#Ephemeridae

[acarinarium]

Did river invert sampling today! It was very cool, also got to see some very nice inverts other than the river ones, and maybe some planarians that aren't pictured here since I couldn't get them off the rock I saw them on

[macfrog]

SARAH TOALLY KNOWS AND READERS DAD IS SOOOO SUSPICIOUS. THE PHONE TALK? I JUST KNOW HES HONNA TRY TO CHECK THEIR PHONE FOR PROOF OR SMTH

what? who? no hablo inglés. i have no idea what you are talking about. phone talk? i am sure you are confusing me with someone else...

...😉

[masongrizchel]

Schrödinger's Dark Side of History

Erwin Schrödinger 🧑‍🔬, along with Werner Heisenberg, were the key contributors to quantum mechanics. They made a monumental contribution by merging the central ideas that they had at the time to establish this emerging discipline. ⚛️

Schrödinger (age 39 at the time) agreed to tutor a 14-year-old named 'Ithi' Junger. What was included in the lessons was a fair amount of petting and cuddling. Soon enough, he convinced himself that he was in love with Ithi. The only assurance that Erwin gave Ithi was that she would not become pregnant, and he seduced her at age 17. But ironically, she was impregnated (age 19) and had an abortion that made her sterile. One of the records claimed that (from Moore) "Erwin tried to persuade her to have the child; he said he would take care of it, but he did not offer to divorce Anny (his wife). In desperation, Ithi arranged for an abortion."

Eventually, Schrödinger left her and moved on to another prospect. Schrödinger also impregnated Kate Nolan (a pseudonym used by the surviving family), and she claimed that there was a lack of consent. Schrödinger also kept a record of his sexual liaisons, including children he sexually abused, in a diary he called Ephemeridae, in which he stated a "predilection for teenage girls on the grounds that their innocence was the ideal match for his natural genius."

Schrödinger, as described by Moore, has a 'Lolita complex'. According to his diary, Schrödinger found that men of strong, genuine intellectuality were immensely attracted only to women who, forming the very beginning of the intellectual series, were as nearly connected to the preferred springs of nature as they. While these were Walter Moore's records and accusations, it was no secret in the community that Schrodinger was really fascinated with preadolescent girls.

Following the resurgence of these accusations, Trinity College Dublin's physics department declared in January 2022 its intention to propose renaming a lecture theater that had been dedicated to Schrödinger since the 1990s, citing his history of sexual abuse. Additionally, they announced plans to remove a picture of the scientist and consider renaming a lecture series named after him. Presently, on the college's webpage titled "The History of the School of Physics," there exists a photo captioned "View of the front desk and blackboard at the Physics Lecture Theatre."

Erwin Schrödinger's involvement serves as a reminder of the importance of holding individuals accountable for their actions, regardless of their professional achievements. This highlights the complexity of separating an individual's work from their character and the need to critically examine the moral integrity of historical figures. Schrödinger's involvement prompts reflection on how society acknowledges and commemorates individuals, emphasizing the significance of accountability and ethical conduct in shaping our understanding of history and honoring contributions to science and society.

[metalindex-hu]

Lelked majd a Tisza eltemeti – Súlyos mondanivalóval teli új dalt mutatott a Mhorai

Lelked majd a Tisza eltemeti – Súlyos mondanivalóval teli új dalt mutatott a Mhorai - https://metalindex.hu/2022/09/25/lelked-majd-a-tisza-eltemeti-sulyos-mondanivaloval-teli-uj-dalt-mutatott-a-mhorai/ -

A hazai Fit for an Autopsyként is aposztrofálható Mhorai gőzerővel dolgozik második nagylemezén, a 2023 elején megjelenő Waters című anyagon, most pedig az időközben megfogyatkozott farkasok (szeptember közepén kilépett a dobos, Magvasi Bence) be is mutatták ennek első előfutárát, ami az Ephemerida címet kapta.

A dal a tőlük megszokott groove-os, dallamos deathcore/death metal-szerelemgyerek, a hozzá készült klip és maga a tétel mondanivalója pedig egy súlyos természeti csapást, a 2000-es évek eleji tiszai cianidszennyezést járja körbe, esetenként igen felkavaró képsorokkal. A fiúktól eddig sem álltak távol a környezetvédelmi állásfoglalások (helló, FFAA-hasonlóság), az viszont teljesen újdonságként hat, amit a dal vége felé hallhatunk. Nem is lövöm le a poént, tessék csekkolni, utána pedig még egy borítót is mutatunk a jövőre érkező kiadványhoz.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U0L18T2QyA

[reanimateobjects]

[typhlonectes]

Evolution of filter-feeding in aquatic insects dates back to the Middle Triassic: new evidence from stem-group mayflies (Insecta, Ephemerida) from Grès à Voltzia, Vosges, France

Pavel Sroka, Arnold H. Staniczek

Abstract

In the aquatic insects, mayfly nymphs have developed a remarkable diversity of life strategies and feeding habits. However, the early evolution of these strategies and the role of mayfly nymphs in freshwater palaeoecosystems remain largely unknown. 

We investigated fossil mayfly nymphs from the Grès à Voltzia Formation from the Middle Triassic, France, which represents the oldest known outcrop yielding a diverse mayfly fauna. We focused on three species, namely Mesoplectopteron longipes, Vogesonympha ludovici and Triassoephemera punctata, and investigated both original type material and numerous previously unstudied specimens. 

As a result, we provide a new interpretation of their morphology, life histories, and systematics: the nymphs of M. longipes, V. ludovici and T. punctata were aquatic and at least the former two species undoubtedly lived in flowing water as passive filter-feeders. This finding represents the so far earliest occurrence of this feeding strategy in aquatic insects. The most obvious morphological adaptations to this lifestyle are long filtering setae arranged in rows on forelegs, analogous to some modern mayfly nymphs. 

We place the three investigated species M. longipes, V. ludovici and T. punctata in a newly established, unranked higher taxon, Sinebranchia, representing the sister group to Heptabranchia (Coxoplectoptera + Ephemeroptera). Sinebranchia share a single-segmented tarsus synapomorphic with Heptabranchia, but retain the plesiomorphic condition of double tarsal claws. Sinebranchia are also characterized by their autapomorphic lack of tracheal gills, probably connected to their life in flowing, well-oxygenated water.

Read the paper: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/spp2.1456

[ao3feed-dadzawa]

Papers

Papers by ephemeridaes

A short and sweet one-shot of Shinsou and Aizawa's father-son relationship. What happens when Shinsou gets the confidence to officially give his teacher his adoption papers?

Words: 1359, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Principal Nezu, Class 1-A

Additional Tags: Father-Son Relationship, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Adopts Shinsou Hitoshi, Adopted Shinsou Hitoshi, Adoption, U.A. High School, shouta adopts hitoshi, aizawa adopts shinsou, shinsou gives aizawa adoption papers, Cat mug, Adoption papers, shinsou asks aizawa to adopt him, Fluff without Plot, Fluff, fluff is good for the soul, Dadzawa, class 1-a - Freeform, Class 1a - Freeform, Shinsou Hitoshi is in Class 1-A, Class 1-A survives till the end of their first year, Somehow, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is Shinsou Hitoshi's Parent, Adopted Son, purple son, shinsou - Freeform, hitoshi - Freeform, Shinsou Hitoshi - Freeform, hitoshi shinsou - Freeform, Aizawa Shouta - Freeform, shouta aizawa - Freeform, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Eraserhead, Underground Hero, Coffee, UA dorms, heights alliance, late-night bonding, first year graduation, Graduation

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483193

[ao3feed-hitoshi-shinsou]

Papers

Papers by ephemeridaes

A short and sweet one-shot of Shinsou and Aizawa's father-son relationship. What happens when Shinsou gets the confidence to officially give his teacher his adoption papers?

Words: 1359, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Principal Nezu, Class 1-A

Additional Tags: Father-Son Relationship, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Adopts Shinsou Hitoshi, Adopted Shinsou Hitoshi, Adoption, U.A. High School, shouta adopts hitoshi, aizawa adopts shinsou, shinsou gives aizawa adoption papers, Cat mug, Adoption papers, shinsou asks aizawa to adopt him, Fluff without Plot, Fluff, fluff is good for the soul, Dadzawa, class 1-a - Freeform, Class 1a - Freeform, Shinsou Hitoshi is in Class 1-A, Class 1-A survives till the end of their first year, Somehow, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is Shinsou Hitoshi's Parent, Adopted Son, purple son, shinsou - Freeform, hitoshi - Freeform, Shinsou Hitoshi - Freeform, hitoshi shinsou - Freeform, Aizawa Shouta - Freeform, shouta aizawa - Freeform, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Eraserhead, Underground Hero, Coffee, UA dorms, heights alliance, late-night bonding, first year graduation, Graduation

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483193

[naturenaught]

The scientific name for the the order of insects commonly know as mayflies comes from their short adult life. Because the adult has no mouthparts, they only fly around for a few days. They spend years, around 99%, of their life as nymphs underwater. [Ephemera simulans; brown drake] #Ephemeroptera #Ephemeridae #Ephemera #mayfly #insect #entomology #entomologia #ecologia #ecology #nature #iamanaturalist #Wisconsin (at Mercer, Wisconsin)

[thegrandimago]

This is the 45th installment of 'Since I've Been Gone'. Taken on the same day as the previous post while I was on my Iowa hitch with @americanconservationexperience, nightfall was arriving and all sorts of critters make themselves known. Originally struggling in the water, I rescued this giant mayfly (Hexagenia limbata) so I could get a picture of it. This is the imago form, of which the main purpose is to fly for a mate and do so before their brief lives end. It's assumed that mayflies live brief lives based on their imago lifespan, but the instar, or naiad, form is in fact where the majority of their life is spent. For this genus at least, they are fully aquatic and live in U-shaped burrows within the sediment of slow-moving bodies of water filter-feeding on detritus. Thanks Doc Kennedy @unt for teaching me all of this. #animal #animals #nature #insect #insects #insectagram #iowainsects #aquaticinsects #aquaticinsect #mayfly #mayflies #burrowingmayfly #iowanature #wildlife #fauna #imago #iowawildlife #arthropods #arthropod #animalia #arthropoda #insecta #pterygota #ephemeroptera #ephemeridae #ephemeroidea #hexagenia #hexagenialimbata #giantmayfly #aceinspires (at YMCA Camp Wapsie) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVOc_aRqo0O/?utm_medium=tumblr

[macfrog]

WVERYBODY STFU ITS COWBOY LIKE ME DAY

WELCOME TO THE RODEO

[therealmadblonde]

October 25

Jill came back to our place afterwards, last night, and helped to straighten things. Graymalk and I slipped out while they were drinking another sherry and hit it over to the vicarage. The study was illuminated and Tekela was perched on the roof beside the chimney, head beneath her wing.

“Snuff, I’m going after that damned bird,” Graymalk said.

“I don’t know that it’s good form, Gray, doing something like that right now.”

“I don’t care,” she said, and she disappeared.

I waited and watched, for a long while. Suddenly, there was a flurry on the roof. There came a rattle of claws, a burst of feathers, and Tekela took off across the night, cawing obscenities.

Graymalk descended at the corner and returned. “Nice try,” I said.

“No, it wasn’t. I was clumsy. She was fast. Damn.” We headed back.

“Maybe you’ll give her a few nightmares, anyway.”

“That’d be nice,” she said.

Growing moon. Angry cat. Feather on the wind. Autumn comes. The grass dies.

The morning dealt us a hand in which last night’s small irony was seen and raised. Graymalk came scratching on the door and when I went out she said, “Better come with me.”

So I did.

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“The constable and his assistants are at Owen’s place, investigating last night’s burnings.”

“Thanks for getting me,” I said. “Let’s go and watch. It should be fun.”

“Maybe,” she said.

When we got there I understood the intimation in her word. The constable and his men paced and measured and poked. The remains of the baskets and the remains which had been in the baskets were now on the ground. There were, however, the remains of four baskets and their contents rather than the three I remembered so well.

“Oh-oh,” I said.

“Indeed,” she replied.

I considered the inhuman remains of the three and the very human remains of the fourth.

“Who?” I asked.

“Owen himself. Someone stuffed him into one of his baskets and torched it.”

“A brilliant idea,” I said, “even if it was plagiarized.”

“Go ahead and mock,” said a voice from overhead. “He wasn’t your master.”

“Sorry, Cheeter,” I said. “But I can’t come up with a lot of sympathy for a man who tried to poison me.”

“He had his crochets,” the squirrel admitted, “but he also had the best oak tree in town. An enormous number of acorns were ruined last night.”

“Did you see who got him?”

“No. I was across town, visiting Nightwind.”

“What will you do now?”

“Bury more nuts. It’s going to be a long winter, and an outdoor one.”

“You could join MacCab and Morris,” Graymalk observed.

“No. I think I’ll follow Quicklime’s example and call it quits. The Game is getting very dangerous.”

“Do you know whether whoever did it took Owen’s golden sickle?” I asked.

“It’s not around out here,” he said. “It could still be inside, though.”

“You have a way in and out, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Had he a special place he kept it?”

“Yes.”

“Would you go inside and check and tell us whether it’s still there?”

“Why should I?”

“There might be something you’d like from us one day — a few scraps, the chasing away of a predator ”

“I’d rather have something right now,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He leaped, but instead of falling he seemed to drift down to land beside us.

“I didn’t know you were a flying squirrel,” Graymalk said.

“I’m not,” he replied. “That’s a part of it, though.”

“I don’t understand,” she told him.

“I was a pretty dumb nut-chaser until Owen found me,” he said. “Most squirrels are. We know what we have to do to stay in business, but that’s about it. Not like you guys. He made me smarter. He gave me special things I can do, too, like that glide. But I lost something for it. I want to trade all this in and go back to being what I was — a happy nut-chaser who doesn’t care about opening and closing.”

“What all’s involved?” I asked.

“I gave up something for all this, and I want it back.”

“What?”

“Look down at the ground around me. What do you see?”

“Nothing special,” Graymalk said.

“My shadow’s gone. He took it. And he can’t give it back now, because he’s dead.”

“It’s a pretty cloudy day,” Graymalk said. “It’s hard to tell…”

“Believe me. I ought to know.”

“I do,” I said. “It’d be a silly thing to go on about this way, otherwise. But what’s so important about a shadow? Who cares? What good is it to you up there, anyway, jumping around in trees where you can’t even see it most of the time?”

“There’s more to it than that,” he explained. “It’s attached to other things that go away with it. I can’t feel things the way that I used to. I used to just know things — where the best nuts were, what the weather was going to be like, where the ladies were when the time came, how the seasons were changing. Now I think about it, and I can figure all these things out and can make plans to take advantage of them — something I could never have done before. But I’ve lost all those little feelings that came with the kind of knowing that comes without thinking. And I’ve — thought — about it a lot. I miss them. I’d rather go back to them than think and soar the way I do. You understand about magic. Not too many people do. I’ll check on the sickle if you’ll break Owen’s shadow- spell for me.”

I glanced at Graymalk, who shook her head. “I’ve never heard of that spell,” she said.

“Cheeter, there are all kinds of magical systems,” I said. “They’re just shapes into which the power is poured. We can’t know them all. I’ve no idea what Owen did to your shadow or your — intuition, I guess, and the feelings that go with it. Unless we had some idea where it is and how to go about returning it and restoring it to you, I’m afraid we can’t be of help.”

“If you can get into the house, I can show it to you,” he said. “Oh,” I said. “What do you think, Gray?”

“I’m curious,” she told me.

“How do we go about it?” I asked. “Any open windows? Unlocked doors?”

“You couldn’t fit in through my opening. It’s just a little hole, up in the attic. The back door is usually unlocked, but it takes a human to open it.”

“Maybe not,” Graymalk said.

“We will have to wait till the constable and his men are gone,” I said.

“Of course.”

We waited, hearing the puzzlement over the unnatural remains of the three repeated many times. A doctor came and looked and shook his head and took notes and departed, after deciding that there was only one human body — Owen’s — and promising to file a report in the morning. Mrs. Enderby and her companion stopped by and chatted with the constable for a time, glancing at Graymalk and me almost as much as at the remains.

She left before too long, and the remains were sacked and labeled and hauled away in a cart, along with what remained of the baskets, which were also labeled.

As the cart creaked away, Graymalk, Cheeter, and I glanced at each other. Then Cheeter flowed up the bole of a tree, drifted from its top to that of another, then over to the roof of the house.

“It would be nice to be able to do that,” Graymalk remarked.

“It would,” I agreed, and we headed for the back door.

I rose as before, clasped the knob tightly and twisted. Almost. I tried again, a little harder, and it yielded. We entered. I shouldered the door nearly closed, withholding the final pressure that would have clicked it shut.

We found ourselves in the kitchen, and from overhead I could hear the hurrying of someone small with claws.

Cheeter arrived shortly, glancing at the door.

“His workshop is downstairs,” he said. “I’ll show you the way.”

We followed him through a door off of the kitchen, and down a creaking stairway. Below, we immediately came into a large room that smelled of the out-of-doors. Cut branches, baskets of leaves and roots, cartons of mistletoe were stacked haphazardly along the walls, on shelves, and on benches. Animal skins occupied several tabletops and were strewn over the room’s three chairs. Diagrams were chalked in blue and green on both ceiling and floor, with one prominent red one covering much of the far wall. A collection of ephemeridae and of books in Gaelic and Latin filled a small bookcase beside the door.

“The sickle,” I said.

Cheeter sprang atop a small table, landing amid herbs. Turning, he leaned forward, hooked his claws beneath the front edge of a small drawer. He jiggled it and drew upon it. It began to move forward to this prompting.

“Unlocked,” he observed. “Let’s see now.”

He drew it farther open, so that, rising onto my hind legs, I could see into it. It was lined with blue velvet which bore a sickle-shaped impression at its center.

“As you can see,” he stated, “it’s gone.”

“Anyplace else it might be?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “If it isn’t here, it was with him. Those are the alternatives.”

“I didn’t see it anywhere out back,” Graymalk said, “on the ground, or in that — mess.”

“Then I’d say that someone took it,” Cheeter said.

“Odd,” I said then. “It was a thing of power, but not really one of the Game tools — like the wands, the icon, the pentacle, and, usually, the ring.”

“Then someone just wanted it for the power, I guess,” Cheeter said. “Mostly, I think, they wanted Owen out of the Game.”

“Probably. I’m trying to link his death to Rastov’s now. It would be strange to consider the killer as one player, though, with Owen an opener and Rastov a closer.”

“Hm,” Cheeter said, jumping down. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Rastov and Owen had some long talks very recently. I got the impression from listening that Owen was trying to talk Rastov into switching — all his liberal sympathies and his Russian sentiments could have been pushing him in a revolutionary direction.”

“Really?” Graymalk said. “Then if someone is killing openers, Jill could be in danger. Who else might have known of their talks?”

“No one I can think of. I don’t think Rastov even told Quicklime — and I didn’t tell anyone, till now.”

“Where did they talk?” she asked. “Upstairs. Kitchen or parlor.”

“Could anyone have been eavesdropping?”

“Only someone small enough and mobile enough to manage the squirrel hole upstairs, I suppose.”

I paced slowly.

“Are Morris and MacCab openers or closers?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure they’re openers,” Graymalk said.

“Yes,” Cheeter agreed. “They are.”

“What about the Good Doctor?”

“Nobody knows. The divinations keep going askew for him.”

“The secret player,” I said, “whoever it is.”

“You really think there is one?” Graymalk asked.

“It’s the only reason I can think of for my calculations being regularly off.”

“How do we discover who it is?” she said.

“I don’t know.”

“And I don’t care — not anymore,” Cheeter said. “I just want the simple life again. The hell with all this plotting and figuring. I wasn’t a volunteer. I got drafted. Get me my shadow.”

“Where is it?”

“Over there.”

He turned toward the big red design on the far wall.

I looked in that direction, but could not tell what it was that he was trying to indicate. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t see — ”

“There,” he said, “in the design — low, to the right.”

Then I saw it, something I had thought simply an effect of the lighting. A squirrel- shaped shadow overlay a part of the design. Several upright, shining pieces of metal were contained by the shadow’s perimeter.

“That’s it?” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is held there by seven silver nails.”

“How does one go about releasing it?” I asked.

“The nails must be drawn.”

“Is there a danger to the person who would draw them?”

“I don’t know. He never said.”

I reared up and extended a paw. I touched the topmost nail. It was somewhat loose, and nothing unusual happened to me. So I leaned forward, seized it with my teeth and withdrew it, dropping it then to the floor.

With my paw, I tested the remaining six. Two of them were obviously loose. These I seized, one after the other, and pulled them out with my teeth. They gleamed upon the floor, real silver, and Graymalk inspected them.

“What did you feel,” she asked, “as you drew them?”

“Nothing special,” I said. “Do you see anything about them that I don’t?”

“No. I think the power is mainly in that design. If there is to be a reaction, look to the wall for it.” I tested the remaining four. These were tighter in place than the ones I had drawn. The shadow-outline was now undulating among them.

“Have you felt anything special while I was about it, Cheeter?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I felt a small tingling at each place in my body that seemed to correspond to the place in the shadow from which the nail was removed.”

“Tell me if it changes,” I said, and I leaned forward, took hold of another nail, and worked it back and forth with my teeth.

It took about a half-minute to loosen, and then I dropped it to the floor and tried the other three in succession. Two seemed seated fairly tightly, and one about the same as that which I had just drawn. I took hold of the looser one and worried it till it, too, came free. By then, the shadow was shrinking and expanding regularly, as if it were flapping in the third dimension of thickness with parts of it becoming imperceptible to me each time this occurred.

“The tingling is not going away,” Cheeter remarked. “I’m beginning to feel it all over now.”

“Any pain involved?”

“No.”

I poked with my paw at the two remaining nails. Tight. Perhaps it would be better to fetch Larry and a pair of pliers than to risk breaking my teeth on them. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try a bit first. I worried one for the better part of a minute, and it did seem to loosen slightly near the end. I stopped to rest my jaws then, promising myself I would have a go at both nails before I considered quitting.

I gave the second one — which was located about ten inches to the left of the first — well over a minute of the same treatment, and I found it hard to tell when I’d let up whether I’d affected it much.

I did not like the taste of the plaster and the pigment used in the design. I was not sure what lay beneath the plaster, holding the nails in place. Not enough of that covering had chipped away for me to distinguish the surface it covered — only enough for grit with a damp basement taste to come into my mouth.

I stepped back. The design looked slobbered-upon, and I wondered how dog spit would affect its subtle functions.

“Please don’t quit,” Cheeter said. “Try again.”

“I’m just catching my breath,” I told him. “I’ve been using my front teeth so far, because it was easier. I’m going to switch to the side now.”

So I leaned again and took a grip with my back teeth, right side, upon the nail which seemed to have responded slightly to my suasions. I had it moving, then loosening, before too long.

Finally, I dropped it and listened. Silver makes a pleasant sound when it’s struck.

“Six,” I announced. “How does it feel now?”

“More tingling,” Cheeter said. “Maybe some sort of anticipation.”

“Last chance to quit while you’re ahead,” I said, as I repositioned myself to use the left side of my jaws on the final one.

“Go ahead,” he told me.

So I caught hold and began to work it, slowly, with steady pressure rather than jerking movements, which I had learned from the previous one to be more effective. I feared for my teeth, but nothing cracked or chipped. As much as I liked the sound of silver, I did not like its cold metallic taste.

And all this while the shadow itself flowed over my face intermittently, passing before my eyes like a quick cloud before the sun, wrapping me momentarily, falling loose again.

I felt the nail move. My jaws were beginning to ache by then, though, and I switched sides. I’ve cracked large bones with my teeth, and I know the power that is there. But this required more than simple biting ability. It was the movement that was really important, involving my neck muscles as well as my jaws. Forward, back. . . .

And then the nail began to loosen. I paused to rest.

“What do we do when it’s free?” I asked them. “What’s to prevent its simply slipping away? Is there any special means of reattaching it?”

“I don’t know,” Cheeter said. “I never thought of that.”

“How was it separated from you in the first place?” Graymalk asked.

“He made a light and cast it there upon the wall,” Cheeter said. “He drove in the nails, then passed his sickle close to my body, somehow severing it. When I moved away, it remained. I felt different immediately.”

“It will respond to your life,” Graymalk said, “if you position yourself correctly and it flows over you. But your life must be exposed at the seven points which held it — and it will respond to the nails which bound it.”

“What do you mean?” Cheeter asked.

“Blood,” she said. “You must scratch a wound on the back of each paw, one atop your head, one at the middle of your tail, one midback — the seven places the shadow was pierced. When Snuff removes the final nail he must take care not simply to draw it straight out but to drag it downward, snagging the shadow, pulling it to cover you. You will then be standing with a foot on each of the four nails which held the paws, your tail resting upon that of the tail, your head extended and down to touch the sixth — “

“I don’t know which nail is which now,” he said.

“I do,” she replied. “I’ve been watching. Then Snuff will drag the shadow over you and drop its nail upon your back at the place of the seventh wound. This should serve to bind it to you again.”

“Gray,” I said, “how do you know all this?”

“I was recently given a small wisdom,” she responded.

“By the high cat — ”

“Hush!” she said. “This place is not that place. Leave it there.”

“Sorry.”

She moved to position the nails, and Cheeter scratched himself — paws, head, and tail. I could smell his blood.

“I can’t reach my back for the seventh,” he said.

Her right paw slashed forward, opening a bright inch at the the middle of his back. It came too fast for him even to flinch.

“There,” she said. “Position yourself upon the nails now, as I have instructed.”

He moved and did so, sprawled motionless then.

I returned to the final nail, taking hold and pulling slowly. As soon as I felt it come loose I dragged it down the wall and across the floor toward Cheeter, never lifting it from contact with a surface the entire while. I had no idea, though, whether the shadow was coming along with it, and I was in no position to ask. Still, if it weren’t, I guessed Graymalk would have said something.

“Lead it over him and drop it upon his back,” she said, “at the place of my mark.”

I did that, stepping back immediately afterwards.

“Do you know whether it’s taken hold?” I asked Cheeter.

“I can’t tell,” he said.

“Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t know.”

“What now, Gray?” I asked. “How long do we wait to see whether it’s attached?”

“Let’s give it a minute or two,” she replied.

“The design,” Cheeter said then. “It’s changing.”

I turned and looked. There might have been a trace of movement to it as I did so, but it was gone by the time I faced it. It did look smaller, though, a bit less extended to the left, and differently disposed to the right. And its colors seemed brighter.

“I think that means it’s in place now,” he said. “I want to move.”

He sprang up and raced across the floor, scattering the nails. He bounded halfway up the stair, turned, and looked back at us. It was too dim to see whether he’d achieved the desired result.

“Come on!” he said. “Let’s go out!”

We followed him, and I opened the kitchen door without difficulty. As soon as I did, he rushed past us.

The sun had come out, and as he flashed across the yard we could see the shadow which accompanied him. He leaped up onto the wall, hesitated, looked back.

“Thanks!” he said.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“The woods,” he answered. “Good-bye.” Then he was off the wall and away.

[spacesyntax]

We eagerly consume noisy ephemeridae, here with a bang today, gone without a whimper tomorrow—movies, beach-wear, pulp magazines, this morning’s headlines and tomorrow’s TV programmes—yet we insist on aesthetic and moral standards hitched to permanency, durability and perennity.

from “Vehicles of Desire” by Reyner Banham

[reanimateobjects]

[ao3feed-yoonjin]

we’re all stories in the end

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2wYOtqx

by thornbish (ephemerida)

Yoongi holds a body in his arms; he needs to leave, he knows that, but how can he leave the Doctor like that? (short)

Words: 1792, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Kim Seokjin | Jin, Min Yoongi | Suga

Relationships: Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

Additional Tags: this turned out terrible i'm so sorry, just had to post it already, Doctor Who AU, in which jin is the doctor and yoongi is his companion, and jin is about to regenerate

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2wYOtqx

[gilgai]

Seven poor men of Sydney

1

Fisherman’s Bay. First days of the first poor man.  An October night’s dream.  A stirring sermon has no effect on an ill-fated hero. 

2

Four passions of a poor man with a weak heart, ending with an explanation of what love is.   

3  

A hot morning in Fisherman’s Bay. We find four of our heroes at work in a devil’s kitchen where the word is made bread.   

4  

The bucolic pill. An unfortunate polygamist. Personal appearance of Mr Silkbreeched Montagu. A family discussion. The seventh poor man. Reflections of Joseph in shop-windows. 

5  

A southerly buster. Baruch at home. The tongue’s ephemeridae. Baruch in love. A patriotic demonstration. Catherine in love. A female argument. Withers kicked out. Defence of murder. Baruch is very sentimental.  

6  

Backchat. Acerbity of Winter, effrontery of Fulke; the recognition of Marx postponed. Catherine wanders. 

7  

Under the eschscholtzias. Montagu is a skunk, Withers not a social type. Castaways in a busy harbour. Brother and sister. Examples of the long thoughts of youth; a mediaeval tyrant. The sons of Clovis. Catherine wanders again.   

8  

Michael recalls his adventures, lets out a secret or two, goes to church, is advised to marry, visits his relatives, sees the early-morning fishing in Fisherman’s Bay, and brings the chapter solemnly to an end.   

9  

In memoriam: a mass, a dream, a strange narrative. A new love.  

10  

A chapter of accidents: two poor men in gaol, Montagu skips, three poor men without a job. Jo’s mother sums up.

11

The seventh poor man leaves our shores. A kermesse, but nothing startles the modest. A madman contributes a tale of beauty and horror. Kol Blount makes a complaint. End of a love affair. And Baruch’s last night in the antipodes. End and beginning.

Endpiece  

Joseph goes home late.

— Christina Stead (1934) Seven poor men of Sydney. Reprint, Angus & Robertson, 1978.