#and dumping your waste on our countries

[hussyknee]

hi i have a question about z-lib (i saw you when i searched up z-lib here and thought you may know the answer) when i try to download books it directs me to this donation page with some links with bitcoin that’s apparently gonna get me an exclusive membership(?) but i do not want to donate, can’t i still use it like how it was before i do not understand (10 books for free each day)

Noooooo that's a phishing site! Zlib.is that appears as the top Google result is a scam site that's trying to steal login credentials and credit card info!! DO NOT RESPOND TO ANY EMAILS THEY SEND YOU. If you use the same email + password combo anywhere else, change it now.

Edit: Use this link to sign up.

Once you sign up via that, you'll be sent personal domain links that you can use to access the site. Zlib does use Bitcoin donations to gain membership that lets you download as many books as you want and access to added features, but its basic membership costs nothing and lets you download 10 books a day and send them to your email, which is good enough for normal users.

Never sign up for any piracy site without first googling whether the domain (the bit that comes after the dot) is a scam site or legit proxy. Always use a separate spam email account for this stuff, and never sign up for any piracy site that you can't use at all without giving them your credit card info.

#asks #anon #zlibrary #people not from the global south who want to pontificate about book piracy please fuck off from this post #we don't have access to half the books you do or its priced completely out of our currency range #we'll buy your shit at your prices when you stop sucking our resources dry for pennies on the dollar #and dumping your waste on our countries #phishing #scam site #internet scams #knee of huss

[techploration]

A Cascading Fix

The floating garbage patch in the Pacific Ocean a huge ongoing issue. Plastic is the worst offender (and no it’s not all drinking straws and plastic bags— it’s mostly discarded fishing nets). Skimming would be too costly and unrealistic (it’s country sized— big country). Plus is almost a biome at this point— you couldn’t scoop out the trash without also scooping animals/eggs/plants basically causing more havoc trying to clean it up.

So what do you turn to? Bacteria

So this area has been in active research for 25+ years as the ultimate solution to dealing with plastic waste.

Should be great right? The lifespan of a bottle in a landfill falls from centuries to weeks in a vat. It’s such an alluring goal that people gloss over the path

Brute forcing thousands upon thousands of mutations on an enzyme that specializes in breaking down hydrocarbons sounds wildly risky.

Because what if you get one that does too well?

Future Forecaste

Silicon Valley Tech Bro Billion wants to try and improve his image as a part of the private jet class by holding a big public competition for innovative solutions for the garbage patch. Encourages all of his tech bro buddies to pitch their ideas. Billionaire promises to fund a pilot project for the top idea.

What wins out? Bacteria

And they apply the Facebook ‘move fast and break things’ philosophy to brute forcing mutations. Garbage patch is in international waters, so no approval (or oversight) to go and test your ideas.

In fact, with being out in the middle of the ocean, you can build your lab right on a boat and sail out there. And test your iterations right there. In the ocean. Why test on a simulated garbage patch when the real one is right there?

Success! A strain that breaks down plastics in a short timeframe in the cold of the ocean! Your test site quickly goes from floating landfill to. something?

The enzymes broke the plastic into component nutrients. So you now have effectively dumped a whole flood of nutrients into the water. Kinda like dumping fertilizer

Cool. So now you you have turned garbage patch into the Great Pacific Algal Bloom and Dead Zone

And the bacteria isn’t staying put. Oceans have a way of moving things, and you just built a hardy sailor with a plentiful food supply.

The bacteria makes it to shore and suddenly, plastic isn’t permanent. Plastic isn’t safe in water. Every seal and gasket is now prone to failure. There is a rush to figure out which types of plastics are susceptible, which are resistant. New plastics with bacteria resistance are developed.

But that’s not even going to be the biggest issue

We’ve Got a Fuel Pox on our Hands

If it likes to eat plastic know what it’ll love? Gasoline and any other hydrocarbon

This bacteria would essentially turn gas into soy sauce. Think about fuel rotting

Suddenly world’s energy supply is at risk. Fear of contamination becomes the oil and gas industry’s number one concern. Gas becomes an even more precious commodity, and is only used when application demands. The industry takes on surgical level of cleanliness.

Meanwhile other people are prepping ‘Kombucha’ for their local pipeline

#techploration

[averagewriter777]

Ghost and Doc (Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader)

Masterlist

(Part Five)

“So, what do you usually drink, (Y/n)?” The question was asked by Gaz to break the awful silence in the car. (You’d think the radio would at least be playing some music- but nope!)

You fumbled with your fingers. “Well… I’ll drink anything, I guess. But I feel like my drinks are mood-based, you know?” Soap raised a brow towards you. “Okay- let’s just say that I’m down in the dumps, feeling miserable… I’ll open a bottle of scotch or whiskey. If I want to get wasted- which hasn’t happened for a few years, I’ll take some vodka or tequila. If I’m out drinking with friends and they’re having shots, I won’t join… because that’s a hangover and I fucking hate those- probably have a margarita or two. If I’m trying to flirt with a man, it usually works for some reason- I’ll order a sex on the beach… and he’ll get the memo.” You stopped talking when you realized Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were staring at you. “What? Told you it’s mood based.”

“We’re having some shots- you won’t drink them?” Soap said, albeit disappointed in his tone. You shrugged, then shook your head. “Damn, found our designated driver then. Hope you know how to drive around in this country.” You didn’t, but you’d figure it out. 

Everyone took a seat at a table in the corner. You and Soap were in charge of grabbing drinks, mostly because you wanted something different- as did Ghost. (The man was also still wearing his mask, something you were confused about, but didn’t ask about) Soap ordered a round of tequila shots, a bourbon for Ghost, and you surprised him by ordering Fireball whiskey.

“No margaritas?” He chuckled while carrying the tray back to the table. 

You almost snorted into your glass but remembered you were also carrying Ghost’s drink, so you held it back- not wanting to spill it. “Not tonight. You’ll witness me order a margarita when I feel more at home. My old team made fun of me for ordering those. Nice try there, Soap.”

“Call me John,” he said while setting down the tray. Everyone took their respective shot glasses and immediately downed them.

Ghost took his bourbon glass from your hand, lifted his mask, then took a small sip of it. You took that moment to look at his jaw and lips- because you were curious. Your gaze snapped away when his eyes lingered over on you. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Of course,” you raised your glass a little then took a sip. The whiskey burned in your mouth, but you didn’t flinch. “Why don’t you drink with them? Tequila’s a good time if you have enough of it… until the following morning.” You raised the glass to your lips again, watching Ghost sigh.

“Johnny told me once it tasted like dog piss. Seems like he’s changed his mind.” Ghost shrugged and took a sip of his bourbon again. “And I prefer bourbon, no matter what. Dark drinks I seem to enjoy the most.” He looked at what you were drinking. “Didn’t you say you only drank whiskey when you were miserable?”

You set down your glass and rubbed the edge, wondering if you should say anything. Both Soa- John, and Price told you to be careful… “Well, I’ve got a daughter at home. This was a poor time for me to deploy. Her birthday is tomorrow, she’s turning six.” Your brows furrowed. “A ‘friend’ has her gift ready… but I was hoping to give it to her this year. The last time I was there for something important was her first words and steps.”

Guess you didn’t realize you were being emotional as well as crying a bit, because Ghost had reached across the table to put one of his gloved hands over your own. “It’ll be alright. We’ll make sure you get to give her a call, okay?” You nodded and rubbed under your eyes then let out a shaky sigh. “Now, let’s go get you a different drink. You’re right about it being emotion-based.”

- (At the table while you and Ghost are at the bar)

“So, what do you two think of (Y/n) so far?” Price asked while staking his third shot glass on top of the other two. 

Soap added to the pyramid that Price was creating with his shot glasses. “Good woman, good medic too. Seems to be getting along with the team alright too.” He looked over at the bar, gesturing to you and Ghost, who were talking while waiting on your new drink. “Ghost has warmed up to her quick.”

“That’s probably the most surprising out of all of this,” Gaz said while scratching the back of his head. “Work-wise… she’s good. Can’t wait to see how she handles a weapon- she was a monster on that training mat.” He almost cheered out loud whenever there was an almost-win against Ghost- but this wasn’t a wrestling match, so he kept it to himself. “I wouldn’t be worried about her on the field so far.”

Soap was going to add something, but he shut his mouth when you and Ghost started walking back to the table. You raised a brow toward him but decided not to say anything. “Y’all are out of shots? That was fucking quick, need some more?” The men shrugged as if they weren’t opposed. “Right then, I’ll take these…” You gathered up the tower of shot glasses that Price and Soap created, put it all on the tray, then made your way back to the bar.

When you were out of earshot, the three men turned to Ghost, who went back to drinking his bourbon. Once he noticed he was being watched, he set his drink down and sighed. “What.”

“Just wondering what you think of Sergeant (Y/n) so far,” Price said calmly as if he was talking to a ticking bomb. “It looks like you’ve warmed up to her thus far, are we correct about that?”

Ghost grunted and picked up his glass again. The look in his eyes told Price that he did indeed not want to talk about it, but they were correct about it. “She’s alright,” he admitted. He wouldn’t say anything more, not to his drunk companions. “Excellent sparring partner… good medic too.”

You were back within that second, holding that *last* round of tequila glasses for the group. When everyone picked up their glasses and raised them to the air, Ghost included, you went to do the same. “To (Y/n) and the 141!” Everyone repeated what was said and took their shots. You and Ghost sipped your glasses- you shuddered when sipping yours this time.

“Ugh, it’s been so long since I’ve had bourbon.” You set the Old Fashioned down on the table and looked at Ghost, who was smiling into his glass. “Don’t laugh- that’s fucking rude.”

Ghost *probably* raised a brow at you. “You drink whiskey and every other drink out there… but bourbon is the one that makes you cringe and shudder? That’s all.” You took another sip, lifting your middle finger not-so-subtly at the same time. “That’s no way to talk to your lieutenant.” His smile had fallen, but it remained in his eyes.

You nearly choked on your drink. “I’m sorry- that’s your rank?” Ghost shrugged, and also made a face that said ‘you weren’t told?’ “Price didn’t tell me. Shit, sorry.” With that, you decided it was time to call it a night. “Alright, how the hell are we paying for this?” Ghost pointed to Price, who was taking out his wallet- but was struggling. “Alright, give me one second…” You remembered that Price had given the bartender the card at the beginning of the night.

“Closing your tab?” He asked. You nodded and folded your arms on the counter while you waited for the receipt to come up. “It was under… Price, right?” You nodded again and clicked the pen you were given. “Alright, here you go… just sign and you’ll be good.”

You weren’t sure how Price signed his name, so you just made up some scribble- kind of like a doctor’s scribble. It was similar to what your signature was, just with different letters. And you left a hefty tip, based on what everyone drank, that is.

“Thanks, have a good night!” The bartender was grinning at the receipt as he put it back in the drawer. Guess you left a good enough tip.

Back at the table, Ghost was getting everyone to get off their asses and out the door. You asked him on the way out why he doesn’t just drive since he only had that one glass of bourbon, but he shook his head. “I don't like driving. I’ll tell you where to go… you just go from there.”

A/N: That’s right. He’s a shit driver. Everyone has seen how he drives- right? That’s it. That’s just it. But he wouldn't tell you that, not yet at least.

(Part Six)

#mwii #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #alejandro vargas

[murfeelee]

IWTV 2022 INSP - The Most Dangerous Man in the World

Daniel: I told my editor I was meeting with the most dangerous man in the world. Gave him two choices. He came back with Bezos and Putin! Louis: I wasn't sure you'd remembered me. Your book makes no mention of our prior meeting. Daniel: Gritty memoir, drugs, humiliation, self-pity kind of thing. Mention vampires in one of those, readers tend to call bulls***. You've got your own hangar at the airport, privileges on the Royal Meydan Bridge, and zero presence online. I know the Emirates are big on privacy, and that's probably important to you, but I gotta ask: what does it cost, this haven't-aged-in-half-a-century, killer views in all directions anonymity? Louis: Quite a lot. I have to be very careful whom I let in. Daniel: Yeah, well, things didn't end well the last time, so forgive me if I'm a little nervous! Louis: Back in San Francisco, you said, and I paraphrase, "Give it to me. Make me a vampire now." Daniel: In the eyes of a 20-year-old, you were wasting the gift. Louis: You're in your 20s, Rashid. What do you think? Rashid: Well, Mr. du Lac presides in the most desired real estate in the country. I do not see the "waste" Mr. Molloy sees. Daniel: Yeah, well, he lived in a dump the last time we did this. Louis: I'd give it to you now.

– Interview with the Vampire, S01E01, S01E06

MY THOUGHTS & CC CREDITS

MY THOUGHTS

My contribution to @iwtvfanevents' Vampterview rewatch of IWTV Season 1! \(^0^)/ I basically rebuilt Loumand's Dubai Penthouse from scratch, cuz in my other post it was on the same lot as Loustat's 1132 townhouse. 🤭 And I decided to remake my Daniel & Rashid/Armand sims, cuz I was too lazy to crack open my old saves and save a copy of them to my bin. So...yeah, "a do-over," in Daniel's words. XD

I just love thinking about Louis' strange life as a billionaire mogul, and how AMC's nodding to the life he had with Armand in Miami & NYC in the books, and the life he now has with "Rashid" in Dubai. I have many suspicions about what went down to bring Loumand to Dubai, and where in the books' timeline we even are. I need answers, Rolin!!!!

CC CREDITS

Dubai world; Zen Tower at Youtube (I just gutted the interior)

Limo by FreshPrince

Helicopter by @dailycard

IWTV Books & Rollercoaster "bridge" w/ Fullbright in beta by me

#sims 3 loustat #interview with the vampire #vampterview #sims 3 asian #sims 3 vampires #sims 3 gameplay

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Whiskey For Your Thoughts

A/N: Having a rough week and it’s only Tuesday. As always, turned to writing and thought I would share this short piece with you all. Hope it can help in some way! My inbox is always open for you all!

Pairings: Jake “Hangman” Seresin X College!Reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet Hangman

Word Count: 900

Summary: The reader is nearing the end of their college degree, but one single test can ruin it all. A certain pilot knows how to cheer them up.

Today was one of those days where it seemed like the world was against you. To say you had been working hard towards your degree would be severely understating it. Years have been put in for all of it to come crashing down on you. The control you once felt was no more, and you felt everything slipping from your hands too quickly to stop it. And just like any normal person put in this position, you found yourself sitting on the kitchen floor with a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

That’s how your boyfriend found you. Head back, bottle up, with no regard for the world around you. His footsteps getting louder told you your fun was probably coming to an end. And sure enough, the bottle was gently taken from your hands.

You looked up with a pout to see Jake kneeling down in front of you, a look of concern on his face. “That was uncalled for.” You heard the slight slur in your words and mentally slapped yourself for it. He wouldn’t give it back now.

“Want to tell me what happened?” His tone seemed light, but you knew he was trying not to upset you further.

“Why do you assume something happened?” You watched him bite back a smile and tilt his head a bit.

“Darlin’, the only time you drink whiskey is when you want to forget something, or you’re tryin’ to get me in bed. And last I checked, I wasn’t home when you started drinking so it must be the first option.” Damn this man for knowing you too well.

You let out a small huff and crossed your arms. “Rough day at school, that’s all.” Jake knew it was something more, he always did. So, his next question shouldn’t have gotten to you as bad as it did.

“You finish in what, one week? You know your stuff and you are by far the smartest person I know, so what’s getting to you?” Your eyes fixated on the worn-out tile underneath you as you tried to keep your emotions in check. But man, this day was beating you up.

“I spent three years leading up to this moment and I have one test that is in my way. If I fail it, then all of this was for nothing. A complete waste of time. Today we took this pretest thing that basically showed us how we do on our final. I failed it by three points. How is it that I can study all damn day and put my heart into something just to fail?” You looked up at your boyfriend and saw his face drop at your admission.

He dragged a thumb over your cheek to wipe the tears you didn’t know escaped. It was an involuntary motion, but you leaned into his touch, needing it more that you initially thought. Jake saw this and moved to sit next to you on the ground, pulling you into his side.

“This is only one bump in the road. Don’t let this test knock you down because you have earned this degree. I know I’m just a dump pilot, but I do know how hard you have worked for this.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at what he said. You both knew he was one of the best pilots in the country, but right now it didn’t matter. Your world seemed to be falling apart and he was the glue you needed to keep it together.

“What if I fail?” He pulled back some and turned your face so he could look you in the eyes.

“You can’t think like that, sweetheart. If I went out there every time I had a rough mission and thought that, I would get hurt and my team hurt. If this was supposed to be easy, everyone would be doing it. I have all the faith that you are going to kill this test and then we are going to have the biggest celebration after.” He gave you one of his rare, genuine smiles and kissed the top of your head.

“Let’s get you showered and into bed. You’re going to be feeling the whiskey in the morning.” He got off the floor and effortlessly picked you up.

“I can walk, Jake. I didn’t have that much to drink.” You saw a smirk appear on his face and knew he was up to no good.

“Maybe I just want to carry my girl to bed. Is that such a crime?” You tipped your head back and laughed, slowly forgetting about your previous pity party.

“To say you weren’t here when I had the whiskey out, you sure do seem like you have something on your mind.” It was his turn to laugh, and you couldn’t help but smile at the happiness on his face. He caught you staring and asked what you were thinking of.

“I love you, Jake.” He stopped walking and looked down at you in his arms, “Darlin’, there is no one else in the world that I will ever love more than you.” He gave you a soft kiss on the tip of your nose and in that single moment, everything was perfect.

#jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #fluff #topgun #jake seresin

[prisonhannibal]

just read the info post you posted about sámi culture and wind turbines. did the norwegian gov just have like, no where else to put them? what sparked them using your land in the first place?

They’ve been using our land and resources ever since they came to Sápmi.

Important context to understand the land and environmental issues in Sápmi is that not all of Norway is in Sápmi (and not all of Sápmi is in Norway. the governments made borders dividing Sápmi in four). Only the middle and north of Norway is in Sápmi, but southern Norway is the most populated, richest, and politically powerful part of the country and it’s where the government is working from. There are only around 40k sámi people in norway, we are under-represented in politics, and the sámi parliament in Kárášjohka (far north) doesn’t have the power to make the final decisions, they have to go through the norwegian government.

Because of this, almost all political decisions are made in the south, and they generally just don’t seem to think or care about what it’ll do to sámi communities. We just want to have a say in what they do in our areas, but the Fosen sámi fought for years against this and not even a supreme court judgement made the government make a change. So they dump toxic waste in the fjords, build wind turbines and hydro power plants and dig for oil all over the north because they can, despite huge backlash from sámi and norwegian people living in the north. They still built the hydroelectric power plant in the Alta river in the 80s after years of conflict because of how devastating it would be to sámi communities.

They HAVE other places to build wind turbines and dams and other renewable energy sources, it just somehow happens to be in Sápmi every time, because they have the power and because they won’t listen to us or let us make decisions about OUR land and our way of life. We’re not even saying to never build anything anywhere in Sápmi, just that some areas can’t be used like this and the people who actually live here need to be part of that conversation

#txt

[the-trans-dragon]

One time I mentioned I have super horrible seasonal allergies (which I haven't experienced since 2019 because apparently a mask totally protects me from them????? Wish I had been doing that earlier instead of getting steroid shots and still having symptoms so bad it kept me awake at night but that's another story)

And someone was like "oh it's cos kids don't get exposed to nature enough. Back in my day we were outside all the time and never had allergies and" etc etc

I told her that, uh, I grew up in the country and spent a huge portion of my childhood outdoors getting muddy and running through fields and rivers and climbing trees and I'd only moved into a town/city as an adult. So she was like "Oh. Huh. Idk then."

And I was ruminating on that interaction, despite it being years ago, and thinking to myself "I sure did grow up exposed to nature! Exposed to all sorts of stuff. The walls of our house was only A Single Cinderblock thick so the Nature came in all the time through the cracks. (The bricks were filled with mics as "insulation" and it blew in, too).

About half the time, the wind was strong enough to blow air down from the attic, which no one has been in for decades and smells like its been a bathroom/cemetery for mice and rays for decades, and I'd hang a sheet from my bedroom doorway (didnt have a door) to keep the smell out.

And the river I played in was so polluted. Slightly upriver was a little side stream where some farmer dumped all of his trash--old lumbar and old car parts and tires and old appliances and God knows what else--and it all flowed downstream to where i'd play, where it also smelled heavily of cow manure because it used to be a "this is where the cows get rounded up and kept in a small area before getting loaded onto a truck and sent off" area.

And we had well water so that was our water for showering and brushing our teeth and washing dishes. We didn't drink it, but we drank someone else's well water (once a week we drove about 30 minutes to my grandparent's house and filled up big water jugs to take home because their water was nicer). Our water often had black flakes, and often smelled of sulfur. We got it tested once and they sent back a letter that was like DO NOT FUCKING DRINK YOUR WATER. BOILING IT WONT HELP. DO NOT DRINK IT.

And that was BEFORE the oil fields came and put a rig on every mile section and did waste-water injection and made the air smell like melting plastic and one time lightning struck one and it fucking EXPLODED about a mile away. Which is perhaps irrelevant, but still worth complaining about because, y'know, no one was out in the country except us so we were the ones who reported things like that, and then someone would drive an hour or so from a city and so it just sat there HISSING violently like some eldritch beast and thankfully didnt explode again but god knows what got thrown into environment from it. Also it was a mile away but the hiss was Loud and it was a fucking Experience to stand outside in a big thunderstorm and hear a HISSSSSSSSSSSSS coming from the entire sky, louder than the thunder, trying to see if anything was on fire while the entire storming sky was filled with a terrifying angry steady hiss like some angry storm dragon.

And then I was thinking...Huh. Maybe I'm lucky I don't have *more* health issues, considering all of...that. Considering the mica, and the rotting smell blowing down from the attic. I can't imagine what type of mold spores came from the attic. I can't imagine what types of metals and fertilizers and pesticides were in the river. God knows what got into the well water from the fracking, or if it was okay to live in air that smelled like smoldering plastic for years.

#sorenhoots

[cleekleequlee]

Watching me doing field recording

(This "autoethnographic" fieldnote alone takes 2 hours to complete... I spare myself from grammar editing and hope you could spare me of any mistakes too)

The recorder distributed by AK the instructor of the field-recording workshop was the same model as I bought about two months ago from the local music instrument shop, a very light-weight, handheld equipment costing a few hundred Hong Kong dollars. AK supplemented the rest of the set: a white wired 3.5mm in-ear earphone, a wind shield, and two alkaline batteries. This is my first time doing recording with a plug-in earphone on the recorder. With the inbuilt pre-amp that amplifies the sound from surrounding to your liking, my sense of listening was suddenly enhanced. In the room while AK was talking I started to test around, positioning the recorder down the table (as if I was eavesdropping). AK’s talking sound turned muffy-stuffy under the table. Patrick who sits next to me friendly knocked the table, it makes a hollow and nice sound in the earphone.

We were then sent out for 40 minutes with the new device to play around and get familiar with it. Changing lift on the 11th floor there is sharp and adhesive sound of peeling duct tape from the roll. It stands out in the very quiet, almost deadly dormant background. Associating with the female figure I saw, “it might be the helpers packing their belongings to be sent back to Philipines”, I think to myself. These aged industrial buildings can feel spooky without the busy cranky sound people makes. The aisles were very wide for trolleys to pass. But the walls in this one were painted bright colors - red on the ground floor and bright yellow on the 11th - with oversized sans serif characters indicating room numbers. Is it comic sans?

I turned on the "fluffy head" (the windshield on recorder looks cutely crazy) while taking the lift down the massive and old industrial building. Right away a rhythmic sound in the lift caught my attention. “If this is in the mystery sound no one would recognize it”, I thought. In this blank, empty in-between time, waiting to be transferred from one space to another, there was something working in the background, enabling the movement of the lift. My movement is not taken for granted, it is worked out by certain mechanisms, and such mechanisms leave a sonic trace. There was also the sound of different parts of a metal chain touching each other behind the steel sheet that boxes us in the lift. The fan made a low-pitched monotonous vibrating sound. Moving the fluffy head closer I hear it closer to me.

Down at the street level the nuances suddenly disappeared. The sound of the cars and buses suddenly swirled and overwhelmed everything else. My head didn’t spin. It numbed and suffocated. Sound Degradation like what Bernie Krause said, is this mesh of undistinguishable business. From afar in the country parks it turns to a low, roaming background noise, not unlike the electric white noise that persists every clip of recording. Isn’t it like the evasive plants that just expand at all cost, covering and killing everything under it? Our brain filters it out for our survival and it was quite successful. But how about the birds, the anthropomorphised, exhausted asian koel making a hoarse sound in late spring still desperately searching for a mate?

I looked at the map and decided to make my way to the ferry. At least there would be less traffic, maybe some trees and birds, ferry infrastructure will also be interesting (I’m interested in water related structures anyway). Crossing the road I heard the iconic sound of Hong Kong traffic lights. Exotic and exciting it may sound for tourists and new comers, I was however slightly annoyed by it - such an overly-dominant attention attractor! Passing by the green@community temporary recycle station, I wondered whether sound made by the act of dumping waste would be interesting. Then I heard birds remotely but surely. The high-pitch pierced through the background noise and made a pure, rounded and oppulent debut. If my attention was a clock, that chirping sound suddenly took the area between the hour and minute hands of 11:05. It was uplifting, undisturbed by the gloomy ground beneath it. With the sound in my earphone on, I kept walking, trying to get closer to the bird. But the sound in two earplugs can hardly be distinguished. I found it was easier to find the source direction with the earplugs off, using my carnal ears instead. Is this because of the background noise? Or there is something that is yet to be captured by the technology?

Tracing the birds I found myself standing next to a cotton tree (Bombax ceiba). In a rare 30C degree sunny day in late March, the bright red flowers contrast its bleaching white bark and the blue sky. Cotton trees flowers before leaves sprout, therefore this single tree looked less dense than the rest (mostly different kinds of banyan trees) and created a hole where what happens on the branches were more exposed. I clicked “record”, decided to waiting for the chirping to maybe appear, disappear, and change in volume. AK suggested us to make longer recordings. The minimum requirement for soundmap uploading is one minute, and he himself often makes recording 45 min or longer. That means staying in one place for as long as the recording goes and possibly doing nothing other than paying attention.

The chirping is distinct, sometimes chimed in by some lower “goo goo” sound. Then I spotted spotted doves (Streptopelia chinensis) on the taller branches. The minimum Flowers plump to the ground intermittently, making a heavy thud (do I hear the thud, or do I know because I’ve hold the heavy flower in my hand?). Other times dried flower or leave drop too, but I cannot hear a sound.

Through the leafless branches and flowers I saw a bird perching on a branch. The colour was unclear, but its crest instantly revealed its identity of a red-whiskered bul-bul (Pycnonotus jocosus). “Of course”, I thought to myself and suddenly the oppulent and delight chirping sound makes sense. This little thing was not making an mating effort, I think. It had something in its mouth, maybe food, maybe a small fibre for making nests, maybe something else but beyond what human being could understand about bird’s life. It was taking its time under the sunshine, twisting its head in small angles, as paying attention to something. Maybe it was also listening, paying attention. Is it still interested in those sounds - cars and busses and airplanes and dialogues - which are not part of their language systems? Can its brain also screen off the grumbling roaming noises that is below their feet? Maybe the ground under ourselves also makes a background noise, but we will only be able to distinguish it in the playback once we are shipped to another space with a different noise.

The recording was still going. I have the image of a casette tape recorder, when the rolling of the two white circles are visible when recording is going, rolling the thin roll of tape inside of the machine. Me looking at the bird, for a while. This attention forms a relationality, all rolled and compressed in the tape. Conserved and archived as a memory. Life is the finite resource of time, and paying attention to this bul-bul was committing one minute and ten seconds of my time, because this act of recording takes time and constant attention. And the bird, as well as myself who was watching/recording the bird, will be brought back to a renewed life in playbacks, creating new ripples. You never know what will happen when you press “record”, and when the sound is played back, everything already happened. I am fascinated by this playful misplace and the mystery of destiny.

(sorry, the bird is not in the picture)

(sorry, this post is not accompanied with a recording, as the recorder was collected by the organizer by the end of the workshop)

[rabbitcruiser]

International Day of Action For Rivers

International Day of Action For Rivers, observed on March 14 every year, is a day that is dedicated to saving, celebrating, and creating awareness about the importance of rivers. Did you know that two million tons of sewage, industrial and agricultural waste are discharged into the world’s water every day? Yes, it is the equivalent of the weight of the entire human population of 6.8 billion people! This is why it is our time to save our rivers for the good of humanity.

History of International Day of Action For Rivers

The International Day of Action For Rivers is a day created by the International Day of Rivers to sensitize people about the importance of rivers. It brings people across the world together to talk about and save rivers by addressing the issues related to river management, river pollution, river conservation, etc.

The history of the origin of the International Day of Action For Rivers is an interesting one. In September 1995, several organizations, including International Rivers Network (I.R.N.), India’s Save the Narmada Movement (N.B.A.), Chile’s Biobio Action Group (GABB), and European Rivers Network (ERN) came together and conducted a preparatory meeting in Brazil. As a result, they formed an international Organizing Committee headed by Brazil’s Movement of People Affected by Large Dams (MAB).

In March 1997, in Curitiba, Brazil, participants of the First International Meeting of People Affected by Dams adopted the International Day of Action Against Dams and For Rivers, Water and Life. Furthermore, they decided that the International Day of Action For Rivers will take place on March 14.

Every year there will be a theme for the International Day of Action For Rivers, and last year, in 2021, the theme was ‘Rights of Rivers.’ It demanded that rivers be declared a national asset and given legal rights to stop the rivers from becoming dumping sites for waste and sewages.

Environment enthusiasts conduct workshops, seminars, and activities to celebrate this day to raise awareness and spread the message. So, let’s take a stand against the activities that harm the rivers and protect them at all costs.

International Day of Action For Rivers timeline

1995

Formation Of An International Organizing Committee

A preparatory meeting is held in Brazil, and an International Organizing Committee is formed.

1997

The First International Day of Action For Rivers

The first International Day of Action For Rivers is adopted by representatives from 20 countries in Curitiba Brazil.

2010

People Get More Awareness

People across the world get to know more about the importance of rivers.

2021

The First Virtual Celebration

Due to the pandemic, many organizations conduct events online to celebrate International Day of Action For Rivers.

International Day of Action For Rivers FAQs

What does the International Rivers organization do?

This organization strengthens movements of communities and civil society to defend rivers by exposing destructive projects.

Is International Day of Action For Rivers the same as World River day?

No International Day of Action For Rivers is different from World River Day, which is celebrated every year on September 26.

What is the theme of the International Day of Action For Rivers 2022?

The International Rivers organization will announce the theme of the International Day of Action For Rivers.

How to Observe International Day of Action For Rivers

Join the movementIf you want to make a difference in this world, you can plan an event in your locality to save or conserve the rivers and share the details and descriptions to [email protected].

Educate others about the importance of riversRivers are the lifeline of the Earth, and without them, humankind will perish. So, educate your friends and family about the significance of rivers and clean water.

Share your favorite river storyThis day, you can share your favorite personal stories related to rivers. Whether it is related to a fun family picnic or any activities to save the rivers, you can share it on your social media.

5 Important Facts About Rivers

Rivers are being polluted each day: More than 80% of sewage in developing countries is discharged untreated in the rivers and other water sources, thereby polluting them.

River’s mouth: The end of a river is called ‘a mouth,’ it takes the water from the river into the sea or large lakes.

The shortest river is very short! The shortest river, Roe River, is only 201 feet and is located in Montana in the U.S.

Rainbow river: River Cano that flows through Columbia is one of the most beautiful rivers in the world due to its striking colors.

The holy river: River Ganga in India is considered a holy river and is even worshipped as a Goddess there.

Why International Day of Action For Rivers is Important

Rivers are the lifeline of the world: Rivers are not just some scenic views of the water; they are the lifeline of this world. They create lives and enrich the ecosystem around us. International Day of Action For Rivers is a great day to raise awareness among people.

We need to educate people: Today, most rivers across the world are being polluted each day due to the greed of some humans. This day we can address those issues and can do our part to stop them.

It brings people together: The global event is proof that communities and individuals around the world can come together and make a difference in this world.

Source

#Yakima River #Deschutes River #Columbia River #travel #original photography #vacation #tourist attraction #cityscape #landscape #USA #Canada #summer 2023 #Crooked River #Fraser River #Bulkley River #Bear River #Dalby Creek #Rancheria Falls #Yukon River #Liard River #Trout River #Toad River #Racing River #Athabasca River #North Thompson River #Raft River #Fitsimmons Creek #Kitwanga River #International Day of Action for Rivers #14 March

[ochipi]

hold up hold up hold up. Keep your eyes open while drilling??? How did you get this cat??? (Also the cat is adorable and deserves all the treats in the world)

Warning edit: long answer

So I’m a Belgian archaeologist and we were doing manual drilling for what we call the C-horizont, the “mother soil”. We drill to see how deep it is and if it is within range of destruction, thus endangering the archaeological layer, further archaeological steps will be taken. It was a terrible day: heat wave, no shade, area contaminated by old coal mining which was too hard to drill through. We found ourselves in an area between the highway and the highway exit and it was inaccessible for entry, let alone drilling. Steep, dense vegetation, and more coal mine waste. We walked the whole distance to find entry, couldn’t find any, we walked back and randomly stopped somewhere halfway to take a picture as proof. I wanted to lean against the guardrail to get as much of the situation in view as possible, and there, underneath the guardrail in high grass, we found baby Noor.

She was cold, starving and limping, so we looked for a vet. We were in a to us complete unknown part of the country during summer holiday. We didn’t know anything in the area. We found a vet that answered the phone and we went. They were super nice and sweet ladies who did an excellent job. We went back to continue work and we were on the look out for other kittens. Because who knows, she might just have wondered of. But we found no nest, no other kittens, no (road killed) mama cat, nothing. The vet we found estimated her at three weeks old. Fed her, dewormed her and gave her the first health exam. Three weeks is barely old enough to eat solid foods, but that’s it. We had to teach her everything else. Kittens are never adopted out at the age of three weeks. They still need mama for everything.

Because she was tame and had despite previous mentioned issues clear eyes, clear ears, clean nose, clean fur and most of all black colored fur, we knew… she was dumped. We later got proof of this because her limp never completely disappeared. When I got her sterilization done last month I asked for an X-ray of her hips. And sure enough, her upper leg was dislocated briefly, proven by the trauma on the top of the bone, and next to the top, a bone chip is broken of. She was without a doubt, tossed out of a (driving?) vehicle on that spot. No industry, no houses, out of sight because of the dense greenery between the highway and the exit …

Kitty got extremely lucky to have been found in time by us. She could have died from hypothermia, hunger, heat stroke, dehydration or car collision within hours of us finding her. We missed her the first time around, she was lucky we came back. She was lucky that we found a vet that was open and could take her in at that moment. She was lucky that my parents who I still live with agreed to take her in despite our 5 year old other cat. She is lucky that we own cats anyway. She is lucky that I can afford keeping her. She is lucky. And so am I.

#that’s the full story #my boss was pissed tho #but I don’t care #archaeologist #archaeology kitty #archaeology kitten

[litcityblues]

The West Wing Re-Watch, Seasons 1 & 2

You couldn't possibly reboot The West Wing today. I know there's been chatter about it now and again and they did that dramatic presentation of an episode ("Hartsfield's Landing" from Season 3) a couple of years back to benefit 'When We All Vote' featuring the original cast and key recurring cast from the episode in their original roles. (With Sterling K. Brown stepping in for the deceased John Spencer to play Leo McGarry.)

But you couldn't possibly reboot it today. It would be dismissed as cringe centrist fanfiction almost immediately. The past is another country and The West Wing proves it conclusively. You watch the show and it's like staring back into an America that doesn't exist anymore. The politics seem positively quaint compared with today's noxious environment.

*deep sigh*

All that being said, as we all sit here, on our little rock, falling through the Universe, I'm left with the inescapable conclusion that our festering, fetid Culture War is a cul-de-sac we're all trapped in together. Both sides seem to want to keep us on the never-ending hamster wheel of outrage and ideology and it's mentally exhausting. Various horrible bills are currently working their way through our state legislature in Des Moines. I've written on vouchers, but there are parents that seem convinced now that if schools don't teach social and emotional learning, they won't discover their sexual identities. There are parents that think if kids don't hear the word 'transgender' they won't be transgender. (Whether or not these parents allow their children cell phones with access to the internet is a question nobody wants to ask because guess what? If they have the phones with the TikToks and the Snapchats and the social media, they're going to be finding out about all the shit you hate... on their own. So, game over either way.)

Our current time of nonsense is exhausting and even if The West Wing represents a politics and an America that no longer exists, it sure is nice to remember when it wasn't a toxic waste dump, so there's some nice escapism you can wallow in if that's your thing.

*ok, tangent over.*

The First Season of The West Wing is... well, you can tell it's a first season. Sorkin is, of course, infamous for using the same phrases over and over again and I'm pretty sure parts of 'A Proportional Response' show up in 'The American President' and of course, every show he's ever done has the inevitable first season finale of 'What Kind Of Day Has It Been' (and I don't know why, either. If there's an explanation for that, I've never seen it.)

But, mixed in with the inevitable 'finding of the sea legs' that every show seems to go through, you've got some really excellent episodes that peek through. 'The State Dinner' introduces Abbey Bartlett (Stockard Channing), 'Take This Sabbath Day' is a really excellent look at the politics of the death penalty (another issue that's just a non-issue in today's political discourse, but very much a cogent issue in the 90s.)

I know everyone likes to cite 'Let Bartlet Be Bartlet' for this season and it's a good episode, a nice hinge episode that sets up the last few episodes leading up to the season finale, but the one that really stands out to me is 'Six Meetings Before Lunch.'

In general, it's not a particularly memorable episode, but one subplot between Josh (Bradley Whitford) and a nominee for the Civil Rights Division of the Justice Department, Jeff Breckenridge (Carl Lumbly) stands out because there's a bit of a kerfuffle about Jeff because he commented on a dust cover for a book advocating reparations for slavery. This episode aired in the year 2000. And I don't know if people would call it a comprehensive discussion of reparations, but it seems like a pretty balanced one to me- well ahead of its time.

The West Wing has a few moments like that- in general, it's fairly straightforward 90s liberalism, heavily influenced by the late 60s progressivism (obviously, because people in the 90s couldn't shut about the 60s). But on occasion, some prescience peeks out.

Mandy (Moira Kelly) departs the scene after the first season and I always thought it was a shame they never managed to bring her back in some capacity- and whether that was because of hard feelings or just general luck I don't know. But to be fair to her, it seemed like Mandy was a character they didn't really know what to do with, so if the break-up was mutual, I think it made a lot of sense.

The second season is probably one of my favorites. (In fact, you could sell me on Seasons 2-4 as being The West Wing at the peak of its Sorkin-powers quite easily.) The season picks up in the aftermath of the shooting in Rosslyn and the fallout that followed. The introduction of Ainsley Hayes (Emily Proctor) as a Republican Lawyer hired as Associate White House Counsel early on in the season features one of the best encapsulations of the gun control debate that I have ever seen and one that still holds up today and explains why we can't get anywhere on that issue. (The workplace harassment subplot seems very jarring back then, but the tribalistic behavior the two disgruntled staffers display fits the politics of today lamentably well.)

'Shibboleth' is a standout episode in the early going- but really, it's 'Noel' that just about steals the whole season in many respects. But there are so many great episodes to choose from in this season! 'Ellie', 'Somebody's Going To Emergency, Somebody's Going To Jail' (which features a nicely Sorkin-esque critique of performative leftism that holds up today.) 'The Stackhouse Filibuster' is undoubtedly still used in high school government classes to teach about the concept of a filibuster even though the actual filibuster hasn't worked like that for years now.

The slide down to the season finale is just a run of episodes that do not miss. The last six episodes are building towards something and with the season finale of 'Two Cathedrals', the payoff is sublime. It's perfect. Even now over two decades later, I defy anyone to find me a show outside of like 'The Wire' that has had a seven-episode run leading into a season finale like The West Wing does here.

You can love Sorkin or you can hate Sorkin but right here, the man was at the height of his powers in a way that I don't think I saw again until possibly The Social Network or Molly's Game.

Even after all these years, 'Two Cathedrals' still SLAPS. Just fucking perfect. Fight me in the comments if you disagree.

Apparently, this is the year when I rewatch old shows, so welcome? Come along for the ride?

#the west wing #rewatch #season 1 #season 2

[apenitentialprayer]

detail of an icon of The Parable of the Good Samaritan, by Jozef Sedmak

One dawn in late July, Sunil found a fellow scavenger lying in the mud where Annawadi's rut-road met the airport thoroughfare. Sunil knew the old man a little; he worked hard and slept outside the Marol fish market, half a mile away. Now the man's leg was mashed and bloody, and he was calling out to passersby for help. Sunil figured he'd been hit by a car. Some drivers weren't overly concerned about avoiding trash-pickers who scoured the roadsides.

Sunil was too scared to go to the police station and ask for an ambulance, especially after what was rumored to have happened to Abdul. Instead he ran toward the battleground of the Cargo Road dumpsters, hoping an adult would brave the police station. Thousands of people passed this way every morning.

Two hours later, when Rahul left Annawadi for school, the injured man was crying for water. "This one is even drunker than your father," one of Rahul's friends teased him. "Drunker than your father," Rahul retorted unimaginatively as they turned onto Airport Road. Rahul wasn't afraid of the police; he'd run to them for help when his neighbor dumped boiling lentils on Danush, his sickly baby. The man on the road was just a scavenger, though, and Rahul had to catch a bus to class.

When Zehrunisia Husain passed an hour later, the scavenger was screaming in pain. She thought his leg looked like hell, but she was bringing food and medicine to her husband, who also looked like hell far across the city in the Arthur Road Jail.

Mr. Kramble passed a little later, milky-eyed and aching, on his tour of businesses and charities, still seeking contributions for his heart valve. He had once been a pavement dweller like the injured man. Now Mr. Kramble saw nothing but his own bottomless grief, because he knew miracles were possible in new India and that he couldn't have one.

When Rahul and his brother returned from school in the early afternoon, the injured scavenger lay still, moaning faintly. At 2:30 P.M., a Shiv Sena man made a call to a friend in the Sahar Police Station about a corpse that was disturbing small children. At 4:00 P.M., constables enlisted enlisted other scavengers to load the body into a police van, so that the constables wouldn't catch the diseases that trash-pickers were known to carry.

Unidentified body, the Sahar Police decided without looking for the scavenger's family. Died of tuberculosis, the Cooper Hospital morgue pathologist concluded without an autopsy.

Katherine Boo (Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity, pages 152-153)

Which of these … in your opinion, was the neighbor to the robbers' victim?

the Gospel According to Luke (10:36)

The effect of corruption I find most unacknowledged is a contraction not of economic possibility but of our moral universe. In my reporting I am continually struck by the ethical imaginations of young people, even those in circumstances so desperate that selfishness would be an asset. Children have little power to act on those imaginations, and by the time they grow up, they may have become the adults who keep walking as a bleeding waste-picker slowly dies on the roadside, who turn away when a burned woman writhes, whose first reaction when a vibrant teenager drinks rat poison is a shrug. How does that happen? How —to use Abdul's formulation— do children intent on being ice become water? A cliché about India holds that the loss of life matters less than in other countries because of the Hindu faith in reincarnation, and because of the vast scale of the population. In my reporting, I found that young people felt the loss of life acutely. What appeared to be indifference to other people's suffering had little to do with reincarnation, and less to do with being born brutish. I believe it had a good deal to do with conditions that had sabotaged their innate capacity for moral action.

In places where government priorities and market imperatives create a world so capricious that to help a neighbor is to risk your ability to feed your family, and sometimes even your own liberty, the idea of the mutually supportive poor community is demolished. The poor blame one another for the choices of governments and markets, and we who are not poor are ready to blame the poor just as harshly.

It is easy, from a safe distance, to overlook the fact that in undercities governed by corruption, where exhausted people vie on scant terrain for very little, it is blisteringly hard to be good. The astonishment is that some people are good, and that many people try to be[.]

Katherine Boo (Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity, pages 253-254)

[T]o be truly free is to be free from the blinders that prevent us from doing the morally good action. To put it another way: to fail in doing the morally good action is to presuppose some kind of bondage.

Matthew Distefano (The Wisdom of Hobbits: Unearthing Our Humanity at 3 Bagshot Row, page 120)

#destitution #community #dehumanization #sin #corruption #Gospel of Luke #Behind the Beautiful Forevers #Mumbai #Parable of the Good Samaritan #morality #ethics #icon

[unchildhood]

#blog #tw death

[athgalla-arts]

Ford and Fiddleford's Dynamic - Pt. 2

Alright, it’s the 80s and Ford is struggling with completing the portal. Fiddleford was the first person that Ford thought to contact to help him, and Fiddleford, in turn, seemed quite happy to hear from Ford and enthusiastic about the whole offer. I don’t have a source (so if someone does, I’d love to have it), but I swear I recall Alex saying somewhere that Ford did give Fiddleford a similar spiel to the one he gave Dipper about being special and all, but I believe Ford genuinely means those things earnestly and is not trying to be manipulative in the slightest.

Now, some folks like to read Fiddleford’s ready acceptance to all but dump his life and leave his wife and child in California to go live in the woods with Ford for a (probably unspecified) period of time as a hint toward at least Fiddleford’s feelings being romantic. While I like to view it this way for fun and believe that it’s entirely possible, I think it’s still pretty far from actual proof and can be read pretty reasonably in a platonic or other context, too. Consider that they already have a strong, years-long friendship at this point, and ultimately Ford is offering Fiddleford the following:

The opportunity to work on something new and interesting to challenge his skills

The opportunity to contribute to a possibly enormous breakthrough in our very understanding of reality.

The potential financial security that could come from this – something that would directly benefit him by allowing him to better support Emma-May and Tate.

(not to mention, Fiddleford’s own desire for approval and attention from those he cares about…which this would also help with. But, I digress…)

Risky? Sure! But Fiddleford trusts Ford at this stage, and country boy he is, I bet he wasn’t complaining about the chance to get out of Silicon Valley for a bit and be with his best friend, doing something (hopefully) incredible. For all of Fiddleford’s potential to be unstable and utterly feral (especially when under extreme stress) at times, is also quite level-headed and reasonable. Even if the portal itself failed at first, I would bet he could see the potential and value in simply trying, even if Ford was hell-bent on succeeding come Hell or high water.

Backtracking slightly, but I believe Ford’s snarky comment about Fiddleford “wasting his time building computers…” could be rad a few different ways. Is he miffed to this day that Fiddleford ‘left’ him to settle in California and have a family with Emma-May rather than pursue something with him (romantic or otherwise)? Is it just that he doesn’t have faith that computers would prove that long-lived or important (prepare for your wakeup call, bud…)? Who’s to say? I’d be interested to know, though.

I mentioned Ford’s reaction to Fiddleford’s arrival earlier – It’s so sweet, it utterly melts my heart! Sure, being largely alone for so long is bound to add to the excitement, but regardless, I love that Ford went out of his way to find microchips and banjo strings to welcome Fiddleford. I love that Fiddleford put in the time and effort to build an entire custom laptop for Ford. I truly hope that Ford was appropriately grateful for that, and I think he was, even if he didn’t quite understand the point of it.

Time and again, we see Ford speaking highly of Fiddleford or in a relaxed, jovial, humorous way. He demonstrates admiration for Fiddleford’s intelligence and his inventions, fascinations with the qualities they differ on and differences in their upbringing, and just overall treats him with this sense of awe while showing nothing short of absolute domesticity with him (“No banjo after 8 PM”, “This morning over ham sandwiches…”, messing with his Cubic’s Cube, the leg warmer debacle, the molasses debate, and so on). Those first two lines I mentioned convey a particular sense of quiet intimacy and comfort between them that I just adore, and that I think outlines who they are and this trust and acceptance of each other they share at this point.

So, things are good in Oregon for them both! For now…

As I get into the grittier events that shattered that trust and tested that love between them, I want to make a quick observation: One characteristic that I think Fiddleford notably demonstrates, especially in Journal 3, is being observant – and I believe this ties right back into him truly knowing and understanding Ford. This, and his demonstration of fierce dedication to Ford even as events destroyed them both, further fit the overall theme of the series just beautifully and demonstrates the line where love can become a fault, and the damage that dishonesty and hubris can do.

So, let’s dig in and discuss some notable observations Fiddleford makes along the way.

Early on in their time together in Oregon and during the legwarmer conversation, Fiddleford asks Ford if anyone else was helping with the project. I do think this was just a frank matter to verify if they had collaborators, but I think it went further and that Fiddleford was already noticing something peculiar about Ford’s behavior. I don’t think that Fiddleford underestimates Ford in the slightest, but having known him a long time, having probably discussed the nature of Ford’s earlier research in the area, having been in school with Ford, I think he had a pretty realistic picture of Ford’s intellectual strengths and weaknesses, the skills he had and those he lacked, and so on. Here, we have the first instance of dishonesty between them. Ford debates telling Fiddleford about Bill, but decides not to given Fiddleford’s superstitious nature and fears that it would frighten him off. Instead of properly addressing the question, he vaguely alludes that it’s all his own work and distracts Fiddleford with work to check.

There’s our first crack in their pretty little picture. I think that Fiddleford absolutely caught on to Ford’s dodginess, here – even just a little bit, and maybe tried to rationalize it to himself.

Ford then doubles down further and decides to begin writing in code. I am unsure if this implies that he would let Fiddleford look through the journals in a trusting way, or if he is becoming untrusting and is worrying that Fiddleford will snoop. I think the later is particularly heartbreaking if they had previously been pretty open with each other about most things. Inevitably, Ford will have to hand the Journals over to Fiddleford at times for his reference, unless he makes copies of any relevant diagrams and has to avoid the need (and come to think of it, I’m inclined to believe this).

Pt. 1

#Gravity Falls #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #no time to proofread y'all ride with me here

[evolutionsvoid]

At this point, we didn't even know what to do. It was all spiraling out of control and we couldn't do a thing about it. It felt so incredible when we downed that first beast, cutting down a creature that would have been considered a god in some primordial age. When we won that day, we thought ourselves invincible, unstoppable. We could take down anything you threw at us, as when mankind united, there was nothing that could stand in our way. But that time feels like ages ago, despite it being a couple months. The time where we stood tall together was fading fast, devolving into blame games and violence. These new titans were destroying us, and not just physically. Governments were pulling out, countries were sealing their borders. The bonds we formed in that dire moment were shattering, and our hopes were breaking along with them. We had already lost so many men and resources to these beasts, wasted with every futile effort. Now we have just a fraction of the power and ability, which is pretty much useless when you realize our full force couldn't even stop a two headed buzzard. All we could really do was hope for a miracle from our research into A.N.A., to find that one weak link that would allow us to finally bring this to an end. However, this hope was fading fast as well. It didn't help that we witnessed the birth of two titans through human meddling, so many wondered if our own efforts would create just another abomination. Work was still being done to track the other monstrosities, but this was more for evacuations than actual action. We monitored them like we did hurricanes, accepting the fact that we could do nothing but run before they made landfall. Sometimes a military or two would attempt to fight back, but these always wound up as failures. So needless to say, when "Minceskro" showed up, they faced little resistance.

Our dwindling intelligence was able to piece together some idea of an origin of this wretched beast. At first, we were ready to chalk it up to another reckless lab creating monsters in the hopes of something, but that was only partly true. From what we gathered, Minceskro was not an intentional creation of some company, they were a scavenger that fed upon a source of A.N.A. However, that source they were exposed to was the sloppy waste of some idiotic corporation who decided that A.N.A. filled samples could just be dumped out like regular trash. This is exactly what we feared when we realized that this dangerous substance was now in so many hands, because sooner or later a moron is going to play around with it and get a whole lot of people killed. This company wasn't thinking about making giant monsters, they were more concerned with crops and pest control. Since they were trying to turn A.N.A. into a potent pesticide, they didn't think it was a danger for mutation. It was meant to kill things, so how could a monster be born from that? Well, it turns out when you kill a bunch of bugs with your experimental poison and then just dump them out, something will come around to munch on them. The lucky scavenger was some kind of beetle, who may have even been one of the initial test subjects for all we know. They got exposed to A.N.A. and the infected corpses, and underwent the horrible mutation. In time, Minceskro was born and a new plague fell upon humanity. The titans that now haunt us are quite terrible in their own way, but Minceskro is easily one of the worst. Though massive in size and vile in appearance, they themselves are not the reason they are so feared. As one can easily see, this beast has quite the gaping....orifice. We aren't sure if it acts like a mouth or what it does for Minceskro themself, but we do know that a lot of other creatures have a use for it. Closer observation shows that the inner flesh is filled holes and chambers, serving as ready-made hives. Swarms of insects have found these meaty honeycombs to be the perfect house, and they now live within this wretched orifice. Not long after their appearance, the titan was filled to bursting with millions of insects, a walking hive that trampled the countryside with its splayed legs. While these fleshy chambers provide a nice home, it also gives these insects a nice coating of A.N.A. which leaks from its pores and moistens the numerous folds. Those that live in the orifice will be covered in this vile secretion and will be infected with A.N.A.. However, it appears that this version of A.N.A. is different then what is normally found in the other titans. It fits more with the kind that is in the blood of the fallen leviathan, but somehow even more potent and specialized.

While the other types of A.N.A. kill most life it encounters, this secreted version seems compatible with insect life and can modify them without killing them. The bugs that are affected are not blown up to kaiju sizes, but the substance bulks them up and gives them a dangerous edge. Imagine mosquitos the size of your hand, biting flies that can darken the skies with their numbers. They are a host to a multitude of species, and each one is plagued with an endless hunger. Some thirst for blood, others seek flesh and others can strip the land clean of vegetation. With the power of Minceskro flowing within their bodies, they spew forth like raging storm and descend upon the land. Twisters made of ravenous insects swallow man and beast whole, leaving piles of bone and gristle in their wake. Locust-like swarms rip across the countryside, leaving barren waste behind them. It isn't enough to avoid these deadly clouds, as even a single insect can cause serious damage. The blood-drinkers are tainted with A.N.A. and they spread that disease when they feed. While this version of A.N.A. is good for bugs, it is terrible for most other life. It flows into your veins and turns your blood toxic. Death is slow but certain, and these swarms spread this doom with ease. Wherever Minceskro walks, these clouds of death follow, eventually returning to their folds and resting before their next cataclysm.

When the first swarm nearly slaughtered an entire town, there were some feeble attempts to stop them. Forces armed with pesticides and poisons came to kill the bugs, while the crumbs of some military effort pushed to destroy the living hive. Once the first shell hit, Minceskro retaliated immediately. The swarms that would follow the winds and food now suddenly fell into rank and file. As if the titan was a conductor, the insects followed their every move and command, descending upon the attackers and obliterating them with their sheer numbers. Biting insects tore through protective clothing, blood drinkers pierced through hazmat suits. The tiny things squirmed through armor plating and attacked the soldiers that hid within their vehicles. Those who fought from the sky were blinded with blankets of black, buzzing bodies. The clouds kept them disoriented and confused, long enough for an elongated antenna to swat them out the air. Canisters of pesticide were released, hoping to kill the insects and weaken Minceskro, but this gas did little to slow them. Perhaps A.N.A. gave them an immunity, protecting their bodies from this poison. Whatever the reason, the pesticide failed and the opposing force was reduced to scraps.

Once that happened, everyone immediately bailed on the idea of fighting Minceskro. It was now a full on retreat, evacuating towns and cities whenever the titan even looked in that direction. Those who were not fast enough to flee died horrible deaths, and sadly we cannot avenge them. The deadly swarms make it impossible to get close to Minceskro, as they often turn villages into ghost towns long before the massive beetle even gets there. There has been talk of using flame to burn away the insects and turn the titan to ash, but no one has yet to give that a shot. Most likely the great beetle possesses the same regenerative properties as the others, and will easily dispatch their foes before any real damage is done. Even if we did kill the titan, would that stop the swarms? Would they still find the dead husk an appealing home and continue to strip the land clean? And what if there is more than that? What if the blood of this dead titan causes more changes in these symbiotes? If we have learned anything from the leviathan, Minceskro's corpse could be the catalyst for another wave of kaiju. If this is true, than all is truly lost. How can we defeat a foe that comes back in greater numbers each time? What can we do if the death of one disaster gives rise to even more plagues?   ---------------------------------------- This is one of those designs I am both proud of and somewhat disgusted by. Sometimes you can do your job a bit too well. It took me a bit to come up with an idea of what to do, as the description was pretty straightforward. But then it dawned on me and I had to go forward with actually drawing the horrid thing. Now look at it! LOOK AT IT!

#beetle #bug #insect #bugs #insects #body horror #trypophobia #monster #creature #kaiju #kaijune #art #drawing #children of ana

[suvarnarekha]

This is kinda serious so sorry for dumping this on you:

The post about Nupur Saha, the six month pregnant Bangla lady being raped, it really shook me. I’ve survived CSA at a young age, maybe that’s why, but I don’t know, when I hear about these things I get put off even my food for quite a while. This is especially the case in targeted attacks based on anything at all. This is one of the reasons why I’m so politically vocal to begin with. Things like Kashmir genocide, Bangal Riots, Yehzidi girls in Syria, Minority girls in our neighbouring countries, Taliban “wife” thingetc. Don’t only stagger and agitate me, they most of all scare me. I get scared that it can be me one day. That these monsters may do the same to me someday and the vultures of media will do anything in their power to turn the whole thing around and propagate what happens to me even before my ashes are immersed in Ganga. I’ll be forgotten and my story kept in hush-hush, bringing out what happened to me being termed fascist because of the religion of my perpetrators. Putting myself in shoes of all those victim women is not only horrifying, it’s soul shattering. The rise of volatile religious practices scare me half to death and I cry and pray myself to sleep quite a few times, that please, let it not be. I cry for the poor women, wherever they are now, seeing how their tragedies are being censored for agenda.

I’m sorry for my blabbering, but I felt like I needed to get this out because I feel like I’m going to reach my breaking point and needed to say it because I can’t afford not venting when my exams are so close.

Btw it’s okay if you don’t wanna answer, but if you do, keep it public.

Honestly, I really didn't know what to say. But the fact that you feel like this just makes my heart shatter. We have no idea how many must go through this. We make our own petty problems a big deal when someone is scared for their life. It's makes me feel so shameless and disappointing.

When I read your second sentence I just- I felt too small to answer this. While I want you to feel better, at least a little decent, I can't do anything and that hurts. I can't imagine the horrors and pain you (and the other victims) have had to witness. We're too immersed in our privilege to LIVE to acknowledge the pain inflicted upon others.

Please don't be sorry about this. You can vent here whenever you like. It's the bare minimum waste-of-space like me can do. You deserve a good present. The past has already happened and only you can shape the future.

Try and shut off the on-goings of the world right now. Even if it makes you think you're being self centered and a little selfish, It's fine. Concentrate on YOUR present, only that matters right now.

Also, even if it creates only some hope, I'd like to be there as much as I can. Ramble, vent, blabber I don't mind if it helps even just a little.