#so your post was just pretending to be educational and unbiased | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anotherkindofmindpod · 4 years

Note

I’d love for you guys to have Mark Lewisohn on your show just to grill him. As someone who’s experienced workplace bullying and sexual assault, that he would go so far as to paint Klein as “heroic” when he said things like “reluctant virgin” is just so devastating to me. It makes me feel ill. I do NOT want this man to have a say in Beatles history. I love the Beatles. I don’t want that tainted by people who will paint over abuse just to feed their own self importance.

We vehemently agree, Listener! Thank you for writing in.

Our list of grievances with Mark Lewisohn is long, but in a nutshell we believe his intent is to publicly “redeem” John Lennon and we have seen copious evidence that he will go to whatever lengths he has to in order to do this.

That includes, but is not limited to:

Claiming that readers of his Tune In Series may consider Klein the “hero” of the Beatles break-up

Deliberately spreading the demonstrably false lie that John (and Yoko) did not have a significant heroin problem in the late 60s and early 70s (Lewisohn suggests Cold Turkey is just John playing make believe)

Displaying unapologetic favoritism by using glowing terms to portray John and Yoko as the world’s most perfect romance, as opposed to Paul and Linda, whose 29-year marriage he dismisses as “conventional” and motivated by appearances (namely Linda’s pregnancy, even though it was planned) and Green Card needs

Stating that he could tell from watching the infamous “it’s a drag” clip that Paul was kind of sad, but primarily annoyed at how much positive attention John was getting on the day of his murder

Apparently suggesting to an audience of his Power Point Show that Paul maybe stole a leg off Yoko’s bed (the bed she had delivered and built in the Beatles’ recording studio, mind you), a personal “theory” which is based on the fact that Paul later wrote a song called “Three Legs” (you know that song: “My dog, he got three legs, like the bed you inappropriately brought into Abbey Road 2 years ago which I secretly vandalized behind your back because I have nothing better to do, am certainly not busy writing the Beatles Swan Song and don’t have a fucking 7 year old at home or anything”)

This isn’t even to mention Tune In, which could be a whole separate post and episode. Suffice it to say, this book often reads less like a Beatles biography and more like John Lennon Fanfiction to us.

Lewisohn managed to distinguish himself by doing (some) research and unearthing some original documents. That he had some skill in research is not surprising given that he started his career in Beatledom as a researcher for Norman, on his book Shout — which Lewisohn still contends is a good book. Norman, on the other hand has evolved his opinion of his own work and thinks Shout was flawed, so has written a whole biography on Paul to make up for what he sees as the failure of Shout, which is his underestimation of Paul. Unfortunately, Lewisohn does not seem to have made this same journey. He pays lip service to John and Paul being equal, and then spends all of his time and energy trying to prove otherwise. Norman says that he has created a monster in Lewisohn. We take his point.

One of our biggest issues with Lewisohn is that he vigorously promotes himself as an unbiased truth teller, and his calm manner seems to telegraph this. But it is not true. The research that Lewisohn does and the spin that he applies to his findings are all heavily biased. As we mentioned in one of our episodes, he travelled to Gibraltar simply to experience where John and Yoko got married. Yet when Paul calls the May 9th meeting over management the metaphorical cracking of the Liberty Bell, Lewisohn doesn’t even bother to Google it so he can understand the metaphor.

What he chooses to research is also a form of bias. For example, we at AKOM are very interested in Paul’s relationship with Robert Fraser during the Beatle years — since Paul has commented that Fraser was one of the most important, influential people in his life. Paul McCartney was the concept artist behind Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the Magical Mystery Tour film, the iconic Apple logo, and he co-designed the covers of the White Album and Abbey Road. All of these are pretty defining moments in the Beatles’ career. As Beatles fans, we’d like to know more about Paul’s art education and influences. But we would be shocked if Lewisohn dug into Fraser at all beyond his relationship as John and Yoko’s gallerist/curator (and heroin dealer, but since that isn’t a thing in Lewisohn’s world then maybe he will be ignored).

We think Lewisohn benefits massively from the fact that Beatles authorship was like the Wild West since its inception, when everyone with a connection to the Beatles (plus or minus a personal axe to grind) wrote a book about their experience. It was absolute chaos, with no rules, no checks and balances, uncredited sources, etc. Just an absolute shit show. What Lewisohn did was bring some order to the chaos with some proper documentation. But again, what he chooses to dig into often reflects bias. And this certainly does not mean that he is intellectually or emotionally equipped to interpret his findings. Doing this takes social intelligence and insight, which is a very different skill. As a creator of myths, he is no better (and no more insightful or original) than many of the others who came before him; he worships John Lennon and freely admits it. He is not even close to being unbiased. But in this dumpster fire of a fandom he has at least checked some boxes and done some digging. The fact is, the bar has been so low for so long that Beatles fans don’t even know how to expect or want better. But WE certainly expect better. We expect some breakthrough, fresh thinking. Not just Shout with Receipts.

We think it’s significant that Lewisohn was deeply disliked by George Harrison, who lobbied to get him kicked him off the Anthology project. He was fired from Paul’s fan club magazine, and yet no one seems to think he might hold a grudge about that, too? Lewisohn so distorted John and Paul’s relationship in Tune In that he believes he is the target of the lyrics in Paul’s song “Early Days.“ And he either thinks that’s flattering or funny, because Lewisohn seems to truly believe he knows John Lennon better than Paul McCartney does. We find it almost tragic that Paul is so bothered by the way his experience and relationship is being portrayed by authors (perhaps Lewisohn) that he wrote a song about it. In it, he conveys his frustration and heartache about how everything is misconstrued and we find it absolutely outrageous that Lewisohn would not take this to heart. Perhaps Lewisohn thinks Paul should listen to him for a change? And if he doesn’t like it, then tough, because Lewisohn knows better? We think Lewisohn should do some serious soul-searching about “Early Days” because if one of his main subjects is saying, “you are getting it wrong and it is breaking my heart”….maybe, just maybe, he should listen and rethink things. Maybe apply a little creativity, out-of-the-box thinking and empathy. This is what his heroes did.

Meanwhile, Jean Jackets are SO BUSY complaining that Paul McCartney doesn’t like Lewisohn because he “tells the truth!” that they fail to notice that Lewisohn has become a mouthpiece for Yoko Ono. He has already started white-washing John Lennon’s history, promoting John and Yoko as the true and only geniuses versus Paul as the craven, small-minded Lennon disciple who (through no virtue of his own) was born with the ability to write some nice tunes. Lewisohn’s version of John, on the other hand, is ALWAYS a sexy, visionary genius on the right side of every issue. He even went out of his way to recently trash Paul’s early 70’s albums, which -in addition to being obnoxious and we believe wrong (since we love them)- is totally outside his purview.

Lastly, to address your original point, Lewisohn’s claim that Klein may be viewed as the “hero” of his Beatles History reveals that he hasn’t shown sufficient empathy or interest in Paul’s experience. This claim at best ignores and at worst condones the fact that Klein was an abusive monster to one of the two founding members of the Beatles. As we discussed in Episode 4, Klein was a criminal who bullied Paul in his creative workspace, disrespected Paul in his own office in front of his own employees and actively pitted Lennon against McCartney for years. It’s hard to imagine ANYONE who inflicted more damage on the Beatles and Lennon/McCartney than Allen Klein. In addition to the wildly inappropriate “reluctant virgin” nickname, he verbally threatened to “own Paul’s ass” (to which Paul responded “he never got anywhere near my ass”). Klein was so disrespectful to Paul and Linda’s marriage he pitched the idea of procuring “a blonde with big tits” to parade in front of Paul to lure him away from Linda and destroy their relationship. Let’s also never forget that Klein contributed lyrics to the song “How Do You Sleep.” Allen Klein literally gave Paul nightmares. Anyone who so much as pretends to care about Paul’s break-up era depression (including his alcohol abuse, his inability to get out of bed and his terrifying sleep paralysis) would not champion Allen Klein.

Yes, Klein is a human being and therefore has his own POV, same as anyone else. But a Beatles biographer is beholden to four points of view only: John, Paul, George and Ringo. And when an outsider is openly hostile to one of the Beatles and damaging long-term to all of the Beatles, it is beyond inappropriate to portray him as a hero. This type of comment, made publicly to an audience of Beatles fans, invalidates and seeks to erase the real trauma inflicted on Paul McCartney by Allen Klein, and we think Lewisohn should apologize for his comments.

Instead, Lewisohn’s current buddy is Peter Brown, whose book, The Love You Make so offended and angered Paul and Linda that they literally burned their copy (and photographed it burning for good measure). This information doesn’t appear to bother Lewisohn in the least. Why not?

George referred to Norman’s Shout as “Shit.” But Lewisohn thinks it’s a great book. Why?

How any Beatles or Paul or even George fans tolerate Lewisohn is baffling to us; we don’t recognize a real human being in his version of Paul, and his version of John is a superhero rather than a man. We suspect that fans have come to accept the traditional story and at least appreciate some properly-documented facts.

But as we are constantly trying to demonstrate on our show, just because the story has always been told one way, doesn’t mean it’s right. Because in the end, Mark Lewisohn has no special insight. He wasn’t there. He is a guy who bought into a narrative during the Shout era, and is cherry picking his findings to support it.You can find a discussion of Lewisohn here

#MarkLewisohn #anotherkindofmind podcast #Beatles #Lewisohn is a joke

278 notes · View notes

bookwyrminspiration · 4 years

Text

I was just going to reply on the original post, but I figured everyone should see this. (This will be long). This is a gentle reminder regarding body image and representation, but I will not hesitate to be rude about this if it comes to that.

This is the comment I got, and this is the original post:

I’m assuming this comment was made in regards to the aesthetic attraction of Linh’s figure, so that’s what I’ll focus on more.

I drew Linh in a normal, healthy body. She is not “a little too fat” and she is not unhealthy. She is in a human body that has curves and shape and fat, because that’s how bodies work. That being said, whether or not someone is healthy has no correlation to their value as an individual.

These characters are not real, they have no concrete design. Some people may imagine the character one way, but that is their own opinion, and you have no right or privilege to tell other people they are misrepresenting or drawing the characters “incorrectly,” especially when what you’re talking about is a personal preference.

Yes, Shannon has provided a baseline of how she views the characters, but we cannot trust any author to be 100% unbiased and inclusive in their work. It’s simply impossible. It’s been said before and I’ll say it again, the elves having only “slim figures” and being portrayed as “naturally more beautiful” is harmful. Because it tells us that in order to be beautiful, we should look like elves, and in order to look like elves, we should be thin.

Yes, some people can separate themselves and their self image from the work, but some people can’t, and they can’t find more positive representation.

One of the great things about fandoms like this is that they’re made up of people who have the experience and insight to correct these gaps in representation. We have queer creators to write and draw characters in an accurate and respectful way. We have plus sized creators, creators from different cultures, and so many more. As a fandom we can decide to fix the mistakes ourselves when we see them, because Shannon does make mistakes. Everyone does.

I will admit, when drawing Linh it wasn’t my intention to try and bring more representation to the fandom, I just wanted to draw her because I like her. And I drew her how I imagined her. If you imagine her as thinner, or taller, or thicker, or plus sized, or anything, that is okay. That is your interpretation of her character. But understand that no one else is required to share those thoughts, or create content mirroring your interpretations.

People make the argument that because this is a fantasy world, it’s fine that everyone is thin because it isn’t our world. I hear you, but let me tell you this: It doesn’t matter that it’s a fantasy world, because the people reading this series live in the real world, and the story has real world impacts. The people reading about this supposedly “perfect, superior race” are real people, and no matter who you are, you’re going to look for yourself in the series, because you want to relate to these amazing characters. We all do it, looking for anything and anyone like us, but we can’t all find anything.

I can’t find a LGBTQ+ elf for myself, or an elf with anything close to my ethnicity. I can’t find an elf with chronic pain for myself. Others can’t find plus sized elves for themselves, or their ethnicity, or a million others things I can’t think of.

So fandom creators will draw and write things to fill those gaps, because we want to be a part of the story. The way I drew Linh’s body is very similar to my own, because it’s a way I can see myself in the story. And she is not too fat, she is just existing.

Let me make it clear, I do not fault anyone for not realizing there are things wrong in KOTLC, or for expressing a differing opinion about a character. I do fault you for choosing to pretend you still don’t know. I’ve now told you some of the issues, and you have the responsibility now to use this knowledge when talking about the representation, and when commenting on and observing the content others creators so graciously provide.

I would also like to make it clear that I am not 100% without fault either. I can speak on these issues, and I am, but that doesn’t mean I won’t say something wrong, or forget something, or just speak out of turn. I am always open to hearing constructive and informed feedback from others with more experience, or perspectives I haven’t considered. I’ve chosen to speak right now because the original comment was talking about my work, but there are a lot of other people who can say more.

I am also always willing to talk more in depth into subject like these.

Talk to people, educate yourselves, enjoy the community, love you lots <3

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fandom #linh song #important #representation matters

39 notes · View notes

jewin-your-mom · 3 years

Text

hey uh as a jew please don’t follow me if you support or endorse the @/yourartisantisemeti.c blog that randomly started becoming a conversation topic on my dash. no one should act as a mouthpiece for all jews like that, and the fact that they had ‘jews debating’ links on their pinned post that completely dismantled their point (by showing that *surprise surprise* not every jew thinks that drawing a slightly pointed nose on a character means it’s antisemetic art all the time) is just like. sooooo offensive to me. if you have the attitude that you need to ‘educate’ those around you constantly for things that even your own community is iffy on as if you’re the end-all-be-all opinion on jewish issues and what’s considered antisemetic, that’s not you being an advocate, that’s a genuinely problematic personality trait and that’s on no one else but you.

calling out toxic traits in art is good, but it is absolutely not okay to look at a completely unbiased trait (such as large or pointed noses that people Actually Have In Real Life), assign your personal values to it, and to immediately deem it antisemetic in art because you believe you’re the Most Valid Jewish Opinion. at that point you are blaming others for your own perception. there were some genuinely problematic designs that they reblogged too, but to group that shit in with an inhuman character being drawn with an inhuman skintone is illogical at best.

Goyim, do your research on antisemetic trends and don’t be an asshole. please just use your brain and reach out to jewish people (who have given you permission) if you have questions. anyone who supports that blog, i guess do your thing, but you do not speak for me, and don’t pretend to.

i’m so tired of being the ‘good jew’ that just lets this shit fly on my dash. listen to all jewish people, not just the ones you happen to find palatable and/or that are exactly aligned to all of your values and ideas.

Goyim can interact but please use your brain.

#vent #antisemitism mention #negative #cursing

1 note · View note

baepsaets · 5 years

Text

suga baby ~ min yoongi

pairing: min yoongi x reader

rating: sfw (future smut)

word count: 6.4k

summary: you’re a bartender at a seedy downtown dive. after a close call, your favorite customer yoongi takes it upon himself to make sure you have everything you could ever need.

a/n: hello, i have major writer’s block with eight’s a crowd and it manifested into this beast, i’m so sorry lmao. once again, thank you everyone for your sweet messages! i don’t get a chance to post them on my blog, but i always read them and they make me smile. thanksgiving break for me starts at the end of the week, so i hope to use that free time to catch up on my writing. please enjoy!

part 01 02 03

Min Yoongi sat down at your bar sometime between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. It was a busier Thursday night than usual, so by the time you finally made it down to his regular seat, there was already a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

He eyed you from underneath his fringe. “You look tired.”

You snorted, already pouring him his regular drink—whiskey sour with a dash of grenadine. “I feel more tired than I look.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, tipping his freshly-made drink toward you. “Happy end of the week.”

“It’s not the end of the week,” you told him, voice sourer than the drink in his hand, “if you work the weekend, Mr. Min.”

You tapped the bar next to his slim-fingered hand in annoyance, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

You had met Yoongi almost half a year ago, when he’d wandered into your shabby bar half-past midnight on a Wednesday night. The bar had been deserted, and he’d looked like a gemstone in a pile of gravel—Armani suit tailored to fit his slender frame, golden watch ticking ostentatiously on his wrist. He’d sat down at the end of the bar, furthest seat from the door, and had given you a short but dismissive look. “Can you make a good drink?”

With your lips pressed tight together, you’d nodded your head. You made a hell of a drink, which was the only reason you were a bartender. You were the first to admit that you lacked all other qualities that seemed required for the job—you weren’t particularly pretty, hated small-talk, and had a terrible case of resting bitch face. What you lacked in charisma, you made up for with a mean cosmopolitan.

“I don’t know,” you’d told him, flatly. “Can you leave a good tip?”

He’d raised an eyebrow, amused by the venom in your tone. “I’ll make you a deal—make me the best mojito I’ve ever had, and I’ll leave you the best tip you’ll ever get.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were intrigued by his offer. What was it like, having enough money to waste bartering with the bartender? You’d turned your back to grab a glass. Sugar, mint—he looked like someone who preferred it sour, so you added extra lime as you topped the drink off with white rum. You’d slid him the drink and pretended to immerse yourself with cleaning the countertop as he’d taken his first sip, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He had shrugged, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. You’d tried not to sigh in annoyance. Whatever, whatever. You didn’t care if some pretentious, upper-class asshole didn’t like your drink. Plenty of other people did.

Min Yoongi had left half an hour later, and under his empty glass was a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

Since then, you’d been stuck with the man, who was surprisingly good company.

“Busy night,” he commented, holding his drink up to the light, observing the way the grenadine turned the dark alcohol auburn.

“You’re telling me,” you replied, absent-mindedly. You eyed the rest of the bar, checking to see if anyone was gesturing for your attention. Your gaze snagged on a group of men near the door. They were typical—loud, obnoxious. A bundle of unease started to unwind in your stomach. With your manager in the back, you were the only person working the floor. If something happened, if a fight broke out, or if one of them made a move, you’d be completely on your own.

“Has there been a problem?” Yoongi asked. You glanced back toward him and realized he’d followed your gaze, also staring at the rowdy group.

“No,” you assured him. “It’s just been busy.”

It made a tingle shoot through your chest, thinking that he cared.

You were probably something insignificant in his life, compared to whatever rich people usually cared about—the stock market, or fashion, or something. Yoongi woke up every morning wondering what his hired staff was making him for breakfast, while you wondered if you could afford an overpriced coffee to get you through your sixteen-hour workday.

Yoongi sat down his drink. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. I don’t get off until three.”

You grabbed an already clean glass and started cleaning it just to look occupied, any excuse to loiter in front of his seat. Your favoritism was blatant to people who frequented the bar, but to the outside eye, it just looked like you were making small-talk with a random customer while you worked.

“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, amused. “Do you remember me talking about my client last week?”

You nodded your head, interest piquing. You loved it when Yoongi talked about his job.

He was some type of music tycoon and owned a production company on a side of the city too expensive for you to frequent. He told you a lot about his job, mainly because he liked to complain about it. Most people who came into the bar to complain got too personal and didn’t care about what you had to say. My wife left me. I’ll never be a good father. Yoongi came into the bar and said, Fuck Ji-sung from the sounding department and fuck our capitalistic regime, before asking for extra whiskey.

And then afterward, staring into his drink, slightly drained but more relaxed than before, Yoongi asked for your opinion. Which he seemed to value, for some reason. You had a suspicion he was in such a position of power at his job, most people only told him what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t your style. You may have been reserved, but you were honest. Maybe your opinion wasn’t the most educated one, but it was unbiased and more genuine than any other he had the opportunity to hear.

“The one who wasn’t rude until you started working on his second album?” you asked. “Makes your staff sort his candy by color?”

“Yes,” Yoongi hissed, thoroughly annoyed. “God, what a prick. Don’t get into the music industry. If I had a dollar for every goddamn time—,” and then he went on a nameless tangent, about respecting people who only made minimum wage and having common decency.

You liked seeing Yoongi like this. When you had first met him, he’d been so quiet. You could tell he was used to being quiet—not shy, just reserved. Like you. He had a tendency to word-dump, saying everything he needed to say in one breathless paragraph simply because he wasn’t used to talking very much in the first place.

“—but anyway, anyway, I just wanted to ask how you knew your advice would work.”

You stopped cleaning your glass and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to give him more creative control over his next album and he started treating the staff better. Usually I do the opposite—treat my staff badly, and I fire you. But I didn’t want to lose this artist. Your advice worked. How did you know?”

You set the glass down and continued to stare, mouth slightly agape. You probably looked like an overworked fish wearing an apron. “You actually listened to my advice?”

He stared back, quizzically. “Of course. It was good advice. A little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I needed a new approach.” His gaze sharped, turned a little darker, a little more intense. “I don’t usually reward bad behavior.”

You flushed a bit at his possible double-innuendo. Sometimes, it was like that with Yoongi. He’d say something teasingly, something that hinted at the idea of more. It was flattering, but you recognized it for what it really was—nothing serious, just harmless flirting. Everyone tried it at least once during your shift. They were drunk, and you were an easy target, especially once they were infected with liquid courage.

As if someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Yoongi would ever be interested in you.

“But I’m your bartender,” you gasped, surprised he couldn’t see the incredulousness of it. Yoongi was a millionaire. He paid people to give him advice. Highly trained people, who had some type of nonsense business degree that made them qualified to give him advice. You were a lowlife living paycheck to paycheck with a dead-end job and no foreseeable future, and he’d taken your advice over the advice of his hired staff.

And your advice had been better.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s the person on the outside that can see the bigger picture. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t value your opinion.”

Hearing him say that made your skin tingle and flush. Yoongi seemed so effortlessly smart, effortlessly cultured, effortlessly eloquent. And he valued your opinion. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I had a gut feeling you were right. How did you know?”

Still caught off-guard, you slowly grabbed another glass to clean, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “Well, you told me he only started acting out during this album. People who feel like they don’t have control over certain aspects of their lives tend to overexert control in others. I thought that because he felt like he didn’t have proper creative control over his album, maybe his frustration was manifesting as micromanaging your staff.”

Yoongi groaned, “Why couldn’t he just tell me that? I would have given him all the control he wanted.”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “He was probably scared. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Are you joking?” you asked. “With your scowl? Cacti are more approachable than you.”

He considered you for a moment, mouth flattening slightly. “Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not easy to intimidate.” His mouth quirked again, and he looked like he was about to say something else, until—

“Hey, lady!” a man yelled from the other end of the bar. You turned and saw it was a member of the rowdy group by the door. “Can we get some service down here, too?”

Every ounce of friendliness dropped from Yoongi’s expression as he glared at them, but you only set down your glass with a sigh. “I’ll get you a refill in a second, be right back.”

You made your way down to the other end of the bar, conscious of the way the other man leered at you. Sometimes, you really, really didn’t like your job. You were in it for the money, and not even a great customer like Yoongi could make the job seem worth it on a bad night.

“What can I get you tonight?” you asked.

“Another beer,” he said, sliding his empty bottle across the counter. It tipped over the edge of the bar and shattered at your feet before you could scramble and catch it.

“Ow, shit,” you cursed. You stepped back, broken glass crunching under your feet. A shard of glass had cut the delicate, exposed skin of your left ankle between your shoe and the rolled cuff of your jeans.

“Today, please,” the man snapped, annoyed by your lack of promptness. You grabbed him an identical beer from the shelf behind you and set it on the counter. He snatched it up before you could even open it for him.

“That’ll be $1.93,” you said, eyeing the cut on your ankle. It was just deep enough to bleed, blood dripping down to stain the white of your sock. You would have to clean up the glass later.

“Excuse me? It was only $1.12 when I paid an hour ago.”

You wanted to throw your head back and groan. You’d given him that beer an hour ago, and it was the same price then as it was now. He was just trying to barter.

If it were any other customer, you would have let it slide. But you knew people like the man in front of you—give them an inch, and they would take a mile. If you didn’t set him straight now, he’d only try to push you further in the future.

“It was $1.93,” you told him flatly. “I know that because you didn’t tip and requested your change. It was a nickel and two pennies.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” you amended. “And even if it was $1.12 then, it’s $1.93 now. Either pay or give me the beer back.”

“Fine, bitch,” he snapped. The man threw the bottle onto the counter at an angle, hitting the edge of the bar closest to you and shattering. Your front was instantly soaked through as the beer splashed everywhere. Vaguely, you heard the group of men behind him cheering.

Anger and embarrassment flooded your chest. You were keenly aware of Yoongi at the other end of the bar, probably watching the whole exchange.

You didn’t want him to see you this way. It was just another reminder of how painfully, painfully below his league you were.

“You still have to pay for that,” you snapped. “Pay up and get the hell out before I call the police.”

The man laughed. He leaned forward and shoved you hard into the back shelf, and you yelped as bottles fell on top of and around you, barely missing your head. They shattered at your feet. Your back banged painfully against the wooden edge.

The noise was loud enough to catch the attention of the whole bar, and hopefully your manager. Before you could gather yourself, the men roared in laughter again, until the man who’d shoved you was dragged roughly away from the bar, and Min Yoongi punched the asshole in the face.

“Yoongi,” you gasped. It was probably the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. He didn’t stop or pause to look at you, only steadied the asshole and punched him again, the ring on his finger cutting across his cheek.

Another man from the group stepped forward and looked ready to intervene, but luckily at that moment, your manager slammed open the door to the backroom, making everyone jump. Your manager was a big man, old and stern, and he asked in his booming voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

Yoongi stepped away and cleaned his hand, wiping bloodied knuckles on the expensive edge of his button-down. You reached forward and grabbed his arm, tempted to drag him over the bar with you. Your manager gasped when he saw the state you were in, recognized your protective hold on Yoongi’s shirt, and immediately turned to the group of men still gathered by the door. They held up their fallen friend, the one Yoongi still looked like he wanted to beat unconscious.

“If you four don’t get out of my bar right fucking now,” your manager said darkly, “I’m calling the police and kicking your ass the whole time until they get here.”

Without a second thought the group of men scrambled out the door, dragging their friend with them. The sudden silence in the bar seemed to echo.

Yoongi turned and gripped the hand you had on his upper arm, and before you could protest, he was hauling you over the countertop like a child, other arm reaching out to hook underneath your leg and draw you next to him.

“Come here,” Yoongi muttered, lowly and almost to himself. Something in his voice sounded borderline frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you squawked, undignified and startled by his sudden manhandling. Yoongi sat you on the nearest barstool as your manager hovered nearby.

He leaned forward until the tip of his fringe almost brushed your forehead. “Look at me. Are you bleeding?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Having Yoongi’s face so close to your own—well, it was hugely distracting. Your manager turned away and helpfully, a fellow patron at the bar filled him in with what they witnessed.

“(Y/N)?” Yoongi asked, and you realized you’d been silent for too long.

“I cut my ankle, but that’s it,” you told him. Yoongi dropped to his knees, the fabric of his expensive suit no doubt getting stained by the sticky bar floor.

You gasped at him to get up, but he ignored you in favor of grabbing your ankle, lifting it to his face. The cut was already dried and scabbed over. You tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, except whenever he looked up, with his dark and infuriated gaze, looking at you from such a compromising position—you lost your train of thought again. Jeez, maybe a bottle really did hit you in the head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, like he could read your mind. He stood up and leaned closer, hand hovering near your face, almost like he wanted to cup your cheek but was keeping himself restrained. “You didn’t hit your head? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, no,” you immediately said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But they assaulted you,” Yoongi seethed, like he was stuck on it, like the thought had just been boiling in the back of his mind since his very first punch.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, and he stared at you, dark and guileless. He seemed to scoot even closer, until his hips were between your open legs, and his hand was resting on your elbow.

“You don’t have to stand so close to me,” you whispered. “I probably smell like a college frat party right now.”

Yoongi grimaced but didn’t comment, which you were grateful for.

“I’m going to review the security footage and ban those men from the bar,” your manager declared, walking up next to you. “We can call the police right now if you want to press—,”

“That’s not necessary,” you interrupted, and Yoongi’s grip on your elbow tightened. “Really, can I just go home early? I want to shower.”

Your shift didn’t technically end until three in the morning, when the bar closed, but your manager’s gaze softened at your simple request. “I’ll take the rest of your shift and clock you out when I leave. You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

You grimaced. “I have another seven to three.”

“I’ll ask Cindy to cover it. Take tomorrow off.”

Despite hating your job, your manager really was a life-saver. You thanked him profusely, and once you were done, Yoongi said, “Get your stuff from the back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Your chest tightened. Yoongi was usually gone by the time you got off, and probably didn’t know you walked to work. It was only a ten minute walk, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one to make at three in the morning, you had a knife and a can of mace in your purse for emergencies.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Min,” you told him. “Stay and finish your drink.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Go get your jacket. I’ll wait here.”

In the backroom, you tried to make yourself presentable. Your black shirt was soaked and smelled heavily of beer, which made you wince. You didn’t even like beer. You fixed your hair as best as you could and wiped your face with a paper towel. Grabbing your jacket, you put it on and made your way back to the front.

Yoongi was crouched on the floor with your manager, helping him clean up the broken glass. They were locked in a low conversation that you interrupted.

“Do you want me to help?” you asked, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” your manager said. “Get home safe, okay?”

You agreed and Yoongi stood, wiping off his hands. He grabbed his own jacket and his scarf, leading you outside with the palm of his hand hovering lightly over your lower back. It struck you as something so gentlemanly, your traitorous heart fluttered. It was bitter cold outside, and your thread-bare jacket did little to protect you. You hoped Yoongi didn’t notice.

Most of the vehicles in the lot looked second-hand, except the one at the end; it was compact, and oily black. It looked like it cost more than your yearly salary.

“The Maserati’s mine,” he commented, breath fanning in front of his face. You didn’t know what a Maserati looked like, but you could tell the slick car at the end of the lot must have been his. It was the most expensive-looking one.

“Black,” you noted. “Like your soul.”

He laughed, and thankfully, the tension in the air dissipated. Yoongi toed at the concrete, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you started, “I don’t actually have a car.”

He stared at you blankly, which meant you had caught him off-guard. “Pardon?”

You wanted to snort. Pardon. Posh as fuck. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

“I usually walk.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he snapped it shut, scowling. He opened it again. Closed it. Ran a tense hand through his hair. “Are you joking?”

“I wish,” you snorted, but had to suppress a flinch at the sudden harshness in his voice.

“Is your safety a joke to you?” he asked, suddenly, furiously. “First the guy in the bar, then you wouldn't let me take you to the hospital. And now this? Do you know how dangerous it is to walk home in this neighborhood during the day? Let alone at night?”

“I live here,” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“What’s your address?” he asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

The idea filled you with dread. He seemed so suave and sophisticated. When he listened to you, he made you feel important. Everything that had happened tonight hammered nail after nail in the coffin of your fantasy, whispering to Yoongi in the dim light of the bar until the early morning. The fantasy where you were more than yourself and the life you lived. Having Yoongi drive you back to your shitty apartment in his fancy Maserati would be the final blow.

“No,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to see my shitty apartment. “It’s not necessary.”

“It’s midnight,” he said. “It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself.”

“I’ve been walking home by myself just fine for the past year.”

“(Y/N),” he begged. “Please get in my car.”

You bit your lip in indecision. It wasn’t like he was going to go inside, and it was freezing; you really didn’t want to walk home when it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Yoongi started leading you to his car until he paused, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“One second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He unwound his scarf from his neck and took a step closer.

Yoongi wrapped his scarf around your neck, stopping to tuck your hair underneath your jacket. He was standing too close, and you were glad your face was already red because you knew you were blushing. You took a deep breath and were delighted to realize the scarf smelled like him.

“There,” he murmured, pleased. “You looked cold.”

“Well, it’s cold out,” you commented, and he flicked your forehead. You gasped in mock-outrage.

“It’s unlocked,” he said, walking forward and leaving you to trail behind him.

The interior of Yoongi’s car was black leather and just sitting in the front seat felt sinful. You were afraid to shift, painfully aware of the fact that you were wet and cold and soaked in alcohol like a maraschino cherry.

“It’ll take a second for the heat to kick in,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You described to him the short drive, teeth nervously chattering. When Yoongi started the car, it almost seemed to purr. He must have had a CD in, because the radio started playing light classical music.

You eyed him teasingly. “Fancy. Do you have any Tchaikovsky?”

His head snapped toward you. “You know classical music?”

“I know Swan Lake, and that’s about it,” you admitted, laughing ruefully. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” he replied. “Do you like it?”

The car felt warm, like you were enclosed in a bubble. Everything smelled like leather and Yoongi enough to drown out the stench of beer and vodka. The gentle sound of a piano filled the car, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I like it.”

You directed him downtown, tensing when you realized what the neighborhood must look like to him. Dark, and dirty, and covered in grime. Messy and trashy. The further he drove, the more his face creased in disgust. You felt embarrassed and defensive, because although you had no love for the neighborhood, it was still the place you had to call home. Judging it felt like judging you, too.

When Yoongi pulled in front of your building, he could do nothing but stare at it. It was short, square, faded and cracking at the edges. There was an upturned trashcan out front next to a dark lump that could have been garbage, could have been a sleeping homeless person. The yellow streetlight outside flickered.

“Thank you for the ride,” you whispered. “I’ll see you—,”

“Let me walk you inside,” he interrupted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to make sure you get in safe.”

“It’s really fine,” you tried to say, but he was already turning off the car and stepping out. You quickly got out of the passenger seat.

“What floor are you on?” he asked.

“The fifth one.” Yoongi bypassed you entirely, and you had to jog to catch up with him as he walked inside, eyeing the suspicious lump on the side of the street.

He went to open the door but it stuck, metal creaking ominously. You reached out and grabbed the other handle. “You have to use the left door.”

He nodded, and the two of you went inside.

You’d never been more critical of your building than in that moment. You could see every flaw: the peeling wallpaper, the dingy furniture, the dirty floor, the water-stained ceiling. And you knew Yoongi saw it, too.

“We can’t take the elevator,” you told him. “It doesn’t work.”

The two of you climbed the stairwell, shivering slightly. He commented, “It’s cold.”

“There’s no heat,” you admitted, and somehow, the carefully neutral look on his face was even worse than an openly judgmental one.

You made it to the fifth floor just in time to hear your neighbor shouting through his thin wall, “Whatever, asshole!”

It was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. You walked past your neighbor's door like you’d heard nothing, although Yoongi seemed startled. You were walking quicker than he was, like you were trying to leave him behind. Why couldn’t he get the message that you didn’t want him here?

You grabbed your keys from your pocket and jingled them, halting in front of your apartment. Yoongi stopped next to you, still eyeing the dirty hallway. There were several unpatched holes in the drywall from where your neighbor had punched the wall after arguing with his girlfriend.

Yoongi broke the silence by saying, “So, this is your apartment?”

“It’s a real five-star hotel, huh,” you said, sarcastically. You unlocked your door and turned your knob, but kept the door shut tight. You didn’t want him to see inside. “Watch out for cockroaches.”

Yoongi’s lip curled in disgust, and he started eyeing the floor. Your chest quivered and started breaking into pieces, because you were laid bare. You were (Y/N), in your shitty apartment, getting home from your shitty job, where you would probably be stuck for the rest of your life.

“It’s, uh,” he said. “Nice.”

Ridiculously, you suddenly felt like you wanted to cry. “Thank you for walking me inside. I’ll see you later.”

“(Y/N),” he went to say, but you were already shutting the door in his face, pressing your forehead against the cheap and cracking wood. A dull ache was starting in your shoulder where a vodka bottle had fallen, but it had nothing on the serious ache building in your chest.

~~~

Almost a full week passed before you saw Yoongi again.

Usually, he came in every Monday night. He liked the bar best when it was quiet, when it wasn’t crowded, when he could monopolize your attention for longer and longer periods of time. Monday night came and Monday night went, and it dragged on relentless as you waited for him, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You locked the door that night with crushing disappointment.

The fight had probably scared him off. Obviously, he regretted stepping in to defend you. What would have happened if he’d gotten seriously hurt? Sued? His good name, ran through the mud by the media?

Tycoon Min Yoongi Arrested After Late-night Barfight.

The mere idea made you shudder.

You carried your disappointment into Tuesday, but by Wednesday, you didn’t even bat an eye whenever the bell at the entrance to the bar rang. You were wiping down the countertop at ten o’clock at night when Yoongi sauntered in, nose red from the cold, hair wet and mouth pouting with it.

Like usual, the bar was quiet. Two old men sat in the middle of the counter and preoccupied themselves with watching the shitty television mounted behind the bar.

Your breath caught in your throat. Yoongi had a bad habit of always looking like a supermodel, no matter what condition he was in.

Nerves tied your tongue. You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but didn’t want to seem like you cared. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to act around him, but you decided to just play it casual.

“Is it cold?” you asked, dumbly. Of course it was cold. It was the middle of fucking winter.

“It’s snowing,” he said, sitting in his usual seat, setting his jacket on the counter. You started making him his drink just to avoid looking at him. “I’m driving you home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yoongi shot you such a sudden glare, your teeth clicked together when you shut it.

“Thank you,” you said, sliding him his drink. He tipped it back and downed it, and you stared mesmerized at the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He set the glass back down and hissed, and you refilled his drink in silence. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the countertop.

The atmosphere between the two of you felt tense and awkward, and it only got worse the longer the silence stretched.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe Yoongi was going to say your bar was too seedy for people like him to visit. People like Min Yoongi deserved better than the half-ass booze you could supply, the half-ass décor, your half-ass service. Not even a good drink could make up for it.

You and Min Yoongi were from two different classes. It didn’t matter how special he made you feel. At the end of the day, anything between the two of you, even just friendship, wasn’t meant to be.

“I want you to quit,” he said.

You slid him his drink with a short laugh. You liked the way Yoongi spoke—short, blunt and honest. It mixed so well with his sense of humor, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. “You and me both, buddy.”

What had happened last Thursday had shaken you up much more than you were willing to admit. Controversy was part of the job—there was a constant risk that some belligerent drunk was going to push you too far. But it had never gotten that bad before, and you cringed to think about what might have happened had Yoongi not been there.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m being serious. I’ll give you $10,000 to quit right now.”

He reached into his suit pocket and set something on the countertop. You were distracted by his oddly stern gaze when you realized his hand was sliding you a check, and it was filled out to you, and when did you tell him your last name? His handwriting was neat and controlled and he was sliding you a check with your full name on it for ten-thousand-fucking-dollars—

You gasped and slapped your hand over it. “Put that away before we get mobbed by every patron in this bar.”

“Put it away in your pocket,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

To your utter shock, Yoongi took your hand and started leading you down the bar, toward your manager’s office. A few people eyed you, making you blush. You snatched your hand away, and he stared at it forlornly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him.

“I’m giving you $10,000 to quit your job,” he replied. “And then I’m going to pay for your living expenses while you find a new one.”

You stared at him. It seemed like, for the first time in your life, you were struck speechless. You’d have to make a mark on your calendar. “What the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last week, at your apartment,” he said, suddenly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and winced. “I was an idiot and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t expect what?” you asked. “For me to live in a dump? For me to be dirt poor? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He winced again. “I want to apologize anyway. Take this check and talk to your manager. I want to warm up the car before we leave.”

He seemed so confident that you would agree. You felt the embarrassment and frustration from the last week bubble up in your chest. You grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started cleaning the bar, just for an excuse not to look at him.

“I am not a charity case, Mr. Min,” you hissed. He looked up, shocked at the venom in your voice, before his face creased.

“That’s not what this is. Don’t purposefully misinterpret me,” he ran a tense hand through his hair, and you had never seen him so undone. Pride mixed with heat in your stomach, to see him like that—to know that you were the one who finally put such a fine-edged crack in his golden composure.

“(Y/N),” he said. “If I hadn’t been here last Thursday, what would have happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own,” you bluffed, but it was a lie. Maybe your manager could have gotten there in time. Maybe some other kind patron would have tried to intervene on your behalf. But the result was the same—nothing about either situation guaranteed your safety.

“Please, quit this job,” he repeated, quieter, more pleading. “Right now. And I’ll pay for everything while you find a new one. Your rent, your water, your electricity. Fuck, do you have Wi-Fi? Do you want Wi-Fi? What’s your phone number? And so help me God, if you tell me you don’t have a cellphone—,”

“I have a fucking cellphone, Yoongi,” you snapped. “Even poor people can have a cellphone.”

He eyed you, unimpressed by your attitude. “And you say I’m the cactus of this relationship.”

“You are,” you defended, until, “and there’s no relationship between us. I’m your bartender, and you’re my customer.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “You’re miserable here.”

“A lot of people are miserable!” you burst out. A few people turned to look at you, but you ignored them. “Life isn’t fair! It’s not always happy, or fun. Sometimes, people have to do a lot of shit they don’t want to do to survive, and that’s life, okay? That’s reality.”

“Maybe that’s the reality for some people, but it doesn’t have to be for you,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting my help, you know that? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

You were so used to doing everything on your own, you didn’t know how to accept help. You didn’t know how to ask for support.

“A lot of people would be grateful for an opportunity like this,” he continued. “How would they feel watching you turn it down?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Someone very smart actually just told me that life isn’t fair. So, sucks,” Yoongi shrugged. On the outside he seemed calm and collected, but you could see the white-knuckled grip he had on the countertop.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Yoongi said. “If you really don’t want my help, I’ll accept that. But I really, really want to help.”

You threw your rag to the side and took a deep breath, and then another. You knew you had a temper, and you knew you were too stubborn for you own good. How would you feel, if someone in your position had an offer from someone like Yoongi, and they’d thrown it back in his face?

“Job hunting is hard,” you muttered, and Yoongi had to lean forward to hear you. “It’ll take at least a month.”

“(Y/N),” he said. “It could take the whole damn year and I wouldn’t care.”

“I should probably turn in my two-week notice.”

“You quit right now,” Yoongi demanded. “Non-negotiable.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you said, to yourself. You weren’t Julia Roberts, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman. What the hell were you thinking?

“We can go over details at dinner,” Yoongi said. “I’ll pay.” He paused, and eyed you sheepishly. “If that’s okay, of course.”

You didn’t like the idea of Yoongi paying for your dinner, but you guessed you would have to get used to it. It was just dinner. It was basically a business meeting.

“I’ll let you pay if we go somewhere cheap,” you bartered. He didn’t look pleased, but accepted the compromise nonetheless.

“Not McDonald’s.”

You laughed. “Not McDonald’s.”

Untying your apron from around your neck, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the upcoming conversation with your manager, but you had a feeling that no amount of deep breathing would help you through what followed afterward.

1K notes · View notes

akria23 · 5 years

Note

You sound like an extremely unpleasant person and I am sorry for the people who have to deal with you in real life. Have fun policing everyone's thoughts and actions.

Lol.

I sound unpleasant because I have the audacity to be unbiased - hold people accountable and tell people that there’s serious issues in the fandom to worry about....

Let me express myself real quick.

Apparently my honesty has offended you so let me start of by saying ——> I don’t give a fuck 🤷🏾‍♀️. As they say a hit dog hollers so apparently you were one of those idiots arguing about lube.... As far as your accusations against me - you have a right to your opinion I just also don’t give a shit about said opinion.

This isn’t about me. It’s about transgender people. It’s about about black people. It’s about women. It’s about the treatment that’s received from fandom when it comes to these concepts. It’s about how y’all will uphold some aspects to pretend like y’all are better - more open minded when most of all obviously don’t give a shit about queer memebers, people of color, or women. When it’s more about stroking your ego...there’s an issue that I care about. Since you spent the time being hateful that you could’ve used to spread awareness, educate someone, show some support - Imma assume it’s because you’re unaware, uneducated, and don’t know how to be supportive. So imma offer you the same advise I offered everyone participating in the bs at the end of post (you might have missed it since you were more worried about me). Log off. Read a book. Do some research. Talk to some educated people. Evaluate yourself, the role you play, the choices you have made and why you may have made them. Know better do better.

Also while you’re researching - look up policing because you obviously don’t know what that is and like to throw words around. An example of me policing would be removing your post because I don’t agree with, or logging you out of tumblr, or getting a mass raid to come at y’all - I’m not in no way shape of form stoping y’all from having an opinion - stating an opinion nor am I stoping anyone from doing anything. You’re free to post whatever you want or engage in whatever you want. Just like I have a right to place my opinion in the tag. Advice is simply that - advice. It has no power behind it if you don’t take it. Google dictionary is free as well - I advise you to use it. 🙃

#skam fance #druck #yall really be trying it #is it that hard to self evaluate?#is it that hard to stand back and dissect your fandom?

7 notes · View notes

zachbusman-blog · 5 years

Text

Junk News

After reading the article “Three reasons junk news spreads to quickly across social media” by the oxford internet institute. I found myself thinking about all the “fake news” headlines that I’ve seen and heard about in the last couple years and I think Oxfords break down of this issue is pretty spot on.

https://www.oii.ox.ac.uk/blog/three-reasons-junk-news-spreads-so-quickly-across-social-media/

Algorithms: I believe that Algorithms play a big role in what information people are exposed to. Especially when it comes to politics, people tend to get caught in a feedback loop or an echo-chamber where all they are exposed to is one perspective or side of issues. Not being able to hear the other-sides argument leaves people potentially unaware the full story since both sides like to cherry pick what they are either going to show on tv or broadcast out to social media.

Advertising: In the article it states, “the advertising model itself rewards viral content”. The use of clickbait is an effective way to temporarily garner attention from people on mass. It temps people to view their content by enticing them with a wild picture and or headline that seems unbelievable. Just the action of having multiple people view or click on it makes it go viral even if the content is not accurate or good. It only takes a few people getting outraged about something to start a chain reaction. I think snapchat has a big problem with this. I’ve been scrolling through my feed and when I come across a picture and headline it is almost always an ad. The worst part is that its not really an ad for anything related in the picture, but if you swipe up then it brings you to an unrelated 3rd party site. This is the main problem I have with advertising anywhere online.

Exposure: I think that political debates between people on social media tend to not turn out very well, the degree varies depending on what your views are, but this might also lead to eventual echo chambers. People are afraid of posting an opinion that might not be popular with the masses and decide to keep it themselves and only associate with people that have the same ideas. Perception bias also could play a role because if someone holds certain ideals and then start seeing the same ideals represented in their social media feed then they believe those ideals to be ultimately true and then don’t consider any other perspectives or opinions.

I think as far as addressing algorithms, I would find it useful to have an option to flip your news feed 180 degrees, so you see the opposite of what the algorithms think you want. Perhaps giving you a different perspective of things. Another thing is that we don’t really know how these algorithms work and the big tech companies who operate them are not going to give it out due to people potentially abusing it

I think education will play a big role in how we deal with these things, you must be aware of the issue before trying to address it in a meaningful way. I think that this applies to both people and businesses alike. The more that people know about how they are targeted the better they will be able to handle that information. Knowing that perhaps the news they are reading isn’t the full story and should take it with a grain of salt, or even better perform their own research on things as important as politics.

I also think that businesses being transparent with their customers/audience would go a long way. For example, with news media they pretend to be unbiased and bipartisan on issues but since the parties have become more polarized I think by now it’s pretty obvious that stations like CNN and have a liberal or left-wing bias and fox has a conservative or right-wing bias. Understanding these leanings give people a better understanding on issues and hopefully allow better identification of “junk news”.

https://www.studentnewsdaily.com/types-of-media-bias/

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/aug/29/coding-algorithms-frankenalgos-program-danger

1 note · View note

redditnosleep · 6 years

Text

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

Hi Guys,

It’s been a long week, but I’ve finally got to my computer to post the next log. I’ve been working overtime to afford both London rent and Christmas presents. Hasn’t been fun. Anyway I can’t say much more since this log’s one of the longer ones. I’ll try and get the next one up a little sooner.

Thanks for all your help.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 11/02/2017

The next morning, everything’s the same.

It’s strange. We’re usually so blind to the quiet consistency in our everyday lives, only really taking notice once something changes. Yet, as I stir a spiral of honey into my oatmeal and glance around the group, it’s the notable lack of change that truly stands out.

Since the previous evening, the atmosphere surrounding the convoy, and the demeanour of each member, doesn’t seem to have altered in the slightest. The night has fallen short in its role as a grand meridian, failing to partition the past and future, and bringing with it neither perspective nor closure. It’s as if yesterday has spilled, like a toppled brush pot, into the next morning, colouring everything with the same temperaments, fears and divisions.

Lilith and Eve sit facing each other, their legs crossed on a plastic groundsheet. Neither are saying very much, albeit for vastly different reasons. Lilith is still preoccupied by her own smouldering indignation, whereas Eve looks overcome with a subtle but pervasive dread. Neither have taken food from Rob’s stove, a decision I suspect Lilith made for the both of them.

Apollo, Bonnie and Clyde are across from me. Apollo is making conversation, attempting to revive his usual good humour. Bonnie and Clyde help him out, laughing at his jokes, and smiling along with his stories.

Bluejay hasn’t stepped out of her car all morning, eating her own rations and maintaining a welcome distance from the rest of the group. Her eyes meet mine as I look her way, and I’m treated to a sharp, sardonic dismissal.

And Rob? Rob is attending to the practicalities of the road; serving breakfast, then topping up the Wrangler from one of the hulking jerry cans. It’s clear the routine is comforting to him. I can easily imagine this is how he deals with a great many problems. Compartmentalising. Recasting himself as a blunt instrument engaged in a set of necessary processes. He’s made himself too busy for grief, and will likely remain so until the feeling fades.

As coping mechanisms go, it isn’t remotely healthy. I should know. I’m doing pretty much the exact same thing.

AS: Clyde, could I get a few words?

Clyde looks up from his food, a little surprised.

CLYDE: You want me?

AS: Hah, yeah… if that’s not too much trouble.

CLYDE: Oh no no, no trouble at all. You want to do it now? I’m not too hungry.

AS: No me neither. That would be great thank you. Would you mind if we moved away from the stove?

Clyde nods keenly. Putting my bowl to one side, I take Clyde to the edge of the apple grove. Nobody looks after us.

CLYDE: How are you holding up Bristol?

AS: Getting there. How about you?

CLYDE: I’m uhh… yeah I’m getting by.

AS: So can I ask… why did you choose Bonnie and Clyde as your call signs?

CLYDE: Hah well it came pretty easy. We used to play outlaws when we were kids, one time Bonnie stuck up a bank.

AS: Really?

CLYDE: Well, no it was an ice cream parlour. But Bonnie was pretending it was a bank and then she ran in, holding her hand like a gun. Told Mrs Gilford it was a stick-up.

AS: Wow, that doesn’t seem like her.

CLYDE: Oh no she was a wild child. Always living in a story. Anyway, we got free sundaes and a new nickname in town after that. When Rob told us about the call signs it was the first thing we thought of.

AS: It’s a good choice.

I pause, letting the previous subject fade before launching into the next one. All things considered, this may be the last time me and Clyde are on such casual speaking terms.

AS: Bonnie told me she talked to the hitchhiker.

Clyde’s disposition shifts. There’s sudden alertness that wasn’t there before, rushing to the fore in immediate response to my words. In the following silence, at the centre of his wide eyed stare, an educated guess suddenly becomes much more.

CLYDE: Wh.. when did she tell you?

AS: I’m sorry Clyde… she didn’t. You just did.

I can almost see the stone fall in Clyde’s throat. The deep, burning embarrassment and hurt that comes from being deceived, from a close secret you held getting out into the world. I don’t feel exceptional either. Lying to Clyde, bringing him away from Bonnie under the guise of an interview… beyond the personal abhorrence, it also flies in the face of everything I’ve tried to be as a journalist.

Clyde can’t bring himself to talk, so I press forward.

AS: I think it might be best if you call Bonnie over here.

Nodding vaguely, Clyde wordlessly shuffles back to Bonnie, whispering in her ear. She puts a hand on his shoulder and helps herself up. Whatever he’s told her, she doesn’t seem angry as she joins us beneath the shade of the apple trees.

BONNIE: I didn’t want to cause any trouble, a… and Clyde’s been looking forward to this trip for so long I didn’t want us to turn back. I’m sorry.

AS: What happened Bonnie?

BONNIE: I just said two words. I wasn’t talking to him; I was doing what Rob said but then he… I just said “Bless you.” That’s all it was.

AS: That’s it?

BONNIE: Well I… he thanked me and then he was just… so easy to talk to and I thought, “Well I’ve already talked to him, what will a few more words do?”

CLYDE: She hardly said anything else.

AS: What about him? Did he say anything?

Bonnie starts to smile, the same way she did last night. A dreamy, enthused expression glowing with reminiscent joy.

BONNIE: He told me about this wonderful place. Wasn’t it wonderful Martin?

CLYDE: Bonnie-

BONNIE: Just a few houses by the sea, but he made it sound so nice.

CLYDE: Bonnie, please…

BONNIE: What’s wrong? I can talk about it right?

When I look back to Clyde, his lips are firmly pressed together, his facial muscles tight. He’s holding something back, but what slips through betrays a poignant dismay.

CLYDE: It’s all you talk about Bonnie. You… you mentioned it a few times after… and since Jubilation you ain’t stopped.

AS: Are you guys talking about Wintery Bay?

Clyde grimaces, and Bonnie grins, when they hear the name.

AS: Bonnie are we heading there?

BONNIE: The hitchhiker said it’s on our way. I’m so looking forward to seeing it.

I can’t say I feel the same, and it’s safe to say Clyde agrees with me. Before now, I’d only heard Bonnie mention Wintery Bay on two occasions, but it sounds like she’s talked about it a whole lot more. I sympathise with Clyde for what he’s had to deal with. However, the gross irresponsibility of his actions aren’t lost on me either.

AS: Does Rob know?

CLYDE: I didn’t want to-

AS: You didn’t want to trouble him? Or did you just not want him to turn you around?

BONNIE: I’m alright, really.

AS: Well either way, you need to tell Rob before we hit the road.

Clyde shuffles uncomfortably.

AS: I’m not going to do it for you. But too much has happened on this trip already. Ace is… this place is dangerous ok? There’s no place for lies any more.

I hope that Clyde doesn’t see the irony, given that I’ve roundly deceived him in the past five minutes. He nods, takes Bonnie’s hand, and walks slowly towards the Wrangler. Rob is loading the last of the fold up chairs into the back of the car. The conversation doesn’t last long, but by the end of it, Rob rests his hand on Bonnie’s shoulder and sends them on their way. He doesn’t look mad. Perhaps he just has other things on his mind.

That’s the second thing I’ve done today that’s inherently non-journalistic. I was supposed to be a fly on the wall for this story, a passenger, recording events with objective detachment without my own influence seeping into proceedings. In many ways I wish I still was. But the stakes are higher now, and though secrets make for good editorial, they’re also potentially damaging to the safety of the group. Following the incident with Ace, I’m slightly less concerned with an unbiased story than I am with getting home to tell it.

Rob looks like he’s about to make his morning address. The group wanders over, some more reluctantly than others, and gathers around the Wrangler.

ROB: First things first, I want to say that… well… tempers got a little heated last night, and that I’m sorry for my part in all that. I wanna thank you for coming with me this far, and if you wanna turn back, well that’s just fine.

The group stays quiet.

ROB: If you are headin’ back. I’d say if you travel one by one, be sure to stay on the radios, retrace the route and follow all the rules that applied when you were gettin’ here. Now can I get a show of hands, who’s wantin’ to keep goin’ on the road?

I observe my compatriots closely. The definites will be Bonnie & Clyde, who have already implied that they want to continue, and also Bluejay, who feels she has nothing to worry about from the road. Apollo is in the wind, and Lilith & Eve are probably a split vote. All in all, this could be the moment our convoy splits in half.

Bluejay throws her hand up lazily. Bonnie and Clyde, predictably, raise theirs. Apollo raises his a few moments later.

APOLLO: Hey, I’ve come this far.

That leaves Lilith and Eve. After sharing a brief glance with her friend, Lilith raises her hand and Eve follows suit, albeit with an air of trepidation.

I’m surprised that no one’s turning back, after everything that happened yesterday, but it’s clear everyone has their own reasons. I’m just glad I don’t have to say goodbye to anyone. I set about trying to divine everyone’s motives for continuing on the road, but I quickly stop when I realise everyone’s looking at me.

AS: Oh sorry. Yeah I’m in... I’m going… that way.

I gesture to the road ahead and raise my hand redundantly.

ROB: Well ok. I guess that’s everyone then. We got a fair way to travel today but there ain’t much to see. Just follow the rules and take things as they come I guess.

As we pull out, I start to feel a little restless. The sedentary nature of travel is beginning to take its toll, and I’m starting to feel overfamiliar with the Wrangler’s passenger seat. I’m glad that I got a chance to stretch my legs last night.

Rolling, Elysian corn fields span the roadside for the next five hours. Turns are few and far between, but Rob’s attention never wavers. I only manage to grasp his attention briefly.

AS: Aren’t Jeeps supposed to have poor fuel economy?

ROB: They ain’t the best. That’s why I always bring gas along.

AS: It’s just… the fuel gauge has hardly moved since we left this morning.

ROB: Haha. You noticed that huh? I was wonderin’ if you were gunna.

AS: Why, what have you done to it?

ROB: Nuthin’. It’s the road. Makes fuel burn slower.

AS: Seriously?

ROB: Ain’t just that either. You finish your food this mornin’?

AS: No… why?

ROB: Hardly anyone did, ‘cept Apollo. More you go, less you need to keep goin’.

AS: Ok… wait you said the road pushes against you.

ROB: Yep.

AS: But now you’re making it sound like it’s helping us along.

ROB: Yep.

AS: So it’s hostile whilst also incentivising us? That sounds odd to me.

ROB: Sounds like life to me. Reasons to stop, reasons to keep goin’.

I suppose that makes sense. Despite his well-documented obsession with the secrets of the road, Rob seems to have a strangely laissez faire attitude to its internal logic. It’s like the road doesn’t need to make perfect sense to him, or at least he doesn’t expect it to yet.

As the fresh rural air drifts in through the windows, I lose myself in the hypnotic endlessness of the passing fields. I wonder how many eyes have seen these vistas. I wonder where we are, not geographically, but in a grander sense. Are we still in the world as I know it? Are we beyond it? Below it? Or have we just slipped through the cracks, into some intermediate domain?

Rob slows the car down to a crawl, a precaution he takes before most corners. My eyes wander gently back into the Wrangler, finally resting on the rear view.

There’s something behind us. A humanoid figure, shrouded in the soft focus of considerable distance. It staggers quickly toward the convoy, unsure on its own feet.

AS: Rob what is that?

Rob follows my gaze to the rear view mirror. His brow furrows.

ROB: Somethin’ new.

Rob grabs the receiver. Before he can make an announcement, the speaker splutters with static, followed by Eve’s frantic voice.

EVE: Guys there’s something behind us... guys? Something’s coming after us. Bluejay can you see it?

Bluejay doesn’t answer. I doubt she considers it worth her time. A squealing panic rings out over the radio as Eve calls again.

EVE: Is it from Jubilation? Guys? Guys?!

ROB: Stay calm everyone. Let’s pick up the pace a little.

Rob lets his foot rest heavier on the gas. The Wrangler gently accelerates, with the rest of the convoy eagerly matching our speed.

APOLLO: Who is that Rob?

ROB: I ain’t so sure, but we got a turn coming up. Let’s just get ourselves off the road, see if he follows.

The figure continues to stumble towards us. Its arms hang crookedly in the air and, as it comes into sharper focus, I can just make out that there’s something wrong with its face.

EVE: Guys speed up, please. Please.

LILITH: Calm down.

EVE: It’s coming for us!

I can sympathise with Eve’s panic. I’ve had the luxury of travelling at the head of the convoy. I was the first across when that godforsaken pine was dropped across the road. Eve is now second to last, relying on three other cars to make their escape before she can follow. Ace had to wait for the rest of us, and it cost him everything. Now Eve & Lilith are one car closer to being where he was.

EVE: It’s face. Oh my god! Oh my god. Guys please!

BLUEJAY: Jesus, shut up!

APOLLO: Hey that is NOT helping. Rob it’s movin’ pretty fast we-

ROB: We stay the course. It ain’t caught up yet just-

EVE: Oh god. Oh god, oh GOD!

Rob’s warnings are cut short by the screeching of tires. Eve swerves out of the convoy’s neat, single file line, and onto the empty stretch of road beside us. The car accelerates past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Apollo.

I get a brief glimpse of Eve & Lilith as our windows align.

Lilith is yelling at Eve, trying to get her to calm down. Eve is screaming into the air, the puppet of her own frenetic terror. The car shoots past us and down the long road ahead. Rob swears and picks up the radio.

The figure continues to lurch towards us.

ROB: Ferryman to Eve & Lilith. Stop the car right now.

LILITH: Eve slow down!

ROB: Eve goddamnit you’re gonna-

I stare through the windshield as their car stops. Not a slow, grinding deceleration, but an unequivocal, immediate halt. Their bodies are thrown forwards against the safety glass as the car becomes utterly motionless.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: I told’em to be careful!

AS: Why what’s-

I no longer need an answer. I realise that it’s written right in front of me, etched into the side of the road. A brief gap in the endless rows of golden corn, only a little wider than the Wrangler itself. A dirt track the leads off to the left, about ten metres ahead of us, about fifteen metres behind Lilith & Eve. I now understand why Rob was being so careful, and why Eve should have been as well.

They’ve missed the next turn.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. I’ve found the turn, let’s make it quick. Eve and Lilith you stay in the car. I’m coming back to get you both.

Rob flicks on his turn signal, preparing the group for the sharp left corner, and slams his foot on the accelerator. Lilith and Eve disappear behind a wall of corn as we pull down the dirt track. Rob keeps driving, until enough space is left for the rest of the group.

Once they’re all safely pulled in, Rob climbs into the back of the car, grabs his rifle and jumps out onto the path. I quickly climb out and follow behind him.

When we arrive on the main road, the figure has covered a considerable distance, finally drawing near enough for me to see what’s wrong with its face. At a certain point, midway across the crown of the head, running in a straight line down past the cheeks and under the jaw, the head simply stops. It’s like the foremost section of his skull has been sliced cleanly off, and has bent inwards, his entire face concave and shrouded completely in a deep shadow. A ghastly, organic hood, that seems deeper than physics should allow.

That isn’t all that’s wrong with the picture however. The man’s outstretched arms are bent in several places. Dark purple contusions blossom at every unnatural joint as if his arms had been broken multiple times. His leg is also bent to one side, the reason for the irregular walk that still carries him towards us.

Rob looks shaken as he raises the rifle to his shoulder, bidding the figure turn around.

The man ignores Rob’s demand, continuing its march. Even when a bullet hits it square in the chest, the figure hardly slows down. We’re forced to jump out of the way as it continues down the road, Eve and Lilith cowering in their locked car as it approaches.

Fear shifts into confusion as the creature passes them by, and continues down the road. It’s as if it doesn’t even know we’re here.

Rob breathes a sigh of relief, lowers the gun, and runs back to the rest of the convoy. The moment he leaves, my mind notes something peculiar. It’s an utterly bizarre observation, especially considering the many otherworldly facets of the retreating creature, there’s something familiar about it. Specifically, its fashion sense.

The shirt, the dirt covered jeans. They aren’t dissimilar to the ones I found in the brown leather duffel bag, resting atop the block of C4.

Reaching into my pocket, pulling out my phone, I scroll through my list of contacts. As the man heaves himself down the road, I call the second number I discovered last night. The one in the Nokia’s received calls list. The number that likely belonged to whoever created the bomb, and whoever was driving the car that day.

After a few moments, a ringtone disrupts the creature’s silent walk. I end the call, realising how reckless I’ve been and praying that the strange figure doesn’t see my action as an excuse to turn around.

I’m lucky, this time at least. The dial tone cuts out, and the figure continues to stumble its way toward the horizon.

The next thing I hear is a scream.

Scanning for its source, I see Eve, her door open and with one foot out of the car. She’s frantically pulling at her leg, seemingly unable to lift it from the tarmac.

AS: Eve what’s going on?

With shaking fingers, Eve clumsily unties her shoelace, and lifts her leg back into the car. Her boot stays in place, and it’s possible to make out a slight elasticity to the road below it, a depression in the tarmac around its base. Slowly, and steadily, the sole of the boot disappears into the road. Eve watches as the dark tarmac slowly sucks the boot down, enveloping the heel and dragging it beneath the surface.

The thought comes to Eve the same moment it does to me. We both fix our eyes on the back of the car, where same, soft indent is gradually developing around the tyres.

Eve’s terrified scream is drowned out by the blare of revving engines. I jump out of the way as the rest of the convoy reverse out of the corner and back onto the main road. Bluejay, Bonnie & Clyde, Apollo and finally Rob, park themselves chaotically around me. Rob jumps out and approaches.

ROB: They ain’t pulled back yet?

As soon as he asks the question, he sees the sight before him. Only the neck of Eve’s boot remains above the ground, sinking ever further into the tarmac. The road gradually but voraciously churns at the car tyres, consuming the rubber, and swallowing the lowest edge of the wheel cover.

In the midst of such an impossible sight, all I can say to Rob is:

AS: They’re trying.

Lilith & Eve hit the gas hard. The engine growls at the road as it furiously attempts to reverse, the undercarriage creaking and groaning from the sheer mechanical strain. The wheels themselves, however, don’t rotate an inch. The tyres belong to the road now, taken by the unknowable forces that continue to drag them into the earth.

The engine chokes, defeated, and I can see Eve screaming into her fists as the roadway calmly continues its work.

ROB: Goddamn it we can’t reach’em. Tell’em to get on top of the car.

APOLLO: What the… What’s happening Rob?

ROB: Bristol! Tell’em to get on the roof!

Rob marches off to the Wrangler. The rest of the convoy gather on the road, just in line with the left turn, where we assume it’s safe to stand. Everyone, saving for Bluejay, looks on in anxious silence.

AS: Eve! Lilith! I need you to get on top of the car ok? Guys?

EVE: We’re sinking! Oh fuck… oh fuck we’re-

AS: Eve! I’m trying to help you. Rob’s working on something, but you need to climb onto the roof of the car. Don’t think about anything else. Open the door, wind down your window and use it as a foothold.

Eve is still deaf with worry. Lilith doesn’t hesitate. She places one hand on the upper rim of her open door, one foot on the base of the open window, and her free hand palm down on the car’s roof. The door rocks on its hinges as she puts her weight on it. In one strong motion, she pushes herself backwards until she’s sitting atop the car.

The tarmac has swallowed its way to the car’s lower chassis. Eve stares, transfixed by the road as it pulls her ever closer towards it.

LILITH: Sarah look at me!

Lilith is crouching on the car’s roof, her hand reaching down to Eve. Her friends voice seems to be the only thing that can break Eve’s fearful commune with the waiting abyss. She turns around, Lilith’s hand a few inches from her face.

LILITH: Get up here.

Her eyes brimming with tears, fought back by rapid, shallow breaths, Eve grabs Lilith’s hand. Lilith gets a solid handhold around the lip of her own doorway and heaves Eve up and onto the roof of the car. Eve shrieks a little as the door swings, putting all her trust into Lilith’s grip.

She joins her friend on the roof just as the road consumes the lower edge of the door, spilling inside the car’s cabin like magma.

ROB: Damnit they’re too far away.

Rob has returned from the Wrangler, rapidly uncoiling a braid of long, light blue climber’s rope. I’d seen it resting in the back of the car during the trip, never once thinking that I’d see it used.

Rob threads one end of the rope through a carabiner and secures it in place with a tight knot. He holds it to his side as he shouts to Lilith & Eve.

ROB: Ok listen, we only got one shot at this. I’m gonna throw you the hook and you’re gonna catch it and yank it taut ok? Then you can hook it onto somethin’ and climb your way over. Don’t let it fall. Ok?

Lilith looks pale. She nods before clambering to her feet, and stepping to the back of the car. Eve watches on, her hands wrapped around her legs.

ROB: Well, here goes nothin’.

Rob begins to swing the rope over his head, a large undulating circle that quickly levels out as the weight of the carabiner eases the rope onto a flat plane. I instinctively shrug down as the rope passes over my head, swinging faster and faster. Gritting his teeth, his face reddening with the towering pressure of this single throw, Rob lets the rope fly. It arcs in the air, like a cast fishing line, towards Lilith’s outstretched hands.

I watch it pass in front of her, the metal of the carabiner glinting in the sun as it falls.

She catches it, grasping the rope in her shaking hands.

Despite her victory, I see her face contort with sudden and striking panic. She holds the rope high over her head, staring wildly down at the road between us. Following her eyes, my heart falls. She caught the rope, but she didn’t pull it taut fast enough.

Even with Rob continuing to hold his end above his head, the rope had too much slack when it landed in Lilith’s hands. It’s fallen in a sloping arc, the lowest point of which has scraped against the tarmac. It only rests a few precious seconds before Lilith finds herself unable to pull it free. It sinks into the ground. The rope starts to brush gently against Rob’s fingers before he throws it to the ground.

ROB: Goddamnit! Ok… if I just got somethin’ else. Somethin’ we can put down.

AS: The empty jerry cans? They could step on-

ROB: Too unstable, and we’d have to throw them perfect. Ok… ok.

The road has claimed almost half the car now, eating up the licence plate as the vehicle sinks lower and lower. Lilith looks helplessly on as we deliberate, Eve crying her eyes out behind her.

CLYDE: We could get a ground sheet.

ROB: We ain’t got one that’ll stretch.

AS: Well what about-

APOLLO: I’m going out there.

Apollo’s blank statement catches us all by surprise. Turning in his direction, I note a direct and powerful confidence in his manner.

APOLLO: They aren’t gonna last much longer. It takes a second for the road to get you, that’s how they got so far ahead before they stopped. I drive out, they jump onto my car, then we climb back.

ROB: I ain’t got more rope.

APOLLO: You got the winch right? If I drive out with it bunched up on my lap I can make sure it never goes slack. Then I hook it up to my roof bars and we get the hell outta dodge.

ROB: You got the best car for it. But I should drive out there.

APOLLO: You need to work the winch. Bonnie & Clyde can’t climb back.

He skips over his rationale for not choosing Bluejay, not wanting to waste time on a foregone conclusion.

AS: What about me? I’m lighter, the climb back would be easier.

APOLLO: But you can’t help them when they’re jumping over. We’re wasting time, you know it’s a good idea.

Rob takes a moment to consider it, his mind fighting for a better solution.

ROB: You’d better get back here Apollo.

APOLLO: Don’t plan on hanging around there Rob.

Apollo grins before sprinting to his Rover. Rob, wasting no time, runs to the winch, switches it to manual, and unspools the heavy duty rope. His hands cross over as he drops each new length onto the ground.

I turn back to Lilith.

AS: Did you hear that Lilith?!

Lilith is huddled next to Eve, attempting to comfort her as the car’s headlights disappear into the depths of the road. Her head snaps round when I call.

LILITH: What’s… what’s happening?

AS: Apollo’s coming out to you. You have to jump onto his car and climb back over ok?

LILITH: … Ok!

She hurries back to Eve, grasping her friend’s shoulders as she relays the plan.

ROB: Ok that’ll hold.

Rob’s climbing down from the hood of the Wrangler. He’s fed the winch cable around and through the lighting rig, ensuring a good level of clearance on the way out and, more importantly, for the climb back. The rope has already been fed through Apollo’s driver’s side window.

Bonnie and Clyde are helping to throw Apollos’ baggage out of the trunk and onto the rode behind him. The less he has to lose on this trip the better.

ROB: All set up over here.

APOLLO: Ok. See you on the other side Rob.

Apollo slams his foot onto the accelerator. The Range Rover bolts forwards, and powers toward the threshold. The engine roars as he rockets past the left turn and keeps on going, into the territory beyond. In the few precious seconds he has, he crosses the distance towards the two terrified girls. The winch rope streams through the window, and then suddenly, pulls tight.

Apollo is thrown forwards as the car comes to an uncompromising stop, roughly a metre’s distance from Lilith & Eve. The impact looks brutal, but Apollo somehow manages to keep a hold on the rope and, inexplicably, his sense of humour.

APOLLO: I don’t think I got the insurance for this.

Clumsily, still feeling the aftereffects of the sudden stop, Apollo throws open his door and starts to climb out.

APOLLO: Take in the slack Rob!

My attention fixed on Apollo, I hear the mechanical whir as the winch kicks into life. As Apollo climbs out of his car and up onto the roof, he affixes the hook at the end of the winch to one of his roof bars, securing it in place. A few moments later, the rope is pulled straight.

Apollo steps down onto the hood of his car, his arms outstretched to the girls. It’s a short jump, but they’ll have to make it from a lower elevation, the trunk of the car already sinking to ground level.

APOLLO: Ok come on I got you, we’ve got to move fast now.

Lilith stands up, helping Eve to her feet before stepping down onto the rapidly disappearing trunk.

LILITH: Ok… ok…

Lilith yelps as she throws herself towards Apollo. Her front foot plants itself on the hood of the car, her other leg flailing in the air behind her. Apollo grabs her by the arms and yanks her onto the car, holding her close to him as she gets her bearing on the smooth metal of the hood. When she’s stable, he lets her crawl up onto the roof, where she immediately looks back to Eve.

APOLLO: See Eve, nothin’ to it. Come on now.

Eve paces back, her hands shaking as she contemplates the jump. Fighting against her screaming instincts, Eve squeals as she steps across the trunk and makes the leap across. The toe of her shoe lifting off the car mere seconds before it descends into the murky, black pitch of the road.

Eve lands short of her destination. One desperate, grasping arm makes contact with Apollo’s as her legs bang and scrape against the Rover’s grill, scrambling for any conceivable purchase. Apollo is wrenched sideways by the force of Eve’s landing, thrown off balance by the unexpected application of her whole weight. In the gut churning moments that follow, Apollo tugs Eve up to his chest and wraps an arm around her, his centre of gravity passing over the edge of the car.

The fall takes a lifetime. Wrapped in each other’s arms, Eve and Apollo tumble forward towards the patient, ravenous ground. In the split second before he leaves the hood of the car, Apollo uses his last inch of footing to push himself into a slow turn. The twist continues as they fall, until Eve is looking to the road, Apollo to the pale blue sky. In one final action, Apollo pushes Eve’s waist, holding her at arms length.

Apollo’s back thuds into the asphalt, his head smacking audibly against it. Dazed and concussed, he manages to hold Eve aloft, keeping everything but her feet from joining him on the hard ground.

APOLLO: Get back up… quickly get back up.

Her face shredded by fear and guilt and sorrow, Eve stares into Apollo’s eyes and whimpers. Collecting herself, she pushes herself off him, ripping out her laces, and leaving a shoe and a sock behind as she clambers back on to the Range Rover. With every movement she whispers a quivering apology.

APOLLO: It’s ok. It’s ok. Go on. It’s ok.

He repeats those two words over and over, until I’m not even sure who he’s talking to. The road elasticates around him, dragging him down into its depths. Eve looks back to him, her face cringing in misery.

Bonnie buries her face in Clyde’s chest, unable to watch the next few moments unfold.

EVE: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

APOLLO: It’s… it’s alright. Just get going ok? It doesn’t hurt… it doesn’t hurt, really.

Apollo’s ears sink beneath the road. Entering a new world of perfect silence, Apollo sees the end nearing.

APOLLO: Oh god. Rob! ROB!!

I won’t play his final moments, for your benefit and, ultimately, for his. Before he sinks into the road, Apollo asks for Rob to talk to his family. He wants Rob to tell them that he loves them. Rob nods, knowing that Apollo won’t be able to hear his response.

After a few cries of panicked despair, Apollo’s eyes and mouth are enveloped by the road. His screams are drowned by the thick, churning asphalt.

Eve watches the rest of his body sink, while Lilith tugs at her sleeve, pulling her towards the roof.

LILITH: Come on we’ve got to go. Sarah we’ve got to go!

EVE: I’m sorry.

Whispering one last heartfelt apology to the air itself, Eve steps up with Lilith and stares at the cable.

AS: Ok guys just let yourself down until you’re hanging from the rope and work your way across.

LILITH: I got it! You ready?

Eve looks to her friend.

EVE: I… I don’t…

LILITH: Just watch me ok? Follow right behind me.

The Range Rover’s wheels have now disappeared. With every passing second, the cable’s clearance diminishes, and the angle between the roof bar and the Wrangler’s lighting rig becomes steeper. They need to start moving now or not at all.

Eve looks across the length of the rope. I can feel her mind kicking back at the prospect.

EVE: I can’t.

LILITH: Sarah… we fucking have to ok? Follow behind me.

Lilith wraps her arms around Eve, hugging her stiff, shivering frame, before letting go and crouching down to the rope, slowly working her way under it. Her hands clenching the cable, her legs wrapped securely around it, Lilith starts to pull herself along the rope, shifting her feet up every few seconds behind her. She fixes her eyes on me as she drags herself to the halfway mark.

LILITH: Is she following?!

The asphalt swallows the Range Rover’s lower chassis. Eve hasn’t moved a muscle. The stretch of black tarmac might as well be a bottomless ravine, the Grand Canyon. The idea of hanging herself over it mortifies her.

AS: Sarah! Sarah it’s not as bad as it looks, please! Please come on.

Lilith crosses the threshold. Her knuckles are white as she continues to cling to the rope. Rob marches up to her and helps her down into his arms, coaxing her hands free by telling her that she’s safe.

As soon as her feet hit the ground again, they give way beneath her, and Lilith sinks to the ground crying out.

LILITH: Sarah! Come on please!!

EVE: I can’t! I can’t… I…

LILITH: Please Sarah… I need you here.

Her shallow breaths quaking with anxiety, Eve slowly crouches down and grips the rope. Slowly but surely, as the asphalt consumes the car’s licence plate less than a metre below her, Eve lowers herself down and, with clumsy desperation, drags herself along the rope.

She’s left it late. Her back hangs mere inches from the hungry ground as she shuffles unevenly towards us, lifting her feet and scraping them up the rope, her arms straining to stay locked.

EVE: I’m not going to make it!

LILITH: You are! Keep going!

The Range Rover’s window is now disappearing, inside the dashboard has been submerged. With every yard that Eve manages to climb, the lowering rope ensures she stays close to the ground, even over the final few feet.

My heart breaks the moment her foot slips.

It happens almost too quickly to register. As Eve erratically shuffles her feet along the rope, her bare left foot gives way, swinging underneath her and kicking down onto the ground. Eve tries to raise it in time before discovering that she can’t.

LILITH: No… no no no please.

Thrown entirely off balance, Eve tries to pull herself up. However, with her lower leg seeping into the dark tar, her position can’t be maintained. She falls, her body twisting, as she falls onto the road.

Lilith releases a terrible shrieking cry. Eve whimpers as the side of her head rests against the tarmac, her cheek already subsumed.

EVE: I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

LILITH: No. No. Please don’t be sorry.

EVE: I.. love you. I love y… you Jen.

LILITH: I love you too… I’m sorry I didn’t… I’m so sorry.

Eve tries to reply, but half of her mouth is sealed shut, encased in the creeping asphalt. Her short breaths finally melt into one long inhalation, as her nose and mouth are sunk entirely.

One remaining eye takes a final, fleeting look at Lilith, before vanishing.

I look away from what is still to sink. The important things are already gone.

Lilith collapses on her knees, a screaming of torrent of grief expelled from her burning lungs. Rob is completely immobile, likely searching for something practical in which to bury himself. Bonnie & Clyde simply look lost, as they turn their backs on the sinking Range Rover.

Bluejay’s reaction surprises me. She stares into the tarmac, the smirk ripped from her face, replaced by a familiar look of shellshock. She repeatedly mutters something under her breath, something that sounds like:

“It’s not real… It’s not real.”

We stand in silence for what seems like an age, accompanied by the breeze and Lilith’s gradually waning laments. After she’s exorcised the immediate torment, her screaming descends into a deathly stillness.

Rob makes the first step to approach her.

ROB: I… I can take you back home if you want to-

LILITH: No... No.

Lilith wipes her eyes, as tears continue to fall freely down her cheeks. When she turns around, she looks enraged.

LILITH: No. I’m still going. I’m going to get to the end.

ROB: You know I can’t tell you when that’ll be.

Lilith stands up and glares at Rob, then looks over to Bonnie & Clyde.

LILITH: Are you guys still going? Do you have a seat free?

The siblings look to one another. Bonnie nods.

CLYDE: You got a place with us if you want it.

LILITH: Is the door unlocked?

CLYDE: Uhh yeah.

LILITH: Then what the fuck are we waiting around for?

Lilith marches to Clyde’s Ford and climbs into the back seat. She waits for us impatiently to finish up.

ROB: Anyone else want to turn around?

Rob looks to me and Bluejay. Bluejay sends a look of deep scorn his way before marching off to her own car.

ROB: Bristol?

The Range Rover has finally sunk. The road has settled back into a hard, permanent surface. It isn’t like Rob to offer me a ride home, and I feel overwhelmingly like I should take him up on it. But there are too many questions unanswered, too many unchallenged mysteries weaved into the fabric of this journey. Going back now wouldn’t be a return, it would be a retreat.

AS: I’m still going.

A few minutes later, the three remaining cars roll down the dirt track. Leaving another incomprehensible atrocity behind us. There’s a part of me that can’t believe I’m still continuing down this road, a greater part of me is astonished that no one took the opportunity to turn back.

As Rob carries me on to the next turn, and the one after that, I realise we all have our reasons. I’d become obsessed with chasing the truth, as had Bluejay in her way. Bonnie had her own, unsettling motives for carrying on, and Clyde wasn’t about to abandon her. Lilith had directed her smouldering anger and grief toward the road itself, seeking deliverance at its end. And Rob? As far as he’s concerned, there’s only one direction to go.

Still, when I think of the sorrows that have already befallen us, and the potential for unspeakable ruin that lies ahead, I realise that no one in their right mind would continue down this road.

I suppose no one is.

#creepy #horror story #series #left right game series #author: NeonTempo

35 notes · View notes

sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Has anyone heard of the Left/Right Game? (Part 5) by NeonTempo

Hi Guys,

Thanks for all your help.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 11/02/2017

The next morning, everything’s the same.

It’s strange. We’re usually so blind the quiet consistency in our everyday lives, only really taking notice once something changes. Yet, as I stir a spiral of honey into my oatmeal and glance around the group, it’s the notable lack of change that truly stands out.

As coping mechanisms go, it isn’t remotely healthy. I should know. I’m doing pretty much the exact same thing.

AS: Clyde, could I get a few words?

Clyde looks up from his food, a little surprised.

CLYDE: You want me?

AS: Hah, yeah… if that’s not too much trouble.

CLYDE: Oh no no, no trouble at all. You want to do it now? I’m not too hungry.

AS: No me neither. That would be great thank you. Would you mind if we moved away from the stove?

Clyde nods keenly. Putting my bowl to one side, I take Clyde to the edge of the apple grove. Nobody looks after us.

CLYDE: How are you holding up Bristol?

AS: Getting there. How about you?

CLYDE: I’m uhh… yeah I’m getting by.

AS: So can I ask… why did you choose Bonnie and Clyde as your call signs?

CLYDE: Hah well it came pretty easy. We used to play outlaws when we were kids, one time Bonnie stuck up a bank.

AS: Really?

CLYDE: Well, no it was an ice cream parlour. But Bonnie was pretending it was a bank and then she ran in, holding her hand like a gun. Told Mrs Gilford it was a stick-up.

AS: Wow, that doesn’t seem like her.

AS: It’s a good choice.

I pause, letting the previous subject fade before launching into the next one. All things considered, this may be the last time me and Clyde are on such casual speaking terms.

AS: Bonnie told me she talked to the hitchhiker.

CLYDE: Wh.. when did she tell you?

AS: I’m sorry Clyde… she didn’t. You just did.

Clyde can’t bring himself to talk, so I press forward.

AS: I think it might be best if you call Bonnie over here.

BONNIE: I didn’t want to cause any trouble, a… and Clyde’s been looking forward to this trip for so long I didn’t want us to turn back. I’m sorry.

AS: What happened Bonnie?

BONNIE: I just said two words. I wasn’t talking to him; I was doing what Rob said but then he… I just said “Bless you.” That’s all it was.

AS: That’s it?

BONNIE: Well I… he thanked me and then he was just… so easy to talk to and I thought, “Well I’ve already talked to him, what will a few more words do?”

CLYDE: She hardly said anything else.

AS: What about him? Did he say anything?

Bonnie starts to smile, the same way she did last night. A dreamy, enthused expression glowing with reminiscent joy.

BONNIE: He told me about this wonderful place. Wasn’t it wonderful Martin?

CLYDE: Bonnie-

BONNIE: Just a few houses by the sea, but he made it sound so nice.

CLYDE: Bonnie, please…

BONNIE: What’s wrong? I can talk about it right?

When I look back to Clyde, his lips are firmly pressed together, his facial muscles tight. He’s holding something back, but what slips through betrays a poignant dismay.

CLYDE: It’s all you talk about Bonnie. You… you mentioned it a few times after… and since Jubilation you ain’t stopped.

AS: Are you guys talking about Wintery Bay?

Clyde grimaces, and Bonnie grins, when they hear the name.

AS: Bonnie are we heading there?

BONNIE: The hitchhiker said it’s on our way. I’m so looking forward to seeing it.

AS: Does Rob know?

CLYDE: I didn’t want to-

AS: You didn’t want to trouble him? Or did you just not want him to turn you around?

BONNIE: I’m alright, really.

AS: Well either way, you need to tell Rob before we hit the road.

Clyde shuffles uncomfortably.

AS: I’m not going to do it for you. But too much has happened on this trip already. Ace is… this place is dangerous ok? There’s no place for lies any more.

Rob looks like he’s about to make his morning address. The group wanders over, some more reluctantly than others, and gathers around the Wrangler.

The group stays quiet.

Bluejay throws her hand up lazily. Bonnie and Clyde, predictably, raise theirs. Apollo raises his a few moments later.

APOLLO: Hey, I’ve come this far.

That leaves Lilith and Eve. After sharing a brief glance with her friend, Lilith raises her hand and Eve follows suit, albeit with an air of trepidation.

AS: Oh sorry. Yeah I’m in... I’m going… that way.

I gesture to the road ahead and raise my hand redundantly.

ROB: Well ok. I guess that’s everyone then. We got a fair way to travel today but there ain’t much to see. Just follow the rules and take things as they come I guess.

Rolling, Elysian corn fields span the roadside for the next five hours. Turns are few and far between, but Rob’s attention never wavers. I only manage to grasp his attention briefly.

AS: Aren’t Jeeps supposed to have poor fuel economy?

ROB: They ain’t the best. That’s why I always bring gas along.

AS: It’s just… the fuel gauge has hardly moved since we left this morning.

ROB: Haha. You noticed that huh? I was wonderin’ if you were gunna.

AS: Why, what have you done to it?

ROB: Nuthin’. It’s the road. Makes fuel burn slower.

AS: Seriously?

ROB: Ain’t just that either. You finish your food this mornin’?

AS: No… why?

ROB: Hardly anyone did, ‘cept Apollo. More you go, less you need to keep goin’.

AS: Ok… wait you said the road pushes against you.

ROB: Yep.

AS: But now you’re making it sound like it’s helping us along.

ROB: Yep.

AS: So it’s hostile whilst also incentivising us? That sounds odd to me.

ROB: Sounds like life to me. Reasons to stop, reasons to keep goin’.

Rob slows the car down to a crawl, a precaution he takes before most corners. My eyes wander gently back into the Wrangler, finally resting on the rear view.

There’s something behind us. A humanoid figure, shrouded in the soft focus of considerable distance. It staggers quickly toward the convoy, unsure on its own feet.

AS: Rob what is that?

Rob follows my gaze to the rear view mirror. His brow furrows.

ROB: Somethin’ new.

Rob grabs the receiver. Before he can make an announcement, the speaker splutters with static, followed by Eve’s frantic voice.

EVE: Guys there’s something behind us... guys? Something’s coming after us. Bluejay can you see it?

Bluejay doesn’t answer. I doubt she considers it worth her time. A squealing panic rings out over the radio as Eve calls again.

EVE: Is it from Jubilation? Guys? Guys?!

ROB: Stay calm everyone. Let’s pick up the pace a little.

Rob lets his foot rest heavier on the gas. The Wrangler gently accelerates, with the rest of the convoy eagerly matching our speed.

APOLLO: Who is that Rob?

ROB: I ain’t so sure, but we got a turn coming up. Let’s just get ourselves off the road, see if he follows.

The figure continues to stumble towards us. Its arms hang crookedly in the air and, as it comes into sharper focus, I can just make out that there’s something wrong with its face.

EVE: Guys speed up, please. Please.

LILITH: Calm down.

EVE: It’s coming for us!

EVE: It’s face. Oh my god! Oh my god. Guys please!

BLUEJAY: Jesus, shut up!

APOLLO: Hey that is NOT helping. Rob it’s movin’ pretty fast we-

ROB: We stay the course. It ain’t caught up yet just-

EVE: Oh god. Oh god, oh GOD!

I get a brief glimpse of Eve & Lilith as our windows align.

The figure continues to lurch towards us.

ROB: Ferryman to Eve & Lilith. Stop the car right now.

LILITH: Eve slow down!

ROB: Eve goddamnit you’re gonna-

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: I told’em to be careful!

AS: Why what’s-

They’ve missed the next turn.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. I’ve found the turn, let’s make it quick. Eve and Lilith you stay in the car. I’m coming back to get you both.

Once they’re all safely pulled in, Rob climbs into the back of the car, grabs his rifle and jumps out onto the path. I quickly climb out and follow behind him.

Rob looks shaken as he raises the rifle to his shoulder, bidding the figure turn around.

Fear shifts into confusion as the creature passes them by, and continues down the road. It’s as if it doesn’t even know we’re here.

The shirt, the dirt covered jeans. They aren’t dissimilar to the ones I found in the brown leather duffel bag, resting atop the block of C4.

I’m lucky, this time at least. The dial tone cuts out, and the figure continues to stumble its way toward the horizon.

The next thing I hear is a scream.

Scanning for its source, I see Eve, her door open and with one foot out of the car. She’s frantically pulling at her leg, seemingly unable to lift it from the tarmac.

AS: Eve what’s going on?

The thought comes to Eve the same moment it does to me. We both fix our eyes on the back of the car, where same, soft indent is gradually developing around the tyres.

ROB: They ain’t pulled back yet?

In the midst of such an impossible sight, all I can say to Rob is:

AS: They’re trying.

The engine chokes, defeated, and I can see Eve screaming into her fists as the roadway calmly continues its work.

ROB: Goddamn it we can’t reach’em. Tell’em to get on top of the car.

APOLLO: What the… What’s happening Rob?

ROB: Bristol! Tell’em to get on the roof!

AS: Eve! Lilith! I need you to get on top of the car ok? Guys?

EVE: We’re sinking! Oh fuck… oh fuck we’re-

The tarmac has swallowed its way to the car’s lower chassis. Eve stares, transfixed by the road as it pulls her ever closer towards it.

LILITH: Sarah look at me!

LILITH: Get up here.

She joins her friend on the roof just as the road consumes the lower edge of the door, spilling inside the car’s cabin like magma.

ROB: Damnit they’re too far away.

Rob threads one end of the rope through a carabiner and secures it in place with a tight knot. He holds it to his side as he shouts to Lilith & Eve.

Lilith looks pale. She nods before clambering to her feet, and stepping to the back of the car. Eve watches on, her hands wrapped around her legs.

ROB: Well, here goes nothin’.

I watch it pass in front of her, the metal of the carabiner glinting in the sun as it falls.

She catches it, grasping the rope in her shaking hands.

ROB: Goddamnit! Ok… if I just got somethin’ else. Somethin’ we can put down.

AS: The empty jerry cans? They could step on-

ROB: Too unstable, and we’d have to throw them perfect. Ok… ok.

The road has claimed almost half the car now, eating up the licence plate as the vehicle sinks lower and lower. Lilith looks helplessly on as we deliberate, Eve crying her eyes out behind her.

CLYDE: We could get a ground sheet.

ROB: We ain’t got one that’ll stretch.

AS: Well what about-

APOLLO: I’m going out there.

Apollo’s blank statement catches us all by surprise. Turning in his direction, I note a direct and powerful confidence in his manner.

ROB: I ain’t got more rope.

APOLLO: You got the winch right? If I drive out with it bunched up on my lap I can make sure it never goes slack. Then I hook it up to my roof bars and we get the hell outta dodge.

ROB: You got the best car for it. But I should drive out there.

APOLLO: You need to work the winch. Bonnie & Clyde can’t climb back.

He skips over his rationale for not choosing Bluejay, not wanting to waste time on a foregone conclusion.

AS: What about me? I’m lighter, the climb back would be easier.

APOLLO: But you can’t help them when they’re jumping over. We’re wasting time you know it’s a good idea.

Rob takes a moment to consider it, his mind fighting for a better solution.

ROB: You’d better get back here Apollo.

APOLLO: Don’t plan on hanging around there Rob.

I turn back to Lilith.

AS: Did you hear that Lilith?!

Lilith is huddled next to Eve, attempting to comfort her as the car’s headlights disappear into the depths of the road. Her head snaps round when I call.

LILITH: What’s… what’s happening?

AS: Apollo’s coming out to you. You have to jump onto his car and climb back over ok?

LILITH: … Ok!

She hurries back to Eve, grasping her friend’s shoulders as she relays the plan.

ROB: Ok that’ll hold.

Bonnie and Clyde are helping to throw Apollos’ baggage out of the trunk and onto the rode behind him. The less he has to lose on this trip the better.

ROB: All set up over here.

APOLLO: Ok. See you on the other side Rob.

APOLLO: I don’t think I got the insurance for this.

Clumsily, still feeling the aftereffects of the sudden stop, Apollo throws open his door and starts to climb out.

APOLLO: Take in the slack Rob!

APOLLO: Ok come on I got you, we’ve got to move fast now.

Lilith stands up, helping Eve to her feet before stepping down onto the rapidly disappearing trunk.

LILITH: Ok… ok…

Lilith yelps as he throws herself towards Apollo. Her front foot plants itself on the hood of the car, her other leg flailing in the air behind her. Apollo grabs her by the arms and yanks her onto the car, holding her close to him as she gets her bearing on the smooth metal of the hood. When she’s stable, he lets her crawl up onto the roof, where she immediately looks back to Eve.

APOLLO: See Eve, nothin’ to it. Come on now.

Apollo’s back thuds into the asphalt, his head smacking audibly against it. Dazed and concussed, he manages to hold Eve aloft, keeping everything but her feet from joining him on the hard ground.

APOLLO: Get back up… quickly get back up.

APOLLO: It’s ok. It’s ok. Go on. It’s ok.

Bonnie buries her face in Clyde’s chest, unable to watch the next few moments unfold.

EVE: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

APOLLO: It’s… it’s alright. Just get going ok? It doesn’t hurt… it doesn’t hurt, really.

Apollo’s ears sink beneath the road. Entering a new world of perfect silence, Apollo sees the end nearing.

APOLLO: Oh god. Rob! ROB!!

After a few cries of panicked despair, Apollo’s eyes and mouth are enveloped by the road. His screams are drowned by the thick, churning asphalt.

Eve watches the rest of his body sink, while Lilith tugs at her sleeve, pulling her towards the roof.

LILITH: Come on we’ve got to go. Sarah we’ve got to go!

EVE: I’m sorry.

Whispering one last heartfelt apology to the air itself, Eve steps up with Lilith and stares at the cable.

AS: Ok guys just let yourself down until you’re hanging from the rope and work your way across.

LILITH: I got it! You ready?

Eve looks to her friend.

EVE: I… I don’t…

LILITH: Just watch me ok? Follow right behind me.

Eve looks across the length of the rope. I can feel her mind kicking back at the prospect.

EVE: I can’t.

LILITH: Sarah… we fucking have to ok? Follow behind me.

LILITH: Is she following?!

AS: Sarah! Sarah it’s not as bad as it looks, please! Please come on.

As soon as her feet hit the ground again, they give way beneath her, and Lilith sinks to the ground crying out.

LILITH: Sarah! Come on please!!

EVE: I can’t! I can’t… I…

LILITH: Please Sarah… I need you here.

She’s left it late. Her back hangs mere inches from the hungry ground as she shuffles unevenly towards us, lifting her feet and scraping them up the rope, her arms straining to stay locked.

EVE: I’m not going to make it!

LILITH: You are! Keep going!

My heart breaks the moment her foot slips.

LILITH: No… no no no please.

Lilith releases a terrible shrieking cry. Eve whimpers as the side of her head rests against the tarmac, her cheek already subsumed.

EVE: I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

LILITH: No. No. Please don’t be sorry.

EVE: I.. love you. I love y… you Jen.

LILITH: I love you too… I’m sorry I didn’t… I’m so sorry.

Eve tries to reply, but half of her mouth is sealed shut, encased in the creeping asphalt. Her short breaths finally melt into one long inhalation, as her nose and mouth are sunk entirely.

One remaining eye takes a final, fleeting look at Lilith, before vanishing.

I look away from what is still to sink. The important things are already gone.

“It’s not real… It’s not real.”

Rob makes the first step to approach her.

ROB: I… I can take you back home if you want to-

LILITH: No... No.

Lilith wipes her eyes, as tears continue to fall freely down her cheeks. When she turns around, she looks enraged.

LILITH: No. I’m still going. I’m going to get to the end.

ROB: You know I can’t tell you when that’ll be.

Lilith stands up and glares at Rob, then looks over to Bonnie & Clyde.

LILITH: Are you guys still going? Do you have a seat free?

The siblings look to one another. Bonnie nods.

CLYDE: You got a place with us if you want it.

LILITH: Is the door unlocked?

CLYDE: Uhh yeah.

LILITH: Then what the fuck are we waiting around for?

Lilith marches to Clyde’s Ford and climbs into the back seat. She waits for us impatiently to finish up.

ROB: Anyone else want to turn around?

Rob looks to me and Bluejay. Bluejay sends a look of deep scorn his way before marching off to her own car.

ROB: Bristol?

AS: I’m still going.

Still, when I think of the sorrows that have already befallen us, and the potential for unspeakable ruin that lies ahead, I realise that no one in their right mind would continue down this road.

I suppose no one is.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

3 notes · View notes

agro-carnist · 7 years

Note

Hi, I have recently seen the youtube video "The Wool Industry EXPOSED (What They Don't Want You To Know)" and I'm not sure what to think. I'm not really familiar with things in the wool industry but something about the video seems staged. I have also seen other videos of sheep being sheared were the sheep was completely cooperative with the handelr, which wouldn't be possible if it was always like in the video. Can you provide something useful for me?

Here’s my two-cents on the matter. Put under the cut because this will be pretty long.

One of the main points you’ll hear from the anti-wool crowd is that shearing actively harms the sheep. They will do one of two things: show you a very much fake image of a sheared sheep that dramatizes injury, such as in the infamous PeTA ad:

Or, take a real image of a sheared sheep and pretend the minor nicks on it are actually super horrible wounds, like in that popular “freshly peeled sheep” tumblr post.

Here’s an image of a newly sheered sheep:

You can see some small cuts on the side of the one in front, but they are very minor. That’s pretty normal. You’re working with a creature that doesn’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. If you’ve ever cut a dog’s nails, that makes a lot of sense. You try your hardest not to cut the dog’s quick, but sometimes they jerk their paw back just as you squeeze the trimmers and you find blood leaking out of their nail. But nobody would say that cutting a dog’s nails is abuse. Sheering a sheep is also just as necessary as trimming nails. Wool will keep growing and growing and can cause a good deal of harm if left unattended. Just ask Shrek, the famous sheep who was found with a huge load of wool still on him:

Even though Shrek is an extreme, sheep are more vulnerable to heat exhaustion when their wool is left unsheered. The tightly packed wool is also an excellent environment for sheep keds and other parasites, as well as build up of fecal material. So it’s definitely a wise decision to sheer your sheepies.

Onto that video itself. I absolutely hate this Youtuber, and I avoid ARA Youtubers like the plague most of the time, so I might not even be able to make it through the whole near 15 minutes. I’ll try to keep it brief.

She first discusses tail docking and that it is done to prevent fecal matter buildup around the rump. She suggests just simple hygiene practices instead of docking, but the industry doesn’t do this because they maintain flocks of large numbers. This is true, but also mind you that cleaning a sheep isn’t all that easy. Wool is tightly curled so just washing the wool may not entirely clean the sheep. And as mentioned before, parasites adore this sort of environment because it’s just so dang difficult to get them out.

She also mentions that they dock without painkillers. But she doesn’t tell you that most countries ban or limit the practice of tail docking without anesthetics, or use fat or short-tailed breeds that don’t need the tail docking procedure, instead of long-tailed breeds. She also doesn’t tell you that the practice is done on young sheep because they have fewer nerves/blood vessels than adults. She also will definitely never ever tell you that tail docking and castration methods are a controversy in the industry, and that many people are pushing for mandatory anesthetics or are looking for alternatives to docking, because ARAs think we’re all a hivemind bent on milking out the most money possible.

Next she brings up selective breeding. It honestly baffles me why ARAs bring up artificial selection in the first place when these animals were domesticated thousands of years ago. Sheep are the oldest domesticated animal. Whining about how we made them grow excess wool isn’t going to bring back their wild genetics. She talks about sheep overheating in summer - odd, because the time to shear sheep is in the spring, specifically so that they don’t overheat. Shearing at this time also encourages pregnant ewes to lamb indoors, where the lambs aren’t so vulnerable.

She also brings up that “thousands” of sheep die from heat exhaustion. I tried looking up what the rate is for sheep mortality from overheating. So, naturally, I went looking for actual statistics, and not vague statements (surprised that she provides no sources for her claims?). According to this document on sheep and lamb death in the US in 2011, the majority of sheep deaths occurred due to old age (22%). Only 8.5% of sheep deaths were from weather-related conditions (this number is higher for lambs because newborns are naturally more susceptible to weather conditions). Four other factors caused higher rates of death than weather. The number of sheep that die on farms is around 3.8%. This isn’t exactly impressive.

Now I’m only three minutes in and tired of listening to this trash of a Youtube channel, and this is also getting quite long, so I’m all bullshitted out. I looked at her description and while she does provide sources for the videos she uses, she has no sources at all for where she got her information. Pretty typical of an ARA.

I’m not dumb enough to pretend that there aren’t abusive people in the industry. But I’m also not thick-headed enough to assert that cruel instances from huge corporations is a norm for the industry. If you abuse your animals, you make shit products. Huge companies can get away with this because they already have a name, and anybody will buy their products even if they’re shit. Using individual cases as evidence that an entire industry is fucked is wrong; you need to use statistics of all the farms if you want to prove that this is a normal thing that occurs and is praised by every other producer. Of course you can find videos and articles of a certain farm abusing their animals. You can find hospitals abusing their patients. You can find grocery stores abusing their workers. You can find animal shelters abusing and killing their animals. That’s how industries work. You find fucked up ones. It’s the responsibility of ethical producers and consumers to call them out and improve the standards.

I hope this was educational and that I didn’t bore you to death. The best way to learn about wool is to talk with wool producers, go to wool farms, and find information from unbiased sources. If I left something out or gave wrong information, let me know. I ran through this rather quickly so I didn’t have to death with the video anymore.

Cheers,

Agro

#sheep #wool #animal welfare #everytime i see this girls face i vomit a little

31 notes · View notes

lesbeet · 7 years

Note

Hi Sefa, I was just wondering if you had any resources about why Zionism is such a popular viewpoint in the west, or if you could point me in the right direction. Sorry if this is coming off like "it's your duty to teach me" but your post has just really shown me I don't know nearly enough about the subject

hope you don’t mind me posting this! some disclaimers: i am not, nor do i claim to be, an expert on this by ANY means. i don’t really have specific resources for you but i’ll try to give an explanation based on my own views. i’m mostly going to be speaking from personal experience as someone who grew up as (and still is) a mostly mainstream american jew. i would offer links and sources but it’s hard to find unbiased ones so rather than give links to sites i can’t guarantee the objectivity of, i’ll give my knowledge and then encourage you to go explore more info on your own if you so choose. this is gonna be long, so buckle in.

so first of all, zionism, from what i know, was originally a movement to unite jews worldwide into a singular group and to eventually gain self-determination. early zionists always had their eye on palestine, but were also looking at several other countries in which to establish a sovereign jewish state, like uganda. since the establishment of the state of israel in 1948, the goal of zionism is essentially to support and justify the reason for israel’s existence, and to purport that jews deserve to live safely in a nation of our own. it’s essentially a form of jewish nationalism.

prior to the holocaust there was nowhere near as much widespread jewish support for zionism. global antisemitism is an enormous reason why so many jews are zionists, which, while not justified or acceptable, is an understandable path of logic. additionally, and perhaps due to that, jews in the west (and possibly elsewhere, but i can’t speak on that) are often basically brainwashed into idealizing israel as the be-all end-all of judaism, the eventual endgame we should all strive toward.

there’s a lot of anti-arab and anti-palestinian propaganda, a lot of historical revisionism, and it’s fed to kids at such a young age and then reinforced through many jewish institutions throughout our lives. i definitely considered myself a zionist at one point in the not-so-recent past, though i also considered myself pro-palestine (which obviously doesn’t work). it’s a dastardly combination of real antisemitism and embellished logic fed to corruptible people who really don’t have the knowledge to believe anything else.

i grew up at a conservative synagogue and a reform summer camp, and they both fairly equally contributed to this brainwashing. american jews pray facing east, we say prayers for the state of israel. young kids slip tiny notes and prayers into paper and cardboard models of the western wall. we learn about israeli culture and at camp several times a summer we had israel day. when i was a sophomore we had army day at one point in the summer, and our counselors (who were all israeli in that particular unit) pretended to be our army commanders for the day. we had educational programs about israel. it’s a lot of reinforced bias and brainwashing so that by the time you’re old enough to think critically, your mind is already made up and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re misunderstanding SO many things.

we’re taught to essentially keep israel in our back pockets as an option in case antisemitism in our home countries gets to be too dangerous. we’re supposed to believe that israel really is the center of judaism and that diasporic jews are just waiting to come home. it’s insidious. and naturally i learned a bunch of false or revised versions of history that led me to believe, of course israel should exist and has always done the right thing, everyone just hates israel because everyone hates the jews and we’re not safe anywhere else.

so essentially there are two kinds of zionists that you’ll come into contact with in the west: those who are fully aware of the objective facts and still support the ideology, who use twisted versions of that information to brainwash others into agreeing with them, and those who have been brainwashed. you’ll meet much more of the latter group than the former, especially if they’re just mainstream western jews who have never really taken the time to learn about israel for themselves beyond what they were taught by mainstream jewish institutions - and that rarely happens.

it’s the perfect system. they point out the very real antisemitism that exists in the world and they say, “look! look at how dangerous it is to be jewish in this world! this is why we need a place of our own, where we can be safe and we can be jewish in peace!” which isn’t inherently a nasty idea on its own, but jewish safety CANNOT come at the expense of others. and having an established state comes at the expense of displacing and enacting violence and oppression against the palestinian people.

jewish antizionists aren’t self-hating internalized antisemites, we just don’t believe our own well-being should come at the expense of the well-being of other people.

what i really believe is that rather than taking an attitude of “if you’re a western jewish zionist literally don’t ever come in contact with me and also you should die” i think we should be reaching out to these people and having these discussions, explain the realities of the evils and crimes against humanity israel is committing against the people of palestine, and explain that it is VERY possible to have a strong jewish identity while condemning atrocities committed against others. in fact, zionism as it exists really can’t be reconciled with judaism at all.

that kind of reaching out would have helped me learn the truth much sooner, and i think that’s the way we need to approach this. maybe this wouldn’t be an effective strategy in every situation, but i truly believe is that a lot of mainstream american jewish “zionists” wouldn’t really support zionism if they knew the truth - that’s what happened with me and a number of other american antizionist jews that i know. so rather than pushing them away and declaring them to be lost causes, we should be educating them and gaining their sympathies for our cause, because after all the entire purpose is to stop the nationalist ideology and to stop the oppression of palestinians, not to yell at zionists for social justice brownie points and then do nothing material.

as far as non-jewish zionists, israel is a major u.s. ally and also some sects of christianity believe that jesus won’t return until the jews have control of israel. so that’s why a lot of (mostly conservative) goyim in the u.s. consider themselves zionists.

i hope that made sense? again i’m not a historian or an expert or anything of the sort, this is just a brief (lol) explanation of how i personally have come to interpret the situation

#zionism #antizionism #long post /#the-dangers-of-ingesting-mercury #answered

62 notes · View notes

confused--castiel · 3 years

Text

Someone really had this whole big thing about how cizikas likely accidentally laid an illegal hit and should be the last person held accountable etc etc bc of their experience with rugby

And I was happy with their explanation

And then guess what they ended it with. Guess.

“And anyway your team has Brad Marchand!” (paraphrased)

Are you actually fucking kidding me. You just went on a whole thing about how bringing something up just because your team is losing is bad, which is true!!! It was awful and fucked up!!!!!!! And you talk about how no matter what your intent was, the way you phrase it can be kinda sus. And then you end. On that. You end by basically saying “well at least our player didn’t k*ll on purpose!”. After all the discussion of how intent doesn’t matter when you bring up something like this, THATS how you choose to end the post. Genuinely how fucking dare you.

I want to make it VERY CLEAR: bringing up this incident was extremely fucked up and the timing definitely made it seem “gotcha”, I am not on the OPs side AT ALL, it was awful of them. I also don’t think Cizikas is at all to blame. But why in the hell did you decide that ending this with ANOTHER “gotcha” was a good fucking idea. As though a player who sometimes lays dirty hits (that rarely ever injure bc he understands his own strength and how to use it) is anywhere NEAR comparable to someone DYING from injury. If you think adding a dig at brad marchand at the end of a post where you talk about a very sensitive situation involving a CHILDS DEATH is appropriate, please block me right now. You ask others to have empathy and humanity in a serious situation and then in the same paragraph decide to go after someone in an awful way just because you don’t like their hockey.

#talk about sinking to their level lol.#mentioning ‘the stuff tom wilson and ryan reaves do would never fly in rugby’ made sense #you didn’t go GOTCHA THEY SUCK HAHA!!!!#you just mentioned them in a relevant situation.#and at the end you decide to go after marchy.#so your post was just pretending to be educational and unbiased? ok lol #I’m literally ‘biased’ towards the team AGAINST the isles in this round #and I miraculously managed to approach this from a HUMAN perspective #unlike you apparently!!!!!!!#it’s so so so so SO fucking gross to effectively call how marchy plays worse than accidentally KILLING someone. FUCKING GROSS.#I really thought this topic was settled lol #hopefully this is the last thing I’ll have to say bc people will just block me instead of hg BUT MARCHAND IS A MURDERER or some shit #kinda personal #not tagging anyone #only triggers #death tw #tw child death #tw death #child death tw #death #child death #I think that’s good?#ask to tag

2 notes · View notes

harritudur · 7 years

Conversation

what she says: i'm fine

what she means: i just can't with people cloaking themself in the flag of truth and making long af posts to expose their many 'facts' and say 'i have to disagree with you. here point by points how wrong you are about Henry VII'. they pretend to be unbiased but each reblog they share about Henry is just to hijack a post *daring* to find a quality in him (a post about how not very fair it is to call him a coward -LMAO NOPE SORRY HE WAS! HERE WHY: POINT #1...- a post about affectionate he was toward Elizabeth -HAHA NO? HE CLEARLY DIDN'T LOVE HER AND ONLY LISTENNED HIS MUMMY!- a post about his talents as monarch -MONARCH?? DID YOU MEAN TYRANT AND COLD MANIAC??). if you want me to accept your criticisms at least try *SOMETIMES* to reblog wrong informations about him and to correct them, so this way you would look balanced and not acting with a double standard... like when, you know? -writing fics where he is always depicted as the devil himself through the eyes of the brave and the suffering silently yorkists -or sharing post making fun of him or his physical or his suporters -or reblogging posts to correct a quality that Henry *clearly* didn't have.

but LMAO YEAH LET'S IGNORE THIS POST WHERE HE IS DEPICTED AS VIOLENT TOWARDS HIS CHILDREN, OR KEEPING HIS WIFE IN RAGS BECAUSE IT IS FUUUUUUUN.

sure. yeah. i will totally accept your long and detailled essays about Henry because you LOOK SOOOOOOOOO UNBIASED IN YOUR POSTS ABOUT HIM (at least *I* know that i am biased but i am not pretending to educated everybody with my deep and meaningful and ~impartial knowledge)

#I HAD TO PUT THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM #*ugh*#please get off your high horse when you are ~~trying to sound unbiased

12 notes · View notes

weightlossfitnesssinfo · 4 years

Text

7 Fitness Hacks for 2020

No higher a supply than Sandi Duncan, managing editor of the Farmers' Almanac, has stated that the brand new decade begins on January 1, 2021. Most folks suppose it is January 1, 2020. I am not going to weigh in right here with a choice. I'll simply say that my options, under, for the brand new decade, can both begin in 2020 or they are often prepped in 2020 for full-blown implementation in 2021. Everyone is completely happy. Everyone wins. The extra vital factor is the necessity to deal with the final ten years of health hype and drama, transfer on the subsequent ten years, and create a greater world for everybody.

Say Goodbye to Research Bros

The scientific trial is vitally vital, but it surely has by no means been, and by no means will probably be, the total extent of "The Science Game."

- Jonathan Rauch, The Kindly Inquisitors pic.twitter.com/labVIhBfnU

— CJ Gotcher (@CJGotcher) October 22, 2019

Research and science are good. Sports analysis and science are okay and serve a function. Normal folks, sports activities science and analysis, and reactions to each paper that comes out needs to be put as a replacement. Too many specialists, so-called specialists, and commentaries about analysis papers have diluted the affect of the analysis.

There are six billion permutations of humanity, and rising, on this earth proper now. Each one has a singular chemical and organic profile, sharing a number of similarities within the core design, however differing in virtually imperceptible ways in which lead to huge swings in means and flexibility.

Even with out statistical points, sports activities science faces a reliability downside. A 2017 paper revealed within the International Journal of Sports Physiology and Performance pointed to insufficient validation that surrogate outcomes actually mirror what they’re meant to measure, a dearth of longitudinal and replication research, the restricted reporting of null or trivial outcomes, and inadequate scientific transparency as different issues threatening the sector’s reliability and validity.

- How Shoddy Statistics Found A Home In Sports Research

Genetics performs a job in your bodily well-being. Environment does, too. Your personal pure inclinations, prejudices, and devotion may even come into play. The variety of methods wherein you might be completely different from the particular person subsequent to you is infinite.

Sports science and analysis aren't that well-funded, it usually struggles to seek out our bodies for its evaluation, and there's legitimate debate as as to if the statistical methodology is, consequently, even legitimate.

It serves a function, but it surely is not meant to vary your coaching packages and fundamentals each second week of the month.

However, having stated all of that, should you actually wish to go all analysis bro, keep on with Greg Nuckols and subscribe to his publication or podcasts, relying on how deep you wish to go on these things. Nuckols is an efficient educator and different coaches gravitate to his in-depth evaluation as a result of he offers them a number of materials they'll use.

He's not essentially somebody that I might comply with for teaching recommendation as a result of there is a swathe of coaches in bodybuilding, powerlifting, and weightlifting who're higher suited as specialists, however you'll be able to ditch all the opposite analysis bros and never miss a beat.

Stop Dieting

Diets are enterprise. They are neither science nor plans nor silver bullet options. Dieting is a multi-multi-billion business. While there are legitimate causes for folks to food plan, significantly in instances of power illness, diabetes, weight problems, and such, there's little or no motive to purchase into an business that's unregulated, untenable, and pushed by the need to promote false hope.

You will food plan. You will since you're human. You purchase lottery tickets considering you might that 1 in 234,000,000 who will strike the Jackpot. You do not stroll underneath ladders in case unhealthy luck befalls you. You suppose WWE is actual.

What if the reply to our well being and wellness challenges is to eat extra beef?

This can be wonderful information for each the patron and beef producers such as you and me.

- The completely unbiased Beef Magazine

The weight-reduction plan con is a stain on the health business. The sooner folks began to eat higher, sparsely, with some thought put into high quality over amount, the higher it will likely be for everybody. If you'll be able to't get pleasure from consuming then you've got an actual downside and a food plan is simply compounding the distress.

The research within the well-respected Annals of Internal Medicine rocked the vitamin world by suggesting the detrimental well being results of purple and processed meat had been overstated. The worldwide group of researchers, headed by Bradley C. Johnston, an epidemiologist at Dalhousie University in Canada, concluded that warnings linking meat consumption to coronary heart illness and most cancers will not be backed by good scientific proof. The group, which calls itself NutriRECS, really useful meat eaters proceed their present ranges of consumption.

But undisclosed within the research was that NutriRECS, a consortium of about 20 researchers, has additionally fashioned a partnership with an arm of Texas A&M University partially funded by the meat business. The omission is the most recent twist in an ongoing debate about how a lot researchers must open up to the general public about potential conflicts of curiosity.

- Washington Post

Learn to Lift

Get a coach. Kettlebells, barbells, powerlifting, weightlifting, yoga, working, something that you can imagine requires some knowledgeable steering and method constructing. You could also be fortunate to be one in every of a small group, a one-percenter, who can study any bodily motion by yourself. That's nice. Most everybody wants assist.

Learning to raise correctly is a lifetime funding. Learning to raise correctly to your physique kind, your mechanics, properly, that is simply gold. Knowledgeable coach or coach, somebody who has skilled many, many individuals, will understand how that can assist you determine the cues it is advisable to raise correctly.

An attention-grabbing article on elements that trigger accidents within the warehouse is an efficient place to begin as a result of lifting that ought to come naturally is problematic sufficient, now add the complexity of the extremely technical lifts you do in typical weightlifting or powerlifting periods. What I wish to emphasize is how vital it's to develop a no brainer, no cues wanted method to lifting to keep away from harm and failure. Learning to raise is a lifetime dedication.

There are generalities that you simply decide up on social media, and there are a number of silly ones at that, however in the principle, you might be distinctive and might be a lot extra environment friendly should you had consciousness of what which means within the bodily aircraft.

It's the one funding it is advisable to make in your self.

Drop Your Friends

Not actual pals. The pretend ones, those on social media. The solely opinion that issues is yours. You must really feel good in your personal pores and skin. You must have a deal with in your well being. A remark or an opinion from somebody who is not you is irrelevant.

There are provisos although: if you're competing and you've got a coach, they might inform you that you're not ready and push you to make changes. A certified skilled offers a medical opinion in your well being is one other space the place opinion issues. Other than that, it is all on you.

A scientific overview of 20 papers revealed in 2016 discovered that photo-based actions, like scrolling via Instagram or posting footage of your self, have been a specific downside when it got here to detrimental ideas about your physique.

- The Complicated Truth About Social Media and Body Image

Whether folks inform you you are nice otherwise you suck, it is all the identical. Your notion of how others see you is all the time fallacious and their must touch upon you is their downside, a mirrored image of their very own points.

But, most significantly, you might then really feel compelled to cut back your reliance on social media for inspiration, validation, and neighborhood. None of it's actual as a result of the depth of thought and engagement simply is not there. You do not overindulge in your vitamin so, why overindulge your psyche?

Don't Lead, Don't Follow

Straight off the final hack, it is turn into very easy for folks to seek out succor on-line amongst like-minded people, gurus, and shamans. Everyone gravitates in direction of that one coach, or coach, who confirms their very own biases and beliefs. It is, as they are saying, the echo chamber.

The greatest manner ahead is to stay fluid, to keep away from the black and white of the echo chamber and to just accept that there are not any absolutes in health. Every particular person responds to and desires completely different stimuli to adapt, to develop, to raised themselves. While fundamentals are nice, we imagine that wholeheartedly, the way you react on any given day or program is solely distinctive.

So, you give attention to studying about you greater than determining how another person bought to the place they bought. Arnold Schwarzenegger would discuss how he tried completely different workouts and routines then judged how he felt afterward, whether or not they felt like they have been taxing him, and this methodology of trial and error guided him at first. Bodybuilding is a fairly good place to know the must be your personal experiment, your personal chief, and your personal follower.

It might also make you much less of a troll on-line, too. Who would not need that?

Buy a New Gym Membership

Unless your life depends upon a sure coaching modality it is all the time good so that you can deal with gyms the identical manner as you deal with eating places. You might have a favourite place that you simply default to, however finally, all of us wish to strive new cuisines, new locations, and infrequently discover the expertise very satisfying or instructional.

You would possibly work out what you want or want or, you might turn into sure about what would not be just right for you. If you strive completely different group lessons, you'll, undoubtedly, turn into higher at appreciating good versus meh teaching. Different disciplines humble you as a result of they power you to get out of your consolation zone. It could also be so simple as ditching weights in the future and doing yoga, which appears manner tougher than it needs to be for some folks to recover from mentally.

You would possibly strive having a sports activities day to interrupt up your exercise, a pick-up recreation of basketball, a tennis match, one thing that requires you to play with others versus simply exercise in your factor. All these items construct consciousness of your bodily self and expose your adaptability and athleticism, or lack thereof.

7 Fitness Hacks for 2020 is republished from Weight Loss Fitness

from Weight Loss Fitness - Feed https://weightlossfitnesss.info/7-fitness-hacks-for-2020/

0 notes

weightlossfitness2 · 4 years

Text

7 Fitness Hacks for 2020

No higher a supply than Sandi Duncan, managing editor of the Farmers’ Almanac, has stated that the brand new decade begins on January 1, 2021. Most folks suppose it is January 1, 2020. I am not going to weigh in right here with a choice. I’ll simply say that my options, under, for the brand new decade, can both begin in 2020 or they are often prepped in 2020 for full-blown implementation in 2021. Everyone is completely happy. Everyone wins. The extra vital factor is the necessity to deal with the final ten years of health hype and drama, transfer on the subsequent ten years, and create a greater world for everybody.

Say Goodbye to Research Bros

The scientific trial is vitally vital, but it surely has by no means been, and by no means will probably be, the total extent of “The Science Game.”

– Jonathan Rauch, The Kindly Inquisitors pic.twitter.com/labVIhBfnU

— CJ Gotcher (@CJGotcher) October 22, 2019

– How Shoddy Statistics Found A Home In Sports Research

Sports science and analysis aren’t that well-funded, it usually struggles to seek out our bodies for its evaluation, and there’s legitimate debate as as to if the statistical methodology is, consequently, even legitimate.

It serves a function, but it surely is not meant to vary your coaching packages and fundamentals each second week of the month.

He’s not essentially somebody that I might comply with for teaching recommendation as a result of there is a swathe of coaches in bodybuilding, powerlifting, and weightlifting who’re higher suited as specialists, however you’ll be able to ditch all the opposite analysis bros and never miss a beat.

Stop Dieting

Diets are enterprise. They are neither science nor plans nor silver bullet options. Dieting is a multi-multi-billion business. While there are legitimate causes for folks to food plan, significantly in instances of power illness, diabetes, weight problems, and such, there’s little or no motive to purchase into an business that’s unregulated, untenable, and pushed by the need to promote false hope.

You will food plan. You will since you’re human. You purchase lottery tickets considering you might that 1 in 234,000,000 who will strike the Jackpot. You do not stroll underneath ladders in case unhealthy luck befalls you. You suppose WWE is actual.

What if the reply to our well being and wellness challenges is to eat extra beef?

This can be wonderful information for each the patron and beef producers such as you and me.

– The completely unbiased Beef Magazine

The weight-reduction plan con is a stain on the health business. The sooner folks began to eat higher, sparsely, with some thought put into high quality over amount, the higher it will likely be for everybody. If you’ll be able to’t get pleasure from consuming then you’ve got an actual downside and a food plan is simply compounding the distress.

– Washington Post

Learn to Lift

An attention-grabbing article on elements that trigger accidents within the warehouse is an efficient place to begin as a result of lifting that ought to come naturally is problematic sufficient, now add the complexity of the extremely technical lifts you do in typical weightlifting or powerlifting periods. What I wish to emphasize is how vital it’s to develop a no brainer, no cues wanted method to lifting to keep away from harm and failure. Learning to raise is a lifetime dedication.

It’s the one funding it is advisable to make in your self.

Drop Your Friends

There are provisos although: if you’re competing and you’ve got a coach, they might inform you that you’re not ready and push you to make changes. A certified skilled offers a medical opinion in your well being is one other space the place opinion issues. Other than that, it is all on you.

– The Complicated Truth About Social Media and Body Image

But, most significantly, you might then really feel compelled to cut back your reliance on social media for inspiration, validation, and neighborhood. None of it’s actual as a result of the depth of thought and engagement simply is not there. You do not overindulge in your vitamin so, why overindulge your psyche?

Don’t Lead, Don’t Follow

It might also make you much less of a troll on-line, too. Who would not need that?

Buy a New Gym Membership

You would possibly work out what you want or want or, you might turn into sure about what would not be just right for you. If you strive completely different group lessons, you’ll, undoubtedly, turn into higher at appreciating good versus meh teaching. Different disciplines humble you as a result of they power you to get out of your consolation zone. It could also be so simple as ditching weights in the future and doing yoga, which appears manner tougher than it needs to be for some folks to recover from mentally.

The post 7 Fitness Hacks for 2020 appeared first on Weight Loss Fitness.

from Weight Loss Fitness https://weightlossfitnesss.info/7-fitness-hacks-for-2020/

0 notes