#this city is MASSIVE and a VERY small percentage (less than a %) live in the loop

[we-re-always-alright]

absolutely SEETHING reading comments about pizza and delivery in the city (Chicago) on tumblr dot com I cannot handle it

[brandwhorestarscream]

Great, now I want to hear your takes on the other 'Cons as amnesiacs

Wish granted! :D

We'll just start at the top and go down the line:

- Megatron as an amnesiac is reverted back to before the decepticon movement was even conceived. Originally, the civilians and war frames all lived together when Megs was vv small, but very early into his life there was a call for segregation: all of the war frames were delegated to the southern half of the planet, and the civilians were delegated to the north. That was the beginning of the downward spiral of Cybertron.

The southern half was, for lack of a better term, like a third world country. It was rougher around the edges and not as privileged as the north, but it wasn't a bad place to live. It was full of culture, art, music, and the people there weren't wealthy but they had fuel and family and that was enough. Despite that, the northerners had a tendency to spit on them, disparage them, calling them savages and less-thans simply because they were "dogs of war". The majority of the energon mines were in the south, so they were exceptionally important. But things spiralled out of control with massive taxes and more and more oppressive laws. Millions of years passed and the south fell into complete disrepair, cut off from the government, wages at a record low, mecha starving or dying from injury or illness because there was no medical care. Eventually, with the extraction of the All Spark and the discovery that fully-functional adults could be factory made, there were restrictions placed on sparklings, and then they were banned all together. That was the final breaking point for the war frames--the council could call it whatever they wanted, but that's genocide! The civilians had no intentions of ever making more war frames, they were trying to drive them to extinction! It was a hellscape that could crush the spirit out of literally anyone

The amnesiac Megatron I'm imagining is reverted back to a time before the idea of rebellion was ever sparked in his mind. He's exceptionally quiet and introspective. He's used to living every day in an endless, droning cycle: wake up, work a 16 hour shift, drink whatever percentage of fuel he's earned that day, collapse into bed, and repeat. On earth, with all of his memories gone, he has no idea what to do with himself. All he's ever done, for countless years, is work. He has no hobbies, no friends, nothing to occupy his time with. And now, by god, he has all the time in the world.

There's no energon mines on this planet, there's no way for him to get home. He's honestly pretty lost and has no idea what to do with himself. After awhile he does start to come out of his shell, but it's slow going and he still doesn't say much. He's very socially awkward and doesn't know how to really talk to people, a very stark contrast to the hard-earned charisma of his present self. He's weirdly almost sweet, once he gets used to you, and treats everyone like an equal.

- Lugnut is next. He's still got a very loud, boisterous personality, but rather than a one-track Megatron mind, he's just a very noisy, excitable person in general. I hc that Lugnut was an empurata victim, with the one optic and the pincer-like claws? Fight me. He was also either mnemosurgeried or shadowplayed, but the process was interrupted halfway through. There was a decepticon raid on the facility he was being worked on at, and their saving him from having the process completed unfortunately scrambled his processor a bit. Having a delicate neurosurgery interrupted will do that. His screwy codes kinda imprinted on Megatron as his 'savior', aka why he's so obsessive and worships the ground he walks on.

He's never been to an organic planet before, never even been outside of his home city on Cybertron, so earth is a special treat. They don't have mechanimals where he's from, nor any crystal flora, so to be able to witness so many creatures is beyond incredible for him. He likes to imagine what these sorts of flora and fauna would look like back home, and if you think he doesn't pester Bulkhead into painting cybertronian versions of blue jays and squirrels, you're dead wrong

Despite their polar opposite personalities, he actually gets along well with Prowl. Go figure. It's the fellow nature-enthusiast. Granted, yeah, he gets too excited and 10 out of 10 times scares away the critters they're watching, but he's so genuinely enthusiastic It's hard to be mad

- Blitzwing is the one I toiled over the most, honestly. Cuz, before and even during the war, he was a single, unified person. He didn't become a triple changer until Blackarachnia put him under the knife, and that was millions of years after the cons had been exiled. So, this is a toughie

Icy, Hothead, and Random are all still there, first and foremost. Losing memories wouldn't cause them to just vanish. So now, Blitzwing has the added horror of his pre-experimentation self trying to shine through, but is being contrasted by three other people. All four of them are completely lost; they have no recollection of any war, autobots nor decepticons. Original Blitzwing has memories of his home on Cybertron, and it's like he suddenly just woke up to 3 other bots living in his head and taking over his body in sporadic bursts. Meanwhile Icy, Hothead, and Random have no memories of anything. It's like they've been factory reset to day 1

Needless to say, Blitzy is a mess. He feels like he's gone completely crazy, voices he doesn't know constantly ringing out in his head, taking control of his body and puppeting him. He's conscious in there even when the other faces take over, but he can't do anything but watch and listen and feel. He knows exactly what's going on at all times, but it's like he's stuck in the passenger seat. It's awful. Poor guy is plagued with insomnia and debilitating migraines, the type that make it feel like his helm is a nuclear reactor about to reach critical mass, and all he can do is lay completely still in total darkness as the worst pain he's ever felt stabs him in the processor over and over and over again.

He's honestly struggling a lot, mental health wise. Stranded on a planet he doesn't know with a bunch of strangers, having the worst identity crisis in the history of crises, 2 seconds away from a total psychotic breakdown. It's enough to give him... scary thoughts, honestly. Thoughts about drugging or hurting himself, just so he could finally have some peace and feel like a real person again. He needs a lot of help just functioning in his day to day, and should be watched closely. He's in Ratchet's medbay a lot (assuming he ends up like Starscream and is in autobot care), and the old doctor has seen a lot of fucked up shit in his day, but watching this poor kid absolutely decimated, sobbing brokenly and begging for sedation because he literally can't control his body and has been invaded and violated by 3 strangers, really makes his spark ache

[anothersievefistedfind]

Show ticket courtesy of Greg Dunlap

Fugazi, Aragon Ballroom, Chicago, IL USA 9/3/1993 (FLS #0575)

While Fugazi would include the city of Chicago to their tour itinerary on 9 different occasions between 1988 and 2001, sometimes even playing back to back shows at the Oak Theatre (May 1993) or, later on, at the Congress Theater (May 1998 and June 2001), they would play the Aragon Ballroom just one time, and from what I gather, things did not go off without a hitch. 

Interestingly, in a March 18, 2009 interview by Mark Prindle for Rebel Noise, Ian MacKaye recalls:

“[...] we played at this place called I think the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago, and at that time there was these 'T' barricades. Are you familiar with that? It was a giant room that held 5,000 people, and the barricade was shaped like a 'T,' so you had the horizontal bit in front of the stage, but then right in the middle there was a barricade that goes straight down dividing the 'pit,' so to speak -- or the 'crowd,' if you prefer -- into two. But then you had to bring in even more security people to be in the middle slot. And we argued and argued about it, but the fix was in. The security people were connected, insurance rates drove up costs, and everything was just creating this insane confluence of things that jacked the cost of the show higher and higher and higher. I couldn't get them to waive it, so finally I said that I insisted that we include in the budget 100 balloons and a can of helium. And the guy was like, "What? What are you talking about!?" And I said, "If you're gonna have such a draconian set-up, and since when people are entering the room that's the first thing they'll see, it sets a contrary tone. So as a form of protest and an absurdity, I would like to soften it by having balloons tied to it all the way around." They did it! But I was just spitting in the wind, because that night we just got banged. We had 3900 people at that show, and we made less than the guy that drove the forklift. That's the risk we took by working percentages.”

Still, even if it turned out to be a mere one-off experience, the history of the Aragon and history of the band are now forever intertwined, for better or for worse.

According to Wikipedia, “[c]onstruction [of the venue] was completed in 1926. The Aragon was designed in the Moorish architectural style, with the interior resembling a Spanish village. Named for a region of Spain, the Aragon was an immediate success and remained a popular Chicago attraction [...].” 

And from the looks of it, this place is massive.

Photos courtesy of the Chicago Architecture Center

The architectural layout might explain why the band pretty much came out swinging, firing on all cylinders, and steamrolling their audience.

As a result, this recording and entry in the live series surely is an interesting one, and one well-worth visiting, in spite of just a handful of small drawbacks, such as minimal cuts in between songs, some low end rumble, or Joe (very unusually) being out of sync for a couple of bars during an otherwise crushing version of Public Witness Program.

Two Beats Off surely is a highlight here, as are Brendan’s rim clicks closing out Sweet and Low and the set.

For a more in-depth review of the performance, I will refer to the words below by Antti Väärälä.

“The stars are really out tonight.”

Fugazi back in Chicago, touring the brand new In On The Killtaker album. This time they hit the historic Aragon Ballroom, having played two back to back shows at the city's Oak Theatre a few months prior at the tail end of their spring 1993 tour of the US. Aragon tends to get a bad rap for its acoustics, and admittedly the sound of this recording feels somewhat boomy and a tad out of balance, quite possibly because of the room's characteristics. I would still rate the sound as very good, because nothing feels unpleasant, and all the elements are audible and distinct.

Now for the show itself. Don't think the crowd's enthusiasm would be diminished because of the two big Oak Theatre shows just a little while back. In fact, the audience welcomes the band with open arms and there's a great atmosphere right from the start. Ian opens the show with funny remarks about the stage height, urges people to refrain from crowd surfing, and off we go into the anthemic Smallpox Champion.

The band is on a hot streak to say the least. The initial flow is filled with fiery performances, my highlights being the absolutely stunning duo of Facet Squared and Walken's Syndrome. Still, I gotta give big credit to how the flow goes from Merchandise to a surprisingly early appearance of Blueprint. This genius move does wonders to really lift the atmosphere through the roof.

Instrument and Rend It form an intense and heavy pair, as both Ian and Guy hold nothing back in their respective performances. The mid-set classics follow in the same vein, with Waiting Room being one of the hardest rocking versions of the song I've heard so far. The list of red-hot performances could go on and on. But I have to give a special mention to the final four tracks heading to the encore as they are vibrant Fugazi punk rock at its absolute finest. Public Witness Program's exceptionally high intensity causes Joe a few slips, but the onslaught of Great Cop more than makes up for it. Tonight's Two Beats Off is the epitome of the "Picciotto Cool", and a totally infectious Repeater shakes all the leftover energy off the room, fueled by a wonderfully jarring intro jam by the whole band. Listen to the big singalong during the bridge, and you can't help but join in for the insane partying of the final explosion. Cheered back to the stage, the band continue the jams with the same level of excitement. Admittedly the flow is a bit uneven going from Cassavetes to the calm of Long Division, and then back to a very rocking Runaway Return, but that is only a microscopic gripe, as all the performances are top notch. Promises takes the evening to a close with Sweet and Low in a sure-fire fashion, where it all just feels like a big, inspired jam session.

Not only were the stars really out, but they also aligned for this evening at the Aragon. Essential addition to any Fugazi collection, this entry delivers the band's live experience at its most enjoyable and then some. Strong performances, great flows, a tangible atmosphere - it's all here. And with a pleasing enough sound and a steady quality throughout it's very easy to rank this as one of the finest entries on FLS I've encountered so far.

The set list:

1. Intro 2. Smallpox Champion 3. Merchandise 4. Blueprint 5. Facet Squared 6. Walken's Syndrome 7. Interlude 1 8. Reclamation 9. Latin Roots 10. Interlude 2 11. Instrument 12. Rend It 13. Interlude 3 14. Waiting Room 15. Give Me The Cure 16. Suggestion 17. Interlude 4 18. Public Witness Program 19. Great Cop 20. Two Beats Off 21. Repeater 22. Encore 23. Cassavetes 24. Long Division 25. Runaway Return 26. Promises 27. Sweet and Low 28. Outro

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird, “Synchronization.”

This idea came to me this morning, thought it was really fun and hope you guys like it too :) 

The, now semi-annual, GA summit had been called to order on Irus, the homeworld of the Rundi. Thousands of ships came to land under the green sky and on a launch field dusted with scorching blue sand, blown in from the arid, and near constant breeze than blew in from the east. Rundi bureaucratic assistants were heavily monitoring the weather pattern in fear of a sudden and unexpected sandstorm that could potentially strand the delegates planetside until the piled up sand could be removed.

Not to mention that special considerations had to be made for those species who did not do well with sand, that specifically being the Gromm, who had to be carried form their ships and down to the capital city inside protective bubbles.

The peace summit was not just a gathering of normal delegates, who stayed on Irus more than one third of the year to work out business between the different species, but was actually an open invitation to anyone importantly influential in their government. Of course attendance was not mandatory, and many people chose to skip going, but an even greater amount was obliged to come.

This year, the gathering was larger than ever.

A stir was caused almost immediately when a burg ship descended from the sky and touched down on the sandy landing field. Drev and human guards, paid to work the summit filtered forward, seeming to appear from the azure sand as the ship doors open and a troop of burg royal guard scuttled out onto the sand.

The guards were waved down as king Zaran regent of the burg nation fluttered from the opening, carrying in his arms the grub-like and slowly developing queen who had been placed on the throne during the recent insurrection.

Chairwoman of the Galactic Assembly was first to greet him, and with great respect he greeted her and thanked her for inviting them to the summit despite only being a protectorate nation.

All around the landing field members of other nations looked on in distrust.

The last ship to arrive was actually a small fleet of shuttles from the orbiting Omen, which carried with it both Drev and human representatives. Admiral Vir was accompanied by Chalan/Sunny Lanus’s Daughter and her brother Kanan/Cannon, leader of the Wandering tribe.

They made their way across the open field towards the burg delegation, striding with purpose, but without hostility.

King Zaran seemed to light up when he saw the approaching Drev, and waved his hand enthusiastically as they drew closer. Sunny and Cannon bowed as did their human companion.

Admiral vir stood straighter, “King Zaran, a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sorry I wasn’t present initially to help free your people.”

The colorfully-wing burg waved a couple of dismissive arms, “No trouble, no  trouble at all Admiral. I heard you were tied up at the time, and besides, your crew members were more than enough help.”

The burg watched as the human flashed a set of pearly white teeth reminding himself of his readings, and how the showing of teeth for humans was a good thing, “They are quite extraordinary aren't they.” Head tilted to the side he stepped a bit closer, “And this is the new queen.” The tiny grub opened wide black eyes to stare at the strange creature standing over her.

“Yes, she is coming along quite well I think. Hopefully, one day she will be a merciful and just ruler where her mother was not.”

“Let us all hope.”  The Admiral acknowledged, falling into step beside the burg King as they began walking towards the Irus capital city and the GA Chambers within. The rest of the delegates, still standing on the launch field, suddenly broke ranks and followed their lead.

Those who had once been skeptical of the burg delegation, slowly moved closer, comforted and encouraged by the human’s presence and civil conversation with their king, not to mention that the humans had brought a burg of their own, which all in all, seemed to ease their concerns.

Furthermore,  Admiral Vir had brought along his own Celzex crew members, carried on the shoulders of Drev and humans, which made the trek to the city much easier as the other Celzex found it appropriate to ride on the shoulders of other species instead of insisting on walking over the scorching hot sand and taking forever.

Admiral Vir stopped by a familiar ball of fluff who was grumpily making his way across the hot pavement, “Lord Celex, I believe my shoulder would b less scorching than the desert sand.”

Lord Celex turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. Admiral Vir bowed, ‘And I believe my station is high enough, that my presence would not dishonor you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before the Lord Celex’s eyes wrinkled in amusement, “It is good to see you Admiral. I am sorry we could not meet after your return. I was angered to hear of your demise and delighted to learn of your survival.”

Admiral Vir knelt down giving the Celzex a way to climb up onto his shoulder before standing.

“And I am flattered that you so quickly came to the aid of my people in a time of need.”

“Nonsense, you have shown my nation great honor, and I consider us to be friends.”

Admiral Vir flashed his teeth again, though the gesture did not concern lord Celzex in the slightest, 

“I am flattered by your friendship, as I have a feeling you do not hand it out lightly.”

“That is whee you would be right.”

The group of them were least through the shaded city streets, mostly cleaned of sand and towards the center of the wheel, where the GA hall was positioned. The massive tower was created at the hub of the city and shone down on them, a glowing white beacon against the blue sand and green sky. THey said it could be seen from anywhere in the city, a symbol of power for the GA.

The courtyard at the front of the GA council chambers had been covered by a massive force shield blocking out the wind, sand and direct sunlight. The air had even been infused with water to turn the 0% humidity up just slightly. Of course they could not bring it up more than a few percentages as it would begin to cause issues for the Rundi, but it at least helped those species who required water to live to feel less parched: most importantly the Gromm.

Refreshments were carried around the massive courtyard, and all of its rising balconies, though they were assured the food had all been tested directly prior to serving.

A large basket of Anin orb fruit had been provided for both Drev and Human delegates, who seemed to have a proclivity for the treat. In fact they didn’t even bother to provide human food at all as they knew the humans would simply ignore it in favor of new and exciting alien cuisine. 

Admiral Vir had already gotten his hands on an orb fruit, and was busy trying to determine whether or not he liked the strange squishy berry suggested to him by one of the Tesraki.

From there, they were slowly filtered into the meeting chamber where Summit discussions began in earnest. It was mostly talk about what was going on in the next year, the integration of the new burg nation into the GA, trade agreements with the Prodigum, whether they should try to make full contact with the Lumins (species of light worshiping squid-like creatures) Admiral Vir had contacted after an accidental crash land on their planet.

At about the halfway point in the meeting, they were let out for an intermission, and most of the delegates filtered into the courtyard.

There were so many people and so many species that the abscess of the Vrul went unnoticed. The delegates slowly spread out filtering up onto the balconies and out across the courtyard floor. The humans did the same, a large portion of them milling about the floor or leaning against the upper balcony.

Admiral Vir was standing and speaking with a few of the other delegates, though they noticed that he seemed rather distant, glancing over his shoulder on occasion to where some of the other humans were conversing on the side of the courtyard.

The Tesraki delegate leaned in, “Are you alright, Admiral.”

The human smiled at him, and the Tesraki tilted his head thinking for a moment that he had seen a sort of glittering in the man’s single eye before it suddenly passed.

“Yes, of course. ”His smile stayed on and he glanced one more time over his shoulder, “Will you gentlemen and ladies excuse me.” 

The group of them nodded him off watching him with confusion as he walked off towards his companions, and then suddenly stopped in the middle of the floor. They continued to watch him in confusion, the only ones who seemed to notice, as the man cracked his neck, then his knuckles, adjusted his cap on his head, and then took a couple of very deep breaths.

He lifted his hands and began to clap. The Rhythm was very seedy, and the acoustics of the outdoor yard was more than enough to echo the sound around the chamber and grab the attention of anyone and everyone in the courtyard. Head turned and conversations dwindled to nothing.

He continued to clap on Rhythm body swaying slightly back and forth. Soon after came the thudding of his foot against the ground. Everyone had now turned to watch the human in great confusion. The clapping hands and feet turned slowly into a side to side movement that matched with the beat. Everyone was staring now, and that is when the human’s voice rose up to match with the beat of his hands as the human drew out the vowels in that way humans had when they were singing.

He turned around to face them his movements growing more exaggerated though he stayed on beat as he did.

He continued to sing.

People stared.

And then another voice joined him from up on the balcony, taking over from him ringing clear and loud across the open space. Another human walking behind the Admiral suddenly turned sharply and fell into step behind him taking up the same movements on the same beat.

More voices joined with the second, and the clapping grew louder and louder.

Aliens watched in shocked confusion as more humans filtered upwards taking up the movements of the first two, until there was a large group of humans moving in synchronization with each other and with the beat, and with the voices that echoed down from overhead. 

Their synchronized movements pulled them left and then right and then onto the ground and then briefly into the air. Another human took a running start, leaping over his companions and flipping in the air before landing on beat at the very front. Two other humans flipped into the group from left and right springing onto their hands, then back to their feet, and then flipping over backwards to land in time with everyone else.

THe singing only grew louder, and those that were singing filtered down the stairs from above to join their companions on the floor.

Their moving feet beat out a complex rhythm on the floor just under the rhythm of the singing. Their hands moved in completely different patterns and shapes to their feet, requiring full body coordination that was unheard of from most of the species who stood stunned and watching. Almost all of the humans had filtered onto the floor beside the UN president and GA delegate who seemed just as surprised as the rest of the aliens.

however , unlike the aliens, their shock soon wore off and turned into clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The aliens all stood around in confusion, that is until the Burg King began to clap his hands together in delight  explaining how awe for the feat of coordination an entire group of humans could pull off. His delight drew some of the other aliens closer murmuring in awe as the humans moved like a single body in time with their overwhelming music

It was transfixing, and fun, and shocking and delightful.

The beat of the music was fast, and, what little they understood of the words were upbeat and positive. Slow moved into fast, until their movements were barely visible. Feet crossed over and then crossed back, figures crossed over and then crossed back.

Then all the humans fell back onto the ground, and those on the balcony watched as a giant circular pattern began shifting before them, made up by numerous human bodies moving in unison. They sat up, laid back down, rolled over and then leaped to their feet, all while the group behind them was singing at the top of their lungs.

The clapping beat did not abate once during this time, made by feet or hands or the singers.

Delighted and awed the aliens had gathered in a large circle, assuming they couldn't be more surprised, that is until a group of Drev filtered out from the crowd, and suddenly and inexplicably took up the same beat.

Admiral Vir, who had started the entire thing was suddenly shadowed by Sunny who mirrored his movements from behind, his body framed by hers, and occasionally giving him the appearance of having six arms, four legs and two heads. The fact that most of the humans were also wearing military uniforms added to a sense of sameness that pulled the entire thing, whatever it was, together.

The beat rose to a crescendo, Admiral Vir and a group of other humans at the front, stepped back onto the waiting hands of a Drev, and were suddenly flipped into the air, doing one rotation before landing and taking a kneeling position with the last beat as the music stopped

They held that position for a single moment until the clapping and cheering began from the two human delegates, quickly mirrored and taken up by the other observers still in absolute awe,

The Burg king could be heard exclaiming his admiration over the noise fo the crowd, as the group of human and Drev dispersed wiping sweat from their foreheads and dusting themselves off.

Admiral Vir walked over to where a congregation of some of the alien leaders had formed a sort of conglomerate.

The UN president looked him over, “Admiral, I didn’t know you could dance.”

He smiled, “I usually don't but we've been working for a few months now.”

The GA delegate looked him over, “Not everyday someone in your…. station … breaks into song and dance.”

The Admiral shrugged, “I know its a wide misconception but the star on my shoulder doesn’t actually come with a stick up the ass. Those are generally acquired earlier in a military career.”

Just then the Chairwoman pushed forward through the crowd breathless, “Admiral, that was… impressive…. We have never seen anything like….. What even was that?”

He smiled, “A great human tradition spanning centuries where a group of humans get together and choreograph a dance or a song, and then do it randomly in public without warning. It’s called a flash mob.”

“That is the most pleasant Mob I have ever been witness to.”

“I’m glad you liked it, chairwoman. I thought it might be nice to bring a little human culture to the summit for entertainment.”

“I assume that is why the Vrul are not here.”

He shrugged, “We wanted to avoid making an entire delegation pass out.”

“And was this your idea?”

“Partially, it started out as a joke, but the more we talked about it the more fun it sounded, besides it had the happy side effect of being great for crew morale. Getting together working out, learning a dance and singing together was great crew bonding, and definitely helped to integrate new members.” He smiled again, “So it was mostly beneficial to us, but the rew didn’t want to let all their hard work go to waist.”

The UN president shook her head, “I just don't understand how you got an entire group of career military men to dance.”

“When everyone behaves weird, no one behaves weird.”

Of course, the little exhibition was a bit detrimental to the second half of the Summit as delegate members couldn’t stop whispering about it or watching it over again on recording as the GA tried to regain momentum. IT took less than a day before the video was spread across the galaxy by news outlets and other media.

To some, the coordination of the humans was rather scary, while, to others it was an amazing feat of skill,  and proof that, while humans were dangerous, they mostly used their abilities to create fun little dances and songs for amusement

No one wanted to mention the military application of such coordination.

It was too bad for them, the humans already knew

Hopefully no one would ever have to see weaponized synchronization in action. 

[transhitman]

Nobody asked but I wanna talk about my OC universe. Specifically the biology of the human species because I think it’s cool as fuck. Basically, homo sapiens is extinct after nuclear winter and all the fantasy races are the different evolutions of the human species with adaptations that allowed them to survive. There are 6 total and they’re all sort of like combinations of two or more more traditional fantasy races so yeah.

H. magus -- HUMANS -- Only named as such because they’re the only ones that don’t have a major outward change in physiology. They look pretty much the same but are a little bit taller on average and can have gold or purple eyes. They survived via the magic of invention and Literal Magic, and mostly stayed in one spot. They sat on resources and created pretty capitalist-leaning societies, and thus didn’t have to undergo any major changes. However, there are still enough small differences to qualify them as a different species than H. sapiens, namely that their bodies conduct magic really REALLY well.

H. bucerus -- OGRES -- Sort of like a mix between tieflings and orcs. They’re descendants of the people who were ostracized from the Human communities for whatever reason, and had to deal with radiation, harsh weather, and GIANT FREAKING SHADOW MOSTERS. Since the Human ancestors were sitting on all the resources, the proto-Ogres were forced to become nomadic. In order to survive the Badlands, their muscles became much more dense, granting them super strength. However, they also weigh twice as much as a Human of the same volume and require twice as much food. They also developed methods of dealing with cancer caused by the radiation of the world. They basically integrate tumors into their bodies as horns. They have a special type of white blood cell that specifically targets cancerous growths and forces them to the surface of the skin, where they can be removed. They also have tails, which suit their environment. There are different variants depending on the global region they’re from, each with different horn and tail types. Probably the sexiest species. They’re tall ^__^ But their size is limited to like 7ft since being too big and dense would be DISASTEROUS in the food-scarce Badlands.

H. gurges -- DWARVES -- Ok so they’re honestly more mermaid-like, but I’m trying to fit a theme with the names here. They are short, though. And most of them live in cities that are below the surface, just not a solid surface. The Dwarves are descendants of the seafaring survivors of the Pacific Ocean. There is actually a wide variety that could count as dozens and dozens of separate species, but for function’s sake they’re all under the same category. They have convergently evolved with different types of fish, getting less and less human-looking the deeper in the ocean they live. On the surface, they’re just people with fluorescent skin tones. In the Abyss, they’re barely even human. They are able to withstand enormous pressure, and notably can form symbiotic relationships with sessile sea life. Sponges and barnacles and the like often grow on their bodies, sometimes in a very stunning, very beautiful way. Though the people closer to the surface are short, those deeper in the water grow to be gigantic. One of their subspecies includes the Extremophiles, who live in the deepest part of the ocean. They can reach about 20ft in length when counting their tails. It’s unknown weather these Extremophiles age, or what they really do down there. The Dwarves outside of the deepest Abyss usually live in underwater cities, on the coast, or on floating oil rig-type things. They’re all normal.

H. hiems -- ELVES -- Elves are sort of a combination between elves, giants, and general undead creatures (skeletons lol). They’re fucking massive, and live in only the coldest areas. Their skin is usually a shade of grey, tinted by the type of mineral that is the main staple of their diet. They eat rocks. Yeah. In fact, their bodies are so fucked up and adapted to their barren environment that normal food can easily kill them. Sugar specifically is HIGHLY toxic. Because they don’t process food the same way, they’re skeletal. And 12ft tall. Basically, slenderman. Though they aren’t bald. They have pale down-like hair on their heads. They also have another strange diet habit, which developed as a result of food scarcity during the beginning of the apocalypse. They have a very different culture surrounding cannibalism. Though the consumption of entire bodies is Not A Thing anymore, having your loved ones consume small parts of your body after your death is a very important ritual. It is an acknowledgement that the soul has gone, and the body has become empty matter. The other big thing about them is their special Suit Magic, in which a symbol of one of the playing card suits appears somewhere on their body when they go though puberty. The different suits grant them different abilities, and the four suits have divided into factions which were once at war with each other. (Blood (hearts) is healing. Edges (diamonds) creates shield constructs. Blades (spades) is bolts of energy. And Fists (clubs) is bludgeoning-type weapon constructs.) However, Elves are now extremely isolated up in their mountains and tundras. Very territorial. People honestly sort of hate them cause they’re also a little bit specist.

H. invictus -- MONOS -- Mono stands for monochrome. Predictably, Monos are monochrome. Arcane albinism overwrites their natural skin tone, and instead turns them a sickly white color, tinted by their subspecies hue. Everything else on them is jet black, including their blood and organs. Or, it’s that same hue color. They’re really fucked up, honestly. They’re sort of supposed to be a mix between vampires and orcs. They’re an artificially created species, made via eugenics and dark magic. Their creators were aiming to make an unkillable army, and they sort of succeeded, but at the cost of prevalent genetic defects. Around 70% of the Mono population has some sort of disability, which really isn’t a huge problem. They’re more than capable of providing medical care and creating accessibility deceives like prosthetics and magic medicine. You can do crazy shit with technology these days! In fact Monos were engineered to be compatible with tech- oh their creators were fascist eugenicists who abused them and treated them like disposable garbage specifically because of the disabilities they themselves caused though carelessness and forced inbreeding? Well. Alright. Not how I would have done it but... Anyway, long story short, the Monos pulled a 180 at some point and broke free of all that shit. Because they’re sort of a genetic mess, they have really great healthcare out of necessity. They’re the most technologically advanced species on the planet rn, but all of their scientists are engineers and doctors, not warriors, so they’re at constant risk of being annexed by Humans. Monos also have a very low fertility rate, so the percentage of whole-blooded Monos is going way down. They’re close to being endangered at this point. Luckily, some guy figured out how to grow babies in tubes but that’s a story for another day.

H. unicus -- DOWNDEEPERS -- Ok, Downdeepers are just all the miscellaneous designs I came up with that didn’t make sense as one of the other species lol. They’re the decedents of the people who fled to the newly-formed Downdeeps cave system, which is a global system of caverns that goes really fucking deep underground. The high concentrations of magic there cause Downdeepers to mutate rapidly. No two of them are the same. They all just live in tha caves... hell yeah...

The last human species are the CHIMERAS, which are really just the people who are a cross between two or more species. They were rare at first, but they had a population boom after global travel was reestablished (somewhat, anyway).

There are a couple other inorganic races I could talk about but I’m gonna leave it there. Yeah nobody asked for this but I hope you thought it was neat. I am honestly really proud of this world I think it’s cool as hell : ) yeah. And if you’re wondering how all the species can be cohesive despite their ancestors being isolated in different parts of the world (specifically Ogres, who live on every continent and don’t have a common ancestor), that’s because of some meta shit that has to do with how magic and human will interact. Collective subconscious shit. And that would take like 3 pages to explain so like. Just go with it for now lol.

[arabrot]

Who Do You Love by John Doran

Who Do You Love?

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire.

You’d think that by travelling that distance around a country you could get the measure of it. Especially if the country was only 361 miles from top to bottom and even less from East to West. You’d be thinking reasonably but not accurately.

Despite journeying the equivalent of one fifth of the circumference of the entire Earth in 31 days, all we got to see was the road itself. England endless. What we experienced was just a percentage of a splodge, a smidge of a blotch on the coastal fringe of Europe that deserved neither the sobriquet Great, nor the title United. How did such a small area of land contain such extravagant lengths of major road? In the same way that a human body could house a tapeworm 33 metres long. Probably not comfortably but hopefully not fatally either. Undoubtedly, in May 2015 - general election month - England had beauty to spare: it’s just that none of it was visible from the motorway.

We met on the forecourt of a petrol station near an airport. Heat haze was already starting to rise from the tarmac. The Driver was dressed immaculately in a tight-fitting black suit, shades and wide-brimmed black hat. His concession to non-monochromatic decoration was silver chains carrying cocks and crosses. He looked like Asa Hawkes, the “blind” preacher from Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood - but much thinner. He tipped the brim of his hat hello. This was not his stage hat but his everyday hat. His stage hat, the kind of prairie Stetson featured in the opening scene of Holy Mountain was massive and kept in the kind of box that suggested it was an essential part of a drum kit. It had its own carefully allotted slot in the back of the van with the tons of amplifiers, speaker cabinets, guitars, synthesizers, boxes of books, suitcases full of clothes and bags and bags of oranges we were taking with us. There was only one way to fit all of this stuff into the vehicle, and packing it correctly was like 3-D Tetris. All it took was one giant, impractical hat in the wrong place and then everything had to be taken out again and reloaded in the correct position.

He was the colour of milk, which made the angry red scars up either side of his neck all the more vivid. He looked like the missing link between human being and some future race of Lovecraftian eel-men who would be able to breathe via gills under water.

As well as me and the Driver, there was the Passenger. She looked more like she had stepped straight from the set of Bladerunner than a Jodorowsky or John Huston movie. This was to be their last tour as boyfriend and girlfriend as they were headed straight to a deconsecrated church in rural Sweden to get married as soon as the trip ended. I was merely a temporary guest in their world. A road voyeur with a month long pass.

Within minutes of setting off we hit the M25 we became enmeshed in May Day traffic. I realised that most of the month was going to be spent looking at slow moving traffic on motorways.

But just as driving to Brighton was slow and painful, leaving it the next day was a dream. On the motorway, time stretched and contracted simultaneously in temporal doppler effect. The days seemed longer but time blistered, popped and broke apart pleasantly as the brain switched down a few gears into a near pure experiential mode. There was little to worry about. All I could do was count the pylons and pretend I had a flamethrower to aim at UKIP billboards and hoardings; to luxuriate in motorway sign typography and listen to Maggot Brain as loud as it would go. Miles Davis’ Agharta was the soundtrack to us speeding out of the south up the M1 towards the Rainy City. Al Foster’s ringing, open hi-hat was our fuel. And then it was nothing but John Coltrane, Electric Wizard and NOMEANSNO until we reached our destination. It started raining the second we hit Stoke. And then before long we were on the Mancunian Way heading for Piccadilly in torrential rain, parking the van under a tangle of flyovers. When I planned this jaunt it was a thing of beauty. I took an AA road map and unfolded it until it covered half the floor space in my tiny living room. I took a sheet of stickers from my son’s Thomas The Tank Engine magazine and created a spiral of towns and cities, first round the edges near the coast and then spiraling in toward the centre. Our proposed journey looked like an occult temporal and spatial message only discernable from the god perspective. What I planned was a perfect thing. But after you plan your perfect thing what happens is this: promoters start phoning you up or emailing you. ‘We’ve double booked you with a Stereophonics tribute act’; ‘There’s actually a bar mitzvah on that day’; ‘It’s Record Store Day.’ And then the perfect thing falls to pieces. By the time we hit the road the perfect thing looked like that terrifying film of a spider on LSD trying to spin a web. And there was only one thing worse than a spider on LSD trying to spin a web and that was a spider on caffeine trying to spin a web.

We stopped for several coffees en route to Sunderland the next day. The weather was beautiful. Fields of golden rape seed glowed under a blue sky. But I gave up counting the UKIP billboards. There were just too many. The purple pound signs zipped past in a blur. We’d been on the road for five days and I hadn’t seen a single sign for Labour. It was almost a relief when we passed a huge hoarding in an arable field next to a broken tractor which proclaimed: “Prepare to meet your Lord!” We pulled in soon after to stretch our legs in front of a petrol station that shared a forecourt with a sex shop wrapped in a large tarpaulin hoarding, proclaiming: “Under new management!” Next door was a garden centre flying a row of ten confederate flags and two Union Jacks. There was a knackered and rusty jet stream caravan serving up plastic cups of filter coffee.

It became clear early on that the Travelodge was our friend. Every Travelodge the Driver, the Passenger and I shared was identical. A family room. One double bed, one fold out couch bed, minimal decoration, very interesting mass produced art, scant furniture, tea making facilities and a portable telly, often chained to the wall. The Travelodge may have had less furniture in it than the average bail hostel and may sometimes have smelled like a suburban pet shop from 1984 but it was totally fine as we were low ranking touring musicians and writers, not visiting dignitaries from Saudi Arabia.

After Leeds, our Travelodge was situated in a motorway retail park so the following morning we walked just a few hundred yards to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Pushing open the double swing doors we were confronted by a man in stained chef’s whites, with hair pushed under a light blue plastic turban crowning a jowly and crimson face. He was methodically and noisily applying a large cleaver to a foot long cylindrical sharpening steel with a schnick-schnick sound.

“Hello!” said the Driver cheerfully. “Are you Toby?”

The chef looked up slowly and a pendulous and translucent bead of sweat swayed under his nose. His eyes were like drill holes in gammon. Bruised udders of flesh were hanging below each of his nicotine-stained ocular orbs. He was possibly the most hungover man I had ever seen. He jawed away silently, his eyes flickering dully with rage as he started straightening up. The BPM of metal on metal increased. The three of us circled round him gingerly and headed rapidly for the breakfast counter past tables rammed full of people who looked like they were about to die. I had never seen so many morbidly obese people in one place at one time. It was like God’s waiting room with unlimited fried egg.

Oh England, you are sick.

It was only £5 per head and you could eat as much as you wanted but the choice was only bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, black pudding, fried egg, fried bread, beans and mushrooms. The thrill of the open road. Unlimited roast potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

(We spent just one night at the supposedly more upmarket Premier Inn, and it was relatively more luxurious but due to its incomprehensible automated reception machine, it took us an hour and a long conversation with two angry Premier Inn employees to gain access to our room. “Getting into this hotel was like the opening scene from a new episode of Black Mirror”, said the Driver, a recent convert to the show. “There’s nothing like waking up in some shitty English town, before eating some shitty English breakfast before driving slowly down some shitty English motorway for 12 hours before loading into some shitty English venue and playing a shitty gig to ten people before going to some shitty Travelodge just to watch a really well made English TV series which explains to you exactly why everything is so fucked”, he told me gleefully.)

Any hotel room was actually very much like home as long as you had a laptop, a handful of Nick Cave CDs, some Right Guard and a copy of Threads on DVD, which happened to be the exact contents of my overnight hotel bag.

Waking up in another identical Travelodge on another identical Motorway retail park the next day I realised finally that this was literally the worst place for a writer to be during general election month. Nowhere had wifi that worked. It was like being in a bubble of ignorance for 31 days. We had to choose these parks to minimise the chances of the splitter van getting stolen with all of our gear inside it. Every Travelodge we stayed in was essentially the same, surrounded by a handful of other outlets - a Toby Carvery or a Harvester or, if you were really unlucky, both of them. Then maybe also a Costa, a Boots and an Esso petrol station as well. They were all accessible from a motorway roundabout that wasn’t really near anything other than either an airport, a prison or an industrial estate. A vague hangover from reading JG Ballard as a schoolboy led me to believe that there would be some kind of mind-expanding nourishment to be had from this aspect of the venture but these motorway retail parks were all identical. They were the most co-opted and least free spaces of all.

After breakfast, outside, sitting on a wall drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine, I looked intently at a semicircle of rooks surrounding a single bird of their own kind. They were slowly advancing in toward it. The bird in the middle was stock still and not moving. It didn’t look like a friendly encounter. The Driver and the Passenger came out and joined me. The parliament were just about to attack the accused in order to peck it to death but just as the corvine jury bore down, they were disturbed by a loud noise from above. The Red Arrows flew over the Travelodge in formation causing them to scatter  It felt almost as if the Driver existed in a bubble of weird, uncanny, apocalyptic and esoteric events that moved with him wherever he roved. But it was also as if he barely noticed any of them. I stood pointing at the sky.

“Yes, yes” he snapped irritably as if he was sick of seeing this kind of thing. “Let’s get in the van and get off otherwise we won’t get to Digbeth in time.”

That night I dreamt that the solid iron core of the Earth was about to slough us all off until the planet stood raw and bleeding in space, just roiling magma with no skin to contain it. The utter indignity of being born between waves, the scions of a pusillanimous age we were all about to be cast into the void with the filthy scab of a country we called England. A flat and unmagical land. A depressing and tawdry place. When I opened my eyes Toby was stood in the corner of the room, sharpening his cleaver, schnick, schnick, schnick, schnick. Empty eye sockets carved out of rancid, fly-blown gammon.  

“We have to stop eating lunch at the Harvester!” I sprang out of my fold out bed and shouted at the Driver and the Passenger, waking them from their sleep. “The full rack of ribs is fucking killing me!”

Fuck the Harvester. Fuck Toby Carvery. All of the clothes that were hanging off me on May 1 were now snug and it was only May 12. My ears were ringing with the premonition of some future blue cheese dressing related pulmonary event.

It was easy to see how ruinous life on the road could be, even when you didn’t drink or do drugs. I felt sorry for younger bands who felt they had to go out partying every night after shows. After a couple of weeks it must end up hellish.

The road to Hull was paved with UKIP signs. Only Necrosis by Cadaver played at ear disrespecting volumes kept us sane. It was dark as we drove into town and ghosts lined Ferensway waiting to greet me. The cinema where I’d had my first date in town, the pair of us just turned 18 - watching Shirley Valentine no less, saying, “Imagine being that old” about Pauline Collins and Bernard Hill - was now a bingo hall. The war memorial that I regularly drank sherry in front of on a bench. The Welly nightclub where I saw a punter swan dive off a balcony and go headfirst through the corner of a formica table. When they took him out on a stretcher there was a blanket pulled up over his face. And then down past my old house on De Grey Street and into the car park of the Adelphi. And then the ghosts waved us back out of town.

The drive to Great Yarmouth was gruelling and 13-hours long because of traffic - we got stuck behind no less than three serious road accidents. Bodies strewn across baking tarmac. Bloodied travellers weeping in incomprehension at the hard shoulder. Slow moving the traffic might have been but at least we had plenty of long albums to listen to. Just like a mattress in a shared student house or the narrative flow of the Bayeux Tapestry - Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly sagged in the middle but it was very, very long, making it ideal for the van.

Eight hours later, after the show, we flew down the A47 unimpeded like we were clinging to a rocket, listening to Slayer albums sequentially at full volume, gabbling like a bunch of four-year-olds as we went. By the last day, I felt like I was about to die and constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t want it to end. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It was genuinely the worst of all times. And yet I’d crawl over broken glass to be able to do it all again right now.

You know, if you really want to get the measure of a country don’t drive round it. Take a train or walk. Maybe buy a bicycle or a skateboard or something.

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire and parked the splitter van by the roadside.

John Doran, Bangkok, Thailand, December 2017

[ivendarea]

The Sylai

Dream Bold and Persist

Banner art based on and supported by my Patrons ♥

A tall, resilient former mountain tribe with a rich yet troubled history, the Sylai have always been home to the western Skyreach Mountains, mixing and mingling with the neighbouring Nathras and Gideya despite not always peaceful relations.

The majority of their population today resides all across western Ivendarea, having been driven from their main homestead Saratheas during the Cleansing in large numbers. While many returned (even if with reluctance) after Iovana Brestine had achieved a peace treaty with the conquering Assadin, a high percentage of Sylai can still be found among the population of Fandyl, Westpoint, and particularly the far away Panthil.

Table of Contents:

Culture and History

Cultural Heritage

Language and Dialect

Shared Values

Major Organizations

Common Etiquette

Fashion

Art and Architecture

Ideals

Beauty Ideals

Courtship Ideals

Relationship Ideals

Continue reading below or on World Anvil

[Support the Ivendarea Project on Patreon]

Culture and History

As a people once at the centre of different surrounding cultures, now far spread, the Sylai adapted many influences from around them into their own daily life.

Cultural Heritage

Their origins are those of a mountain tribe living relatively independently and isolated off of the world around them as semi-nomadic hunters. Quite early on the Sylai discovered the rich mineral and ore veins of the Skyreach Mountains, being the first Ivendarean people to professionally conduct mining. Sylai jewellers and smiths of all schools are regarded as some of the most talented and sought-after. The valuables found on their lands also made the Sylai one of the richest peoples of Ivendarea, which is reflected in Saratheas’ extravagant and impressive design showing great craftsmanship and wealth.  As mentioned before, the Sylai aren’t a people known to be particularly religious in the traditional sense, but most consider themselves part of the Aman’a Valeethi. When Aman began to rise to fame and followers started to gather around them, the Sylai were sceptical of this “cult” around the reclusive, far-travelled scholar. Having had their fair share of experiences with charismatic leaders abusing their follower’s trust they decided to be cautious. Only over many centuries time and thoroughly studying Aman’s discoveries and teachings, more and more Sylai began to follow this new belief system. After all, it wasn’t too different from the old, the same gods, just a different interpretation of their influences on this world and the Nyr’s part in it.

Language and Dialect

The Sylai’s dialect is smooth and flowing, very close to the “official” Nyrval taught in school. In daily life both Nyrval and the commonly used trade tongue are used interchangeably, and most Sylai also speak the Assadin’s Azash without problems. In cities like Saratheas, where an abundance of cultures collides, a unique dialect has begun to form that mixes influences of Nyrval, Trade, and Azash, creating a language unique to this region and the Sylai as experts in it.

Shared Values

United by their fierce pride of their homeland and nation’s achievements the Sylai always strive to be better, are ambitious and persistent. They are also strongly inclined to magic.

Many past experiences with rulers not worthy of their obedience, even long before the Assadin arrived, made the Sylai sceptical of all kinds of authorities. They question, tread carefully, don’t always show their true intentions from the start, and rarely take something at face value. Open criticism of the government and other institutions are just as commonly found in Sylai culture as public discussions and debates on pretty much any subject: from the design of a park or building, to the schedule of a school, or the newest fashion trends, everything is up for debate and the Sylai are very favourable of public votes and the gathering of many different opinions.

The Sylai aren’t overly religious, in fact among their population they have the highest percentage of atheists. They prefer theoretical, analytical approaches to everyday problems, rather than being guided by emotion and belief. While most don’t question the gods’ existence as such, they were always known to discuss religion, trying to discern the origins of certain believes and local cults, and figuring out their place in this universe on their own terms. Therefore, those who believe in the gods, are almost exclusively followers of Aman, as Aman themself also followed their own logic and curiosity and through this managed to answer many of the pressing religious questions of their time within their teachings.

Major Organizations

Saratheas once used to be one of the nation’s main temple cities, and despite the Sylai not being fiercely devout, most consider themselves followers of Aman’s Teachings. The Aman’a Valeethi therefore have a large presence there.

For a long time Saratheas was also the capital of justice, devoted to Julanor; while after the Cleansing the headquarters of the Avon Julanor, the order dedicated to justice and the maintenance of law and order, were moved to Panthil. Until this day Sylai are sought-after recruits for their strong will and magical power

Common Etiquette

Gossip and talking behind someone’s back are massively frowned upon in general, but particularly the Sylai. This doesn’t mean though one has to always be direct and state their unfiltered opinion. Words are to be chosen carefully to not offend or cause a conflict. Personal information is only shared with those close, too much openness and directness can be regarded as off-putting or pushy, in the worst case it could severely offend. It is not wise to wear the heart on the tongue, as it brandishes one vulnerable and untrustworthy. It is also not polite to ask private questions in public, or question people intently that you’re not at least friends with and have known for a while.

Most Sylai alive today have some sort of connection or trauma associated with the Cleansing of Saratheas. The older generations witnessed it themselves, lost relatives, friends, or mentors in the massacre, the younger generations grew up with the stories of the horrors of this military crime told by survivors. It is a very emotionally loaded topic that is not to be brought up as small-talk - or at all, unless maybe in a historical context, and as a reminder of Zerenda’s horrible deeds.

The same applies to some degree to the deeds of chief Randra, a cruel ruler in ancient times who had planned and carried out several vicious attacks on the Gideya to steal their supplies during a series of harsh winters. Randra was eventually slain in a fight against Neron, which was a crucial moment in the unification process of Ivendarea. While this all lies thousands of years in the past, it is still considered a great insult to be compared to Randra in any way, shape, or form. His actions are met with great resentment, and in the eyes of many Sylai the ends never justify the means.

Trust and keeping one’s promises is essential. If one abuses a Sylai’s trust just once, it will be sheer impossible to regain it back.

Fashion

Clothing has to be practical for the Sylai, every items always had to serve a purpose. Layers of warming wool keep out the cold of winter, and sleeves can often be tied together so they don’t get in the way when working in the field or at the crafting table creating intricate pieces of jewellery or art. Sylai fashion has to be robust and easy to clean, more delicate fabrics are usually reserved only for the most festive occasions. Being practical doesn’t mean ugly though. While muted colours are favoured, extravagant shapes, boldly coloured patterns, or unique statement pieces in contrasting colours, often adorned with metal or jewel elements stand out and reflect the Sylai’s love for unique and bold art - and maybe even a certain level of grandstanding. The only clothing material that is uncommonly used are animal furs and leather, as the killing of animals for food or clothing contradicts the beliefs of the Aman’a Valeethi.

Two Sylai individuals that could be seen walking side by side on a Sarathean street, a scholar and goldsmith respectively. Both wear heavier wool coats of different make over lighter fabrics such as linen and silk. In the warmer summer months open shoes are much more commonly seen than expected from a city in the mountains, but closed shoes and boots are more common here. The Sylai mage wears a more monochrome, harmonizing outfit of green and blue tones, both colours connected to magic and spirituality in Nyr society. While less ornate than the clothing of the goldsmith, particularly the heavy, flowing coat with tassels is an eye-catcher, and it certainly was expensive. The silversmith wears a variety of asymmetrical jewellery and a small belt-pouch to store valuables, a popular and commonly seen accessory in a contrasting colour. Both coats can also be worn inside out, are coloured differently on either side.

Art & Architecture

Since the Sylai began to settle down, their architecture was always ambitious and carefully planned to create a harmonious overall picture. This becomes particularly apparent in Saratheas, a city once founded as the centre of justice, later an important temple site, now the capital city of the whole nation.

Walking through the streets is a humbling experience, everything is big, bold, but clean and clear. Held almost completely in white Saratheas stands out like a polished jewel on the rough mountainside, and the Sylai like to see themselves as such as well. Pushing themselves to be their best possible selves with persistence and dedication it was possible to shape this nearly perfect city in an environment that seems less than ideal for anything to thrive. The Sylai love this contrast and see it as a personal motivator, too: no matter how grim the circumstances, with enough ambition and daring to go new paths there is always a way towards harmony and perfection. This longing for harmony is a trait they share with the Gideya, whose architectural knowledge also influenced and shaped the design of the city.

Ideals

Beauty Ideals

Self-restraint, ambition, care, and carefulness are ideals that are reflected in the Sylai’s sense of aesthetics. Like many Nyr they prefer to wear their hair long, as it is an indicator of age and therefore wisdom. It is regarded as precious and taken great care of. Practical hairstyles and accessories like hairpins and headbands keep it out of one’s face and harm’s way, it gets braided, pulled back, or pinned up in aesthetically pleasing techniques. They enjoy to highlight their best features without giving too much of themselves away. A certain mysteriousness is considered intriguing and reflected in darker make-up styles and a few accent colours complimenting natural features - for example a bold green scarf, the same colour as the wearer’s eyes, in combination with an outfit consisting of mostly brown or grey tones.

Courtship Ideals

It is regarded as rude to ask personal questions, being too forward or too prying, so courtship is usually a long process until a couple becomes closer. To avoid misunderstandings, and to signal availability, specific pieces of jewellery can give away a person’s relationship status, sexual orientation, and a whole lot of more social clues. It is supposed to make finding a potentially matching partner a little easier and less disappointing when it turns out that after three months of courtship the object of one’s desire has no interest in a relationship at all.

Relationship Ideals

Sylai are ambitious and goal-driven, while at the same time very cautious and private when it comes to social matters. A potential partner shouldn’t only be supportive of the other (and vice versa) through highs and lows, a romantic relationship is always serious business and meant to last. This is why a lot of time is invested in courtship and getting to know each other’s personalities before getting to know the other as a person with a background and history.

That being said, more casual relationships aren’t completely off the table, but they generally are rarer. Caution is of the essence, not only with whom the bed is shared, but also what information one is willing to share with the other, if any at all.

[Read on World Anvil]

[Support the Ivendarea Project on Patreon]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Catherynne Valente schools her racist neighbors about the asylum seekers in their midst

[Author Catherynne Valente (previously) posted this outstanding rant to her Facebook page; I asked her permission to repost it here so it would have somewhere to live outside of the zuckerverse and she graciously gave her permission -Cory]

I live in Portland, Maine. We have recently had an influx of African asylum seekers and the city has been scrambling to find shelter and support for them.

Cue NextDoor, that wretched hive of scum and villainy. Every day someone would post some new hateful jingoistic nonsense about how horrible these people are and that they need to get out of 'Merica and leave it to the 'Mericans.

I try not to get involved on NextDoor because I live in a small community and I have to see these people at the ferry dock. But I got mad. And I got involved. And it got long.

So I decided to share it with you. Please feel free to share it with others who might need to hear it.

You know, I was going to let this thread go by without saying anything. It's not worth it, I said to myself. These people aren't going to listen. But y'all can't stop being hateful and I'm tired of getting notifications that someone else is being and absolute bell-end about their fellow man on NextDoor.

So buckle up.

First of all, "they" aren't illegal. They are asylum seekers. It is legal in every nation on the planet to seek asylum, and they are abiding by the law. Just like our friend with his grandfather's naturalization certificate at the top of the thread (which is from 1928, by the bloody way, predating the Hart-Cellar Act of 1965 which completely overhauled the process to enter this country, specifically to make it harder for minorities because human beings will keep a rock as a pet but cannot think of other human beings as brothers unless they look *exactly* like them. And even then). THEY NEED HELP BECAUSE THEY ARE FOLLOWING THE LAW. The law forbids them to work for 6 months after entry. If they were illegal, they would just start working one of the many menial jobs that have no problem hiring underpaid immigrant labor.

Second, these people are not hurting you. In any way. I would be shocked if anyone yelling about those terrible no good very bad fellow human beings had ever met even one of them. Many of them are educated and skilled. Many of them are Francophones, making Maine a wonderful place for them to reestablish themselves, as there are still pockets of French speakers in this state. Every single study shows that immigrants and asylum seekers are a net benefit to the economy, that they get off of social services much faster than homegrown welfare recipients, that they become entrepreneurs and hard workers. And yet you hate them before they even arrive.

And if you want to talk to me about how some of them are Muslim, and might bring their naughty repressive Muslim African culture into wonderful, flawless liberal America, let me tell you about Alabama. And Georgia. And Ohio. And North Carolina. And the Supreme Court. The people who are right now actively seeking to curtail my rights to my own body, to prevent me from voting for my own equal representation, to empower the companies that may employ me over myself, are as American as the flag, fireworks, and goddamned apple pie. These are individual people with no institutional power, and you have no idea what they think or believe about anything because you don't know them. The people with institutional power are hurting us all. Right now. And I don't see any angry threads on Next Door about it.

OMG BUT MY TAXES.

I. Pay. Taxes. Too. And my taxes go to support an aging Maine population, to give them healthcare, food stamps, housing subsidies, social security, and myriad other avenues of support. Support that will almost certainly not be available to me when I am old, because the very generation receiving my tax dollars has repeatedly voted for the downsizing and existential dissolution of the programs they enjoy. Yet I still pay. I pay for you. Knowing I will get nothing in return.

But you know what really pisses me off about where my tax dollars go? It isn't that they support an aging conservative population with the free time to post endless hateful multi-exclamation point capslocked screeds on the Internet. And it goddamn well isn't that 86-150 families (god, how few human beings it takes to turn on the histrionics) who have been through the most heinous and unimaginable cruelty, violence, and persecution might settle here in this state where all the young people actually born here are fleeing at rates that would snap your neck.

My tax dollars and your tax dollars and all of our tax dollars are going to build a megayacht dock in Portland so that more uber-rich assholes have a place to park their massive pleasure boats, boats that cost more than those 86-150 families could ever need.

My tax dollars and your tax dollars and all of our tax dollars are going to subsidize developers who smell fresh meat in our city so they can build more luxury condos none of us can afford (and again, the sale price of three or four of them on the West End would cover everything these families need), condos that will sit empty for all but two weeks a year so that a few families can look at the water and stuff themselves with lobster butter while complaining about live music to the point that our festivals get cancelled so they can go to bed earlier, murmuring as they drift off to a dreamland none of us can make a down payment on that Portland used to be so much better in the old days.

My tax dollars and your tax dollars and all of our tax dollars have, for eight years, gone toward blocking bills the people voted for from becoming law, fighting in the courts not to give Mainers medicare or raise our minimum wage or let us smoke in peace or have a little more choice in voting. Our money has gone to subsidizing red states that hate New England like fire. Our money has gone to making sure the megayacht-parking lobster butter bathers pay less in taxes than a barista on Munjoy Hill. And NONE of you are complaining about that.

Nor do I see any single thread looking to help the homeless vets and addicts you're all suddenly so conveniently concerned about, no matter how bad the winter gets. Pro tip: do not use veterans as strawmen when you argue that the poor deserve nothing and America is somehow full. A massive percentage of vets are immigrants themselves, and they are out there protecting your right to be a total dick on the internet.

Somehow, for some strange reason, the only time people seem to take to their keyboards to complain about where their taxes are going is when they might just end up helping someone less fortunate. When they help people more fortunate? Crickets.

This state is aging. We need a new tax base or all those senior citizens will suffer, because their services will be cut without people my age to pay for them. Young people are not moving here. They're just vacationing here. If you feel like freezing to death some idle winter without social services still yelling Don't Tread On Me, be my guest. I would prefer to live in a lively multicultural city full of art, music, food, theater, and more services being used by people who need them to survive than those who just want to pay a little less taxes and have a convenient place to park their yachts.

The hate in this thread is repulsive. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. I would imagine some of you consider yourselves Christian, even while you spit on those Christ commanded you to shelter and treat even as you would him. Nice work. There is not one of you who has not taken help from another human being at some point in your lives, even if it's only in the form of using the roads and electricity and infrastructure we all pay for collectively to make yourselves a success. Filling these people's bellies costs us so much less than filling the insatiable gullets of the vulture capitalists that have made quite the little feast of our city in the last decade. It's utterly pathetic that we must pay for the rich to harm us, but that rouses no protest, but this, THIS, these poor, desperate, hopeful people who have walked across a continent to get here, raises your rage to the breaking point.

You want to save a dollar by starving a poor man while handing over twenty to a rich one with a smile and a song.

That you would deny someone who has escaped hell on earth a blanket, a tv dinner, and a scrap of gym floor to sleep on doesn't make you a patriot. It makes you a bad person.

I said good day, sir.

Catherynne M. Valente

is a novelist; her latest book is

Mass Effect: Annihilation

.

https://boingboing.net/2019/06/18/nextdoor-is-terrible.html

[forsw0rn]

Camping for Beginners

Even in case you’re the maximum city of creatures, the urge to get out of the metropolis—to camp out, in fact—can capture your imagination at any time. If you discover yourself taking into consideration car tenting for the primary time, but additionally find the tools and the prep to be a touch daunting, don’t despair. We’re right here to help.

The final critical for novice campers is, of path, an skilled outdoorsy person that will help you. You can find the ones folks teaching classes at REI. And in case you’re lucky enough to have a pal with a campground reservation and a garage full of equipment to percentage, then without a doubt bounce beforehand to our on hand, printable tick list of camping necessities we’ve furnished on the tail cease of story. Checkout how to choose right tent?

But you could also do this tenting element completely on your own. You just need a few basic portions of tools after which determine wherein you’re going. When going vehicle tenting for the first time, start with an overnight campout and keep it simple:

To keep money, borrow or rent huge-price tag gear.

To maximize your consolation, usually bring appropriate clothes for bloodless and rain.

To fulfill your fresh-air-fueled starvation, convey lots of meals.

To hold your options open, camp close to home. (There’s no disgrace in bailing if troubles rise up.)

To make certain you get a very good first affect, delay your campout if the weather forecast is awful.

To make certain you depart an awesome impression for folks who come when you, make certain you comply with Leave No Trace principles.

Camping is like staying in a primitive cabin, minus the cabin itself. So, similarly for your tent, % as even though you’re going to live someplace wherein there’s little or no furniture, no strength, no stove or fridge, and the cupboards are bare. In a developed campground you'll have strolling water and a community bathroom some hundred yards away. A regular campsite has a table (if no longer, you’ll want to convey one), an area to park a vehicle and an area to pitch a tent.

You can keep your preliminary funding low in case you borrow or hire the priciest items—the tent and your snoozing bags and pads. That’s a higher strategy than paying bottom dollar for something that might not even ultimate for a single tenting journey. That stated, if you are ready to invest in your very very own camping equipment, right here are a few hints that will help you decide exactly what to shop for.

The tent

: If your price range can pass a touch larger, then move bigger with your tent: A 3-man or woman tent gives a comfortable couple a bit extra respiratory room, and a circle of relatives of 4 can greater without problems gain harmony in a 6-person tent. You also can check the tent’s peak top in case you want a tent that you may get up in (that may make getting dressed and moving round less difficult to do). Vestibules outside the doorways are high-quality for stowing muddy footwear and having  doorways permit you to avoid hiking over drowsing tentmates for late-night time toilet breaks.  For a deeper dive into tent elements, study 

How to Choose a Camping Tent

Tip: Practice setting up your tent at domestic first. And don’t forget about a properly sized footprint—when you have a ground sheet it's too small, it may not fully protect your tent ground, and if you have one it really is too massive, it is able to capture rainwater and pool it beneath your tent.

The napping bag

: When deciding on your bag, temperature score is a good vicinity to begin. If you’re making plans on simplest going truthful-weather tenting, a summer season bag might be all you’ll need, but a three-season bag will come up with more leeway for unpredictable shoulder-season climate. Checkout detailed article on . If you’re constantly bloodless (or constantly hot), regulate as a consequence. And no need to go together with a amazing-cushty mummy bag like backpackers use, whilst a rectangular tenting bag will supply your frame greater room to roam. To examine extra, study How to Choose a Camping Bag.

The sleeping pad

: A right sound asleep pad is just like the mattress on a mattress, but it also has excessive-tech insulation to prevent you from losing body warmth on the bloodless ground. Big air mattresses, like what your guests sleep on at home, may appearance temptingly plush, however their loss of insulation will likely go away you feeling bloodless. Take a take a look at specs when evaluating snoozing pads—if one is thicker, longer or wider and has a higher insulation price (referred to as the R-fee) — it will be extra cozy and hotter. For greater info, study How to Choose a Sleeping Pad. Prefer to be off the ground? Bring a cot as well.

Tip: Set your tent, bag and pad up early, so that you don’t must do it within the dark.

Lighting: Campsites don’t have illumination, so that you must bring your own. A flashlight is OK, however a headlamp frees up your palms for camp responsibilities. A lantern is first-class for ambient light. (You can also build a campfire, but look ahead to fire restrictions.) Our articles How to Choose a Headlamp and How to Choose a Lantern will come up with a few purchasing tips. Stove: A classic -burner propane camp stove must do the trick. You won’t spend a fortune and you can cook breakfast and prepare your morning brew at the equal time. Bring at least more than one fuel canisters and a lighter, and hearth it up once at home to make sure you know how it works.

Cooler: You would possibly already have one and it will probably work simply great. Just be sure you have got sufficient capacity to your perishable food and a few bloodless ones, along side sufficient ice to keep ‘em that way. Some more moderen coolers with extra thick insulation (like those from YETI) make ice final pretty a chunk longer, though you’ll pay greater for them.

Pots, plates, cups and sporks: You gotta carry everything important for food prep and consumption. You can raid your house kitchen, just don’t carry the first-rate china. And, until you propose to take grimy dishes home, you’ll want a scrubber, biodegradable soap, a towel and a small washtub or  (one for dirty, one for easy).

Tip: Pack all of your kitchen equipment in a massive clear plastic bin with a lid. It’s easy to keep away at home and the entirety may be ready next time you need to camp.

Camp Chairs

: These are non-obligatory if you can sit down at the camp picnic table, but downtime may be a little more exciting when you have a comfortable area to perch. (And a hammock is even higher, in particular for afternoon naps.)Tip: Mesh camp chairs permit water drain without difficulty and that they dry quick if unnoticed inside the rain or morning dew.

[jockedguy]

Unfreeze (Change Theory, part 1 of 3)

ONE

You can tell a lot about the guy in the picture up there.  You can see a slice of his life, just from the second that was captured by the camera’s eye.  

1) He’s not too bright.  

Look at his eyes, the way his face is moving from one thought to the next.  You can tell that it takes him a minute to process, that maybe he’s not too quick.  You wouldn’t be able to make a pun, or talk about current events, with this guy. He’s young, he’s in the prime of his life, he’s maybe a little disoriented because of the hot sun that’s been soaking into his brainpan all day.  Probably got a little spin on from that last in a chain of four beers he’s got in his hand.

2) He’s not from around here.

Here, in the city, where there’s barely a gasp of green, you don’t see guys like this.  You see a lot of reflections of the urban color palette, like how the sky reflects on the ocean.  Endless gray and slate.  This is a picture of a guy who would feel ill-at-ease in a city, hyper-sensitive to the inundation of noise and technology, to the constant floods of people with their shoulders ratcheted up around their jaws.  

3) He doesn’t give much of a fuck what you think.

This is a guy who’s worked his whole life outside, with his hands.  As a kid, he probably spent all his time crashing through the woods or smashing into the still water of the local swimming hole.  He saw the sunrise most days, and squinted into the dusking evening, as bats came out to lazily swoop from dark to dark.  He caught lightning bugs in a jar.  He shot off fireworks and smoked cigarettes at the gas station.  He has an easy confidence.

There’s more, too, I’m sure, but all we get is what we can infer from the split-second the photograph shows us.  

He’s the kind of guy I see on tumblr, scrolling endlessly through my perfect kind of man.  Of course, since I live in the city, this kind of guy is harder to find, except for various dirty phone chats or Skype messages.  Stuff that doesn’t last, but is enough to get me off quickly and efficiently.

Briefly (since this story is about me, too), I grew up in the deep South.  I knew guys like this, was surrounded by them - if you can ever really be surrounded by  anyone in the deep South, that is.  They were my cousins, my neighbors, my schoolmates.  I was always looking at them, even if I wasn’t, you know - “looking” at them.  My life took me quickly through school and college - I’m an intelligent guy.  I quickly understood what it meant to succeed, and with that understanding, I chose a career that would make me a good amount of money and best utilize my skills - advertising.  I’m very good at persuasion.  I see things very simply, and I speak very logically.  Clients tend to like that.  Hell, most people, including my small group of friends, like that.  I think they feel like it’s a nice break from the modern-day affectation of wandering around the point.  

I also happen to be a gay man, still single as I stare into my 30s.  I’ve had a few boyfriends, all of which except for one lasted less than a year.  I was never content with them - they seemed to need me in a way that I found kind of repulsive.  They were depressed, or lackluster, or we just didn’t have the same goals.  I’m a creature of change.  I’m not happy to sit in one place, thinking the same thing - I want to know how I can better myself, how I can be more efficient.  I’d started working out at the local gym, experimenting with my form, with my muscles, when I found you.

I’d never seen someone so much like a lump of raw clay.  And it wasn’t just that - it was as though that lump had been possessed of some metamorphic desire, some inherent drive.  It was almost as though I could see a hundred possible futures super-imposed on top of you as you struggled, over and over, to lift the dumbbell.  I could tell you were hyper-aware of yourself, of your surroundings.  Your eyes would dart surreptitiously from guy to guy, quickly sizing them up and  continuing with your lifts.  I could tell you weren’t the most confident guy, wearing a baggy t-shirt with sleeves and basketball shorts that came down to your knees.  Most guys would come to the gym wearing clothes that accentuate their bodies - you, it seemed, were trying to hide yours.

Who knows why it was that I was drawn to you.  You were just like so many other skinny white boys in brand new sneakers and ankle socks, headphones firmly screwed into your ears to block out the anxiety clawing at your brain.  Maybe it was that glint in your eyes, that metamorphic desire that I mentioned earlier - it reminded me strongly, almost in an olfactory way - of my own drive to transform, to better myself.  I caught myself wondering what your story was.  Who you were.  

I wouldn’t say I stalked you.  That’s not the right word, and I think if anyone asked you now, you’d agree.  There’s just some people in this world, you’re drawn to them - you see them once, maybe a handful of times.  Maybe they’re one of those “stranger-friends” that you see every day on your commute.  You just know, deep down, that this person is going to figure into your life, somehow.  

It was easy, actually.  I started seeing you in the gym more often.  Maybe you had just started going.  One day, after we happened to finish at the same time, making our neutral, civil nods to one another in the locker room, I just decided to follow you down the street.  In this borough of this city, I would hardly be noticed.  It was almost like you left a trail in the air, though - I was able to lag behind at least two or three steps without losing track of you.  You lived in an apartment building a few blocks away from the gym, slightly to the west and south of my own railroad apartment.  Conveniently, a small coffee shop across the street from your place served as my outpost.  I could watch you come and go as I pleased.

It didn’t take long to figure out that you were gay, too.  I actually got to see a date break down in a miserable fashion, watching you and a (surprisingly) much bigger guy part ways in front of your building.  As you went inside, he lingered by the front gate for a second longer than I would have thought, head hanging.  This only intrigued me further - this guy, whose t-shirt barely fit over his biceps, had been left cold by you at the end of the night without even a hand-shake.  

You became a challenge in my mind.  Your seeming distance, detachment from the world, was a heady ambrosia that left me not only curious (for the first time in a long time, believe me) but your continual drive at the gym spiked that curiosity and stoked the flames over a period of weeks.  

I knew you were gay, but it wasn’t the normal hookup situation.  I didn’t feel like I could make a move, cop a feel, arch a brow, have you sucking me off the in the showers before you knew what was good for you.  You were different somehow.  

On the day we first exchanged words, there was a massive weather pattern shifting and sliding over the city.  The Saturday morning was bright, passive, and breezy.  By noon, the sky was swirling with cruciferous heads of cloud.  By mid-afternoon, the thunder rolled & splayed warningly.  I don’t mind a rainstorm - I even love a great thunderstorm - and I headed out to the gym for my daily workout in just a sleeveless tee, basketball shorts, and my Nikes.  The humidity had balled itself up to a stifling percentage, and I found myself soaked with sweat before I even got to the front door of the gym.

I had been jogging in place on the treadmill for about five minutes, eyes on the ceiling-mounted televisions.  Our President was up to his normal dramatic shenanigans on one.  An episode of SVU was on another.  Recaps of NFL games blinked back and forth on the other.  I don’t actually remember when it was that you were beside me, but I remember you had the first word.

“Hey,” you said.  Your voice wasn’t reedy, wasn’t thin, but it wasn’t deep, either.  For all that, it had a steadiness and even had a wry twist to it, as though you had already seen the future of the conversation.

“Hi,” I replied, neutrally, not looking away from the screens.

“I’m Tucker.”

“Jordan,” I replied.  Edged my speed up a little.

“This might sound a little weird, but, um, I’ve noticed you around here a bit, and, well - I like your form, you know, when you lift.  Do you think you could, I dunno, help me out a little?”

You had a unique way of speaking.  It wasn’t hesitant, but it did involve a lot more words than I judged necessary.  But I was able to pay attention to the words that mattered.  Kind of like when all the letters are mixed up in a printed word except for the first and the last, but you can still see and understand what the actual word is.  

If anyone else had asked me that, I probably would have spit out some kind of laugh or awkwardly referred them to a personal trainer.  I’m not a personal trainer, and I don’t know how to make anyone else’s muscles grow.  But for you, well - like I said, you were different.  I was curious.

“Sure,” I said between breaths, maybe even surprising myself a little.  “I��m just warming up here, then I’m gonna head down to do some arms.”

“Ah,” you said, face falling a little.  “I was gonna do legs.  Well, maybe another time.”

“Well, I guess I could do legs today,” I found myself saying.  “Arms are a bit sore from yesterday.”  I flexed, to show you, and I remember seeing your eyes widen a little.

“We could compromise,” you said.  “Chest?”

“Deal.”

And just like that, our first workout session as bros started.  

We didn’t talk much, which I liked.  You went someplace deep inside of yourself when you lifted - as though it took intense amounts of energy to spark that mind-muscle connection.  You seemed to stare through your reflection as you sat on the bench, performing the pectoral flyes.  When we did talk, it was cursory.  Shoulders back, down.  Engage your abs.  Breathe.

And when it was my turn, you were the same way.  Focused on my body the way you had focused on yours.  Quick, instinctive comments.  By the end of our session, my chest ached like it hadn’t in a long time, and I could tell that you were exhausted, too.  You didn’t exclaim about it, you didn’t even groan.  When we stretched out to cool down, the only reaction you had to our workout was a squeeze of your eyes & a slight grit of your jaw as the muscle fibers stretched beneath your skin.

You pushed your glasses up on your nose as you slid out of your shirt and blinked in the light.  You were solider in the core than I’d imagined - even had the shadowed ridges of a four-pack beginning.  “Wow,” I said, impressed despite myself.

You grimaced, but flexed, and smiled bashfully.  It was at that moment that I fell in love with you.  

Well, maybe not you.  Maybe the you I could see in the future.  My boy.  

More like the guy you see there, in the pictures.

TWO

I could tell you were smart.  There was no denying that.  We started going for food after our workouts, which were at least twice a week, if not more.  It helped that there was an amazing Thai place just steps from the gym, and we could order a huge helping of chicken and rice from the kitchen.  A few of the other regular gym-goers would go there as well, some even of bodybuilder status, and I remember feeling a glow of welcome as we ordered for the first time.

There’s a nice, heady feeling that comes with a post-workout ache.  It’s a glimmer, an aura, almost like being drunk.  Tongues loosen, bodies are uncoiled.  More primal desires are closer to the surface of the body than other worldly concerns.  You spoke a little more freely - told me about your life.  You’d grown up in New England, you’d always been a loner, you liked books and TV shows, you smoked pot, you drank craft beers.  I had yet to see you out of gym clothes, but that was because we only met at and after the gym.  You’d been coming along nicely, and I’d mentioned that.  Your form was strong, your lifts were becoming smoother, we’d even added plates on the bench press.  But when you talked about your life outside the gym, your eyes skated around restlessly.  You picked at the neckline of your shirt.  You shifted in your skin.  

For me, that was like a vole rustling through the grass to a hawk on a branch above.  Everyone has their secret unhappiness.  For you, that was a sort of disappointment in yourself - you’d never really “found” yourself, you admitted.  That was part of the reason you’d started coming to the gym.  As a child, your father disappeared and you were left with only a wounded mother to give you guidance.  You never learned how to form your own opinions, for fear that they would damage the delicate balance of the household.  You found yourself, later in life, able to agree with any viewpoint - something that was both valuable, but also a massive handicap.  

To me, it was the way in.

Identity is a tricky thing.  You can either create it yourself, and defend it as best you can against the cynical hurricane of society; or you can collapse and let society give you an identity.  This last way is often the quickest way to unhappiness, and I surmised this was your quandary.  

I smiled, and leaned in.  “Dude, you’re doing fine.  Who cares about all that shit?”  I injected a good amount of masculinity into my phrasing, squared my shoulders.  Flexed, for good effect.  Grinned.  “Who you are is who you make yourself, right?”

“Sure,” you said.  And before I could believe it, you looked up from your protein and grinned back at me.  Flexed back.

“That’s the spirit!”  I held out my fist for a bump, and you laughed, but you bumped back with vigor.  “You wanna know a secret?”

“Sure!”  You were eager to hear my magic.  I savored how your eyes developed a hunger, how the blood pumped a little faster through your dilated veins.  Your pupils even opened a little wider, as if ready to take in anything and everything I was about to offer.  

I leaned back, clasped my hands behind my head - maybe winced once as my sore pecs felt the stretch.  “The secret is ... there is no secret.”

Your face fell.  “That’s ... it?”

“Hear me out.”

“Okay.”  You were a little wary.  Deer in the forest, but still rapt.  Maybe you were even a little hypnotized, even then, before anything.

“You make your own identity.  You gotta ask yourself, bro -- who do you wanna be?”

You sighed.  “That’s just it, man.  I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”  I laughed, easily, for good affect, and reached over to squeeze your forearm.  I knew I had you, then.  “You know what you don’t like about your life, right?  You just told me.  You hate feeling like the guy who has all the answers.  You hate the constant barrage of news and politics.  You feel depressed and frustrated.  You can’t figure out how to make opinions.”

“Yeah...”

“Isn’t that how you felt when you started working out?  Confused, lost, overwhelmed?”

“Yeah...”  But something was dawning in your eyes.  I felt your forearm flex in my grip.  I didn’t let up on your eyes.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Stronger,” you said, immediately.   

“Nothing has to stay the same forever,” I concluded, letting my hand fall back, crossing my arms over my chest and shrugging.  “You have the power to change whatever you want about yourself.”

You sighed, and narrowed your eyes at me, unconsciously crossing your arms over your chest - just like I had, without even knowing it.  “So that’s it?  I just have to ... will myself into being a different person?”

“Is that what you want?”

You blinked at me.  This was the crucial moment.  I could almost feel the strong under-current of your desires, battering at your hesitation like a rain-swollen river at the banks.  If I’d done it right, if I’d led up to this moment perfectly, I’d hear -

“Yes.  It is what I want.”

I nodded.  “Okay, then.  You’ve taken the first step.”

You nodded, too.  “So what now?”

I spread my hands, then my mouth, into a wolfish smile.  “Now we begin.”

[To be continued.]

[lair-of-the-jabberwock]

I actually took a class in high school that taught us a lot about Africa, and the multitude of different cultures within the massive continent that it is. What most films and documentaries, and other such media, will show is more often than not all about just one single group. One community, one culture, one type of lifestyle, one glimpse at a very small percentage, and that creates an even more limited knowledge of the massive, intricate, interwoven, and absolutely gorgeous tapestry of cultures and people that populate the whole of Africa. Also, I might add that the class I took, taught about Africa and the many countries within, and their histories, through art. We immersed ourselves in the rich, amazing density of African cultures, through the different forms of art they had, and we learned about the people that created that particular art, what their lives were like, how this particular style is indicative of where they lived.. And we talked about the whole of Africa, from the rural areas and farmlands (which, by the way, just about every country has) to the sprawling urban cityscapes.

And by the way, there are 48 separate countries in the whole of mainland Africa, plus six island nations as well, making a total of 54 separate countries, with different lifestyles, different cultures, different beliefs, and it is all beautiful. Yes, while some of the rural areas are unfortunately less educated, less.. less developed than others, it doesn’t make them any less beautiful and intriguing. And it’s not about advancement, it’s not about who is more advanced or more intelligent. That’s why I say ‘more developed’, not more advanced. Because, I’d also like to point out that, for example, Egypt had irrigation and agriculture already thoroughly figured out and in fairly widespread use, long before the Greeks or Romans had any inkling of even the concept. Intelligence is not a matter of education, but instead a matter of adaptability.

After all, like some of the people before me have pointed out, it’s like if someone from a country outside the US, any country, and who had never been to the US and only knew about it through movies and media, were to only ever be shown the most rundown, uneducated, and rural places in this ‘great’ country. They would look at us the same way, that so many people unfortunately look at the people of Africa. They’d say things like, ‘do you really think the United States has technology like us? they don’t, they all live in those dirty and broken down trailer parks, and probably drink gator piss or something.’

Also. Not all rural communities in Africa are uneducated. Some of them actually have great access to schools and academic learning. But just like the sprawling cornfields that can be found in states like Iowa, they choose to keep it the way it is, because it works well for them. They don’t need to change, they don’t need to have sprawling cities and flashy skyscrapers to be a happy, healthy, and intelligent community of people. After all, where would us Americans be without those corn farmers in Iowa? Or those apple orchards in rural New York? Or the wheat crops, and other such farms all across the country? We’d have nothing. Especially, and I’m looking at all of you self-righteous, judgemental, ‘I believe everything peta tells me about how farms treat animals’, vegan activists out there who think you know what you’re talking about, if we remove even the most insignificant of crops from all farms in the nation. Because I don’t need a college education to tell me that the whole structure of the food chain will collapse if you remove even one small link. Without our rural, less developed, seemingly ‘uneducated’ farming communities, we’d have no fruits and no veggies, there’d be no grains, no nuts, no gluten alternatives, and by extension through that, there’d also be no chickens, no cattle, no pigs, no sheep. They’d all die with nothing to eat and no one to look after them. We’d also have no milk, or soy milk, or almond milk, no orange juice.. No coffee, or tea. Even our paper bags, our furniture, our homes, our technology. A lot of that has quite literal roots in farming communities, too.

All in all, we need to stop looking at Africa as just one big giant whole, as if it’s just one country alone, and we need to start seeing the separate nations within. Even further than that, we need to start seeing the cultures, the communities, the people. Only once we’ve learned to see all the parts that interlock and work alongside each other, can we pull back and see the bigger machine and watch it work. And when we’ve done that, we’ll see that those African nations, and the people that live there, are exactly like us. They are a tapestry of different cultures, just like America is so proud of in calling ourselves ‘a melting pot’. So, the people above me are right. America is a third-world country masquerading as a first-world one, and we have no right to judge other people, and other countries, just because they live ‘differently’ than us. They don’t really. Break it down to bare bones, simple words to describe those communities? You’ll find that the same words match America exactly too. Rural, farming, urban, small town, big city.

The same goes for other places around the world too. Alongside my African Studies class, I had one for Latin America too. And it’s just the same. Same rural communities, some poor and downtrodden, some with huge sprawling cities. It’s all the same if you break it down to the most basic building blocks, and the simplest of words. So yeah. Take a step back, and think about it.

Do you see the world as it is, or as someone told you it is?

Someone said "Are you really so stupid to think that Africa has the same technological advances as us? If they did they would probably have clean water and not live in houses made of sticks and mud. Get over yourself and stop being so ignorant."..... Below is a tiny collection of images of the Africa they refuse to show you..

ches

I’m sorry you’ve been made to believe that the whole of Africa is poor, I really am..

[geopolicraticus]

Quantifying the Continuum from Global Catastrophic Risk to Existential Risk

Global Catastrophic Risk (GCR) has been defined as, “...a risk that might have the potential to inflict serious damage to human well-being on a global scale,” whereas existential risk has been defined as, “...one that threatens the premature extinction of Earth-originating intelligent life or the permanent and drastic destruction of its potential for desirable future development.”

Between inflicting serious damage and the drastic destruction of human potential, and perhaps human extinction, there lies a continuum of risk of increasing magnitudes. If, for anthropocentric convenience, we take the welfare of the human population as the single key variable to quantify this increasing risk from the catastrophic to the existential, we can break this risk continuum into several chunks that can each constitute a scale-based taxonomy. For convenience, again -- this time decimal convenience -- let us break down a scale of risk into ten chunks of ten percent of the population each. For purposes of completeness, we will start with the null case that is neither GCR nor ExRisk. A risk may have the potential to adversely affect:

0% of the human population (no risk)

10% of the human population

20% of the human population

30% of the human population

40% of the human population

50% of the human population

60% of the human population

70% of the human population

80% of the human population

90% of the human population

100% of the human population (human extinction)

Now let’s take these percentages and break them down into familiar quantifiers:

No risk (0% of the human population affected)

Small risk (1-10% of the human population affected)

Some risk (10-40% of the human population affected)

Moderate risk (40-60% of the human population affected)

High risk (60-90% of the human population affected)

Extreme risk (90-99% of the human population affected)

Extinction risk (100% of the human population affected)

Now, from the perspective of almost any sane person, a calamity that resulted in the death of half of the human population would not be called “moderate,” but here we are talking about scenarios from global catastrophic risk to existential risk, so our scale of values is shifted by this consideration. During the Black Death humanity experienced a scenario of “some risk” in the above table, and while the Black Death was perhaps the most catastrophic demographic event in human history, not only did humanity survive this brush with death, even human civilization survived this catastrophic loss, although the culture was changed by the experience.

In each of these brackets of risk distinct scenarios would be played out. Above I gave the example of the Black Death, which killed between a third to a half of the planet’s human population. The Black Death has been extensively studied, so we know much about the social and economic consequences of a dire pandemic. We know, for example, that labor became more expensive, and that there was an massive generational transfer of wealth, and that, in some cases, entire villages disappeared and were never repopulated while the major cities all survived.

There is also the example of the 1918 pandemic, which killed between 3 and 5 percent of planetary population, an order of magnitude smaller than the Black Death, but because this occurred in the context of much higher human populations, still with a very high number of deaths. Coming in the wake of the First World War, when the world was tired of fighting, these unique conditions may have prevented the 1918 influenza epidemic from causing conflicts. The 1918 pandemic was, in the above table, the realization of a small risk, and clearly a global catastrophic event.

The 1918 pandemic didn’t snowball into something worse possibly because it occurred immediately after a major war, but probably more so because the nature of the catastrophe and the number of deaths did not affect essential social services or the functioning of the economy. It would be easy to construct scenarios in which an event that did not outright kill a large number of human beings could trigger a domino effect that could kill much larger numbers.

For example, in the event of catastrophic rapid climate change, in which enough of the ice at the poles melted into order to inundate all of the planet’s coastal cities, the initial death toll would probably be less than ten percent, thus a small risk in the above table. However, the nature of this event would be so economically and socially disruptive that subsequent social disruption and conflict would probably magnify the event until the death toll reached 20 to 30 percent of planetary population. What I mean by this is that many governments would not survive a catastrophe of this magnitude, and the resulting uncontrolled flow of refugees to safe areas, and the attempt by populations in these safe areas to prevent refugees from entering and swamping the area, would probably result in conflicts that would kill more than were killed by the rising ocean levels.

Generally speaking, any catastrophic event that seriously impacted or degraded the global system of food production and distribution (and, to a lesser extent, access to clean water and electricity) would rapidly lead to conflict over food supplies. The planet can only support its human population of seven billion or more with a stable network of food production and distribution industries, and very little would be required to upset this delicate balance.

At the other end of the spectrum, closer to existential risk than to global catastrophic risk, this particular problem would not be as severe. An event that resulted in the deaths of more than half of humanity would leave substantial food and material goods so that the survivors would be able to live until food production and distribution could be re-started -- should this ever occur. The danger at these levels of mortality is that civilization and its institutions would collapse and could not be restored in their present form by a much smaller population. Specialist areas of knowledge would be lost, and industry would revive slowly and on a much smaller scale, if ever.

Recently I listened to Stephen King’s The Stand (I recently listened to the longer edition; I read the original edition not long after it appeared), which is, in a sense, an extended thought experiment in what happens when almost everyone dies -- that is to say, the realization of an extreme risk event. In the book, the plague kills more than 99% of the population. However, because there are so many human beings, if they all gather in a few places, there can still be cities filled with people. It takes time for this to occur, to restore electricity to these cities, and to reconstitute some semblance of normal life.

Returning to this book after so many decades, I noticed things that I had not noticed the first time I read the book. In terms of material goods, anyone can take whatever they want, and there is plenty of canned food to last for the few survivors. So the survivors are not confronted with conflicts over scarce resources, as would happen with any catastrophe that failed to initially kill large numbers of persons. However, one of the themes of The Stand is that after such a catastrophe there are an enormous numbers of weapons of war just lying around, free for anyone to pick up. This has consequences in the novel, as it would have in fact if such an event were to come to pass.

It would be possible (and perhaps it would be a salutary intellectual exercise) to go through each quantification of risk and to determine the unique combination of challenges and opportunities for the survivors of a catastrophic scenario in each risk bracket. Different strategies and different tools in each case would be necessary to salvage civilization and the higher emergent complexities that human beings have generated as a consequence of civilization. And if civilization could not be salvaged, again, different strategies and different tools would be called for to preserve what could be preserved of the record of humanity and its civilization, whether for our distant posterity or for the edification of some other species that might come to study our remains. 

[dipulb3]

Analysis: How Dr. Seuss explains Biden's big win on Covid bill

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/analysis-how-dr-seuss-explains-bidens-big-win-on-covid-bill/

Analysis: How Dr. Seuss explains Biden's big win on Covid bill

That stress on cultural complaints reflects the shifting source of motivation inside the GOP coalition, with fewer voters responding to the warnings against “big government” once central to the party’s appeal and more viscerally responding to alarms that Democrats intend to transform “our country,” as former President Donald Trump often calls it, into something culturally unrecognizable.

Rahm Emanuel lived through both of those earlier fights as a top White House side to Clinton and Obama’s chief of staff. Compared with the gyrations required to pass those economic plans, he told me, the changes that Sen. Joe Manchin of West Virginia and other moderates demanded this time were “a nip and tuck. It’s not even plastic surgery.” The modest changes, he says, shows that compared with those earlier periods, the Democratic congressional caucus today is “much more ideologically cohesive.”

Some Democratic strategists warn that the cumulative price tag of the Biden agenda might still trigger a backlash, particularly if interest rates and/or inflation rise, as some economists warn. But for now it’s clear that Democratic moderates are displaying less fear of being tagged with the “big government” label from the right than their counterparts did during the early months of the Clinton and Obama presidencies. That could help Biden consolidate his party for another expensive proposal he’s likely to unveil soon: a broader, infrastructure-centered, economic recovery plan whose price tag will also likely reach the trillion-dollar level.

“I think it’s very clear that on economic issues, the voters … want them to pass stuff and take action, and there’s not a lot of opposition out there,” says Democratic pollster Nick Gourevitch. “So Biden’s got running room.”

Why it’s different this time

As in the famous Sherlock Holmes story, the most revealing dynamic in the legislative debate over the Covid plan may have been “the dog that didn’t bark”: in this case, the absence of a grassroots conservative uprising against the plan, even though its price tag vastly exceeded the Clinton and Obama proposals that ignited more resistance. Polls have consistently found significant majorities of Americans support the Covid relief plan, with Gourevitch’s firm releasing one survey last week that showed it winning support from more than two-thirds of adults, including a plurality of Republicans.

Democratic Rep. Ron Kind, who represents a rural-flavored western Wisconsin district that Trump carried by almost 5 percentage points last November, told me he felt no hesitation about backing the Covid bill. Calls coming into his office, Kind told me, have been “10 to one positive. … The reaction has been amazing: overwhelming support.”

Likewise, Democratic Rep. Matt Cartwright of Pennsylvania, who also holds a seat in a blue-collar district Trump won by more than 4 points, says that among his colleagues in swing districts, “Teeth-gnashing, hand-wringing, pearl-clutching: All of those were absent in this.”

Changed circumstances partly explain the GOP’s inability to stir serious resistance to the plan. Obama’s economic recovery package was buffeted by the broader public anger over financial institutions’ role in triggering the 2008 housing crisis and severe recession. This time, despite Trump’s frequent efforts to blame the virus on China, Americans seem much more inclined to view the outbreak as a kind of natural disaster that demands a collective response.

“In ’09 there was so much anger in the air, the big fat cats being bailed out … and people were looking for blood and who do we hold accountable,” Kind says. “And that’s not as easy to do when you’ve got a global pandemic.”

Different, too, is the breadth of the pain the virus has inflicted. Clinton’s economic plan followed a relatively mild recession; and while Obama’s responded to a much more serious downturn, the housing crisis still spared most homeowners while crushing others. The small-government “tea party” movement that helped power the huge GOP gains in the 2010 election began with a television rant by CNBC reporter Rick Santelli, who asked, “How many of you people want to pay for your neighbor’s mortgage that has an extra bathroom and can’t pay their bills?”

By contrast, the coronavirus outbreak has touched virtually all Americans: Even those who haven’t faced illness in their families, or disruption to their incomes, have seen the routines of daily life disintegrate.

In his central Pennsylvania district, Cartwright says, “you would struggle to find somebody who wasn’t affected by this pandemic negatively in some way.”

That includes local Republican officials in cities and towns, Kind notes, who are eager for the bill’s assistance — despite congressional Republican attempts to tag its aid for local governments as a bailout to poorly run Democratic cities and states. “The [congressional] Republicans are overplaying their hand by trying to make this more partisan than it is back home,” he says. One Republican police chief in his district, Kind says, even told him that by opposing the local aid, Republicans “are the ones who are really defunding law enforcement and our first responders.”

Yet just as important as the changed circumstances may be the evolving priorities of the GOP voter base.

“Donald Trump may have shifted the GOP coalition to a more economically populist position or revealed that there’s just less appetite for spending discipline on the right than there was before,” Republican pollster Kristen Soltis Anderson told me in an email.

If anything, questions about whether to increase or shrink government are now more likely to divide than unite Republican voters, notes Henry Olsen, a senior fellow at the conservative Ethics and Public Policy Center. Though Republican partisans still generally recoil at higher taxes and oppose programs they view as transfer payments for the poor, a recent poll of Trump voters that Olsen supervised, for instance, found substantial support among them for spending on Social Security and Medicare (entitlements that benefit the predominantly White senior population).

“I think it’s pretty clear that in the modern Republican Party, spending control for its own sake is a minority taste, not a majority taste, and that partly explains why there hasn’t been this massive uprising at a $1.9 trillion bill,” Olsen says.

GOP anxiety about way of life widespread

As concerns about big government recede, anxiety about America’s changing identity in an era of growing racial and religious diversity has emerged as the core unifying principle of the GOP coalition. A February poll from Echelon Insights, Anderson’s firm, offers one measure of that shift. Asked their top priorities, Republican voters identified illegal immigration, lack of support for the police, liberal bias in media and general moral decline among their top five concerns; high taxes was the sole economic issue that cracked the list.

Olsen’s national survey of Trump voters, conducted in January, found them crackling with the sense that they are culturally and demographically besieged. In that poll, roughly 9 in 10 Trump voters agreed with a series of stark propositions: that America is losing faith in the ideas that make the country great, that Christianity is under attack in the US and that discrimination against Whites “will increase a lot” in years ahead. Overwhelming majorities rejected the idea that Whites have any intrinsic advantage in American society or that Hispanic and Asian immigrants face discrimination. In the recent national American Enterprise Institute survey supervised by Cox, three-fourths of Republicans asserted that discrimination against Whites was as big a problem as bias against minorities.

Olsen argues that racial resentment is overstated as a unifying principle for Trump supporters, instead portraying the common thread as a more general “sense that the American way of life is under attack.” Cox, along with many other political scientists and opinion analysts, disagrees: They argue the claim that Whites face discrimination has been the best predictor of not only support for Trump but also of the belief that the “American way of life” is under such threat that anti-democratic means, including violence, are justified to protect it.

Either way, whether these cultural anxieties are motivated primarily by racial resentment or not, what’s clear is they are burning brighter for GOP voters now than hostility to “big government.” “As conservative White Protestants moved from operating at the periphery of Republican politics to becoming the most critical part of the GOP base, their manifest cultural concerns, which have always incredibly important to these voters, have overshadowed the GOP’s traditional economic agenda,” says Cox.

House Republicans effectively acknowledged that shift by devoting so much attention to the controversy over Dr. Seuss — the National Republican Congressional Committee offered copies of his books to donors — while Democrats were passing a spending bill that towered over anything they had approved under Clinton or Obama. Other Republicans, meanwhile, tried to portray Biden’s use of the word “Neanderthal” to criticize GOP governor rollbacks of Covid restrictions as a slur on Republican voters, like Hillary Clinton’s description of some Trump backers as “deplorables.” While congressional Republicans called the Covid plan “socialist” or charged it was stuffed with Democratic pet projects, they hardly pressed that case with as much enthusiasm as these cultural attacks: “It doesn’t seem like they are even really trying” to discredit the package, says Gourevitch, in a verdict privately echoed by some Republicans.

Next up: Big spending on infrastructure

That half-hearted resistance seems likely to encourage Democrats to go big on the next stage of Biden’s economic agenda: the “Build Back Better” long-term growth proposal that will include a substantial infrastructure investment. Though the White House has not decided when to introduce the proposal, it will almost certainly include infrastructure spending in the range of about $300 billion annually, for a cumulative price tag over 10 years in the trillions.

Yet both inside the White House and Congress, Democrats are showing little hesitation about proposing that much new spending immediately after a package this big. Both Kind and Cartwright, holding districts that stretch deep into Trump country, say they would enthusiastically support a big infrastructure plan.

“I’d be very comfortable with it,” Cartwright says. “I have been serving in the US House since January 2013 and the whole time I have been saying out loud we need a big, big infrastructure package. It’s not just that the folks around here who build things for a living will benefit, it’s that the entire American economy will benefit.”

Steve Ricchetti, the White House counselor to Biden, told me the administration expects broad support for the infrastructure package when the President eventually unveils it.

“I believe there will be wide, deep bipartisan support for infrastructure because the need is so great,” he says. “I believe there’s a prospect for securing bipartisan support in Congress for this, but I am certain there will be bipartisan support throughout the country for this: governors, mayors, local officials whose economies are dependent on infrastructure investment, digital, energy, transportation, water. The business community will be enormously supportive of this; it’s an engine for the recovery.”

The open question for Biden, as he finalizes his next proposals, is whether there’s a cumulative weight of proposed spending that awakens the slumbering conservative recoil against “big government.” Both Clinton and Obama saw the grassroots backlashes against their agendas intensify when they followed their initial economic plans with other expensive proposals, particularly their efforts to overhaul the health care system. Each of those dynamics culminated in crushing losses for them in the first midterm after their election.

Compared with the Clinton or Obama experience, Democrats unquestionably feel they have more runway to advance new programs today, largely because the GOP coalition no longer seems as energized by opposition to spending. But if the political limits on new spending seem relaxed, that doesn’t ensure they have been eliminated. It’s possible Americans will accept trillions in spending beyond the Covid plan, but it’s also possible Biden and fellow Democrats might trigger a circuit breaker in public opinion if they go too far — particularly if inflation and interest rates rise from all the economic stimulus as even some Democratic economists have warned. Demands from moderates such as Manchin to find offsetting tax revenues for some or all of the infrastructure plan could also stir more conservative opposition.

The problem is that both the cost of the federal response and the underlying disruption to society from the pandemic are so unprecedented that no one can confidently predict how much more spending Biden can add to his tab without provoking the backlash he has conspicuously avoided so far. Even Emanuel, who rarely expresses doubt, acknowledges, “I’m not even sure I can give you an educated guess on that.”

The safest bet is that so long as the GOP remains fixated on cultural and racial grievance, Democrats will feel confident pushing forward the most aggressive expansion of government’s role in the economy since President Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society during the 1960s.

[myaekingheart]

So, there’s just some stuff I feel like I need to get off my chest right now.

When I got up this morning, I didn’t even want to think about coming onto this hell-site. Normally my complaints are all in jest, like I laugh about how the Tumblr community can be really corrupt and unforgiving but it’s never anything serious. It’s on trend to laugh about how ridiculous the cliques on here are. But during this week, things weren’t so funny anymore.

I blame myself, mostly. I’m the one who opened my big mouth and got involved with something that was never my place to begin with. I saw a post I didn’t agree with and I said something about it, but I didn’t think it would escalate to the point that it did. Maybe you saw the back and forth, maybe you didn’t, but the gist of it is that I got in an altercation with a hardcore radical feminist over the significance of the father figure and it blew way out of control.

I’m not sorry for the things I said. I think for the most part, I was being pretty reasonable. Disagree with me if you’d like, but that’s my opinion and I‘m sticking with it. What bothered me about this wasn’t the fact that this person had apparently experienced what they consider abuse from their father, but the overarching generalizations they were making about fathers as a whole. Seeing someone denounce an entire demographic solely based on their own negative experiences really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand that if you’ve been abused by your father, or any parent or adult whatsoever, you are more than allowed to feel resent, aggravation, and even hatred towards them. You’re allowed to cry and curse and question. That’s only natural. I would feel the same way in that predicament.

The problem arises, however, when you take those negative emotions and thrust them unto other people. You cannot apply a localized incident to the perception of the whole. Child abuse is common, I understand that. But that does not mean it’s normal. That does not mean that every other person has been beaten, belittled, and backstabbed by their parent. That does not mean that every father has looked at his daughter and thought to himself “What a disappointment because you don’t have a dick.” Some do, yes, but all and that I feel was the meat of the argument. This person refused to believe that any father was capable of goodness and kindness, that no matter what these men are sexist pigs who raise their daughters to believe they are inferior, that they overemotional and worthless, “raised as servants and trophies.” I’ve met and learned from a lot of people in my life, and especially the past few months as my colleagues have bore their rawest, truest selves in personal essays and short stories workshopped in class and out of the 60-some kids whose journeys I’ve read, only a small percentage have ever spoken ill of their fathers across both genders. If anything, they have praised their fathers for working multiple jobs to support their families or for the tender reactions they’ve had to their children’s suicide attempts after one too many classmates bullied them. Perhaps in different social circles, in different cities or countries or cultures, things are different and fathers are normally abusive and treat their daughters as if they are worthless and inferior. In fact, I know of quite a few places where this is probably considered the norm. I think without the context of where, it’s hard to pinpoint what is normalized and what isn’t because the world varies so greatly from one mile to the next but that doesn’t mean any of that treatment is right or excusable. Nobody deserves to be treated like that by a parent. That, I comprehend completely.

This “discussion” could’ve been conducted in a civilized and respectful manner. We could’ve been adults about this. But we weren’t. I did my best to be respectful, to try and point out where this person was going wrong with their viewpoint because I personally find it shameful and petty and completely narrow-minded to believe that there is only one way to experience something and that however you experienced it is that one way. It shows a sincere lack of empathy and that your only concern is to further your own agenda by forcing your close-minded ideals on someone else. Like, for example, someone only likes to eat their sandwich when it’s cut in rectangles. They’ve never eaten a sandwich any other way. This is fine until you meet someone who eats their sandwiches cut in triangles. This is new and different and scary. You can either accept that people eat their sandwiches all different kinds of ways or you can completely denounce that it is even possible to eat your sandwich cut in triangles and tell anyone who believes otherwise that they are wrong and that their triangles are rectangles in disguise or something else completely ridiculous. I feel like that’s where the entire issue stemmed from, though: a refusal to believe that anything other than your own experiences are valid, and that people only ever experience things the same way you do.

This tension, I feel, rose to such a fever pitch, and this person apparently grew so frustrated with my refusal to agree that all fathers are horrible human beings, that I guess they ran out of tools in their arsenal to use against me and had to resort to personal attacks and belittling. Saying because I’m young, my prefrontal cortex hasn’t fully developed yet as if to form some sort of insult against my cognitive functioning and social capabilities. So basically as if to insinuate that my age is an excuse to peg me as less intelligent. Calling me an abuse-hating piece of shit solely because I don’t think it’s right for someone to hate a whole demographic based on a localized experience (but apparently that’s a trend these days? Like how the news reports specific incidents in which cops have hurt/shot/killed members of the black community, and suddenly every cop is a racist pig who deserves to die. Or if someone had been bitten by a dog as a kid so therefore considers every dog dangerous and wants them to be shot in the head or abused or something as if that’s going to atone for it.) Let me just repeat this: I’m not telling you to trust men, because trusting anyone without evidence of them being worthy is a stupid mistake anyways. If your father has proven that he is not worthy of your trust and respect, then by all means, don’t grant him that privilege. The trauma they have inflicted on you and anyone else whose shared your experiences is disgusting and wrong, and I don’t want to see girls raised in that narrow-minded, disgusting standard. Talk about your trauma, talk about your frustration, curse and cry and do whatever else you want to express what you feel about this, but just know that men treating their daughters like this is not normal and it’s not okay and not every father does this, so please do not try to make everyone else in the world conform to your own perception just because you have had a negative experience because not everyone shares that and to believe otherwise, or even say that that doesn’t matter, is petty and close-minded and sad.

Another contributor to the conversation even went so far as to blatantly assume I was a man because my views differed so greatly from their own, and then when I stated that I was, in fact, a woman, they went on to say that because I didn’t agree with their views, I might as well be a man. As if women are only worth advocating for and protecting if they align to a certain set of views. Denouncing my right to be a woman because I disagree is honestly so sexist and disgusting and I still can’t get it out of my head. I just cannot believe that apparently even though I’m a woman, I’m apparently viewed as scum and no better than those big, awful, misogynistic men because I don’t want what men have done to you to influence your demeanor so strongly that you spend your life stewing in hatred. I don’t think that’s any way to live, but do what you want. I have no control over how you live your life.

The thing that aggravated me more than anything, however, was the last condescending note on the last message I replied to: “It’s ok, I bring you the message of hope: your father doesn’t matter and you don’t need his approval to be happy.”

This seriously set me off. This person knows nothing of my father and to assume that he doesn’t matter solely because their experiences with their own father made them bitter and fostered a hatred for fathers as a whole is disgusting.

I don’t talk about my father a lot, and I don’t reveal a lot of information about him solely for the sake of protecting him (because I’m very protective over him) but I feel like I need to say something now. I need to let you know how far from my father deviates from his insinuation that he does not matter and that his approval is unimportant.

My father grew up his entire life wanting to be a police officer, and he fought for decades to achieve his dream. For years, he faced nothing but setbacks. He nearly lost his arm when it was crushed in a printing press. It’s a miracle he didn’t need an amputation. This happened mere weeks before his last test in the police academy, the one that would grant him a job if he passed. All of that hard work went down the drain, and he had to spend years in rehab just to get functionality of his arm back. Through that rehab, he began woodworking and had his own business where he’d work as a vendor at craft shows. Becoming a cop was a pipe dream at this point. The business was keeping us afloat just fine anyways, until the economy crashed and our business went under. He worked meaningless retail jobs just to keep us afloat, we moved every year, we even got evicted once and had to live in a hotel for a little while. He worked in a juvenile detention facility for a short time where he’d get into massive altercations with delinquent teens, one of which pulled his thumb back so far in a fight that my dad had to get surgery and go through another round of rehab. During this time, my dad was unhappy. He wasn’t pleased with where his life was going, and I think he felt like a failure because he was struggling to support his wife and child. There were times when my parents would fight and he would reach a breaking point and storm out. I resented him for a long while for this, but in retrospect I understand. I would’ve done the same. Throughout it all, though, he never made me feel as if I was incapable of doing anything or was inferior because of my gender. He rallied for me no matter what, he pushed me to work hard and kick ass and succeed in life. We’ve butted heads a lot and had our disagreements, but when I look back I respect and understand his perspective and my current self agrees with his views because I know I was naive and selfish back then and that what I thought was best for me may not have been the right path. I have seen the effects of financial turmoil, rejection, prejudice, and depression firsthand through the experiences of my father. I have caught him on the phone with my mother at rock bottom, saying he doesn’t understand why he tries anymore and saying he’d be better off dead. I remember stealing the phone from his hand and throwing it to the other side of the room, screaming crying at him how wrong he was because I knew he was worth more than he ever believed he was. When I was in middle school, after much encouragement from my mother, my dad finally decided to try becoming a police officer again. We pursued eighth grade and the police academy in parallel. After he graduated, he spent four years applying for jobs but his gray hair was an asset of discrimination. Nobody wanted to hire an old guy because he might be incapable of doing everything a twenty-something can. Finally, he was met with a department who wanted him, but his qualifications were quickly reaching their expiration. If he was going to finally do this, he would have to travel eight hours away to the state’s law enforcement headquarters, meet with the in court, and plead for an extension. This department promised to back him up. My dad made the long journey with hope that he’d finally achieve his dream. The department that wanted to hire him backed out last minute. My dad had to stand all alone in front of the higher ups and plead his case. A case which they rejected. My dad’s qualification expired and he still had not been hired. At this point, he no longer saw the point. He was prepared to give up. My mom refused to let him. They saved up all their money so he could afford to go through the police academy again and get re-certified. He graduated shortly after I graduated high school. He started applying again. Finally, someone wanted to hire him. And the best part was that it was our own county, so we wouldn’t have to move. This was a really drastic change for all of us as my dad began working 12 hour shifts on the road in a time when Black Lives Matter and hatred against the police was beginning to rapidly rise. This coupled with the fact that I was a full-time college student now, I was caught up in a boy who didn’t love me back, I was losing all my friends, and I was engaging in unhealthy eating habits all caused me to spiral. I nearly dropped out of college, which infuriated my father. He refused to let me give up, and didn't speak to me for two days when I insisted. At the time, I hated him for it but looking back from where I am now, I understand. He saw himself in me: that hopeless, angry, depressed being who didn't think they were capable enough and just wanted to take the easy way out. I took the bus to campus behind his back to beg an advisor to let me drop my classes. This advisor, who retired before I could thank him, convinced me to only drop half of my courseload. I confided in him about my fears, telling him of how I couldn't eat or sleep or focus because all I could think about was if my father was going to home that night. Of how every morning hug before he left for work might be the last. It haunted me. I couldn't stand to lose him. My dad and I have always had this very special relationship. When my mom's maternity leave ended, she went back to work and my dad raised me for the first year of my life. He always rallied for me and raised me under the notion that I was capable of anything I put my mind to. He never made me feel as if I was inferior or worthless or unloved. Everything he said and did was with the intention of encouraging me toward success, to achieve everything I could've possibly wanted. And while he achieved his own dream, things didn't get any easier. His field training officer constantly wrote shitty progress reports and poked fun at my father for his age, even if he was doing everything right. This affected his job performance so greatly that he was nearly fired because they thought he was incapable of doing the job correctly. Eventually, they came to an agreement. My father was put in the jail and trained as a corrections officer, making him dual-sworn, and would spend the year like that before being permitted to work on the road again. Despite still being in the corrections academy at the time, he was mistaken for a seasoned professional. To this day, he still works in the jail as a highly respected officer. It's not what he originally planned, but it's the hand he was dealt and he's still happy. And I could not be prouder of the man whom I call dad. Neither of us have been perfect-- we've butted heads and had our disagreements-- but in the end I understand why he's done the things he's done. He has fought against every setback thrown at him and still achieved his success and for that, he is the most resilient, inspiring human being I have ever had the honor of knowing. I seek his approval not because he is my father or even because he is a man but because I highly respect him. I want him to be proud of me. His approval is important to me because he does matter. The fact that someone who doesn't even know any of this had the audacity to tell me otherwise is why I reacted the way I did, because honestly how dare you.

I know I am incredibly lucky. I know I am privileged to have been gifted a father so strong and wonderful. He has left an immense impact on my life, my behavior, and my perception of the world that I am forever grateful for. I am highly protective of him because of all these things.

This is not to say that I expect all fathers to be so great. I know that's not true. I know there are fathers out there who are completely horrible. I have seen that firsthand, as well. My boyfriend's father has filled him with broken promises and favors a son that is not even of his own blood. My best friend's father has been less than kind to both her and her mother and brother. Yet in both of these instances, despite the awful things these men may have done, in both cases neither are filled with so much hatred so as to completely denounce their father. They still care for their dads and would never wish anything ill upon them. Even the great Audrey Hepburn, whose father abandoned her as a child and was a Nazi sympathizer, reconciled with the man and supported him financially until his death. Perhaps these are just specific cases of rare compassion, an anyone else in the world would seethe and curse and spit. I can't help but humbly admire their strength. It's not easy to look at someone whose wronged you and tell them that you forgive them, that you would never wish harm upon them, and that you still care about them. Because hatred is easy. It takes no effort to end the discussion and walk away, to scowl and badmouth. You can live your entire life like that. And everyone is guilty of it. It's something I still struggle with to this day, as I imagine every does and will continue to do until the end of their lives.

If your father, or parent or any adult for that matter, has abused you then of course by no means are you required to forgive them. You can curse and cry and be angry about it. No matter how common it may be, treating your child like shit is wrong and abnormal and no one deserves to be subjected to that. It's only human to hold resentment toward those experiences but the way I see it is that we all have a choice: we can either let it define us, let that anger and hatred consume our every waking moment, or we can learn from those experiences, prove ourselves successful and strong, and pursue happiness in spite of our tragedies. Granted, Rafiki says it much more eloquently than I do: "The past can hurt but the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it." I'm not here to tell anyone how to live their lives, but I know that letting yourself stew in hatred gets old after a while. It rots your insides and leaves you cold and lifeless and tired. I don't think that's any way to live. We have such a finite amount of time on this earth, I can't imagine wanting to waste it feeling bitter when you can break those chains and learn to embrace something brighter with the cards you've been dealt. Maybe I'm naive, but I'd like to believe that all humans are inclined to be inherently good. We are complex, imperfect creatures who make mistakes and stumble but to err is only human. Everyone fucks up but it's how we react to those situations that truly define us. It's easy to be cynical-- the world is dark and cruel place with vile, selfish people-- but there's good in it, too. At the end of the day, we need to believe in the good in spite of the bad.

Mistakes and mistreatment are like paint. They build up over time until the entire canvas is smothered in ugly splotches and dribbling onto the floor. It's always going to be there somewhere in your house, but what you decide to do with it is your choice. You can let it sit there and resent it's existence, scoffing and sneering at it as it constantly looms, completely unavoidable. Or you can pick it up, lock it in the closet, and start a new canvas. One where you decide what to paint. You can bring continue to paint the same ugly picture, or you can paint something new and decide whether to include colors from the first picture or not. Either way, the choice is yours. Leaving the first one alone is easy. It requires no effort. But after a time, certain color combinations can make you sick if you live within them too long. It's not fulfilling to look at. Why waste so much time staring at something that makes you unhappy? Even if you decide to paint something new, however, your canvas is yours and yours alone as is the same with everyone else. No one can tell you what colors to apply, or even pick up your paintbrush, but you cannot do the same for others. Not everyone will need to put the first picture in the closet, and that's okay. Sometimes other people's paintings just come out prettier the first time around. But that doesn't mean you can splatter your own snot green and vomit yellow onto someone else's canvas because you're bitter and think every first canvas is inclined to be nasty and ugly from the getgo. To believe otherwise, to see colors that are not there, is only furthering your own agenda and contributing to a bigger problem. Accept that not everyone's canvas is the same. Accept that you have the option to put yours in the closet and repaint, that you don't need to stare at something so ugly for the rest of your life and harbor resentment towards every canvas in the world. The choice is yours:  you can stew in hatred or you can make the choice to grow. I'm not here to tell anyone which to pick, because that's not my choice. Only you can make that decision. I just hope that anyone facing a struggle and harboring resentment toward anyone can find that strength to not let it define them, to work towards finding their own happiness and making peace with the circumstances they've been dealt. Everyone deserves happiness, it's just whether or not we decide to pursue it in spite of the negative that dictates what path we take. 

[3veta]

Online services – when are they becoming part of our lives?

New Post has been published on https://3veta.com/blog/articles/online-services-from-home

Online services – when are they becoming part of our lives?

If you are looking for the next thing to change our lives very soon, look no further than online services. Just like online shopping is now a habit for all of us, using services online is becoming more and more popular.

What are online services?

You might think online services are things like cloud storage or managing your pension fund via an app.

You are right – however it goes much beyond that.

The rise of conferencing software like Zoom and Teams has enabled many seemingly “location-bound” activities to become a lot more flexible. Online lessons, medical consultations, even fortune-telling can now be done from the comfort of your own home via a video chat. No need to dress up, travel for an hour and arrive sweaty and exhausted at your lawyer’s office. You can even be on holiday and still get that tax consultation done.

But online services’ clients aren’t the only ones getting an upside! You can be a lawyer and make a living while enjoying the ocean view. The same applies to teachers, dance instructors, counsellors… the list goes on and on.

Face-to-face meetings are not always the best option

Online services offer a great deal of benefits compared to face-to-face meetings, more than just time saving and convenience. They have proved invaluable in the current pandemic where face-to-face contact should be avoided. The user can still receive the service they need without anyone’s health being in danger, so the video service is actually saving lives.

Furthermore, in the recent lockdowns it was exactly video services that provided a financial lifeline to thousands of people. For example, in a family of a plumber and a teacher, the plumber is completely unable to work during a lockdown. The teacher though can still offer private lessons online and this allows them to keep paying the bills.

For users, the rise of online services means that we have far more options to choose from than before. You no longer need your fitness instructor to live in your neighbourhood – as long as they are not 9 time zones away, their service is yours to grab. We now move between countries more than ever before, and while you can’t always be close to your favourite hairdresser, your trusted doctor is still there for you.

City authorities also welcome the rise of online services as they are reducing the traffic burden on their streets and the CO2 emissions that we all have to pay for. According to a Carbon Trust study, during the COVID lockdown, carbon emissions from fuel consumption fell by 41% in the UK. How much of that is due to online services we still don’t know. But as they gain more popularity, they may well be one key to curbing our carbon footprint.

How popular are online services exactly?

Online services are just starting to gain global popularity. The most developed type of online service is telemedicine (a.k.a. telehealth). In 2019 the telemedicine market amounted to $45bn and is expected to grow to more than $175bn in the next 6 years.

The main chunk of telehealth service seems to be online GP consultations. This is a ray of hope in the fight against medical care shortages around the world. However, they still have a lot of untapped potential to show. According to the American Medical Association, until recently only about 15% of GPs in the US used telemedicine tools regularly. The pandemic however has changed that and today, the number of inpatient visits has gone down significantly. As of May 2020, 85% of practices in the UK were offering online consultations.

Other online services also saw a massive rise in popularity in the days of the pandemic. British fitness influencer Joe Wicks became the nation’s favourite PE teacher in no time. His daily YouTube workout streams averaged about 800,000 views per session and he now has about 2.56 million followers.

Lockdown even created new ways for us to have fun. Since gatherings were only happening via video conferencing, people started hiring gig entertainers to bring a special effect to their event. Entertainers perform in Zoom parties organised by companies for their employees or by friends as a special birthday celebration. These are also really convenient for groups of people who are at a long-distance from each other and have long struggled to effectively socialize.

The technology behind online services

It seems like online services have a real competitive edge against face-to-face meetings. People are adopting them more and more, however to grow further, they need to be backed by simple, secure and reliable technology.

Like every online business, really.

For now, there are different solutions depending on the industry. Naturally, the sectors with the most expensive professional services have moved quicker and there is already an abundance of online solutions.

Telemedicine solutions

In telemedicine, there are already numerous specialized platforms for online patient consultation. Their diverse functionalities are already competing for the medical professionals’ online business.

Some solutions are fully integrated with scheduling, electronic medical records, payment or feedback of consultations (doxy.me). Others are organised as marketplaces (Healee). With the latter you can choose your preferred specialist from a list and have your consultation via the app’s video service. Some platforms even offer a basic free version in case you don’t need the extra features. In short, doctors and patients are spoilt for choice.

Online legal advice

Online legal platforms are also quite developed and offer a range of conveniences. You can purchase various legal documents, as a one-off or under a subscription with quick access via a phone app. If you choose to, you can even sign agreements from your phone (Rocketlawyer). Or you might want to hire an attorney for a consultation, for example on your website’s terms and conditions (Legal Zoom).

One important thing to remember about professional online legal advice platforms is that all of them are suited to the legal standards of the country where they were developed. This means you shouldn’t be trying a US-based online lawyer, if you need to draft a power of attorney in France.

Other services could also be online

Some service providers have much less opportunities to go online than medics and legal specialists. Many simply use Zoom, Skype or Teams, and receive payment via Revolut or a bank transfer. This combination can do the job for those who have a very small percentage of their “sessions” online.

However, when the Internet-based part of the business grows, the provider starts needing more sophisticated tools. This is because what used to be quick and simple before is now becoming a burden.

Technology can help your business as it grows

Many problems arise as your business expands. For instance, some clients might forget to send you a payment for the service provided. Unless you love chasing payments and cash flow doesn’t matter to you very much, you will want to have payments integrated into your video service system. It allows you quicker access to your money and helps you stay on top of your earnings.

And that’s not all.

As your business grows, calendar management also becomes tricky. Missed appointments mean missed income or even worse – lost clients. That’s where scheduling can help, allowing you to focus only on the service you are offering. No need to give yourself or your customer appointment reminders – the platform can do that for you.

Another issue many service providers encounter is file sharing. If you have many clients, you definitely want an organised and secure way to exchange files quickly and without any errors. After all, sending somebody an invoice that wasn’t meant for them is quite an embarrassment and can put clients off.

Last, but not least, if you are using a tool for your business you want to make sure it is always available, both to you and to your client, and works on every type of device. So, it will save you a ton of headaches if you ensure your video conferencing tool offers an excellent tech support on top of all other perks.

Online services are here to stay

All in all, there is no doubt that online services from home are changing our lives for the better. For those of us who use them, they save us time and open larger markets for us to choose from. For those who offer them, they make business expansion easier and improve the quality of the service. Video services from home are a win-win and they are growing fast. And as with every technological revolution, the quicker you become part of it, the bigger your gains.