gap between Waratah Lass and their mothership. In minutes they were alongside. I couldn’t see any weapons which was the first positive sign. Four men held off 5 metres while the remaining approached to grab hold of my stanchion post. At this point it seemed as though they weren’t going to forcefully enter the boat so i opened the hatch to make myself known, leaving the flares below, not wanting to escalate the situation. There were no smiles. But i felt more at ease now there were no apparent firearms. I asked what they wanted. After some brief interaction of gestures and broken english, i was able to discern alcohol and cigarettes. Luckily, i had some alcohol onboard! climbing through the forward hatch (easier to lock quickly) i raided my own stores of all the alcohol i could find and offloaded it to the men alongside. They asked for more, but i told them that was it. Seemingly satisfied, they left as abruptly as they had arrived. A vast wave of relief, followed by ecstatic happiness washed over me as they disappeared into the late afternoons suns’ reflection off the sea. I felt ALIVE!! That night, i turned all lights and radio equipment off, ghosting along under moonlight alone.

The following day, on sunrise, i scanned the horizon and was thankful to be alone again. What’s more, there was the first sign of  a sailing breeze since i had left Palau five days earlier. With the assistance of the engine to give some extra apparent wind, i was able to set the code zero nicely and settled into a day of motor-sailing - which is about the best you can hope for in the notoriously windless area across the equator known as ‘The Doldrums’. I was down below, laying in my bunk reading when the engine came to an unexpected violent stop. Either my engine had just seized, or i had something wrapped around my propellor. Neither are good but i was relieved on inspecting the engine that it wasn’t overheated. Sure enough, upon looking behind the boat, i was trailing my code zero’s 10mm Spectra furling line. Not a good line to get caught around your propellor! Without the assistance of the engine to create apparent wind, the sail was luffing so i furled it. Waratah Lass lay stalled - engineless in the most windless part of the planet, rolling and pitching in a small messy sea. There was only one option in this scenario and that was to tie myself to the boat,  dive overboard with a knife and cut away the tangled line. This might seem like an easy enough solution in theory, but in practice - not so much! I dreaded jumping overboard. Solo sailing rule #1 Do not fall overboard! it just felt so unnatural to leave the boat, plunging into water thousands of meters deep in the middle of the ocean. At least it was warm! Warm enough that i was stark naked, bar my mask, fins and a rope tied around my chest. Holding my breath, i would dive a few feet below the surface to the propellor and start cutting away rope, which had bound itself bar tight, until i needed to resurface for air. The dangers were not lost on me. If i held my breath too long i was dead, if received a decent bump on the head, i was dead. After half an hour and three separate attempts overboard i had the majority cut away. When the engine started and propelled the boat forwards, i was filled with the same feeling of elation i had experienced the day before. I had overcome another tribulation and felt on top of the world! I motored on towards Australia, still another 1000 nautical miles away.

[blookmallow]

ok so i noticed that the words in Sir’s book are actually legible if you pause at the right times so i uh

spent entirely too long reading as much of it as i could and this’s what i found :’) 

there’s one page that just repeats over and over and it. weirdly seems to be the daily punctilio article mrs. poe wrote about the baudelaires?? im guessing they probably used it for a newspaper prop somewhere and just reused the text since they figured no one would be. doing this :’ ) but anyway i transcribed it. weird punctuation/misspellings/etc are copied as it was written

"I think the way into a mans wallet is through he stomach" she said! .Women in the office is sure one for the books!

Well when Montgomery was on a snake expedition in the Western Ghats Mountains of Souther India he could hear a odd immature giggle. Montgomery thought he was going crazy after hearing this giggle over a few days he decided to go on a hunt. Finally good news to report on the orphan Baudelaire children. Citizens can rest easy as the children have found a new guardian Count Omar. Count Omar is a famous actor from the Grand Theatre in The City and has graciously accepted the children into his home. After a grueling few days the children were living with Mr. Poe and Eleanor Poe our amazing and exceedingly distinguished Editor-In-Chief. Mr. Poe announced today that Count Omar is the children's closest living relative and has agreed to help the poor orphaned children by taking them into his lovely, clean and beautiful home. Our investigative photo reporters were able to snap some photos of the children entering Count Omar's home. They look more than thrilled to be able to finally call a new place home again. Veronica, Klyde, and Suzie Baudelaire can res easy now knowing that Count Omar is their closest living relative and is there to take great care of them. Count Omar is a distinguished actor in The City's community and has put on countless plays that he has written, directed, and starred in. Some you may know such as The Most Handsome Man in the World, and its sequel Why, I believe I've Become Even More Handsome! And a very suspenseful play One Last Warning to Those Who Try to Stand in My Way, a very enthralling play I do say so myself. Count Omar seems to be a very suitable guardian for the

Baudelaire children and he has seemed to have taken such a great interest in their well-being that there is talk amongst the town that he is writing a new play and it is to star the children themselves. Our sources say that he wants the children to feel welcome in his home and in his theatre community by showing them first hand what it is he does as a career and what they are now apart of. Our sources say that the play will be called The Marvellous Marriage and it sounds very exciting! Hopefully with the children settling into Count Omar's home they can finally start to heal the burn wounds that the great fire left by taking their home and their parents. As reported a few days ago a great fire took place at the Baudelaire mansion burning it down to the ground and taking the lives of Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire leaving behind their three children. The Fire Department is still investigating the fire even though they are sure it was nothing more than just a terrible fire leading to a series of unfortunate events for the children. It has been a short time since the Baudelaire's parents tragically perished in a blazing fire that took their lives and also their home. Veronica, Klyde, and Susie still remain orphans. Mr. Poe the husband of the great Eleanor Poe our Editor-In-Chief here at the Daily Punctilio is currently looking after the children till their closest living relative is found for them to live with. The children were seen standing in the ruins of their home, Sifting through ash and rubble looking for belongings they can take with them on their (blocked by subtitles)

It looks like the children are trying to find reminders of their past life and look for photographs to remember their late parents. We were about to speak with the children briefly before they left with Mr. Poe.

To summarize what they said "we miss our parents dearly, and we could not have forseen the unfortunate events that have taken place this afternoon" - Klyde. "

Our mother Beatrice had suggested we go to Briny Beach to enjoy the sunshine as if she knew we shouldn't be in the house. I would never have thought that those would be our last words spoken to each other.

I wish I could have hugged her for just a moment longer before letting go of her." - Veronica. We are not sure if Susie the children's infant sister can totally comprehend the loss she has suffered. She will never know her parents which is a tragedy in its own.

Our hearts break for these poor orphan children. Enduring a loss such as the loss they are currently enduring is simply to hard for one to comprehend. Unless they to have lost their parents and home in a fire that engulfed all their memories and belongings containing such sentimental value, then they can comprehend and sympathize for the Baudelaire children.

Hopefully the children can find their long lost relative and are able to begin healing and start rebuilding a relatively normal life. Although going through such a series of unfortunate events such as these ones they have been subject to so far seems very difficult to be able to continue a normal life. It seems the children have a great many struggles ahead as they begin their new lives alone. The only person who works at the library also owns it and there is a separate area where they live. Only some tourists usually visit the library to see what all the fuss is about but it is indeed just a library. Many find it to difficult to access the library so they simply go to the one in The City.

As the investigation goes so far the VPD and the VFD believe it was a fire that started in the library and the heat the cracked the glass. It is unsure if the owner started the fire or if it was started by an arsonist trying to burn books that hold many clues to many things.

Luckily the owner was able to escape and explained that some one had started the fire. A customer who looked like neither a man nor a woman. This person will be very hard to catch because of the lack of a description to the owner could give. What does a man nor woman look like, that is the question many are posing. The VPD and the VFD also say that cannot really investigate more because the library sank to the bottom of the ocean near which is located near briny beach. The underwater libraries flooding will remain a mystery. Unless a new and easier way to get to the library is invented. Many citizens who live around The City's train tracks are complaining of a loud tooting sound. sounds you hear usually coming from a train such as toot-toot. As you know the trains tooting sounds were taken out last year due to people's complaints that they were annoying.

however one page repeated most of this but then changed to something else partway through but i couldn’t pause it with the page flat enough to be able to completely read it 

something about the marvellous marriage, the grand theatre being boring, a deadly crash, and Seacars

then the page before the censored page

says this:

An exchange between Sir and Ray Hardwood took place days before the Paltryville Fire. Many suspect that the argument the two men had are what caused Ray to act out and torch Paltryville. However due to lack of evidence aka lack of Lucky Smells Lumbermill the Paltryville Fire and Police Department could not pin how the fire was started or who started the fire. After Lucky Smells was burnt to a crisp biscuit Roy left town leaving many in suspicion that it was indeed he who started the fire. Only a few past employees have spoken about the exchange that occurred and the details truly bring to light the events that lead up to the Paltryville Fire. Roy had come to town to take back what he thought was rightfully his Lucky Smells. But as we all know to be true Sir started Lucky Smells from the ground up. Roy believed that it was his families name that started in Paltryville and his father and Sirs father had an idea about using driftwood from the Mortmain Mountains to begin a small lumber mill to help supply lumber to a growing Paltryville.

Roy accused Sirs father of stealing the idea and began building his own lumber mill. When Sir refused to believe Roy and explaining to him that it was his father who began Lucky Smells, and when it came time he took that company from his father and turned it into the empire it is today. After that exchange Sir banned Roy from Lucky Smells and had his men kick Roy out. Roy began acting outrageously pushing employees and swinging logs around and so Sir had no other choice but to call the police and the was the last anyone had seen Roy until the fire.

and the uncensored page, which is what STARTED ALL THIS bc i wanted to know what it said and realized it was visible just long enough that you could potentially see it, is clearly written by sir: 

The Baudelaires were unequivocally responsible for putting out the fire. "We happened to be enjoying a lovely picnic at our favorite picnic spot at the edge of the Finite Forest when we saw the flames", Mr. Baudelaire told representatives of the Official Fire Department once they arrived on the scene. His wife added, "As good citizins, it was our duty to leap into action. Would you care for a madeleine? They're freshly baked." Eyewitnesses claim Mr. Baudelaire repurposed a large cowbell, a hammer, and a ten-foot pole to create a makeshift fire alarm, which he rang to warn the townsfolk to evacuate their homes, while Mrs. Baudelaire re-distributed the Lucky Smells water circulation system to put out the blaze. (Rest assured, I have billed her for the use of the water. It's not like it just falls from the sky!)

As if one day of heroics wasn't enough, the Baudelaires were also responsible for relocating the survivors, and setting them up with "good jobs in the city, where they can raise their families in peace and security, knowing that their homes are protected and non-flammable and that a reliable fire department is always nearby." A lovely sentiment, but I sure hope that my tax dollars aren't paying for that!

I myself was away on a busman's holiday in the city, where I took a bus to my favorite hot wood sauna, so I completely missed the fire, though I'm happy to report that my time in the sauna was quite relaxing. In fact, it was so relaxing that I fell asleep. When I woke up, either several minutes or several hours later (the sauna did not contain a clock), I was very hungry, and ordered a lunch of alphabet soup, which I ate with my silver spoon, and a cigarillo, which is a bit like a cigar and a bit like a cigarette. My favorite part of eating alphabet soup is rearranging the letters to form my first name, which of course you readers already know to be

[anothertruesentence]

55

1. tenderness 2. anticipation 3. optimism 4. intimacy 5. apprehension 6. wonder 7. awe 8. adoration 9. affection 10. delight 11. passion 12. love 13. certitude 14. reminiscence 15. adequacy 16. peace 17. belonging 18. turmoil 19. grief 20. restraint 21. loss 22. discomfort 23. uncanniness 24. ennui 25. defeat 26. puzzlement 27. fatigue 28. anguish 29. yearning 30. despair 31. indifference 32. apathy 33. relief 34. weariness 35. foreboding 36. emptiness 37. inconsequentiality 38. dread 39. pain 40. panic 41. fear 42. terror 43. horror 44. agony 45. vigilance 46. uncertainty 47. torment 48. hope 49. restlessness 50. calm 51. clarity 52. pride 53. power 54. worthiness 55. strength

1

tenderness

/ˈtɛndənəs/

noun

Feelings of deep affection.

Sensitivity to pain; soreness.

We come together, we leave. Between the opening and the closing door, we exist. What is lost in an impossible eternity stays in the infinite unknown. Yet when the lock clicks, there is a new real—in kisses that end, touches never to be repeated and truths incomprehensible in the realm of possibility and fiction.

2

anticipation

/antɪsɪˈpeɪʃ(ə)n/

noun

The feeling of expectation or prediction.

Music. The introduction in a composition of part of a chord which is about to follow in full.

To know someone, her past, present, future, fears and hopes: this is the terror of the blank page. You can’t write that much again, you say—know, feel and be that much again.

But her words will form yours and all else will follow. This is the start. And therein lies the fear and hope.

3

optimism

/ˈɒptɪmɪz(ə)m/

noun

Hopefulness and confidence about the future or the success of something.

Philosophy. The doctrine that this world is the best of all possible worlds.

Philosophy. The belief that good must ultimately prevail over evil in the universe.

The whisper of your voice, your touch, your warmth, and you, heard again after the sound. Again, then again, unexpected. And in its echo, I hear in me a whisper too.

Soft is the sound, like the strings starting a symphony.

4

intimacy

/ˈɪntɪməsi/

noun

Close familiarity or friendship.

Euphemistic. Sexual intercourse.

Closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.

The voices in your head only ever speak to you, encasing vistas in your mind alone.

But we translate the voices and describe the vistas with every last word we know; we listen and imagine the very best we can. That is our bravest endeavour and greatest privilege, for as we sit alone, we touch.

5

apprehension

/aprɪˈhɛnʃ(ə)n/

noun

Anxiety or fear that something bad or unpleasant will happen.

Understanding; grasp.

Give her the blade.

It might become the axe that splinters your chest, the dagger twisted in your back. Or it might be the machete through the caging forests, the sickle of your future harvests, the sword that’ll finally slay the fiery dragons.

Give her your blade, for then she might unsheath hers for you.

6

wonder

/ˈwʌndə/

noun

A feeling of amazement and admiration, caused by something beautiful, remarkable, or unfamiliar.

A person or thing regarded as very good or remarkable.

It’s strange to feel each moment burst with so much but tally the little time there’s been.

It’s strange that worlds can meet so soon when demons are driven into introductions and a foot’s put in the door of the heart.

It’s strange how quickly shared secrets can bring a boundless future into clear view.

7

awe

/ɔː/

noun

A feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.

Each day shared, each smile and tear and touch. Each is a flare fired into the void above. The first makes the first star. The rest follow. Unnoticed, a universe roars into being—giants and dwarves, comets and supernovae ablaze. Constellations connect them all, narrating your own cosmological tale of how something came from nothing.

8

adoration

/adəˈreɪʃ(ə)n/

noun

Deep love and respect.

Worship; veneration.

Look at her as she’s happy, her eyes smiling before her lips catch up. Look at her as she’s sad, her eyes empty of all but fear or fatigue. Look at her and see exactly how precious a person can be. Look more closely and see she sees the same when she looks at you.

9

affection

/əˈfɛkʃ(ə)n/

noun

A gentle feeling of fondness or liking.

Archaic. A condition or disease.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What’s up?’

‘What do you want?’

These sounds get lost in the air between. I make them anyway, playing make-belief with meaning, hoping for some leap or leak.

In this difficulty lies a greater simplicity: I’ll never know all her world nor she mine and, so, our world is essence, distilled and pure.

10

delight

/dɪˈlʌɪt/

noun

Great pleasure.

A cause or source of great pleasure.

But do you know the corporeal soul?

It is in the smiles sparked by true joy, the eyes with innumerable tales to tell, the body that is home to the person. The beauty of the abstract is reflected in that of the material—neither masked by nor transcending.

Few have the chance to see it.

11

passion

/ˈpaʃ(ə)n/

noun

Strong and barely controllable emotion.

Intense sexual love.

(the Passion) The suffering and death of Jesus.

This is the energy that keeps the stars apart. We try to contain it—kindling kisses, cooling cigarettes, transforming it into songs and words on napkins. But from our bodies so finite it leaks out and up. Look hard into the telescope and you might just see it between the stars—fragile, eternal and infinite.

12

love

/lʌv/

noun

An intense feeling of deep affection.

A formula for ending an affectionate letter.

(in tennis, squash, and some other sports) a score of zero; nil.

We send starships, ramming galaxies to dust as separate worlds collide. We shove ourselves back together, one writhing body in defiance of raging gods. We make love to explosions in the sky, throbbing to the accompanying orchestra. We are word, myth and song. We say we’re specks, but in some moments we’re an everyday epic.

13

certitude

/ˈsəːtɪtjuːd/

noun

Absolute certainty or conviction that something is the case.

Something that someone firmly believes is true.

I don’t believe in past and future lives. I speak of neither ancient fate nor eternal destiny.

But I touch with the only body I own; my every thought’s the noblest human endeavour. If my stories stretch to infancy, that’s all of me. If I pledge you my life, I give you all I have.

14

reminiscence

/rɛmɪˈnɪs(ə)ns/

noun

The enjoyable recollection of past events.

A characteristic of one thing that is suggestive of another.

Paths cross, worlds blur,

glances roam, questions linger,

stories begin, pasts appear,

impressions unfold, interest stirs,

night falls, time meanders,

moments pass, resolve wavers,

distance holds, desire hovers,

courage sparks, walls shatter,

lips caress, fingers wander,

eyes meet, bodies shudder,

hope arises, minds wonder,

possibilities beckon, a future nears:

it all begins in the beginning.

15

adequacy

/ˈadɪkwəsi/

noun

The state of being satisfactory or acceptable in quality or quantity

Once in a blue moon, there comes a rare sort of person who makes you feel bigger than you’ve ever felt, that life could be bigger than it’s ever been, yet you’d give it all up for a single moment in which they would look at themselves and be able to see their own size.

16

peace

/piːs/

noun

Mental or emotional calm.

Freedom from disturbance; tranquillity.

A state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended.

I met a girl who showed me the centre of the universe—a place of almost complete stillness, where all noise quietened to a hum. She did it again, and then again, each time with just the memory of her face. Someday, perhaps, the path there’ll be so well-trodden we might even call it home.

17

belonging

/bɪˈlɒŋɪŋ/

noun

An affinity for a place or situation.

From the sea she came and to the sea she will return. Meanwhile, the oceans call her by name and the rain whispers secrets. Beneath the glistening ripples, she dances with mermaids only she can see, breathing more deeply than she ever had in air, sinking into a world at once strange and intimately familiar.

18

turmoil

/ˈtəːmɔɪl/

noun

A state of great disturbance, confusion, or uncertainty.

They say love is hard work, but fighting’s easy, really.

Can you watch grenades go without diving on them though? Can you drop the lost limbs knowing they’re not the last to go? Can you reconcile the fragility and strength of what you defend, or your powerlessness and significance?

Now, these are the true battles.

19

grief

/ɡriːf/

noun

Intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.

Informal. Trouble or annoyance.

Some people are good at poker. They fold when they should, work for their wins. Each time they stand they leave nothing of themselves behind.

Some are no good at all. Each night they’re dragged off the table screaming from the crushing debt of all they’d bet but never once had been able to lose.

20

restraint

/rɪˈstreɪnt/

noun

Lack of emotion; self-control.

Understatement, especially of artistic expression.

A device which limits or prevents freedom of movement.

My words are measured, my voice steadied, my hands chained to myself.

But my mind—oh, my mind—runs free, with every bit of you my lips would ravage, with every word I would scream until you heard loud and clear everything I felt for you with every last bit of my stifled, beating heart.

21

loss

/lɒs/

noun

The feeling of grief after losing someone or something of value.

A person or thing that is badly missed when lost.

An amount of money lost by a business or organisation.

There is an ether of lost memories hanging thick around our world. In it are the blurred faces, the forgotten words, the life-changing events we can’t put in order. Each one we’d thought we would never forget; each one detaches and floats to join the rest. The ether binds us in and keeps us whole.

22

discomfort

/dɪsˈkʌmfət/

noun

Slight pain.

Worry or embarrassment.

My lipstick smiles at the lens, trying to reflect some of the joy in the smiles shone on me. I graduated when the cab pulled off and I fell apart; I’d got my distinctions in bed, my honours in words said true. But now, the mortarboard sits squarely on. And as they smile, I smile.

23

uncanniness

/ʌnˈkani/

noun

A feeling of strangeness or mystery, especially in an unsettling way.

(uncanny valley) the phenomenon whereby a computer-generated figure or humanoid robot bearing a near-identical resemblance to a human being arouses a sense of unease or revulsion in the viewer.

I fear the uncanniness of memory.

Digital records resurrect a simulacrum of the past, at once real and not. People I’d been, lives I’d had—in abstract they’re mine. But there isn’t enough me to own the myriad detail at once, to expand my identity, extend my history to such bounds.

Herein lies the valley.

24

ennui

/ɒnˈwiː/

noun

A feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

I trod the path without an end, with a beginning I couldn’t remember. Stretches of sand swept towards the horizon—an unbroken line, a full circle. If I lay down I would forget which way was up, but I hadn’t bothered to try. Grain on grain, one by one, the world was made as such.

25

defeat

/dɪˈfiːt/

noun

A state of being overcome by adversity; demoralised.

Things fall apart, the centre holds slant. Between the glue and the trashcan lies the uncanny shipwreck in a bottle. A strange death fills the void with a million little pieces, expunging grief as they soak in it, full. The last cigarette is stubbed. Perhaps the tea leaves can only be read in the ashes.

26

puzzlement

/ˈpʌz(ə)lm(ə)nt/

noun

A feeling of confusion through lack of understanding.

A wonderful illusion: see the displacement in oscillating distance, and believe the hope in steady alternation. The part misdirects from the whole. This is magic, ancient and pure. The secret—hush—lies in the infinite infinitesimals in that empty hat. Suspend your disbelief.

Odd trick though, isn’t it, when the con and mark are one?

27

fatigue

/fəˈtiːɡ/

noun

Extreme tiredness resulting from mental or physical exertion or illness.

A lessening in one's response to or enthusiasm for something, caused by overexposure.

(Fatigues) Menial non-military tasks performed by a soldier, sometimes as a punishment.

We can’t go on; we will go on. Tears dry at the recollection of a smile. A pin in the calendar fuels the intervening hours. Pushed by memory, pulled by hope, we are immortal. For the speck of hope looms into view and transforms into a new memory, leaving yet another fresh horizon of possibility.

28

anguish

/ˈaŋɡwɪʃ/

noun

Severe mental or physical pain or suffering.

Dreams get us through the days; dreams make them unbearable. From the radiance of hope, we must readjust our eyes to a darkness we once could navigate. Our heads are swollen with promise; now nothing fits. Our bodies have felt the possible; now nothing is enough. Dreams—they keep you afloat to burn you alive.

29

yearning

/ˈjəːnɪŋ/

noun

A feeling of intense longing for something.

Take me there where the sun shines hard and the snow falls soft, where mountains far too far to see fit on the map in hand, where each night falls completely asleep and each day wakes fully alive, where everything is just as it should be.

Take me there where I never have to leave.

30

despair

/dɪˈspɛː/

noun

The complete loss or absence of hope.

There’s another life I see, in which my mind is mine and I look myself in the eye, in which cigarettes and coffee taste of more than death, in which pain passes and I laugh more loudly than I scream, in which I am still and free.

Sometimes it seems it’s exactly that: another life.

31

indifference

/ɪnˈdɪf(ə)r(ə)ns/

noun

Lack of interest, concern, or sympathy.

Unimportance.

The art of losing is hard to master.

The art of replacing, though—

Going, walking. Being, sitting. Meals, food—drop the wordplay. An open heart, open eyes. What’s happiness but a smile? Love, faith, hope, life—how big are your words? How full is the glass?

The art of replacing—nothing to it.

32

apathy

/ˈapəθi/

noun

Lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern.

Cheers to the infinite glass when everything else ends.

Cheers to the headaches and the relativity of pain.

Cheers to the words set free and the ones shut in.

Cheers to the darkness when every second’s one too many.

And cheers to allowing me a hand in the undoing of this life crumbling around me.

33

relief

/rɪˈliːf/

noun

A feeling of reassurance and relaxation following release from anxiety or distress.

Assistance given to those in special need or difficulty.

We spend hours and hours in days and days keeping in line, keeping things in check, keeping calm and carrying on.

And on and on until perhaps it’s no surprise we give it all up to the white flag of surrender—a pure and peaceful whiteness that expects, at last, nothing from us but defeat.

34

weariness

/ˈwɪərɪnɪs/

noun

Extreme tiredness; fatigue.

Reluctance to see or experience any more of something.

I walk along with my eyes half-shut, for the sun is too bright and the days too long. There is life with my lids at half-mast. Time softens, leaving just enough—not too much. I watch the vastness blur into a singular path, laughing at how I walked into this with my eyes wide open.

35

foreboding

/fɔːˈbəʊdɪŋ/

noun

A feeling that something bad will happen; fearful apprehension.

There is a fire in her. The more it burns, the darker it gets. For this flame takes and never gives, feeding its shadows with the surrounding glimmers. She fears its hunger; it grows nonetheless. Eyes open and blind, she watches every spark as the fire burns on in this new night, strong and black.

36

emptiness

/ˈɛm(p)tɪnəs/

noun

The feeling of having no value or purpose; futility.

The state of containing nothing.

There is nothing here tonight—nothing around me, nothing in me. To fill the space, the darkness takes shape, at once overwhelming and inviting. With it the silence sounds, an incessant piercing scream in one ear, a softly seductive whisper in the other.

They beckon me towards something.

Something is better than nothing, they say.

37

inconsequentiality

/ˌɪnkɒnsɪkwɛnʃɪˈalɪti/

noun

the feeling of being unimportant or insignificant.

Sometimes the bears do not wake up when the seasons warm; sometimes the salmon float bloated the wrong way downstream. We fight, we endure, we try, we persist—but for some in vain amidst the crimson teeth and claws of nature. One could lose one’s all, but life lives on immortal, the dead few insignificant.

38

dread

/drɛd/

noun

Great fear or apprehension.

Predators omnipresent, prey immortal, that same knife, that old kiss—dreams dance in the shadow of sense. Light flashes; worlds crack apart. The fear, the relief, the desire, the loss—they stand still in the middle, laughing at the borders you desperately draw between reality and fiction.

The clock ticks until your eyes shut again.

39

pain

/peɪn/

noun

Mental suffering or distress.

Highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury.

(pains) Great care or trouble.

There often comes a day that is just an endless night, when the dry air chokes you and the emptiness inside races. You can’t quite remember who you are, much less who you want to be—the present is all there is. And so you wait, in the terrible now, until the endless night ends.

40

panic

/ˈpanɪk/

noun

Sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behaviour.

Informal. A frenzied hurry to do something.

You put it in; you take it out. It’s silly, you concur, but the true absurdity is that you’re scrambling to fill a void that’ll never take shape while gasping to erase a mess that cannot leave, wanting it all in but all out, wanting to be in it yet always, always, always wanting out.

41

fear

/fɪə/

noun

An unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.

Archaic. A mixed feeling of dread and reverence.

Your greatest fear isn’t spiders, clowns or heights, but to lose control of your mind—if its thoughts are not just your own, if it speaks both to and as yourself. Divided, what do you defend?

This, more than anything, will feast on your insides, screeching with laughter as you plummet all the way down.

42

terror

/ˈtɛrə/

noun

Extreme fear.

The use of extreme fear to intimidate people; terrorism.

The nights are too long for a single mind. The lights are too bright, but the dark is too dark when you shut your eyes. There is nowhere to go but here, nothing to do but be. When all else sleeps, it is just you alone—with, in and against the entirety of your self.

43

horror

/ˈhɒrə/

noun

An intense feeling of fear, shock, or disgust.

A literary or film genre concerned with arousing feelings of horror.

We light candles to breach the night; it rouses instead, refreshed. We sing and dance because we’re told it’s what scares off the beast; it purrs along with every note. We hide; it finds. We run; it waits for our return.

We look it in the eye, and all it does is smile right back.

44

agony

/ˈaɡəni/

noun

Extreme physical or mental suffering.

The final stages of a difficult or painful death.

It’s still a surprise when it appears, although you’ve never forgotten it’s never gone. Its eyes gleam in the darkest nights. Its scent makes up the air. Its claws draw stale blood. It pins you down. It lets you up. Battles are lost and battles are won but the war is the circle of life.

45

vigilance

/ˈvɪdʒɪl(ə)ns/

noun

The state of keeping careful watch for possible danger or difficulties.

You know it’s following you—no need to look. You can see the darkening shadows, hear each solid step. At times limping, at times charging, but never is it left behind. When it does catch up, stop and fight. Give it all you’ve got, for in this game, in its world, they play for keeps.

46

uncertainty

/ʌnˈsəːt(ə)nti/

noun

The feeling of not being completely sure of something.

I learn that things get better. I learn that dreams come true. I do what I am taught, I look down the rabbit hole, across the valley and through the sands of time, and I put one foot in front of another as I remember to remember to believe.

But what if they are wrong?

47

torment

/ˈtɔːmɛnt/

noun

Severe physical or mental suffering.

All around you are voices on voices, words after words, noise in noise. Air is sound. Each breath chokes, but each breath is followed by another. This is the unending sound of life, a scream that ends only at the end of time itself.

All we need, at times, is simply a moment of silence.

48

hope

/həʊp/

noun

A feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

Grounds for believing that something good may happen.

A person or thing that may help or save someone.

They teach us about the immutable, indivisible soul. We learn to shave ours down to size, or lose chunks of them on impact. But we gather every last fragment, for one day there will be enough space for souls like those in the legends, and we will reconstruct the ruins with our pocketfuls of sawdust.

49

restlessness

/ˈrɛstləsnəs/

noun

The inability to rest or relax as a result of anxiety or boredom.

I am the quivering singularity before the bang. I am the very last point before the tipping. I am ready, ready for everything. I get closer, closer, and closer still.

I never reach it.

And so here I am—straining, bursting, trembling on the edge of all I can see, but absolutely, absolutely cannot touch.

50

calm

/kɑːm/

noun

The absence of strong emotions.

The absence of violent activity in a place.

The absence of wind.

Around and around I spin, a toppling ellipse of neon sounds and blaring lights. It’s too loud, far too loud. Faster and faster I spin, brighter and louder, higher and bigger, on and on until—finally—I take in a breath. The air comes, dragging, slowing, stopping.

And then, at last, I let it out.

51

clarity

/ˈklarɪti/

noun

The quality of being coherent and intelligible.

The quality of transparency or purity.

The quality of being easy to see or hear; sharpness of image or sound.

In some moments, everything dawns into clarity.

The leaves startlingly green, greener than the grey I had seen as green. The song playing again, but sound has become music, thumping and soaring. Each taste dancing on my tongue, with the revelation that food has more than form.

In these moments, I feel—and am—alive.

52

pride

/prʌɪd/

noun

A feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from achievement, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.

Literary. The best state of something; the prime.

Look at any Roman ruin. Your eyes will see past the crumbling pillars, for you’ll see Rome, glorious and whole.

Where is the shame, then, in the ruined?

Everything that has broken, spoiled and vanished once had been. And as long as you see them—truly see them—they are and always proudly will be.

53

power

/ˈpaʊə/

noun

Great strength.

The ability or capacity to do something or act in a particular way.

She bristles her mane. She bares her teeth. She is lion, she says. But she doesn’t see her tracks indelible, her eyes gleaming square against the dark, her spine straight amidst others crouching, her bloody wounds more triumphant than spotless pelts. Yet, this is the true roar of her spirit—brave, strong and forever pure.

54

worthiness

/əˈstaʊndmənt/

noun

The quality of being good enough.

The quality of deserving attention or respect.

How many memories do I have? The ones remembered, the ones forgotten?

The things I have done, places I have been, people I have known—they are assembled from every thought I have carried, every image I have held, every sensation I have felt.

In infinitesimal detail, they create the stunning singularity of the “I”.

55

strength

/strɛŋkθ/

noun

The capacity to withstand great force or pressure.

A good or beneficial quality or attribute of a person or thing.

The number of people comprising a group, typically a team or army.

No, I will not bend, or yield, or disappear.

For while I am but a speck in the universe, my world revolves around me, and from there, it begins. When all else is broken or lost, what is left is inviolable: what I choose, what I believe, what I think—and therefore, who I am.

[survival0001-blog]

Is Distilled Water Safe to Drink for Survival? | Survival Sullivan

New Post has been published on https://outdoorsurvivalqia.com/trending/is-distilled-water-safe-to-drink-for-survival-survival-sullivan/

Is Distilled Water Safe to Drink for Survival? | Survival Sullivan

If you are dehydrated, clean water is clean water, but a common question I have seen popping up is concerning distilled water in a long-term survival situation, specifically consuming a lot of it over time or as a primary water source.

Distillation of water is a technology that has been around for ages, and largely perfected since about World War II, and is highly useful as a reliable way to render salt water and other contaminated water sources into highly pure, clean drinkable water.

But as science helps so too does it scare: there are concerns that the lack of minerals and other trace elements in distilled water, especially the super-pure distilled water made possible by today’s distilling tech, is actually harmful to your health, doing everything from depriving your body of needed minerals to dangerously diluting your electrolyte and enzyme balances over time! Yikes.

So in an effort to get to the bottom of this puzzling and unusual question for the good of prepperdom, and to pass judgment on the suitability of at-home water distillation setups, I took a deep dive into the what and how of distilled water and its suitability for drinking.

Read on to find out more.

What is Distilled Water?

For those of you who did not pay attention in middle school science classes or just never cared to know, distilled water is water that has simply been boiled to a vapor state, and then condensed into liquid in a separate container. The idea is that any materials in the water, impurities, that are non-volatile or have a boiling temperature above water will remain behind in the first vessel. Distillation is an old and highly reliable form of purification.

Making Distilled Water

Water distillation equipment is simple in theory: water is boiled in one vessel until it turns to steam, which then travels along a pipe or coil to another vessel where it condenses and turns into liquid once more.

More advanced variations on this equipment may flash-boil water to save fuel or increase speed, and some really advanced tech employs condensate collection in vacuum. Reverse osmosis systems, commonly abbreviated as ‘RO’, are employed increasingly for commercial and municipal settings. These systems produce astoundingly pure water and do so quickly.

At home or field-expedient distillers may take the form of classic stills, or be more akin to laboratory grade setups with glass piping and bottles with a water supply heated by burner or element, but water can be distilled with something as simple as a sheet of plastic over a container of water that is heated by the sun’s rays.

While they vary in size, speed and amount of fuel used, all water distillation works on the same principals. Distillation of water for drinking has many advantages: it produces extraordinarily clear and clean potable water free from diseases, minerals, biological particulate and many chemicals. This is one surefire way (in most cases) to treat a water source of unknown or known-bad quality and produce clean water.

Water distillation requires little in the way of oversight in a small scale, essentially being set and forget so long as your heat source is capable of boiling water. This allows you to free up time for task-stacking or rest, knowing that so long as the “boiler” is hot, you will be producing clean water at a steady rate.

Here’s a quick video on how to make distilled water at home without the use of a distiller:

What is Distilled Water used for?

Distilled water is often used for laboratory and industrial purposes for any task or process where purity is a must. Water otherwise carries with it all kinds of impurities, like minerals, many chemicals and biological matter. These impurities may cause chemical reactions when water is used as a solvent or in other processes, and so distillation is a reliable, comparatively cheap way to get high purity water.

Distillation has also been used, historically and today, to provide clean drinking water from all kinds of sources. Seawater is one source that is commonly distilled to remove salt and all the other impurities, and has been used on ships and by militaries for drinking water when they have fixed or mobile distillation plants or stills available.

Distilled water is highly useful for creating solutions and in solvent applications where impurity could compromise the intended effect of the mix, and is furthermore certainly safe to drink, at least over a short period of time. We know that, the question we need answered is how safe is it overall, and especially over a longer time?

If all we have access to for safe drinking water is distilled water for an indeterminate time, will that star to cause us health problems? Is there anything we can do to offset the mineral loss in the water?

Distilled Water for Drinking and Health Effects

Disclaimer: the author is not a doctor. Neither the author nor www.survivalsullivan.com shall be held liable for any damage or side-effects as a result of using the advice in this article.

Distillation may not remove absolutely everything present in water, like things that have a boiling point equal to or lower than the water itself, but you can sure depend on it removing minerals.

Helpful minerals in water included, like calcium, magnesium iron and some zinc. While for civil and widespread humanitarian use for ocean-side cities or places with highly contaminated water sources this is of little concern, as engineered public water can have vital and healthy minerals added back in, this may be problematic for others who are not sourcing it “re-mineralized.”

While touted by some naturalists and space-cadet healthfood types as the only kind of water you should be drinking on this ruined earth, some major agencies have other thoughts, namely a little group called the World Health Organization, who extensively investigated the effects of demineralized water way back in 1982.

Their research and experimentation with distilled water showed some interesting results: for starters, it will make you pee more. While not the worst thing in the world, urination as a function is closely linked to kidney performance, and anything that prompts your body to more readily discharge moisture and other “supplies” should be noted.

WHO also found that, somewhat concerning, distilled water eliminated electrolytes and diluted the concentrations of vital serums in the body. While the results could not be extrapolated for very long term consumption, the effects on the body when exclusively consuming distilled water for a long period of time are cause for some concern.

Water is not the primary source of intake for minerals like iron, calcium and magnesium, food is. But in an interesting twist distilled water, being demineralized, has been found to strip up to 60% of those minerals from food when it has been used to cook with!

That is a serious and significant loss of minerals from food, which are the most important source of mineral uptake for the body. Long term use of distilled water for cooking could definitely have deleterious effects on your vital mineral levels in the body.

It is easy to assume that your crisis will not last so long that this mineral depletion will be an issue, but that would be a mistake: your body is consuming minerals constantly, and you lose a significant amount of them through sweating.

So when you are busting your hump to survive, by building, running, fighting, digging, rucking or whatever, your body will be shedding salt, potassium and other minerals by the bucket full. Rehydrating with distilled water will not replace those minerals. Not good.

Lest you take this as some admonishment to take a vitamin and call it good, you should know that correct mineral levels and replenishment is vital to good health, with many of the most common minerals found in water and food (and subsequently stripped by distilled water) are vital for cellular membrane health, electrolyte balance, metabolic function, hormone function and even oxygen use.

Deficiency in any essential nutrient will sap your strength, hurt your health and, most seriously, weaken your immune system drastically.

In short, if at all possible try to avoid the long term use of distilled water as your primary source for drinking and cooking if you have other options. The resulting loss of minerals in your body over time may cause health issues or exacerbate existing ones.

To Sum Up…

Natural mineral concentrations in water are important for the health of all organic life in their native environments. While this is not to say that missing minerals cannot be had through food or supplemental means, it does affect how your body can make use of the water it ingests. Something to keep in mind if you plan to go 100% distilled water as part of your SHTF plan.

Bottom line: Distilled water is safe to drink and a vital source of water in the short to intermediate term, but its effects on humans when consumed exclusively for long term use are still not 100% understood. It does show a few troubling effects that you should be aware of, especially when used for cooking.

If in a survival situation with a worrisome source of water, distillation will remove more contaminants that any other method purification with very few exceptions, so if you have time and opportunity it is an invaluable method for purifying suspect water. Drink with no concerns. If you plan to rely on it 100% for very long term use, you should consult a physician who understands the subject so you know what you’ll be facing and any potential countermeasures,

Don’t get fussy and throw the baby out with the distilled bath water; learn what distilled water can do for you, and make use of it. But be cautious if you plan on drinking it or cooking with it for a long time.

At Home Water Distillers

The following are a few options for at-home production of distilled water. These solutions all require various amounts of time and setup, but might be worth it for those of you who want to be able to make your own instead of hauling home gallon jugs from the grocery store.

This is the Cadillac of at-home countertop distillation. This unit is U.S. manufactured and promises that at no time does the water produced come into contact with plastic. It is heavy, and dang pricey at about $600 bucks, but its quality is second to none and it is scarcely bigger than a coffee maker.

A cheaper model and one of the most popular, H20 Labs offering is convenient and produces a gallon of distilled water in about 5 hours. Beware, as some users report issues with a metallic taste, and H20 labs offers activated charcoal filters to “further improve” taste, lending these complaints credence. Nevertheless, a well known and well liked product all the same.

Waterwise’s newest model and the replacement to their popular long runner the 8800, this is the at-home distiller for those who want convenience. The 3200 is among the fastest in its class, cranking out a gallon of distilled water in about 4 hours, a significant time saving over competitors. Complete with a pause and pour option just like your coffee maker, this is among the easiest models to use.

You can find even more suggestions for a water distiller here.

Distilled water is absolutely safe to drink and a highly reliable option for producing potable drinking water from suspect sources in short or medium term situations. However, it may present some health issues if consumed exclusively for a long time.

The minerals that naturally occur in most drinking water sources, even ones filtered or cleaned by other methods, are valuable to your health and important for usual bodily processes. Make sure you take that in to account before counting on distilled water long term.

Source

Is Distilled Water Safe to Drink for Survival?

[zerokilleroppel]

A Titanic family feud: The mother and child disowned by in-laws after death of ship's hero violinist

Tragedy: This scene from James Cameron's 1997 film Titanic shows the eponymous ship sinking in the seas off Nova Scotia

The moment eventually came when all eight members of the band knew they could no longer play on.

It wasn’t because of the bitter cold, even though they’d been on the deck of the RMS Titanic for almost an hour, overcoats and scarves thrown hastily over their bandsmen’s tunics to provide extra warmth.Jock Hume, aged 21, had only been able to find a light raincoat. But despite the lack of feeling in his hands, and the difficulty of playing a violin while wearing a cork lifejacket, he’d managed to complete all five verses of Nearer My God To Thee without missing a note.

Most of the audience had already left. The women and children had floated away in the lifeboats an hour before, and the remaining 1,500 passengers and crew were starting to abandon ship.Some delayed their leap in order to receive the last rites, kneeling before Father Thomas Byles on the sloping deck as he prepared them to meet their God. Only a mutinous few decided to retire to the first-class lounge to await death with a large brandy in their hands.Meanwhile, the bandsmen were having difficulty hearing their notes above the sound of the Titanic’s death throes.

First came the noise of breaking glass as the finest Waterford crystal goblets slid from polished mahogany shelves and smashed into a million pieces, covering the floors of the saloons with diamond-like shards.Seconds later came the crash of breaking china as 10,000 plates broke away from their moorings in the galleys: Royal Crown Derby in first class, plain white china in steerage.Now tables and chairs were on the move, some flying through the windows of the saloon, showering the band with broken glass.

Suddenly, Jock heard a rumble, followed by a deep groan, as the first of the Titanic’s 29 boilers burst. At about the same time, the steel wires holding the forward funnel snapped, snaking menacingly across the deck.Wallace Hartley, the bandmaster, nodded at his musicians — his usual signal that they should stop and put away their instruments. He followed this with his customary bow, though he was having difficulty keeping his balance.

‘Gentlemen, thank you all. A most commendable performance. Good night and good luck.’The bandsmen shook hands with each other, according to witnesses.Jock Hume placed his violin in its case, then wound the strap round his body until it was tight against his lifejacket. The extra buoyancy, he hoped, might increase his chances.

It was 2.11am, on April 15, 1912. The bow of the ship was completely under water now, the icy sea slapping the musicians’ thighs. They moved further back towards the stern.It would have been Jock’s style to leap first, joking that it would be like a dip in the Mediterranean compared to swimming in a Scottish burn.In fact, there was no chance of survival in the -2.2c water. Within 25 minutes of jumping, the bandsmen were all dead.

Starcrossed lovers: Jock Hume, right, in a portrait released by his family after the Titanic sank. Left, Mary Costin in 1915, after her court victory over Andrew Hume, Jock's fatherTwo thousand miles away in Dumfries, Scotland, two families waited anxiously for news of Jock. It was two days since the Titanic had hit an iceberg, and that morning’s newspaper reports were alternately fuelling hope and despair.

Although Jock’s fiancee, Mary Costin, hadn’t slept, she got ready as usual for her job at a glove factory. On the way, she called in on Jock’s father, Andrew Hume, to see if he’d heard anything.Mounting the six York-stone steps to the Humes’ front door, she grasped the heavy lion’s claw doorknob and knocked twice. Jock’s stepmother, Alice, opened the door.Looking Mary coldly up and down, she told her: ‘Please do not call here again, Miss Costin,’ — and shut the door in her face.

As Mary walked back down the steps, she wondered how the Humes would react when they learned she was expecting Jock’s baby. It might have been some comfort to both families if they could have shared their grief. But ever since my grandparents, Jock and Mary, had fallen in love, a state of war worthy of the Montagues and the Capulets had existed between the two sides.

The Titanic tragedy would escalate hostilities still further, casting a dark shadow over them all for decades. Jock and Mary had met at the town’s annual Rood Fair two years earlier. An even-tempered youth with curly blond hair, he wooed her with tunes on his fiddle. ‘And that was it,’ Mary’s mother Susan said later. ‘For both of them, it was a thunderbolt.’

It says a lot for Mary, a rather grave but good-looking girl, that she remained Jock’s prime focus over the last two years of his life.

Not only were there frequent separations as he travelled the world on luxury ships, but he was on a glamorous roll — meeting the rich and famous and enjoying a boisterous social life in crew quarters.He’d considered it the ultimate accolade to be chosen to play on the maiden voyage of the Titanic, then the world’s biggest liner. And when Mary told him, a week before his departure, that she was pregnant, he’d been overjoyed, making plans to marry her in Greyfriars Kirk upon his return.

He’d known that he wanted to marry her before that news, though. To that end, he’d spent very little time in Dumfries in the previous 16 months, working hard to save money for a place of their own.These absences may have made his father think that Jock was losing interest in his girlfriend. From the start, Andrew Hume had been disapproving of Mary, whose late father had been a mere van driver.

Next of kin: Jock's father, Andrew Hume, was a music teacher and considered himself upwardly mobile.

Part of the reason for this was misplaced snobbery: as a music teacher, Hume considered himself ‘a man of position’, despite the fact that he was himself the ninth child of a  farm labourer.He was also furious at the prospect of losing his son’s contribution to household expenses. So he’d not only forbidden Jock to let Mary cross his threshold, but he’d also marched round to her home and — in front of her mother — called her a whore.

This was the tipping point for Jock, whose relationship with his father had been disintegrating since his mother’s death from cancer and Andrew Hume’s re-marriage just 14 months later.

It was Mary’s widowed mother, Susan, a woman with enlightened views, who came up with the solution: Jock should come to live with them. Furthermore, he and Mary should consider themselves ‘handfasted’ — a Celtic form of trial marriage.Now, of course, neither family knew if Jock was dead or alive. But Hume, as next of kin, could at least travel to Liverpool to make enquiries.

The White Star Line, owners of the Titanic, did not yet have lists of the dead, so he also visited C. W. & F. N. Black, the firm of musical agents which employed all the ship’s musicians.They were better informed. Before returning home, Hume sent a telegram back. It said simply: ‘Orchestra sank playing Nearer My God To Thee.’

Two weeks later, Hume opened a letter from C. W. & F. N. Black, demanding 5s. 4d. (£40 today). Because Jock’s £4 monthly wage had been terminated on the day of the sinking, there were apparently insufficient funds to meet the cost of his sheet music and bandman’s tunic.Hume was incandescent. Was he really living in a world where people could send your son to his death, then invoice you for his buttons lying at the bottom of the ocean?

It was sheer bad luck that Mary Costin chose this moment to break the news to Hume that she was expecting Jock’s baby. Alice answered the door. Seeing Mary, she said: ‘I thought I told you . . .’

‘This is important,’ said Mary. ‘It’s about Jock.’

Alice showed her into the drawing-room, where Hume was standing with his back to the fireplace. ‘I came to tell you that I’m expecting his child. I thought you should know,’ said Mary. Hume took a menacing step towards her. For a moment, Mary thought he was going to strike her.But he just put his face close to hers and hissed: ‘Get out of here you little slut, peddling lies about your bastard child. I doubt you know who the father is, but it’s certainly not my son.’

Soon afterwards, Hume had a death notice put in the local paper, thanking friends for their sympathy ‘on the loss of John Law Hume, leader of the orchestra in the first-class cabin of the unfortunate Titanic.’

He knew full well his son was not the leader of the band and that he also played to passengers in second class. These were deliberate and easily exposed  lies, but he made the vicar repeat them at Jock’s memorial service in Dumfries, at which Mary and her mother sat inconspicuously at the back.

Mammoth achievement: the Titanic being built in a Belfast shipyard. Jock considered it the ultimate accolade to be chosen to play on the maiden voyage.

When Jock’s body was eventually identified, and the meagre contents of his pockets sent on, Hume threw most of them away and refused to give Mary a memento.Meanwhile, as public donations poured into a hardship fund for the dependants of Titanic victims, he capitalised on his loss. His claims quickly banked him more than £250 (nearly £12,000 today).

So he then decided to make a fraudulent claim for two valuable Italian-made violins. In fact, Jock had only ever owned one modest instrument, most likely made by Hume himself.But thanks to shady connections who could produce documentation for the two violins, Hume posted a claim to the White Star Line for £625. It was turned down flat — no one believed a 21-year-old violin player on modest wages could have taken two expensive instruments to sea.

Finally, Hume turned his attention back to Mary. He was damned if she was going to get a penny herself from the hardship fund, so he wrote another letter to it claiming he had ‘conclusive proof’ that his son was not the father of her child.

Mary had indeed made an appeal for funds. She had no idea how she’d otherwise be able to bring up her unborn child.Two weeks later, the reply from the Titanic Relief Fund made her burst into tears. It would be willing to regard her claim sympathetically, said the letter, but ‘not at the cost of casting a slur on the family of the deceased man’. She should re-apply after the birth of the child, providing ‘evidence of paternity’.

Johnann as a tribute to Jock (a diminutive of John), was born at 11am on October 18, 1912, at Mary’s family home. Susan decided to break the news to Hume — reasoning that the birth might lead to some kind of reconciliation.

Instead, she again had the door slammed in her face. Keeping her cool, she went straight to see her employer — a lawyer for whom she worked as a cleaner — and launched a case to have her grandchild recognised as Jock’s daughter.

The ensuing ‘Titanic fund case’, as the papers called it, became a cause celebre, with many feeling justice had been done when the ‘Titanic baby’ was finally recognised as Jock’s daughter.

For Mary, this meant she could be paid 2s 6d a week (£6 today) from the Titanic Fund, plus a cheque for £67 (£3,100). But by mistake this cheque was sent to Hume, who promptly cashed it — ignoring the accompanying letter that made it clear it was for Mary.

When the Fund became aware of this, he denied receiving the cheque. After four lawyers’ letters were ignored, Mary Costin issued a writ. The evidence was so overwhelmingly weighted against Hume — who continued to lie — that his own lawyer told the court he could no longer represent him.

Was Andrew Hume bad or just mad? The final act in this legal farce suggests that he was both.

Exactly a year to the day after the court had found that Jock was Johnann’s father, Hume began an action to have the paternity decision overturned. He lost in more ways than one: the resulting publicity prompted his music students to desert him in droves.

Broke and reviled, he left Dumfries, never to return. It would be fitting to report that he finally got his comeuppance, but life is not so neat.

Pretending to be the grandson of Alexander Hume, who composed the song, The Scottish Emigrants’ Farewell, he started selling inferior violins through extravagant ads in the music press and went on to run a shop and workshop in London for 14 years. He died a wealthy man aged 69.

Living legacy: Mary Costin with her daughter

As for Mary, she delighted in her daughter’s early years and made sure she was always beautifully dressed. But given the chance for love again after meeting a soldier when Johnann was just six, she promptly married him and moved away to start another family.

The ‘Titanic baby’ was left to be brought up by her grandmother Susan, and rarely saw her mother again. After Mary died of tuberculosis at 32, and Susan passed away 14 months later, the child was sent to live with an uncle on the Isle of Skye.

She ran away to London at the age of 15 and found work in a hat shop in Sloane Square. By 1935, she had changed her name to Jackie and married John Ward, a reporter on the London Evening News.

Sadly, he died of a brain tumour 10 years later, leaving her to bring up my sister Cherry and myself alone.

Determined to give us a good life, Jackie found work as a publicist in the film and tourist industries, working until well into her 70s and dying at the age of 83.

She had never remarried or spoken an ill word about Mary. And, in spite of her catastrophic start in life, she had herself been a wonderful mother. ‘What happened to me was nobody’s fault,’ she once said. ‘It was all determined by the Titanic.’

And Jock? He lies in a cemetery in Halifax, Canada, where the ship that found him eventually docked.

For ever 21, he’ll never know how his heroic death came to inspire so much bitterness and greed