==Wayne Manor: The East Wing==

 

"Sissssssssssteeeeeeeeer. Se-leeeeeen-aaaah."

 

The voice echoed the halls. It was deep, raspy.

 

Selina drew her whip. "Karl?" she called out.

 

A black clad figure dropped from the chandelier above her. It looked like Blake, but she'd recognise her brother's swagger anywhere.

 

"You stopped writing," the King giggled, a perverse smile on its' face. What was once the cocky chuckle of an overgrown frat boy had become something far more malicious.

 

Selina shrugged, trying to keep her composure. "Well, you were dead. A lot. After a point, I just stopped keeping track. That, and that one Thanksgiving incident really soured my perceptions of you," she explained, taking a step back.

 

The King smiled again as he walked slowly towards her, licking his lips. "Ah, what is a tainted turkey between siblings," it laughed, stroking Blake's beard absent mindedly. "No, please. Tell me," it snarled, his smile fading as a set of metal claws retracted from his gloves.

 

As he lunged at her, her whip cracked against its' skull, knocking it backwards into a trophy cabinet, powdered glass sprinkling onto its' shoulders.

 

"Oh, sister, how I've missed our little spats!" it yelled. "It's really been too long!" it laughed, as it picked up a fallen trophy and hurled it at her.

 

As she deflected it, she left herself wide open. Back on its' feet, the King flew through the air- And was promptly knocked through a wall by a caped figure.

 

"You don't touch her!" Bruce yelled, as he grabbed the beast by it's tail, and hurled it's flailing body against the fireplace.

 

"I'm her brother! I've more right to her than you!" the beast yelled back, stabbing Bruce in the shoulder with a nearby fire poker.

 

"Bruce!" Selina called out, as her whip wrapped around the King's neck, pulling him out of Bruce's path.

 

"Selina, stay back," he grunted, as he pulled the weapon out of his arm, and bandaged his wound.

 

"Double jeopardy," the King whistled. "How fun!"

It tugged on the whip, pulling Selina forward, and once she was in reach, it grabbed her face.

In return, she slashed him across the wrist, causing him to recoil, if only temporarily.

 

"You're diseased!" Batman growled, as he swung forward, and punched it across the face, blood spurting from it's mouth.

 

"Yours is the disease! And she shall be cleansed of your stench. And with this fool's body, it's not really even incest, is it?"

 

...

 

Bruce bowed his head, disgusted.

 

"And now officially, it's gone too far," Selina said, putting her hand to her face, embarrassed.

 

Karl grinned, and spat its' blood over Bruce's face; Disoriented, he stumbled backwards, leaving him open to a critical blow to the chest. And as the Beast drew it's knife, a white baton struck it in the back of the head.

 

==ISA Headquarters. An Hour Ago==

 

"Cynthia, I have brought you a new friend," Ito said, as he placed a hand on a large wooden door, a series of padlocks holding it shut. As he slid the metal latch open, he gestured to Chancer proudly.

 

"This, is Montgomery. I thought you might like to play with someone your own age," Ito said, as he raised a single warning finger. "She has an 8 o'clock curfew, and must be in bed by 9."

 

Chancer peered through the keyhole. Sitting on an uncomfortable looking bed was Ito's daughter, a girl who appeared to be no older than 17. She, Sharpe noted, did not look happy to be here.

 

"She's in one of her moods," Ito replied regretfully. "She stayed up until 10 last night, silly girl. It makes her irritable. Come, I have much more to show you," he said, placing his arm around him.

 

"Oh, hello Montgomery!" a booming voice called out from behind them, as Chancer and Ito made their way down the hall. "Fancy seeing you here!"

 

Sharpe waved back, barely paying attention. "Hey, Dekker," he muttered. Then, realisation struck him. "Hey wait a minute," he said as he spun around.

 

"He's fond of our open bar," Ito lamented, as he made an effort to pull Sharpe away from Dekker's clutches.

 

"Yeah, but- Open bar?"

 

The Dragon King nodded. "Yes, I hoped that would interest you. Please, let me show you our gymnasium. Lawrence will be thrilled."

 

~

 

Ito squirted a mixture of hand sanitizer onto Sharpe's hands, and poured him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. "These are troubling times," he explained. "Every precaution is necessary."

 

"Thank you," Chancer replied sheepishly, as he stuck a marshmallow into the cup and swallowed it whole.

 

"Ito..." Gambler growled impatiently.

 

"My apologies, Stephen," Dragon King nodded as he slid a series of files onto the table.

 

"Blake..." Chancer muttered, recognising the muscular, apparently naked figure on the top most picture.

 

Unnoticed by Sharpe, Gambler coughed into his hankerchief, specks of blood staining it red. Ito looked at him worriedly, and turned back to Chancer, now flicking through the files half heartedly.

 

"Tell me, boy," Ito began, "How familiar are you with the Enchantress?"

 

Chancer shrugged. "Just the basic stuff. Belly dancing, mostly."

 

"Revisionist history," Ito scoffed. "We believe that Karl Kyle may be an incubus, a creature who's purpose is to bond with it's sister spirit, the succubus, and produce an heir."

 

"Wow, so like Game of Thrones?" Sharpe asked, intrigued.

 

Gambler put his hand to his face, embarrassed. "Ignore him, Doctor, he's-"

 

"If their family trees are also filled with blood and incest, then yes."

 

Chancer frowned. "Do you even watch TV?"

 

Ito bowed his head. "I'm told the final season was disappointing."

 

==Wayne Manor: The West Wing==

 

Standing on the rooftop, dressed head to toe in crimson gowns, the Misfits surveyed the ongoing situation. Beside them, binoculars drawn, Hellhound could just make out the black suits of Karl Kyle and his sister, as they dueled in a hallway on the other side of the manor.

 

Chuck tugged on his collar irritably. "I gotta ask, are the robes essential to the process, or-"

 

Hellhound looked over at him, a wry smile on his face. "Oh, what? Nah, they're completely useless. I just thought you looked adorable."

 

"Thank you," Rigger said, blushing slightly, as Chuck and Ten sheepishly removed their 'ceremonial gowns.'

 

"Here," Hellhound commanded, as he handed the binoculars over to Reardon, (who gestured to his goggles awkwardly), and then to Chuck. "Told you I could find him," he said.

 

"How the hell did you do that?" Chuck asked, as he looked through the binoculars, clearly impressed.

 

"DNA recombinator, right?" Rigger asked.

 

"Something like that," Hellhound nodded. "I used a blacklight."

 

As Chuck looked back through the binoculars he frowned; staring back at him, wholeheartedly confused, appeared to be Batman, now mouthing the words 'Behind you!'

 

Suddenly, a golf ball flew through the air, and knocked Reardon to the ground.

 

"Oh, crap, it's Team Rocket," he exclaimed, as the ISA's enforcers, Sportsmaster and Tigress, jumped from the adjacent tower.

 

"Cheadle!" Hellhound whistled, as a large dog lunged at Sportsmaster, clamping it's jaws around his arm. Hesitant to commit animal abuse of any kind, Crusher took to simply waving his arm about, the dog's teeth sinking further into his flesh.

Rigger was on the ground now too; Tigress holding him down by the throat. 'Normally, I'd be ok with this,' he thought to himself, drifting in and out of consciousness. 'Normally.'

When he next looked up, Tigress was being dragged back along the ground, a black whip around her neck. Selina gave a thumbs up to Joey, and he blushed gratefully.

'Ok, I'm very much ok with this,' he thought, as he lay down again, exhausted.

 

"Friends of yours?" Batman asked, as he glided to the ground.

 

"Not exactly," Chuck replied.

 

"Well, you better start explaining this. Fast," he grimaced.

 

Brown frowned. "Honestly, I really don't know what they're doing he- Oh," he trailed off as his gaze was drawn to the adjacent roof.

 

"Hey guys!" Sharpe was waving from across the roof, as Ito dragged the Beast's unconscious body away.

 

Rigger, waved back, a bemused look on his face.

 

"What... What the hell..." Chuck gasped.

 

"What... What are you guys doing here?" Sharpe called out.

 

"Looking for Blake!" Rigger yelled excitedly.

 

Chancer gestured at the King's slumped over body. "Found him!" he mouthed. "Job done," he grinned, as he climbed onto the drainpipe.

 

"Chancer, wait, we're going to exorcise him!" Chuck called after him earnestly, as he pointed to Hellhound, currently bludgeoning Sportsmaster with a hockey stick.

 

Sharpe's face fell. "Oh, shoot! Was that today? Fuck me..." he glanced at Ito, and back to the Misfits, his lip curled. He shrugged awkwardly, and slung the beast over his shoulder, as he chased after Ito.

 

"Chancer!" Chuck called after him. "Chancer!"

 

"My hands are tied!" Sharpe's voice echoed, as he disappeared into the night, the King of Cats in tow.

 

"Asshole!" Chuck screamed angrily.

 

"Well, he says his hands are tied," Rigger said, patting Chuck on the back.

 

...

 

"I just wanted to prove we can do something right without the costumes," Chuck said.

 

"Yeah..." Rigger nodded solemnly. "Wait, we did something right with them on?"

 

==Elsewhere==

 

The keys turned in the lock. The man, in his early forties, was bald and pale; his forehead lined with red tattoos. He opened the door, flicked on the light and placed a shopping bag filled with Halloween decorations on the floor.

 

"Trick or Treat," a voice called out.

 

"I swore I locked that door," Julian sighed, as he reached under his pants leg, and grabbed a concealed knife.

 

"That, won't be necessary," the voice said. "I'm a big fan, actually."

 

Julian turned around. "Oh? And you are-?"

 

The figure was sitting in Day's armchair, a mop of grey hair on his head, and dressed in an unassuming red sweater, they were flicking a black lighter on and off. On and off. On and off. "Guess," he replied bitterly.

 

"Well, unless USPS practices have changed as of late... You're not the mailman."

 

The lighter slammed shut. The figure's hand seemed to twitch, just slightly. "Call me Carson. I, have a proposal for you. Concerning Drury Walker..."

 

Julian's eyes flashed with recognition, if only briefly. And then, he smiled. "Listen... Mr Barson, was it?"

 

"It's Carson," Ted shuddered, as he slammed his fist onto the table. "I was at Walker's fucking wedding, for god's sake."

 

"So were a lot of people," Julian lamented. 'It's hard to keep track of everyone, and the festivities were somewhat marred by the arrival of a lunatic in a green onesie trying to kill us. Oh, that was you, was it?" he added, an air of mock disappointment in his tone.

 

Carson slumped in his chair. "Yeah."

 

"Well, then, Mr Barson-" Julian continued undaunted, smiling faintly at Carson's growing anger, "I have neither a want for, nor need of, your help, so why don't you save us all some time and find yourself a nice shallow grave to lie in."

 

"Listen-" Carson began, rising from his chair.

 

"No, you listen," Day said sternly, as he rested his hand on Carson's chest. "The Calendar Man is being forgotten, and I can't have that. I will not fade into obscurity. I will not have my legacy swept aside. I have no intention of being forgotten like you, you wretched, miserable pastiche of better men. Now, I'm sure you had an excellent speech prepared, something heartfelt and meaningful to woo me to your side... I'm sure that when you walked in here, you thought you had all the answers, and all the power. But. You. Don't."

 

Carson's jaw clenched. "What makes you so sure?"

 

Day nodded. "Quite simple really... Do you where we are?"

 

Ted raised a confused eyebrow.

 

"No," Julian sighed. "Of course not... Drury Walker's first apartment. It has a certain... humbleness to it, not like that Mansion on the mainland... See, you think you know the Misfits, but you don't. Not like I do."

 

"I know enough," Carson replied, cracking his neck.

 

"Oho, Really? Then you'll know Charles Brown is currently employed at Wiggins Incorporated. It's a toy company, recently acquired by Lexcorp. Good pay. His assistant, Laura, is a wonderful girl, she claims she's on a diet, but she also has a jar of Chocos hidden beneath her desk. His boss, Richard is tough, but fair, with a childlike approach to innovation that I appreciate.

 

Joseph Rigger has gone into business with Philip Reardon, Night Owl Renovations, I believe they've called it. It's a construction company, I'm sure you've seen their work on the Arkham ruins... What you probably didn't know, was that they have a shared fondness for Tarantino, and those Italian pastries, cannolis, are they called?

 

Garfield Lynns, meanwhile, is working at Panessa Studios, dating the Carpenter, Jenna. It's no surprise he likes her, I suppose- she's got a tough exterior, shorts, and a nifty little powerdrill she's not afraid to use. Hah. She used to run around with the Wonderland Gang and had a brief fling with a certain False Facer, I'm sure you've heard of him. You're the expert, right? They leave work at 6pm, each and every day. They have a coffee at the local bistro, Finnegan's, run by an Irish gentleman, Sean something or other... He orders a water, her, a lemonade. No ice. Then, they share a cab, stopping at her apartment first, of course- 117B, Wayne Boulevard, and then, his. He changes shifts with his... baby mama, giving her some time to burn whoever she wants, and he sends his daughter to bed, before finally- finally, falling asleep in front of M*A*S*H reruns. I could go on... Tell you about Mitchell Mayo's secret pastime of cookie dough sculpting, or Eric Needham's old modelling jobs. How about the very real skeleton in Leonard Fiasco's closet, or Montgomery Sharpe's K$sha playlists... I wouldn't want to bore you.

 

So, tell me, Barson," Julian snarled, as he aimed his knife at Ted's stomach. "What exactly do you know again?"

 

Carson pushed it aside. "I know that, right now, Kite-Man is working with the Hellhound, trying to track down this Catman. I know that Walker's bitch is in the ground, and it's about time he joins her. And I also know a certain dimension jumping mercenary who'd just love to help us out," Carson smiled.

 

Julian shook his head. "You know, for a moment there, I almost thought you were building to something. But you're really just a blunt instrument aren't you? "Put him in the ground..." How horrendously... ordinary."

 

"What," Carson complained. "You got a better idea?"

 

"Several. If you want to hurt Drury, if you want to lure him here, if you want to kill him... Well, you can always start with that bleeding, broken heart of his."

 

Carson scowled. "What, dig up his wife?"

 

Julian rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Oh, please... whoever said I meant Miranda?"

 

Carson's eyes sparked with realisation. "Thank you, Julian. It's been... educational," he grimaced, as he shoved past him.

 

"It won't ever go away, you know," Day warned.

 

"What won't?" Carson spat back, his hand on the doorknob.

 

Julian's brow furrowed. "That hole in your chest."

 

==The Road. The Last Leg==

 

10:17

 

"Play it again," Reardon asked.

 

With a heavy sigh, Flannegan rewound the tape to the beginning, as a college advert began to play.

 

"Why do I go Greendale?"

 

"-The Dean is a genius."

 

"-To meet different people."

 

"-With three kids at home, you better believe every penny counts."

 

"-I loved my time here, I got laid like crazy."

 

"-So why should you?"

 

"-Why should you?"

 

"-Why should you go to Greendale?"

 

"-Greendale is the best school in the entire world."

 

"-Go Greendale, go Greendale, go!" a chorus finished, as the tape came to a stop.

 

"Now that does sound inviting," Mayo said warmly, as he doodled into his colouring book.

 

"I liked the part about getting laid," Blake nodded. "It really spoke to me."

 

Flannegan took a swig of beer and wiped the froth from his mouth. "Yeah," he remarked. "Here I was, worried I was gonna have to bring my dignity with me."

 

In the cab, Rigger tapped Drury on the shoulder. "When we're done, can we go to the Shining hotel? I'd like to take an axe to a door or two," he asked.

 

"Can we buy weed? Y'know, for the journey home?" Blake asked over the intercom.

 

"I hear they've got a great selection of wines and beer," Chuck nodded.

 

"Denver does do great steak," Reardon advised.

 

"Guys," Drury said, rolling his eyes. "This isn't a site seeing tour."

 

"No, of course not," Rigger agreed. "But last time we left the state, we were nearly executed by ninjas. This time I kinda want to take things slower."

 

"Soak in the environment," Chuck smiled.

 

"Enjoy the culture," Blake said suggestively.

 

"There were some fantastic temples in Nanda Parbat. And we missed our chance," Reardon finished.

 

Drury looked over his shoulder and sighed. "Look, if we do this right, and on time... Maybe."

 

After a moment's silence, Mayo spoke up. "Oh, come on, everyone knows that's grown up code for no!"

 

Gar turned away from the wheel for a moment and frowned. "I have a kid too, Drury, I read the same manual."

 

Gar's phone began to buzz. Gesturing to Chuck, Brown slid the phone from his pocket, and tucked it between Gar's shoulder and ear. "Look, I have to take this."

 

"Heeeey, boss," Gar murmured sheepishly, his eyes darting between the road and his passengers. "Yes, sir, I know it looks bad. And yes- Ok. No, I didn't kill anyone. Just a dinosaur."

 

Lynns paused, his brow furrowed.

 

"I- Yeah, I can finish off those effects. When's the deadline? Uhuh- Uhuh- just give me a sec, will you?" he asked, as Drury leaned over him. "What the hell are you doing?" he sighed irritably, as Drury reached into the glove compartment and passed a disk to Chuck.

 

"Is that the 88? Does Batman own an 88 CD?" Chuck asked, grinning.

 

"I didn't even think they released- Oh my god, he made it himself!" Rigger yelled, delighted.

 

"Batman's got a Bat-CD-Burner!" Blake cheered from the trailer.

 

"Put that in and I'll kill you," Lynns warned.

 

"Whoops!" Chuck smiled, as he slid over and popped the disk in.

 

"Give me your hands," the CD sang."Show me the door, I can not stand to wait anymore.

Somebody said, be what you'll be

We could be old, and cold and dead on the sea.

But I love you more than words can saaaaaaay

I can't count the reasons I should stay."

 

Beside them, Rigger started humming. In the back, Reardon nodded to the beat, even Otis was whistling. Gar looked over and groaned; Drury was tapping his foot, smiling. "Edison, I'm going to have to call you back," he said, as he turned to Walker. "Drury don't you dare-"

 

It was too late. "Give me some rope, tie me to dream."

 

"Give me the hope to run out of steam," Chuck joined in, harmonising; the two performing a sort of bizarre, midlife duet.

 

"Somebody said, it could be here, we could be roped up tied up, dead in a year."

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

"But I love you more than words can saaaaaaay."

 

"Words can saaaaaaay!"

 

Blake was doing acapella now. "Bah-bah-bah-bah bah-bah-bah-bah baaaaaah"

 

"One by one, they all just fade away."

 

"Faaaaaaade aaaaaaway"

 

Gar sighed tiredly; he looked over at Drury, now smiling for the first time in a while, and a big grin broke across his face. "I hate you all," he laughed, as he turned back to the wheel.

 

==Greendale Community College==

 

12:10

 

Chuck and Lynns stood outside the college gates, dressed as inconspicuously as they could manage; Lynns donning Drury's red baseball cap, Chuck wearing a green scarf draped across his face. Beside them, Walker was perched atop a stone bollard, his head shifting forward and backwards as he surveyed the area. Finally, he spoke. "I told you we should've had Ten do the scout out."

 

Chuck's lip curled. "Reardon-? Reardon? He's blind!"

 

Quick to interject, Lynns pointed out to a random student; a well groomed man in his mid thirties. "Hey, look, there's someone our age!" he said loudly.

 

"Oh, c'mon, that's a parent," Drury scolded Gar. "There's no way a guy like that's a student."

 

"Could be a teacher?" Chuck offered.

 

The pair turned to look at Brown. "Ew, gross," they said in unison.

 

Gar removed his baseball cap. “I think it's worth reiterating that three ex-cons, in their forties, spying on a college, is a little suspect.”

 

“Yeah, that’s something I wanted to bring up, Drury,” Chuck added awkwardly.

 

“What?” Walker said suspiciously.

 

Chuck swallowed. “The binoculars.”

 

Walker lowered his pair of metal binoculars, and moaned in protest. “But I love the binoculars!” he sighed.

 

“I know you do,” Chuck said sympathetically. “But, uh, we are not predators.”

 

“God, if I thought there’d be pushback, I would’ve brought Blake,” Drury frowned.

 

Brown rolled his eyes. "And for god's sake, take the fake moustache off."

 

Waller ripped it off angrily and tossed it on the ground. "If you have a problem with it, then you shouldn't have shaved the beard," he barked, as he slumped his shoulders and sauntered back to the trailer.

 

18:05

 

"Wonderful!"

 

Walker slammed the phone back into its receiver and clapped his hands together excitedly. "Right! I have secured a few places for us- Now, I could only find four slots, so I had to be careful about who I picked, but regardless-"

 

"Alright!" Otis groaned, "I'll go."

 

"Oh... Actually, I was thinking maybe Joey-" Drury began.

 

Rigger shook his head. "Oh no, that's suicide. Campus security would have a field day with me," he declared. Both Reardon and Chuck nodded awkwardly.

 

"Aww... that sucks. I had a name prepared and everything."

 

"Oh, sure, Drury, we'll go, and if Rigger gets shot, it won't matter, because at least you'll have a catchy name!" Gar snapped.

 

"I never said anything about getting shot-" Rigger muttered. "I just thought this shirt was kinda tacky."

 

"Right," Drury said reluctantly, changing the subject, and sliding a series of cards onto the table. "Anyway... I had these character cards prepared for each of you."

 

Reardon looked apprehensive. "Character cards?"

 

"They're hold-overs from Karlo," Walker explained. "Chuck, you're the everyman, you're my eyes and eyes among the common folk. Mayo, you're gonna be a hipster, peddle your sauce- I've signed you up for a music major-"

 

"Cheese and crackers! It's like you want them to make fun of me. College was supposed to be a fresh start!" Mayo screamed.

 

"Yeah... sucks," Walker said unsympathetically. "Blake, big boy, I need you on the front lines, we need a womaniser."

 

"Heck yes!"

 

"Well, you butchered that..." Chuck muttered glumly.

 

"And Otis-"

 

"I want to be the womaniser!" he interjected angrily.

 

Drury frowned. "Well, you can't, Blake is. It plays to his strengths."

 

"That's debatable," Lynns drawled.

 

"So? Why can't there be two womanisers?" Flannegan snapped aggressively.

 

"That's not how that works, Otis, have you seen a single sitcom that had two womanisers?" Walker asked.

 

Mayo raised his hand.

 

"Let me rephrase, have you seen a single good sitcom that had two womanisers?"

 

And he lowered it just as quickly.

 

"Point proven. We need character diversity, that's what we're gonna get," Walker declared.

 

"And is that why you hired four white guys?" Rigger asked.

 

"Rig, you said you didn't want to do it-" Walker complained.

 

"And I don't! But Gar has a girlfriend. That'd have been great for diversity!" he replied, crossing his arms. Both Mayo and Flannegan turned to look at Gar.

 

"...You do?"

 

"Fucking what?"

 

Gar angrily rose to his feet, and poked Flannegan in the chest. "Blake is the womaniser. You? You're the goth."

 

"Fuck you."

 

"That's the spirit," Gar nodded. "You're doing great.

 

18:12

 

After a minute going over the cards, Chuck looked up, a bemused look upon his face. "Drury, you used our real names on these."

 

"So?"

 

"Well, I mean- what's the point of our fake backstories?"

 

Walker looked over at the other Misfits, all of them now agreeing with Chuck, and staring at him expectantly. Drury sniffled, and suddenly broke down crying.

 

"Oh..." Chuck looked at him awkwardly. "Oh, no, it's Ok," he said, cradling him in his arms. "We'll do it, ok? We'll knuckle down, and we'll hash this out."

 

"And you'll wear the wigs-?" Walker sniffled.

 

...

 

"No."

 

===============================

 

08:32. Day One.

 

As the group departed from the trailer, Drury sniffed slightly, and wiped a tear from his eye. "I feel like a parent," he said proudly, as Chuck and company entered through the front door, and disappeared from view.

 

...

 

"You are a parent, Drury," Ten corrected him.

 

Walker blushed. "Yeah. Right," he swallowed, embarrassed.

 

"Yeah, well, I don't know why I couldn't have enrolled," Lynns mused. "I'm like the only one here who's actually good at espionage..."

 

"Gar, we talked about this," Drury tutted wearily. "Your face."

 

==Greendale Computer Lab 1.==

 

09:01 Day One.

 

Noah Kuttler shuffled into the classroom, an ankle monitor around his leg, a briefcase in one hand, and a laptop in the other. He sat at his desk, and took a slurp of cold coffee, before turning to his students. "Ok, quiet down and take your seats. Good morning, class, my name is Professor Noah Kuttler and welcome to Computing Science and-"

 

He looked up. 'No,' he thought, his lip quivering. He took off his pair of purple glasses and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Sure enough, sitting in the front row, was Charles Brown, Thomas Blake, Otis Flannegan and Mitchell Mayo.

 

"Oh, for fu-"

Lukas: *eyes narrow* “Yuri, your sister is a psychopath, and you are her enabler…*opens milk, movements jerky with irritation, and pours it into his coffee* I’m going to my study now. I don’t want see either of you for the next hour. Good day.” *strides off*

 

Kumi: *watches Luke depart* “Wow, he’s super mad, huh?”

 

Yuri: “You know he is the antithesis of a morning person. He rarely functions at full capacity until an hour or so after he awakens, and, meanwhile, any adversity that befalls him causes acute irritability. I should have been more sympathetic, but he was a delectable mix of bemused and outraged. I could not maintain my neutral mien.”

 

Kumi: “Maybe you should go after him and kiss it better. As hilarious as that was—at least to me—I feel bad that I made you two fight. I’m sorry.”

 

Yuri: *waves hand dismissively, slides another pan of cupcakes into the oven* “One of the reasons our marriage works so well is we respect one another’s wishes. Lukas said he needs an hour, so I will grant him an hour. By then, he will have reverted to his patient, good-humored self. If I intrude now, he will most likely say something he will regret, and then he will doubly blame me because I pushed him into it.”

 

Kumi: *grabs one of the freshly baked cupcakes, pulls up a stool* “Respect his wishes, huh? Well, I guess if you want to be a grownup about it...”

 

Yuri: “We have fulfilled our quota for juvenile behavior this morning. *arches eyebrow* Do you not think…Yuri?”

 

Kumi: *grins* “That was probably the first time someone’s mistaken us for one another since high school.”

 

Yuri: “What would you have done if he had not realized his mistake in time and kissed you?”

 

Kumi: “Slipped him some tongue, of course. You married hot.”

 

Yuri: “Then I really would have murdered you. Not even Daddy could have stopped me.”

 

Kumi: “Guess it’s a good thing it didn’t play out that way, then. A dead body would be unsanitary around all these cupcakes. *pops a bite of un-iced cupcake in her mouth, strangled gasp as her eyes roll back in ecstasy* Ri-Ri, even for you, this is orgasmic. Never thought I’d be able to replace Simon with a cupcake, but this one’s a contender.”

 

Yuri: “You are currently eating my version of a peaches-and-cream cupcake. It has chunks of freshly cut peaches in the cake. If you had been patient and waited for me to ice them, you would have discovered the whipped cream cheese icing is also infused with peach juice for extra flavor.”

 

Kumi: “Did Daddy ship you the peaches from Georgia?”

 

Yuri: “Of course. I only bake with the freshest ingredients. Those peaches were hanging from the tree less than a week ago.”

 

Fashion Credits

***Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes, haircuts) were done by me unless otherwise stated.***

 

Yuri

Jeans: SL Doll

Blouse: IT – FR2 – Modern Sensibility Dasha

Belt: Randall Craig RTW – April in Paris Fashion

Shoes: IT – Fashion Royalty – Paparazzi Bait Adele

Scarf: Unknown

Earrings: IT – NuFace – En Rouges Erin

Necklace: Me

 

Doll is Nu.Fantasy Little Red Riding Hood Yuri transplanted to a NuFace body.

  

Kumi

Shorts: Randal Craig RTW – Lilli Style Redux

Belt: Cangaway (Etsy.com)

Shirt: IT – 2016 FR Convention – Color Infusion – Teen Spirit Fashion

Boots: Habilisdolls & Tokuya Creations

Earrings: IT – NuFace – First Blush Ayumi

Ring: IT – NuFace – AKA Gigi Giselle

 

Doll is a Nu.Fantasy Wild Wolf Kumi transplanted to a NuFace body.

   

安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 輕舟水上畫白雲 - 笑談古今風聲來

The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / Small boat Above water white clouds like as a painting - Enters the jokes talks through the ages

La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / las nubes blancas por encima de la superficie del bote pequeño tienen gusto como pintura - Incorpora las negociaciones de las bromas con las edades

安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 軽舟の水上は白い雲をかきます - 笑いぐさは古今うわさは来ます

Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / weiße Überwasserwolken des kleinen Bootes mögen als Anstrich - Trägt die Witzgespräche durch das Alter ein

L'après-midi, été, du transport fluvial Anping - Le temps irritable / les nuages blancs en surface de petit bateau aiment comme peinture - Écrit les entretiens de plaisanteries par les âges

 

Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平

 

蒼海一聲笑 - 笑傲江湖 / Instruments Version

{川および湖を通るべき笑い声/The laughter to pass through the rivers and lakes }

 

{View large size on fluidr}

 

{My Blog / 管樂小集精彩演出-觸動你的心}

{My Blog / Great Music The splendid performance touches your heart}

{My Blog / 管楽小集すばらしい公演-はあなたの心を心を打ちます}

{Mi blog / La gran música el funcionamiento espléndido toca su corazón}

{Mein Blog / Große Musik die herrliche Leistung berührt Ihr Herz}

{Mon blog / La grande musique l'exécution splendide touche votre coeur}

 

書中風起雲動 劍下虎嘯龍吟

The book stroke have the clouds to move under the sword the tiger's roar and dragon to recite

 

誰知成敗早已天定

Who knows the success or failure already to decide for GOD

 

回首江山依舊 入眼夕陽正紅

Who looks back on the landscape as before pleasant setting sun is red now

 

但願人長久情長在

Hopes the persons long-time sentiment exist

 

熱蘭劍士無悔無憾

The Zeelandia's swordsman regretless not regrets

 

==The Dean's Office. Greendale==

 

Day 5

 

Flanked by Chuck and Blake, each resting their hands on his to keep him docile, Otis sat at the Dean's desk, his arms crossed defiantly. Across from them, the psychology (and very briefly, Anthropology) professor, Ian Duncan sat by the Dean's side, taking down notes, no doubt planning to release a book based around Flannegan's earlier meltdown. Jeff was sat on the adjacent seat, watching Brown and his cohorts suspiciously, his hands wrapped around his phone.

 

As Chuck finished recounting their story, the Dean raised a hand to silence him. "I think I understand what's going on here," he nodded slowly. "Is pen code for something?"

 

Blake, who'd been sitting beside them uninterested, turned to Chuck and Flannegan with sudden investment. "Is it?"

 

"No?" Chuck shook his head, confused. "It really was just a pen."

 

"That they stole-!" Flannegan yelled, leaping to his feet, and spitting onto the Dean's desk.

 

"Technically, you stole it first," Chuck sighed.

 

"Not the point."

 

"What is the point?" Jeff asked.

 

Flannegan mumbled something, then crumpled back into his chair.

 

The Dean wiped his glasses with his cloth, and swallowed. "Well, gentlemen, I'm willing to be lenient here. A lot of students here have been prone to psychotic breakdowns- some of them animated."

 

"Oh, I'll bet," Chuck said.

 

"No, I mean, some of them have literally been animated. Stop motion and everything."

 

"Right..." Chuck replied, as he looked over to his equally bemused counterparts. "Well, if it means Otis gets off, I'm willing to overlook that."

 

"But-" the Dean continued, tilting his head to look at Flannegan, "I think it would be in everyone's best interests to keep you separated from Jeffrey's study group."

 

"Suits me," Flannegan remarked, as he stormed out of the room.

 

"I think that went well," Jeff reasoned, as his eyes lingered on the door.

 

~

 

As Flannegan walked off, a voice called to him from a nearby vent. "Hey, Rat-Boy!"

 

"A'ight," Flannegan muttered irritably, rolling his eyes as he knelt beside the metal grate. Inside, was a short, cross and undoubtedly unbalanced Asian man.

 

"I was listening to that little intervention in there. Who needs them?" he spat. "You know, they kicked me out of the study group too?"

 

Flannegan glanced down at him, and snorted. "Hn. I wonder why."

 

==Study Room F==

 

Day 8, the following Monday

 

With Flannegan gone, the Misfits sat at their table in relative silence. Every now and then, Chuck or Blake would glance over at the Study Group's table anxiously. Jeff, Chuck noted, had not been seen since they'd talked with the Dean, and his first instinct was Flannegan had killed him; Something he kept telling himself to write off as pure paranoia. One thing was for certain, however; the trio had overstayed their welcome here.

 

"Look, I say, we go over there, apologize, and then we leave," Chuck told his partners.

 

"Leave?" Blake grinned dismissively. "Chuck, this campus has some prime real estate and I intend to mark my territory. Besides, I've already begun stalking my prey," he smiled, gesturing at Britta from afar. "Ten cats, no self esteem? My kinda party."

 

"The activist, Tom?" Chuck asked skeptically. "She's repulsed by you."

 

"Ah," Blake winked. "They're all repulsed by me, Chuck, the difference is she likes cats, and I like-"

 

"Oh, don't say it," Chuck recoiled.

 

"-Cats also. Must you always think the worst of me, Charles?" he asked reproachfully.

 

"They're staring at us," Mayo noted, peering over to the Study Group's table.

 

"Yeah, that's probably because Otis tried to stab them," Chuck groaned tiredly.

 

"God, I forgot that civvies could be so dull," Blake scoffed. "How many times have we stabbed each other, eh, Mayo?"

 

"A lot," Mayo said bluntly.

 

"A lot!" Blake said to Chuck assertively, as if that had somehow made his point.

 

Chuck shook his head, and rose to his feet. "I'm doing it," he announced, drowning out Blake's objections with a loud cough.

 

"Hey, guys?" he began, addressing the room, but before he could finish, the doors to the library swung open, as Jeff entered the study room, several print outs in hand. "Ladies, gentlemen, I have some upsetting news," he said, adopting the mannerisms and commanding tone he'd picked up as a lawyer.

 

"Is it about the blocked ladies' room, because we already knew about that," Britta interjected. "We think Star-Burns had a meth lab in there."

 

"Ohmygod, Did Tom Hanks die?" Troy panicked. "Because I can't take that man, you know I can't."

 

Jeff sighed. "No, it's about Chuck. He's not the man he said he is. He looks average, he seems average, he might even be an expert potter, or a doctor. He might play hackey sack-"

 

"Hackey what-?" Chuck paused, cautiously observing Jeff, unsure of his next move.

 

"But he's not one of us," Jeff continued, undaunted. "Our friend, Chuck, is actually the nefarious, villainous, utterly evil- Kite-Man."

 

Chuck and Blake looked at each other fearfully, dreading the outcry that was sure to follow, and then-

 

"Aww," Annie cooed.

 

"Oh, that's nice," Shirley agreed.

 

Chuck stared at them, completely dumbfounded. 'Did-? Did they hear him right?'

 

"No!" Jeff interrupted, his tone rising slightly. "Don't aww this average looking maniac! He flies kites of vengeance, and death, and-"

 

Chuck bows his head. The truth, was out. Time to rip the band-aid off. "Really, it's not like that," he explained. "I only became Kite-Man to avenge my son. And maybe, I got a little carried away. A little," he repeated nervously.

 

Again, both Annie and Shirley "Awwed" in unison.

 

"Not 'aww.' No!" Jeff panicked.

 

"Why are you complaining, Jeff?" Pierce asked obnoxiously. "I thought you'd be happy to have another gay to rub shoulders, or wieners, with."

 

Chuck opened his mouth to correct him, but quickly decided against it.

 

"Jeff, you're not jealous of Chuck are you?" Annie asked suspiciously.

 

"Of course he is," Abed said. "Chuck has a catchphrase. Jeff, does not. I told you to get on that," he advised Jeff.

 

"Real people don't have catchphrases, Abed. That's what I'm saying," Jeff complained.

 

"Chuck does. And it's awesome. Hell yeah," he whispered to Chuck, meant as a call of brotherhood and kinship.

 

"You know what else he has? Several acts of terrorism on his record," Jeff said, still trying to take control of the situation.

 

"Hey! Gross oversimplification. We're not terrorists," Mayo protested.

 

"Yeah, I resent that accusation," Blake agreed, arms folded. "We're career criminals."

 

Turning to Blake and Mayo now, Jeff continued his tirade. "And of course, that's not even going into his co-conspirators. You already know Condiment King of course," he said pointing to Mayo, who waved back at him obliviously, "But did you know about the knife wielding Ratcatcher and the blood curdling Catman?"

 

Troy turned to face Blake, awed. "Wait, you're Batman?"

 

"Catman," Blake corrected him, a note of ire in his voice.

 

"Oh. That's also cool, I guess," he responded, as he shifted in his seat, disappointed.

 

"So, Mitchell? Do you make your own sauces?" Shirley asked.

 

"Y'know, 14 years and you're the first person to ask me that question. Yes, I do," Mayo replied, a smug smile forming across his flabby face. As the group moved to sit at the Misfits table, asking them question after question, Jeff was left standing alone, in utter confusion. Defeated.

 

"Can I ask you, like, a personal question?" Troy said, leaning over to Blake.

 

Without waiting, he replied. "Eight inches."

 

"No, I meant- Wait really?" he asked, bewildered. "Nah, I was just gonna ask... What's Batman like?"

 

Blake looked around to make sure no one was listening, and murmured softly. "Honestly, he's kinda a dick."

 

Troy sighed, disappointed. "Damn... Thanks for being honest, man."

 

Day 9

 

Naturally, it didn't take long for news of the Misfits' presence to spread through Greendale. Though most people were unmoved by the arrival of these oddly dressed eccentricities, the same could not be said of Dean Pelton. Upon learning about the group of mysterious convicts attending his school, he made a beeline straight for his closet, and ran to the study room with superhuman speed.

 

"Hello, hello hello, I was told we had a couple of ex-cons among us," The Dean said excitedly, standing in the doorway, dressed in a policeman's cap and dark blue miniskirt. "Oh, hello, Charles," he winked at Chuck, who noted the Dean's bizarre outfit, and swallowed. 'Don't question it, Charles,' he sighed.

 

"Oh, that's it," Jeff called out from behind, as he threw his shirt aside, Annie catching it.

 

"I don't understand, why don't you like me? Is it the kites? It's always the damn kites..." Chuck muttered, as he followed suit, and slowly unbuttoned his sweater, laying it on the back of his chair, but otherwise, he remained fully clothed. Both Annie and the Dean looked at the pair, smiles on their faces.

 

"Why? Why?! I work out every day!" Jeff answered back. "What's your secret, kites?!"

 

The Dean paused, lowering his glasses. "Jeffrey, please, what is going on in here, and is there room for one more?"

 

Abed tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, Jeff's just taking his feelings of inadequacy out on another handsome outsider. Now, Chuck, have you ever played paintball?"

 

"No?" he replied, confused.

 

"How about dungeons and dragon?"

 

"Um. Well, it depends on how literal you want to get," was his response.

 

Jeff scowled at Abed. "Are you actively replacing me right now?"

 

Abed cocked his head to one side. "Of course not, Jeff, you're just being paranoid. Chuck's just a back-up," he responded, as he turned back to quizzing him as though nothing had happened. "Now, have you ever been involved in a long winded love triangle between a bubbly overachiever, a moody activist and the occasional interloper?"

 

Chuck looked at him, at Jeff, and then at Annie and Britta. "That seems oddly specific. And no-?"

 

Abed gasped. "My god, he's perfect."

 

Britta turned to Abed. "Moody? I'm not moody!"

 

"Ehhh..." the study group collectively murmured to themselves.

 

"And I don't see what's wrong with hard work! Someone has to do it!" Annie replied, scornfully.

 

"Ladies, I don't make the tropes, I just point them out."

 

Now reaching a crescendo of discarded clothing and heated tensions, Blake, who really had no stake in the feud, but was eager to show off, dropped his own trousers to his ankles.

 

"So, where do we go from here?" Chuck asked, looking down at Blake's spotted underpants grimly.

 

"What are you talking about?" Jeff asked.

 

"Well, Abed said that the last time you were trapped in the study room, you stripped down, and that the time before that, you slept with someone."

 

"What are you trying to say-?" Jeff asked.

 

Chuck curled his lip and raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Well, Pierce did say you were gay-" he began, his eyes locked with Jeff's.

 

"I'm not gay! Abed stop telling him things! Why would you tell him about the pen, or me sleeping with Britta."

 

"Or you kissing Annie," Britta nodded.

 

"Or me kissing Annie," Jeff agreed.

 

Chuck stared at Jeff incredulously.

 

"I actually never told him that," Abed said.

 

"You didn't?" Annie asked, a little hurt.

 

"Sorry, Annie, I didn't think it was important," Abed shrugged.

 

Annie gasped. "It was important to me!" she protested.

 

"Abed!" Jeff snapped.

 

"It's narrative cohesion. It helps if he's familiar with our greatest hits, as it means we don't need to waste time clueing him in on references."

 

"Yeah, you guys had a gang war over chicken?" Chuck asked.

 

"And, in turn, I'm sure Chuck can bring us up to speed too."

 

Chuck scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, I don't know about that, it'd probably take 300 issues for something like that."

 

The group looked at him in confusion. Then Jeff spoke up again. "No," he shook his head. "There's no way I'm going to look like the bad guy here. They have killed people."

 

"Jeff, haven't you killed people?"

 

"Annie! Stress induced heart attacks do not count. God!" Jeff called out angrily, as sans shirt, he stormed out the room.

 

"So, I'm, uh, I'm just going to take these," the Dean announced, as he picked up Jeff and Chuck's abandoned clothes and left.

 

"That was my favourite sweater," Chuck sighed.

 

~

 

Sat hunched over the library steps, dressed in one of his many extra shirts, was Jeff. Approaching from the carpark, cigarette in hand, was the unmistakable, baggy-clothed, buck-toothed silhouette of Otis Flannegan.

 

"Truce?" he asked.

 

"Sure, as long as you don't try and stab anyone this time," Jeff replied dryly.

 

"Fair," Flannegan smirked, joining him on the stone steps. "You don't need to worry about Brown, neither. Guy got jilted by a plant woman for god's sake. He's a real Chuckold. Coined that," he proudly admitted.

 

Jeff nodded back, unsure how much of that was genuine, and how much of that was fiction perpetuated by Flannegan's declining mental state.

 

"Y'know, Karloff, it's funny," he continued. "I wish I could put as much effort into caring as you do, into pretending that you don't. Me? Me, i'm just here to get paid," he elaborated, as he patted Jeff on the back, and strolled away.

 

~

 

"This is my fault."

 

As Blake finished readjusting his pants, Abed turned back to the group, his mouth slanted down slightly. "I thought that inviting the Misfits into the study group would help to mix up our dynamic, in a good way, like adding Danny Devito to Always Sunny in Philadelphia, or Paul Rudd to Friends-"

 

"I didn't like that season-" Blake interjected.

 

"But now I realise it's more like adding Poochie to Itchy and Scratchy, or adding the entire cast of Scrubs Season Nine. That, sometimes, changing up a working formula only ends up alienating your existing audience and nearly getting you stabbed by a supervillain who smells of cheese."

 

Jeff stood in the doorway, his composure restored by Flannegan's gruff equivalent of a CW pep talk. "Abed's right. Sometimes, you can try and force a bunch of pieces together and they'll never fit, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, you don't get a Paul Rudd. You get a Dave Franco. And Dave Franco, destroys everything he touches."

 

"Scrubs-?" Troy wondered.

 

"Booty-?" Mayo frowned.

 

"Zodiac Master," Blake said wistfully.

 

"Yes, maybe, and I don't know who that is," Jeff nodded.

 

"Ooh, I liked him in that Lego Ninjago Movie," Shirley declared.

 

The group all nodded half heartedly. "He was alright," Jeff concluded. "It was the Lego Ninjago Movie."

 

"Dunno about that," Mayo scoffed judgmentally. "Kinda a slap in the face to the original fans."

 

"And, that, is why Chuck has to go," Jeff concluded. "Isn't that right, Abed?"

 

Abed stared at him in confusion. "Oh, no, Chuck stays."

 

...

 

"But we probably shouldn't let Otis back in."

 

==Gotham City==

 

The White Mask walked by Jenna's side, guiding her along the street to her apartment, unaware of the figure watching them from across the road with growing interest. As they reached the top of the stairs, he moved in to kiss her, but she hesitated slightly, not sure if she were ready to move into another relationship so soon. He nodded in faux understanding and then, he cleared his throat. "So, Sionis, y'know- Black Mask, has invited me to his party at the Gotham Royal, and I was thinking... maybe you and I could go? Together? Y'know, like old times," he said, a hand on her shoulder. "There's a shifting power balance in Gotham, Jelly Bean, and I'd love for you to be there by my side when it does."

Jenna turned away from him, avoiding his gaze, as she reached into her purse, and unlocked the front door.

 

"Just you think about it, hm?" Franco urged her, as he turned back the way he came, whistling some kind of obnoxious pop song.

 

As he walked back to the car, Ted Carson struck, slamming him into the side of the Porsche with a loud clang. "What's your connection to Carpenter?" he demanded.

 

"Who the fuck-" Franco began, as he reached into his holster, and grabbed his gun. Carson ripped it from his hand, and emptied the clip onto the ground. "Do you know the Misfits? Do you know where they are?" he commanded, his temper rising.

 

"What the hell are the Misfits and what the hell are you?" Franco strained.

 

Behind his visor, Carson's eyes dilated. "Call me... Mothkiller," he grinned, loosening his grip on Franco.

 

"No, but seriously," Franco replied, dropping to the ground.

 

Carson's eyes narrowed, the light from the street lamp now illuminating Franco's face. "Hey, have I seen you in something? Scrubs, maybe?"

 

Franco straightened his tie, as he steadied himself. "Why do people keep asking me that? I'm her boyfriend, alright?" he scowled.

 

Carson took a step back, disappointed. "What, you? I know Duffy. She was dating Lynns like two weeks ago."

 

"Lynns?" Franco raised an irritated eyebrow. "Wait, the guy she's so hung up about is Firefly? She dated Firefly? Christ," he lamented. "Was I really that bad?"

 

==Greendale Community College==

 

As Chuck rushed down the hallway, he passed an unconscious student dressed in a Superman costume ('He had clearly misunderstood the assignment,' he noted before moving on). He had to keep going; Mayo would have reached the Dean's office now. And with Blake gone and Flannegan missing, he was now the only person who could possibly talk Mitch down. Chuck understood Fearless; he had been infected with it himself, and he knew more than anyone the allure of it, and worse, how easy it was to lose yourself.

 

'Ok, c'mon, Chuck, think,' he pondered. 'You've been here two weeks now, what would the Study Group do? Make a reference? Make a speech? Hit him? All three? All three. God, that's no help... What would the Misfits do? Sharpe would probably get someone else to do it for him, Len would use live ammunition... Needham would hang from the ceiling and scare the crap out of him... Ten would probably struggle to aim, come to think of it. And Drury would make a speech himself, I guess... 'Hello, fellow Paintball enthusiasts! I know we're all having a lot of fun; me less so, nevermind, but we ought to consider dialling it back a bit! Instead, let's settle down, grab a cup of hot java and watch The Room: I've made scones just for the occasion! (though I guess you morons would call 'em cookies right? Because you're, urgh, Americans. P'tooh.) Who knows, maybe afterwards, we can rob the rest of the Justice League! I hear Metropolis is nice this time of year! Hey, you girl, anyone ever tell you you look like my wife? Cause you do! Let's fight ninjas!'

 

"Woah, that went to a dark place," he thought aloud. "Get a grip, Chuck, focus."

 

~-~

 

Flannegan rolled across the carpeted floor, smacking his head against a large brass instrument. Krill, hopped out after him, and knelt down by his side. "Don't you ever scare me like that again," he was saying. "I saw a kid dressed as Iron Man and thought I'd landed on the wrong Earth. *ahem* Again."

 

"Hey, you can't be in here," a student's voice complained. In response, Krill tossed a pastel-pink coloured disk at their face, splattering them in a thick liquid.

 

"That's right, my dots double as paintballs, I AM A GOD" he proclaimed triumphantly to the incapacitated Flannegan, chuckling as the student walked off the way they came, now a good deal wetter.

 

"You know you have to be enrolled here for it to count, right?" Flannegan grunted.

 

"Codswallop," Krill swore disappointedly, as he kicked Flannegan's side in a display of petty malice. "What a joke," he added, disappointed by Flannegan's lack of fighting spirit. "It's funny actually: I was given strict instructions to leave the Misfits unharmed," he lamented. "The usual 'Leave them alive, they're mine to torture/kill/sleep with... yadda yadda yadda...' Not the point, I know."

 

"What is the point?" Flannegan coughed.

 

Krill glanced down, and promptly kicked his rival in the face. "Well... you're not a Misfit, are you, Otis?" he asked, a wicked grin on his face as he peeled a purple, buzzsaw-like dot off of his suit, and brought it against Flannegan's throat.

 

Yet, despite being mere inches from death, Flannegan's gaze was instead drawn to a small, furry creature- watching as it climbed up onto the table behind them. "Annie's Boobs?" he gasped in recognition.

 

"Whose?" Krill spun around, his curiosity his undoing, as the monkey leapt off the table, and landed on his face. Caught off guard, he dropped the purple dot, giving Flannegan the opening he needed to kick his opponent in the shin and then shoulder barge him in rapid succession.

 

Pushing Flannegan away, Krill peeled the screeching monkey off of his face, tossing it to the floor. Almost tempted to kill the small animal, he instead relented, as he watched it retreat back into an exposed ventilation shaft.

 

"Guess I still got some venom in my veins after all..." Flannegan panted gratefully, as he retook a fighting stance.

 

"There you go," Krill grinned, as he charged towards him, and pushed him through a cyan-coloured portal

 

==The Dean's Office==

 

As the door handle turned, Rigger instinctively dove into the Dean's closet, cushioned by the mass of budget-draining outfits and shut the door behind him. Mayo strolled into the room, and walked towards the desk, installing the USB into the side of the computer. 'Success,' he thought.

As he took a note of Jeff's registration date, he smiled. "Thank you, Frankenstein," he chortled, as he pulled up the program.

 

"Frankenstein's the doctor!" Joe yelled out instinctively, causing Mayo to look up from the desk, in bewilderment.

 

"Who said that?" he replied suspiciously, as he slid the sheet of paper into his pocket, grabbed his gun and strutted towards the closet doors. He swung them aside, and recoiled at the contents within. "Dolly Parton?!" he cried out in shock. "You go to Greendale?"

 

Embarrassed, Rigger adjusted the Dean's wig and cleared his throat. "I sure do," he spoke in a high pitched voice, "I've been here all week, working 9-5. Boy, what a way to make a living!"

 

Mayo looked puzzled at first, but, after a moment's reflection, he seemed to have accepted the bizarre excuse.

 

"Mitch!" Chuck called out, as he entered the room. Mayo spun around to face Chuck and glowered, reloading his gun with a round capsule he had crudely attached to his waist with some sticky tape. With him otherwise distracted, Rigger kicked Mayo in the groin and ran to Chuck's side.

 

"Hey!" Mayo wheezed, struggling to compose himself. "This is a non contact game!" he complained, as he dove behind the Dean's desk for cover and shot at the two Misfits.

With Chuck returning fire at an alarming rate, Mayo slid the thumb drive out of the computer and dove through the window, making his escape.

 

"Shouldn't we be going after him?" Rigger asked, as his eyes followed Mayo's plump silhouette run off into the distance.

 

"We aren't going to be doing anything: I thought I told you to stay out of this?" Chuck chided Joey, as he walked over to the computer. 'Thank god, he didn't have time to activate the failsafes,' he thought, relieved.

 

"What can I say, I'm invested now," Rigger shrugged. "What's the plan?" he asked cheekily, as Chuck scrolled through the Dean's emails.

 

"He'll go to the library building. It's well fortified and it's got all the computers he needs," Chuck figured. "W- What are you wearing?" he paused, as he finally noticed Rigger's wig.

 

"Doesn't matter," Joey said dismissively. "I had to do some things I'm not proud of, Chuck."

 

"Is- Is that lipstick?" Chuck began, before returning to the computer monitor, finding an email with an enclosed link. 'These must be the cinema tickets,' he realised, before frowning.

 

"Wait a minute," he spoke, "These tickets aren't even for Black Widow. They're for Widows! A film, that came out two years ago! How on earth- What kinda incompetent crap is this-?"

 

"Good film though," Rigger noted. "Viola Davis was exquisite."

 

==The Truck==

 

"I don't like leaving them out there alone," Drury sighed, as he gazed through the window: the outside grounds still plagued by hundreds of rampant paintball players. He turned back to Gar and Reardon, both of them remarkably calm given the circumstances and shook his head. "Joey's not reported back in yet, who knows what's happening out there!" he continued to fret.

 

"You heard Chuck, Drury. We can't interfere," Reardon reminded him, two prosthetic fingers raised against his temple as he did his best to drown out the chaos outside.

 

"Can't interfere..." Drury scoffed. "What if he gets lead poisoning? What if his gun explodes? What if-"

 

"Drury, we're talking about Chuck and Joe here. They've survived Arkham City and Nanda Parbat," Reardon reassured him. "What could possibly be worse than that?"

 

His question was answered by a loud thud outside, as two figures landed directly opposite their truck. Rushing to the window, Drury watched as the first figure brushed himself off, grabbed the second, and then hurled them through a green portal, following closely after them.

 

"Was- Was that Krill?" Drury stammered, looking to the others for confirmation.

 

"I have absolutely no idea," Reardon replied blankly. "But if he was covered in brightly coloured polka dots, then that's probably a pretty good indicator."

 

Gar, clamped his lighter lid shut. "I take it we interfere now?" he muttered dryly.

 

~-~

 

Krill and Flannegan were both flung into the school's chemistry lab, each landing at opposite sides of the room and each now sporting brand new battle scars; Flannegan was nursing a broken arm and burst lip; Krill, a bloody nose. As Flannegan once again tried to regain his balance, he cried aloud as a yellow disk was thrown into his shoulder, his blood dribbling onto the linoleum floor.

Another of Krill's 'dots,' an orange fireball, singed Flannegan's right ear, as it narrowly missed his face. Before he could strike again, Flannegan reached for the Bunsen burner station and turned the gas on, letting it fill the room.

 

Krill coughed as he unintentionally breathed the fumes in, leaving him unable to counter Flannegan's next attack: he grabbed the rubber hose of one of the nearby Bunsens and wrapped the coil around Krill's throat in an attempt to choke him out. Krill elbowed Flannegan in the ribs and broke free of the hold, knocking his opponent across the other side of the table.

Next, Flannegan grabbed a nearby beaker, smashed it against the table and used the broken pieces as projectiles, flinging them one after another. Krill, put up a defensive shield against the shards, with just one single piece breaking through his defenses, and slashing him across his cheek. "Enough," he snarled, as he slid across the table top, picked Flannegan up by his collar and threw him through the south wall, into the adjacent biology classroom (taking note of the alarmingly weak walls as he followed him through).

Rising to his feet, and wiping the plaster from his hair, Flannegan opened the animal cages lined up along the desks, letting loose a sea of albino rats onto the ground. As they scurried about, now under Flannegan's metahuman influence, they tripped his opponent up. Regaining his balance, Krill grabbed a nearby stool to steady himself and then swung it at the hordes of rats with murderous intent. "Oi, dickhead. What happened to Mano a Mano?" he complained, as he brushed a rat off his shoulder.

 

"You never said it was Mano a Mano," Flannegan shot back.

 

"Yes, I- No, wait, that's on me. Good to know," he noted, as he hurled the stool at Flannegan instead, cracking his ribs.

 

Just as Flannegan regained his footing, Krill opened a portal overhead, and dropped a filing cabinet on his head. Flannegan slumped over, as blood trickled down his skull and onto the floor.

 

"You almost had me worried..." Krill said, wiping himself off, and kneeling atop Flannegan's chest. "With your roadkill and your tit monkeys... You gave me a decent runaround, I admit it, but here we are again." He opened another portal and retrieved the purple buzzsaw, pressing it once more against Flannegan's throat, breaking the skin just slightly, as thin stream of blood trickled down his neck. That sadistic smile broke across Krill's face and then- "Hold that thought," he winked, as he reached into his trunks and pulled out a pink mobile, the phone blasting 'London's Calling' loudly. Krill rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I have to take this- Barson. I'll be the death of him, honestly. Y'ello?"

 

"Krill!" Ted Carson's gruff, impatient voice echoed. "What the hell is going on? You disappear for a week, you don't answer your phone, Day's been here non-stop, building bombs or some crap and there's still no sign of Walker. I don't need babysitting, and I don't need to be kept in the dark by a couple of bald, effeminate, drugged up idiots!"

 

Krill inhaled through his nose, taking the phone off of speaker. "You know... I'm kinda in the middle of something here," he spoke, loosening his grip on Flannegan. "No, it can't wait. You shove off! No, no, don't put Hayden on, I don't want to talk to... him."

 

Krill's words trailed off, as a thin hand plunged a needle deep into his neck. He stumbled backwards in shock, clutching his throat, and then, he tripped backwards through his own portal, closing behind him with a loud crackle. Noah Kuttler examined the spot that Krill had been sitting just moments before, and then turned his attention to Flannegan.

 

"What'd you hit him with?" Flannegan panted, as he sat back up.

 

"Insulin," Kuttler explained. "I'm diabetic."

 

~-~

 

Drury, Gar and Reardon, arrived at the library building, having now armed themselves with paintball guns they'd scavenged off of fallen students. The objective was simple now: extract the Misfits, no matter what.

It was easier said than done: standing in their way were a good fifty students, all armed, all in low-budget cosplay. 'No way we can fight our way through all that,' Drury realised, a sentiment he knew he shared with Reardon, at least. The direct approach was suicide.

 

Gar, however, disagreed. "I know how to stop this," he growled, as he retreated back inside the trailer.

 

"How?!" Drury replied, as he ran after him, taking another fervent look at the so-called bloodbath behind them, as he raced to keep up.

 

Exasperated, Reardon put his head in his hands, and trailed after them. "I bet the Rogues never had this problem," he murmured, ruing the group's utter lack of communication. He paused in the doorway as he had a sudden, horrible realisation. 'He wouldn't...' he worried.

 

He would, it turned out. Ignoring their objections, Gar grabbed his flamethrower, stormed back across the grounds and stepped onto an upturned bench. "Gar, wait, you really shouldn't do that in a scho-" Drury began, but it was too late.

 

"Hey, nerds, virgins and one note supporting characters! This is a real fucking flamethrower, so unless you want me to fucking fry you all to fucking cinders and ashes, you'll do the sensible thing and shoot yourselves in the foot, and save yourselves eight years of painful skin grafts. Because, fuck, look at my fucking face. Believe me. It hurts."

 

"Do you even go to school here?" a bemused student inquired.

 

"No," Gar admitted. "But I have a flamethrower in one hand and a paintball gun in the other, so you might as well listen."

 

No one moved. Rather, they continued to stare at Gar and his associates in utter disbelief. Reardon, outwardly cringed.

 

"To be clear, that whole 'shoot yourself in the foot' thing? Not a metaphor, or figure of speech. Just fucking do it. Take your guns, aim them at your feet. And fire. Alright?" Gar pleaded, exasperated.

 

Gar sighed, and pulled out his final trump card. "Also, I'm the Ass Crack Bandit," he stated.

 

And just like that: Pandemonium. The Greendale students un-holstered their pistols, took themselves out of the game and walked begrudgingly back to their classes, closely minding their backsides as they departed.

 

"Not bad," even Reardon had to admit.

 

"Ach, it was the swearing mostly," Gar stated. "This is a pretty sheltered community."

 

"Hn. So, Ass Crack Bandit?" Drury inquired.

 

"Oh, yeah, read it in a flyer. It's more serious than it sounds," Gar explained.

 

"Oh. Well, it sounds kinky," Drury concluded.

  

===The Library Building==

 

Mayo turned away from the computer and tutted irritably, his work still unfinished. "Just can't keep away, can you? I see you even brought your sidekick. Doesn't that break a rule or two?"

 

"Easy Mitch," Chuck started, in an attempt to lure him away from the console. "Just think. They're all just civilians, remember? We don't hurt civilians."

 

"That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard, and I've been bunkmates with Killer Croc," Mayo snorted. "I've seen Lynns burn down orphanages."

 

"One orphanage," Rigger corrected him. "And it was abandoned. We, uh, assume."

 

"Hypocrites!" Mayo decreed. "You make the rest of us follow these 'rules' and 'laws' to the letter, while you get to do whatever you want. I'm just using the assets on hand to win, you lot can't help but cheat and lie!"

 

Chuck swallowed. Mayo was worrying him now, he'd heard that same rhetoric before. From Julian. "I don't care about the tickets, I don't even care about paintball. I just don't want you to get hurt. And c'mon, look, there's no sport in this. That's not fair, that's not a victory."

 

"I'd listen to him, Kevin Smith," Jeff cocked his gun, as he entered the room. "Don't you have a convenience store you could be robbing right now?"

 

"Don't you have a tub of gel you could be slicking through your hair?" Mayo snapped.

 

"Hey, he's got you pegged," Chuck smiled slightly. "Sorry."

 

Jeff scowled, pointing the gun first at Mayo's chest, and then instead targeted the computer, spraying it in green paint.

 

"No!" Mayo cried, as he ran over to the monitor, watching as the paint dripped down into the keypad, making the device functionally useless. Mayo pulled the USB out of the computer and tried wiping the paint off, but it was no use. The drive was ruined, and his plans, like the computer, went up in smoke.

 

Before Jeff could respond, Mayo shot back: The first blast hit him in the shoulder. As he stumbled back, the next shot hit his knee, toppling him to the ground. "Screw this, I don't even like that Marvel crap!" he complained, throwing his gun aside in a strop.

 

"Woah, wow, cool it, Scorcese," Rigger warned. "Bet you two loved each other," he said to Chuck.

 

Chuck and Jeff paused to stare at Rigger, then at each other, in disgusted disapproval. "Look, Mitch," Chuck started. "C'mon, you can win some other way. Fairly."

 

Mayo considered this, for a brief moment he lowered his gun in consideration. But it was just that: Brief. "No," he shook his head.

 

Chuck took a cautious step forward. "Mitch?" he asked worriedly.

 

"No!" Mayo repeated. And raising his gun back up, he shot Chuck in the helmet with such a force that the visor shattered, knocking him to the ground.

 

"Jesus!" Rigger exclaimed. "Chuck was just trying to help!"

 

"He was lying!" Mayo tried to justify himself. "He was going to take my tickets!"

 

"For Widows, man! Christ!" Rigger yelled, as he knelt by Chuck's side. "Chuck, can you hear me?"

 

"Shut up, just let me think!" Mayo shrieked, putting his hands on his head.

 

Chuck opened a single eye, put his hand to his forehead and licked the red mark. 'Ketchup-?' he paused. 'But that means-'

 

"Oh, Mayo..." he said in a pitying tone. "You idiot."

 

"Chuck-?" Rigger interrupted him, as the doors swung open: All of Mayo's victims, the Study Group included, stood there united. The rules, flimsy though they were, clearly stated that the combatants had to use paint. In his quest to prove himself, Mayo had forgotten that one key detail, and just like that, forfeited the game.

He dropped his gun, and accepted his fate, as the loud hum of paint machinery drowned him out.

A Curious Meditation

by James Smith, 1855

 

As I was walking out for exercise in the fields one morning, having been pleading with God to give me some profitable subject for meditation — I suddenly fell into this train of thought, which I afterwards wrote down; and, as it may interest and profit some, it is here inserted.

 

There are three things which I especially desire:

more communion with God,

more likeness to the Lord Jesus, and

more usefulness to his Church.

 

There are three things which I deprecate:

the withering of my gifts,

the decay of my graces, and

to become useless in the Lord's vineyard.

 

There are three things which I dread:

that I should become a proud professor,

that I should become a lukewarm Christian, and

that I should fall into the hands of man.

 

There are three things which I sometimes wish for (but which God will never grant me on earth):

to be totally free from sin,

to be delivered from a daily cross,

and to be always happy.

 

There are three things which I feel sure of:

hatred by the world,

opposition by hypocrites, and

love by spiritual believers.

 

There are three foes which always oppose me:

the world,

the flesh, and

the devil.

 

There are three friends which will always stand by me:

a peaceful conscience,

the bride of Jesus, and

the Lamb of God.

 

There are three deaths which have been experienced by me:

a death in sin,

a death to sin,

a death to the law of God.

 

There are three lives which shall be lived by me:

a temporal life,

a spiritual life, and

an eternal life.

 

There are three things which burden me:

a body of sin and death,

the opposition I meet with, and

my own ingratitude.

 

There are three things which support me:

the Father's love,

the Son's redemption, and

the Spirit's work.

 

There are three things which are a sore trial to me:

an irritable temper,

a flippant tongue, and

self-love.

 

There are three things which bring strong consolation to me:

the open fountain of Christ blood,

the promises of God, and

the Savior's free invitation.

 

There are three things which are especially dear to me:

the Word of God,

the throne of grace, and

the ordinances of the Lord's house.

 

There are three things lacking in me:

perfect penitence,

entire resignation, and

fervent love.

 

There are three books which are very useful to me:

the book of nature,

the book of Holy Scriptures, and

the book of my own experience.

 

There are three teachers which are employed to instruct me:

the Holy Spirit,

a special providence, and

the rod of God.

 

There are three things which are manifested in me:

the nature of sin,

the power of grace, and

the faithfulness of God.

 

There are three things which would be greatly useful to me:

more humility,

spiritual wisdom, and

enlightened zeal.

 

There are three things which characterize me:

weakness,

poverty, and

sinfulness.

 

Yet, there are three things which may be seen in me:

Christ's strength,

God's grace, and

the Spirit's holiness.

 

There are three things which are feared by me:

a stiff neck,

a hard heart, and

a presumptuous spirit.

 

There are three things which are matter of joy to me:

the conversion of sinners,

that my name is written in heaven, and

the glory to be given me at the appearing of Jesus Christ.

 

There are three things which must be renounced by me:

preconceived opinions,

worldly wisdom, and

natural religion.

 

There are three things which must be held fast by me:

the Word of truth,

my confidence in God, and

my profession of the gospel.

 

There are three things which are especially required of me:

to do justly,

to love mercy, and

to walk humbly with my God.

 

There are three things which are promised to me:

tribulation in the world,

sufficient strength in Jesus, and

eternal life at the end of my course.

 

There are three things which the Lord observes and approves in me:

the work of faith,

the labor of love, and

the patience of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

There is a threefold deliverance which is effected for me:

from the dominion of sin,

from the present evil world, and

from my deserved doom.

 

There are three things which I would trample under foot:

unfounded prejudice,

vain distinctions, and

self-righteousness.

 

There are three things which I would aim at daily:

to exalt Christ,

to glorify God, and

to bring sinners to repentance.

 

There are three things which are still sure to me:

a rough road,

changing experiences, and

safety at last.

 

There are three things which are behind me:

a wicked life,

a broken law, and

the pit of destruction.

 

There are three things which are before me:

death,

perfect conformity to Jesus, and

eternal glory.

 

There are three things which are on my right hand:

Satan to resist me,

the Lord Jesus to save me, and

my own heart set on things above.

 

There are three things which are on my left hand:

the lust of the flesh,

the lust of the eye, and

the pride of life.

 

There are three things which I greatly admire:

the Savior's person,

the promises of God, and

the instruments he employs in carrying on his work.

 

There are three things which much please me:

the doctrines of the gospel,

the witness of the Spirit, and

the light of God's countenance.

 

There are three things which I delight in:

that Jehovah is my God,

the comfort he imparts to me, and

the riches of glory which are set before me.

 

There are three things which I hate:

the cant of hypocrites,

the flattery of friends, and

the pride of professors.

 

There are three things which are good for me:

to draw near to God,

to be afflicted, and

to sing praises unto the Lord.

 

There are three things which often disgust me:

Satan's temptations,

the powerful working of unbelief, and

the conduct of religious professors.

 

There are three things which are prescribed to me:

to believe in God,

to love the saints, and

to observe the Lord's ordinances.

 

There are three things which are too often neglected by me:

self-examination,

diligent reading of the Bible, and

secret prayer.

 

There are three things which are too deep for me to fully know:

the depravity of my heart,

the devices of Satan, and

the manner of the Spirit's working.

 

There are three things which I wish to leave with the Lord:

to choose my lot in life,

to fight my battles, and

to supply all my needs.

 

There are three things which I do not consider worth having:

a form of godliness, without the power,

a name to live, while dead, and

the commendation of the enemies of Christ.

 

There are three things in which I glory:

the cross of Christ,

my saving knowledge of God, and

the everlasting gospel.

 

There are three things which have been taken from me:

proud free will,

vain boasting, and

enmity to God.

 

There are three things which abide with me:

faith,

hope, and

charity.

 

I am made up of three men:

corruption — the old man,

grace — the new man, and

the body — the outward man.

 

I fill a threefold office:

a prophet in the Church of Christ,

a priest before the altar, and

a king anointed to reign with Christ.

 

I wear a threefold garment:

the righteousness of the Lord Jesus,

the graces of the Holy Spirit, and

the garment of humility.

 

I have been condemned in three courts — and yet justified in them all:

the court of conscience,

the Church of God, and

the court of God's justice.

 

I have been justified three times:

at the resurrection of Christ my substitute,

when faith received his righteousness, and

when good works justified my faith before the world.

 

I am the subject of a threefold sanctification:

by the purpose of the Father,

by the blood of the Son, and

by the cleansing operations of the Holy Spirit.

 

I am a free man of three cities:

the present world,

the church below, and

the Jerusalem which is above.

 

I have been an eye-sore to three parties:

the devil,

the world, and

envious professors.

 

I shall have occupied three peculiar seats:

a dunghill by nature,

among the princes in the Church by grace, and

the throne of glory by special privilege.

 

I shall have three grand holidays:

one when the Holy Spirit sets my soul at liberty,

another when death sets me free from this mortal clay, and

and another when Jesus comes to be glorified in his saints.

 

I shall then have appeared in three different characters:

a vile rebel against God,

a supplicating sinner at mercy's footstool, and

a justified son of God before his throne.

 

I shall have had three fathers:

a human father,

the devil, and

Jehovah himself.

 

I shall have received three laws:

the law of nature,

the moral law of God, and

the law of the Spirit of life.

 

I shall have passed through three gates:

the gate of hope,

the gate into Christ's sheepfold, and

the gate of death.

 

I shall have walked in three ways:

the broad road of destruction,

the highway of holiness, and

Jesus Christ the only way to the Father.

 

I shall have conversed with three distinct classes of beings:

carnal men,

spiritual Christians, and

the Lord himself.

 

I shall have made three appearances:

once all black — like the devil,

then speckled — with nature and grace, and

then all pure — whiter than the driven snow!

 

I shall have undergone three momentous changes:

one at regeneration — when I passed from death unto life,

one at death — when my soul shall be admitted into Heaven, and

one at the resurrection — when my body shall be raised powerful, glorious, and immortal.

 

I view three things as pre-eminently excellent:

the fear of the Lord,

a sound judgment, and

Christ formed in the heart, as the hope of glory.

 

There are three things which I may covet:

the best gifts,

a contrite and humble spirit, and

to be filled with all the fullness of God.

 

There are three things which are removed from me:

the burden of sin,

the wrath of God, and

all condemnation.

 

There are three things which I do not know:

what is before me,

how God will provide for me, and

what I shall be.

 

There are three things which I do know:

that in my flesh dwells no good,

that though I was once blind, now I see, and

that I must needs die.

 

There are three things which are prepared for me:

a fountain to cleanse me,

a robe to adorn me, and

a mansion to receive me.

 

There are three things which await me:

a crown of righteousness,

a palm of victory, and

a throne of glory.

 

There are three things which shall be done for me:

God shall wipe away all tears from my eyes,

God shall remove all cause of pain and sorrow from my nature, and

the Lamb in the midst of the throne shall eternally satisfy me.

 

There are three things which shall never be known by me:

the frown of divine justice,

the curse of holy Jehovah, and

the power of God's anger.

 

There are three things which are hurtful to me:

carnal ease,

the flattery of professors, and

fullness of bread.

 

There are three things which benefit me:

temptation,

affliction, and

opposition.

 

There are three things which are pursued by me:

to know more of the Lord,

to live in peace with all men, and

thorough sanctification.

 

Satan tries to thwart me in three things:

by spoiling my comforts,

hindering my usefulness, and

seeking to devour my soul.

 

Satan has three things to expect:

to be disappointed of his prey,

to be judged by the saints, and

to be eternally punished for his wickedness.

 

There are three things which I would never trust:

my own heart,

an arm of flesh, and

my treacherous memory.

 

There are three subjects which I should never meddle with:

the fall of the angels,

the origin of moral evil, and

how God will justify himself.

 

There are three things which I cannot understand:

the nature of God,

the cause of my election, and

how divinity and humanity constitute one person.

 

There are three things which I should often think of:

what I have been,

what I now am, and

what I shall be.

 

A threefold freedom is granted me:

from the law of God,

from the reign of sin, and

to make use of, and enjoy the Lord Jesus.

 

I am an heir of three worlds:

the natural,

the spiritual, and

the eternal.

 

There are three things which will never grieve me:

that I have been poor in this world,

that I have preached the gospel fully, and

that I am related to Jesus Christ.

 

There are three things which comprise all I wish:

to know God, and glorify him,

to see Jesus, and be like him; and

to be united to the saints, and be eternally happy.

 

There are three things which shall never be heard by me:

Christ reproaching me,

God disowning me, and

the devils triumphing in my everlasting destruction.

 

There are three things which shall be eternally enjoyed by me:

the love of God,

the presence of Jesus, and

the company of the saints.

 

There are three things which will eternally delight me:

to be filled with holiness,

to be employed in praising Jehovah, and

to have gained a complete victory over all my foes.

 

There are three things which must come down:

the pride of men,

the devil's kingdom, and

the cause of error.

 

There are three things which will stand:

the house built on the Rock,

the purpose of God, and

the Messiah's kingdom.

 

There are three things which cannot be removed:

the church of God,

the covenant of grace, and

the kingdom we receive.

 

There are three things which will stand the fiery trial:

genuine faith,

the Word of God, and

a real Christian.

 

Lost sinners are like Satan in three things:

their nature,

their employment, and

their end.

 

Three things make Hell:

the wrath of God,

the stings of a guilty conscience, and

black despair.

 

Three things prove a man a Christian:

worshiping God in the spirit,

rejoicing in Christ Jesus, and

having no confidence in the flesh.

 

Three things are never satisfied:

a doubting Christian,

a worldly miser, and

the man of pleasure.

 

Christ fills three offices:

a prophet — for the ignorant,

a priest — for the guilty, and

a king — for the depraved.

 

Christ has been in three states:

ancient glory,

deep humiliation, and

merited dignity.

 

What more shall I say!

 

If you, reader, are a sincere Christian — do three things daily:

search God's Word,

be much at God's throne, and

be diligent in God's work.

 

If you are an unconverted sinner — do three things immediately:

believe in the Lord Jesus Christ,

repent of every sin you have committed,

seek the witness and pledge of the Holy Spirit in your heart, so iniquity shall not be your ruin.

Walking through an old semi-abandoned National Heritage site in Cape Town we came accross a van with bottles filled with water and different colour dye. There was no-one around to explain why these bottles where here or their purpose. So it got me thinking about colour theraphy, Heres what I found. . .

 

Red

Red is a powerful colour that has always been associated with vitality and ambition. It can help overcome negative thoughts. However, it is also associated with anger; if we have too much red in our system, or around us, we may feel irritable, impatient, and uncomfortable.

 

Blue

Blue is a cool, calming colour and is associated with a higher part of the mind than yellow. It represents the night, so it makes us feel calm and relaxed as if we are being soothed by the deep blue of the night sky. Light and soft blue, make us feel quiet and protected from all the bustle and activity of the day, and alleviates insomnia. Blue inspires mental control, clarity, and creativity. Midnight blue has a strong sedative effect on the mind, allowing us to connect to our intuitive and feminine side. Too much dark blue can be depressing however.

 

Orange

Orange is a joyous colour. It frees and releases emotions and alleviates feelings of self-pity, lack of self worth, and unwillingness to forgive. It stimulates the mind, renewing interest in life; it is a wonderful anti-depressant and lifts the spirits.

 

Yellow

Yellow is also a happy, bright, and uplifting colour, a celebration of sunny days. It is associated with the intellectual side of the mind, and the expression of thoughts. It aids the powers of discernment and discrimination, memory and clear thinking, decision-making and good judgment. It helps good organization, assimilation of new ideas, and the ability to see different points of view. It builds self-confidence and encourages an optimistic attitude. Conversely, dull yellow can be the colour of fear

 

Green

Green has a strong affinity with nature, helping us connect with empathy to others and the natural world. We instinctively seek it out when under stress or experiencing emotional trauma. It creates a feeling of comfort, laziness and relaxation, calmness, and space, lessening stress, balancing and soothing the emotions. Lime green and olive green can have a detrimental effect on both physical and emotional health since sickly yellow and green are associated with the emotions of envy, resentment, and possessiveness.

 

View On Black

Dhaka Hazrat Shahjalal international airport...Bangladesh.First flight May 2001.Photo taken by Mr Andreas Fotopoulos.On Monday 12 March 2018 US-Bangla Airlines flight 211, a DHC-8-402, departed Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport, Dhaka, Bangladesh at 06:51 UTC on a scheduled flight to Tribhuvan International Airport, Kathmandu, Nepal.

Prior to departure, while in radio contact with Dhaka Ground Control and the airline's Operations department, the captain shows signs that he was agitated and experiencing high levels of stress. As the aircraft was in a climb phase, the captain overheard a communication between Operations and another US-Bangla aircraft regarding the fuel onboard but the captain without verifying whether the message was meant for him or not, engaged in some unnecessary conversation with the Operations staff. The Captain's vocal pitch and language used again indicated that he was very much emotionally disturbed and experiencing high level of stress.

The aircraft established its first contact with Kathmandu Control at 07:52 UTC. At 08:07 the First Officer contacted Kathmandu Control and requested descent clearance. Kathmandu Control cleared the flight to descend to FL160 with an estimated approach time of 08:26 which was acknowledged by the First Officer. At 08:10 the flight was handed over to Kathmandu Approach. At 08:11, Kathmandu Approach instructed the aircraft to descend to 13500 feet and hold over GURAS. The crew inserted the HOLD in the Flight Management System.

At 08:13 Kathmandu Approach further instructed the aircraft to reduce its speed and descend to 12500 feet. Three minutes later a further descent clearance was given to 11500 feet, and the flight was cleared for a VOR approach to runway 02 maintaining minimum approach speed. Both crew members forgot to cancel the hold on the FMS as they were engaged in some unnecessary conversation.

Upon reaching GURAS, the aircraft turned left to enter the holding pattern over GURAS, which was noticed by both crew members and immediately the captain made a correction. At the same time they were alerted by Approach Control. The captain immediately selected a heading of 027° which was just 5° of interception angle to intercept the desired radial of 202° inbound to KTM. The spot wind recorded was westerly at 28kt. The aircraft continued approach on heading mode and crossed radial 202° at 7 DME of KTM VOR. The aircraft then continued on the same heading of 027° and deviated to the right of the final approach course.

Having deviated to the right of the final approach path, the aircraft reached about 2-3 NM North east of the KTM VOR and continued to fly further northeast. At 08:27, Kathmandu Tower (TWR) alerted the crew that the landing clearance was given for runway 02 but the aircraft was proceeding towards runway 20. At 08:29, Tower Controller asked the crew of their intention to which the captain replied that they would be landing on runway 02. The aircraft then made an orbit to the right. The Controller instructed the aircraft to join downwind for runway 02 and report when sighting another Buddha Air aircraft which was already on final for runway 02. The aircraft instead of joining downwind leg for runway 02, continued on the orbit to the right on a westerly heading towards Northwest of runway 20. The controller instructed the aircraft to remain clear of runway 20 and continue to hold at the present position as the Buddha Air aircraft was landing on runway 02 (from the opposite side) at that time. After the landing of the Buddha Air aircraft, the Tower Controller, at 08:32 UTC gave a choice to BS211 to land either on runway 20 or 02 but the aircraft again made an orbit to the right, this time northwest of runway 20.

While continuing with the turn through a southeastern direction, the captain reported that he had the runway in sight and requested tower for clearance to land. The Tower Controller cleared the aircraft to land but when the aircraft was still turning for the runway it approached very close to the threshold of runway 20 on a westerly heading and not aligned with the runway. At 08:33:27 UTC, spotting the aircraft maneuvering at very close proximity to the ground and not aligned with the runway, the Tower Controller hurriedly cancelled the landing clearance of the aircraft by saying, "Takeoff clearance cancelled".

Within the next 15-20 seconds, the aircraft pulled up in westerly direction and with very high bank angle turned left and flew over the western area of the domestic apron, continued on a southeasterly heading past the ATC Tower and further continued at a very low height, flew over the domestic southern apron area and finally attempted to align with the runway 20 to land.

During this process, while the aircraft was turning inwards and momentarily headed towards the control tower, the tower controllers ducked down out of fear that the aircraft might hit the tower building. Missing the control tower, when the aircraft further turned towards the taxi track aiming for the runway through a right reversal turn, the tower controller made a transmission by saying, "BS 211, I say again...". At 08:34 UTC the aircraft touched down 1700 meters down the threshold with a bank angle of about 15 degrees and an angle of about 25 degrees with the runway axis (approximately heading Southeast) and to the left of the center line of runway 20, then veered southeast out of the runway through the inner perimeter fence along the rough down slope and finally stopped about 442 meters southeast from the first touchdown point on the runway. All four crew members (2 cockpit crew and 2 cabin crew) and 45 out of the 67 passengers onboard the aircraft were killed in the accident. Two more passengers succumbed to injury later in hospital during course of treatment. The aircraft caught fire after 6 seconds of touchdown which engulfed major portions of the aircraft.

An investigation into the captain's behaviour showed that he had history of depression while serving in the Bangladesh Air Force in 1993 and was removed from active duty after evaluation by a psychiatrist. He was re-evaluated by a psychiatrist in January 2002 and was declared to be fit for flying. Examinations in successive annual medical checks were not focused on his previous

medical condition of depression, possibly because this was not declared in the self-declaration form for annual medicals.

During the flight the captain was irritable, tensed, moody, and aggressive at various times. He was smoking during the flight, contrary to company regulations. He also used foul language and abusive words in conversation with the junior female first officer. He was engaged in unnecessary conversation during the approach, at a time when sterile cockpit rules were in force.

The captain seemed very unsecure about his future as he had submitted resignation from this company, though only verbally. He said he did not have any job and did not know what he was going to do for living.From 71 passengers/crew 51 people were killed.Aircraft was written off.

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I had a fantastic time in Waikiki with Florence... the accommodations weren't what I expected, nevertheless I very thankfully enjoyed the opportunity to just be with Florence and enjoy our time together...

I enjoyed every minute of our time together...

 

we had been writing and sending tapes to each other and we both were excited to meet each other on our honeymoon... delayed perhaps, but I saw this as a first of many new places we'd get a chance to explore...

 

I was thrilled to be in Hawaii on R&R with Florence on our honeymoon.

I didn't know that Florence was seeing the time as a test to see whether she wanted to stay married or not to me, with me... ..a honeymoon and time to deterimine whether she wanted to stay married... a trial...

I wasn't aware of this...just didn't know...

 

later when I returned home to Arcadia Fla from Vietnam, she told me she wanted a divorce... had been wanting to be free for months..

I asked if perhaps we could work on our marriage, to at least try to make it work...

not just give up without trying...

she told me that was what she had been doing when we were in Hawaii and that she had decided that it was over with for her before we had left Hawaii..

 

I was clueless, my not knowing what was going on with Florence,

 

at first we were enthusiastic, eager, and ecstatic with each other.. we had to process thru the R&R center, rented an English Ford, and went to our apartment...

I would look at her and she would be looking at me giggling and laughing, enjoying just being with each other..

we were 'new' with each other again but sexually charged... we both were excited and anticipatory, we were glad to be with each other..

or so she seemed to me for the first few days....

I know I loved every second of that time being with her... good while it lasted...

 

several days later we started getting used to each other again, memories returning.. our behavior synchronizing..

in hindsight I should have seen she was ready to leave but was making the best of the situation...

dull headaches, tired, jet lag, irritable on a few occasions... give me some space grumping..

 

from Arcadia to Waikiki...??? with a gorgeous and sexy woman... heck yeah...

 

there wasn't anything I could have done differently... neither could she have...

in hindsight our marriage was over before Hawaii, when she started thinking she didn't love me...

rationally we only love as long as we choose to love... as long as we keep looking for ways to love rather than for reasons not to love...

when items under the list "dislike/hate" outnumber the items under the list of "like/love", the relationship becomes unstable, incongruent, and desolves the emotional attachments in the relationship... as her thinking and beliefs changed, she changed...

 

I did a lot of changing and thinking too...

I learned a lot...

  

(Jabiim, an hour and a half after troop drop on the ground)

 

Jabiim, one of the most miserable planets to vacation at. Not because of the muddy terrains or rocky areas, but because of the constant rain that always poured down onto the planet. It always made it a miserable and irritable climate to stay on. It hardly ever brings sunshine for a good week, nor does it get any nice temperatures at those times around.

 

Though, that's what Commander Kydan Witress thought.

 

During the constant fire blasts and explosions in front and around him, he couldn't stop thinking of Jabiim any less than Kamino itself. Sure, both planets were actually nice and pretty at times, but at most times, BOTH planets always rained and rarely ever stopped. It was considerably miserable and irritable. He didn't like another second of the planet.

 

Even though he kept thinking how miserable it was here, that didn't deteriorate from his focus of the battle at hand. His shots and defences were precise and made sure not to make a single mistake on the battlefield.

 

Not alone in the fight, he fought along side his Jedi partner, Calena Irune, who was leading the entire assault, wielding her blue saber as she easily and smoothly delfected the droid's gunfire. Gunning from behind were Commanders Breona and Patterns, along with a battalion of the 117th Legion, all gunning down droid after droid, as well as the enemy Jabiimis who allied themselves with their notorious Jabiimi Nationlists leader, Alto Stratus.

 

These clones were the perfect soldiers for this battle. They have all trained under heavy terrains back on Kamino and have proven themselves that they were the best that were still yet to come. They are the greatest soldiers in the Galactic Republic history. So focused on what he was doing, Kydan was snapped out of his trance of thoughts when he heard Calena shouting out to him.

 

Calena- "Kydan, get your head down now!"

 

Just at the nick of time, dropping to the ground on his stomach, a missle launcher shot from behind flew pass him, just a foot away from his body. It flew right into the last portion of droids in the front, depleting each and every last one. With that, all the droids were completely wiped out in their sector.

 

Picking himself up from the ground, now soaked and muddy, he turned his gaze to Calena who looked irritated at him.

 

Kydan- "What?"

Calena- "Couldn't you hear me earlier merc boy?!"

Kydan- "Not with all the constant shooting and what not...no, not really."

 

Marching right up to him, she stood right in his face, now more fustrated than before. He figured that he had said the wrong answer now, and felt quite proud of himself. He just "loved" to get her angry time to time.

 

Calena- "Another second or so if I didn't snap you out of your own thoughts, you would have a giant hole in the back and front of your thick skulled head! Next time, when I say 'get down', you get down! Understand?!"

Kydan- "Actually, in my defence, what I heard was, and I quote, 'Kydan, get your head down now!' before hearing the gun shot from behind. So technically, you didn't say "get down" at all."

 

That little defence made her even more angry. And yet, he was right about that. But she wasn't gonna tell him that. She wasn't gonna let Kydan be the good guy around here. It was pretty much all his fault anyway.

 

Calena- *Growls in fustration* "You are so annoying Kydan, you know that?!

Kydan- *Smirks* "Exactly how, princess?"

 

Now that comment did it. Turning around and glaring at him with daggers, she clutched her fists tightly, ready to beat him up to a pulp if she had to. Which she would.

 

Calena- "I'LL SHOW YOU HOW, YOU SON OF A--"

Pattern- "Uh, genereal?"

 

Calena whipped her head around quickly and snapped at her own commanding officer who was considerably cautious at that moment before being scared half to death.

 

Calena- "WHAT?!"

 

Taking off gaurd and by suprise, Pattern straighten himself before continuing with a softer voice than before. At that moment, he was just scared as hell by his own general, even if he was a captain.

 

Patterns- "U-Uh... G-General Kenobi is contacting us, m-ma'am."

 

Taking a minute to calm down, she blew out some of her stressing air as she takes the comm from Pattern when he presented it to her before turning her head back to Kydan, glaring straight at him deadly.

 

Calena- "I'll deal with you later, jungle boy."

 

Walking back towards the inner defences, Breona and Patterns walk up to Kydan who was a bit bewildered and confused all at once.

 

Breona- "Nice going there, sir."

Kydan- "What the bloody hygerri did I do? I was listening to her exact orders!"

Patterns- "Yes, but you crossed the line calling her 'princess', sir. You of all people know that she hates being called that."

Kydan- "Can't blame me for saying the truth. She is a princess... and a bloody vicious one to say as well."

Breona- "That, we can all agree on commander."

_________________________

 

Few hours later, now evening time on Jabiim, whoever could tell due to the constant raining, the 117th made a small outpost for the time being until moving out the next morning. On Jabiim, the fights lasted for quite a long time, considering that Battle Droids don't sleep. It just made it harder for both the clones, Jedi and Jabiimi loyalists to keep up with the enemy.

 

Many of the clones were resting after the battle, but Calena didn't feel like sleeping. Sure, she was exhausted and stiffed from all the battles recently, but she ddin't have time to rest. Not when the Separatist Army could come and wipe them all out in their sleep. She sat on one of the folded chairs staring straight at the computers that was used for tactical advantages and news reports from the forward fronts.

 

Calena- *Sighs* "This is gonna one of those long weeks...I can already tell..."

Voice- "You could say that again."

 

Widening her eyes a bit, she turned around and saw Kydan holding some type of coffee in hsi hand. She just scowled at him and turned her attention back to the computer screen. She was still furiated with his actions earlier, and she was not in the mood to argue with him.

 

Kydan- "I can tell your still mad at me."

Calena *Sarcasm* "Gee, you don't say. While your at it, maybe you can put yourself in a body bag and send yourself back to Coruscant!"

 

Pulling up one of the stools next to her, he just sat there quietly as he placed the cup down before breaking the awkard tension around them.

 

Kydan- "Here..."

 

Glancing her eyes to the left, she saw him handing her something to drink.

 

Kydan- "I made you some coffee."

 

She just huffed out some air without a care. She was holding her patience as much as possible without losing it.

 

Calena- "No thanks. Coming from you, that's bad enough."

Kydan- "Your gonna need something to drink."

Calena- "I said I'm fine..."

Kydan- "Calena, please, just take the--"

 

Whipping her head directly at him, she got more irritable and fustrated with him now than earlier. She got to the point that he was annoying her to the very least.

 

Calena- "I SAID I'M FINE! I CAN HANDLE MYSELF! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE YOU GEWURAI!"

_________________________

 

(AU: 'Gewurai'; meaning 'idiot' or 'nerf-herder')

_________________________

 

An awkard silence fell between them. Kydan didn't even flinch or feel suprise about Calena's sudden outburst at him. He fully knew why. But he also knew that she was extremely exhausted and tired, from the lack of sleep she had received. Waiting for another few seconds, he spoke back to her softly.

 

Kydan- "...You are exhausted Calena, and we both know that a clear head will help us win this battle. Not sleeping or resting is one of those obstacles that keeps us from doing that. I was only offering you a drink because of those facts."

 

Standing up from his chair, he starts to walk back to his bunk when he looks over his shoulder.

 

Kydan- "If you change yor mind, however, the coffee is right there. Chisera hifuri."

_________________________

 

(AU: 'Chisera hifuri; meaning 'pleasent dreams')

_________________________

 

With that, he walked back towards his sleeping area, leaving Calena alone to have some peace and quiet.

 

She turned her attention back to the computer screen while she started to glance over to the coffee cup that sat on the table beside her. Why would he give her a drink? He knew very well that she could handle herself without any assistance. She was capable enough to fight this battle on her own without him. It was still hard to understand why Obi-Wan had placed her with him at all. She thought that he was pulling her leg to say the least. If he was, it was definetely working.

 

However, after a few minutes, she was now just glancing at the coffee cup rather than the computer screen in front of her. She really couldn't figure out why he gave her a drink. Perhaps he was just buttering up to her to get her mad again after she accepted the drink. She fully knew now that he was a complete idiot then.

 

But that didn't mean that she wasn't gonna stop staring at the coffee cup beside her.

 

Huffing out some air, she directly looks at the coffee cup beside her and reaches over to take it. If he was just gonna leave it there, why leave it to waste? But, then again, he probably did something to it without her even knowing. It could have been a prank, one where she would actually beat him to a pulp without any mercy.

 

Staring down at the coffee cup for a moment or so, she sighed in defeat.

 

Calena- "He better not done anything to it. I'll beat him if he did."

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a small sip of the coffee, ready to spit it out form the grossness and smell that Kydan mixed it with.

 

But, suprisingly and shocking to her, the coffee actually tasted delicious! She hadn't taste something like that for so long, maybe ever since one of her earlier missions when she was a Padawan. Giving off a small smile, she took a regular drink from it as she tried to savor the moment while it lasted.

 

For once in his darn life, Calena thought that he did something good for a change. But she wouldn't dare tell him that. Why risk it when she could just tell him that it was okay? Simple as that.

 

Unknown to her, however, watching from a close distance, Kydan was sitting on his bunk fiddling with his CC-29 "Magna" Pistol he had made a few months back before seeing Calena enjoying the coffee he made her. Giving off a smirk, he drew his attention back towards his weapon.

 

Kydan- *In his mind* Well, at least she drinking it. That's a good start.

_________________________

 

(Jabiim, twenty one days after Battle of Jabiim had begun)

 

It seemed that the Republic forces were on the verge of victory. Recently, for the past week or so, Republic forces were abel to conquer over a dozen enemy defensive positions, drving the remaining Separatist and Jabiimi forces back. With those sectors secured, they were now able to make plans on capturing the main Separatist base and their leader, Alto Stratus.

 

But, the Republic didn't know what Stratus' true intentions were before it was too late.

 

Stratus had held his main forces back for quite sometime as he waited for the Republic forces to be further away from Shelter Base, the main headquarters of both the Republic and Jabiimi Loyalists. With the base vulnerable, Stratus issued a full out attack on Shelter Base, leaving the remaining Republic forces that were left at the base almost defencless. Stratus' forces were abel to inflict heavy casualties, with the assumption of killing two main Jedi Generals with the most part of Padawans that were there as well. The Republic was now at the brink of loose communications and tactical plans.

 

With the Shelter Base now heavily beaten, Kydan, Calena, Breona, Patterns and the remaining forces of the 117th were left to fend off for themselves. They were just heading towards the next sector to take a firm hold until any remaining reinforcements arrived. But, unknown to them at the time, they were quickly ambushed by Separatist Forces, leaving over a dozen Republic troops killed in the first attack.

 

As Kydan, Breona, Patterns and the 117th troops stood their grounds to keep a firm hold on their current positions, Calena was just speaking to Master Leska, now the new high-ranking General of the entire forces of Jabiim after the attack on Shelter Base. However, Kydan nor Calena knew anything about the attack, so whatever news Leska was giving them, it took them all off guard.

 

Calena- "What?! Shelter Base was attacked?!"

Leska- *Comm* "Correct! It appears that Stratus was luring us all out of Shelter Base so he could hit us without our knowledge! We suffered heavy losses, including many Jedi!"

Calena- "Who did we lose?!"

 

Not hearing a single word out of Leska for a moment left Calena pondering very deeply. What had happened at Shelter Base? Who did they lose that she wouldn't even respond to her question?

 

Calena- "Master Leska?"

Leska- *Comm* "...Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Master Sirrus were both killed in action after an attempt of rescuing survivors inside a damaged AT-AT Walker. I am now currently the highest ranking officer and leading command of the entire forces on Jabiim."

 

Calena didn't repsond at that moment. Did she really here her right? Was Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of her dearest and best friends, die at Shelter Base?

 

Calena- "...Master Kenobi is... dead?"

Leska- *Comm* "I'm sorry Calena, but the reports are accurate. Obi-Wan was caught in the explosion inside the AT-AT to save lives. There were no survivors in the wreckage."

 

Her heart suddenly dropped, smashed into tiny pieces. Her best friend, her favorite mentor, her family, was dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead. Of all the Jedi that she knew, she couldn't believe that Obi-Wan would die so suddenly. She loved him as a father, but now he was gone.

 

Sensing shock and sadness in Calena, Kydan withdrew his hold on the front, leaving Breona and Patterns to take the frontal assault, and ran back towards her to see what the problem was. Before he could even ask her, she just saw her with a sad and grim face with a few tears running down her cheeks. Something bad must have happen. And it didn't sound or look good.

 

Kydan- "Calena? What's wrong?"

 

With tears in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, including from the downpour, she looks up to him and tries to choke up her words. Out of everyone she knew, she didn't want to cry in front of him. That was the last thing she had in mind. She knew very well that she would be teased after all of this because she cried. Because she cried and mourned for her oldest best friend.

 

Clearing her throat, she looks directly at him, not able to hold her small sobs.

 

Calena- "...S-Shelter Base was... annihilated..."

Kydan- "What? What do you mean?!"

Calena- "Stratus...issued a direct attack on the base...we lose a third of our forces...and Jedi..."

Kydan- "Who did we lose?"

 

Not replying to his comment, he grew a bit impatient but still remained calm.

 

Kydan- "Calena, who did we lose?"

 

Still no word from her left her trembling lips.

 

"Kydan- Calena--"

Calena- *Sobbing* "WE LOST OBI-WAN KENOBI! OBI-WAN! IS DEAD!"

 

Silence was only heard, followed by the constant sounds of the rain, gunfire and explosions around them. Kydan's face was competely frozen of shockness. Did he hear her right? General Obi-Wan Kenobi...was dead?

 

Kydan- "...What?"

 

Before another was spoken, a large explosion appeared in front of them both, sending them both flying backwards across the muddy terrain. Whoever else was by them were already killed, concluding that they too must have died from the explosion.

 

The last thing they both seen and heard was the continuation of the battle and rain. However, they last saw Commander Breona and Captain Patterns retreating from their positon with the last handful of their soldiers.

 

Patterns- "Fall back! Fall back! We're outmatched!"

Breona- "No! We need to save them! They could still be alive!"

Patterns- "No time! We have to go now! All units, retreat! Fall back to Outpost Nine! FALL BACK!"

_________________________

  

What did you guys think of this one? We like to make sure that the characters don't intentionally interfere with the protagonists. Don't need them changing the future of the movies or stories anyways lol. Anyhow, this was a fun build to do. We had taken some time going over the planet's terrains and such to kind of get the image of what the planet was really like. I know there isn't much green grass everywhere, and we would have love to use a yellow tanish grass, but was lacking on those supplies as well. And since we didn't really have time, we just kinda went with it. So hopefully it wasn't too big of a fail, but we'll leave it to you guys to answer that for me.

 

So again, thank you all for your wonderful support for the series, and please, continue to give us your feedback on how the story is going and what we could do to approve on. Also, to quickly note, we have reached over 16.7K, 86 favorites and 47 followers within a little over a week tops. The CGN crew and I all want to thank you all for getting us to this point of time. Without any of you guys being here, we would never be at this point of time. So thank you all, you guys are really the best! And on that note, have a fan-tucking-tastic day/night! See ya' in the next one.

 

- Director K.W., CGN Crew Members

On Sunday, my sister and her husband met up with us for lunch and for a Christmas present swap! Unfortunately Tim didn't join us cos he wasn't feeling up to it. When I'm giving him his injections (to treat neutropenia - low white blood cells - that is caused by cancer medicines) he feels pain in his bones from time to time and an irritable bowel (all very normal)

==Greendale Community College==

 

Day 15

 

Flannegan was moving through the hall, a paintball gun in his hand; at his side was Pierce Hawthorne, dressed in an ill fitting Captain America costume. As two equally gaudily dressed students lunged towards them, Flannegan fired his gun at them in quick succession, splattering them both in yellow paint. As they ran out the door, paint dribbling down their clothes, Flannegan smirked. 'Idiots, Never been in a real fight in their lives.'

 

Just a couple of hours ago, it had been just like any other day at Greendale; loud and grating. Then, early that morning, Pelton announced a paintball tournament (something of an annual tradition here at this circus apparently) and that, was when everything changed. The students devolved into savages, each of them obsessing over the coveted prize; a few measly tickets to the next Marvel film. Donning the costumes of their favourite fictional do-gooders, they went to war with each other; The screams of the downed rang out all across the grounds, and the hallways ran red with... well, paint. Red paint.

 

But that wasn't the worst of it; Blake had been taken out by a stray pellet, while Brown had joined up with the rest of that diverse squad of morons, determined to quell the fighting. Softie. And as for Mayo? Mayo, Flannegan reasoned, was quite likely dead, having probably swallowed a gallon of white paint thinking it was milk, the poor idiot. That, had left Flannegan stuck with Hawthorne. Ousted from his own group for some easily justifiable reason, he had eagerly joined Flannegan's faction and together, they roamed the halls in search of Noah Kuttler, who had disappeared at the start of the game, and hadn't been seen since, certain that he could give them the advantage in this fight.

 

Flannegan motioned to Hawthorne, and the pair darted around the corner for cover. Someone was approaching: someone who, judging by their humming, was a big fan of Michael Haggins. "Ba-da-da-daaa-da da da da-da. Ba-dada-daaaa-da. Da. Da. Da. Daaaa-daa," the voice of Abner Krill sang cheerily.

 

~

 

Standing guard outside the bathroom, Troy sighed as a group of red and blue clad players ran past him. "Everyone wants to be Spider-Man..." he said bitterly, looking down at his own identical costume. "I called dibs, why does no one else get that?"

 

"Hey, Guess who I found cowering in the women's room?" Britta asked, a black quiver strapped to her back, as she dragged the Dean by his ear, his face dripping in red paint.

 

"The Red Skull," Abed stated, twiddling the gold medallion around his neck, and fixing his red cloak. "Of course."

 

Chuck nodded, dismissing Abed's bizarre method acting. "Dean Pelton, always a pleasure."

 

"Charles," The Dean winked at him. "Jeffrey."

 

Jeff lowered his plastic shield, as he approached Pelton. "Let's skip the pleasantries, Dean, we know about the gun tags."

 

The Dean paused. "What gun tags?" he said extremely unconvincingly.

 

"How about the one Blake pulled out of his. Before your people had him shot?" Annie asked, waving the small chip in front of Pelton's face.

 

"Oh, those gun tags," he gulped. "I can explain. After last year's debacle, I diverted some of the school's budget into ensuring that could never happen again. I had each gun wired with a failsafe, an automatic disrupter that could turn the player's own guns against them. One that's networked to a four digit code. I would've been able to shut it down earlier but, well..." he gestured to his paint splattered face. "The ends justify the deans, you guys," he pleaded.

 

The group looked unconvinced. "Wait, is that why our toilet paper is one-ply?" Troy asked, aghast.

 

"Let's not get into that," the Dean said uneasily.

 

"Wow, you are Hydra," Abed said, shaking his head in saddened disillusion.

 

"Oh, can we stop with the Nazi comparisons, please?" Pelton protested. "The point is, I had the program saved to this USB. Even if someone decrypted the code, it'd be useless without this."

 

The study group huddled together. Annie's the first to speak. "We need that code. Keep it out of anyone else's hands."

 

Abed nodded. "I agree. Whoever owns that code, would own the game. No guns, no players. Game... over."

 

"So, what's the play, you guys?" Chuck asked. "This is your school."

 

Abed cleared his throat. "By watching all 23 Marvel movies, analysing their tropes, their plot devices, their third act CGI-filled final battles, I've been able to predict several possible outcomes."

 

"Really? 23?" Shirley asked, lowering her foam hammer. "And in how many did they win?"

 

...

 

"22. Though, if you consider Thor the Dark World as a cinematic failure, 21," Abed said, twiddling his fabric goatee.

 

"Pretty good odds," Britta said optimistically.

 

"True," Abed agreed. "But there are still several ways we could lose. Including one where Pierce goes feral and eats one of us. That one's got a pretty high probability."

 

"That may be true Abed, but I kept it very secure," The Dean said smugly.

 

"Is it my birthday?" Jeff asked flatly.

 

"Jeffrey-" the Dean began.

 

"Is it my birthday?" Jeff repeated.

 

"What you need to understand is, I'd do anything to protect this school and despite my fondness for-"

 

Jeff un-holstered his gun and aimed at Pelton's forehead.

 

"It's not your birthday Jeffrey!" Pelton shrieked, diving onto the floor. "It's... It's the day you enrolled here."

 

Jeff paused, turning back to the group. "How am I supposed to know that?"

 

"The Dean's computer," Annie reasoned. "It'll have all the student details on there."

 

"And that's all I needed to hear," a voice called out.

 

Chuck's eyes widened as he tilted his head towards their opponent. "Mayo? Mitch, you're still in the game?"

 

"And winning, last I checked. Guess condiment weaponry has its perks after all," he smiled, licking the barrel of his 'Sauce Spreader.' "Unregistered too," he stated, waving the gun at the assembly.

 

"Woah, careful there, Mitch. This suit isn't machine washable," Chuck said cautiously, "Let's put the gun down."

 

"I don't think so, Kite-Man. I finally found something I'm good at. I can't just throw that away. Now get in the corner, all of you: When my work is done here, I will hold condiminion over all."

 

"Yeah, let's not get ahead of ourselves, they're cinema tickets," Jeff stated.

 

"That means you too, Hammerhead. Yours is a target not easily missed."

 

Jeff nodded and joined the others in the corner.

 

"Of course! I'm an idiot: Mayo's still got Fearless in him!" Chuck realised, cursing himself for his oversight.

 

"And for those of us who don't speak Supervillain, Fearless is-?" Britta asked.

 

"Ah... How to explain... Have you, uh, ever been high before?" Chuck asked.

 

"Ha! No!" Britta laughed.

 

"Yes," Shirley spoke up, glaring at her. "She has."

 

"Well, it's a lot like that... Tears down inhibitions and the like. Less munchies though."

 

"Woah, Fearless sounds awesome," Troy said.

 

"Oh, it is, kid," Mayo smirked. "It really is... But if you don't mind, I'll be taking that drive now."

 

Pelton nodded nervously and presented the thumb drive to Mayo, who quickly stuffed it down his white y-fronts, and with a sadistic smile, opened fire at the group. Jeff blocked his attack with the shield, but Abed, Annie, Britta, Shirley and Troy were not so fortunate. His work done, Mayo waved goodbye to Chuck, and ran down the hallway, victorious.

 

"Why the hell did you give it to him?" Jeff complained.

 

"He had a gun, Jeffrey!" the Dean sniffled.

 

"That fires paint and condiments!"

 

Abed stood in front of Pelton. "I'm sorry, Jeff," he spoke. "There was no other way."

 

"There were several ways!"

 

The only other survivor, Chuck rose to his feet, and grabbed the nearest paint cartridge. "I gotta get after him," he said tiredly. "Talk him down, maybe."

 

"Chuck, wait," Annie said. "It's as you said. If Fearless only enhances what's already inside. Maybe... Maybe Mayo is just a nut-job. Which, uh, not to be 'that guy,' but that would explain a lot."

 

"I can't believe that," Chuck shook his head. "I still have to try."

 

"Then... at least take this," Annie called out, unbuckling her weapon from her catsuit and tossing it to Chuck.

 

"Annie, is that a real gun?" Jeff asked.

 

She shook her head, "Taser."

 

...

 

"And? Your idea was, what, Jeff? Flaunt your abs?" she asked irritably.

 

"Well? Was it?" The Dean inquired.

 

~-~

 

Krill sauntered into the room. "Hello Otis. Hello... Dick Cheney? Weird. Is he with you?"

 

"Gonna kill him if I say yes?" Flannegan asked, his eyes narrowed.

 

"Now, wait a minute-" Pierce interjected.

 

"gONnA kIlLL hIM iF i SaY yeS? Uh-doy!" Krill joked, tossing an orange fireball in the air.

 

"Then yes," Flannegan said.

 

At this, Pierce put a hand to his chest, as though he were having a heart attack and collapsed on the floor.

 

"Huh," Krill mused. "Guess some things do just take care of themselves. Krilliant."

 

"Did you just-" Otis began.

 

"Let's not speak of that."

 

As the two vanished into a bright portal, Pierce opened a single eye, and once he was sure the coast was clear, ran out of the building.

 

~-~

 

Dressed in his full Firebug garb, Rigger climbed through the window into the Dean's office, loud air-raid-like sirens blaring in the distance. "I'm in," he spoke into his walkie talkie, cautiously scanning the room. "Place is a mess," he noted, looking at the array of spilled papers and the askew cupboard door. "Think maybe a fight broke out here."

 

"Just get to the computer," the voice on the other end said impatiently. Gar's.

 

Rigger obeyed, and turned on the monitor in the center of the room. "Jeez, this guy is into some weird crap," he noted, as he scrolled through the Dean's search history.

 

"Focus, Rig. Can you find Chuck?"

 

"Give me a mo, Gar... Huh, looks like all paintball guns have been fitted with some kind of tracker... If I can access those, I should be able to... There; picking up a faint signal from Chuck's gun tag; The library building. It looks like Otis is in the music room right now. Seems Kuttler's somewhere in the science building and Mayo's steadily making his way across the quad. And I've got nothing on Blake. Huh, that's odd," he paused.

 

"What?" Gar asked.

 

"Otis' signal went blank for a moment, then it reappeared on the other side on the other side of the campus. Like he was-"

 

"So? Maybe his gun glitched out or something," Gar theorised.

 

"Yeah, yeah maybe."

 

There was a moment's silence, then Reardon spoke. "Wait, our Mayo? He's still active?" he asked in amazement.

 

"More than active, he's a machine! Looks like he's taken out half the school," Rigger remarked. He was unfocused, his eyes drawn to a slightly ajar closet on the far right.

 

"Rig? You still with us?" Gar asked.

 

"Yeah, just got some kinda costume closet here, kinda weird."

 

"Hey, you don't think he could be King of Cats in disguise, do you?" Drury interjected, his voice ringing out from the walkie talkie.

 

"Nah, I don't think that's a problem," Rigger said. "The Dean likes dogs," he declared, pulling out a Dalmatian onesie from out of the closet.

 

"He really likes dogs."

 

"Still, you never know. He could be a supervillian." Drury pondered.

 

"Nah," Rigger said hesitantly. "I wouldn't go that far." He paused, as he stuck his hand deeper into the closet. "No, wait, I spoke too soon, there is also a cat costume in here. I repeat, there is also a cat costume in here."

 

"Describe it," Drury said cautiously.

 

Rigger handled the black lingerie and headband, and swallowed. "Slutty."

 

"I mean, he still could be King of-"

 

"Drury, let it go," Gar advised. "Rig, see if you can't patch us through to Chuck."

 

"I'm on it. Chuck, can you hear me? It's Joey," he spoke into his second walkie talkie with increasing desperation. "Chuck? Chuck?"

 

"Joe-? Am I glad to hear your voice," Chuck spoke at last.

 

"And likewise, bud. I'm gonna patch you through to Drury now. That alright?"

 

"Drury?" Chuck sounded out of breath. "Yeah, sure, put him on."

 

"Chuck!" Drury cried out. "What's going on out there? It looks like the Asylum on pizza day."

 

"It's mental, Drury. Students are going crazy over those movie tickets! It's only Black Widow!"

 

"Hey, wait, what're you trying to say?" Rigger asked defensively, taking control of the walkie talkies again.

 

"I'm just saying, her story is over. Any supplementary material simply isn't needed."

 

"That's why it's called supplementary, Chuck," Rigger said, as though his point had been made.

 

"Can we focus please?" Chuck asked tiredly.

 

"Oh, no," Rigger retorted. "Let's 'focus' on you and your apparent hatred of the MCU."

 

"I didn't say hatred, did I say hatred? I like Thor, I like Thor 2-"

 

"THOSE ARE THE WORST ONES."

 

"It- it doesn't matter- It's Mayo, he's gone mad," Chuck explained.

 

...

 

"Well, madder" he added. "He's gone into a frenzy like the rest of them. Suppose he thinks that if he wins... I dunno..."

 

Gar frowned. "Look, I've dealt with Mayo before and I can deal with him again. I'll go down there and-"

 

"That's a no-go, Gar, the rules of paintball assassin are... actually pretty vague, but one thing's clear, we have to do it alone."

 

Drury's voice filled with panic. "Let me help-"

 

"No, he's right Drury. If we take part, we compromise the game's integrity, leaving us with a lot of very angry college students," Reardon advised. "Best thing we can do is to just... wait it out."

 

"But I can enroll in a class, I always meant to take home economics!" he stammered.

 

"Drury!"

 

He sighed. "Get out of there, Rig."

 

"You sure? I can still-"

 

"Get out of there," Drury repeated.

 

"Affirmative," Joey nodded, as he headed back towards the window, then immediately recoiled: Staring back at him was an old, balding white man, paintball gun in hand, his eyes narrowing as he examined Joey closely.

 

"Troy?" Pierce asked.

 

Rigger looked back at him, frowned, and then slammed the window and drew the blinds shut. "Great, and now the racists are back."

View On White

 

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

May is Better Sleep Month

 

The aim of Better Sleep Month is to encourage people to establish better sleeping patterns. Refreshing sleep is of huge importance when staying healthy. Better Sleep Month is supported by the Better Sleep Council which aims to raise awareness about the benefits of better sleep and how poor sleep can disrupt our lives. As with diet and exercise, sleep is crucial to our physical, emotional, and mental health.

 

Inadequate sleep can lead to an increase in blood pressure and stress hormone production. Stress can elevate blood pressure, and studies have shown where heart attack and stroke are well documented risks of high blood pressure. The body can become stressed when it does not get enough sleep.

 

The consequences of poor sleep include reduced concentration, mood swings, irritability, stress, and a weakened immune system, in other words, “grouchiness”! The release of stress hormones can also make it harder to sleep, perpetuating an unhealthy sleep cycle.

 

In severe cases, poor sleep may be linked to serious problems including narcolepsy, insomnia, restless leg syndrome, diabetes, and sleep apnea. Better Sleep Month helps to make more people aware of these problems. Advice from a suitable health professional should be sought if any of these consequences are experienced.

 

Worries such as elder care, childcare, family conflicts, problems with personal relationships, financial concerns, job or career responsibilities, and other anxieties can all interrupt healthy sleep patterns. Physical factors which can affect sleep include pain, excess sweating, need to urinate, noise (including snoring by a bed partner), and light levels.

 

Gender can also play a role in sleep disturbance. Michael Breus, Ph.D author of 'Beauty Sleep: Look Younger, Lose Weight, and Feel Great Through Better Sleep', believes that women are generally more sleep deprived than man.

 

Further factors which disrupt sleep include excitement, depression, anxiety, and caffeine intake close to bed time. Environmental factors include room temperature, light levels, humidity, bedding, and noise, whether it is indoors from furnaces or air conditioning or family and pets, or exterior such as traffic noises, machinery from industry, or emergency vehicles—and we may have to include the noisy neighbors or their barking pets!

 

How can you achieve better sleep?

In many cases, better sleep can be achieved through changes to our lifestyle and the way we think about things. Better Sleep Month helps to make people aware of any poor sleeping habits we may have.

 

Counseling can help address any personal problems which are causing stress. There are also relaxation techniques that may be taught to counteract the effects of stress.

 

There is recent evidence which suggests achieving better quality sleep may be more important that increasing the number of hours sleep. The National Sleep Council, which supports Better Sleep Month, have reported that people who sleep between 6 and 7 hours a night actually live longer than those who sleep for 8 hours.

  

Some ways to get better quality sleep include:

Establish a consistent sleep schedule by sleeping at the same time each day of the week (including weekends).

Relax before sleeping. Prior to sleep, limit any stimulating activities such as exercise and work. Perform activities that you may find relaxing such as reading.

Create an optimal sleeping environment. Your place of sleep should be dark, ventilated and of an appropriate temperature. Black out blinds can help seal out light in area. If possible, remove any distractions such as computers and TVs from the room.

Limit how you use your cellphone if it is kept by your bedside. If you do use your cellphone, restrict it for use as a back-up alarm clock.

Ensure your bedding is of adequate quality and there is enough space in the bed if you share the bed with a partner (or a pet!).

Avoid alcohol, nicotine, and caffeine close to bed time. Whilst alcohol may help some people to relax, it can disrupt sleep throughout the night.

 

The ‘tripod’ of good health consists of three legs: Good nutrition, including the medications that are prescribed by your doctor; healthy exercise, and sleep. These three, when kept in balance, will provide optimum health conditions. If any of these three are lacking or are out of balance, your health will also be out of balance. It takes time, determination, and commitment to restore your body to good health.

 

Bedtime meditation is also helpful in calming the spirit and preparing for rest and sleep. “In peace I will both lie down and sleep, for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety” (Psalm 4:8).

 

And it always helps if your teddy bear is by your bedside!

 

Bipolar disorder, previously known as manic depression, is a mood disorder characterized by periods of depression and periods of abnormally-elevated mood that last from days to weeks each. A self-disorder, also called ipseity disturbance, is a psychological phenomenon of disruption or diminishing of a person's sense of minimal (or basic) self-awareness. The precise mechanisms that cause bipolar disorder are not well understood. Bipolar disorder is thought to be associated with abnormalities in the structure and function of certain brain areas responsible for cognitive tasks and the processing of emotions. A neurologic model for bipolar disorder proposes that the emotional circuitry of the brain can be divided into two main parts. The ventral system (regulates emotional perception) includes brain structures such as the amygdala, insula, ventral striatum, ventral anterior cingulate cortex, and the prefrontal cortex. The dorsal system (responsible for emotional regulation) includes the hippocampus, dorsal anterior cingulate cortex, and other parts of the prefrontal cortex.The model hypothesizes that bipolar disorder may occur when the ventral system is overactivated and the dorsal system is underactivated.Other models suggest the ability to regulate emotions is disrupted in people with bipolar disorder and that dysfunction of the ventricular prefrontal cortex (vPFC) is crucial to this disruption.

 

If the elevated mood is severe or associated with psychosis, it is called mania; if it is less severe, it is called hypomania. During mania, an individual behaves or feels abnormally energetic, happy or irritable, and they often make impulsive decisions with little regard for the consequences.[5] There is usually also a reduced need for sleep during manic phases.[5] During periods of depression, the individual may experience crying and have a negative outlook on life and poor eye contact with others.[ The risk of suicide is high; over a period of 20 years, 6% of those with bipolar disorder died by suicide, while 30–40% engaged in self-harm. Other mental health issues, such as anxiety disorders and substance use disorders, are commonly associated with bipolar disorder. The sense of minimal self refers to the very basic sense of having experiences that are one's own; it has no properties, unlike the more extended sense of self, the narrative self, which is characterized by the person's reflections on themselves as a person, things they like, their identity, and other aspects that are the result of reflection on one's self. Disturbances in the sense of minimal self, as measured by the Examination of Anomalous Self-Experience (EASE), aggregate in the schizophrenia spectrum disorders, to include schizotypal personality disorder, and distinguish them from other conditions such as psychotic bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder. The minimal self has been likened to a "flame that enlightens its surroundings and thereby itself." Unlike the extended self, which is composed of properties such as the person's identity, the person's narrative, and other aspects that can be gleaned from reflection, the minimal self has no properties, but refers to the "mine-ness" "given-ness" of experience, that the experiences are that of the person having them in that person's stream of consciousness. These experiences that are part of the minimal self are normally "tacit" and implied, requiring no reflection on the part of the person experiencing to know that the experience is theirs. The minimal self cannot be further elaborated and normally one cannot grasp it upon reflection. The minimal self goes hand-in-hand with immersion in the shared social world, such that "[t]he world is always pregiven, ie, tacitly grasped as a self-evident background of all experiencing and meaning." This is the self-world structure. De Warren gives an example of the minimal self combined with immersion in the shared social world: "When looking at this tree in my backyard, my consciousness is directed toward the tree and not toward my own act of perception. I am, however, aware of myself as perceiving this tree, yet this self-awareness (or self-consciousness) is not itself thematic."[5] The focus is normally on the tree itself, not on the person's own act of seeing the tree: to know that one is seeing the tree does not require an act of reflection. In the schizophrenia spectrum disorders, the minimal self and the self-world structure are "constantly challenged, unstable, and oscillating," causing anomalous self-experiences known as self-disorders. These involve the person feeling as if they lack an identity, as if they are not really existing, that the sense of their experiences being their own (the "mine-ness" of their experiential world) is failing or diminishing, as if their inner experiences are no longer private, and that they don't really understand the world. These experiences lead to the person engaging in hyper-reflectivity, or abnormally prolonged and intense self-reflection, to attempt to gain a grasp on these experiences, but such intense reflection may further exacerbate the self-disorders. Self-disorders tend to be chronic, becoming incorporated into the person's way of being and affecting "how" they experience the world and not necessarily "what" they experience. This instability of the minimal self may provoke the onset of psychosis. Similar phenomena can occur in other conditions, such as bipolar disorder and depersonalization disorder, but Sass's (2014) review of the literature comparing accounts of self-experience in various mental disorders shows that serious self-other confusion and "severe erosion of minimal self-experience" only occur in schizophrenia; as an example of the latter, Sass cites the autobiographical account of Elyn Saks, who has schizophrenia, of her experience of "disorganization" in which she felt that thoughts, perceptions, sensations, and even the passage of time became incoherent, and that she had no longer "the solid center from which one experiences reality", which occurred when she was 7 or 8 years old. This disturbance tends to fluctuate over time based on emotions and motivation, accounting for the phenomenon of dialipsis in schizophrenia, where neurocognitive performance tends to be inconsistent over time. The disturbance of the minimal self may manifest in people in various ways, including as a tendency to inspect one's thoughts in order to know what they are thinking, like a person seeing an image, reading a message, or listening closely to someone talking (audible thoughts; or in German: Gedankenlautwerden). In normal thought, the "signifier" (the images or inner speech representing the thought) and the "meaning" are combined into the "expression", so that the person "inhabits" their thinking, or that both the signifier and the meaning implicitly come to mind together; the person does not need to reflect on their thoughts to understand what they are thinking. In people with self-disorder, however, it is frequently the case that many thoughts are experienced as more like external objects that are not implicitly comprehended. The person must turn their focus toward the thoughts to understand their thoughts because of that lack of implicit comprehension, a split of the signifier and the meaning from each other, where the signifier emerges automatically in the field of awareness but the meaning does not. This is an example of the failing "mine-ness" of the experiential field as the minimal self recedes from its own thoughts, which are consigned to an outer space. This is present chronically, both during and outside of psychosis, and may represent a middle point between normal inner speech and auditory hallucinations, as well as normal experience and first-rank symptoms. They may also experience uncontrolled multiple trains of thought with different themes simultaneously coursing through one's head interfering with concentration (thought pressure) or often feel they must attend to things with their full attention in order to get done what most people can do without giving it much thought (hyper-reflectivity), which can lead to fatigue.In a 2014 review, Postmes, et al., suggested that self-disorders and psychosis may arise from attempts to compensate for perceptual incoherence and proposed a hypothesis for how the interaction among these phenomena and the person's attempts to resolve the incoherence give rise to schizophrenia. The problems with the integration of sensory information create problems for the person in keeping a grip on the world, and since the self-world interaction is fundamentally linked to the basic sense of self, the latter is also disrupted as a result. Sass and Borda have studied the correlates of the dimensions of self-disorders, namely disturbed grip (perplexity, difficulty "getting" stuff most people can get), hyperreflexivity (where thoughts, feelings, sensations, and objects pop up uncontrollably in the field of awareness, as well dysfunctional reflecting on matters and the self), and diminished self-affection (where the person has difficulty being "affected" by aspects of the self, experiencing those aspects as if they existed in an outer space), and have proposed how both primary and secondary factors may arise from dysfunctions in perceptual organization and multisensory integration. In a 2013 review, Mishara, et al., criticized the concept of the minimal self as an explanation for self-disorder, saying that it is unfalsifiable, and that self-disorder arises primarily from difficulty integrating different aspects of the self as well as having difficulty distinguishing self and other, as proposed by Lysaker and Lysaker: Ichstörung or ego disorder, as they say, in schizophrenia arises from disturbed relationships not from the "solipsistic" concept of the self as proposed by Sass, Parnas, and others. In his review, Sass agrees that the focus of research into self-disorder has focused too much on the self, and mentions attempts to look at disturbances in the person's relationship with other people and the world, with work being done to create an Examination of Anomalous World Experience, which will look at the person's anomalous experiences regarding time, space, persons, language, and atmosphere; he suggests there are problems with both the self and the world in people with self-disorder, and that it may be better conceptualized as a "presence-disturbance".Parnas acknowledges the Lysaker model, but says that it is not incompatible with the concept of the minimal self, as they deal with different levels of self-hood.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-disorder

 

Late adolescence and early adulthood are peak years for the onset of bipolar disorder.The condition is characterized by intermittent episodes of mania and/or depression, with an absence of symptoms in between. During these episodes, people with bipolar disorder exhibit disruptions in normal mood, psychomotor activity (the level of physical activity that is influenced by mood)—e.g. constant fidgeting during mania or slowed movements during depression—circadian rhythm and cognition. Mania can present with varying levels of mood disturbance, ranging from euphoria, which is associated with "classic mania", to dysphoria and irritability. Psychotic symptoms such as delusions or hallucinations may occur in both manic and depressive episodes; their content and nature are consistent with the person's prevailing mood. According to the DSM-5 criteria, mania is distinguished from hypomania by length: hypomania is present if elevated mood symptoms persist for at least four consecutive days, while mania is present if such symptoms persist for more than a week. Unlike mania, hypomania is not always associated with impaired functioning. The biological mechanisms responsible for switching from a manic or hypomanic episode to a depressive episode, or vice versa, remain poorly understood.The causes of bipolar disorder are not clearly understood, both genetic and environmental factors are thought to play a role. Many genes, each with small effects, may contribute to the development of the disorder. Genetic factors account for about 70–90% of the risk of developing bipolar disorder. Environmental risk factors include a history of childhood abuse and long-term stress. The condition is classified as bipolar I disorder if there has been at least one manic episode, with or without depressive episodes, and as bipolar II disorder if there has been at least one hypomanic episode (but no full manic episodes) and one major depressive episode. If these symptoms are due to drugs or medical problems, they are not diagnosed as bipolar disorder. Other conditions that have overlapping symptoms with bipolar disorder include attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, personality disorders, schizophrenia, and substance use disorder as well as many other medical conditions. Medical testing is not required for a diagnosis, though blood tests or medical imaging can rule out other problems. Mood stabilizers—lithium and certain anticonvulsants such as valproate and carbamazepine—are the mainstay of long-term relapse prevention. Antipsychotics are given during acute manic episodes as well as in cases where mood stabilizers are poorly tolerated or ineffective or where compliance is poor. There is some evidence that psychotherapy improves the course of this disorder. The use of antidepressants in depressive episodes is controversial: they can be effective but have been implicated in triggering manic episodes. The treatment of depressive episodes, therefore, is often difficult. Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) is effective in acute manic and depressive episodes, especially with psychosis or catatonia. Admission to a psychiatric hospital may be required if a person is a risk to themselves or others; involuntary treatment is sometimes necessary if the affected person refuses treatment. Bipolar disorder occurs in approximately 1% of the global population. In the United States, about 3% are estimated to be affected at some point in their life; rates appear to be similar in females and males. Symptoms most commonly begin between the ages of 20 and 25 years old; an earlier onset in life is associated with a worse prognosis. Interest in functioning in the assessment of patients with bipolar disorder is growing, with an emphasis on specific domains such as work, education, social life, family, and cognition. Around one-quarter to one-third of people with bipolar disorder have financial, social or work-related problems due to the illness. Bipolar disorder is among the top 20 causes of disability worldwide and leads to substantial costs for society. Due to lifestyle choices and the side effects of medications, the risk of death from natural causes such as coronary heart disease in people with bipolar disorder is twice that of the general population. Also known as a manic episode, mania is a distinct period of at least one week of elevated or irritable mood, which can range from euphoria to delirium. The core symptom of mania involves an increase in energy of psychomotor activity. Mania can also present with increased self-esteem or grandiosity, racing thoughts, pressured speech that is difficult to interrupt, decreased need for sleep, disinhibited social behavior, increased goal-oriented activities and impaired judgement, which can lead to exhibition of behaviors characterized as impulsive or high-risk, such as hypersexuality or excessive spending.To fit the definition of a manic episode, these behaviors must impair the individual's ability to socialize or work.[ If untreated, a manic episode usually lasts three to six months.

In severe manic episodes, a person can experience psychotic symptoms, where thought content is affected along with mood. They may feel unstoppable, or as if they have a special relationship with God, a great mission to accomplish, or other grandiose or delusional ideas. This may lead to violent behavior and, sometimes, hospitalization in an inpatient psychiatric hospital. The severity of manic symptoms can be measured by rating scales such as the Young Mania Rating Scale, though questions remain about the reliability of these scales. The onset of a manic or depressive episode is often foreshadowed by sleep disturbance. Mood changes, psychomotor and appetite changes, and an increase in anxiety can also occur up to three weeks before a manic episode develops.[medical citation needed] Manic individuals often have a history of substance abuse developed over years as a form of "self-medication". Hypomania is the milder form of mania, defined as at least four days of the same criteria as mania, but which does not cause a significant decrease in the individual's ability to socialize or work, lacks psychotic features such as delusions or hallucinations, and does not require psychiatric hospitalization. Overall functioning may actually increase during episodes of hypomania and is thought to serve as a defense mechanism against depression by some. Hypomanic episodes rarely progress to full-blown manic episodes. Some people who experience hypomania show increased creativity, while others are irritable or demonstrate poor judgment. Hypomania may feel good to some individuals who experience it, though most people who experience hypomania state that the stress of the experience is very painful. People with bipolar disorder who experience hypomania tend to forget the effects of their actions on those around them. Even when family and friends recognize mood swings, the individual will often deny that anything is wrong. If not accompanied by depressive episodes, hypomanic episodes are often not deemed problematic unless the mood changes are uncontrollable or volatile.Most commonly, symptoms continue for time periods from a few weeks to a few months. People with bipolar disorder who are in a euthymic mood state show decreased activity in the lingual gyrus compared to people without bipolar disorder. In contrast, they demonstrate decreased activity in the inferior frontal cortex during manic episodes compared to people without the disorder. Similar studies examining the differences in brain activity between people with bipolar disorder and those without did not find a consistent area in the brain that was more or less active when comparing these two groups. People with bipolar have increased activation of left hemisphere ventral limbic areas—which mediate emotional experiences and generation of emotional responses—and decreased activation of right hemisphere cortical structures related to cognition—structures associated with the regulation of emotions. Neuroscientists have proposed additional models to try to explain the cause of bipolar disorder. One proposed model for bipolar disorder suggests that hypersensitivity of reward circuits consisting of frontostriatal circuits causes mania, and decreased sensitivity of these circuits causes depression. According to the "kindling" hypothesis, when people who are genetically predisposed toward bipolar disorder experience stressful events, the stress threshold at which mood changes occur becomes progressively lower, until the episodes eventually start (and recur) spontaneously. There is evidence supporting an association between early-life stress and dysfunction of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis leading to its overactivation, which may play a role in the pathogenesis of bipolar disorder. Other brain components that have been proposed to play a role in bipolar disorder are the mitochondria and a sodium ATPase pump. Circadian rhythms and regulation of the hormone melatonin also seem to be altered. Dopamine, a neurotransmitter responsible for mood cycling, has increased transmission during the manic phase. The dopamine hypothesis states that the increase in dopamine results in secondary homeostatic downregulation of key system elements and receptors such as lower sensitivity of dopaminergic receptors. This results in decreased dopamine transmission characteristic of the depressive phase. The depressive phase ends with homeostatic upregulation potentially restarting the cycle over again. Glutamate is significantly increased within the left dorsolateral prefrontal cortex during the manic phase of bipolar disorder, and returns to normal levels once the phase is over. Medications used to treat bipolar may exert their effect by modulating intracellular signaling, such as through depleting myo-inositol levels, inhibition of cAMP signaling, and through altering subunits of the dopamine-associated G-protein.[81] Consistent with this, elevated levels of Gαi, Gαs, and Gαq/11 have been reported in brain and blood samples, along with increased protein kinase A (PKA) expression and sensitivity;[82] typically, PKA activates as part of the intracellular signalling cascade downstream from the detachment of Gαs subunit from the G protein complex. Decreased levels of 5-hydroxyindoleacetic acid, a byproduct of serotonin, are present in the cerebrospinal fluid of persons with bipolar disorder during both the depressed and manic phases. Increased dopaminergic activity has been hypothesized in manic states due to the ability of dopamine agonists to stimulate mania in people with bipolar disorder. Decreased sensitivity of regulatory α2 adrenergic receptors as well as increased cell counts in the locus coeruleus indicated increased noradrenergic activity in manic people. Low plasma GABA levels on both sides of the mood spectrum have been found.[83] One review found no difference in monoamine levels, but found abnormal norepinephrine turnover in people with bipolar disorder. Tyrosine depletion was found to reduce the effects of methamphetamine in people with bipolar disorder as well as symptoms of mania, implicating dopamine in mania. VMAT2 binding was found to be increased in one study of people with bipolar mania.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bipolar_disorder

Woman cannot live on Cornflakes alone. Or can she?

 

I mostly eat cereal. Mostly.

 

And not even the really healthy roughage filled ones neither, no, I have IBS (Irritable bowel syndrome), or what men call, ‘That thing all women claim to have when they occasionally fart or spend a long time in the toilet.’ Roughage type cereals play havoc with irritable bowels. Irritable bowel - what a title, it sounds like a woman’s problem, the man’s version would be ‘grouchy guts’.

 

My diet has evolved around finding foods that I can eat that won’t give me tummy ache, a great big balloon belly, make me produce any noxious gases and won’t repeat on me for the next week.

Funnily enough, cake, puddings, chocolate, wine and crisps don’t trouble my innards.

 

Interspersed with the desserts and booze I like to eat a balanced diet, and by balanced I mean bland. I went to one of those food allergy people once, he pressed little test tubes on my arm and decided that spinach and avocado were the route of all my problems – I almost never ate spinach or avocado, but I continued to not eat them from that day onward.

 

For over 30 years I have managed to keep myself entertained with the various possible textures of Kellogg’s Cornflakes, some days crunchy, some days I let them go soggy, some days I crush them up really tiny so they are like the dust pile that you get when you reach the dregs of the packet and get those weird bits of corn kernel that get stuck under your gums.

 

As a child I would sit at the kitchen table and devour every word on the packet along with every flake in my bowl. I was hungry for input first thing in the morning; I would build a wall blocking my brother from view and search for a new paragraph that I could read over and over. The amount of times I read the ingredients and nutrition information in my lifetime has meant that I am far too familiar with the words niacin, thiamin and riboflavin. As for the recommended serving size of 30g – that is one of those pathetic Kellogg’s variety pack boxes, my portion size is closer to the entire box set of 8.

 

At school when asked the obligatory playground question, “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

 

‘jam tarts’ ‘crisps’ ‘chicken nuggets’ ‘sherbert dibdabs’… no, I thought carefully and chose cereals – ‘As long as I could have all the variants I would be happy as could be.

 

But over the years my irritable gut has rejected cereal after cereal, Shreddies, Shredded wheat, Alpen, Weetabix. If, after a bowl of one of these wheat infested brands I was to experience even the slightest discomfort or the tiniest of ‘pops’ then it was struck off the list. And now because I have worked myself into a fibre fearful frenzy I trust only my less gluteny cereals, in other words Kellogg’s Cornflakes and Rice Krispies – I even take a mobile box (500g instead of 1kg) out in the car with me to work with a plastic bowl and milk so that I can stop in a layby and sit chomping whilst staring into space.

 

Like Mel Gibson and his Catcher in the Rye obsession in Conspiracy Theory I have a compulsion to buy Kellogg’s Cornflakes whenever I pass a supermarket. I can‘t bear the thought that I might run out, or not get a full, mixing bowl, bowl for my next meal.

 

But it has to be Kellogg’s. In the news recently a man had gone around the world eating Cornflakes in every country – eating ‘home’ branded cornflakes in every country – traitor. I won’t eat an inferior brand - stale, cardboardy, synthetic - getting through a 30g bowl of a competitor requires throat massage to encourage peristalsis, my oesophagus recognising and rejecting the imposter.

 

www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2276523/Man-spends-36-80...

 

So like the Slimfast adverts:

“I have Cornflakes for breakfast, Cornflakes for lunch and a proper dinner – as long as it’s bland.”

 

But I also have an issue with wolfing my food. It is nothing to do with fear that the rest of the pack will steal it, or lack of time. . . truth is that while I’m eating I love that sensation of piling in delicious mouthful after delicious mouthful, enjoying a mouth literally FULL of something, gorging on sensations. That is something a diminutive, elegant, partial forkful slipped neatly between minutely parted lips just cannot equal. I also hate letting food get cold – when I’m cooking the food is tipped straight out of the sizzling pan, lugged out of the oven and upended onto the plate whilst lip-scorchingly hot. Meanwhile t’other half likes to spend twenty minutes making pretty rice castles and resting meat before creating an oriental fan shape so that the finished article looks beauteous but is at very best lukewarm. My platefuls come out searing hot and hideously ugly.

 

When pudding is ready, we dish it out in the kitchen together adding the desired accompaniments; ice cream, cream, more cream, custard etc, and each choosing our special spoons, I then head into the living room first as I am not arranging my food a la Masterchef. He follows moments later and by the time he has arrived and settled in his sunken bum print on the sofa I have finished my pudding and the bowl sits scraped and barren whilst he is yet to dip his spoon.

 

I have a massive problem when enjoying a ‘day out’ in that there is almost nothing I can eat in the daytime that won’t cause issues. Once I have a stomach lined with alcohol then all the rules change and I can safely gorge on most things but, much as I like alcohol, my rule is no booze before tiffin time – 5 o’clock, or 4 o’clock if I’m depressed. I can’t very well take Cornflake filled Tupperware with me so if I go into London for a romantic day out it inevitably ends with a stalemate on a Bridge, staring out numbly into the shitty water while he berates me because I wouldn’t eat from any of the Moroccan/Ethiopian/Punjabi street food stalls.

 

Which has led me to wonder if I am alone in this, is there a market out there for ‘safe’ food that can be eaten on dates with no digestive repercussions?

 

Typically the kind of food you get in places that couples go to is man food, that is why it is called the Men – u.

It’s all hog roasts and pulled things. Congealed blood and gristle on a bed of flatulence, deconstructed goat intestines knitted into a scotch egg bonnet, served on a paving slab.

 

Women on dates look down the MEN-U with panic whilst maintaining flirty nonchalance, “Oh there’s so much to choose from!” in fake delight “It might take me a while to decide, why don’t you order us another drink while I read through the menu.”

 

“f**k, f**k, f**k.”

 

Instead of a myriad of lovely plates of food they see:

Farty

 

Farty

 

Makes me bloated

 

Smelly breath

 

Stuck in teeth

 

Repeats on you

 

Burpy

 

Too heavy

 

Messy to eat

 

I can’t eat that, I had one as a pet!

 

I want to set up a restaurant that women can go to on first dates, it would be called ‘Bland’ and nothing on the menu would be offensive, either to her or to him – because although he won’t care that his badly disguised half swallowed belches have a putrid stench of rotting burgers after every champagne burp, she will.

  

Dee G. Estive suffers from irritable bowel movement (IBM). In fact, it is so bad, the city started charging Dee by the pound for his sewage waste. Dee finally gave the city the finger and bought some land where he could make his bountiful deposits.

 

Round Mountain Road, Kern County, California 2006

One of the best ways to tell whether someone has borderline personality disorder (BPD) or narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is to look at the way they express emotions. Depending upon which subtype they are (vulnerable vs. invulnerable), narcissists have shallow or limited emotions. People with BPD, on the other hand, are far too emotional. In fact, most of the borderline personality disorder criteria have to do with problems people with BPD have regulating their emotions. In this blog post, I'll look at BPD; the next, we'll explore the shallow emotions of those with NPD.

 

Just like people with diabetes have a problem regulating their blood sugar and must test it several times a day, people with BPD find it difficult to be emotionally consistent. This is why you're continually walking on eggshells, never knowing what to expect when you walk in the door.

 

Individuals with BPD feel the same emotions that we all do. The difference is that whether they're good or bad feelings, they're off the charts. "People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90 percent of their body," says Marsha M. Linehan, Ph.D., founder of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. "Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement."

 

Of the nine criteria for BPD, four of them deal directly with emotions. They are:

 

Intense and quickly changing mood swings, irritability or anxiety. Most people can take steps to feel better when they feel bad. And they can control, to some extent, how they express their moods. But people with BPD find this difficult or impossible. Anxiety and irritability are part of the everyday landscape.

 

Chronic feelings of emptiness: BPs experience chronic feelings of emptiness, which is tied into their lack of identity. A borderline woman says: "I feel empty inside, so I try to keep busy all the time. I throw parties, get into new relationships, smoke, drink, change jobs, or go to a movie. But nothing fills the void." A man says, "My former partner consistently makes comments of feeling empty and worthless, even though she has many people in her life and a very successful business. She received cards in the mail often from friends. But she still felt this pervasive feeling of emptiness and sadness."

 

Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger. "My ex-wife can be as sweet and kind as a saint one moment, rage the next, and then just as abruptly switch back. I can see the changes coming by watching her eyes," says Mark, the ex-husband of a BP.

 

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. This is probably the hallmark of BPD. Because of that fear, people with BPD constantly seek affection and reassurance to combat their lack of self-esteem. For example, they may constantly call or text you just to make sure you are still there and care about them.

 

A woman with a BPD husband says:

 

"He would physically block entrances and exits so I couldn't leave. When I was gone he would drink himself silly, not go to work, and call me at all hours of the night telling me how much he missed me and needed me. If I wanted to go out with friends, he wanted to come with so he wouldn't be home by himself. He often had dreams in which we would be at a party and I wouldn't talk to him or acknowledge him. If people didn't return his emails or calls within a very short period of time, he would think they didn't want to be his friend anymore, or they were mad at him, or he had done something wrong to upset them."

 

The difference between the emotions of people with BPD and everyone else can be summed up as follows:

 

1) Their emotions are more intense. Brain studies show that the "emotional" centers of the brain actually overpower the "logical" centers. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being high, once the emotions of an individual with BPD are at a six and over you can't really reason with them. They may kick or hit walls, slam doors, punch a car, break household items, and even become physically violent.

 

2) Their emotions are unpredictable, flipping quickly from one to another. You feel lost and confused as to what just happened. A woman says:

 

"His mood can change in the blink of an eye. Usually, we could be joking about something, having a really great time and even bonding, and then something I said would trigger something in him and he would get upset, then pissy, then angry, then raging. Sometimes it would take a few days for this to build up. But once it started, I could always tell what was going on. It's like feeling a storm front move in.You can feel the change in the atmosphere."

 

3) One triggered, they take much longer to come down to baseline (a 1-3 on the scale). At the same time, once the emotion is gone, it's gone, and they don't remember feeling differently. They may not understand why you're still mad at them.

 

4) Because of their lack of impulse control, they act on their emotions before they've had a chance to think through the consequences of their actions. While their actions are intended to help them feel better, in the long run they feel worse. So emotional dysregulation leads to behavioral dysregulation.

 

A man explained,

 

"My girlfriend self-medicated with Xanax. She was bulimic after intense emotional feelings. She would eat a whole pint of ice cream and then say she was emotionally eating. She would drink a lot when she was stressed. She was pretty promiscuous sexually before our relationship and she had been sexual with a few other people while she was with her husband."

 

5) They can hold a grudge forever about something that happened years ago and continually bring up what hurt them as if it happened yesterday.

 

Next we'll take a look at the two types of narcissists, vulnerable and invulnerable, and contrast the way they experience emotions with those who have BPD.

 

Ext. Bialyan outskirts - Evening

 

*Wide shot facing sunset. Ten figures trudge down a dusty hill towards a riverbed where a handful of rafts await them. Two of their number bear an unsavory burden of a mangled body, yellow outfit barely clinging to the mass.*

 

Sportsmaster/Lawrence Crock: If this leg falls off, I'm not picking it up.

 

Rick Flag Jr: Yes you are, soldier. Waller wants everything we can salvage of Javelin there. If you refuse, then I'll be booking your head's flight to the moon.

 

Torque/Dudley Soames/The other half of Javelin's transportation (irritable): Remind me again WHY? Must've missed that briefing.

 

Thinker/Clifford DeVoe (hurridly): A.R.G.U.S has reason to believe he had low-level meta traits. Before his life of crime, his Olympic achievements indicated steroid use, though tests yielded negative. A.R.G.U.S gathers further research will reveal his cells have slightly enhanced stamina and longevity. A perfect stepping stone for A.R.G.U.S' super-soldier project.

 

Soames (getting a better hold of his load of disjointed arm): Teacher's pet...

 

Unknown Soldier: Hauling Javelin like a bag of fertilizer could've been avoided if *gesturing to Swagman* Crocodile Dundee here had thrown him the right WEAPON when he was surrounded by Bialyan automatic rifles...

 

Swagman: Firstly, oi take that comparison as a compliment, and secondly... *barely stifling a guffaw* ... Sorry mate, but... (snort) ... In the heat of the moment, oi just couldn't remeember which weapon JAVELIN was skilled with. (snort) Scout's 'onah.

 

Rustam/Kattuah (to no one in particular): End me now and spare me from these imbeciles.

 

*All arrive at water's edge, Soames and Crock dumping Javelin in the dirt. Flag Jr. dictates into portable recorder*

 

Flag Jr: Mission objective completed; Bialyan secret weapon dispatched. One casualty; Javelin. Escape boats ready to b-

 

DeVoe: Hold there, Flag. Our flight must be paused, in light of new information my scanners have collected.

 

Flag Jr: What is it?

 

DeVoe: My sensors are not fully operable, having taken damage in our conflict. However, a quick sweep of our company strongly indicates an... abnormality.

 

Flag Jr: Meaning...

 

DeVoe: An impersonator, sir. I have detected inorganic material in motion within our ranks since our departure from the capital.

 

*Entire party stands still, the cleverer of them stricken, the less intelligent simply confused*

 

Magpie/Marge Sorrow (cautiously): What you're saying is... Someone's a robot?

 

Crock: Or a vegetable?

 

Flag Jr: Quiet! Let me think...

 

*Another pause*

 

Swagman: ... Mineral..?

 

Unknown (shaking head): We just got rid of Harkness, and now THIS comedian...

 

Plastique/Bette Sans Souci: DeVoe, if you're damaged, are you sure your scanners aren't just picking up YOU? I know you don't look in a mirror often, but a whole man, you are not.

 

DeVoe (shrugging off San Souci's insult): New data analyzed. Foreign matter is a mixture of manmade chemicals that match a compound, manufactured by Dagget Industries: Renuyu.

 

Sorrow (noticeably disturbed): No... I've... I've heard of that somewhere before, on a job I took in Gotha... That's what Clayface is made out of!

 

*Weapons fly out and aim at the nearest squaddie to their owners.*

 

Soames: I'm looking at you, Crock!

 

Flag Jr. (threatening a detonator with several switches): EVERYONE LAY DOWN ARMS! Or I let loose the fireworks!

 

Swagman: Nothing doing, Ricky. Oi'm positive Bialya has a roight to bear arms when you 'ave reasonable suspicion a shapeshifter is at 'and.

 

Kattuah (brandishing his Psi-Scimitar): We can root out this perpetrator if you fools use your brains. There must be a way to test everyone's... legitimacy.

 

Sans Souci: I say we all take a swim in the river and see who turns into silt.

 

Sorrow (accusatory) : Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you? No way is anyone moving from this circle.

 

Soames: All you schmucks hear the bird-woman? Any of you try to use a power, or even twitch too much, my Tommy gun turns you to bean-dip.

 

Crock (as though a lightbulb appeared above him): Ask me something only I would know!

 

Swagman (cocking a revolver from his arsenal): Crock, eeveryone 'ere knows eeverything you know too, and more.

 

Crock (growling): Keep that up, and I'll shove this discus straight up your-

 

Swagman: But let's stop beating around the bush. Realistically, we're only looking at two possibilities; Flag and *nodding at Unknown* Cody Banks here.

 

Unknown: I have a shotgun aimed DIRECTLY at your head.

 

Swagman (continuing): Clayface would want ta become oither one of the 'igher-ups; the team leader or you, Unknown, our reesident Suicide Squad VOLUNTEER, *clears throat* which by all accounts makes you more wrong in the 'ead than any of us...

 

Unknown (expression darkening): 'Least I have a mission in life. You kill for kicks and grins.

 

Flag Jr: Stay on topic! We're finding Clayface here; you can discuss your collective morality when you're rotting back in your cells in Louisiana, and Waller has her Swedish super-soldier.

 

Clock King/Fugate: Erm, I believe Javelin was from Poland...

 

Everyone else: SHUT UP FUGATE.

 

Sorrow: When I worked with Clayface, I think... He had trouble using contractions, even though he could replicate speech patterns. Who's used contractions recently? Hey... "Who's"! I'm clear!

 

Soames: That's a hill of haggis, lass!

 

Crock (pointing hurriedly in Sorrow's direction): No, no, I heard that actor guy he used to be... Basil something?.. He was a stickler for grammar and wouldn't use 'em in his pictures.

 

Kattuah: Wait... Crock, point that way again...

 

Crock (pointing): ... What?

 

Kattuah (scimitar blazes more intensely): What is that... upon your wrist!

 

Crock: Uh-

 

*A drop of tan, soupy substance drizzles down his forearm and lands on the sand. His thought-process being superior, DeVoe begins backing away before the rest put together what they're seeing. Pandemonium suddenly erupts amongst the villains. Swagman unloads two rounds at Crock's vicinity, one meeting its mark, the other lodging itself into Flag's neck. Both fall to the ground, and Unknown tackles Swagman. Before DeVoe can reach out with his mind to telekinetically pull them apart, he is cut down by a slash from Kattuah's blade, melting him from his shoulder clean through to his waist, partially reducing him to slag. Sorrow tries to intervene, but Fugate holds his pistol between her shoulder blades.*

 

Fugate: I've got your back, Rustam! We can be partners!

 

*An enraged Sorrow flips over the barrel of Fugate's gun and socks him squarely in his minute hand. He crumples, and she continues to beat him.*

 

Sorrow: I'm going to clean your clock, you little-

 

*Soames sprays them both with his firearm, and they lie still. Crock, trying to recover from his chest wound, lobs a spear at Sans Souci, who has been trying to sneak around to a boat. She kicks the projectile mid-air, making it divert into Unknown's shotgun, which triggers and blasts Swagman's right arm clean off, sending him sprawling in the dust. As Sans Souci continues her flight and finishes Crock with a step on his ribcage, Unknown musters his senses and hurtles into Soames, twisting his head 180 degress, back to its original position. The shock is enough to end Soames, but Unknown is himself stopped by a stab through the spine by Kattuah.*

 

Sans Souci (guarding the boats): Rustam!

 

Kattuah (turning): Plastique. You and I both know it takes MY mind to control MY Psi-Scimitar. So... I am in truth addressing Clayface.

 

Sans Souci (wryly): Come give us a hug. I think you'll find my powers work just fine too.

 

*They both rush at one another, Kattuah thrusting his flame into Sans Souci's abdomen as she curls up into a leap and knees him in the jaw, knocking him flat on his back. As he twists the blade into her further, she ignores the pain and grips his scalp with both hands, her explosive powers surging through him. He gives a final war cry before both are enveloped in a concussive blast that shakes the ground. The dust settles, and Sans Souci rises from Kattuah's ashes, taking a moment to pat the dirt from her gloves before limping to the rafts. Swagman stumbles over a dune after her, croaking out weakly.*

 

Swagman: Wait! I saw you use your powers. Oi trust you...

 

Sans Souci (without turning, and continuing to start up the boat): And I know you're you because..?

 

Swagman: OI'M MISSING A SHAGGIN' ARM, MISS!

 

*Swagman tosses himself into the raft with her, and they float away from the massacre. A few seconds pass, before the broken remains of Javelin's corpse writhe and morph into a column of mud, then into a young girl with short black hair. She glances about herself nervously, and starts a brisk pace towards another raft. But just then, the lifeless hand of DeVoe lashes out, gripping her ankle. She seems to cramp up, her face strained and limbs stick-straight. DeVoe too bubbles into a mound of clay, which twists into a grotesque man dressed in theatrical garb fit for the opera. He... I... grimace.*

 

Myself: Thought you were in the clear, did you not? I must have given you a great fright when "DeVoe's scanners" picked up on a hoaxer in our midst. You see, by the time I intercepted your group, I only had time to dispatch and impersonate one of you; and who could better plant the seed of suspicion than a telepath? It worked out brilliantly that these buffoons would destroy themselves, at the same time revealing to me whose guise you had adopted.

 

Girl: How... did you... follow...

 

Myself: How did I follow you? Dear child, how does one follow one's own stride? You ARE me. We are linked, you and I. This... "Annie"?.. you think you are? It's a role. A little persona I had tucked away that managed to escape... But only for a short while. I'll give you credit for infiltrating Task Force X to evade me, but that just goes to show... Deep down, you know you're running from reality.

 

*I increase my hold on her, calling her back into my consciousness. She fades.*

 

Myself: And the show goes on.

Stylidium scabridum

 

This photo shows some of the identifying parts of this plant. The colour, glandular hairs on the ovary and the labellum. The labellum is where the irritable trigger sits waiting for an insect to visit and when it does, the trigger flies over and hits the insect (on its side in this instance) thus placing pollen on the insect. The insect is generally a bee fly which feeds on nectar then visits another flower and is hit with pollen again and helps with pollination.

Hello! How very nice of you to stop by! We haven't talked much lately, so let's catch up! I'll go first, then you, okay? : )

 

No comments unless you can tell me what you've been up to. Promise?

 

Alright then. One of the words that can best describe my life over the past 9 months is simply: exhaustion. I can sometimes be a people pleaser. It's hard for me to say no. I like to be nice. I'm in need of a 12-step program.

 

My big project lately has been trying to achieve balance in my life. How do you incorporate new friends and a new girl into your life without sacrificing all your free time? Enjoyable times they are, but come Monday morning, or the end of the work week, and I find I'm irritable and unsatisfied in some ways. I won't go into all of it, but I've been stressed. I think it's affected my health. I've felt like I'm spread too thin.

 

I actually had to write out a plan of action to make necessary changes. Believe it or not, Flickr is one of my biggest points of stress. How fucked up is that? I love Flickr. It's not just the pictures. My social life wouldn't be nearly as awesome as it is if it wasn't for Flickr. But there are times when it feels like an obligation. I'd ask if anyone knows what I'm talking about, but I know I'm not alone. You know what I miss? My early days on Flickr when I only had a couple contacts I visited with any regularity. The rest of the time, I just jumped around wherever I wanted in search of incredible pictures.

 

What I basically want to say is, I treasure all the friends I've made on Flickr, both online and in person, but even if I had all the time in the world, I wouldn't be able to give you all the time you deserve. I need to put myself first if I'm to enjoy this life of mine. And if I take care of myself, I'll be able to give more to those who are closest to me. So, as a result of my decision, I'm reducing my time on Flickr to one day a week when I'll check out my friends' work. If I don't see you in that time, I apologize. I'm doing the best I can. I hope you don't take it personally. If you don't want to come around to my photostream as often, or at all, I'll totally understand. The upside is that I'll probably be posting more pictures, as I'll be spending more time shooting. If I don't see you again, I wish you all the best and hope you'll find what you're looking for somewhere else.

 

Oh yeah, and...

 

I'm making a run at photography professionally. Don't ask. I'll keep you updated, but...

 

Here's why I think I have a good shot at succeeding in photography: I show up. I think showing up is a big part of success. Let me give you a few examples. Two of the best shots I've ever taken were a result of me just showing up. Here and here. Neither of those pictures were planned. I just showed up. Here's another example: I'm overpaid for the job I currently do. I went in knowing I was absolutely not qualified to do the job. But I got it. Why? I showed up. I wasn't sitting at home picking lint out of my belly button. Fun though it may be, it doesn't get the results I'm looking for.

 

Maybe you're thinking to yourself, "I'm more talented than you are. What makes you think you can make a living with the crap you churn out? Don't quit your day job that you're overpaid to do, pal." You may have a point. There are more talented people out there. But there are less talented people making good money with a camera. And I have no plans to quit my job. Yet. I'm reducing my hours slowly until I can have more control over my own life and mature into the man I really want to be. I find so many aspects of photography fascinating. There are limitless avenues to explore. And I feel I have something unique to offer.

 

The way I look at it, we're all bumbling idiots on this planet. We make assumptions about this world so we can live day to day, but it's all a fuckin' mystery. Anyone who tells me they have all the answers will get a funny look from me before I turn and walk the other way. I live by trial and error (and faith or hope), same as you. And where you, or your proverbial Uncle who lost the farm on a dream, didn't succeed, I just might. I need to know for myself.

 

To my few friends on Flickr, I hope you'll wish me the best, and I've got your back when it's your turn to dream.

 

Cheers!

 

Oh, and like you promised, it's your turn to tell me what's been going on with you...

Love is patient; love is kind;

love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.

It does not insist on its own way;

it is not irritable or resentful;

it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.

It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 

Iberogast "is a liquid formulation of nine herbs used for functional dyspepsia and irritable bowel syndrome. A proprietary blend, it was developed in Germany in 1961 and is available (without prescription) in other countries. Named after the genus (Iberis) of one of its ingredients, it is also claimed to possess anti-inflammatory, antioxidative and free radical–inhibiting properties as well as the ability to reduce gastric acid secretion. [...]

 

In Germany, Iberogast has come under investigation after one patient died of liver failure. In 2018, the company producing Iberogast (Bayer) has been forced by authorities to print warnings about rare cases of liver toxicity. A former employee of Bayer was under criminal investigation related to Bayer's long resistance to declare the dangers of Iberogast."

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iberogast

medwatch.de/arzneimittel/auch-nach-todesfall-bayer-kaempf...

 

Detail of the painting "The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success" (2022) from the exhibition "Eva Beresin

Thick Air" in the ALBERTINA in Vienna

www.albertina.at/en/exhibitions/eva-beresin/

Le sens du devoir sans amour rend irritable, mécontent. La responsabilité sans amour rend Inflexible, sans égard envers autrui. La justice sans amour rend sévère, impitoyable, moraliste. La vérité sans amour rend critique, légaliste L’éducation sans amour rend insensible, contradictoire et présomptueux L’intelligence sans amour rend rusé. L’amabilité sans amour rend hypocrite L’expérience sans amour rend orgueilleux, insociable. Le savoir sans amour rend prétentieux, stupide. La richesse sans amour rend avare, spéculateur. La sagesse sans amour rend irritable, pénible. L’activité sans amour rend stérile, vide. Le dévouement sans amour rend injuste. Le devoir sans amour rend insatisfait. La foi sans amour rend fanatique. L’ordre sans amour rend tatillon. La compétence sans amour suscite la volonté d’avoir toujours raison. La force sans amour rend violent, querelleur. L’honneur sans amour rend hautain, suffisant. La vie sans amour est vide, absente Les paroles sans amour sont comme un vent violent et détruisent. Les bonnes œuvres sans amour ne servent qu’à nous glorifier. L’amour ne périt jamais. (Auteur inconnu)

 

The sense of duty without love makes irritable, angry. Responsibility without love makes Inflexible, without regard to others. Justice without love is harsh, unforgiving moralist. Truth without love is critical, legalistic Education without love makes insensitive, arrogant and contradictory intelligence without love makes it tricky. The friendliness without love makes hypocritical experience without love makes arrogant, unsociable. Knowledge without love makes arrogant, stupid. Wealth without love makes avaricious, speculator. Wisdom without love is irritable, painful. The activity without love is sterile and empty. Devotion without love makes unfair. The duty without love makes dissatisfied. Faith without love makes fanatic. The order without love makes fussy. Competence without love arouses the desire to always be right. Strength without love makes people violent, quarrelsome. Honor without love makes arrogant, enough. Life without love is empty, absent Words without love is like a violent wind and destroy. Good works without love are only glorify us. Love never fails. (Author unknown)

 

Today started off pretty early for me. I woke up at 8:30 and got dressed to go drop off some papers at Valencia. Just so you know I've already dropped these papers off twice. The first time we were missing a signature and the second time they lost some papers. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Me and my friend Lukas got to Valencia at about 9:45ish, we didn't get a turn to pass in our papers until about 11:15. Little to find out that they had lost some of my papers and I had to come back with the signatures and the papers they lost.

 

When I got home I wanted to get a jump start on buying my boyfriend;s birthday present. His birthday isn't until October 6th, but I wanted to get him tickets to see Blink 182 when they came to town. I have the money for the tickets and everything I got refuse to get a credit card right now and they wouldn't take debit. So when I go to ask my mom if I can pay her and use her credit card she wigs out on me for wanting to go and spend my money on something so costly that's so stupid. I cry and get upset.

 

Finally Greg comes over, Tells me not to worry about it but of course that's what I'm doing. Just so you know while all of this is happening I have the worst cramps ever, just putting that out there for you (so Im grouchy). Me and Greg have to run errands for his parents. I feel like his stressedness and my grouchyness totally clashed today and we argued more than we've ever argued in one day more than in our 8 months of being together. So I cried again because I'm an emotional wreck today. He did help me move his old futon into my grandma's house which is where I'm laying in the picture. So my day was long and full of yuck. Hope yours was better.

 

You can vew it on black if you want

 

They had character that it was irritable.

安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 風起雲動 - 畫一般龍舟海水倒影

The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / The wind had the cloud to moved - The scenery as a painting dragon boats and sea water with reflection

La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / El viento tenía la nube a movido - El paisaje como barcos de un dragón y agua de mar de pintura con la reflexión

安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 風起の雲は動きます - 絵のような類の竜船の海水の倒影

Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / Der Wind hatte die Wolke zu bewogen - Die Landschaft wie Boote eines malende Drachen und Meerwasser mit Reflexion

 

Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平

Detective Jon Napolinski is a rugged, somewhat abrasive member on the NBCPD. Born and bred in Bricklyn, this no nonsense detective does his job with unrivaled dedication. His demeanor seems harsh and often irritable, but Jon has a deep rooted passion for justice. Detective "Napo", as his colleagues call him, is an honest man although his questionable tactics leads others to suspect him of police brutality. He is very loyal to his partner Detective Fitzgerald and the mutual respect they show for one another is admirable. He is protective of his friend and has defended him on many occasions. He has extensive knowledge of firearms, how they work and their history. Jon is divorced with one daughter that he has not seen in years. He will not talk about it to anyone but Fitz and can get either extremely angry or depressed if the subject comes up. His feeling on the recent activity involving super powered beings is mixed. He dislikes the vigilante aspect and super hero involvement, but marvels at the abilities they have. Napo would like to see things go back to the way they used to be, but is begrudgingly grateful that there are some "super powered punks" that are on his side.

 

Built for the League of Lego Heroes

www.flickr.com/groups/llh/

“Simply put, you believe that things or people make you unhappy, but this is not accurate. You make yourself unhappy.”

Wayne Dyer

 

I love this quote - it took me a long time to understand that I made myself unhappy and that if determined to be productive, content and smiling, then happiness follows - no matter what anyone else is doing. When getting sad, confused, irritable, etc. I always have to remind myself that I am making myself that way. I will always be learning this lesson.

 

The tent held up during last evening's storm so I did pretty good.

 

Got up at about 5 this morning and headed out for some morning mountain shots. The dramatic clouds from the storm had already moved east - darn it. As the morning began to unfold there was a sunrise behind me and the foreground clouds colored ever so softly. The mountain peaks lit up and then slowly the horses in the field began to appear. The wisp of fog was a nice touch. And the day began.

 

Some sort of bug bit just below my right eye yesterday and it swelled and is still swollen. I can barely see out of the eye right now - plus it is a charming look.

 

(I am finding it difficult to edit on the laptop and probably shouldn't even be trying to do so but can't help myself. Probably get home and wonder what I was thinking.)

August 17th, 2011 might have been one of the hardest days of my life.

 

I started off Day 8 in St. Paul Minnesota. I walked outside the hotel lobby and realized that in my parking lot, was a LAKE! What the hell? Holy crap, I was tired last night and had I driven one way and not the other I'd of ended up underwater. That's a little scary! I took a few shots and hit the road, I had a long drive ahead of me if I wanted to get to Walker and back within a day.

 

The drive took about six and a half hours, I think my entire iPod shuffled in that time. Driving alone through the Minnesota countryside was both fun, boring, and scary all at the same time. There was a ton of farms, a ton of green, a ton of lakes, and ONE LANE to do it all in.

 

Had a close call trying to get around a dumb trucker who for whatever reason sped up when he saw I was trying to pass him, until another truck showed up on the other lane! I had to slow, get back behind him just in time, and take a deep breath. Son of a bitch! I made sure to show him how we do in Cali after that as I cut him off and flipped him the bird as I went.

 

Along this drive, I also saw "World Man", I took a picture of him with my phone as I drove, he was pushing a giant globe down the highway in the middle of nowhere. I was like what the hell was that guy??? Later on I found out he pushed that globe across the US to raise awareness for diabetes. I'll post that photo later, but I thought it was interesting how our journies collided in that moment. I also stopped at a forest just short of Walker, beautiful! I've gotta go back to Minnesota one day that's for sure.

 

During the last few minutes of my drive into Walker "Coldest Winter" by Kanye West hit the iPod. I couldn't help but cry, but I still had work to do so I whiped away the tears and kept going. Walker is a lovely town, I guess I came during "busy season", the workers were all having to deal with tourists and were slightly irritable, not the Minnesota I'd seen everywhere else! Still some nice people in the batch though, but you wanted to tell them you haven't seen tourists until you've seen Anaheim in the summer! I went to a few stores and shops, drove around the small town for a bit... Searching...

 

Then I found what I was looking for. I walked up on a museum for war veterans the town had. I stood in front of it and said to myself, this is where I should leave my grandfather's gold tie. I didn't have any documents on me, but I figured I'd try... but I considered... and I considered, and as I was considering I saw a beautiful rock garden beside it. I walked to the rock garden and found a statue of a bird with a long neck and it was clear to me... This was the spot...

 

I hung his tie around the bird's neck, sure it could be looted, sure someone might just remove it the next day even in the remotest of remote places, but that's not important. If the tie's story carries on with the next person, then that's the story it's meant to have, but my grandfather wasn't the type to want to be hailed in a museum, he was a quiet man who prefered to go about his business without praise, without worship, even though he deserved it so much. This was his fitting end, this is how he'd of wanted it, and after all the times he took me birdwatching it was like that bird statue was meant to be there... For him. And so the story was written, and so the story ended.

 

I can't think about that day without getting emotional, I must have looked so stupid sitting in my car with my california plates with a bowl of bubble gum ice cream crying my eyes out but I didn't care. After I was done I got back out and crossed the street to go to the park across the street, which bordered Walker Bay. I walked around for a bit taking photos, as I had the whole time knowing I'd want to remember this place.

 

At the park I found a nice place to sit, right by the water, which is when I took this photo. I looked out at the lake, so far from home, almost 3,000 miles later and 8 days after I left I knew I had finally found what I was looking for. I found my inner peace... And I was finally able to say goodbye.

 

I drove back to Minneapolis shortly after this and ended up meeting a good friend of mine that night, we went out and had cheese filled burgers (yes you read right) and talked for a good 2 hours. I had never met him before but we'd known each other for 10 years as well. Great way to end the night and take my mind off the heaviness of the day's events.

 

I'll never forget Day 8, I'll never want to, but on that day I took pictures and walked around the city my grandfather was born in like I'd never see it again. I left a part of him there, but now I know... I'll be back. Whether that tie is still there or not, I'll be back to check, and I'll be back with more time than a few hours to spend.

 

Now I know what my grandfather meant when he said he still misses Walker... Now I miss it too, almost as much as I miss him.

24/365

 

This is kind of an experiment. I tried to capture my imperfections in a beautiful way. In my opinion my back/shoulders and my belly are my imperfections. I might have more, but these two are standing out and are making me insecure the most. I don't have a slim and feminine back with narrow shoulders. And it will stay this way, so I should embrace my body instead of hating it. Same for my belly, I always have had troubles with it, especially now because of my health problems. I have IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and I have trouble with eating food. My belly get swollen easily and it pretty much hurts every other day. It's also one of the places I always have felt insecure about because everyone wants a flat tummy right?

 

Anyway I made this because I want to change my mind. I want to get body positive.

 

And I will warn you, I don't respect any creepy comments or creeps in general, I will block you!

 

500px | facebook page | blog | tumblr | pinterest

Documentary

Niru village, Shangri-La 2014

 

Crossing a mountain of Shangri-La and the sun was going down. It was lucky to find a tumble-down cabin instead of camping for the night. Our guide was irritable about collecting the firewood...

This image was taken on my trip to Yellowstone National Park. This bull moose was outside and south of Yellowstone in Grand Teton National Park. You can see part of the Snake River behind the Moose.

 

++ ++ ++ ++ ++

 

It was a frosty morning, the sky was bright with morning light. Autumn color alive: vibrant and intense. We were off the highway as reports of a moose sighting diverted us. Ahead a few cars were pulled up along the side of the road. We stopped also.

 

There along the far edge of the field with the tall grasses frost covered and right next to a stand of brightly colored trees was this magnificent male moose: Alces alces - bull.

 

What a magnificent rack. My first view of palmate antlers attached to a living creature.

 

Yes - to photograph - to record this great beast. Like the hunter it required getting close but not so close as to disturb the subject lest it flee or even worse, attack.

 

The "big lens" was required and a tripod to steady it. I had both but even with it I had to move physically closer. And I did.

 

But not as close as a couple photogs who field walked in for their shot. Their lenses were rather short compared to some of us. I wondered how close was too close. An irritated Moose is a formidable foe - though a real heavy weight at half a ton, it can move surprisingly quickly. With it's poor eyesight and low irritability quotient it is best not to disturb one.

 

The tripod firmly planted and secure, I rechecked the settings, focused in, took a breath, held it and squeezed the shutter. Again and again. Moved somewhat and repeated the process.

 

I changed perspective as the Big Boy stayed around moving slowly browsing on select and must be tasty twigs and leaves. Click & click again.

 

Oh yes - the thrill of the hunt and the reward of the photo kill.

  

George who remembers

and writes from the front room

 

remembering is a curse and a blessing - a characteristic of being human

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Bull Moose - The moose (Alces alces) is the largest member of the deer family with mature bulls weighing more than 1,000 pounds. The bull moose produce large palmate antlers which are shed annually. Although cow moose do not have antlers, both bulls and cows do have a bell which is a growth of skin and hair that hangs down from the throat. Calves are born in the spring and remain with the cow for a year. Cow moose will aggressively protect their young from any perceived threat.

 

Moose browse on twigs and leaves. Willows are an important food source, and moose also feed on submerged aquatic plants. Moose are dark in color ranging from brown to black. The moose also has long legs which are an adaptation to the thick marshes where it feeds and to a habitat that is covered by deep snow much of the year.

 

The moose is normally a reclusive animal. You are most likely to see one in the streams, marshes, and willow thickets along the road between Mammoth Hot Springs and Norris. Moose may also be observed in the Fishing Bridge/Yellowstone Lake area, the Lamar Valley meadows, Hayden Valley, and along the east entrance road. Occasionally, they can be observed feeding or resting while partially submerged in water.

 

Yellowstone visitors should remember to never approach a moose. Though sluggish in appearance, they are fast. A cow moose protecting its young can be a very dangerous animal. www.nationalparktravel.com/moose.htm

 

Locator: GTY_4351

 

image by Photo George

copyright: ©2010 GCheatle

all rights reserved

And then Mihai was gone.

He had been restless for a while. Irritable, flustered. Said he couldn't stay at one place for so long, the Gipsy blood in him wanted to be on the road. As much as he hated leaving Takéo behind, being stuck in one apartment, in one house, in one city had started to suffocate him.

He put a few of his belongings into an old trunk and left. Just like that.

so this is a combination of a watercolor i had done and my photography... my word religions book has an opening story about a man having a 'religious experience' on a mountain. after reding the rest of the chapter and the 5641315153155 definitions of religion and its characteristics i decided to include this watercolor in a small series of watercolors i did that day.

 

i was missing florida so i jumped in my bathing suit taped a whole bunch paper to my shower wall, flipped on the water and went to town. this was MY definition of religion. so you see the mountains and the hands reaching to the stars. i am routing in Buddhism and lately i have been so busy i havent had time to meditate and it has been making me irritable.

 

so when i came home today i meditated for a decent hour and afterward this image was produced: i originally planned this levitation photo to be about a book, but i felt this was more appropriate and relative to how i have been feeling. hope you guys enjoy! :)

      

PLEASE click on this picture and VIEW ON BLACK!!

I live in Martha's world. Virtually and in reality.

 

I must.

 

If I am to finish my novel.

 

Makes me a little weird, to say the least. That comes as a big surprise to my Flickr friends, I am sure (she said with a smile).

 

Martha's world is a wild place, unlike my own; it's filled with delicious danger and life-determining decisions. In many ways, I wish I lived in Martha's world - so much more adventurous than my own.

 

As an adrenaline junkie, I find ways to make my own life a little spicier -- Martha's Vine is one of the safest methods I have ever used.

 

Martha's Vine is set in an apocalyptic world (my favorite literary genre ever since I can remember). The power grid has gone down, there are no more computers, and people must go back to the old ways to survive. Some manage to do so, but many do not. Those who can't make the switch from existor to survivor, fall prey to the biker bands, modern day pirates, dubbed as, "The Crazies." But The Man who leads them is not crazy. He is a very charismatic strategist who knows exactly what he is doing.

 

But his counterpart, Matthew, the Gatekeeper, has his own plans.

 

Martha is the fly in the ointment -- she gets in the way of their plans -- for she has plans of her own.

 

I am nearing the end of the book, and that's when the real struggle begins. It causes headaches, loss of sleep, irritability, and weirdness. Welcome to the mind of an artist.

 

I use my photos as a quick escape; a respite from the intense pressure of remembering and dealing with all the details.

 

I don't have a whole lot of time to spend on Flickr. So, to my friends -- who continue to visit my images -- I want you to know that I appreciate your visits.

 

I will get back to regular visits, but only AFTER my novel is finished.

 

Thanks for your understanding.

 

By the way, my book jacket is done...by the marvelously talented TheWalkinMan. Take a look.

 

www.marthasvine.com

 

~~Sheree~~

Today is my birthday. Today I turn 40. Bring it on!

 

A few weeks ago I was kind of dreading this day. Not because of the age I was turning, but because I've been feeling so out of sorts lately. Blue. Unmotivated. Self-defeated. Overwhelmed. Irritable. Helpless. Tired. Tired. Tired.

 

My doctor diagnosed me with depression. A bit of a jolt, yeah, but a relief to have a name for what was weighing so heavily on me.

 

Two weeks into my medication and it's going splendidly.

 

So I welcome the new decade with open arms. And a tortiseshell cat. :)

For a brain to perform all the functions that it must do, it must:

1. Detect and locate the great variety of stimulus types, sources, and happenings in the environment.

2. Make sense of all these sensory events.

3. Respond to all these features by expressing an elaborate behavioral repertoire.

4. Make judgments, learn, and think about all these things.

 

The many nuclei, circuits, systems and networks which make up the brain provide numerous functional repertoires. Complex sets of circuits allow it to detect and evaluate the relevance of myriad physical energies in the environment and to plan and execute appropriate reactions to them.

 

Smell

Sight

Touch

Hearing

Taste

Pain

Hunger

Love

Lust & Sex

Anger

Hate & Fear

Territoriality

Possessiveness

Dominance/submissiveness

Irritability & Serenity.

Sociality

Parenting & Family Ties

Arousal

Attention

Thinking

Evaluating

Insight

Abstraction

Creativity

Choice

Purpose

Seeking

Planning

Generalization

Judgement

Introspection

Programming

Interest

Preference

Discrimination

Learning

Habituation

Memory

Recognition

Retention

Knowledge

Reflexes

Basic Action sequences

Play

Exploratory behavior

Goal Directed behaviors

I need you, anyone - with a million and a hole in your pocket,

With lights in his eyes and tiredly inhaling smoke,

Victorious and besieged by enemies...

I need you either way, because I love you.

 

I need you - anyone who showers the house with petals

And at night he snorts diligently into my right temple,

Unforgivably rarely ringing keys in the hallway

And cheekily breaking the flimsy heart lock.

 

I need you - in perfectly ironed trousers,

And unshaven, hidden from the light under the weight of his eyelids,

Irritable, affectionate, easy, smiling, difficult...

I need you either way, because you are MY person.

"....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

Happy Valentines day!

I hope you are having a wonderful day!

I did a little "Valentines" blog post here.

11-Jan-2021: 1. Frivillig barnlöshet by Kristina Engwall & Helen Peterson (editors)

Fave! Swedish book about childfree people. :)

 

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26-Jan-2021: 2. A promised land by Barack Obama

Fave!

 

"My staff's biggest fear was that I'd make a 'gaffe,' the expression used by the press to describe any maladroit phrase by the candidate that reveals ignorance, carelessness, fuzzy thinking, insensitivity, malice, boorishness, falsehood, or hypocrisy – or is simply deemed to veer sufficiently far from conventional wisdom to make said candidate vulnerable to attack. By this definition, most humans will commit five to ten gaffes a day, each of us counting on the forbearance and goodwill of our family, coworkers, and friends to fill in the blanks, catch our drift, and generally assume the best rather than the worst in us."

 

"Hearing about what had happened to [Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr.], I had found myself almost involuntarily conducting a quick inventory of my own experiences. The multiple occasions when I'd been asked for my student ID while walking to the library on Columbia's campus, something that never seemed to happen to my white classmates. The unmerited traffic stops while visiting certain 'nice' Chicago neighborhoods. Being followed around by department store security guards while doing my Christmas shopping. The sound of car locks clicking as I walked across a street, dressed in a suit and tie, in the middle of the day.

Moments like these were routine among Black friends, acquaintances, guys in the barbershop. If you were poor, or working-class, or lived in a rough neighborhood, or didn't properly signify being a respectable Negro, the stories were usually worse. For just about ever Black man in the country, and every woman who loved a Black man, and every parent of a Black boy, it was not a matter of paranoia or 'playing the race card' or disrespecting law enforcement to conclude that whatever else had happened that day in Cambridge, this much was almost certainly true: A wealthy, famous, five-foot-six, 140-pound, fifty-eight-year-old white Harvard professor who walked with a cane because of a childhood leg injury would not have been handcuffed and taken down to the station merely for being rude to a cop who'd forced him to produce some form of identification while standing on his own damn property."

 

"Around six in the morning on October 9, 2009, the White House operator jolted me from sleep to say that Robert Gibbs was on the line. Calls that early from my staff were rare, and my heart froze. Was it a terrorist attack? A natural disaster?

'You were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize,' Gibbs said.

'What do you mean?'

'They just announced it a few minutes ago.'

'For what?'

Gibbs tactfully ignored the question. Favs would be waiting outside the Oval to work with me on whatever statement I wanted to make, he said. After I hung up, Michelle asked what the call was about.

'I'm getting the Nobel Peace Prize.'

'That's wonderful, honey,' she said, then rolled over to get a little more shut-eye.

An hour and a half later, Malia and Sasha stopped by the dining room as I was having breakfast. 'Great news, Daddy,' Malia said, hitching her backpack over her shoulders. 'You won the Nobel Prize . . . and it's Bo's birthday!'"

 

"Reading the transcript [from a Deepwater Horizon press conference] now, a decade later, I'm struck by how calm and cogent I sound. Maybe I'm surprised because the transcript doesn't register what I remember feeling at the time or come close to capturing what I really wanted to say before the assembled White House press corps:

That MMS wasn't fully equipped to do its job, in large part because for the past thirty years a big chunk of American voters had bought into the Republican idea that government was the problem and that business always knew better, and had elected leaders who made it their mission to gut environmental regulations, starve agency budgets, denigrate civil servants, and allow industrial polluters to do whatever the hell they wanted to do.

That the government didn't have better technology than BP did to quickly plug the hole because it would be expensive to have such technology on hand, and we Americans didn't like paying higher taxes – especially when it was to prepare for problems that hadn't happened yet.

That it was hard to take seriously any criticism from a character like Bobby Jindal, who'd done Big Oil's bidding throughout his career and would go on to support an oil industry lawsuit trying to get a federal court to lift our temporary drilling moratorium; and that if he and other Gulf-elected officials were truly concerned about the well-being of their constituents, they'd be urging their party to stop denying the effects of climate change, since it was precisely the people of the Gulf who were the most likely to lose their homes or jobs as a result of rising global temperatures.

And that the only way to truly guarantee that we didn't have another catastrophic oil spill in the future was to stop drilling entirely; but that wasn't going to happen because at the end of the day we Americans loved our cheap gas and big cars more than we cared about the environment, except when a complete disaster was staring us in the face; and in the absence of such a disaster, the media rarely covered efforts to shift America off fossil fuels or pass climate legislation, since actually educating the public on long-term energy policy would be boring and bad for ratings; and the one thing I could be certain of was that for all the outrage being expressed at the moment about wetlands and sea turtles and pelicans, what the majority of us were really interested in was having the problem go away, for me to clean up yet one more mess decades in the making with some quick and easy fix, so that we could all go back to our carbon-spewing, energy-wasting ways without having to feel guilty about it."

 

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8-May-2021: 3. Unweaving the rainbow by Richard Dawkins

Fave! And a re-read. Only my favourite book of all time, and Dawkins is my fave writer. :O

 

"Imagine a spaceship full of sleeping explorers, deep-frozen would-be colonists of some distant world. Perhaps the ship is on a forlorn mission to save the species before an unstoppable comet, like the one that killed the dinosaurs, hits the home planet. The voyagers go into the deep-freeze soberly reckoning the odds against their spaceship's ever chancing upon a planet friendly to life. If one in a million planets is suitable at best, and it takes centuries to travel from each star to the next, the spaceship is pathetically unlikely to find a tolerable, let alone safe, haven for its sleeping cargo.

But imagine that the ship's robot pilot turns out to be unthinkably lucky. After millions of years the ship does find a planet capable of sustaining life: a planet of equable temperature, bathed in warm starshine, refreshed by oxygen and water. The passengers, Rip van Winkles, wake stumbling into the light. After a million years of sleep, here is a whole new fertile globe, a lush planet of warm pastures, sparkling streams and waterfalls, a world bountiful with creatures, darting through alien green felicity. Our travellers walk entranced, stupefied, unable to believe their unaccustomed senses or their luck.

As I said, the story asks for too much luck; it would never happen. And yet, isn't that what has happened to each one of us? We have woken after hundreds of millions of years asleep, defying astronomical odds. Admittedly we didn't arrive by spaceship, we arrived by being born, and we didn't burst conscious into the world but accumulated awareness gradually through babyhood. The fact that we slowly apprehend our world, rather than suddenly discover it, should not subtract from its wonder.

Of course I am playing tricks with the idea of luck, putting the cart before the horse. It is no accident that our kind of life finds itself on a planet whose temperature, rainfall and everything else are exactly right. If the planet were suitable for another kind of life, it is that other kind of life that would have evolved here. But we as individuals are still hugely blessed. Privileged, and not just privileged to enjoy our planet. More, we are granted the opportunity to understand why our eyes are open, and why they see what they do, in the short time before they close for ever. /.../

After sleeping through a hundred million centuries we have finally opened our eyes on a sumptuous planet, sparkling with colour, bountiful with life. Within decades we must close our eyes again. Isn't it a noble, an enlightened way of spending our brief time in the sun, to work at understanding the universe and how we have come to wake up in it? This is how I answer when I am asked -- as I am surprisingly often -- why I bother to get up in the mornings. To put it the other way round, isn't it sad to go to your grave without ever wondering why you were born? Who, with such a thought, would not spring from bed, eager to resume discovering the world and rejoicing to be a part of it?"

 

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30-May-2021: 4. Do no harm: Stories of life, death, and brain surgery by Henry Marsh

Fave!

 

"Sometimes I discuss with my neurosurgical colleagues what we would do if we – as neurosurgeons and without any illusions about how little treatment achieves – were diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour. I usually say that I hope that I would commit suicide but you never know for certain what you will decide until it happens."

 

"'He might recover.'

'Oh come off it! With both his frontal lobes smashed up like that? He hasn't got a hope in hell. If we operate to deal with the bleeding he might just survive but he'll be left hopelessly disabled, without language and probably with horrible personality change as well. If we don't operate he'll die quickly and peacefully.'

'Well, the family will want something done. It's their choice,' she replied.

I told her that what the family wanted would be entirely determined by what she said to them. If she said 'we can operate and remove the damaged brain and he may just survive' they were bound to say that we should operate. If, instead, she said 'If we operate there is no realistic chance of his getting back to an independent life. He will be left profoundly disabled. Would he want to survive like that?' the family would probably give an entirely different answer. What she was really asking them with the first question was 'Do you love him enough to look after him when he is disabled?' and by saying this she was not giving them any choice. In cases like this we often end up operating because it's easier than being honest and it means that we can avoid a painful conversation. You might think the operation has been a success because the patient leaves the hospital alive but if you saw them years later – as I often do – you would realize that the result of the operation was a human disaster."

 

"With slowly progressing cancers it can be very difficult to know when to stop. The patients and their families become unrealistic and start to think that they can go on being treated forever, that the end will never come, that death can be forever postponed. They cling to life. I told the meeting about a similar problem some years ago of a three-year-old child, an only child from IVF treatment. I had operated for a malignant ependymoma and he was fine, and had radiotherapy afterwards. When it recurred – which ependymomas always do – two years later, I operated again and it recurred again, deep in the brain, soon afterwards. I refused to operate another time – it seemed pointless. The conversation with his parents was terrible: they wouldn't accept what I said and they found a neurosurgeon elsewhere who operated three times over the next year and the boy still died. His parents then tried to sue me for negligence. It was one of the reasons I stopped doing paediatrics. Love, I reminded my trainees, can be very selfish."

 

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5-Jun-2021: 5. We are the weather: Saving the planet begins at breakfast by Jonathan Safran Foer

Fave!

 

"We cannot keep the kinds of meals we have known and also keep the planet we have known. We must either let some eating habits go or let the planet go. It is that straightforward, that fraught."

 

"It is true that a healthy traditional diet is more expensive than an unhealthy one – about $550 more expensive over the course of a year. And everyone should, as a right, have access to affordable, healthy food. But a healthy vegetarian diet is, on average, about $750 less expensive per year than a healthy meat-based diet. (For perspective, the median income of a full-time American worker is $31,099.) In other words, it is about $200 cheaper per year to eat a healthy vegetarian diet than an unhealthy traditional diet. Not to mention the money saved by preventing diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, and cancer – all associated with the consumption of animal products. So, no, it is not elitist to suggest that a cheaper, healthier, more environmentally sustainable diet is better. But what does strike me as elitist? When someone uses the existence of people without access to healthy food as an excuse not to change, rather than as a motivation to help those people."

 

"And we have to acknowledge that change is inevitable. We can choose to make changes, or we can be subject to other changes – mass migration, disease, armed conflict, a greatly diminished quality of life – but there is no future without change. The luxury of choosing which changes we prefer has an expiration date."

 

"We view the actions of civilians during World War II from the vantage of having won the war. Winning required the ravaging of lives, landscapes, and cultures. Perhaps we look back at those blacked-out houses with admiration, but more likely, we look back and think, It was the least they could do.

What if those who came before us had refused to make home-front efforts, and we had lost the war? What if the costs were not extreme, but total? Not eighty million, but two hundred million or more? Not the occupation of Europe, but the domination of the world? Not a Holocaust, but an extinction? If we existed at all, we would look back at a collective unwillingness to sacrifice as an atrocity commensurate with the war itself."

 

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20-Jun-2021: 6. Outgrowing God: A beginner's guide by Richard Dawkins

Fave!

 

"We tend to think the United States is an advanced, well-educated country. And so it is, in part. Yet it is an astonishing fact that nearly half the people in that great country believe literally in the story of Adam and Eve. Luckily the other half is there too, and they have made the United States the greatest scientific power in the history of the world. You have to wonder how much further ahead they would be if they weren't held back by the scientifically ignorant half who believe every word of the Bible is literally true."

 

"What do you think of people who threaten children with eternal fire after they are dead? In this book I don't normally give my own answers to such questions. But I can't help making an exception here. I'd say those people are lucky there is no such place as hell, because I can't think of anybody who more richly deserves to go there."

 

"If God made the cheetah, he evidently put a lot of effort into designing a superb killer: fast, fierce, keen-eyed, with sharp claws and teeth, and with a brain dedicated to ruthlessly killing gazelles. But the same God put an equal amount of effort into making the gazelle. At the same time as he designed the cheetah to kill gazelles, he was busy designing the gazelle to be expert at escaping from cheetahs. He made both fast, so each could thwart the speed of the other. You can't help wondering, whose side is God on? He seems to be piling on the agony for both. Does he enjoy the spectator sport? Wouldn't it be horrible to think that God enjoys watching a terrified gazelle running for its life, then being knocked over and throttled by a cheetah gripping its throat so tightly that it can't breathe? Or that he likes watching a cheetah that fails to kill starve slowly to death, along with its pathetically whimpering cubs?"

 

"In 2014, a teenager was caught on camera urinating into a reservoir in America. The local water authority therefore took the decision to drain the reservoir and clean it at an estimated cost of $36,000. The volume of water drained was about 140 million litres. The volume of urine was perhaps about a tenth of a litre. So the ratio of urine to water in the reservoir was less than one part in a billion. There were dead birds and debris in the reservoir, and presumably plenty of animals had urinated into it without anyone noticing. But such was the 'yuck' reaction many people felt, the fact that a single human was known to have peed in the reservoir was enough to get it drained and cleaned. Is that sensible? What would you have done if you were in charge of the reservoir?

Every time you drink a glass of water, there's a high chance you'll drink at least one molecule that passed through the bladder of Julius Caesar."

 

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17-Jul-2021: 7. White Fang by Jack London

 

"To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown and his altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog that have come in to crouch at man's feet, this grief has never come. Unlike man, whose gods are of the unseen and the overguessed, vapors and mists of fancy eluding the garmenture of reality, wandering wraiths of desired goodness and power, intangible outcroppings of self into the realm of spirit – unlike man, the wolf and the wild dog that have come into their fire find the gods in the living flesh, solid to the touch, occupying earth-space and requiring time for the accomplishment of their ends and their existence. No effort of faith is necessary to believe in such a god; no effort of will can possibly induce disbelief in such a god. There is no getting away from it. There it stands, on its two hindlegs, club in hand, immensely potential, passionate and wrathful and loving, god and mystery and power all wrapped up and around by flesh that bleeds when it is torn and that is good to eat like any flesh."

 

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23-Jul-2021: 8. What happened by Hillary Rodham Clinton

Fave!

 

"In short, I thought I'd be a damn good President.

Still, I never stopped getting asked, 'Why do you want to be President? Why? But, really – why?' The implication was that there must be something else going on, some dark ambition and craving for power. Nobody psychoanalyzed Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, or Bernie Sanders about why they ran. It was just accepted as normal. But for me, it was regarded as inevitable – people assumed I'd run no matter what – yet somehow abnormal, demanding a profound explanation."

 

"For years, GOP leaders had stoked the public's fears and disappointments. They were willing to sabotage the government in order to block President Obama's agenda. For them, dysfunction wasn't a bug, it was a feature. They knew that the worse Washington looked, the more voters would reject the idea that government could ever be an effective force for progress. They could stop most good things from happening and then be rewarded because nothing good was happening. When something good did happen, such as expanding health care, they would focus on tearing it down, rather than making it better. With many of their voters getting their news from partisan sources, they had found a way to be consistently rewarded for creating the gridlock voters say they hate."

 

"In my experience, the balancing act women in politics have to master is challenging at every level, but it gets worse the higher you rise. If we're too tough, we're unlikable. If we're too soft, we're not cut out for the big leagues. If we work too hard, we're neglecting our families. If we put family first, we're not serious about the work. If we have a career but no children, there's something wrong with us, and vice versa. If we want to compete for a higher office, we're too ambitious. Can't we just be happy with what we have? Can't we leave the higher rungs on the ladder for men?

Think how often you've heard these words used about women who lead: angry, strident, feisty, difficult, irritable, bossy, brassy, emotional, abrasive, high-maintenance, ambitious (a word that I think of as neutral, even admirable, but clearly isn't for a lot of people)."

 

"Of the sixty-eight women who signed the Declaration of Sentiments in 1848, only one lived to see the Nineteenth Amendment ratified. Her name was Charlotte Woodward, and she thanked God for the progress she had witnessed in her lifetime.

In 1848, Charlotte was a nineteen-year-old glove maker living in the small town of Waterloo, New York. She would sit and sew for hours every day, working for meager wages with no hope of ever getting an education or owning property. Charlotte knew that if she married, she, any children she might have, and all her wordly possessions would belong to her husband. She would never be a full and equal citizen, never vote, certainly never run for office. One hot summer day, Charlotte heard about a women's rights conference in a nearby town. She ran from house to house, sharing the news. Some of her friends were as excited as she was. Others were amused or dismissive. A few agreed to go with her to see it for themselves. They left early on the morning of July 19 in a wagon drawn by farm horses. At first, the road was empty, and they wondered if no one else was coming. At the next crossroads, there were wagons and carriages, and then more appeared, all headed to Wesleyan Chapel in Seneca Falls. Charlotte and her friends joined the procession, heading toward a future they could only dream of.

Charlotte Woodward was more than ninety years old when she finally gained the right to vote, but she got there. My mother had just been born and lived long enough to vote for her daughter to be President.

I plan to live long enough to see a woman win."

 

"As Stephen Colbert once joked, 'reality has a well-known liberal bias.'"

 

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11-Sep-2021: 9. The hipster handbook by Robert Lanham

 

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19-Sep-2021: 10. Mannen som ordnade naturen: En biografi över Carl von Linné by Gunnar Broberg

Swedish bio of Carl Linnaeus.

 

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31-Oct-2021: 11. Until the end of time: Mind, matter, and our search for meaning in an evolving universe by Brian Greene

Fave! Brian is my 4th fave writer, the most pedagogical person in the world, and THE GREATEST MINDFUCKER I have ever read. :'D

 

"… A star that's twenty times the mass of the sun will spend its first eight million years fusing hydrogen into helium, then devote its next million years to fusing helium into carbon and oxygen. From there, with its core temperature getting ever higher, the conveyor belt continually revs up: it takes about a thousand years for the star to burn its storehouse of carbon, fusing it into sodium and neon; over the next six months, further fusion produces magnesium; within a month more sulfur and silicon; and then in a mere ten days fusion burns the remaining atoms, producing iron."

 

"The functions that keep a typical cell alive for just a single second require the energy stored in about ten million ATP molecules. Your body contains tens of trillions of cells, which means that every second you consume on the order of one hundred million trillion (10^20) ATP molecules."

 

"I have encountered many people /.../ who feel that any attempt to subsume consciousness within the physical description of the world belittles our most precious quality. People who suggest that the physicalist program is the hamfisted approach of scientists blinded by materialism and unaware of the true wonders of conscious experience. Of course, no one knows how all this will play out. Perhaps a hundred or a thousand years from now the physicalist program will look naïve. I doubt it. But in acknowledging this possibility, it is also important to counter the presumption that by delineating a physical basis for consciousness we devalue it. That the mind can do all it does is extraordinary. That the mind may accomplish all it does with nothing more than the kinds of ingredients and types of forces holding together my coffee cup makes it more extraordinary still. Consciousness would be demystified without being diminished."

 

"Let's focus on earth and imagine that another star wanders by. Depending on the interloper's mass and trajectory, its gravitational pull may only mildly perturb earth's motion. A lightweight intruder that keeps a good distance won't wreak havoc. But the gravitational pull of a more massive star that passes closer could easily rip earth from its orbit, sending it hurtling across the solar system and heading into deep space. And what's true for earth is true for most other planets orbiting most other stars in most other galaxies. As we climb up the timeline, more and more planets will be flung into space by the disruptive gravitational pull of wayward stars. Indeed, although extremely unlikely, the earth could suffer this fate before the sun burns out.

Were this to happen, earth's ever-larger distance from the sun would cause its temperature to fall continually. Upper layers of the world's oceans would freeze, as would whatever else is left on the surface. Atmospheric gases, predominantly nitrogen and oxygen, would liquefy and drip from the skies. Could life survive? On earth's surface, that would be a tall order. But as we have seen, life thrives and indeed may have originated in dark thermal vents dotting the ocean floor. Sunlight can't penetrate anywhere near such depths, and so the vents will hardly be affected by the sun's absence. Instead, a substantial part of the energy powering the vents comes from diffuse but continual nuclear reactions. Earth's interior contains a storehouse of radioactive elements (mostly thorium, uranium, and potassium), and as these unstable atoms decay they emit a stream of energetic particles that heat the surroundings. So whether or not earth enjoys the warmth generated by nuclear fusion in the sun, it will continue to enjoy the warmth generated by nuclear fission in its interior. Were earth to be ejected from the solar system, it is possible that life on the ocean floor would carry on for billions of years as if nothing had happened."

Me in margin: :)

Me in margin: "DISASTER MOVIE!!!"

 

"… In forming a black hole, the larger the mass, the less that mass needs to be crushed. To build a black hole like the one in the center of the Milky Way, whose mass is about four million times that of the sun, you need matter whose density is about one hundred times that of lead, so you've still got some serious crushing ahead of you. To build one with mass one hundred million times that of the sun, the necessary density drops all the way to that of water. And to build one that's four billion times the mass of the sun, the density you need is on par with that of the air you're now breathing. Gather together four billion times the mass of the sun in air, and unlike the case with a grapefruit, or the earth, or the sun, to create a black hole you would not need to squeeze the air at all. Gravity acting on the air would form a black hole on its own."

 

And I was introduced to the concept of Boltzmann brains. o_O The biggest mindfuck in this book of mindfuckery.

"… We can estimate that there's a reasonable chance that a Boltzmann brain will form within [1 followed by 10^68 zeroes] years."

 

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21-Dec-2021: 12. Me by Elton John

Fave! The shit hit the fan when I watched "Rocketman" on June 14, and several songs in it made me go "Hmm, this sounds pretty nice. I should probably check out more of his music." I'd had a handful of Elton songs in my collection for decades (I first heard him on "The lion king" soundtrack), but now I really started to spend time with ALL THE ALBUMS. (Er, I'm almost done.) Normally, the high point of my week is… the Flickr upload… :B But the Flickr habit had kind of been broken over the summer, for reasons. So the new high point of each week was to sit the fuck down with a new (to me…) Elton album and a can o' energy drink and no distractions. Ahhh. And I've got THREE ELTON SHOWS booked for 2022 and 2023! But I half expect them to get postponed or cancelled. :'( I COULD have started listening to him properly in 1995 or some shit. -_-

 

"But there was something more to cocaine than the way it made me feel. Cocaine had a certain cachet about it. It was fashionable and exclusive. Doing it was like becoming a member of an elite little clique, that secretly indulged in something edgy, dangerous and illicit. Pathetically enough, that really appealed to me. I'd become successful and popular, but I never felt cool. Even back in Bluesology, I was the nerdy one, the one who didn't look like a pop star, who never quite carried off the hip clothes, who spent all his time in record shops while the rest of the band were out getting laid and taking drugs. And cocaine felt cool: the subtly coded conversations to work out who had some, or who wanted some - who was part of the clique and who wasn't - the secretive visits to the bathrooms of clubs and bars. Of course, that was all bullshit, too. I already was part of a club. Ever since my solo career had begun, I'd been shown nothing but kindness and love by other artists. From the minute I turned up in LA, musicians I adored and worshipped - people who'd once just been mythic names on album sleeves and record labels - had fallen over themselves to offer friendship and support. But when it finally arrived, my success had happened so fast that, despite the warm welcome, I couldn't help but still feel slightly out of place, as if I didn't quite belong."

 

"There was choreography, in which I was expected to take part, at least initially. Visibly stunned by my demonstration of the moves I'd honed on the dance floors of Crisco Disco and Studio 54, the choreographer Arlene Phillips went pale and suddenly scaled down my involvement in that side of things, until all I really had to do was click my fingers and walk along the seafront in time to the music. Perhaps she was afraid I was going to upstage the professionals, and the thing she later said about me being the worst dancer she'd ever worked with was a brilliant double-bluff, designed to spare their blushes."

 

PS. Fave Elton song: "Live like horses". :'D Never heard it before 2021. D:

 

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Vegan FAQ! :)

 

The Web Site the Meat Industry Doesn't Want You to See.

 

Please watch Earthlings.

Rainy days gives time for photo processing. Two more images from the recent photo tour trip I took in September/October. This bull elk isn't quite as close as he looks in these images - they were taken with a telephoto and have been cropped. There was a road in between us and him and we were next to the car. Even so, you can see him bugling towards us in one of the images. Definitely an irritable guy.

Farewell delicious freshly air-fried pretzels.

I shall never taste you again, as I'm quitting all wheat and rye for my health now as well. 😩

 

Avoiding all FODMAP oligos and polyols that would mess me up is difficult, and I have to avoid the majority of the grocery store now (Almost every savory food has traces of onion and/or garlic in it. -_-), but I'm just so tired of awful IBS pains.

 

P.S.:

I'll try to have some good Second Life content to post again soon.

Why can't time move faster~ I can't wait for the semester to end! I'm getting sick of all this studying, I want to finish my studies ASAP! I feel like I'm just wasting my time doing something I'm not passionate about. I'm not even really sure if I'm on the right path anymore.

 

I went to the university on Monday to try and finish an exercise for one subject, but the machine we were supposed to use was acting up again, so I ended up not being able to do anything. Its frustrating because it takes 3 hours to get to the university, so I only go there when I have class or when I really have to do something. Its such a waste of time (and money) when I'm not able to do what I planned. I figured it was okay since I have an early class the next day, and I have an apartment nearby where I can spend the night. At least I wouldn't have to wake up extremely early the next day to be able to get to class on time. So I spend the night at my apartment (alone T__T) only to wake up to a text from my professor announcing that we wouldn't meet that day~

Of course a big part of me is happy that I'm free for another day, but still~

 

So I get up, eat some leftover pesto for breakfast and start my 3-hour journey home.

 

ANYWAY~

 

(Sorry for the mini-rant. It's *that* time of the month, and I'm extremely irritable. I'm not normally like this.)

 

My SP this week was supposed to be something different, but I ended up not liking it, so I had to come up with something new, something related to time. (Do I look annoyed in this photo?)

 

Kero-Kero-Pi hat was bought at the same time as my Kupo hat, at the Otaku Expo 2010. It's also the same hat Ezra was wearing (backwards) in this photo, we taped the eyes so they wouldn't show and changed the color in Photoshop.

  

Title came from the song "Rondo" (sung by ON/OFF) from the soundtrack of Vampire Knight Guilty (Zero and Kaname~ Kyaaaaaaah!)

 

Thanks Ez for taking the picture~

For FF : Mental Disorders

 

Its been a while since I participated in FF~

 

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a single person displays multiple distinct identities or personalities (known as alter egos or alters), each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. The diagnosis requires that at least two personalities routinely take control of the individual's behavior with an associated memory loss that goes beyond normal forgetfulness; in addition, symptoms cannot be due to drug use or medical condition.

-Wikipedia

 

Thankfully, I don't have a split-personality disorder ... but like any normal person, I do have extreme mood swings at times. I can be extremely sweet, or extremely irritable.

 

I like to think I'm mostly sweet ... though my sister says that the look on the left is the one she's most used to seeing XD

 

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Camera used: Canon Digital Rebel XTi

Lens used: Canon 18-55mm (kit lens)

 

365 day 235

 

The busy nuthatch parents are getting used to me, so I now know that there are at least 3 nearby nests, as 6 irritable parents scold each other to get out of the way at the feeder, all while I am standing not 10 feet away.