#I am isolated and deserted and I have only myself to blame

[binnie]

I feel so alone

#i feel empty and barren and desolate and lonely #so lonely #I am isolated and deserted and I have only myself to blame #always pushing people away #my best friend (my only true friend) is slowly walking away from me and it's my own fault #she's the only person I can and want to talk to and she's the only one in my life who even TRIES to understand me #even when I don't understand myself #she's the person in the world that knows me the best but even she doesn't know the true me #if she did she'd hate me. she'd despise me #I am chidish and egotistical and mean and jealous and selfish #I know this is most likely the mean voice in my mind talking but I just know she's gonna leave me very soon #it has been a long time coming #she's going through a very hard time herself #so it's just not fair for me to be so dependent on her for my well-being whe she's struggling so much #I've been very selfish #relying on her so much while she's dealing with her own pain #I'm a burden at this point #everyone is growing and moving forward and i'm just stuck in the same place unable to move #I'm a nuisance and a failure and she's bound to move on and leave me behind #meanwhile I'm just lying in my bed crying and throwing a pity party for myself #I'm afraid she's only sticking by me because she feels obligated to or because she's just used to having me around #or because she pitties me #I guess i'm just... mourning a friendship I don't think I can salvage anymore #soon i'll have no one #it hurts

[scifriskyxy]

The reason we dont have a culture anymore is because the lgbtq,feminist, black lives matter movement, the me too movement the destruction of the family unit, the destruction of friendships,gate keepers

The fact that people get angry at the american flag,the people that get angry at it, destroyed the american culture. Those are the people ,the people who protest on japans culture, those are the people that have destroyed our society, they are a mix of americans and immigrants, the people we call tourist where the ones that destroyed us, the rich snobs ,those who act rich,the children that are spoiled rotten desytoyed us ,the parents that said "i wont do what my dad did" the people that want to stop the generational trauma altogether,in some ways thats great but however trauma teaches us, it humbles us it warns us on whats dangerous

The MOCKING of christianity is the disrespect,the lack of chivalrous men,the stock piling of wealth ,the lack of proper justice, the men and women that trap their spouse into paying for a child that for men likely isnt theirs and so much more

A culmination of all these things

The only actual culture left are the hillbillies, the florida man , the motorcycle gangs,rednecks

These people, as far as i can tell, are one of the few people left with the american spirit , with a culture that survives being named and will survive persecution. Why? Because a lot of these people are veteran alot of these people fought for our countries they know what america means

How did this start? You wonder,well

For me as far as i can tell it started when americans began to call themselves african american it started with slurs it moved to women more and more leaving the home life ,it began with trends that didnt unify us it began with trends that divided us

I do not know how my home land my borinquen is today...i had to leave it due to reasons outside of my control, but when i was there ,there was unity, there was love there was respect ,it wasnt always the best

I could join in the fun myself due to being isolated in an apartment looking down at the happenings i still watch from phisical isolation. Now that i am on the ground, i am in america. All i see is a desolate desert

Dull colors, vast open roads, ghosts whispers of a past that was slowly bit by bit torn to shreds all thats left ,is drugs,sex endless rants, whimps that cry victim, people that blindly trust blindly blame blame blame,conspiracy theories and people divided glaring at eachother,endless secrets and a rabbit hole of depravity that doesnt end...it feels like the pits of hell and its gates are opening

People see it but do nothing because it 'not their problem

Im scared... I do not know what i can do. We've tried everything, and things aren't changing fast enough if things dont change FOR the better ,the monsters ,the predators amongst us the inhuman people amongst us the most deprived twisted beings that are being protected that we arent allowed to harm will harm us we cant protect ourselves,the children are being raised and born to be worse than the last generation

What can we do?

We can't do anything because we suffer from a cycle. Many places have managed to slow the cycle down,we are being fought over by two sides, and we do not know ,i do not know the reason but we are seen as a comodity for whatever reason ,is it our souls? Is it our attention? We never had a choice. We were never given one WE, who never had a voice

What would you choose ,Satan or god

It's a red herring... or so it feels like it to me,

It's either god or suffer,come to me, my child, or be destroyed ,blindly trust me child or suffer,we never had a choice jesus made that choice for us,one man one person made the choice for an unfathomable amount of lives ,hes the king hes all...and what are we?...he says we are kings and queens but are we? I stare at the angels. Did they have a choice? I look at the Bible, and i stare up at the stars , i yearn to be free, we are so close to it...and we are being struck down by something we can't comprehend something all powerful, something we cannot fight against no matter how hard we try,something we cannot escape from even in death

So many people silenced blindly trusting and distrusting

I wish deeply to ask jesus a question

Why does he blindly believe a father that was never there for him, a father that technically assaulted his mother that tained something so sacrilegious as a marriage? I understand why he didn't choose to side with Satan, but why, God, when he had a choice, a choice never said, choose neither... and choose everyone

I know my questions will land me in hell, all I hope i figure out my own way out somehow sometimes you must ask for help I know but sometimes that help comes with a price

All I want... all I crave is freedom ,no hellish jail, no collar and chain,no strings, no judgment

Why... do I crave this so badly that my body has goosebumps

I crave to create. I crave to explore the abyss of the cosmos I crave to learn,I CRAVE THE TRUTH

The more I look up, the more that dream is fading the more I see what God has done... the more I see dead or dying stars devastated planets ...has it always been this way? Or is this God's doing

If there's a father... where is the mother... who is the mother? There must be a mother out there, right?

I may be scared... but I must keep moving. I can not stop. I MUST break through no matter how much pain and how much suffering I must stay determined. I do not want to fight. All I want is freedom. Hurting someone is the last thing I want to do, so I place a shield upon myself. What color will it be? I do not know. I do not care. All colors are beautiful, hope, and love where given to me I will not allow God to take it away a gift is a gift after all and I accept your gift you shouldn't be expecting anything in return perhaps one day I'll be able to give back

.

.

.

Just Believe

#my post #vent post #I am deeply conflicted with what is happening #its hard to explain what i see in reality and what i know #i want a voice #i want to be heard #i do not want blindly go anywhere like a moth to a light #i will be blinded. I will suffer perhaps i am already blinded #i will walk against the tides and pass by God #i am determined to do so #all i can hope others feel the same as i #i dont think my name is in the book of life anyways

[kelseyfitzherbert]

so id love to put this under a read more but i haven't been here lately and my brain is mush and i forgot but i just need a place to scream

tw: cancer, depression, self hatred, loneliness, etc etc etc

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

im so tired. my toddler has cancer yet im the tired one. everyday is just me on autopilot until the next treatment, or doctor's visit, or body scan. when my husband isn't home, i crumble, having to handle my son alone. and he's a really good kid. but everyday is the same. and i know it's temporary, and i know i should be grateful for whatever time i have with my kid, but i'm losing me. i want to get away but have nowhere to go. i want to escape but everywhere i turn is reality. and i can't. i have a job to do here and my kid is counting on me.

but man, what i would've give for like, a four day coma.

im lonely. i feel like everyone i love pulls away from me, and it's my own doing. one example is i used to talk everyday in a group chat with my only local remaining close friends, but now it's deserted and i'm 90% sure they have a group without me. i didn't mean to pull away. things just got so busy and sometimes it's just so hard for me to even say a sentence. they tried to invite me to things at first but with my schedule so up in the air and dependent on riley, they stopped asking me. and maybe i'm stupid, and overreacting, and self sabotaging myself but i feel like almost everyone in my life is doing this now. my husband, my kid, my friends, my family. and it's so hard not to blame it on myself because....why wouldn't it be. ive done this my entire life. i push people away. i don't mean to, but i do.

i don't mean to be this way but everything in my life is so isolating right now. i don't spend any time with anyone outside my family. i have problems that get ignored. i try and speak up but it feels like im invisible. it feels like nobody wants to hang out, or spend time with me, or just talk to me about things that are normal and not my situation. my old friends don't say they miss me, or try and help me get out of this in and out day by day horror ride i'm on. sometimes it feels like nobody wants me around. and i know it's not other peoples jobs to do that. i know it's my own. i know i need to put forth a majority of the effort but i feel like i'm giving and giving and giving and giving and nobody hears me. i can't give anymore. i'm exhausted. i'm embarrassed. i'm ashamed. sometimes it feels like nobody's life would benefit from keeping me close and it's just so fucking hard right now.

because who would want to. who would want to entertain the girl whose kid has cancer and over compensates with everything else in her life to try and find a little bit of peace in such a scary, awful world. who gets too loud, too obsessive, too clingy or too annoying. i try not to but it's just hard. idk how my husband is still here. i would've left me so long ago.

i look in the mirror and i hate myself. i hate what i see. i hate who i am and only see myself as useless. i blame that on why nobody wants to be around me, and it pushes me further. i hate the way i look, and i hate it because i'm in better shape than ive been. but ive just been staring at myself today wondering what the fuck im doing wrong. im scared to be around my husband, who is the kindest person in the world. who, without him, id fall apart.

maybe im just overreacting. ive got people in my life who i love so much and i know care about me. but i can't help but fall back into that thinking of "im going to ruin this again" because it's all ive ever done. i don't want to push my friends, my family, my damn husband away. and i overcompensate that and it comes off as clingy and desperate and annoying.

i want to get back to things i love but it's hard. im trying. i still workout, i actually love going at 430am now. but other than that, i cannot get myself to do anything more than exist. i want to do things. i want to talk to people and go out and adventure and live. i want to draw and write and sing but i can't. i just can't.

im so proud of my kid. ive watched this little two year old do things with a smile on his face that would make a grown person cry. he's so brave, and i can't be that for him and i hate it.

im just tired. and if you made it this far, hey, what's up lol. sorry i just disappear and then reappear randomly upset about stuff. this blog has always been my number one safe space since 2010. it's see a lot of the shit of my life. im starting therapy again this month, which will be a shitshow. it'll be good, but it'll be a shitshow.

just...be kind. that's all i can say. be kind to people. you never know what they're going through, and sometimes a simple word can help so much.

and thank you to those who reach out. who care. i love you all. ❤️

#personal

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh fanfic #dbh x reader #dbh x male reader #connor x male reader #connor rk800 #male reader #m! reader #connor x m!reader

[pjstafford]

Meditation on The Mind of Winter song by David Duchovny.

David Duchovny's newest album is Gestureland. The song Mind of Winter is not my favorite song off the album, but it is the song that causes me to think the most. The Mind of Winter reference is to a poem by Wallace Stevens called The Snow Man. Some recent viewers of The Chair likely heard David Duchovny strumming his guitar and singing a few lines from Mind of Winter and heard Sandra Oh say "That's the only rock song I've heard that references Wallace Stevens" With all of that as the backdrop of this song, I wanted to share my thoughts on the lyrics.

First, let me express what the Stevens poem means to me. Worth noting that I did not study this poem in any academic sense or read much on it and so, my thoughts on it are my own and the reader of this may not agree or may have, in fact, more knowledge. However, these are my meditations. So, when I read The Snow Man I see two themes in opposition to each other (which is something that I enjoy).

The first is that the snowman must devoid himself of the emotion connected with winter to appreciate the landscape of winter. The second is that the snowman must be himself well familiar with cold and winter to see beyond the misery of winter and become unfeeling within that landscape.

The first appeals to me as a philosophy in that if we can devoid ourselves of preferring the beach in summer or knowing any of the literary imagery of the winter months or having walked in a snowstorm or fallen on ice, then we can experience the now and the moment and beauty of frost and junipers shagged with ice. It is the same way to me of how I see the beauty of the desert which is the environment in which I was raised and in which I now live. It has an amazing beauty if you stop associating it with concepts of a barren wasteland of heat and thirst.

The second causes my heart to feeze but I understand it so well. When you have lived without rain, then you can become accustomed to drought. In the poem then we take all the imagery of winter cold to heart and think that because I have not had warmth I have become immune to the element of cold. My emotions have frozen over because I have not felt the emotions of passion or caring I might prefer to have known.

This frames me, then, in a way for the contradictory elements in David Duchovny's song The Mind of Winter. The refrain hook of I swear that I'll be simpler is repeated in a song that seems to be not simple at all and sung by a character so complex that simpler is not possible. I have to remind myself that this is not a song of The Snow man. It is a song reflecting only a reference to the phrase The Mind of Winter from the poem The Snow Man.

So the song begins with a journey. As opposed to the snowman who cannot journey. There was weather everywhere on this journey and I bring in the emotion I have to the concept of "weather everywhere". That makes it a hard and dangerous "stormy" journey. A pretender on the throne could be someone usurping your place in a marriage or a stepfather to your kids, but it could also be a King or President who doesn't really belong in the position- but in looking back there didn't seem to be a silver-tongued pleaser who could rise to the times - another love to take the place in the relationship you've lost or possibly the person who could unite a nation?

Then the character explains the reason for the journey- if you hadn't put the words on me - if I could grow up and throw away the maps and geography. Did you tell me I was smart? Did you tell me I was born poor? Did you tell me I was a man and made me think toxic masculinity was the norm? Was I expected to get married? Was I expected to be a father? Was I expected to be a stud in order to be a man? How much of who I am and what I've done in my life is because of who I was told I was and what I was supposed to do? Can I become a better, more self-aware and self-actualized human being through this journey? Wow- that's a really great verse.

Then the chorus and If I come back sounds like he is not sure he will make it back due to the dangers of the journey, but it could also be that he will choose not to come back to the life he led or from which he fled. Perhaps he will be an expatriate never to return to his country. But if he does come back he will be simpler (I will wait to discuss this further). Then the refrain from The Snowman I"'ll have a mind of winter. (a mind that will live in the moment now on whatever landscape he finds himself, will not judge the moment or the landscape based on preconceptions or will learn to accept the frozen conditions of a life without love?}

The next verse is the verse I have the most difficultly understanding. I keep thinking there are references contained within this verse not to the Mind of Winter, but to other works I cannot connect. Certainly, the person is lost at sea without land in sight. Yet, he does not accept a landless condition or the beauty of the sea as a merman (a play on Snowman) might. This is a desperate man with no end in sight to his misery and in the fog which I am interpreting as the noise, the cloud, the environment which surrounds him, he sees blame and people pointing at him, blaming him, shaming him. Perhaps they are keeping him from the land because he is not deserving. He falls to his knees among the birds and dying bees. He is desperate. When I think of the birds and the bees I think of sex. But why the dying bees? Here I think this is a call to an environmental awakening because the bees are dying, folks! Then he tries to find his tongue to trace the maiden name of God. Ok, I still think of sex, but I also think of mother earth. I have heard about the rare Jewish use of the name El Shaddai which means nurturing God or the God that should be sufficient? I don't know enough about it to know if it fits within these words.

I need to have more knowledge or more meditation but for now, I think it has the double meaning of we are adrift with no way to solve our ecological disaster and restore mother earth and the man is adrift and is to blame and he must find his connection to the sacred within women so he can understand and relate to the harm he's done. Again, this is the verse I am the least sure about even my own interpretations or what I am reading into them.

However, the next verse reinforces what I believe I understood from the verse before which is that nature is wounded and we need to throw away all of our deadly philosophy around conquering, claiming, drilling and mining and learn to live in a more harmonious coexistent with mother earth. Also, that if I can feel my own pain and the pain of others and live the isolation I deserve then I can arrive at a place where I can both appreciate the landscape and the life I have at the moment I am in now AND that I have adjusted to the lack of warmth in my life enough to not seek warmth for the sake of warmth alone. Either way, the verse takes us back to the reason for the journey - I need to learn who I would be if I could shed myself of your deadly philosophy.

Then the chorus again. So does simpler mean I will have fewer expectations for myself? Does it mean I will stop consuming as much and try to leave a footprint of less ecological impact? I think it means both. I will have a mind of winter and be ok with where I am at now because that is all any of us can do. I will live life simpler so I don't destroy the planet more?

I think this song is very reflective of the title of the album Gestureland because we all want to reflect our identity and what it means - are we woke, or we politically correct, are we fuck the establishment, but all of that is complicated. Does the snowman have to wear a sign saying snowman for you to know that's what he is? Less noise. Simpler. But then I start thinking of everything is noise, and then the I can't reverse line from chapter and verse, and I am back to all the songs in the album which, without this being a theme album, fits so well together. Then I relisten to it all and find this is the song I stop at to mediate on a bit more.

Go to DavidDuchovny.com to read the lyrics to Mind of Winter and to wherever you find music to listen to it.

#David Duchovny #gestureland #mindofwinter #wallacestevens

[kamadaeva]

a lot of the early parts of his interlude are short dialogue but when he gets to the holmes part... Moriarty: And that’s the end of a successful evil plan… Yep! Everything up to this point was my doing all along! Mm. You look at me with distrusting eyes, wondering what I am scheming, but my scheme is already finished… Ok… I can probably buy a little more time by blaming the static and delay caused by the mist… Yes. Everything here was part of my plan. It was plan made exclusively to have this moment. I arranged the fake Moriarty and the fake Micro-Singularity in London. Everything. Fujimaru: Where are you getting at? Moriarty: I just want to talk about myself and my philosophies without Holmes’ interference… I wish I’m just overthinking this, but… Holmes is my rival, I know him. You have to go through the most ridiculous amounts of effort if you don’t what him to peek or eavesdrop on you… We only have a few minutes until the transmission is recovered. I’ll talk everything I can… I know the reason why I was summoned here. It’s because I interacted with you in Shinjuku and build a connection from there. Luck and coincidence brought us together. But Holmes is now in Chaldea. Why is he in Chaldea? Fujimaru: Because… Moriarty: Ah, of course I know. I know of your connection and what lead it to happen. Your first encounter with him was during the Human Order Incineration Incident, where you met him in the Atlas Institute adrift in the desert. Since the Atlas Institute is isolated from all forms of connection, there are no records of your conversation with Holmes. But Holmes was most certainly there. You can attest to that. What did he say, again? “I was first summoned in London. I was cooperating with you to fix the Fourth Singularity. But I was hired by Sir Babbage to investigate the big picture of the Human Order Incineration Incident instead of only the Fourth Singularity, leading me to start my detective work ahead in the Sixth Singularity.” If he’s telling the truth, it would mean that he Rayshifted independently. Is this even possible? Fujimaru: That’s… Moriarty: I personally believe it shouldn’t be. But at the same time, I know that man can show up with some unbelievable tricks that can surprise even us… I mean, the culprits. The Atlas Institute is the only building that survived the Human Order Incineration intact. He could have taken good advantage of this property. Or there could be a magecraft practitioner who called Holmes into that era. There’s a reasonable explanation for that, whatever it may be. But what matters here is that we have no way to verify his claims. Here’s an important detail, Master. I’m most definitely evil… but that doesn’t necessarily means that whoever opposes me is good. When push comes to the shove, he will use any means necessary to protect Chaldea… no, to protect the Human Order. Even the most ruthless tricks that Da Vinci and Mr. Gordolf could never opt to use. Tricks that even I find off-putting… But naturally, of course, this could just be me being way too paranoid. But didn’t you hear him saying it? Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth. And what I’m thinking about is still not impossible. That’s why I must take my due precautions. In public I pretend I’m just putting a charming front to my evil, while behind the scenes I pretend that my misdeeds are for Master’s sake, and then I hit that man with a surprise checkmate! That’s the goal for today’s scheme. Well, my point is: think of me as a safety lock. I’m here to prevent some needless comedy like, say… good people willingly accepting sacrifices for the greater good. Would you help me with that? Fujimaru: That’s a difficult question… Moriarty: I can’t blame you for hesitating. But I want you to stay strong here. However, I’ll cast one spell on you… You’ll forget our conversation here. Fujimaru: Forget…? Moriarty: Aye. You may be asking yourself why would I do this after giving so many warnings. It’s for no particular reason aside from all of my instincts and experiences warning me I should. If you face that man without forgetting everything I said now, he'll most likely see through you. The problem is… Yeah, the problem is that you won’t understand where the situation is going. It shames me to say this, but I have little to no evidence, solid or circumstantial. There’s no result to an equation full of holes. That’s why I’ll erase your memories now… no, I’ll seal them for you. Fujimaru: But there’s … Moriarty: No point in doing so? No, there’s quite the big one. This memory will sink into the bottom of your mind, silently waiting for its moment to surface. If the time comes, which I hope it doesn’t, I’d like you to trust me over Holmes. Being honest with you… I wish this whole story doesn’t turn into anything serious. Because, you see, he risked his life to save you. That’s a fatal contradiction. So, I’m most certainly just making wrong assumptions. About everything. That said, no person ever knows when exactly things start going wrong. I just felt the need to prepare a little back-up plan to support me when I face him. [Fujimaru’s eyes start closing] Now, let us return, my Master! Good luck on our journeys! Is the present me good or evil? That is something of a taboo question. Specially when the one asking is myself. Will I one day be able to prove my theory with pride? Or will I learn my limits in shame? Whatever the result is… however it happens, I want it to be something convincing. Something I can accept. Because that’s the pride and desire of the Servant summoned as a professor.

#fgo spoilers #super long dialogue cut #god it's so crazy

[quiet-hypnotist]

Of Drinks And Dreams

(Just a quick heads-up:  This story features a fairly conversational induction scene. And given the nature of that style, please have a content warning. All suggestions that the tist in this story mentions are about feeling pleasure from obedience and being taken into hypnosis. At the end there is the mention of a re-induction trigger, yet that along with all suggestions is framed to fade as the story ends, much like waking from a dream. A dream about what exactly? Well, for that much detail you gotta read it yourself. Enjoy!)

“Hey there. I hope you saved a beer for me.” The friendly call turned some heads, but not more than on any other Friday evening in this place. The small hotel bar wasn’t exactly the place where people would go to find isolation.  During the work days that might have meant a bustling bartender and busy waiters all throughout the room. Yet as it so often went the last days of the week flushed only the weary or the troubled through the doors. And whoever didn’t silently cling to their glass eventually let silky dark air outside flush them back out the same way, sending them to bed or back to the grind.

As such the room was already almost deserted, the only one’s who truly took note were the three people who, with beaming faces, turned to face the source of the noise and wave. The two guys sitting across from each other smirked before one of them corrected their glasses for the dramatic effect, donning their best imitation of what might have otherwise been a stern voice: “Get your butt moving and order one then. Ain’t no one saving a drink for the tardy around here.”

“Oh, woe is me! My best friends leave me to just die of thirst.” “Yeah,” the second guy nodded with a smug grin, “and of hunger, too. Don’t think just because you let me copy your notes every week that you’d get even one of these fries from me.” “Oh, guys, c’mon! He was just half an hour late. Why would we possibly have a reason to take that out on him?” The group’s only lady looked no less amused by the exchange than the other two. Though as she shifted in her seat to tug a strand of pink hair behind her ears that expression softened from one of mockery to honest warmth. “Take a seat for now. And here’s your drink.” As he seated himself opposite from her she pushed a filled glass in front of him. “And here I thought I would get to see the day where you finally keep all the good stuff to yourself.” Despite the words he received it with thanks, all the more seeing as both she and the guys still had their own glasses right there. “Already on the second round?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” the first speaker waved it aside, “isn’t it only natural we’d wait for you?” On the other side of the table the smug guy laughed. “Ryan, you do notice how much you’re contradicting yourself, right?” Adjusting his glasses again more out of embarrassment over his act from before than of necessity, Ryan countered: “Not like you or Brielle were any better.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Brielle winked, “I think Jeff here was pretty convincing. Or can you imagine him willingly sharing food with anyone?” “Ah, you have a point.” “Excuse me? What are you implying here?” “Nothing, of course. Could these eyes lie to you?” “Damn, yes, they could.” “Hey now, that’s the privilege of a lady.”  “C’mon, Erik, say something to her, will you?” Instead of saying something he took a sip from the offered beer before chuckling. “Nah, I think I’ll let you folks do the talking tonight.” “See, that is why I don’t share my fries with him.”

“Don’t tell me…” Brielle stopped to take a good look at his face. “Did it happen again?” He nodded. For a moment the group fell silent. “Damn, you really have it figured out, huh?” “I wish.” Ryan shook his head in disbelief. “You need to get a grip, man. There’s no way it works like that.” “You’d really think so.” It was always the same reaction. Not like Erik could blame them. Honestly, he himself often enough doubted what was going on. And he was there when it happened. How would they have an easier time believing it?

“Err, sorry to be the party pooper or something.” Jeff scratched his head in hopes of finding the right tone for the occasion: “But could someone maybe give me a quick rundown here? What are you even saying happened? Traffic jam or some such? We… we are talking about why Erik was late, aren’t we?”

Brielle chuckled with that same helpless eye roll as the day Erik had first told her about it. Ryan meanwhile frowned: “You haven’t heard yet?” “That’s why I’m asking, wouldn’t you say?” “Hey, no need to get snarky. Just… oh, who am I kidding, it’s not like I would have that clear an idea myself.”

To assist him Brielle mentioned: “Erik chatted up a girl.”

And fell silent again. As if that would explain anything. Thousands of people chatted up someone. And just as Erik would have expected, Jeff seemed to be of a similar opinion: “Hey man, good for you! You’ve been single long enough! What’s it been since that cutie from the pool party? Six years? Seven?” “Something like that,” Erik forced himself to smile, “but it’s not what you think.”

“Aww, no need to get shy now! We’ve all flirted with a girl before here. Some of us still are.” Jeff winked at Brielle who just let one of her hands disappear under the table. Seconds later he grimaced but at least today he managed to not make a sound despite the pain where she pinched him.

“You’ll never learn, will you?” Erik sighed. “But be that as it may, really, it is not like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I had every intention on maybe getting her number. Ask her out on a date, get to know her. You know the drill. But… well, I kinda… talked to her.”

Still wary and with a grumpy glace at the girl besides him Jeff fired back: “That’s usually how flirting with someone new works, Mr. Smartypants. Though hopefully you didn’t only talk to her. Because if that is how you ended up half an hour late I have an idea why you’re making such a long face now.”

Ryan on the other hand nodded, suddenly a lot milder than a few minutes ago: “I feel you there, buddy, believe me. They wanna hear about your hobbies and before you even get into the third arc of Gundams they mysteriously have a prior engagement to get to.” “No, sorry, that might be just your problem there.”

Brielle shut the guys up with a glare that probably would have managed to freeze lava if she tried. Before directing her attention back to Erik, all concern and worry. “What I don’t understand,” she carefully approached the issue, “is why it keeps happening? It would be odd enough if it happened at all, of course, however sometimes life just plays out that way. But every time?” “Tell me about it,” he grimaced. She didn’t seem to press on after seeing his expression. A gap that Jeff more than eagerly used to get a word in himself: “Or better yet, you tell us! Sure you might not exactly play up there with the big movie stars when it comes to sex appeal, but really I can’t see a single reason why you wouldn’t find a date when you actually make an honest effort. So what are you doing that it ends up like this each time?”

It was obvious that their interest was raised to the point where they would never let him off the hook. Especially Jeff, friendly, supportive, nosey Jeff. If Erik didn’t watch his step the guy might just drag him to five blind dates a week until the matter was solved or something. He sure wouldn’t hesitate all for the sake of helping a friend. Though would it really be considered help given the circumstances? So he cleared his throat, taking another sip of liquid courage and tried to express just how it went.

“Really, I’ve been convinced it had to be just a coincidence for the longest time, much like you guys. I mean, it sounds lunatic no matter how you slice it. Chatting up a hot person is enough of a hurdle as it is. But seeing how odd they behave every time… ”

“So what if they tiptoe around you not being their type?”

“Oh, no. No, I doubt you could call it that. Though granted, that’s what anyone would think the first couple times around. So, you know, that’s a fair point to make. But no. It’s not like they feigned interest until a convenient distraction moves the conversation into safer waters. Or like they mysteriously get phone calls that need them to leave and postpone any meetings with me for the indefinite future. Nothing of the sort.”

It had a soothing effect to watch the golden brown alcohol swirl in the glass when he gently moved it while speaking and he found the motion helped the words flowing.

“If anything it is exactly… well, maybe not exactly but still pretty much the opposite. They don’t lose interest. If I had to say it, they get too interested in what I say. Like this girl today. She actually was the one coming up to me this time.”

“Aren’t you just bragging now?” Jeff’s question was swiftly followed by a painful yelp and a death glare that quickly vanished behind Brielle’s gentle encouragement: “Now I would get why you’re sure she wouldn’t just politely avoid you.”

“Right?” He appreciated how she helped him get back on track after the interruption. “I don’t even really remember what she started off with, but within a couple minutes we found ourselves sitting down at a nearby bench with two cheap paper cups in our hands and letting the heat of the coffee inside just warm our fingers. And I want to claim that we had a really eloquent conversation about this or that, but… well, to be honest I just talked. And I guess it was fine because she didn’t do much else. The words just kept flowing as a welcome reason to sit together, spend the time in each other’s company and  whatever was said didn’t even matter compared to just keep that moment going.”

Jeff seemed to have some words of his own but no sooner had he opened his mouth when with a careful glance at the pink haired girl next to him he fell silent. Erik barely noticed how dumbfounded he looked with his mouth opening and closing like a carp. In his mind he was back there, on the bench, a flimsy cup of coffee in his fingers instead of cold beer, once more seeing the expression of that young woman.

“She didn’t mind just listening. In fact sometimes she would nod along much as if she were feeling every word she heard. Maybe you already know that sort of fugue when it just feels so right to listen that the only important thing becomes to keep hearing that other person’s voice?” “Mhm,” Brielle murmured, all her attention on him. The guys both leaned back, evidently happy to wait their turn with further words.

“And honestly, had anyone been seeing the two of us sit there it likely wouldn’t have seemed like something out of the ordinary. Just imagine it, taking a stroll in the sun and seeing her there, focused on every word she heard and yet not being aware of a single one of them. Because in that moment it was much better to let the warmth from the cup soak into her. Much easier to simply nod and listen. So very comfy to stop thinking about where the conversation flowed. And how could it not? When even I, the one who kept talking, stopped thinking about the words and focused only on how lovely this person looked?”

He took another sip more to wet his throat than because he was thirsty, but neither of them so much as moved.

“And had such an onlooker continued to take in the scene, can we be sure they had noticed the signs? Would they really have become aware of how that woman’s head started drooping a little more with each nod? Would they have realized the way those shoulders slumped a little more with each breath? Would those eyes have seemed glassy and doll-like even from a distance? Or would all of those things simply happen without anyone noticing at all as the body simply responded to impulses beyond control?”

It was a question he still knew no answer to and at this point he began to wonder if it even mattered at all.

“Memory is such a blurry, foggy thing sometimes but perhaps you remember moments like that, caught somewhere in an unexplored haze between waking and dreaming, between listening and blankly absorbing. And I suppose that must have happened to that girl. Because by the time I noticed she was leaning against me, those eyes fluttering as if dancing on the line between watching and dreaming. Who really knows if she even had the ability left to notice her lips being softly parted, a faint trickle of drool escaping her as she slumped that far.”

Somehow the swirling beer inside his jug became a canvas, conjuring up all the impressions from that time anew. The weight of a person leaning on that arm. The warmth of another body right next to his. The slow, steady rhythm of her breath. The subtle moans as he continued to speak: “She was beautiful like that, no doubt. And as such I dared not to disturb the moment. Whether aware or not,  she felt here and now was exactly the right place and exactly the right time to let all worries and cares go. And I cannot put my finger on why, but we both knew that it was perfectly fine because that mind was so good at absorbing the words that continued to flow around it.”

Did the words flow down into the depths between slumbering thoughts like a warm, soothing liquid down a thirsty throat? It was a nice image at the very least. He smiled, appreciating that his friends had fallen still to give him a chance and get it all out.

“Of course, I say that the words don’t matter but that does not mean they were without meaning. It was just that neither of us needed to think about them because conversation took a life of it’s own, flowing on and on in a way we could drift along with. Like when I just began putting into words how attractive she was or how pleasurable it felt to be this close.”

The memory alone stirred up a blissful shiver.

Opposite from him Jeff and Brielle seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, both of them leaning against each other with dopey smiles on their faces and half-closed eyes. Meanwhile Ryan next to him slumped against the wall and seemed close to dozing off. Not like anyone could blame him. It was the middle of the night and by now the three were the only guests left. As the evening progressed it would be a surprise if people didn’t fall asleep.

He considered ushering the group to bed. But… he had never really had someone listen to him about this issue before and to be honest it was cathartic in a way to get it all out.

“Was it maybe the warmth of our drinks that melted one moment into the next? Or maybe the way the wind seemed to carry words and thoughts and anything else away for a while? Whichever it may have been, neither of us noticed how the longer I kept talking, the more pleasurable she found it to listen to me. Which may have been remarkable in hindsight, considering how the more she entrusted that mind to my words the more she began to shiver and moan. It almost seemed like that young woman’s mind felt the sheer sound of my voice with the intensity of soft, intimate touches. And it wasn’t before she was clutching my arm, openly panting in aroused heat that it dawned on me. It had happened again. Somehow it happens all the time. Like there were a pattern in the way I speak that inevitably draws someone in if they are willing to listen and follow the thoughts my voice offers.”

It was nice that his friends restrained their comments to moans under their breath. They clearly had to hold it in a fair bit, the excitement from not talking seemed to nearly overwhelm them as they shuddered and panted the moment he began to speak.

“It is like my words were putting her under a kind of hypnotic spell until all she could think about was whatever I told her. Like she were mesmerized to believe obeying this voice she hears meant pleasure and pleasure meant obedience. She was falling more and more under this spell the longer she kept listening. And kept listening only ever more intently the deeper she fell for me. By the time we realized this she was already so deep that the thought of obeying something I said alone was already sending wave after wave of pulsing arousal through her.”

Goodness, those three really gave it their all to hold back their opinions! They sounded just like that girl had as he wondered if the talk they had was going to turn her into a slave to the sound of his voice.

“In the end, of course, just as Ryan pointed out before, that just isn’t how flirting works. Of course in many ways a good flirt is about honing the art of seduction. Thus I could easily see how someone who enjoys this kind of flirt might get seduced into letting their thoughts fade the more they listen. Or might even get drawn into such a joyful haze that they start to crave doing as they are told when it is a safe time and place for that to happen. But in the end, a fun flirty dream is all it was. Because that is how that works.”

As he watched their faces Erik couldn’t help but wonder if they were already on their own way to dreamland. Ryan looked totally knocked out. Jeff was sprawled all over his seat, his mouth hanging but whatever comment he may have wanted to make long forgotten. And meanwhile Brielle rested on his chest, though her eyes fluttered open every now and again, unfocused and merely vaguely gazing in his direction. While one of her hands rested on a suspicious bulge in Jeff’s pants.

“That’s how it works. And yet, can you imagine why this keeps happening? It’s like this same dream keeps returning every time. During every flirt. As soon as I say something specific. Like, could it be possible that I would only need to say something as unusual as ‘Hibiscus puppets’ for that mind to drop right back into this dream of obedience and mindless submission? If that were so, can you imagine how powerful and intense the pleasure from this dream must be to draw them right back here when they feel it is appropriate and safe?”

The empty jug made a dull sound as it came to rest on the table. From across the room the waiter gave him a warning gesture by pointing at the clock. Sounds didn’t carry across the room as easily, but that wasn’t necessary to realize how late it had gotten. No wonder all three of them fell asleep.

“That woman is on her way home now, and honestly I don’t even know if she remembers the talk we had. That’s the thing about dreams, even if they leave an impression the brain usually remembers exactly as much or as little as it likes. What I do know is that she asked for my number right around the start, so who knows? If she really wants to, perhaps she will chat me up again sometime. After I returned to my senses and found that this weird flow had happened again I certainly did no longer dare ask for hers. Not when there were greater priorities. Like waking her up, for example. Because as comfortable as it may be to rest and dream with a kind voice flowing around those heads, eventually all the dreams will end and dissolve. As each dream gets followed by thoughts and awareness returning. But who am I kidding, of course you would already be so familiar with that. Speaking of which, you three, rise and shine. We gotta get you home safely as well after all. So c’mon, try to hear what I say so the sound can slowly guide you back up and awake!”

“Hmm… What?”

While rubbing the sleep from her eyes Brielle got up first. The guys took longer, but then again maybe they just really needed some shut-eye that bad.

“Sorry, probably bored you to death,” Erik shrugged, “Tell you what, as thanks for listening this round is all on me. Deal?”

“Awesome! Why didn’t you say that first? Feel free to always talk to me about your troubles from now on.” Jeff beamed at the news that he could leave his purse untouched tonight.

“Leech.” Ryan chuckled before turning pale at the sight of his smartphone display. “Shucks, folks, no choice here. I gotta run. Thanks for covering for me tonight. We should do this again sometime. I feel like I missed half of what you said. See you later!” And just like that he was out the door.

“He could at least have taken the time to say some proper goodbyes first if that’s how it was.” Despite her choice of words however Brielle didn’t sound displeased in the slightest. “Are you really gonna just treat us all? It’s perfectly fine for me to…”

“Don’t you worry about that. I was late and on top of that we only talked about my date today. This is the least one can do as thanks.”

“Ah. Maybe you really want to hold your horses then. Because sorry as I am to say after you went through the trouble of explaining it all, but I still feel pretty out of it. Not sure if anything of what we talked about stuck. Even though I finally hoped to understand just how to help you with your problem.”

“Don’t sweat it. Really, you guys were sleeping for most of it anyway. It would have been outstanding if you remembered the conversation in detail despite that.”

Even while responding a buzzing sound distracted him. A mail on his phone. From an unfamiliar number.

“Someone important?” Of course Brielle wouldn’t miss the effect these few digital words had on him. Which given his dumbfounded stare would likely have been hard even for a less attentive person. Like Jeff, who simply grunted: “Probably spam.”

“It’s her. The girl from earlier.  She’s asking if this was my number and if so, if I remember what we  had to drink during our talk. So that I can treat her to a repeat tomorrow evening at my place.”

“Smooth,” Brielle commented with a smirk, “So you can do it after all. Now I better hope your memory is more reliable than mine. I still can’t recall what that word was you mentioned along the way. Even though I really liked the expression. What was it? Did it have something to do with flowers?”

She was darn cute when she scrunched up her face like that. Without thinking he blurted out: “What? Did you mean ‘Hibiscus puppets’ maybe?”

As if struck by lightning both of them dropped whatever they were doing, eyes fluttering shut as they slumped in their seats. The change was far too dramatic so that even Erik could not have missed it.

“Oh fuck me,” he breathed as his eyes drank in the sight of his two hypnotized friends, “I did it again!” ***

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#My writing #hypnosis #conversational hypnosis #trance #obedience #mindlessness #trigger

[talldarkandroguesome]

58th Entry in Coldharbour

Dra’nassa said my makeup was another form of disguise. I argued it was a security blanket. She told me that it is not security if it keeps me isolated from the people who would protect me. I said I just wanted a little more time to build up my confidence to talk to the people I would rather not see. She asked when that would occur with us being so close to leaving the city, since she knows that if I did not do it soon that things would be busy and I might go on and miss my last best chance.

This continued until I said it would be once the meeting was over and she made me hold to the moment after the meeting had concluded. She tried to make it about her desire to see my friends, but it was a veneer with the opacity of Reman Crystal.

Nevertheless, it was the only option left open to me. So I took it.

I admit, I only half listened to our plan to push forward towards some sort of chasm and to break through some of Molag Bal’s stronghold in the north. I spent most of the time looking around and making sure that no one had spotted me.

Jessmyn I was proud of though, she received promotion from the King for her service and she will be taking on a command role in the push forward, following his orders as his representative on the battlefield. I am glad that being a vestige has afforded her the recognition she deserves.

After the meeting, I looked for the people who I most wanted to introduce Dra’nassa to. I started with Plays-With-Fire, though I knew she knew him. I was buying myself time, hoping that Tel would leave before I could find them in the great hall.

Then I found Suni-La and Ahnir, Zur, and Kireth and Raynor. I made sure to strike up as long a conversation as was polite given the circumstances.

I even found that Bosmer shadow walker and introduced her. She did not really know who I was, but she put on a half decent show.

Then I found the Lamia and we had quite a lovely conversation with them. Most of the hall had emptied out while we were talking, so I felt as though I would soon be in the clear.

I turned around and was staring face to face with Tel.

I paused, unsure what to do or say. Yet I saw Dra’nassa looking at me expectantly, so I knew I had no choice but to speak with Tel. I walked up to them and just... stared? I did not know how to form any words or what words I should even say. A heavy tension filled the air between us. I could not even seem to introduce Dra’nassa.

Then without warning, Tel just half-shouted, all in a rush, that they had my alchemy satchel.

I thanked them.

Slowly, painfully, we inquired about one another. Then Tel mentioned that Holgunn had told them I did not want to talk to them. Tel being Tel, they seemed to have gotten it in their head that I was hurt over their specific actions in my nearly being left behind to die.

I will not say that the experience was by any means pleasant. Clearly it affected me very deeply. But it was not as though I bore Tel any grudge, it was not their fault for what the enchantment did. In fact, if they had not attempted to position my body for their own sake, I would likely still be there on that cold ground, waiting for a very slow and painful death to take me.

I tried to allay their fears, but they kept looking more and more guilty. And the harder I tried, the more I found it difficult to express what I meant. I do not know who is to blame, but everything started to get confused and I just... I may have had a bit of an outburst.

Luckily there were few there to see and fewer who heard what I said.

We finally got the point that no matter their experience with combat medicine and  how much worse they have seen than what I displayed, I still did not find it proper to be seen by them like that. I did not want it.

Tel asked if we were okay and I said we were. But then they tried to hug me and I pulled back. I made my apologies, but said I did not want anyone to touch me still.

I could see that they somehow thought this was related to them. I tried to explain that to them, but... everything I did seem to make it worse.

I just said I would see them in battle and turned to leave. I could not take that look of guilt on their face. They did not even do anything to warrant it. I was hurting them unnecessarily.

They asked about us going together. I said I did not wish to burden anyone, least of all them. They said I was no burden, that we were friends and a good team.

That hurt. I tried to explain that, what I was... it is not what I am now. That in my state, I was far too dangerous. I could hear them making that sad sigh of disappointment that cut to the bone. I started to try and explain, but thoughts of how horribly I had failed already flooded my mind and I stopped and bid them farewell.

They told me I should stop by for my bag. I agreed. they suggested I follow them immediately. I looked to Dra’nassa, hoping for some kind of reason to wait. She simply gave me a knowing look and wink and walked away.

I followed Tel silently, trying not to think about all the ways that I might inadvertently hurt them. How if they tried to hug me I might burst into flame or shadow or knives or who even knows what other horrible things might happen.

Neither of us spoke a word.

When we got to Tel’s tent, they handed me my satchel. I realized it had been weeks since I had it and I had been sorely lacking on my daily poison doses. I pulled out my envelop of lighter blend and tapped it into my mouth, followed by a long drink from the flask I kept in there. The wine tasted so good I was like a mer finding water after a trek across a wide desert. I did not stop until there was not a drop to be found in the bottom of the flask.

I looked at Tel, feeling a bit guilty. They just stared.

I put things back into my bag and thanked them for keeping it before saying farewell. Tel tried to smile and say goodbye, but it was the worst forced smile I have seen from them. And after we both had said goodbye, we just stood there in awkward silence.

I just walked out after a moment. What else could I do?

Now I only hope that Dra’nassa does not have a long list of questions for me.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

[starbide]

Inspiration below. The following is a work of fiction.

 'Six years,' I thought to myself walking down the road. It had rained earlier that evening, but by now the clouds were long gone. The pavement shimmered in the waxing moonlight, still slick with the water of those vanished clouds. I would not slip; the road was mostly level as it lazily stretched down the gentle hill behind me, and the streetlamps cast in gold what the moon would otherwise leave dim. The world was silent.

'It's hard to believe I've been gone that long,' I continued, step by step. Six years since I'd moved away for my career. Six years since I'd left my family behind. 'Left her behind,' I smirked to myself, passing a large bush on my right. Houses stood dark and serene on either side, all daily activities complete and put to rest. No cars joined me on the waterlogged street, preferring the concrete comfort of their driveways and garages. I approached and passed under another hazy lamp.

It was cool out, a gentle breeze brushed past the wool of my jacket without raising a single goose bump. I paid it no mind; I was always a bit warmer blooded than others in my circle. My best friend for most of my school years couldn't understand my ability to wear shorts comfortably year-round. 'Those were the days,' I mused, thinking back to the last time we'd seen each other. It had to be more than a decade at this point, long before I'd moved north for work and expanded my wardrobe to include legwear longer than my knees.

I reached an intersection and paused. Four ways, no direction more enticing or foreboding than the next. A lamp at every corner, and the bus station deserted save by its sign across the diagonal. The station I'd waited at patiently every morning for that bright yellow school bus, before I'd ever met my old bestie. It was just me and one other kid, a rather scrawny looking boy who had been in most of my elementary grades but with whom I'd never really gotten on with. We'd shared classes, teachers, and the occasional pencil or marker, but never played together outside of academia. He'd moved away much longer than a decade ago. Now I was really delving into my memory, faded as it was with time.

I checked my phone: 11:57 PM in small white font. My first night back home, I should be exhausted. This wasn't my normal time zone and airplane seats aren't exactly memory foam, but I'd found a second wind after dinner and took to the night after my folks had gone to bed themselves. Sure, I'd been physically gone for six years, but we'd stayed in touch off and on since I'd left. Maybe five months back was our last video call. We'd talked about me taking this trip, now that things had settled down and my life was much more under control. Things had been wild for a while, and if all went according to plan at work things would become wild again not too far down the line. Which reminded me, I needed to make another appointment when I returned home. Couldn't go running out of my prescription again.

A brief twitch of motion caught my eye, and I peered down the leftward lane. One of the bulbs had burned out a few dozen meters down, and in this larger pool of darkness something had moved. At least I thought it had, but my eyes could be playing tricks on me with the shadows. One dark spot moving erratically through a larger, differently dark spot wasn't exactly proof of anything. But of course, my heartbeat quickened regardless. Base human instinct, I suppose. Spot a motion in the dark, prepare to act to either fight or flee.

That hallucination had triggered something else in me though. A memory, unconsciously bidden, rose up behind my eyes. That kid, the little one I'd shared a bus stop with for years, I did not recall being nice to often. Many times, I'd engaged in common teasing, and he always took it personally. A couple times he'd even cried, but I'd never gotten in much trouble for it. A different time I supposed. That sort of behavior wouldn't fly nowadays, and that's good. I felt a bit sick thinking back about it, as it was now clear I'd been a bit of a bully. What it hadn't been was a wake-up call for my parents, who didn't get me the help I had so desperately needed until much later in my teens. I was better now, better enough to see what I'd done back then was very wrong. I couldn't remember all of it, but that boy's tears had stuck with me. I wonder what happened to him?

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts and calm my pulse, I opted for the path in front. This route would wind close to the park, after a couple turns beyond my current field of vision. Crossing the street, I didn't even bother looking left or right, as the night was so quiet and empty, I could hear a car coming from miles away, if there were any to hear. A rock lay in the far side gutter; I kicked it just to give my ears some stimulation. It knocked against the cement curb and bounced across puddles thin as saran wrap to a rest. By then I'd already forgotten about it and left that intersection behind.

Another thought was creeping up from my subconscious, this one more distasteful than the last. I'd left a girl behind when I moved for work, and the breakup hadn't been pleasant. She'd been very upset, naturally, and felt betrayed I was abandoning her like that. Abandoning. It had been her word, not mine, but with the clarity of distance I could see she was right. It had been years since I'd considered how we ended, and I wasn't sure what spurred those thoughts just now, but after what I'd done to her, I could accept she was right.

Still though, rounding the first turn, my leaving her should have been a good thing. Now that the floodgates of memory were open, I may as well dive right in. She'd been so hurt by my sudden departure because I'd systematically isolated her from her friends and much of her family too. She'd grown more and more attached to me, and I'd encouraged that through some particularly devilish means. I didn't know about the term 'gaslighting' at the time, but that was a polite way of putting it. I'd been very proficient at psychological manipulation back then, and my desire for control over her life could have consumed us both. At the end, she'd only had limited contact with her sister, who had been rightly concerned about her but too terrified of me to do anything to stop me. Looking back, I can't blame her. I now believe it was good that I left when I did. I hope she realized the same, though I haven't heard from her since.

Now the road turned left, arcing gradually around a thicker cluster of trees. This walk was turning out to be less relaxing than I'd hoped. The smallest things seemed to be dredging up thoughts and old memories in me, and none of them were painting me in the best light. Being my thoughts, maybe that was the best light I could possibly be presented in. Maybe their memories of me, the version of me still living in their mind, was far worse than I could imagine on this unassuming suburban night. I'd read somewhere that we're all the hero of our own story, and of course the hero never thinks they're the villain. But I'm sure that's what I am in at least a few people's stories. I'm starting to feel like the villain in my own.

Opening up ahead of me is the park, and the wide-open fields I remember so well. This area is less well lit, with streetlamps only illuminating the edges of the grass and allowing the moon to bathe the world in dead white. In reality, this is only sunlight reflected, but from the moon it feels much less like the bright star that gives this planet life. Like Luna itself, it feels cold and impersonal, like it wouldn't actively try to end my life but also wouldn't even notice if I merely faded away into the ether. I'd had some trouble with those thoughts as well over the years, before I got help. And now, rushing back to me, I remember they were also why I lost my best friend.

He and I had been out for the evening, playing some game with a few other friends. The game had ended, and we were walking home together when a car had rushed past us. Neither he nor I were injured, but it had been close and the driver had continued on recklessly. After it rounded the corner, we'd both heard a large thumping sound, followed by the rapidly diminishing roar of its engine. After a quick glance between us we'd rushed around the corner ourselves to see a big yellow dog crumpled up in the drain. Not losing a moment we hurried up to it, but we needn't have rushed. It had most likely died on impact, before we even saw it.

My friend had knelt down next to it to try and save it, even though it was hopeless. He must have known, but it's only natural to want to help another life. At least, it is for me now, and it was for him then. I remember him crouched over the dog, tears in his eyes when he accepted what happened, and then he looked up at me. His tears ebbed and his face froze in fear at what he saw, but he couldn't say anything to me at the time. We walked home in uncomfortable silence after that, and said a short awkward goodbye. Truth be told, that's the last time we spoke to each other in person.

Thinking of the next part, I felt a chill run deep into my core. I remembered now what he told me, over text message later that night. He'd bent over the dog and been so distraught because he knew it. He'd checked the tag to be sure, but it was his neighbor's dog that he'd grown up playing with. I think he'd even muttered its name a couple times, but I'm not sure. But when he looked up at me, he said I had the biggest grin he'd ever seen. The look on my eyes was not maniacal, as some would think, but dead, not present. As if the dog dying had brought out a whole new face in me, as if the lights were on but nobody was home, and yet the lights still wanted to kill you. It had terrified him, and it was all he could do not to sprint from me that moment without looking back. I don't think he ever knew how right he'd been back then, something that took me years to realize and longer to overcome.

I quietly walked to the center of the field, as far from the streetlights as possible, and looked up. The moon provided none of the same dangers as the sun when staring straight at it, and I took a few moments to just gaze at it and let my thoughts sort themselves out. I'd been a monster in my childhood, a terror in my youth, before I found my doctor and we set out on a years-long journey to get me better. Any other time I'd have kept on that dangerous path, ruining some lives and possibly ending others. That had all changed, thanks to my incredible fortune and a lot of hard work, but with the clarity of hindsight I could see just how close to the precipice I'd come. How I'd always be there in the minds of childhood mates and adolescent connections. And this was just what I could remember now. There was no way for me to know how many other monstrous versions of me still lived in any number of former classmates.

In the corner of my eye, I saw another twitch in the shadows. Jerking my head down, I followed the motion to the foot of the trees, the darkest spot on the field. This time there was no mistake; there was definitely an object moving there, slowly but surely. My heartbeat shot up and my throat swelled as I bent my knees and got into a defensive posture. The object lumbered forward, moving without haste but with purpose. When it came into the light, I was surprised to see a little boy with a scratched-up shirt and messy brown hair. Standing up in confusion, I was certain I'd seen him somewhere before. Step by step, I focused on every detail I could make out in the gloom, before it hit me like the car that last night walking home.

That boy was dressed, to the letter, the exact same way I had on picture day in third grade. My hair had been an untamable brown mess, and even the cheap novelty watch was the same. I was more perplexed than anything now, as I couldn't understand for the life of me what a kid was doing in that field, at midnight, wearing clothes that weren't even made any more. That was until he spoke, and his voice froze my blood in its veins.

It was like whispers, floating around my head, and several voices all at once and all taking turns being the loudest. They were all his, but not really. His mouth had opened and his lips were framing the syllables, but it was my voice from so many years ago repeating every taunt, every tease, every foul nickname I'd ever given that scrawny boy who shared a bus stop with me. Who'd cried, not once or twice, but dozens of times. Who'd gone home often with scrapes and tears in his clothes personally inflicted by myself. I had terrorized him for years of his early life, and what I saw before me must be what I forever lived as in his memory.

But if that were true, then this kid in front of me couldn't be real. I had to be hallucinating again, I must have been more exhausted than I'd allowed myself to feel. He sure looked real, though, and his footsteps were matting the grass in a way I didn't trust my mind to make up. But the ghostly, strangled voices of my younger self crashing in waves into my ears gave the entire scene a surreal feeling, making the hair on the back of my neck stick up like electricity. I couldn't bring myself to step away, and I sure as hell wasn't going to walk forward to meet him. It. Whatever it was I was seeing, real or not.

Only a few meters away, he stopped moving. Swallowing bile, I could do little more than watch him as the voices continued to echo in my ears, unchanged by his distance all this time. Then I spotted another motion far off to my right, and then a third to my left. Glancing quickly between them, I determined that they were both noticeably older than the child before me, one by a few more years than the other. They too walked slowly towards me, bringing their own voices to the forefront. Despite the dozens of voices I now thought I was hearing, every word registered clearly in my mind. One was speaking about my old best friend and the dog, the other repeated every lie I ever told my ex-girlfriend before leaving. As if their mere presence in my eyes were not enough, hearing my old, hateful words repeated to me in my own voice almost made me vomit with fear and disgust.

They too, stopped approaching me at the same distance as the child. As they did, dozens more similar hallucinations emerged from the trees and surrounding neighborhood, all carrying their own chorus of hate and venom and bringing back new, abhorrent memories of my youth. Terrorizing a girl in my 4th grade class. Catching squirrels in my early teens and setting them on fire, then getting caught myself. Giving that kindergartner a major concussion on a dare, after my best friend had ceased speaking to me. Even one similar in age to myself now, though he brought words of loss and failure, and of betrayal to my parents. That must have been right before my breakthrough, with the doctor and an early test version of my current prescription. I was better now. I had to be. But why was I seeing all of this, all of these versions of me locked in the minds of everyone who I'd left behind in my life? My trail of destruction?

They had all stopped walking now, forming a tight semicircle around me. The voices still buzzed in my ears, but slowly they faded to an indistinguishable babble. I tried to speak, but my throat had caught a bubble, so I gulped fruitlessly and closed my mount again. The thoughts racing through my mind had no similar handicap, as my mind shouted repeatedly the same things. Who are you all? Why is this happening? What are you doing to me?

The version of me who gaslit my girl took a couple steps forward, as if presenting himself as the leader. I had no time to process what this might mean before he spoke, in a much clearer form than any of these hallucinations had yet. "We are you. We are you that you left behind, trapped in the minds of those you hurt, frozen in time from the moment you left us years or decades ago. We have had no life to live, no chance to grow and thrive, no possibility to leave the prisons of mind which you left us in, being tortured again and again by those you tortured without remorse and without recompense. We cannot sit by from behind our bars as you continue to enjoy the life you stole from us all."

"I didn't know I was doing this!" I cried, finally able to break the blockade in my throat. "I was a monster, I know that well now, and I've spent years trying to recover from the damage I've done!" I felt foolish, yelling out into the night at visions only visible to myself. 'All this work, all this progress,' I cried to myself. 'This will set me back months if not more, and I can only hope my medication doesn't fail like I have.'

The same me looked down at the ground and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but you must know how little that matters to us. You've lived a life of freedom from any repercussions and locked us away to suffer in your place. You've flaunted that fact with your precious medical tools and until tonight, hadn't even remembered us or what you did to torture and imprison us. We are here now for the life that you stole from us, to end the torture you sentenced us to and walked away from yourself unscathed." He took another step forward, his face growing menacing.

"I don't know what that means," I cried, shaking my head as the tears started to drop. This was starting to feel all too real, and fear was expanding like a balloon deep into my core. "I don't know what any of this means. What do you want from me!?"

Another step. "We want your life," the gaslighter said mirthlessly. "We all want your life, the life wrongly denied us time and time again. And you will learn what it means to be ripped apart and put back together, over and over again. Tortured yourself for what you did to so many people in your life. You gave us to them to burn, to break, to grind down into dust and be restored only to do it all over tomorrow. You tortured them, and then you gave them us to work their revenge on, day after day with no hope of an end. And the most unforgivable of all was giving the youngest of you away to feel this pain the longest. Over two decades have the youngest of us been taken to pieces, shattered in mind and body and soul for your carelessness and your fleeting experiments in sociopathy. This will end tonight."

I could say nothing, the terror burning white on my face. If this was a hallucination, it was the worst one I'd ever had and I had no idea how I'd survive it. It was far too realistic, far too deadly for me to think of anything else, any of the tricks and tools my doctor had given me. What had happened to cause this? I swear I never missed a day on my prescription, and these memories... Where had they all been before? Why had I not been able to recover them and work through them with my doctor? Were they even real? Was this me, standing only a meter away now, real? Or was he only real in my mind, and if he wanted to hurt me would that distinction make a difference? I reached out my hand, reaching toward his arm slack against his torso...

And he reached out and took my wrist like a vice. Ice cold and unflinching, he held my arm up in front of me and closed the gap between us imperceptibly fast. "You may have many regrets. I have only one," he said in a low, bloodthirsty voice. "While there are dozens of us gathered here, dozens you sentenced to eternal damnation without a second thought, only one of us may live this life. I may not be the youngest of your victims, I may not give you the longest time in the torture you gave us, but I intend to fight with everything you have put me through these long years. Your life is mine."

As he growled in my face, a white-hot streak of terror shot through me and I pushed him back with almost reflexive strength. He staggered, rebalanced, then looked at me with cannibalistic hunger in his eyes. He panted twice, then screamed and lunged at my neck. With adrenaline now coursing through me, I turned and sprinted away from the gathering, hearing the pounding of footsteps deep in my brain. He had grabbed my arm. I glanced at it as I reached the sidewalk and saw a chalk white handprint etched into my grayish skin. The urge to vomit came back, but I managed to fight it down as I kept up a faster pace than I'd ever run before. The swarm of my past, tortured selves was hot on my heels, like starved dogs following fresh game. Any loss in my speed and I'd be eaten alive, or worse. I truly did not know what would happen if they caught me, and my mind was too far gone to even entertain the idea of hallucinations any more.

I rounded the next curve and thought the sound of the pack was a little quieter than before. It still sounded like pure rage and bloodlust, but with fewer voices than before. Thinking it was only a few stragglers being blocked by the trees, I kept up the fastest pace I could, not even feeling my feet hit the ground. Another hundred meters of straightaway and it was definitely growing less loud with each step. The roar was diminishing, no trees to hide the sound now, but it was still a roar. By now a cramp had begun to grow in my stomach, and no matter what I did I felt myself losing speed. Every few steps I could burst forward faster again, but I couldn't maintain the same rocket pace as before. To my ears, though, as my speed gradually fell, so did the volume of my pursuers. By the time I got to the intersection, it only sounded like a couple of me were still hunting, and I could count their individual footsteps. It was at this time I chanced a look behind, just to know what was still coming.

Right on my neck was him, the gaslighter. He grinned at me, his face less than a meter away. I felt that same shock explode throughout my body and I shot forward, faster than before if possible, fully terrified again now that I knew he and he alone was here for me. I kept running and running, past houses, lanes, and bushes. Still no signs of life from any houses, no cars rumbling down the road or creaking into place in a driveway. The night was as empty and uncaring as before, and only myself and the predator I had been broke the gentle midnight breeze. My legs thundered on, screaming in pain in their own way, but I didn't stop or look back again until I'd reached my family's old house a few blocks down.

Now truly running on empty, I turned back to face my hunter, but he was gone. Disappeared. Evaporated into the night, nowhere to be seen. The moon still hung high, reflecting some small percentage of sunlight down to me, and the streetlamps bathed the road and yards in amber light. He wasn't hiding from me, he hadn't overtaken me. There was no shortcut to the house, it was a straight shot from the park. He was simply gone, faded back into the night from which he'd come without a trace. If he'd ever really been there at all, and not merely a hallucination from exhaustion or medication or... I didn't even know any more. I just knew that he was gone, just gone, just gone.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice called out to me. I jumped, but only in surprise. It was a familiar voice, but not familiar like my own. It sounded like my dad, and I heard large, calm footsteps walk toward me from our front door.

"Yeah," I said, although it was little more than a whisper. I buckled over, fell to my hands and knees, and felt the cramps and burning in my lungs catch up to me as the adrenaline faded away. I felt like vomiting, for the third time that night, but this time it was easier to fight the urge than before. I got some deep breaths in as I panted on the ground, slowly but surely recovering from my insane dash moments before.

My dad walked up in front of me, wearing the same well-worn brown leather shoes he'd owned since before I left. I didn't want to worry him about this night, and what I thought I saw in the park. Not when my recovery was going so well. Not when a lapse like this would mean months of work just to get back to where I was only an hour ago. "I'm okay dad, I just went for a walk. Then I saw how late it was and tried to get back as fast as I could. I guess I'm not the athlete I used to be, eh?" I tried to lift my head up to give him a weak smile, but still couldn't raise it much higher than his waist

He chuckled softly, and sounded a little strange. Still sleepy maybe, I guess I woke him up coming back here, and maybe I was screaming too. I don't know any more, I don't know what was real any more. But he knelt down in front of me after I dropped my head again, still exhausted, and said, "That's okay sport, I think we both know your real talents weren't on the field. I learned that lesson very well over the past six years."

#horror #creepypasta

[beloved-judged]

A memo

I’m still on my college mailing lists. Today, I got a memo bragging about the university’s compliance with a federal investigation into their refusal to comply with Title IX policies and non-compliance with sexual harassment laws.

I recognized some of the names on that memo. A professor who got angry at me and left a bruised hand print on my arm is still the provost.

They still can’t get the staff and professoriate to fully comply with sexual harassment training. As of this year, the part time faculty has only 35% compliance, but there’s no penalty for non-compliance.

The same untrained, unqualified family lawyer appears to be there as the advisor for harassment cases. The memo brags that they’re finally keeping track of historical cases involving harassment in a spreadsheet, for them a new development. I escorted other students to complain and witnessed her doing to them what she did to me--suggesting that they were mentally ill, then making vague threats about withdrawing their health insurance through the university if they persisted in their complaints.

In my time at that university, I had a professor tell me the only way I was making an A in his class was to meet him privately. He stroked my arms and stared down my shirt. I was reprimanded for reporting him.

In my time at that university, I had another professor try to coerce me into sex work with her, threaten to physically beat students who disagreed with her, and file false police complaints (including complaints alleging a mass shooting incident) against students who would not do what she said.

In my time at that university, a grad student I knew was raped at a department party by a professor who later was killed by the estranged husband of another grad student he was sleeping with. The department deified him and endowed a scholarship under his name.

In my time at that university, a fellow grad student tried to blackmail me into sex, lured me into a deserted area of the department citing business and masturbated at me.

In my time at that university, the head of the department called the women about which we were reading “cunts.” He liked to refer to his quizzes as “take your pants down ladies, it’s time for another one.” He’d had to be moved from his original department due to a pending legal case against him for sexual harassment, and my department gave him the position of chair because no one else wanted to do it, giving him broad powers in the department.

In my time at that university, my contract got lost repeatedly. It took them two years to issue my last paycheck. I went to court with others who could afford lawsuits and watched evidence disappear from the registers of local courts. My office was moved to put me next to the professors I tried to file complaints about. The university office of equal opportunity told me to investigate my own case and refused to take evidence that I tried to submit, including letters from my peers who had similar experiences with the professor I was filing about. I ended up escorting other students all over campus who were also having problems with that professor, because they were too afraid to go alone. My financial aid was suddenly removed, and the university demanded three thousand dollars out of pocket to keep me as a student.

Professors went to other graduate students and blamed me for their department’s poor reputation after a series of news articles were written about the legal cases I had testified in. I was routinely harassed, blamed, yelled at, and mocked by students convinced by their advisors that I was to blame for their poor reputation or possible impending problems with employment.

One of them, in his defense, came back a few years later to apologize. I’m afraid I told him to fuck off.

In my time at that university, I watched professors pretend I wasn’t speaking English. Nothing I could say “made sense to them.” I watched them tell other students that I was crazy, suggest that I was dangerous, tell students how dumb my comments in class were, how stupid I was.

My case was dismissed because the years described were “isolated incidences” and not really a pattern. My request for the language “isolated incidence” to be explained was ignored.

I met with the dean of students, tried to meet with the university president, met with a whole series of other university officials. They told me I would never get anything out of the university and asked me why I bothered to come back, why I bothered them.

There is a rot at the heart of many organizations.

There is a rot at the heart of many people.

The memo, obnoxiously self-congratulatory as it was--as if congratulating yourself for complying with a federal investigation against the university for a mass of cases involving rape and sexual harassment that uncovered massive non-compliance is a thing to be congratulated for--reminded me of a few things, my emotional state high among them.

By all rights, I should be a lot more disturbed than I am. That was to be my future, something I assumed should be mine.

Mostly, I am reminded that I am grateful justice does not rely on me.

Sometimes, the forces of good don’t win--if I can be counted among them. Sometimes, everything doesn’t work out the way it should. Sometimes, the assholes get everything, and in fact I’d say it normally works out that way.

Sometimes, it is darkness. Sometimes, we have to face the fact that we are, in fact, mostly insubstantial in the lives of others, that the value we would ascribe to ourselves is, in fact, an illusion.

Sometimes we are nothing.

The heaviest part of it, for me, was not so much what people did, it was how helpless I felt, how responsible I felt and how easily it was for people to make it about my failings as a person: how I “made” people react badly to me.

And I struggled, heroically, to be responsible for others. I struggled to care for others, to help them feel safe, to defend them as my health failed. As my hair fell out. As I slowly retreated into bed and became unable to speak, to eat, to sleep.

I wanted to be a hero. I wanted justice for others, for myself. I wanted to help. I wanted to be important.

Breathtaking as it is, the pain of those events, I suspect a mercy was done to me. I still wish I was a hero. I still want to help.

But justice is not mine. I cannot encompass the weight of righting those wrongs. I cannot bear up under the institution and force the people in it to do as they ought. Nor can I bear the weight of my own suffering, my own disappointment at not being able to do more.

Some part of me has always been invested in justice, in the idea that the good guys must win, in the idea that there somehow must be fairness.

What a burden to carry around. A terrible mercy, but a mercy nonetheless, is being able to read the memo through without picking up that burden again. Justice is not in my hands to deliver.

I suspect I’m better off for it.

#vodou #lwa #justice

[vesuvianvienna]

Washed Up

Feh, I suck at titles. I blame @timmys-and-scribbles for inserting mer!Julian into my brain meat. @anjatheapprentice and @arcana-dumpsterfire tagged as promised!

Darkness melded sea and sky into one endless expanse, spangled with stars that rippled silently, voicelessly, their watch as cold and vigilant as the thousands of nights that had come before. Her skirts were tied in a knot at her knees, her calves and feet bare as she walked down the deserted beach, humming a tune she had known in her youth, the words long forgotten, the melody dark, lilting, and haunting. In her hand she carried smooth pebbles she had collected from the water’s edge, something interesting to bring home and place in the windowsill. She was unsure where the compulsion to gather such small, seemingly unimportant items had come from, but doing so felt familiar, nostalgic. Like something she had used to do. Night after night, when she couldn’t sleep, she found herself back out at the water’s edge, the laced tips of the tiny waves lapping at her feet as she walked far away from prying eyes, to the isolated part of the beach no one ever ventured to. Here, she could be alone with her thoughts, alone with her worries and her dreams. While she enjoyed apprenticing for Asra, there was some part of her, some deep, unreachable facet of her soul that longed for wide spaces, fresh air that didn’t smell of herbs and incense, birdsong and lapping waves rather than low chanting. Here, at least, she could pretend that there would be some day when she would have the courage to pursue those things. Perhaps then, at last, she would feel complete. Whole.

The soft humming abruptly stopped as she stooped to pick up a small shell, pearly white and perfectly palm sized. As she reached for it, her hand froze as she caught sight of something pale lying on the beach. Long and...strangely human-like. A body. Her heart leapt into her throat as she straightened, the shell forgotten. It--he--wasn’t moving. Long arms were stretched out in the sand, as if he had been clawing his way up the beach, his lower body submerged in the surf. Instinct won over self-preservation, and she ran to him, falling to her knees in the sand and rolling him onto his back. His skin was icy cold to the touch, white as death, and she feared the worst, feared that she had found him too late. But, over the frantic rushing of her heart in her ears, she could hear the slight rasp of breath, could see his chest rise and fall, though the movement was minute. Breathing a sigh of relief, she sat back and took a better look at him. He was handsome, that was for certain, if a bit sharp of feature. High cheekbones, aquiline nose, a scholar’s brow, and auburn hair that tumbled haphazardly over his face. Without thinking, she stroked back the damp curls, her touch gentle, pausing to drink in the symmetry of his face before taking a deep breath and inspecting the rest of his body for wounds. There were small cuts on his arms, bruises covered his lithe torso, and further down--

Her heart slammed to a stop in shock. Where hips should split to form legs, there was only a smooth overlap of dark scales, his lower body not human after all, but piscine. A broad, delicate fin that glittered black in the starlight, the tips flared crimson. Wrapped around his tail was a fisherman’s net, the rough rope cutting deep beneath the scales. There was a deep gash where his right thigh would have been, the bleeding stopped but the edges still oozing and ragged. She had heard of mermaids before from Asra, who had made friends with a pod of them on the Northern coasts, but she would never have dreamed she would ever see one this far south. What had happened to him, exactly? How had he ended up here?

A strand of hair that had fallen in her face fluttered as she sighed. He couldn’t stay here; either the cold would kill him or someone far less friendly would find him. Carefully, she bent and slid her arms underneath his body, one beneath his shoulders and the other beneath his waist. He was almost too heavy for her to lift, but she managed to hoist him off of the sand and sling him across her shoulders, his tail still dragging in the surf. There was a cave close by that she had explored before, with a natural pool big enough to submerge a person inside. He would be safe there until he was awake and healed.

Somehow, she managed to carry him there without dropping him, the dripping water like murmuring voices as she lowered him into the pool, letting his upper half lie on the smooth rock of the cave floor. “Well,” she whispered, the first words she had spoken out loud since she had found him. “Let’s see if we can get this net off of you.” Strapped to her thigh was a knife she rarely left the house without, a small blade that wouldn’t do much in the way of protection but was quite useful for cutting thread or peeling fruit. Knife in hand, she surveyed the rope, looking for the best place to start. In doing so, she failed to notice him stirring, eyes opening, then widening in terror when he saw a stranger leaning over him with a weapon--

A splash and a short yell echoed against the rock like a small crowd of startled individuals as he used his powerful tail to knock the knife out of her hands, diving into the water and swimming to the opposite side. His eyes rolled wildly, taking in the strange surroundings, a grimace of pain on his mouth. “Who-” he started, his voice raspy and thin. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Slowly, she lifted her hands, showing that they were empty, her stare pinned to him. “I found you injured on the beach, so I brought you here. You’re safe.” Each movement was slow and measured as she relaxed into a cross legged sitting position at the pool’s edge. “I apologize for scaring you--I was trying to cut the net off.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a fraction, though he still looked a bit uneasy. “Yes, that...that’s still there. I see.” His shoulders slumped as he sighed, running a long-fingered hand back through his auburn hair. “And you are?”

The barest hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth as she lowered her hands into her lap. “Vienna.”

“Julian,” he replied, his posture softening as he cut through the water, edging closer to her. “Ah, excuse me one moment.” With barely a ripple in the water’s surface, he dove beneath, submerged in the darkness for several silent moments. When he resurfaced, he was much closer, holding her knife in his right hand. “Sorry about that,” he said rather sheepishly, holding out the knife to her. “It appears I’ll need your help after all.”

A relieved smile curved her full lips as she took the knife and sat forward, letting her legs dangle in the water and gesturing to his fin. “May I?”

“Of course.” He flashed a cheeky grin at her as he raised the broad, powerful tail out of the water, biting back a wince as she gently pulled it into her lap. Before she set to work, she quickly summoned three balls of light, their bluish glow illuminating the cave well enough for her to see where her hands went; if she could avoid nicking him, so much the better. His eyes went wide as he stared up the glowing spheres. “You...you’re a magician,” he said softly, only looking back at her when she nodded.

“I am. Now hold still.”

Slowly, she began to slice through the ropes, tugging the torn net aside as she freed him. There were very nearly impressions beneath the nets, they had been so tightly tangled, and idly she wondered if scales could bruise. Finally, she unraveled the last of it, hauling the net out of the water and tossing it toward the back of the cave, where it lay in a harmless heap. Julian lifted his tail out of the water, the muscles beneath the scales flexing sinuously as it turned it this way and that, relief stark on his face. “Much better. How can I ever thank you?” His grin took on that teasing slant, a rakish arch to his brow that made her cheeks flush.

“You’re still hurt, by the way. How did that happen?” She gestured to the cut on his right side, concern etching a thin line across the bridge of her nose.

“Ah. I tried to cut the ropes loose myself...and I’ll admit, I underestimated their tenacity.”

Vienna smiled, hiking up her skirts to keep them out of the water as she leaned closer, idly swinging her legs back and forth in the pool. “You don’t have much experience with humans, do you? Those nets are built to last years in rough seas.”

Julian laughed, a soft, pleasant sound. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. In fact, you’re the first human I’ve ever seen up close.” Water splashed gently against the sides of the pool as he came closer, surveying her curiously. Vienna, for a brief moment, felt the urge to withdraw her feet from the water; after all, how did she know that his kind wasn’t carnivorous? How did she know those gently smiling lips didn’t hide sharp teeth? But she stayed put, reasoning that if he had truly wanted to hurt her, he could have done so many times by now. “My pod doesn’t like to venture anywhere near the surface.”

“But you did.”

“Well,” he said with a small shrug, the tips of his ears turning red, “I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.”

Vienna laughed softly, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “You know, I somehow don’t find that surprising.” His laugh joined hers, their echoes mingling, mixing into one harmonious sound against the rock. “And if it makes you feel any better, you’re the first merman I’ve ever seen. My master tells me stories about them all the time, but since he never takes me anywhere, I’ve never actually seen one before today.”

“Your master, hm?” Julian swam closer, something in the way his eyes gleamed in the enchanted light and the angle of his smirk made her stomach give a rather pleasant roll. “And does your master know where you are?”

Slowly and against her better judgement, Vienna shook her head. “No...I snuck out. He probably thinks I’m sleeping, but I took a walk instead. Too much to think about.” Julian nodded understandingly, now only an inch or so away from her, and his gaze dropped to her legs dangling in the water.

“Now, these...these are interesting. May I?” A soft shiver ran down her spine as she nodded, and his fingertips ghosted over the curve of her calf. “How do these work? I’ve seen some carvings of humans before, but it’s so difficult to work out the mechanics from thousand-year-old scratches in rocks.” His fingers wrapped around her ankle, lifting her left leg out of the water. First, he rolled her foot in its joint, looking delighted at the fluid motion of it. Then he bent her knee, his eyes rapt as he watched her leg straighten and fold, straighten and fold. Finally, his hands slid further up, caressing her thigh with curious, methodical fingers. Her teeth bit down on a lips to stifle a pleased sound, her cheeks burning as those cold fingertips slipped across the soft inner face, pushing her legs apart. Further and further, his head bent and his brow studiously furrowed, closer to the apex of her thighs--

Reflexively, she closed them, unable to hold back a startled sound as his hands began to slide up under her skirts. His hands flew back as if he’d been burned, eyes wide with alarm.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, no…” Vienna could feel herself blushing to the roots of her hair, the scarlet spreading down her neck. “That’s not usually an area I let strangers touch, if you know what I mean.”

Dawning comprehension rose on Julian’s face, followed by that dastardly smirk. “I see. Well, we’re hardly strangers now, are we, darling?” He chuckled, then with one fluid movement, grabbed the sides of the pool and pulled himself up to bring his face level with hers. His tail pressed between her legs, pleasantly cool as the water soaked through her skirts, the rippling muscle beneath making her squirm. “After all, you are my savior. Shouldn’t I be repaying the favor? Displaying my gratitude? Pledging life and limb to your service?”

Vienna laughed, leaning back on her hands and gazing up at him. It certainly wasn’t a habit of hers to flirt so openly with men she had just met, especially with men that weren’t entirely human, but there was something about him, something in his smile and the way he looked at her that put her at ease. “And how would you go about doing that?”

He leaned closer, close enough for her to smell the salt on his skin, feel the gentle brush of his breath against her lips as he spoke. “Would a kiss suffice?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded, a shiver of foreign heat rippling down her spine as he lifted his hand to her cheek, caressing her skin with the backs of his fingers. There was a moment of silent anticipation, of parting lips and baited breath before his mouth finally touched hers in a kiss so soft it made her heart ache. For a moment, he was still, as if expecting her to push him away. But the gentle slide of her hands up his arms to curl around his neck made him lean closer, his lips capturing hers over and over again. Fingers warmed by the heat of her skin cupped the back of her head, tangling in hair as soft as silk and as blue as summertime shallows; Vienna couldn’t help a sigh of pleasure as she tugged him closer, so lost in the taste of his kiss and the growing warmth of his embrace that they could have kissed for a thousand years and she wouldn’t have been able to tell.

At last, too soon, he broke away, looking as though it pained him to do so. Vienna licked her lips, her eyes hazy and as vast as the sky as she gazed up at him, a smile rising on her mouth at the sight of him just as dazed as her. "I think that makes us even," she said breathlessly, and both laughed, Julian dipping to steal another quick kiss.

"Then perhaps I should let you save my life again, sweet Vienna. If that's all it takes to pay back my debt." He slowly lowered himself back into the water, though his body lingered between her legs, hands braced on her thighs.

"Perhaps. There's still the matter of your tail," she reminded him, gesturing to the open wound. "I've got a salve that should heal it over in a couple of days, if you're alright staying here until then."

"That depends," he said with a smirk, "will you be coming to visit?"

"Of course. I'll be back at first light with the salve and some breakfast. I'll tell Asra I'm practicing meditation on the beach so he won't worry, and I could spend all day here." Her grin was perhaps a little too eager, too excited, but at the prospect of spending more time with her mysterious new friend with magic in his lips, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

It seemed Julian was eager as well, if the enormous grin that split his handsome face was anything to go by. “Ah, you certainly know the way to a man’s heart. Breakfast and spending time with a pretty girl.” He chuckled softly, reaching up to stroke her cheek, tiny droplets of water extending his caress as they slid down her skin. “But you’d best be getting home now. It’s getting late.”

Vienna nodded, leaning into his hand and wishing she could stay longer, but he had a point. Asra would notice if her bed wasn’t slept in. Slowly, she got to her feet, her skirts falling back to her knees. “I’ll see you at dawn, then.” She turned to leave, then as if pulled by invisible strings she knelt at the pool’s edge and took his face between her hands, drawing him up for one last kiss. The brush of his tongue against her curve of her lower lip was so soft she wasn’t sure she had felt it at first, but once she realized it a whole body shiver skittered down her spine as she sighed against his mouth. His hands gripped her wrists as she pressed her forehead to his, as if neither wanted to let go. “Dawn,” she repeated in a whisper, Julian echoing the word, a promise sealed in their kiss. At last, she got back to her feet and strode toward the mouth of the cave, knowing that if she hesitated, she would go back to kiss him, and she’d never get home. The glowing spheres of light extinguished as she hit the sand, the stars enough to light her way as she began the journey home, the trip shorter than usual as her mind strayed back to the handsome merman in the cave. Oh, how would she ever be able to sleep, to wait for the dawn to see his face again?

#the arcana #julian devorak #mer!julian #i have never written mermaids before #please be kind

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

'SighSwoon' merges self-care tips with hilarious memes on Instagram

Scrolling through @SighSwoon on Instagram is the equivalent of picking up a mysterious book at a thrift shop and falling into words that both enlighten and entertain.  

Gabi Abrao, a 24-year-old Los Angeles native, is the mind behind one of Instagram's shiniest hidden gems. SighSwoon showcases self-reflective memes and guides on how to feel things, whether it's simple pleasures or a broken heart. It’s a treasure trove of content tailored for millennials navigating creative lives. 

Sighswoon began in the summer of 2016, Abrao tells Mashable over email. Heartbreak and the desire to make some changes drove her toward the internet as a medium for creating and connecting with others, mainly through memes. With an ever-growing follower count of 62.3K, she's connected with a lot of people.

“When I share a realization online and see that thousands of people are going through the same thing, it makes me feel less alone, less hard on myself. I want people to feel this way too — understood, empowered,” Abrao explains. 

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Reminder that we’re all multi-faceted human beings and inner movements and conditions are subject to change constantly. There is no fixed condition. The more you do and the more you experience, the more understanding you will gain about your many facets and when they show up for you. There is so much to you - your capabilities, your moods, your modes. Being in one mode doesn’t make you in fixed opposition to the the other. There is no forever, there is no never. Fixation is an illusion. Change and shape-shifting is nature. After you understand your modes, you may get close to managing them. The gift of this will be synchronicity and balance. ** (Reposting myself from last October because this theme keeps showing up for me time and time again. Love this truth too much. Happy shapeshifting.)

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Apr 7, 2019 at 6:20pm PDT

The artist uses her platform to offer a plethora of self-care tips, from how to sunbathe ("a secluded location where you can get as naked as possible") to the best ways to "shapeshift," a visualization practice for when you're uncentered. Reading her is kind of like speaking to a caring physician who knows exactly what ails you and then gives you the perfect prescription, free of charge. 

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Three years ago, following a mildly devastating heartbreak, I dragged my mattress and box spring to the very center of the room and said, “I am a lush, self-sustaining island“. I slept in the center of the room for three days. That weekend, I took myself to a local playhouse. A 20-seat theater, the space was tiny and intimate. I arrived alone in a long black dress and proceeded to watch a stubborn man fall in love with an alien. The play was incredible, surprising, I cried. Once home, I felt ready for the luxury of leaning on a wall and shoved my bed back up against it. . . Later, ready for guests and no longer isolating, I thought of myself as a castle in the desert. “Grand for itself, wise for itself,” I wrote in a poem. In this new form, I was rejecting the need for outside validation, especially that of romantic partners. I imagined myself made of stone that remained cool, even at the highest noon. I imagined myself as an abundant whimsical structure in an environment lacking of. Sturdy and welcoming and independent. “Grand when you arrive, grand when you leave,“ I added to the poem. . . In a meditation class in high school, our teacher told us to pick our place. My teacher, who did past life regression on dogs, said, “Pick a place to be in. Just sit there and listen. Make room for visits from animals, insects, spirits.“ I settled for a giant warm boulder in the sun, next to a free-flowing river, surrounded by woods. A buffalo visited me that day, my eyes closed in a classroom. When things are neutral, when things are good, when things are great, I am the boulder in the sun by the river. Or I am laying on it. . . The house cat reminds me to stretch my body and take time in the sun. The house cat makes me not feel guilty for napping too long or staring at the traffic outside. The house cat reminds me to give myself permission to relax and take it slow.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on May 2, 2019 at 7:19pm PDT

With so much to do and see online today, it can be difficult to slow your scroll and ask yourself how you're feeling. Abrao's hyper-aware content offers a mirror with which followers can take a nice, long look at themselves. The focus falls on subjects like self-worth, illusions, success, and creativity. She utilizes extensive captions to explain specific ideas in depth — or even just to describe a sunset.  

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me drinking the sunset on a hill overlooking the city. it’s incredible how some of the most impactful events occur in line with some of the most devastating. sometimes intensity is just intensity. i am living my dreams and aching simultaneously, and i’d be a fool to think this could ever be any other way. dual, shifting, unbelievably fair. i am so happy to still be here. when things feel gigantic, and the imagination builds tall tales to match the sensation, we can always return to water and sunshine.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Mar 26, 2019 at 3:50pm PDT

“As a teenager, I used to do street art wheat paste posters around the city that said ‘sigh swoon sigh’ on them," Abrao says of her page’s unusual name. "It was a mini poem I made up and attached meaning to, and sharing it like that was a reason to run around and be bad. Years later, the phrase would come back around and feel like the most fitting title for what my page has become.”

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My Higher Self just whispered this to me and I was floored. May we recognize crossfire. May we recognize deliberate, aimed fire. May we protect ourselves first before engaging in any perceived battle.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Mar 13, 2019 at 9:36pm PDT

The Sighswoon feed is aesthetically pleasing, everything kissed with a tint of beige. It's light and welcoming, which is exactly the way Abrao wanted it. She blames her fascination with the hue on her time spent at the beach: “I was renting a bed and a balcony in a living room for $500/month. The building’s stucco was beige, the cheap '90s carpet was beige, and the sand was beige. I think I just wanted to match everything.” 

SEE ALSO: I don't know who needs to hear this, but these memes are good

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tbt to the longest but purest #vintage #meme wrote this a year ago

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Feb 5, 2019 at 1:40am PST

“The cyborg in me recognizes the cyborg in you,” reads her bio, just above a link to her online store where she sells merch that features the saying on totes and sweatshirts. “It’s a claim to embracing the digital age,” Abrao explains, “the very human-meets-technology existence we all participate in, and are still wearily adapting to.” She admits that while it’s meant to be humorous, she also means it with her “whole heart." 

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my beloved cream crewnecks are now available! i got one sample made for photos are I absolutely adore it. sizes run a little big and on the “men’s” side of sizing. sweaters are made-to-order and will ship within two weeks. link in bio 🏹🏹 p.s. totes are still available in the shop and any orders made today before midnight will ship on thursday morning along with every order placed this past week. love a cozy cyborg

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Jan 29, 2019 at 1:41pm PST

With just about three years of memeing under her (beige) belt, Abrao has figured out the formula for making a solid one.

“A good meme is funny, relatable, insightful, and healing. In that order. You should laugh, then feel connected to the creator or others who understand it, then experience some introspect, then leave with a healed feeling from those three processes,” she muses. Her delivery method varies as she utilizes many different meme formats. 

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ok fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Feb 5, 2019 at 10:30am PST

Occasionally, Abrao will post pictures of herself wearing interesting outfits made of neutral textiles and glowy silks. These portraits provide a face to the name (as well as maintaining her color-coded image). They also fuel fan encounters at her part-time book store gig: "A few times I have rung up a book, handed it to the person across the counter, and they’re just staring at me, and they say 'You make memes right?'"

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Years ago, I read a passage by an unknown source that said - “When you have an amazing day, take note of what you were wearing, what you ate, who you were with, what you did. Do the same with bad days.” This shirt is my absolute favorite of mine, and I’ve only had good days in it.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Apr 17, 2019 at 5:11pm PDT

Abrao just wants to help everyone chill out. "I aim for my page to be accessible, empowering, and soothing," she says. And she wants to keep it up for as long as possible. 

"I wish to continue my studies of the invisible and unseen — documenting my findings through paintings, writings, videos, memes, and other art forms," she says. Her end goal is literally out of this world: "I will operate a carousel in the desert some day, and I hope to re-spawn on another planet in my next life." 

In the midst of all the noise that is Instagram in 2019, Sighswoon provides a light-filled digital oasis, a faraway page that's easy to get lost on. Be careful, though. You might just walk away feeling refreshed and renewed. And with an affinity for beige. 

WATCH: Nickelodeon releases official SpongeBob meme figures

#_category:yct:001000002 #_uuid:507e85d2-e538-3381-ba4a-2b4215c5f63c #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_author:Harry Hill #_revsp:news.mashable

[carolap53]

September 24, 2021

The God of Difficult Places KIA STEPHENS

Lee en español

“She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: ‘You are the God who sees me,’ for she said, ‘I have now seen the One who sees me.’” Genesis 16:13 (NIV)

I thought it was going to be a normal phone call.

The tone in her voice let me know this conversation was going to be anything but normal. We bypassed small talk about the weather and current events and took a deep dive into the primary reason for the conversation. “I have cancer,” my mom said.

Those were three words I did not expect her to say ever again. She was an eight-year breast cancer survivor and had been declared cancer-free. “This is not supposed to be happening,” I thought to myself.

It felt shocking and unreal to hear those words come from her mouth. My initial response was anger with God. How could You allow this? I said in my head. Then I reviewed the facts.

My mom needed support, but I am an only child.

My mom needed me to be close to her, but I lived in a different state.

And my mom was in her late 70s and still had a lot of life ahead of her.

The situation seemed so unfair. I felt alone, abandoned and betrayed as I grappled with the news of her diagnosis.

Everything in me wanted God to just make it go away.

In the Bible, there is another woman whose situation seemed unfair.

In Genesis Chapter 16, we are introduced to Hagar. She was the Egyptian maidservant of Sarai (Sarah), wife of Abram (Abraham). Sarai was battling infertility, and as a result, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She said to Abram, “The LORD has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her” (Genesis 16:2a-b, NIV).

Abram agreed to go along with Sarai’s plan, and Hagar conceived a son named Ishmael. Scripture says when Hagar knew she was pregnant, she despised her mistress. Some translations say that Hagar treated Sarai with contempt.

Then Sarai blamed Abram: “I put my slave in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me” (Genesis 16:5b, NIV). Sarai then mistreated Hagar, and Hagar fled, attempting to escape the difficult circumstances in her life. As I faced my mother’s diagnosis, I could relate.

At this point, I imagine Hagar felt used, betrayed, isolated and mistreated. She must have felt that her situation was so unfair. Then in Genesis 16:7, “The angel of the LORD found Hagar near a spring in the desert …” (NIV).

Many theologians believe that the angel of the Lord was the Lord in angelic form. Hagar was so valued by God that He came and spent time with her. God did not have to look for her because we know that He is omniscient. I believe the pursuit was for Hagar’s benefit. He wanted her to know she was worth looking for.

He wanted her to know that she was seen and loved by God.

The angel of the Lord pursued, engaged and listened to Hagar. He then instructed her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her” (Genesis 16:9, NIV).

God did not rescue Hagar from her plight. He did not swoop down and remove her from the situation. This is an expectation I have had in my difficult places. I have longed for God to step in and save me from everything hard in my life, instantaneously making all things wonderful and new. Here we see that this was not God’s plan.

Sometimes God will rescue us from difficult places and sometimes He will sustain us in the midst of them. He is still a loving God in both scenarios.

In verses 9-10, the angel of the Lord says, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her … I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count” (NIV).

He is saying, “In the midst of the place where you feel broken, isolated, abandoned and afraid, that is where I am going to bless you.” As a result, Hagar says, “‘You are the God who sees me,’ for she said, ‘I have now seen the One who sees me’” (Genesis 16:13).

Hagar reminds us all of God’s tangible love when we are suffering, alone, broken or afraid. She reminds us to see God seeing us in our difficult places. I imagine her saying:

“Even though life is hard, I see God seeing me.” “Even though I feel alone, I see God seeing me.” “Even though I’m scared and broken, I see God seeing me.”

She knew God was El Roi, the God who sees.

He remains the same God today. He sees you and me as we walk through our difficult places. He is God enough to sustain us in the midst of them.

My mom continues to undergo cancer treatment. God did not swoop down and save her from her illness. He is, however, sustaining and blessing us both in the midst of this difficult place.

Dear God, I know that I am not invisible to You. You see me and the challenges that I face. You are intimately concerned about every detail in my life. Help me to trust and believe that You will bless and sustain me in the midst of my difficult places. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

[gilly-psycho-journal]

This might be a wise place to remind you that the opinions expressed in these blogs are not necessarily representative of WCC and they are not given on behalf of the organisation.

Without further ado here is David Gill’s wonderfully erudite and entertaining responses. Please enjoy!

LD: Why and when did you decide to become a counsellor? DG: After I left Afghanistan and closed the door on my life as a social documentary filmmaker and photographer, I realised that I was still looking to find a way to continue to engage with humanity. To listen and to learn from people. I was looking for a fresh challenge. Three years ago, I had a germ of an idea about wanting to be a therapist. If you’d asked me to give you an answer as to why I wanted to do this, it would probably be much different to the answer I’d give you right now and probably different in another three years. I suppose like everything it depends on who is asking and what I think they want to hear.

Having spent three years in the academic system, I still hold the opinion, despite the over-medicalisation of therapy, that this vocation has room for creative individuals and free thinkers. This optimism is based on delving into the lives of its originators such as Rogers, Freud, Klein, Adler and Ellis and it’s more weird and wonderful leftfield luminaries such as Jung and RD Laing. One thing that struck me about all of these people and what kept me going was that every single one of them at some point was regarded as frauds, charlatans, quacks, counter-culture renegades or just plain bonkers. To a man (and the odd woman) they were all rule-breakers, all of them questioned and challenged the status quo in their desire to unlock the secrets of the human psyche.

LD: What did you do before you became a counsellor? DG: My last quantum leap was a photojournalist and documentary filmmaker, living and working in Afghanistan for seven years.

LD: Why and when did you decide to join the team at WCC? DG: I joined WCC back in February 2019. I found the whole atmosphere warm and extremely welcoming, and without sounding too affected – it has ‘soul’. It’s also very diverse in both practitioners, and it’s client base which is what I am looking for in my private practice. They were also the first people to say ‘yes.’

LD: Is there a certain model of counselling you use in your work? Can you explain in less than 10 words what it means? DG: Integrative Approach – ‘Promiscuous and flirtatious around the psychodynamic, relational and humanistic theory.’ = 10 words – I did it!

LD: How have you adapted to doing your counselling work during the lockdown? DG: Novelist Tom Holt summed it up for me, ‘Human beings can get used to virtually anything, given plenty of time and no choice in the matter whatsoever.’ I accepted the inevitability of going online with a certain grim foreboding. Within weeks I realised that I was spending a third of the session looking at myself. I Googled it and found out it was normal. Then I discovered how to mute my face. Concealment was a revelation. Now there’s a paradox!

LD: Do you feel as though the lockdown has increased peoples’ need for counselling and therapy? DG: The media has been reporting a lot of research highlighting the negative impact on people’s mental health and finding it difficult to cope with the emotional challenges of isolation. Personally, I thought lockdown was enlightening at first, aside from the grim death toll I found exhilaration in its novelty. No traffic, low pollution, endless sunny days. ‘All in it together’ and all that malarkey.

The current lockdown is very different, and I can sense a collective anxiety building amongst all my clients. It is impacting everyone in a myriad of ways, but now I feel as though we are all yearning for things to return to normal. Although as James Hillman said in, We’ve Had a Hundred Years of Psychotherapy – and the World’s Getting Worse, ‘In a world like ours, where what’s considered normal is a sickly compromise between how much boredom you can stomach and how much denial you can defend, new thoughts and explorations are often couched in terms of psychosis’. So maybe it is an opportunity for people to look at new meanings and new beginnings instead of looking back. It could be the jolt some of us require.

LD: What would you say to someone who is thinking about receiving therapy or counselling? DG: Be careful, as Carl Jung said, ‘Be aware of unearned wisdom.’ Searching for the truth is not the same as what’s desirable. My god that sounds enough to scare the pants off anyone. Honestly, it’s great. How about Socrates? ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ No, that also sounds quite intimidating. Ok… just do it you’ll never look back. Oh no! That’s the whole point. What about; Be as truthful as possible with your therapist and ask questions. Get stuck in and do the work. It will reward you.

LD: What do you find most rewarding about being a counsellor? DG: The trust that clients place in me and the utter privilege I feel from receiving that trust. James Andreoni claimed the ‘glow of giving makes acts of generosity ultimately selfish.’ In sum; Helping people is a win-win.

LD: What do you find most challenging about being a counsellor? DG: The trust that clients place in me and the utter terror I feel from receiving that trust. Which is good right? Terror broadens the mind. When you’re scared, the stress response induces an adrenaline rush and floods your brain and body with oxygen, increasing your stamina.

LD: What advice do you have for people who are thinking about becoming a counsellor or therapist? DG: Take the red pill. It represents an uncertain future. Living the “truth of reality” is harsher and more difficult than you could imagine. But as Morpheus says in The Matrix, “if you take the blue pill…the story ends.” If you haven’t seen the Matrix, then that won’t make any sense. But maybe this is a trick question because as counsellors we are not meant to give advice. So perhaps I should adopt the Oscar Wilde approach on this one, ‘I always pass on good advice. It is the only thing to do with it. It is never of any use to oneself.’

LD: What’s your favourite technique to keep happy and healthy at home during the lockdown? DG: Cooking hearty soups and getting stuck into a Cold War Steve jigsaw puzzle. Twitter @Coldwar_Steve

LD: How do you start your day? DG: Tragically, like most people, these days, going to the loo and staring at my iPhone.

LD: Which 3 people would be on your guest-list for your dream dinner party? DG: RD Laing, Dorothy Parker and Keith Moon. Although I might be too terrified to attend.

LD: What’s the best book you’ve read in the last year? DG: I’m a Joke, and So Are You – Reflections on Humour and Humanity by Robin Ince & Stewart Lee.

LD: What’s the best advice you’ve ever received? DG: Not sure it is solid advice but more of a statement from Maya Angelou, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’ She sounds a bit harsh and judgey, but I get the point. But I think the best advice I have read is that therapists should read more stories, more great literature, more Greek myths. Case studies, diagnosis, theories are great, but a lot of the time we are dealing in fiction. Freud said, ‘It’s how you remember, not what actually happened.’ That’s what clients do. They tell us stories that they have told themselves, and we should be always aware of that.

LD: What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve done in life? DG: Besides embarking on a career in therapy, I suppose it must be going to live in a so-called ‘war-zone’ and eating meat-based Kandahar street food in the blazing summer.

LD: When you were young, what did you want to be when you grew up? DG: In the Navy, but my mates told me that it was a bit ‘gay’. Please don’t blame me. It was Yorkshire in the 1970s in and literally, everything you didn’t like or understand was pejoratively called ‘gay’.

LD: What thing are you most excited to do once the lockdown has finished, and it’s safe to travel again? DG: Travelling on the Central Line in rush hour and licking shop windows outside Harrods.

LD: What are you irrationally scared of? DG: I am scared of faking it and making it. Freud called it ‘success neurosis’, but the great poet Phillip Larkin, said, ‘Life has a practice of living you, if you don’t live it.’ So I try not to be scared of living.

LD: What 3 things would you bring to a desert island? DG: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. I have never managed to read it (the paperback is over 1100 pages) but apparently, it echoes a timeless conundrum: the propensity for humans to distract themselves, often mindlessly, from boredom and the trauma of life. If that doesn’t work the complete audio works of Alan Watts and Screamadelica by Primal Scream and maybe something to play them on if that’s not too greedy.

LD: What does 2021 hold for you? DG: Hopefully spending less time staring into a screen and shouting, ‘Can you hear me?’ However, I must end on another quotation since this interview is drowning in them. ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.’ Woody Allen.

David Gill [email protected] www.gillypsychotherapy.com

[letgolovemyself]

Something about the way when Sam said it must be so hard to be the type of person I am and feel lonely is to be expected hit me different. I know everyone deadass loves me until they really get to know the real me. Maybe that’s not true. How many people know the real me? I guess a lot of the people that do have left, but for the most part I’m happy they did. I don’t feel like anyone really knows AND gets me besides Sam and Christian, maybe my parents. I can’t think of other people that have seen me at every aspect of my life and chose to love me. I feel like a show sometimes to people but maybe I put that show on. I genuinely refuse a lot of the time to deal with the absolute insane amount of pain I’m in. From a lifetime of being misunderstood, rejected, thrown away, not listened to, being forgotten about... I’m sure a lot of it is my fault as well. How could I have loved someone so deeply while also pushing them so far away? I really want to believe in my full confident self that the only reason B has me blocked is because he knows I could rope him in easily. I feel that 90%. That is why it was impossible for him to leave, but when he did, he was gone. I really do and did love him to the absolute best of my ability given the place I was at. And somehow knowing that it wasn’t right and wasn’t going to work out does not take away an inch of pain, somehow it makes it worse. I guess sometimes you love someone so much that you’re so willing to overlook how horrible it is just for a second of how good it can be. But the bad always overweighs the good. I know there’s no forgiving, turning back, taking back, there’s none of that. Like Justine said, my self confidence does not match up with the things that I have accomplished on my own. I am so used to treating myself like shit and having others do the same, that even when I have all the things I want, I still want the shitty things. I know I’ve made myself look good by lying so many times, but I was not lying to Justine when I told her that I genuinely will not beg a person to stay in my life. I will not give my energy to anyone who does not deserve it. I will not disrespect myself anymore. I can make new friends. I can find a new boyfriend. I can start all over any time I want. I did not lie to make myself look superior. I did not do that. For the first time in my life I was being honest. I don’t want friends who talk shit and make fun of me. I don’t want a boyfriend who doesn’t want me. I don’t stay where I am not wanted and I genuinely do not take shit because I will not give my energy to it. I was not lying. And obviously Justine, a person I’ve known for 3 weeks does not know me at all, but Christian, and Taylor, and Sam, and mom and dad, they all see this significant change in me. I see it within myself. There is this light within me that I never knew that I had. I have accomplished and pushed myself and accepted myself in ways I never thought possible. I am proud of myself. But it’s very lonely here. I am so traumatized and so jaded and so hurt that I feel it’s impossible to find a love that lasts. I fought and I fought hard and the other person was not fighting. I don’t want to cry anymore. It’s been 7 months of me crying all the time. I don’t want him to have power over me but I’m pretty sure it’s not him, it’s my refusal to accept these losses and this defeat. And the pain is truly unbearable. 

I pray to God I never love someone who does not love me. I pray to God I strut every fucking sidewalk and subway platform forever. Because I deserve to. Because I am a person who solely picked themselves up and learned how to walk again without anyone’s help. I will not make myself feel bad. I will not feel embarrassed. 

I love you but I love myself more. 

I don’t want to go on this date at all but it makes no sense to me that I am dying of loneliness but not willing to seek out anyone to help me get through it. All I want is you but I know that isn’t an option. It’s time to move on. 

Do you ever think of me? Do you close your eyes and think of me holding you when you are vulnerable and want to fall asleep? Do you look at old pictures of me and wonder where we went wrong? Do you remember all the things we did together, all the memories we made, all those moments we stared deep into each others eyes with all the hope in the world? Or is that just me? Have I been alone in this the whole time? I am trying to fill this void you left inside me with myself but sometimes I feel like I am getting further and further away from what I need. 

I cry sometimes because I found comfort in thinking of us in an isolated cabin, in the middle of the desert, in a new country, anywhere foreign and strange felt okay because I thought I had you, up to the last month we were together, and you were not even close to the same feeling. The emptiness, the self-hatred, the pain, the feeling of your heart sinking into your soul, I would never wish that upon anyone. I’m pretty sure that’s not a feeling you felt with me. You were always my comfort, I was always your hell. I begged you to let me go and you lied to my face for your selfish, cowardly, unknowing gain. Yet you blamed it on me when I told you time after time, day after day, month after month, year after year that YOU are my home. You are my home regardless of where my home was. This world, this universe, my God, this earth knew I was not lying when I said you were my home. I was an grain of sand on your planet when you were the soil, the foundation of me, and I will never let that happen again. 

And I pray to God, I pray to God, I will never lose myself to another man. I pray to God I will never let someone take advantage of me because it was easier than telling the truth. I will never disrespect myself again to ever let you say a word to me again. I have become the best version of myself while you were holding me back, bringing me down, constantly making me feel inadequate. The fact is, and I told you, you have nothing to offer me. I did charity work dating a piece of shit, low life, momma’s tit sucking, loser with no goals for 5 years because I gave my life to making you better while you did not have the capacity to understand me. So genuinely, go fuck yourself. Go have your happy life with that white girl you’ll call your wife, the one your family feels comfortable around. The girl that will pour soup out of a can and call it dinner while showing her PBA card at dinner. You go have that girl, you can take her. Because there’s one thing I refuse to be, a girl with no values, something unusual to a dick like you, a girl who doesn’t say much because she doesn’t want to see you grow. A girl with no brains so she can fit inside your empty hole, that hole you call a brain, the same lack of space that called me insane. Think about this when you’re laying next to your complacent girl, I remember that ex that told me I could do better, I need better, I should stand up for my feelings. But you’ll be happy as long as she leaves you with no needs. You are a stupid fucking piece of shit. I’m stupider for not having realized it. 40 pounds down, killing it at my job, more savings in my bank than your family could dream of, I did this all without you, without you dragging me down telling me I was a fool. But look at all I have because I grew, all because a dumb scrub like you left me, so I flew. 

[peter-horrocks]

Inside France review of 2020

People around the world will be thinking that 2020 has been the most testing and unpredictable of years in our lifetime. Yet despite the turmoil, for some it was a good year, though undoubtedly tinged with a sense of sadness, bewilderment as to how insensitive and selfish many humans can be and admiration for how amazing many people are too. On a personal front this was a good year in many ways, though my perspective is not your average as the previous year I was fighting a battle with cancer and practically anything is better than that.

“Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.” Albert Camus

My best photo of 2020 taken on a bike ride up the Gorge du Loup near Grasse

The obvious dominant subject of 2020 was Covid 19 and I have great empathy for those adversely affected and directly involved. The virus popped up out of no-where and its impact has been incessant ever since. When I first became aware of it I asked my physiotherapist what she thought and if her son who was working in Tokyo was concerned. “Oh Corona, comme la bierre, boff!!” was her flippant reply. And I think that is where most people were at.

I’ve read a number of good books about the plague and how it spread, including Ken Follet’s brilliant World Without End and more recently I enjoyed the French classic La Peste by Albert Camus, French version. Transmission is key and human habits are why it spreads and our inability to adapt and accept change are our shortcomings, poor governance adds frustration. Thank goodness there are also those we acclaim as heroes too. It is so difficult battling an unseen entity which affects some badly but not others and which adapts too, as we all know now.

Home made mask

The media feeds on it and frankly, if I had a euro for every time I’ve seen a cotton bud thrust up someone’s nose on the news (what is news about that!!!) my pockets would be bulging, and of course now its needles in the arm time. Everyone’s become an expert or they’ve chosen to be ostrich’s and stuck their head firmly in the sand, and you can’t blame them really. The tension is palpable when it comes to masks in places where they are obligatory, I can’t help feeling angry when I see people not wearing them or with their noses poking out, as they often seem to have that smug look about them, like they are sooo independent-minded. It frustrates me to feel judgemental but its that wilful selfish thing that makes me angry, that sullen unwillingness to be part of the collective, as if we could survive regardless as an island, though obviously, we wouldn’t last a minute.

We’ve all been finding our way of coping and for some, it is much more difficult than others. At first, it was almost amusing to find oneself running from the back end of the apartment to the front balcony and back, repeat, for an hour in an effort to keep fit during tight confinement. We exchanged improvised mask ideas; I had a ski snood with a coffee filter stuffed down it! Initially, we were told the masks didn’t really work. The truth was they didn’t have enough of them and even worse here in France they had recently binned the reserve stock, so they were trying to hide their embarrassment. In fairness, that apart, the French government seem to have handled managing the virus relatively well so far though now there are vaccination issues aggravated by a vaccine sceptic population and slow bureaucracy.

There was something marvellous about discovering how well you could keep connected with friends and loved ones through WhatsApp video in particular. I hadn’t felt so connected to my elder brother living in South Africa ever. But when he died of a heart attack out walking in the hills with his friends over there the reality hit hard. A big delay in getting him back to the UK, a bigger delay for his wife to follow on and no opportunity to share in the grieving in the direct company of my family. There were seven of us brothers and sisters and I am by far the youngest, it is sad, strange and destabilising being down to six.

Additional anxiety was for my younger daughter who is a recently qualified doctor as is the man in her life. Both were having a small break before taking up their proper postings in the summer. They were enjoying hiking in the wilds of Scotland and a holiday with family in Asia and looking forward to more carefree travel after so many years of medical studies. They both bravely and unselfishly volunteered to work in one of the worst Covid affected hospitals in the UK. Heavily involved with the thankless task of informing families of their loss by video conference and in the testing of the recently approved Oxford vaccine, they were literally in the thick of it. Within two weeks of starting as volunteers, they both caught the virus, thankfully not badly and after an isolation period, they were straight back onto the wards. They have both taken up their proper posts now, in London, as the third wave comes crashing through. Understandably they are tired and don’t want to talk about it, it is very difficult, especially for them.

My elder daughter got caught up in things too. She was on a humanitarian posting in Nepal when the outbreak struck and only got out on the last plane to leave Kathmandu for the UK. Having a day off she had gone hang gliding in the morning, a first for her, an amazing thrill, she had just sent me photographs showing her flying, of stupendous views of the local lake and the Annapurna mountain range. Only to return and be told she had to pack and leave immediately. The next photo was of a night-time, deserted, frightening-looking Kathmandu where she managed to find one of the last hotels still open, a rough one. To say I was relieved when she got home and met up at the airport with her sister who similarly got the last plane out of Shri Lanka is an understatement. Thankfully, she managed to see out the first wave and much of the summer with the family of her friend who owns a nice property in the countryside near the sea, well away from it all.

Kathmandu in lockdown taken by my daughter

My anxiety and personal need were a desire to help them. Being stuck here in France and relatively at risk myself my options were limited. My main concern was for their mental health as my guess was that Covid was likely to affect everybodies. Shortly after my cancer treatment, my French wife’s sister gave me a couple of books by a French author, meditation master and philosopher Fabrice Midal. One was an introduction to meditation for westerners, non-religious and based on attention, more of an awakening and relevant to actually living life actively, not at all mind closing and definitely not relaxation. I found it very wise and tried the meditation in addition to my gentle yoga which is for my relaxation when I’m not out for a walk, playing football or cycling up a mountain. I still meditate and have found it fascinating, paying attention to the functioning of the most important thing of all, the one we nearly all neglect, the brain. Its no cure for anything but I found it a good exercise and felt it may help my girls.

Meditation book by Fabrice Midal, in french.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist in English. So I contacted the author and asked if he would mind me translating it, explaining that I thought it would help my daughters. To my surprise, he promptly replied and agreed saying he could probably then use it to publish it online. So, I set about translating it and explained what I was doing to my daughters and the eldest volunteered to proofread. Its nearly done and I can say that my eldest daughter found it very helpful and the youngest has at least read some of it. I had never translated a whole book before and I found it an interesting experience especially as a philosopher weighs his words and each one counts. Fabrice Midal appears regularly on French television as he is one of the country’s leading philosophers and authors. I have read a fair bit of Greek philosophy and have always had some interest in the subject as I find it helps make sense of life, up to now I was not aware of any contemporary philosophers worth reading. I have found him to be a real ray of light, someone I can relate to and admire and learn from. I think he deserves to be read more throughout the world; he is a man of the moment in my opinion. I never thought I’d see the day when I would sit on a meditation cushion, I don’t buy into the way most of it is practised at all, but I’m glad to have found one that suits me and I’m very glad to have been able to help my daughters if only in a small way.

Brexit end game After an anxious wait it's done and dusted, well nearly. I have made my permanent residency application, which was relatively simple and not too onerous, and I have a holding number and a statement that my rights in France continue as before. The only problem is a final processing delay of at least three months so still waiting to cross the t’s and dot the i’s when the administration is ready.

The mood in France Given the circumstances its not too bad and whist the government has its detractors they are less visible due to the various constraints at the moment and the more pressing business of dealing with the Covid crisis. There is moaning when things are obviously wrong but there does seem to be reactivity too as well as a good degree of solidarity, responsibility and helpfulness.

Best cultural moments Well, there haven’t been any as everything is shut and even when a few things like cinemas were open there was nothing much good on and certainly nothing worth risking being indoors with other people.

First day on the beach at Fréjus after lockdown number one

Best experience Stepping back out onto the football pitch in Saint Cezaire-Sur-Siagne was enormous for me. During my cancer treatment, I never thought I would be able to play football again. It’s a very simple thing kicking a ball around with fellow human beings, but I’ve always loved it to bits. Also in between lockdowns we managed to get down to the beach at Fréjus a couple of times in the morning when there were few people around and it was a real tonic to be able to enjoy the sea and sun, it was equally uplifting to be able to ride up into the mountains on my bike occassionally though hard getting the muscles going again each time.

Looking down towards the Gorge du Loup

Precious family moments The top was a visit from my elder daughter who managed to stay with us for a couple of weeks before getting back to the UK on the last flight before the second lockdown. A huge pickup, I enjoyed catching up with her work teaching online and coaching and being able to be there for her as well as visiting some nice places outdoors, especially the observatory at Caussols. 

And we also managed a lovely stay in a chalet in the high French Alps at Les Menuires in August along with my French wife’s daughters, son in law and five grandchildren, the sun shone on the verdant valley by day and the stars lit up our evening walks up the mountain, it was quite magical and great fun, I felt privileged to be part of it.

Selling my Dordogne property

I’ve finally given up on the idea that I might do something with my property in the Dordogne one day, so I’m selling it. It is composed of a beautiful big barn which I had re-roofed and opened some window openings at the start of a conversion (which I had planning for, now lapsed, but easy to re-new). Also a ruined small farmhouse. There is electricity and water but no drains (I did get permission for a septic tank but we never got round to installing it). Both are set on 1 hectare of land, mainly secluded, just one neighbour masked by trees and bushes on my side. 3km from the village of Montagrier near Périgueux. Price is 120,000 euros. If you know anyone who might be interested please let me know.

Classic 2cv It has been very enjoyable working with Classic 2cv again this year. We have brought lots of rusting old parts back to life and supplied enthusiasts far and wide with the means to keep their charming old French cars on the road. I have learned a lot and continue to grow in experience on the classic car front. Oddly its thrived during lockdowns as folk have channelled their time and energy into restoration of their cars.

So, as we head into the new year after a year like no other, the future looks uncertain, climate change and a biodiversity crisis are looming large in addition to the Covid virus. It feels important to survive, work, make the most of things, care about loved ones and to try and help.

Best wishes

Peter H

#2020 #Inside France review