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vampiretime · 4 years

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Prologue: Mark my Words

One day, 521.1 million years ago, a lone Figure came shrieking out of a rift in the sky. He fell headfirst into a vast ocean, sending out a cloud of bubbles, boiling water and reality-warping particles, causing the biggest extinction event the Cambrian period would ever see. He was about 30 meters underwater now, and could see the rift in the sky slowly closing behind him. He made a motion equivalent to a shrug, as it was his intention to get “trapped” on this planet in the first place. His home world was boring and this planet, on this plane of existence, was teeming with potential. Well, it was teeming with potential. He looked at the creatures around him, floating vacantly toward the surface. All dead.

“Oops,” he said.

He swam deftly for about 12 miles until he came into contact with his first living creature. It was about a meter long, a twelfth of his height. It propelled itself through the water by undulating flaps on either side of its body. Its eyes were composed of thousands of lenses, and he thought he could tell it was assessing him with an intelligence he had never seen. Primitive but calculating. He extended a tendril toward it, hoping to make a connection. He made a connection, alright, as the thing swam to the tip of his appendage, opened its disc-like mouth and bit him. The Figure laughed and swatted the creature away. Pain was foreign to him, but he got the feeling that this planet revolved around it. “That little bastard was trying to hurt me,” he thought bemusedly.

He watched the thing swim away and decided to follow it. Not as himself though. He looked down at where the creature bit him and closed his many eyes. Within seconds, his body had morphed into a body like that of the creature. A female, he now understood as he took stock of his own body sensations. Something about his internal body map told him he could have offspring if he wanted to.

“How interesting,” he mused. “Maybe I ought to find a mate.”

So he swam after his newfound friend, hoping she could show him a healthy creature to mate with. He swam up beside her, thinking she’d be pleased to see him. But he could tell she was anything but. She charged at him, biting at his fins, making it hard for him to keep swimming.

“What’s wrong with you,” he cried, “I just want you to show me around!”

But the she-creature would not give up.

Finally the Figure broke free of her bite and turned back into himself. He wrapped his tendrils around the she-creature and pulled her apart, tossing the two weeping halves of her body to the side.

He sulked in confusion, frustration and grief for a moment, for he had killed his only friend, not just on this planet but in the whole multiverse. He tried to remember what he had read about Earth. His kind had been monitoring it for some time, but no one had ever come here, and had certainly never disguised themselves as Earth creatures, living in cognito among them, like he was planning to do. No, the old fuddy duddy bookish types were too cowardly for that.

But the behavior the she-creature had exhibited was something he remembered as being called “territorial.” For some odd reason, the creatures here could be defensive about everything, food, mates, and even living space. On his home world, his kind tended to help each other rather than attack, he thought smugly. But I suppose they can be territorial about ideas...those old-timers don’t want me to do research this way because it’s not how they want to do things. If that’s not territorial, I don’t know what is.

Suddenly something caught the Figure’s attention deep deep below him. Movement. He swam down until he saw the source: tens of thousands of little creatures with eight pairs of slender legs, a pair of claws and dozens of spines.

“Now this is more like it!” he said. “These look to be about the least territorial species I’ve ever seen!”

He swam closer, put his face inches from the swarm and wrapped a tendril around the spine of a creature on the periphery.

“Just going to borrow this, old chap.”

He broke off the spine and closed his eyes as he held it tighter and tighter until he was an adorable little squirming freak. And for 100 years, he continued to live with the Hallucigenia until he predicted that they would evolve in a direction he didn’t care for. So for the next several thousand millenia, he hopped from species to species. Ate among them, migrated among them, had sex among them, lived among them.

300,006 years ago, he encountered his first human as a mosquito in what is now Cameroon. He was flying about, having the time of his life, eating his fill of blood to feed his brood. He could feel plasmodia inside of him, and knew whichever creature in the food chain he bit next would be the next step in the life cycle of the parasite. It made him proud to be the only mosquito in the whole world that was self aware. He landed on an animal that had the capacity to walk upright, which caused him to stop and assess. Clearly her lineage had been descended from primates, but he saw a new idle cleverness in her. She was laying on her stomach, face dangling over the water of a puddle of water. The Figure paused on her shoulder and tried to see what she saw. She was gazing, just gazing, at herself, ceaselessly. Her hands trailed the cool water and she marvelled at her reflection, not even what it represented, but the reflection itself. Her eyes darted around, studying every distortion of her form. This went on for about twenty minutes before she felt him on her shoulder and tried to slap him with those incredible, sculpted hands. He flew off haughtily.

“Stupid creature,” he grumbled. “Just gazing into the puddle like that. Her species will be extinct within the next hundred years, mark my words.”

He didn’t have any other notable human encounters until 7198 years ago when he heard stirrings that humans might be the most interesting creature on the planet: one that builds civilizations, just like his ancestors had Back Home.

At the time he was living as a gazelle living near the Mesopotamian river. Gazelle sex was thrilling enough to keep the Figure coming back for more but he was tired of eating so much grass. And he was sick of those pesky ape creatures that hurled arrows and spears at him. One day he was eating some plants he particularly liked on the edge of the river when a huntress shot an arrow at him from 10 feet away on the opposite river bank. It hit him in the flank and he charged, running in three different directions before deciding on one. But by the time he decided, the huntress was upon him with a dagger. His physical vessel was panicking but from all this he was getting an idea...if you can’t beat them, join them. He looked into her eyes which gave her pause. She cocked her head and regarded him. While her guard was down he shed his body and grew to his natural 12 meters tall. The woman screamed until he hushed her with his tendrils.

“I just...need…this.” he said, gently sucking out some of her blood with one of his tubules. He slowly shrank as he slid into his new human suit. It happened to look exactly like the huntress, which would never do if they were to exist in the same village, and he had no desire to kill her.

He looked at his reflection in the river and slowly mushed his face around a little. He looked at her.

“How do I look?” he said, doing a spin for her.

She had been staring at him in utterly stunned silence, but slowly found her voice.

“I will tell everyone what you are,” she said quietly.

“What?” the Figure looked confused.

“I WILL TELL EVERYONE WHAT YOU ARE!” she yelled, rising to her feet.

“Tell them what?”

“That you’re a shapeshifter. That you’re evil.”

“Then you’ll have to tell them your secret too.”

Before she could ask what he meant, one of his spines from his old form sprang out of his back and pierced his human skin. As the rivulet of blood flowed down his arm, he jammed the bloody spine into her mouth. She startled, spitting and cursing.

“It’s too late, my dear,” said the Figure.

The huntress was doubled over in pain, feeling as if her insides were turning to liquid.

“What did you do to me?”

“For millions of years I’ve been alone on this planet. Now I finally have someone like me,” he said, smiling.

The huntress cried and prayed to her ancestors as her body contorted and the hallucinations started to come.

“What did you do to me?” she wailed, and passed out cold on the riverbank.

When she woke up the Figure was sitting next to her, still human-shaped. She gazed into his face, which was a badly stretched version of her own.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he said.

“What happened?”

“You’re like me, now, I’m afraid,” he said, still smiling.

“What do you mean, like you?” she asked.

“Just try turning into someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes, make your face into another’s.”

“What sort of riddle is this?”

“Not a riddle, a command. Do it, now.”

She furrowed her brow and obeyed. She looked away, and when she looked back at him she was wearing the face of her father.

“Look at yourself in the river,” the Figure said.

She did and cried out.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Aya,” she replied, weeping fearfully.

“Aya....you can call me Virulence. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

#prologue #its not quite done but it's the most finished part of the story so far #nat speaks

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 5 years

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Big Bang query: Mapping how a mysterious liquid became all matter Lehigh University's Rosi Reed presents findings from new Beam Energy Scan at Brookhaven National Lab's Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider that tests the limits of quark-gluon plasma The leading theory about how the universe began is the Big Bang, which says that 14 billion years ago the universe existed as a singularity, a one-dimensional point, with a vast array of fundamental particles contained within it. Extremely high heat and energy caused it to inflate and then expand into the cosmos as we know it?and, the expansion continues to this day. The initial result of the Big Bang was an intensely hot and energetic liquid that existed for mere microseconds that was around 10 billion degrees Fahrenheit (5.5 billion Celsius). This liquid contained nothing less than the building blocks of all matter. As the universe cooled, the particles decayed or combined giving rise to...well, everything. Quark-gluon plasma (QGP) is the name for this mysterious substance so called because it was made up of quarks?the fundamental particles?and gluons, which physicist Rosi J. Reed describes as "what quarks use to talk to each other." Scientists like Reed, an assistant professor in Lehigh University's Department of Physics whose research includes experimental high-energy physics, cannot go back in time to study how the Universe began. So they re-create the circumstances, by colliding heavy ions, such as Gold, at nearly the speed of light, generating an environment that is 100,000 times hotter than the interior of the sun. The collision mimics how quark-gluon plasma became matter after the Big Bang, but in reverse: the heat melts the ions' protons and neutrons, releasing the quarks and gluons hidden inside them. There are currently only two operational accelerators in the world capable of colliding heavy ions?and only one in the U.S.: Brookhaven National Lab's Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider (RHIC). It is about a three-hour drive from Lehigh, in Long Island, New York. Reed is part of the STAR Collaboration , an international group of scientists and engineers running experiments on the Solenoidal Tracker at RHIC (STAR). The STAR detector is massive and is actually made up of many detectors. It is as large as a house and weighs 1,200 tons. STAR's specialty is tracking the thousands of particles produced by each ion collision at RHIC in search of the signatures of quark-gluon plasma. "When running experiments there are two 'knobs' we can change: the species?such as gold on gold or proton on proton?and the collision energy," says Reed. "We can accelerate the ions differently to achieve different energy-to-mass ratio." Using the various STAR detectors, the team collides ions at different collision energies. The goal is to map quark-gluon plasma's phase diagram, or the different points of transition as the material changes under varying pressure and temperature conditions. Mapping quark-gluon plasma's phase diagram is also mapping the nuclear strong force, otherwise known as Quantum Chromodynamics (QCD), which is the force that holds positively charged protons together. "There are a bunch of protons and neutrons in the center of an ion," explains Reed. "These are positively charged and should repel, but there's a 'strong force' that keeps them together? strong enough to overcome their tendency to come apart." Understanding quark-gluon plasma's phase diagram, and the location and existence of the phase transition between the plasma and normal matter is of fundamental importance, says Reed. "It's a unique opportunity to learn how one of the four fundamental forces of nature operates at temperature and energy densities similar to those that existed only microseconds after the Big Bang," says Reed. Upgrading the RHIC detectors to better map the "strong force" The STAR team uses a Beam Energy Scan (BES) to do the phase transition mapping. During the first part of the project, known as BES-I, the team collected observable evidence with "intriguing results." Reed presented these results at the 5th Joint Meeting of the APS Division of Nuclear Physics and the Physical Society of Japan in Hawaii in October 2018 in a talk titled: "Testing the quark-gluon plasma limits with energy and species scans at RHIC." However, limited statistics, acceptance, and poor event plane resolution did not allow firm conclusions for a discovery. The second phase of the project, known as BES-II, is going forward and includes an improvement that Reed is working on with STAR team members: an upgrade of the Event Plan Detector. Collaborators include scientists at Brookhaven as well as at Ohio State University. The STAR team plans to continue to run experiments and collect data in 2019 and 2020, using the new Event Plan Detector. According to Reed, the new detector is designed to precisely locate where the collision happens and will help characterize the collision, specifically how "head on" it is. "It will also help improve the measurement capabilities of all the other detectors," says Reed. The STAR collaboration expects to run their next experiments at RHIC in March 2019.

#space #science #Astronomy #physics

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punwolf · 6 years

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I love cryptozoology. I really do. I find the idea that there could be undiscovered species out there to be fascinating. I love it just as much when something is “busted” and turns out to be a new fact science learns about the natural world.

There was a Monsterquest years ago which went searching for a Florida sea monster. They didn’t find a sea monster, but they did find seals which migrated to the extreme south. No one knew they ventured that far until the sea monster story. I thought that was time well spent.

In another case someone was looking for “Littlefoot.” This was the same thing as Bigfoot only pint sized. Unfortunately I don’t remember the series or even the jungle because I was visiting someone’s house for vacation. Scientists found a hair sample which was from an ape but one which wasn’t in the vast DNA database. They didn’t find a missing link or cryptid but they did find evidence of a new primate which was completely unknown to us previously.

Cool!

I’m a “Shane.” I’m a skeptic. I look for the logical conclusions first and don’t believe in beings which walk through interdenominational planes. I’m extremely skeptical of the existence of ghosts. I got laughed at but I’m open to a theory that “ghosts” are echoes of the past seen through atmospheric phenomenon. Crazy? Yeah completely. Proof? Zero. Zilch. Nada. None at all. But where’s the proof that dead people are coming back from the grave to harass the living? It’s circumstantial at best and nobody really knows what ghosts really are - or if there’s anything actually there outside of cultural paranoia convincing people they’re seeing something due to outside suggestion. We enjoy being scared - thrill rides at amusement parks, scary movies, even action/thrillers are in that arena. We get a false adrenaline spike when the flaming car tips over the cliff but the hero manages to jump out at the last second and survive. Modern culture, horror movies and outside stimuli could easily convince a jumpy person or someone who wants to believe that the explainable was supernatural.

I think if ghosts do exist they’re something science simply hasn’t found a way to explain yet. One day it will, and it has nothing to do with dead people rising from their graves.

What cracks me up is the hard core crypto people who are handed an obvious answer but reach for some truly insane straws.

Blurry photo of large animal is snapped. Community: Speculates on what it might be - everything from a dog to an alien hybrid to a werewolf. Dog Owner: Comes forward with irrefutable proof the creature caught on film was nothing but their large dog of a lesser known breed. The dog was looking over its shoulder or something completely mundane which made it look mysterious in a grainy, blurred, terrible photo. Community: Clearly this is a cover up. It’s actually a shapeshifter caught mid-transformation. You can see it in the multiple eyes.

Uh. What?

Which makes more sense here - one one hand we have the possibility someone got a bad photo of a big dog lolloping around. A dog owner who has witnesses that they take their dog out several times a week to the exact place it was caught on camera. That this is a common place the dog gets walks and has been for years - a well known fact.

That the image of the photo matches the leg structure and tail of said dog.

Or...

It’s a government cover up which has put thousands (or millions) of dollars into making sure this being is never exposed. It’s actually someone who can physically transform their body from a bipedal human into a 4 legged wolf-beast.

Never mind physics and science and the impossibility of a human being actually bending the matter and cells of their own body to rearrange themselves into a new shape.

Why would something trivial like science and common sense come into play?

Obviously that blurry ball of fuzz is NOT a dog, and it IS a werewolf!

I worry about people sometime.

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veryangryhedgehog · 6 years

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“The Personal History of Mr. Lucius Marcell

Part I: In which he acquires a New TA”

By Hedgehog

There is one sentence that nearly every child grows to loath. The utter hate and disgust behind the specific way these words are phrased becomes so engrained into the very soul that even years later, the mere mention can send shivers running full tilt down the spine. The phrase I am referring to is of course: “So, how was school today?”

See, it worked. Isn’t it funny how four tiny little words can leave such an impact? It may not even be what the sentence implies that causes the body to convulse with revolt: that remembrance of drab halls, graffiti-crusted bathrooms, and the feeling that absolutely no one wants to be there. Rather, I would argue that it is the prospect of actually answering the question at all. How is one supposed to respond? “Absolutely terrible. I’m bored, no one likes me, and I feel very much alone”? Clearly, the truth will not suffice. This merely invites further probing. No, there is only one way to field such a question. Observe.

“So, how was school?” Ms. Miller asked her children from across the rotisserie chicken that she had purchased from the supermarket earlier that evening. When no one responded—Mike taking a massive bite out of a leg to keep his mouth busy while Cindy looked down at her plate—she let out a small huff of indignation and glared at each of them in turn. “Cynthia?” She dug.

Said teenage daughter shrugged in response. “Fine,” she said.

“Just ‘fine’?” her mother asked. “Honey, it’s your first day of senior year, the best year of your life.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Cindy turned back to her food. The last time she’d given half a damn about school had been a full two years ago. Sophomore Cynthia had been a straight A, 4.0 student, a two-time runner up at state for track, and president of the student council. One nervous breakdown later, and here she was: a B average student with not a lot else to do. What had triggered such a breakdown of her essential personality? Stress mostly, but it didn’t really matter. The point was that she was over her delusions of grandeur and overall a much better person. At least she thought so.

Ms. Miller pouted once she realized that she was getting nothing else out of the older child, but quickly turned to her son instead. “Mike?” she asked. “How about you?”

Sure he would reply much the same way as she had, so that the interrogation could end and they could get on with their lives, Cindy turned her thoughts elsewhere. Needless to say, it took her a second to get over her brain fart when Mike said something completely unexpected.

“It was...” he began. “Kinda weird.”

Mike no! The inside of her head screamed. You were the chosen one! You’ve doomed us all!

Looking pleased, Ms. Miller proceeded with her questioning. “Weird?” she tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he began, “it was all pretty normal, but then after lunch I had—” Mike paused for a split second, narrowing his eyes slightly as if he didn’t quite believe what he had seen. “I had history with that Marcell guy.”

If there had been one word to bring her out of her blue screen of death and into a whole other level of panic, it was that one. Cindy stared a hole into her brother, trying to telepathically yell at him to stop talking.

But it was much too late. “Cynthia,” her mother turned back to her, “didn’t you have Mr. Marcell when you were a sophomore?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s a little... eccentric.”

Mike opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again just as quickly. It appeared he had come to the same conclusion as Cindy had two years ago. The thought had just taken a little longer to pierce his skull. It was simple really: if he told his mother about Marcell, she would never believe him. Not about the darkened room due to his “rare skin condition”, not about the unit on Atlantis, and least of all about his habit of yelling at the textbook whenever it disagreed with him.

Marcell had rarely been mean, and never creepy, but he was kind of a weirdo. Except you never came upon this revelation until after the fact. When you were in his classroom, you were the weirdo. At least, that’s what it had always felt like to Cindy, though that could have just been sophomore Cynthia’s appalling lack of self-esteem.

The rest of dinner passed quickly enough; the courtroom adjourned once Ms. Miller realized that neither of her children really wanted to talk about Marcell and his odd demeanor, and Cindy nearly forgot about the whole thing. She had essays to write, and more importantly, time to waste on the internet.

So, it was almost unexpected when she got the text from Mike the next day in the middle of sixth period: Might have left my lunchbox in Marcells. But hes really creepy. Will u plz get it for me? Ill do ur chores for a month!!! And this was the captain of the sophomore soccer team. What a little wuss. But the offer was tempting. She hated cleaning the toilet.

2 and uve got urself a deal, she typed back under the desk.

There was a long pause, and then the answer came. Fine. Thx!

Cindy groaned. She never imagined ever having to set foot in that classroom again. The space still seemed to exist on an entirely different plane of existence, one filled with AP tests and sore feet from hours of running, stress about grades and boys you didn’t really like. Yet far too soon, the final bell rang and she found herself making her way down that old, familiar hallway, procrastinating in any way she could.

And then, suddenly and without warning, she was at the door. It was ajar, and beyond it lay the soft blue of not-quite darkness. Peering inside, the classroom seemed empty, and Cindy’s eyes darted back and forth before landing on the red lunchbox that sat on the dirty tile floor, just beside the hard seat of a desk.

She darted in, intending to snatch the lunchbox and make a quick escape, but the instant her fingers brushed the handle of the lunchbox, she froze.

“That’s not yours, is it,” said a voice. It was not a question.

Firmly gripping the box, Cindy turned to find a figure sitting with his feet propped on the teacher’s desk, smirking. Ah yes, she’d nearly forgotten about his habit of appearing out of nowhere when you weren’t looking. This time, she was sure he hadn’t been there a second before.

“It’s my brother’s,” she attempted an innocent smile.

He didn’t seem to recognize her. It had been two years, after all, and she had changed a lot since then. “So he chickens out and makes you get it, huh? I didn’t think I was quite that terrifying.” He laughed, sitting up now. “Which one is he?”

“Mike Miller,” she sighed. “And I think he thought since I survived a whole year with you...”

Marcell frowned, eyebrows knitted closely as he held up a finger. “You took my class?” He asked. “Miller... Miller... wait!” He finally remembered, then shook his head. “No. Cynthia?” His brown, almost red eyes widened incredulously.

She nodded, embarrassed. “Though most people call me Cindy these days, if they bother to talk to me at all.”

“You’ve certainly changed.” He stood from the swivel chair and leaned against the front of the desk. “You cut your hair.”

“And that’s the first thing you notice?” she laughed, shaking her head.

“Of course,” he said. “You had the very distinct habit of flipping it to the side when you were about to start arguing with me.”

Cindy felt herself blush a little. She had been such a little bitch. “I probably wasn’t the most pleasant student.”

“On the contrary,” he countered, “it was certainly better than the silence I get from most kids. At least you kept me on my toes.”

“I just couldn’t believe you were teaching a whole unit on a city that doesn’t exist.”

“Ah,” he grinned, revealing sharp, white teeth. “Atlantis.”

“Which I will never forget was actually a city on the lost continent of Lemuria, thank you very much.”

Marcell crossed his arms over his chest. “Was it that strange?” He seemed bemused.

“It wasn’t strange, it was just...” she shook her head, “different. You were different.”

A moment of silence ensued, in which Marcell seemed to be considering something.

“Well,” Cindy shook herself. “I should get going.” She waved, turning to leave. “It was nice talking to—“

“Would you like to know why?” He asked suddenly, the final syllable seeming to float around the room. “Why I’m so... different, as you put it.” He added when she paused.

A second passed, then two. Then five. Cindy wasn’t really thinking about what she would say, it was just that she never expected the offer to just suddenly give up all the secrets that made him eccentric Mr. Marcell. She’d tried the whole year to figure out his deal, and now he was just going to tell her?

“Yes,” she said finally, definitely, turning back towards him.

“What if I told you I was two-thousand years old?” he asked, face completely straight. “Would you say I was crazy?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’d say you were pulling my leg.”

“Then I don’t suppose it’d be any more plausible if I were a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Absolutely not.”

Marcell sighed, looking positively done. “I’m a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know most people think we’re only legends, and more recently, fictional teen heart-throbs.” He ran through the line as if he had rehearsed it many times. “But—“

“Don’t get me wrong.” Cindy interrupted, to which he looked surprised. “It’s not that I don’t believe vampires exist, I just find it hard to believe that my mild-mannered history teacher is a ‘creature of the night’.”

He blinked. “That was... not the response I was expecting.”

“Welcome to Ede Valley,” she chuckled, approaching the far window that somehow managed to be even more broken than when she’d last seen it. “Where we’re all just a little bit... strange.” On the last word she yanked the chain, which miraculously pulled up the shade just enough that the fading light from outside landed on Marcell’s face.

He seemed merely miffed as smoke began to rise from his nose and the tips of his ears.

Nodding, satisfied, Cindy shut the shade and strode back across the room, grabbing a loose chair and plopping it in front of Marcell’s desk. “Alright,” she said. “I believe you.”

“You know that could’ve killed me, right?” He attempted to frown, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

She waved the question off. “You would have stopped me first.” Glancing back at him, Cindy put her chin in her hands and waited. They sat like that for a solid minute as the clock ticked quietly in the corner. “So, are you gonna tell me or what?” she asked finally.

“What?” He replied.

“How it happened, how you became a ‘Creature of the Night’” she gestured sarcastically. “Well you can’t just tell me you’re a vampire and then leave me hanging like that.”

Marcell looked a little surprised. “You really want me to tell you? It’s... a long story. Don’t you have student council or track or something?”

“Nah, I quit both of those a long time ago,” she shook her head. “I’ve got nowhere to be. So spill. Just who are you, Marcell?”

“Where to begin...?” Marcell sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

Cindy sat back. “How about at the beginning. That’s where stories usually start, right?”

“The beginning...” He nodded slowly. “Now that was a very long time ago.” He took another deep breath, and Cindy waiting patiently for him to begin,

“I was born in 67 BCE, in Britain. Of course, it was usually referred to as Albion back then.”

“Wait, wait,” Cindy interrupted. “67 BCE? You’re telling me you’re sixty-seven years older than Jesus.”

“Yes,” he said, a little impatiently. “Now do you want to hear or not?”

Cindy stuck her hands up in surrender, and Marcell continued.

“I lived in a small village near the coast, up on the top of a series of hills. My uncle was the Smith, at that time a highly secretive and valued trade, so my life was more comfortable than most. We had three rooms in our hovel.” He had to pause as Cindy chuckled.

“But anyway, my father, uncle, brother, and I all lived in a small house. Well I say house, it was more like a hut than anything. Thatch roof, walls that could blow over with a slight breeze, the works.”

“What about your mother?” Cindy asked.

Marcell smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She died shortly after my brother was born, which was a sadly common occurrence in those days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember her. And there wasn’t really time to think about things like that. My brother was learning to be a Smith under my uncle, so it was up to my father and me to put food on the table. I remember the old woods, so filled with spirits and gods, the only sound the bending of my bow. Those were... carefree times.”

“And something tells me they didn’t last,” Cindy said.

Marcell nodded. “One morning, while my father and I were hunting near the beach, we heard something strange: voices. But they weren’t speaking in any tongue that we knew. Cautiously, we peered out from the trees to see a whole battalion of men with tan skin and golden, shining armor. ‘Who were they?’ We wondered. ‘Where had they come from?’ Then we saw their boats, though we weren’t sure if we could even call them that. They were enormous, towering over the men on the beach, more like dragons than vessels with which to tame the water. That was when we realized that they must have come from over the ocean.”

“Who were they?” Cindy asked, leaning forward.

“The Romans, of course. Didn’t you pay any attention in my class? The Romans invaded the southern tip of Britain in 55 BCE.”

Blinking, Cindy shook her head. “Oh, right. I remember. Sorry, it’s just hard to connect you and... 55 BCE. Anyway, keep going.”

“And then...” Marcell winced, as if he was watching a character in a book or a movie about to make a horrible mistake. “Just when we were about to turn around and get out of there, I stepped on a branch, the loudest branch in the world, it seemed. And the Romans heard. They turned towards the woods, looking for us. I remember my father gripping my shoulder so tightly, his eyes wide. These men were clearly warriors, with thick armor and sharp spears. We didn’t know what they would do if they found us.

“One of them called something to the trees in their strange language. At the time I thought he was probably asking if anyone was there. I thought we were safe. But a second later, another Roman called in response from directly behind me, and I felt a spear tip poking at my back. The Romans were in the woods as well.

“My father leaned over to me and whispered: ‘Run. Get back to the village, get your uncle.’ I paused, frozen in fear as the Roman began to prod us towards the beach. But my father had given me an order, you didn’t disobey your elders in those days. I nodded, just enough for him to see, and without warning the Roman, turned and streaked back through the trees.

“From behind me came shouting, and then the crash of an army running through the woods. I panicked a little then. They were following me. There was no way I could outrun full grown warriors. But I knew the forest far better than they did, and within a few minutes, I had reached the village.”

“Hold on,” Cindy interrupted. “I don’t mean to question your father, but isn’t it a terrible idea to lead your enemy back to your village?”

Marcell nodded, thinking for a second. “By modern, or even Roman standards, maybe, but you have to understand that back then, the people of Britain weren’t so much kingdoms or even cities as tribes. We hadn’t experienced the art of organized warfare before. Everyone over the age of ten knew how to wield a sword, so leading a raid of disorganized warriors back to your village meant you’d probably outnumber them and probably win. But we were not prepared for the Romans.

“As soon as the first huts appeared through the trees, I began to shout. ‘Help! Help! Uncle, anyone! There’s a raid!’

“Of course, as soon as they heard this, the people of the village, men, women, anyone who could fight began grabbing weapons. My uncle ran out of his workshop and grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘Who is it?’ He demanded, shaking me so much I could barely talk.

“‘I don’t know,’ I shouted over the growing confusion. ‘Strangers, from over the sea!’

“But I didn’t have time to say more, because by then the first of the Romans were emerging from the trees.”

“And you fought back, right?” Cindy asked.

Marcell nodded. “Of course we did. Killed a few, too. I remember hitting one of them, a boy who couldn’t have been much older than I was, square between the eyes with an arrow. The blood just poured down his face before his eyes crossed and he collapsed, almost on top of me. But...” He sighed, looking off to the far wall. “We were slaughtered.

“See, whenever we had warred with our neighbors, the battles had been relatively small, but uncontrolled. The easiest thing was to let the warriors go wild and rely on numbers to win. But the Romans had strategy, formations and the like. They didn’t act as a jumbled mess of warriors but as a single unit.

“Though we fought valiantly, once my uncle, our leader, was killed with a spear to the chest, it was all over. The Romans cut through almost all of us, I watched my brother die right in front of me, and I almost followed him. My bow had been broken in the confusion, and as my eyes were glued upon the still body of my brother, his killer raised a sword to kill me too. But then, another soldier, an older man with watery, blue eyes, put a hand on his shoulder and said something to him.

“I didn’t know the words, but they stuck with me until I eventually learned what they meant.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow in question.

“‘Nonne huic,’ he said. ‘Not this one.’”

“Not this one...” Cindy repeated under her breath, thinking. “Wait. Didn’t you tell us that the Romans enslaved the people they conquered? The one’s they didn’t kill, at least?”

Nodding, Marcell smiled. But he was not happy. “That is correct.”

“So this Roman man spared you because he thought you would make a good slave?” Cindy’s heart dropped a little as Marcell nodded again, and then a little more as he held up his arm, and Cindy could see a faint, red discolored line running around his wrist that she’d never noticed before. “Why you?” She asked, her voice suddenly very small. “What made you special?”

“I have an idea,” Marcell admitted. “But he never told me himself.

“More importantly,” he continued, “that was the first time I saw her.”

“Her?” Cindy frowned, confused.

“In the old Celtic tradition, there are many legends of the Morrigan, the goddess of death. She is said to appear on the greatest battlefields, driving men to madness with her laughter. And there, right as the Roman raised his sword to end my life, there she was, skin pale as death and cloak of crow feathers blowing in the breeze as she guided his hand. At least until the blue-eyed Roman stopped him. I blinked, and the Morrigan was gone. For years afterward, I thought I had been seeing things.”

“But you weren’t, were you?” Leaning forward, Cindy’s eyes narrowed. Part of her remained skeptical, but she of all people knew that there were strange things in this world.

Marcell tilted his head, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

“Very astute.” He nodded. “I’ll come to that later.

“After the battle, almost everyone I knew and loved was dead. There were maybe four or five of us left, mostly young, the leftovers who for whatever reason hadn’t been killed outright. I think one of us fought, but I was so numb and confused that I don’t remember that much after that.

“The Romans dragged us back through the forest, all of us tied together by one long rope. But reaching the beach only numbed my head more when I saw my father lying in a bloody pile at the edge of the woods. I should have felt sad or angry but I just felt... nothing. None of it seemed real to me. I let the blue-eyed Roman guide me onto one of their huge boats and into the dark below with all the rowers.

"It wasn't until they actually started rowing that I realized what was happening. They were sailing away, back across the ocean, and were taking me with them. That was when I finally broke out of my trance and started screaming: ‘Stop! Turn the boat around! I want to go home!’ But of course no one could understand me. This was the first time the Romans had ever been to Britain, mind you.

“I started tugging at the pole that I was tied to once a few of the Romans came down to see what was happening. The blood dripped down my arms, but I was too focused on the Roman who carried a whip. He had a particularly cruel look in his eyes, and didn’t look afraid to use the rope in his hands. But once again, the blue-eyed Roman stopped him simply by putting up a hand.

“He approached me, saying a lot of words that didn’t make sense. ‘I want to go home,’ I cried, but he didn’t understand. ‘Please, let me go home.’ He just shook his head. Then his voice rumbled again, steady and low. I couldn’t tell what the words were but the tone quieted me.

“As I continued to cry he wrapped his arms around me. Of course, in any other circumstance this would have frightened me more. He was a complete stranger, after all. But I had just lost everything, and whether he be the cause or not, the tears kept coming and I didn’t back away.”

Cindy shook her head. “Man,” she said. “What was this guy’s deal?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Marcell adjusted in his chair, and continued.

“The journey was many weeks, but it could have been forever for all I knew. The blue-eyed Roman often came down to see me, and eventually convinced the slaver, the one with the whip, to untie me from the pole so my wounds would heal. Gradually, as he talked, I began to pick up some of his words. Tempestas for storm, navis for boat. Tu for you and ego for I. Eventually, I learned that his name was Gaius Marcellus.”

“Wait,” Cindy interrupted. “Marcellus? But isn’t your name—?”

“I’ll get to that,” he intoned. “Don’t you have any sense of dramatic timing? Anyway, now I knew his name, but as soon as I told him mine, he just shook his head. From what I could grasp of what he was saying, my name was... well, bad. It wasn’t Roman. Non Romani est. I needed a new name. A Roman name.”

“So this guy took everything from you, and now he was taking your name too?” Cindy asked. “Weren’t you angry?”

Marcell thought for a second. “A little, I suppose. But keep in mind that I was unarmed, trapped in a small space with strangers who didn’t speak my language. I was far too scared to argue. This man could kill me if he wanted. So when he patted me on the head and said: ‘Your name is now Lucius,’ there wasn’t much I could do about it. It sounded a little like my name, I suppose. He got the ‘Lugh’ right at the very least. He and everyone else on the ship began to call me that, and eventually I started to respond to it.

“I can’t remember how long we were at sea, I think at one point or another I lost track of the days. But one day, I felt the ship stop. I had almost forgotten what it was like to not be jostled around by the waves at every moment. Though I felt fear rising in my throat as I wondered just what would great me outside of the ship, I almost didn’t have to time to be properly scared, for just then, the slave master came and began to parade us onto the deck.

“The air outside felt more thick and heavy than it should have been, and the light seemed almost... brighter, more stark than back home. I immediately hated it. The slave master began to force us done the gangplank and onto the dock below, but held out his stick when he got to me. ‘Not you,’ was what I think he said. ‘You with Marcellus.’”

“The blue-eyed Roman?” Cindy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He bought you?”

“Yes,” Marcell nodded. “Is something the matter?”

She shook her head. “It’s just... hard for me to imagine. Buying another human being, I mean, renaming him at your whim like some kind of pet. And you... you talk about it so casually, like it’s nothing.”

“In principle, I can see how appalling it would seem to you,” Marcell nodded slowly. “But in practice, being a slave in Rome was... very different from what you’re familiar with.”

“How so?”

“Some were treated cruelly, I suppose, those with harsh or uncaring masters, but for most a slave was almost... part of the family. It sounds strange, I know,” he laughed. “But we were provided room and board in exchange for work, allowed to have families, and routinely freed when we were too old to do the work we had been bought for.”

Cindy’s face still remained scrunched in confusion.

“I’m not trying to defend slavery. A slave is still a slave, after all. But in Rome, it often wasn’t the worst position to be in.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “I think I understand. What happened then?”

"I waited a few minutes before Gaius came over. He placed a small bag of coins in the slaver’s hands and led me away. We plodded down the gangplank, landing on the bustling dock below. I stayed close to him. I’d never seen so many people in one place before. He kept a hand on my shoulder as he guided me into the strange city.

“We went in the opposite direction than the rest of the slaves, and I looked over my shoulder, wondering where they were going. Though if I was honest, I didn’t think I wanted to know.”

“So was this Rome?” Cindy asked.

“No, no,” Marcell waved her off. “Rome was about two hours inland, along the Tiber River. This was Ostia, a small port on the coast. It was a rather small town at the time, but for me it was massive. There were people everywhere, flooding the paved streets, and the buildings seemed to tower over me, like they were trying to close me in.”

“You’d never been to a town before,” Cindy realized, her eyes widening slightly.

Marcell nodded. “I almost froze up, but Gaius was... very understanding. He led me through the town quickly and to a wagon that was waiting for us. I did know what this was.” He smiled wryly. “Gaius pointed at me and then at the wagon and I obeyed, climbing into the back.

“The journey through the countryside was... hard, to say the least. It was the first vaguely familiar sight I had seen in weeks, the rolling hills and green trees were a little comforting, but I couldn’t help thinking that with every turn of the wheels I was getting further and further away from home. I didn’t cry, though I wanted to, and there was this twisting, knotted feeling in my gut that would not go away.

“Eventually the wagon came to a stop, and looking up, I saw an enormous house with farmland and several other buildings surrounding it. We had arrived at Gaius’ villa.”

“So you didn’t go to Rome at all, then?”

“No, not just then.” Marcell shook his head. “And that was probably for the best. Remember how I had reacted seeing a town as small as Ostia. There were at least half a million people in the city of Rome at that time. But anyway, Gaius was not a rich man by any means, but he did have a villa about a day’s distance from Rome that provided an income from the farm, and a townhouse in Rome itself for festivals and events.

“At first I was confused. The very concept of such a big house for only one person was something that I’d never really heard of. Gaius didn’t have to go hunt for his food, there was just masses of it stored in the kitchen, and there was no need to fear wolves or other predators, for there were none there anymore.

“However, I adjusted fairly quickly. I think it is... easier for children to accept new things for what they are than adults. Gaius taught me enough Latin to get by, and I picked up quite a bit more from the other slaves. Within a year I was almost fluent in Latin, in another I had completely mastered it.”

Cindy blinked. “Wow. That was fast.”

“It was by necessity.” Marcell shrugged. “That was the one common language everyone spoke at the villa, and I had always been good at remembering things. Later, I would learn that I have a particular skill for languages. Gaius must have been impressed, for I quickly became his... I guess ‘Personal Assistant’ is the best way to put it. If he needed a letter written, I transcribed his words. If he needed to remember something, I remembered it for him.”

“That must have been horrible,” Cindy said, shuddering a bit.

Marcell tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. “How so?”

“Well, you were taking direct orders from... uh, the man w-who destroyed your life,” Cindy frowned. “Didn’t that make you, like, angry?”

“Perhaps a little at first.” Marcell nodded slowly. “There were several times I thought about killing him; it’s probably what my family would have wanted. Revenge for their deaths. But, well... I wouldn’t say I loved the man, but I respected him.

“And I learned a lot about him. Gaius was a career soldier, finally just nearing the age of retirement. He’d had a family, a wife and son, but they had both died of plague when he had been on a campaign. Though he never really talked about it, I could tell that he missed them dearly. In that way I also learned possibly why he’d chosen me to save. One day, I found a drawing of his son, and—“

“Let me guess,” Cindy interrupted. “He looked just like you.”

Marcell laughed. “Not exactly, but yes, the resemblance was there. So you see why I couldn’t bring myself to just kill him. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I was quickly ‘Romanized’, as we call it today. I enjoyed the easy, new life I was living. Yes, there was a long period of time where I missed the peaceful forests and old hut with my family inside desperately, but I buried that quickly. I think the books helped a lot.”

“Books?”

“Yes, Gaius had a large library in his villa. Sure, we had had stories and legends back in Britannia, but we had never written anything down. So whenever I wasn’t assisting Gaius I was down in the library, reading whatever scrolls I could get my hands on. It was a wonderful distraction, but I think the act of learning also excited me to no end.

“And that was how it was for... oh, eight years. I read books, assisted Gaius, and even accompanied him to Rome several times. Eventually I began to feel more like some sort of weird nephew than a slave. The man was... kind to me.”

“But...” Cindy leaned forward.

The darkness of the room almost seemed to grow a little deeper as the smile shrunk from Marcell’s face. “But of course, nothing good lasts forever.” He nodded.

“I was about twenty when I met her for the second time.”

“The second—? Are you talking about—?” Cindy began.

“The Morrigan?” He asked as she shifted in her seat. “Gaius was sick. He was getting old—it was a small miracle for anyone to live much past sixty at that time—and the last year hadn’t been kind to him. He’d been ill on and off for that time, but had just recently taken a turn for the worst. I was outside, getting some air, when I caught sight of the crow-feathered cloak walking down the road towards me.”

Cindy smirked a little. “What, she wasn’t flying or cackling or anything?”

“No,” Marcell laughed. “Just walking. I remember being frozen in place, unable to even breathe. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I was not really scared of death, just simply in awe. She seemed so powerful, so alien, like she was something not of this earth. She was death, she held humanity’s life in her hands, and could snuff it out at any moment.

“She stopped a short distance away from me. I squinted, trying to get a view under the wide, dark hood. She said nothing, just stared back at me.

“‘You’ve come for Gaius, haven’t you?’ I asked, and the hood nodded slowly. ‘What happens if I stand in your way?’

“From under the hood came laughter. It was hard, and so cold I physically shivered. ‘I remember you, boy’ she whispered. Her voice was surprisingly smooth, steady. ‘You’ve evaded me once before. Do you think you could do it again?’

“‘I don’t know,’ was all I managed to get out, my throat constricted by the cold the Morrigan emanated.

“‘Come closer, boy,’ she held out a hand, and I began to walk towards her without meaning to. She finally let me stop about a foot away from her. Then she lowered the hood to look at me, and I flinched. She was beautiful, her skin a pale porcelain, her hair black as night and wild. But her eyes... they were clouded, dead. Like a blind woman, or a corpse.

“She chuckled as she saw my reaction. ‘Surprising,’ she said, her blue lips parting, ‘you haven’t even screamed yet. Think you’re brave?’

“I shook my head. From all of the stories I’d heard, it was never a good idea to brag to a goddess, especially the goddess of death.

“‘But you won’t step aside? You Britons are always so stubborn. Oh, but you’re not a Briton anymore, are you?’

“I looked away, down towards the dirt. What she said was true: I was not a Briton. I bore a Roman name and had a Roman master. But I myself didn’t feel like a Roman. I had never cared about the dictators and the wars and the politics. So what did I care about? This villa, and all of the books inside. Gaius, and all the slaves who worked for him. What would happen to them if he died? What would happen to me?

“‘No,’ I replied firmly. ‘I will not step aside.’

“Her expression was icy, the smile falling off her face. Keep in mind,” he added as he saw Cindy’s confused face, “that gods are not like you and I. They are ageless, all-powerful, and used to getting their way. You do not stand in their way. I probably wasn’t the first human to do so, but those that did were few and far between.

“I blinked, and suddenly her milky eyes were an inch away from mine. ‘Tell me, boy: do you fear death?’

“‘I don’t know,’ I stuttered, though I didn’t really consider the question. I tried not to think about those kinds of things.

“‘Good,’ she grinned. ‘Because now you’ll never truly know.’

“I began to back away slowly, away from the corpse goddess. ‘What do you mean?’

“‘You do know what happens when you cross the gods, yes? I could just kill you now, but that would be too anticlimactic for my tastes. So if you won’t let me take the life of your master, then I’ll make you do it for me.’”

“What?” Cindy blinked.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Marcell nodded grimly. “But I didn’t have time to do much of anything else besides, for it was at that moment that she stuck out a long, spindly finger, and touched my chest.

“Suddenly, I felt very cold, emanating from the place where she had touched me and spreading over my limbs like ice. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, my world was filled with the laughter of Death. This was what dying felt like, I was sure of it.

“And then... my heart stopped. Literally. At some point I had fallen to the ground, and everything was still. I had to be dead. There was no other explanation. But then how was I still thinking? I felt nothing but cold. Then I opened my eyes, The Morrigan was gone, and I was alone outside the villa, laying on the hard, dirt ground. For a minute, I thought that maybe I had imagined the whole thing.

But as I felt my chest, I knew that that was just wishful thinking. You see, my heart was as still as... well, death. And the world looked different somehow, like there was a whole new spectrum of shadow that I hadn’t been able to see before. I felt frozen solid, and I grasped at the dirt desperately, trying to find something alive.

“But I stopped. There was something alive, something close. Something... warm. I couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was hot, and red like the sun and I needed it. Blindly, I crawled my way towards the thing, up the stairs and into the villa and...” He broke off and closed his eyes, almost as if he were in physical pain just thinking about it. But there was something else, too, something in the shape of his lips and the shortness of his breath. Cindy came rather abruptly to the realization that she was alone in a room with a predator. And she didn’t like that look that was creeping into his features.

“Mr. Marcell?” She asked finally, unpeeling her heart from the inside of her throat. “Did you... kill Gaius?”

He stared at her for a solid minute before answering, his pupils appearing more red than brown in the low light of the classroom. “I don’t know,” he said. “To this day I don’t know if it was the illness that got to him or...” his breath almost caught in his throat. “Or me.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“These new ‘Teen angst novels,’” he rolled his eyes, “often picture my kind as slaves to our bloodlust. They make us lose control so that we aren’t wholly responsible for our actions. This is... not the reality. We are always in perfect control of ourselves and we know exactly what we’re doing. It’s simply that the hungrier you are, the less you care about artificial constructs like morals, the more you become like an intelligent animal.

“And the Morrigan had sapped all of that from my body. I raced through the villa, half man and half mist, and into Gaius’ sickroom. And there was the source of what had attracted me so. Gaius’ fever, his blood pumping so fiercely in an effort to keep him alive. Without thought, or hesitation, I tore the skin of his inner arm with my teeth and drank furiously.

“He hardly made a sound, just a soft whimper, and I barely noticed anyway. I could feel the coldness of my dead body being driven away by the blood, the life I was taking from him. That,” he sighed. “That was the point of no return.”

“What do you mean?” Cindy barely managed to squeak out.

“My... transformation, I guess you could say, didn’t really begin until I first tasted blood.”

“So if you could have, I guess, resisted, would you have—?” Cindy began, before Marcell cut her off.

“Have gone back to normal?” He asked. “I doubt it. My heart had ceased to beat. If I hadn’t taken the life of another, I probably would have just died. The gods are not kind, after all.”

He began to stare into the distance again, but Cindy couldn’t wait any longer. “And then what happened?”

“Then,” Marcell shook himself. “Then I stumbled backwards as the gravity of what I was doing returned to me. My vision began to swim as my whole body started to pound. I stumbled from the room and out of the villa.

“I don’t remember much after that, just pain, like I was being stabbed with a dull knife, but over my whole body. At one point I may have fallen asleep, but I’m not sure.

“It was the next morning when I finally came to my senses, laying in a pile of hay in the stables. I felt relatively normal again, but even before the thought formed, by the lingering taste of iron on my tongue I could tell that the events of the previous night had been entirely real, though I couldn’t remember all of the details.

“I was dizzy, and my mouth felt oddly sore and sensitive. I spit, and two of my teeth plopped into my hand. But as I ran my tongue over my teeth I found that I wasn’t missing any. I had grown new teeth in the middle of the night.” He opened his mouth, showing Cindy his oddly pointy canines.

“I licked the blood off of my chin and fingers, and hated myself. Nothing had ever tasted so divine before, and yet I was starting to remember the fact that this was a living person’s blood I was so enjoying. More than that, it was Gaius’ blood. This thought brought me back to my senses, and I stood abruptly before almost being brought down again by dizziness. But I had to see, had to know if I’d killed him.

“Except that the second I stepped into the sunlight outside of the stable my skin burned. I shrank away, back into the shadows, and watched in horror as blisters began to form on my forearms. Keep in mind,” he added, “that vampires were not as culturally engrained in Rome as they are today, so I had no idea what was happening to me. I paced back and forth though the stable, trying to figure out how to get back to the villa while avoiding the sunlight. I couldn’t make it across the field. If I tried, I would die.

“Then, a miracle happened: a cloud blotted out the sun. I didn’t think; I just ran. The residual light still made my bare skin tingle, but I made it under the roof of the villa without harm.”

“Hold on.” Cindy held up a hand, and Marcell blinked a few times, coming back to reality. “I have a question: just how much does sunlight affect you? I mean, I opened the shade earlier and you look fine now.”

“As far as I know, the sun is one of the only things that can kill me. But only direct sunlight can really do it. It still hurts if it’s through a window, but to a much lesser degree.”

“Or from behind clouds.” Cindy nodded. “Which you didn’t know at the time.”

“I made a very lucky guess,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t really thinking at the time. I ran to Gaius’ room, and almost bumped into one of the maids. My heart sank as I saw her expression. ‘Is he...?’ I began.

“‘Soon,’ she replied. ‘His time is coming, you should go to him.’

“‘Thank you,’ I nodded, entering the near silent room. I stood in the doorway for the longest time. Gaius almost looked small, like a child, in the bed, and so very pale. His arm had been bandaged, so I couldn’t tell just how much blood he’d really lost. Still, I couldn’t help but think that this was all my fault.”

“But it wasn’t. I mean, not really.” Cindy said, though the more she thought about it, the less sure she was.

Marcell simply laughed. “I’ve been wrestling with that question for two-thousand years.” He looked off towards the wall. “And I still haven’t come to a solid conclusion. I think I’ve made my peace with that. But at the time... well, I’m sure you can imagine.

“Gaius looked up at me after a minute, smiling weakly. ‘Lucius,’ he whispered. ‘Come here, my boy.’

“I obeyed, kneeling beside the bed and gripping his hand, and cried.

“‘No, no, child,’ he said. ‘Do not cry. All things have their time.’”

“Then he didn’t know what had happened,” Cindy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Marcell shook his head. “I didn’t really have time, or the courage, to ask. In fact, before I could say anything he beckoned me closer and placed a piece of parchment in my hand. ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

“‘Everything,’ he said. ‘My land, my library, it’s all yours now.’

“Of course I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. And in the end, ‘thank you,’ was all I could say. I sat there with him until he finally stopped breathing, just as the sun was going down. In the course of one day my life had changed completely. Again. I was no longer Lucius the slave. Now, I was Lucius Marcellus the Roman.”

“He gave you everything?” Cindy asked. “But you were a slave!”

“And he was without an heir.” Marcell shrugged. “And anyway, I think I was the closest thing to family he’d had in a long time. Needless to say, I felt worse than death. I thought I had killed him, only for him to leave me all of his worldly possessions. I retreated to the library and didn’t come out for weeks, poured over the numerous scrolls for some way to cure my curse so that this never had to happen again.

“No one came near me, of which I was glad. I was so afraid of giving into my hunger and hurting someone. Eventually I became so desperate for sustenance that I tracked one of the rats in the walls and drained it dry. And thus was born Lucius Marcellus, the bane of rodents forever after.”

Cindy tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards despite herself. “So, you don’t need human blood in particular.”

“No, any animal will do as a substitute, but that’s all it is, really. Nothing satisfies even remotely as much as human blood.

“Anyway,” he continued, shaking his head, “Gaius had collected writings from all corners of the empire and beyond, and it wasn’t long before I came across various legends of ‘the vampire,’ and found that there was no known cure beyond death. After that, I didn’t stay at the villa for long. It was hard to be in that place with its constant reminders of Gaius, and the slaves and neighbors were beginning to suspect that all was not right with me. I freed most of Gaius’ slaves, only leaving enough to keep the farm going, and left immediately.

“I decided to travel, learn all I could. I now had all of the time and money in the world, after all. So I did, for many years, which is a story all by itself, until I finally decided to settle down for a while in the city of Pompeii.”

Cindy’s eyes widened. “Pompeii? But isn’t that—?”

“—A story for another time.” Marcell finished for her.

“What?” She stood. “But you’ve barely scratched the surface. You’ve still got one-thousand, nine-hundred years to account for!”

“And it is already almost 6 o’clock,” Marcell motioned towards the window, its shade glowing around the edges from the setting sun. “I’m sure the janitors would like to get in here and go home.”

Cindy sighed, grabbing the long forgotten lunch bag. “You, my good sir, are a tease.”

“Tell you what,” he smiled crookedly, “I seem to suddenly find myself in need of a Teacher’s Assistant for seventh hour, to help me with paperwork and listen to me ramble. Could you swing it?”

“I have study hall then,” she grinned. “I’m completely free.”

“Then we’ll talk tomorrow and get the paperwork all filled out.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Cindy pointed a finger before making her way through the sea of desks towards the door. “Good night, Mr. Marcell.” She waved. “And... thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you some other time.” She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

#writing #ede valley #Lucius Marcell #Cindy Miller #Mike Miller

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expatimes · 4 years

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Unemployment marches higher in Europe as pandemic grinds on

FRANKFURT, Germany (AP) - Unemployment rose for a fifth straight month in Europe in August and is expected to grow further amid concern that extensive government support programs won't be able to keep many businesses hit by coronavirus restrictions afloat forever.

The jobless rate increased to 8.1% in the 19 countries that use the euro currency, from 8.0% in July, official statistics showed Thursday. The number of people out of work rose by 251,000 during the month to 13.2 million. While Europe's unemployment rate is still modest compared with the spike seen in many other countries, economists predict it could hit double digits in coming months as wage support programs expire. A resurgence in infections in many countries has meanwhile led to new restrictions on businesses and public life that may have to be broadened and could lead to more layoffs.

European governments have approved trillions of euros (dollars) to help businesses, setting up or bolstering programs to keep workers on payrolls. In the region's largest economy, Germany, some 3.7 million people are still on furlough support programs. With no clear end to the pandemic in sight, the government has extended that through the end of 2021. The program pays over 70% of the salaries for workers put on short hours or no hours. The European Central Bank is injecting 1.35 trillion euro ($ 1.57 trillion) into the economy.

But while such help has slowed the wave of unemployment, jobs continue to vanish. Companies in the hardest hit industries such as tourism, travel and restaurants expect a long period of weak business and are laying off workers.

In the center of the Portuguese capital, Lisbon, laid off restaurant worker Mary Lopes, 21, was not put on a furlough scheme by her employer and is still waiting for unemployment papers. The restaurant she worked in closed down completely in March. When it reopened, only a few of the staff were kept on, under tougher conditions, and the others were left out of work. “I've been working since I was 16,” said Lopes. “I was a good waitress - I know I was a very good waitress. So I don't understand this situation we are going through. ”

Her older colleagues Anabela Santos, 48, and Carlos Silva, 69, say unemployment benefits barely cover expenses. Santos paid five months of overdue bills when she got her unemployment benefit, and sent resumes everywhere. “I haven't managed to find another job,” she said. “It's an overdose of stress because we haven't a penny in our pockets,” says Silva. "We are left without any money after paying rent, water, energy and then we are suffering for those thirty days until the next 28th of the month or so."

The pandemic is sending unemployment higher around the globe. Outside the 27-country European Union and its 19 members that use the euro, Britain faces a sharp increase in unemployment as the government plans to replace a broad furlough support program at the end of October with a more limited version. Some economists expect the unemployment rate to double to 8% by year end. A lack of progress on reaching a new trade deal with the EU is only likely to worsen things.

In the US, the jobless rate fell sharply in August by 1.8% to 8.4%, after a sharper increase during the spring. The US, which has less in the way of labor market support programs, saw unemployment spike as high as 14.7% in May, followed by a steep fall as businesses and states reopened. The number of Americans seeking unemployment benefits declined last week to a still-high 837,000, indicating companies are still cutting jobs despite the tentative recovery that began after states started reopening.

The recession has in some cases accelerated painful change that existed before the pandemic, such as technological shifts in the auto industry. Automakers Daimler and Renault, airline Lufthansa, oil company Royal Dutch Shell and travel concern TUI have announced sweeping cost-cutting and job reductions.

Among the hardest hit workers and small business owners in the services industries, many of whom are struggling for survival, and independent contractors and temporary workers.

Greek actor and theater director Aris Laskos hasn't worked since early February. He received a one-off support check for 800 euros ($ 940) shortly after the country's economy was placed in lockdown in the spring. Greece recently emerged from a crippling financial crisis after spending most of the past decade in recession. Unemployment numbers are again rising fast, reaching 16.7% in the second quarter, with the numbers expected to worsen after government funding for furlough schemes runs out.

“Probably 90% of employees in the arts sector are unemployed,” said Laskos, who heads an actors' guild representing more than 2,500 professionals. Most members do not qualify for benefits due to the freelance nature of acting work.

“The arts sector is the first to be locked down and is the last one still not opened yet,” Laskos said. “We are struggling, trying to cope with our lives. We have no insurance, and we cannot enter the unemployment system… Everything else is running: planes, ferries, restaurants, but not us. ”

The post Unemployment marches higher in Europe as pandemic grinds on appeared first on ARAB TIMES - KUWAIT NEWS.

#world Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=11268&feed_id=8307

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imaginedeliciouspancakes · 7 years

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I had this thought at like 2am okay, so what about headcannons (or scenario, whatever you think fits best) for Goro with an S/O who has anger issues. And not an argument between them because I don't need that angst, but like a stranger says something just enough to piss S/O off and they are *that* close to flipping their shit. I just thought it'd be funny, like "No, don't punch them, don't go to jail-"

Oohoo boy. Goro must have his hands full looool

- Even though he’s really not the one to talk about anger issues, Akechi has been a positive force in S/O’s life, being there to calm them down and teach them how controlling their anger.

- A common catalyst for S/O his Akechi’s annoying fans (girls, boys, non-binaries, anyone; we don’t discriminate here

- Whether it be they won’t leave him alone or they get a little too close for comfort to him, S/O has his voice echoing in their head.

- “Violence doesn’t solve anything”, “They’re just trying to get a reaction out of you”, “Getting angry isn’t good for you”, things like that.

- But ohhhh man, the ONE thing that gets S/O sooo close to erupting is people who put Akechi down/talk trash about him (Notably during the PTs rise to fame).

- They will fight them on all planes of existence. No joke.

- Akechi can certainly tell when S/O is about to go ape. Their eyes get really narrow, their making fists, their knuckles are white, and they look as red as a beat in the face. Basically almost looking like an angry cartoon character.

- Partly thanks to his support, there is hardly ever a time that S/O makes an attempt to punch someone’s lights out. But if he’s not around, the probability that they do punch someone is increased.

- So when Akechi turns the corner to greet them after he’s left work, he’s only 3/4 shocked to see S/O’s fist about to smash someone in the face.

- Thanks to his athletic hobbies, he’s able to reach them in time to grab their arm, their fist only inches away from the other’s face.

- S/O was so ready to punch Akechi, but once they noticed it was him, they get a bit of a sad puppy look on their face. But still angry af, of course.

- “Don’t pull an Akira, S/O...”

- He knows he probably can’t get S/O to apologize to the person, nor get them to say anything whatsoever, so he apologizes profusely to the stranger, offers them compensation and shit, then pulls S/O away.

- S/O, despite still feeling a bit ashamed and guilty for their actions, goes on a rant, asking why he stopped them and telling him what the person was saying about him.

- Although strangers’ words do tend to get to him, he tells them the same thing that he has always told them.

- “They aren’t worth you getting thrown behind bars, S/O...”

- BONUS: He has them grab onto his hand when they’re feeling angry. Sometimes his hand goes numb. Sometimes his knuckles crack.

- As much as he likes being the receiver of affection, he holds them when they are just a big angry baby.

#goro akechi #akechi goro #akechi #persona 5 #p5 #persona #goro x S/O #anger issues #violence #aaaaa i hope this is good;;;;#bloodandblackrose

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yungrudd · 7 years

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DEATH ::: A PhilosoFIEND Blog

Yung Rudd’s delving into the meaning of death, the fear of it and how it affects the average human mentally and socially.

1. Intro

Welcome, welcome one and all: friends, family and strangers.

I know this seems like a dark and sombre title to start off my blog, but fear not: the tone of this blog won’t match how the title may have first made you feel, and I hope to make a lot of people not only change their perspectives on death after reading, but to also motivate them to use their life to the fullest.

With that being said, it’s an honour to be sharing a piece of my mind with you. Ironically, I start with the topic of death because it took just that to get me to start my blog: a death of the image and idea I set for myself among my peers; in my society. Many may watch me and assume that I’m just a joyous and very happy-go-lucky guy, maybe even so because of ignorant bliss. The truth is: I view myself as a knowledgeable intellectual with a thirst for more and more knowledge, and anyone else who shares that trait knows that deep down you cannot help but be a tortured soul when faced with the reality of the world we live in. To put it in a nutshell: in this current world we exist in, this man-made dome which cloaks our evolutionary nature and necessity for our natural habitat, you cannot have both the truth and bliss at the same time: you are forced to make a choice.

With that being said, I’ve come to realise that I should not fear death along my journey of learning, and to see the beauty in the consistency of both death and life. With the words I’m about to share, I’m not trying to pretend to necessarily be profound, nor do I believe that all the things I am stating have been covered for the first time by me. However, it’s my desire to enlighten and educate those who may have not been introduced to these points of view; POVs that I make extreme effort to ensure are based on evidence that is almost irrefutable, and not what you or I may WANT to believe. I hope you enjoy

2. What is death?

Death (or to die) is defined as the end of the life of a person or organism. More importantly (since it is a foundation for the definition of death), life is defined as the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.

With this, I agree 100%. That’s why I’m choosing to release this right after Trinidad Carnival [*edit - I wrote this since February, but fear of negative judgement lead me to not release this blog], with the latter word literally meaning “farewell to the flesh”. How death is perceived in everyday use in society however, I can only mostly agree. I say mostly because the actual definition is somewhat an oversimplification of death in the mind of the average human.

From my observation, death generally comes with a caveat at an end of one’s physical existence, often with a supposed new and/or eternal lease of life to be awarded either solely to the deceased’s consciousness, or with a “soul”, possibly even the physical. Ironically, with this definition I also SOMEWHAT agree, although only partially. I know that the words “...somewhat/ only partially” may sound weird, but considering that I believe that there is both continuation of both the physical form, and to one (or even several forms) consciousness post death, the explanation may give it credence. And with that, the perfect segue to the next act: why did I view this as holding importance?

3. Why death?

For years, I’ve always been bemused by how people relate to death: whether it be mentioning it at all, how they react when someone dies, grieving processes, fear of death period, let alone their own, and also the rituals we have for our deceased. Every time I’ve offered my point of view on death, it’s been shut down because of what I observe to be an overly emotional and subjective relationship people have forged with death, and that’s kind of turned me off in the long term from mentioning it. However with a recent spike of deaths in my home country of Trinidad and Tobago, coupled with the wars and death all around the world of humans and other sentient life alike, and seeing the fear it incites in people, I think it was super pertinent.

All those words to get to the point: FEAR, aka the lack of knowledge, about death; my true motivator. I cannot understand firstly, why most of humanity not only promotes death consistently, but also seeks to promote constantly living in fear of it. I’ll draw from the example of deaths in Trinidad and Tobago. In an island of 1.3 million people, we have a, relatively speaking, large number of killing deaths especially due to gang related activity. This has driven people to have an irrationally high fear of being a victim of death (even though they aren’t often present in places or situations that would increase that likelihood), and therefore practicing extreme caution, and are upset at the government for not dealing with the crime situation. However, despite years of overwhelming evidence that drug illegality makes crime worse, and a seeming common knowledge that not only does drug money run Trinbago but that the affluent-via-drugs have heavy political ties, we not only fail to call for proper drug regulation to curb the killings and corruption, we repeatedly vote for the same parties that are allegedly funded by the suspected drug lords who supposedly mask themselves as legitimate. How can you be angry at a lack of action on violent crime, and your very behaviour promotes it, and keeps it active? [Spoiler alert: this will be a future blog topic].

Personally, I fear suffering and violence more than I do death itself. For example, when ISIS beheads a victim, I cringe more at the thought of the slow severing of a head considering the pain and stress one would have to go through. Something like that to me makes the death itself worth it, rather than the victim having to suffer the ordeal anymore, or even further if they somehow survive. Even in Trinidad recently, a girl had her throat brutally slit, and the grave suffering and bleeding out she would have to endure was my focus, and dealing with behaviours that lead to those outcomes seems more dire to me.

With that being said, I think it’s important to highlight that, as death is something that is as inevitable as breathing, seeing and defecating, it’s more logical to focus on what we know we can control and regulate, which is both human behaviour, and how to expand your quality of life, rather than focusing on the moment you will pass.

4. Is death truly what it seems?

Is death really just the end of your life? Is death something to truly fear? Is death the start of an afterlife?

To me: death is beautiful. But to me: death is also TECHNICALLY not real. When people ask "what happens when you die?", my answer to that is lengthy. Firstly, everything we perceive is in our brains. What gives us our subjective world view is our brains. From where I stand, it seems only reasonable that when you "die" that your subjective reality in this human form is over, but you don't truly "die", i.e. cease to exist completely. I’ve viewed another step. Some people call that step passing onto the "other plane", which we’ve had literally our entire life full of examples to witness. Humans cease to have the consciousness that allows us to continue logging information for currently existing & future people to live on using & you decay; your body gives back to the Earth. Earthworms, maggots, flies, bacteria and more all feed on your flesh, to help another little ecosystem thrive majorly. Years later who knows what your breakdown may be? You may play an integral part in nutrients in a soil that grows food for a future generation or another animal, making you a direct part of a continuing "cycle" of life here on Earth. Yet, with this knowledge, we still seem to fear it. Why?

From what I observe, death scares some not because we are going to die, but because of 3 reasons:

1. We are overly egotistical and need to believe that this consciousness has to continue because we're addicted to it 2. That ego is fed by perpetuation of false ideas wreaking of fear, and not just merely observing your surroundings 3. Because we know of the pain that we feel when we lose a loved one, because against any will that you may have, you have lost that direct connection you had to betterment and enlightenment with that person, whether it be emotionally, mentally or whatever.

A lot of people like to say it is fear of the unknown but is it? Think of how many things you don't know. Do you know right now that this is not the matrix? Do you know right now that 2 invisible pixies aren’t laying eggs in your ears that we can't detect and will later turn into cancer? No ... we don't know these things. Imagine if you obsessed over not knowing those ideas. Imagine all the side effects of that obsession, like we see with death, which things like religion directly feed upon by making you fear eternal torture posthumously (with all the tortures I’ve ever seen all being things that only sentient beings can undergo). The reason we don't obsess over those things is because it's a seemingly unprovable reality. It goes against what we know and understand about the universe currently and therefore, it is implausible. Thus far, nothing about our observations suggest anything but the end of this life, in this form, and you merely just giving back to this closed system that is Earth. From that logic, your current ape form of life is just a simple manifestation of a series of other manifestations of lives before you. In other words, were you ever truly not alive? If another life form died and gave rise to nutrients that lead to food you now eat, can you not comfortably say that life form lives, in some way currently, in you? We humans are not special snowflakes. We are part of a system in our habitats, a part of a larger system in our planet, and a part of an even larger system in our galaxy, and a part of an even larger system in our universe. Hell, even possibly part of an even larger system in a multiverse! New manifestations of what life is happen everyday, but the actual idea of life, is exponentially more longevitous. We have plausible answers of what your "afterlife" in ape form will be. You will become a part of the cycle that has existed before you. This is what gives major credence to a common point of view that "life is too short for *insert bad energy here*". It truly is: this existence is but a blip in the cycle of the closed system of Earth, and spending it on things that are ONLY going to satisfy this mortal ego, instead of simultaneously satisfying the ego (and even more than your ego) and satisfying your surroundings, is a colossal waste of what you could have offered/achieved.

5. What is the current attitude towards death, and how does it affect us?

The Universe is ALL energy based. We are energy based life-forms. Our major ability as humans is harnessing energy. Obsessing over any type of energy brings it to light. When you consistently put yourself in a place where you are positive, i.e. the people you keep near bring energy and ideas and vibes that are consistently bettering your sentient experience without harming other sentient existences in the process, that vibe reproduces. The truth is, humans have an overly unhealthy obsession with death. An eternal fear, instead of accepting it as part of a natural process, is plaguing our entire existence and that obsession has, in my opinion, lead us to commit heinous acts: against one another as a species - from wars, to slavery; and against other fellow sentient beings in the ongoing animal slavery and holocaust, which has in turn seemingly really fucked planet Earth. This means that it is a real possibility that we humans are the direct cause for the impending death of ALL species and life as we know it, quite possibly in the not too distant future.

People watch disease merely as viruses like the flu, or an STD or something. But what is a flu, at the basic level, when you ask yourself? It's something trying to live, to survive, off of you. And you see no problem bringing forth it's death in turn for your survival and betterment. What do you think ideas can be? When an idea floods your mind, and it is allowed to run rampant with no control, no taking of the cognitive medicine of putting 2 and 2 together to make the most logical outcomes, what do you call that? That is mental disease. A serious thing that has decayed and convoluted the entire way we look at things. A fear, crippling us. But the truth is, what is fear? It is most accurately, from my point of view, merely the absence of conscious knowledge. For example, if someone came to rob you with a gun right now, would you be afraid if you knew a way to, with very little doubt (because without any doubt is impossible in my humble opinion), disarm him and be safe? Of course not, but the reality is most people have the knowledge that:

1. Guns kill 2. People who rob either are desperate and/or enjoy hurting others 3. They will value what they can take from yo more than your life 4. The average person don't possess the skill to disarm him/her

With that knowledge, the fear of losing your current manifestation of life kicks in. Because you truly just don't know. And we have treated death like this as if we have not ourselves witnessed many loved ones die. Witnessed death on television, whether fiction in movies or on the news. Instead of watching it as an inevitable reality, we have merely just invested time in watching through that lens of fear because we want to some reason stop it from ever coming. Yet most human beings directly contribute to sentient death every single day themselves by contributing to the animal products industry: both of those animals, and promoting a diet that shortens the life of fellow humans and loved ones. The irony is sweet. But the reality is bitter.

Death is not to be feared, it is to be accepted. Be glad that the earth as you know it, granted all the forms of life that came before you to manifest into what you are today for this speck of time, and be grateful that you have a way to contribute directly back to that process. Know that said mindset is why life is so valuable: because while here you can directly contribute with cognitive thoughts; several ideas that can change your fellow beings' existence, possibly forever. As a human, your ability to cognitively think is your strong-point above every other animal. Our ability to harness energy is, thus far, seemingly second to none. That is why without cognitive thought, we are truly lost. An idea is a badge of identity. What do you want your identity to be?

Part of my identity, is accepting reality for what it demonstrably is and realising the beauty of it. Or if I can't find the beauty, figure out a way to stop the ugly. And judging from the suffering I see everyday, death is not one of those uglies. I willingly accept my future role of giving back to the Earth as it has given to me.

6. Conclusion

As I mentioned before, it is said people fear death because of the "unknown". Well what is the unknown exactly? I usually put this down to the investment of time in a belief that humans have something extra within us that is unfalsifiable and comes more prominently to life after our physical form passes. This is usually referred to as a spirit and/or soul, and the apparent assumption is that our consciousness (quite possibly) remains intact on this journey. Other than anecdotal claims, and/or experiences where people have felt something compelling and assumed it as evidence for a soul, without discussing other possibilities and/or delving into how those other possibilities may be more plausible and viable, I have seen no evidence for this.

So what DO we know? As I’ve said, we know for sure that our bodies die and disintegrate into the earth, giving back to an ecosystem around us: fact. We also know that when we die, we leave somewhat of a legacy; whether it be the job we did, how we helped our friends, family, loved ones and even strangers, how many things we did to change culture, philosophies, thought patterns, norms etc. And of course, things like assets: homes, cars, clothes, money, wills etc.

From where I stand, the knowledge that we have about those 2 things, makes me have little to no fear of the moment of dying. What it makes me fear more, is 2 things:

1. Am I treating my internal ecosystem with enough of a positive lifestyle, that I translate that energy exchange post death into a more positive one? In other words, is my healthier, more in-tune body giving back more good nutrients, and inviting more positive agents of decay to break down the matter that I once was, in order to give back mother earth a more positive me? and 2. If I were to die right now, would I be comfortable with the way my ape form is to survive on, i.e. through memories? Is my former existence worthy enough to leave a lasting imprint on this planet, so that not only my fellow members of mankind, but also my fellow sentient beings, other intelligent life forms and mother nature on the whole will benefit from the work I put in? It motivates me to leave the great stamp behind so that I know others will carry on what I have done, while I accept my reciprocation of positive energy to the universe.

This is what many of my idols have done. From Carl Sagan, to Nelson Mandela, to Christopher Hitchens and more; and even living examples such as Richard Dawkins, Lawrence Krauss & more. They have, to me, left behind legacies that will better the human experience. Those legacies can also be extended to other sentient forms of life, which ultimately will extend to mother Earth.

If I die tomorrow, it would be the end of a 28 [*update: now 29] year old great ape named Isaac, but it would truly be the end of a multi billion year manifestation of energy, that will then manifest into several continuations of & new forms of energy to add to those multi billions of years. That 28 [*29] year old however, understands his capacity to live on through recorded knowledge and data. I’m trying my hardest daily to make sure that the memory remains positive, and also remains so impactful that even if you forget my name, my ideas live on in a positive way. If I don’t, my greatest fear of all will manifest into reality. All I can do is my best, and I encourage you to do the same.

Cheers, and thank you for reading.

#the philosofiend #death #die #philosophy #philosophical #yung rudd

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sowingseedsandshootinghoops · 7 years

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Overcoming Man: The Story of Nietzsche and the Ubermensch

A note on the text: I used Walter Kaufman’s translation of Frederich Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra as published by Penguin Books in 1978

“What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end” (15).

Nietzsche is has become the boogie man of 19th century western philosophy. The guy who blamed for,among other things, the rise of Nazism (a philosophy he more than likely would have denounced) and the perceived stripping away of value from life. Nietzsche is a very odd writer, and in many ways that work which many consider to be his magnum opus, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, is equally odd. Odd because of the beautiful, poetic, some might even say hypnotic, language that he uses, but also because un-nihilistic his worldview is. The ubermensch (or “overman” as Kaufman translates it) is a person who is able to take control of their life and infuse extraordinary amounts of meaning and value into their lives.

The first thing one should probably do when talking about the overman is point out that the overman isn’t something that you are. It is something that you become: “There is was too that I picked up the world ‘overman’ by the way and that man is something that must be overcome- that man is a bridge and no end: proclaiming himself blessed in view of his noon and evening, as the way to a new dawn” (198). He would not support the direction that the Nazis took his idea; one cannot have a race of such beings because they, in some sense, don’t exist. He does not espouse any kind of idea of racial superiority.

He also rejects the idea that man, as currently constructed, was made to be what he currently is. We are, as it were, simply one more step on an evolutionary chain. I remember as a child reading a story in National Geographics about a skull of a man with no teeth that had just been found. What had shocked scientists at the time of the discovery was that they could prove that he had lived for many years after he had lost all his teeth which means that someone had to have mashed up his food and fed it to him; making this the first act of charity ever recorded. The human skulls that we have from earlier eras show us that the part of the brain from which compassion arises simply did not exist. They would not even have understood what compassion was, and yet however many years later this completely unique and previously unheard of trait was exhibiting itself. Nietzsche thinks that we are still on the same path and are due for a similar type of transformation. To have become an overman means to have stepped into a different level of consciousness. It means, in effect, to have at least started the process of becoming a “new man”. It also means that you have done this not only for yourself but have opened the door in such a way that others could go through too.

In further describing the essence of the overman Nietzsche writes that

man is something that shall be overcome. What have you done to overcome him? All beings so far have done something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and go back to being beasts rather than overcome man? What is ape to man? A laughing stock or a painful embarrassment. And what will man be to the overman? A laughing stock or an embarrassment (12).

Not only is the overman a real person, but there have been overmen before: Christ was one, Moses was one, as were Mohammed and Buddha among others. Even the historical Zarathustra was one. These were all people who fundamentally changed the way that people thought about themselves and the world around them. They each showed humanity a different way of seeing the world and themselves, and brought with them a whole system of values. So, it is obvious that to Nietzsche the overman is not some sort of being that exists outside of history that then imposes himself onto our world. Any one of us has the potential to become an ubermensch and lead mankind into a higher level of being.

Now the question is what has stood in man’s way and prevented him from making further advancements in this “field”? What has kept him from reaching this new level of consciousness more effectively? For Nietzsche the answer is not just religion but any kind of preaching that emphasizes another type of existence as being inherently more preferable to this one. The preaching of the kingdom of Heaven has made people feel like it isn’t worth improving life on this earth and pushing man towards that higher level of existence. In fact one of the first tenants that he preaches in this book is that “people should remain faithful to the earth” and not believe “those who speak to [them] of otherworldly hopes! Poison mixers are they, whether they know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying and poisoned themselves of whom the earth is weary: so let them go” (13). He goes on then to say more explicitly that it was the

sick and decaying who despised and the earth [who] invented the heavenly realms and redemptive drops of blood. . . . They wanted to escape their own misery and the stars were too far away for them. So they sighed, ‘Would that there were heavenly ways to sneak into another state of being and happiness!’ Thus they invented their sneaky ruses and bloody potions. . . . Listen rather my brothers to the voice of the healthy body: that is a more honest and purer voice. More honestly and purely speaks the body that is healthy and perpendicular: and it speaks of the [true] meaning of earth (33).

His issue is not with the fact that such people have found a problem with life on earth, Nietzsche himself knew all too well that suffering is part of this life, but that rather than focus on making life on this earth better, they projected all their hopes and desires onto this other plane. They didn’t decide to focus on improving the world and on bringing everyone around them to a higher level of enlightenment. Instead they let their hatred of their life and the world around them drive them to abandon everything. Remember that Nietzsche grew up Lutheran (and even studied to become a minister) and that a lot of Protestants have a “body negative” view of the world where the flesh is the source of sin and evil and the spirit is the source of all the good in the world. So it’s rather easy to see how he would have seen a lot of religious people as people who essentially hated the world more than anything else. That is the attitude that he rejects above all else.

The other than thing that Christianity brought to the world, according to Nietzsche, is what he would later call a “slave morality”. It is a morality centered around the weak. In ancient times it was the strong and the powerful who were admired. They were people like Achilles and Hercules. They inspired people to be the best that they could be. In its place Christianity preached that the “meek shall inherit the earth” (Mt 5:5) in one feel swoop made it so that greatness was no longer something to aspire to. Remember again that he comes from a religion that tends to view God has a harsh, and kind of cruel, taskmaster who operates on the basis of a strict determinism. Which is to say that the world is exactly as he intended it to be, problems and all. Which means that it is very, very important that man know his place and not attempt to “overthrow” the system. For a lot of Protestants, more especially Calvinists but probably Lutherans too, free will is either impossible or a very, very, VERY, troublesome thing that causes men to disobey God’s commands. Thus it imposes a “slave morality” onto its subjects where virtues like humility, modesty, and reverence are upheld and virtues that would correspond to the “master morality” are condemned as evil. People are taught to modestly

embrace a small happiness- that they call ‘resignation’- and modestly squint the while for another small happiness. At bottom the simpletons want a simple thing most of all: that nobody should hurt them. . . . This however is cowardice even if it be called virtue. . . . Virtue is to them what makes one modest and tame: they have turned the wolf into a dog and man into man’s best domestic animal (170).

What the overman does, essentially, is shake off this slave morality and dare to reach for something higher. Dare to push himself, and mankind as a whole, onto a higher plane of existence.

Now why does the overman do this? Because he loves the world and the people in it. He wants other people to actualize themselves and become the best version of whatever they are. At one point one of Zarathustra’s followers, who lives in a swamp, is angrily condemning all the other people to Hell and Zarathustra stops him saying:

Your speech and manner have long nauseated me. Why did you near the swamp [for] so long [that you became] a frog and a toad? Does not putrid, swampy blood run through your veins that you have learned to croak and revile thus?. . . . I despise your despising. . . . Out of love alone shall my despising and my warning bird fly up, not out of the swamp. . . . Where no one can love, there one should pass by (177-178).

In fact, at one point Zarathustra prays that these “sick” men become “convalescents, men of overcoming and create a higher body for themselves” and then drives the point further home yet again: “Let this be your honor: to always love more than you are loved” (33, 66). So the overman is not the product of a dog-eat-dog mentality. In fact he is driven to do what he does out of love for himself, for his fellow man, and for life. He wants everyone, including themselves, to reach their highest potential and live the best life that they can.

So he wants people to live lives that are full of meaning! Life is precious and full of value! So the questions remains then, how does one become an ubermensch? Well although Nietzsche believes that every individual’s goal is self actualization, and that will in turn lead, eventually, to the species as a whole entering into that higher plane of existence, he does not believe that humanity as a whole has one particular goal. Which means that there isn’t only one way for the individual to reach that state of self-actualization. The ubermensch is a person who “has discovered himself and [said] ‘this is my good and evil’; with that he had reduced to silence the mole and the dwarf who say ‘good for all, evil for all’” (194). Take responsibility for your own life. Get up, claim, and hold onto what you hold dear even if no one else does. That is how you become an overman and live a life full of meaning- your life has to be full of what might be called personal meaning if it is to be meaningful at all. If you’re unhappy with your life than get up and change it; don’t wait to get to Heaven in order to live the life you want. Live it now, be the person you want to be now. Love your life, don’t throw it away with the hope that something better will come if you just sit and wait patiently for it, and don’t simply follow other people blindly down whatever path they have said you should follow. Not even Zarathustra: “You believe in Zarathustra? But what matters Zarathustra? You are my believers- but what matters all believers? You have not yet sought yourselves and you have found me. Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves” (78). Keep your eyes and ears open and look for the path that you feel drawn to because the path that Zarathustra walks down may not be the right path for you: “This is my way; where is yours?’ Thus I answered those who asked [about] ‘the way’. For such a path does not exist’” (195). Ultimately the goal of every single individual is the same: “Become who you are” (239). Become it because you are not it yet, and realize that who you are is different than who someone else is. Which means that in order to live a life that is meaningful, you have to embrace and live your life according to statutes that important to you. Transcend what is around you and become the overman what you were meant to be. Don’t settle for mediocrity because you were meant for so much more. Strive for greatness, be great.

The call to be an ubermensch is far from a call to a life that has no meaning. It is the exact opposite. The call is one to live full of the highest level of meaning. It doesn’t mean settling and saying “Oh well, this is all I have to live for”. No it is a call to love yourself, to love life, and to love each other more passionately. Because there is beauty and truth in the world, there is a meaning to your existence; it’s just up to you to find it, recognize it, and then claim it with every fiber of your being and rise up to meet that challenge. Be who you are.

#Nietzsche #ubermensch #overman #superman #value #gospelofmatthew #selfactualization #individuality #meaningoflife #responsibility #love #potential #loveoflife

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newsmanmdgn · 3 years

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Eat Wealthy Americans: They’re Cheaper than Food (Inflation)

This is my little rant on rich people. If you're rich, why are you reading my little newsletter? You should be reading the Wall Street Journal.

Amiright?

DUH: Many Wealthy Americans Escape Big Income Tax Bills

Taxes: Jeff Bezos rates them 1 out of 10.

Some of the world’s wealthiest executives, including Warren Buffett, Jeff Bezos, Michael Bloomberg and Elon Musk, pay little to no taxes compared to their wealth, a ProPublica report revealed on Tuesday.

“The tax law is not designed for the wage worker,” said Eric Pierre, an Austin, Texas-based certified public accountant and owner at Pierre Accounting.

Most Americans earn income through their labor, such as wages, salaries or other employer-provided benefits.

However, the top 1% often receive income from interest, dividends, capital gains or rent, from their investments, known as capital income.

CNBC

The problem is that we tax income, not consumption. If we really were to practice conservatism, we would discourage conspicuous consumption with a national sales tax.

Don't want to pay taxes? Don't buy extravagant shit because there's a bigass luxury sales tax applied to it. For example, a yacht may carry a 100 percent sales tax.

Food, on the other hand, bought at a grocery store (i.e., no value add like at a restaurant) – 0 percent tax.

Prices jumped 5 percent in May, continuing inflationary climb. Policymakers say it’s temporary.

Prices rose by 5 percent in May compared with a year ago, the largest increase since the Great Recession, continuing a steady climb in inflation even as policymakers insist on staying the course.

Price spikes often coincide with downturns, and officials from the White House and Federal Reserve have predicted that prices will climb over the coming months, especially compared to a year ago, when the economy was reeling from coronavirus pandemic shutdown. However, the move adds new fuel to the Republican criticism that the Biden administration is spending too much, which could lead to an overheated economy.

The most recent inflation figures, released Thursday by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, are not rattling the Biden administration nor the Fed. Both predict that prices will continue to rise until supply chains and consumer demand recalibrate and the economy has time to heal.

WaPo

Yet another reason the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Inflation measures goods and services we all buy, like food and gas and electricity.

There's A Stark Red-Blue Divide When It Comes To States' Vaccination Rates

Less than a month remains until the Fourth of July, which was President Biden's goal for 70% of American adults to have gotten at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine.

It looks like it's going to be a stretch to get there.

As of Tuesday, nearly 64% of U.S. adults have had at least one shot, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

The key issue is that demand has dropped off. After an initial crush, the number of doses being administered daily is on a steep decline from the early April peak.

NPR

But…

Surveys have shown Trump supporters are the least likely to say they have been vaccinated or plan to be. Remember, Trump got vaccinated before leaving the White House, but that was reported months later. Unlike other public officials who were trying to encourage people to get the shot, Trump did it in private.

The top 22 states (including D.C.) with the highest adult vaccination rates all went to Joe Biden in the 2020 presidential election.

Some of the least vaccinated states are the most pro-Trump. Trump won 17 of the 18 states with the lowest adult vaccination rates. Many of these states have high proportions of whites without college degrees.

Source: NPR (see above)

Fucking DUH. Trump supporters, anti-(COVID)vaxxers, and anti-maskers are all the same people. And they're really REALLY stoopid.

Biden to lay out vax donations, urge world leaders to join

One year ago, the U.S. was the deadliest hotspot of the COVID-19 pandemic, forcing the cancellation of the Group of Seven summit it was due to host. Now, the U.S. is emerging as a model for how to successfully recover from more than 15 months of global crisis.

In a speech Thursday on the eve of the summit of wealthy G-7 democracies, President Joe Biden will outline plans for the U.S. to donate 500 million vaccine doses around the globe over the next year, on top of 80 million doses he has already pledged by the end of the month. U.S. officials say Biden will also ask fellow G-7 leaders to do the same.

The U.S. has faced mounting pressure to outline its global vaccine sharing plan, especially as inequities in supply around the world have become more pronounced and the demand for shots in the U.S. has dropped precipitously in recent weeks.

“We have to end COVID-19, not just at home — which we’re doing — but everywhere,” Biden told American servicemembers Wednesday on the first stop of a three-country, eight-day trip, his first since taking office. He added that the effort “requires coordinated, multilateral action.”

The new U.S. commitment is to buy and donate 500 million Pfizer doses for distribution through the global COVAX alliance to 92 lower-income countries and the African Union, bringing the first steady supply of mRNA vaccine to the countries that need it most. A price tag for the 500 million doses was not released, but the U.S. is now set to be COVAX’s largest vaccine donor in addition to its single largest funder with a $4 billion commitment.

It's working. The EU is also donating vaccines now. Way to go, good government (it does exist)!

Airline travel horror stories mount as Americans pack the not-so-friendly skies

With Americans rushing to travel now that the end to the coronavirus pandemic is coming into view, flights are packed, ticket prices have soared, airports are bustling, and tempers are flaring.

Laura Ramirez is relieved to be home in New York after what she calls a “nightmarish experience” traveling by plane from Miami this past weekend.

“I was supposed to get back on Sunday morning, and American Airlines at the Miami Airport is a mess,” Ramirez, a reporter at Yahoo News, said. “They don't have enough agents to handle the amount of people traveling, and I missed my flight even though I arrived at the airport two hours [early]. The line to see an agent was a three-hour line.”

When Ramirez finally got to speak to an agent, there were no more flights available for that day. So she rebooked for Monday, only to have that flight canceled as she arrived at the airport. She was left to book another flight at a different airport.

“The airline didn't offer anything — no hotel or food vouchers,” Ramirez said. “It was a terrible experience, and I know I wasn't the only one going through that.”

Yahoo

The wealthy don't have to wait in airport security lines or get on cattle commercial air busses. Just another “jab” at the wealthy who forever haven't paid their fair share for what civilization provides them. (Can you tell I'm on a rant about rich mofos?)

By the way, I hate flying. The airlines are the biggest pricks on the planet.

Where Voters Are Losing Patience With Lauren Boebert

Charles Perko gestured past a vine-covered chain link fence toward a hulking steel facility with massive mills and squat brick office buildings. The 140-year-old complex had forged the iron that built the West, and once was Colorado’s largest employer, with some 10,000 workers. Now, much of the complex sits in disrepair. Some of its cylindrical stoves are rusted and empty—a symbol of an industry that Perko, a fourth-generation steel worker and president of a local union, says is in need of government help.

Lauren Boebert, the controversial pro-gun, Covid-skeptical freshman congresswoman who represents Pueblo, has credited working-class voters for her improbable 2020 victory. But it’s not clear her version of “working-class” includes the steel workers here. Perko didn’t vote for her. And, based on her opposition to President Joe Biden’s $2 trillion infrastructure plan, which Perko sees as a lifeline for his struggling industry, he doesn’t think Boebert cares all that much about his union members. He has tried to schedule a meeting with her to discuss these issues, he says. But the door to her local office is often locked, and her staff doesn’t return his calls.

Politico

She is nothing more than a lucky bimbo. There. I said it. Fight me.

The article was originally published here! Eat Wealthy Americans: They’re Cheaper than Food (Inflation)

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biofunmy · 4 years

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For Auschwitz survivor, telling her story is reason to live

NEW YORK — Bronia Brandman pulls up a sleeve on her leather jacket and shows the blue tattoo inked on her forearm that is a mute testimony to her pain under the Nazis at Auschwitz.

For 50 years, she said, she couldn’t speak about it; for 25 years, she couldn’t laugh; and to this day, she cannot cry. But she remembers every detail of those haunting days.

Seventy-five years after the liberation of Auschwitz, telling her story is the driving force of Brandman’s life. Her mission is to educate others. The 88-year-old said being among the last who can offer personal testimony is especially important at a time when a rising tide in global anti-Semitism is spreading “like wildfire,” while fewer young people know about the Holocaust and its death camps. “Sixty percent of millennials means between 18 and 34, don’t know that Auschwitz existed. This is so painful,” she said citing a report.

“We need to teach our children what words, what racism, what lies mean…” Brandman, said during an interview at Manhattan’s Museum of Jewish Heritage. Standing near an exhibit about Auschwitz her words had a poignancy. The display included concrete posts from a camp fence covered in barbed and electrified wires, a collection of prisoners’ personal items and a rusty, German rail car like those used to transport women, men and children to Auschwitz and other death camps. As she spoke, a group of students visiting the museum, spontaneously gathered around and sat quietly on the floor and listened to her story.

Brandman was born in the town of Jaworzno, Poland in 1931. She grew up in her grandfather’s home with her five siblings, and her parents, who owned a hardware store. She led an idyllic life until the war began, and Jewish families were forced from their homes and businesses, and then rounded up. Most of her immediate and extended family was sent to the concentration camps. She never saw her parents and one of her two brothers again.

Brandman and her three sisters evaded capture, hiding and surviving on little food. But they were eventually caught, crammed into a rail car made for livestock and sent to Auschwitz, where 1.1 million people, most of them Jews were gassed, shot, hanged or starved. In all, 6 million Jews were killed in the Holocaust.

Her first memory there is of Josef Mengele, the German doctor who conducted horrific experiments on thousands of Jews at Auschwitz, she said.

“We had to pass him, and it was our turn. He wore white gloves and he pointed to the three of us to the left. He pointed Mila, my oldest sister to the right. I knew what was in store for us,” she said. “I had nothing to lose. I ran to my sister’s line,” she said. Brandman realized quickly that she had abandoned her younger sisters. “It meant my baby sisters were going to the gas chambers alone,” she said.

Brandman and Mila, who was eight years older, were taken along with a mass of others, through the pathway where the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign was placed, promising that “work sets you free.” She said, after marching to the adjacent Birkenau camp, they were stripped naked and their heads shaved. They were given tin bowls, tattered clothes and wooden clogs, before they tattooed their skin, she recounted. Her number for life: 52643.

Living conditions were harsh. Ten people shared the wooden planks that served as beds. Prisoners slept so close together when one person moved, everyone had to move, she said.

Hygiene was out of the question. The prisoners never bathed, lice were rampant and many, like her, got typhus.

Her sole comfort was being next to Mila but her sister eventually contracted typhus. Brandman said she joined her sister in sick bay but there, had to make her hardest decision when Mila did not recuperate and was marked for the gas chamber. Brandman thought about it but decided not to join her.

“There was something inside of me that would not give up and give the Nazis another victory,” she wrote in her book, “The Girl Who Survived: A True Story of the Holocaust.” “It was the last time I saw my beloved Mila.”

Brandman stayed at the death camp for two years, from 12 to 14. At that age, she had lost more of her family and battled the enormous guilt over the death of Mila and her other siblings. Her only reason to live, she said, was her desire to one day tell her story.

She was close to death on several occasions. Once, the nurse at the sick bay hid her from Mengele in a barracks for Gentiles. Another time Mengele reversed a decision to send her to the gas chamber as he rushed to safety, afraid when air raid sirens went off signaling Allied planes were near.

When the death camps were liberated, she reunited with her surviving brother and eventually came to the United States to live with a cousin. In Brooklyn, she learned English, attended high school and college, got a Master’s degree in education and became a teacher. She also got married in 1953. She has two daughters and two grandchildren.

To this day, Brandman said, she is haunted by the memories of Auschwitz, “how can you not be” but there have been moments that have helped her heal. During a trip to Israel, she said that she felt that her long-lost identity had finally been restored. “That empowered me to laugh. And my children noticed it,” she said. “(They would tell me): “mommy, you’re laughing. It empowered me. I felt six feet tall and I am short,” she said laughing. “It empowered me to laugh for the first time.”

Still, fifty years after the end of WWII, she felt that she could not talk about the horrors. It was only in the mid-1990s when she worked as a gallery educator at the Museum of Jewish Heritage that another volunteer encouraged her to tell her story. “I said: never,” Brandman said. But eventually, she relented. Since then, she has told her story to thousands of people, including many school students.

“I still cannot cry. It is just too, too horrible,” she said. “I find my reason for living is to talk about our story.”

——

Associated Press religion coverage receives support from the Lilly Endowment through the Religion News Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

Sahred From Source link Travel

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samanthasroberts · 6 years

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Hunting Bigfoot: 4 Things You Learn Chasing Fiction

I recently moved to a snowier, woodsier part of the world and noticed one day while taking a shortcut home that Bigfoot probably lives near me. There are a lot of trees and foreboding areas that look like the sorts of places in which gentle folk like me are made into the forest brides of beast-men. But how could I know for sure?

If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s finding the worst bar in any given town and making it my own. I easily located this town’s scruffiest bar that featured dead animals mounted on walls, and in no time had found no less than one man who claimed that he had heard from someone several years ago that there was a guy who saw Bigfoot around here once. Hot damn! A solid lead!

On the promise of picking up his bar tab and also returning to the bar later and picking up more of a bar tab, I got this guy to join me on a hunt in the woods. Now, you may be asking, “Felix, did you just pay a drunk stranger to take you into the woods alone?” And to that I say: You forgot that I got him to bring a gun.

This is Dan. He’s loaded with beer and ammunition!

#4. Drinking Outdoors Is Fun

My new friend Dan isn’t the sort of man who appreciates small talk, pop culture, or me. But I bought road beers and we were pretty much set to have an adventure. We drove about 20 minutes out of town to a massive swath of forest that Dan told me had a big lake somewhere in the middle of it and was the place some people said Bigfoot had been spotted. Already it had grown from maybe one guy to some people. I was super psyched.

In preparation for our journey, we packed not just beers but several snacks, an emergency flare (lest Bigfoot abduct us while a helicopter is flying overhead), and outdoorsy crap like a compass, a small hatchet, some matches, and a mickey of whiskey.

I’m not much for hiking but luckily neither is Dan, so we were in the woods for a solid 15 minutes before we stopped to have a drink. Our brew of choice was a fine Canadian ale known as Flying Monkeys Smashbomb Atomic IPA. I bought it solely based on the silly name, but it was actually pretty fantastic and I solidly recommend it for all your Bigfoot-hunting needs.

It’d be better if there were actually monkeys serving it, but other than that, A+.

Dan and I had a good sit in the woods, during which Dan proceeded to tell me about his younger days in a biker gang and a variety of related activities I won’t relate here, because I’m dumb but not that dumb. This was some secret-keeping beer we were having, and Dan may not have been the best tour guide in retrospect, but here we were, in the woods, with a gun. A gun and stories of Dan using a pool cue to destroy an entire room full of men in the most brutal, Deadpool ways possible. I’m glad I met this strange fellow.

Several beers later and Dan and I were having a pretty decent time, still within sight of the road. But alas, this was no joke expedition … or, well, it was, but I was still looking for Bigfoot. We had work to do.

#3. Losing Yourself Is Easier Than Finding Bigfoot

We set out in a direction I will call straight ahead. I know we packed a compass, but it was packed and, honestly, would it have made a difference to know if we were headed north or east? How could it have? We were looking for a legendary man-ape.

Dan told me as we walked that coyote activity in this area has been very much on the rise lately. There’s just a huge population of them. I’ve never seen a coyote outside of a Warner Bros. cartoon and was having a hard time reconciling my image of a cartoon wielding an anvil with an actual wild dog that probably has rabies tearing open my scrotum. Dan assured me they rarely attack humans unless they’re starving or in large groups, then, without missing a beat, added, “Or maybe not.” I almost forgot Dan is not a woodsman, merely a fellow drunk I met at a bar, and I am about as much an expert on what we’re doing as he is.

“I eat a lot of Jack Link’s, though.”

We stumbled upon a number of tracks that could have belonged to Foot, but definitely not Bigfoot, unless I have been grossly misled regarding sizing in this matter. Most were probably squirrels and assorted other woodland turds, but there were definitely some deer tracks as well, and in my mind that was close. The bigger the animal, the closer to Bigfoot. If we found moose tracks we’d be pretty much where we needed to be.

We trudged on through snow-covered underbrush, slightly tipsy and with no clear direction. Dan had brought with him a 20 gauge shotgun, which he said would probably work for taking out Bigfoot if we got him to stand still long enough. I’m no gunsmith and assumed any shotgun was probably good for blowing a Bigfoot’s leg off, until Dan told me this was his rabbit-hunting gun. He had a license only for small game this year, and he wasn’t going to get fined by bringing a higher-powered rifle into the woods when it wasn’t season for hunting something like elk. Dan had no faith in our expedition. Although he did point out that, if we shot Bigfoot with the 20 gauge it’d probably slow him down enough for some photos, so I should be fast with my phone and snap a pic or two. Maybe see if he’s down for a selfie.

#2. Winter Is Stupid

The worst time to do anything is winter time. According to my phone, it was about 4 below zero. For you Celsius types, that’s 20 below. Why the hell would Bigfoot be out in this silly-ass weather? Even bears have the intelligence to hibernate. Bigfoot should be snoozing under a pile of tarps in an old fishing cabin.

There was a brief moment when I encountered a smell that could be best described as unwashed skunk vagina somewhere out in the woods. I heard a rustling in the underbrush, and I thought we might be on to something. For those who doubt the veracity of my claims, I have photo evidence:

Got wood? Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ahhh …

Like all good photos of Bigfoot, this one mostly requires you to be as drunk as I was when I took it and to have a lot of faith that I know the sight/smell of Bigfoot’s dick when I see it. But for real, do you see that in there? I know it looks like a twig, but I ask you, what do you think Bigfoot’s dick would look like? Probably a big, veiny twig, right?

Before I string you along anymore, I’ll let you know that was a twig. Bigfoot’s dick, even if it is twig-like, is probably attached to a Bigfoot and not a tree like this one was. But did you feel the suspense there for a second? Now you’re living in my world. The world of a Bigfoot hunter!

#1. Bigfoot Is Not Real

Let’s assume for a moment Bigfoot is real, the title of this section notwithstanding. He’s generally considered a “he” right? Not to point out the sex so much as the singular. There’s just one. Bigfoot’s a lone wolf, him and his veiny twig-dick, wandering the woods and stealing forest brides and whatnot. Most Bigfoot sightings have been in Washington state, California, and Oregon. He’s basically a West Coast kind of guy. I’m on the East Coast, so right away my chances are pretty pathetic. Sure, New York and Ohio have some sightings, but so does Russia. Point is, I’m in the wrong neighborhood, and I’m looking for one guy. One big, hairy guy who makes a point of never being found, because no one’s ever found him. Do you know what the odds are of me finding him?

I actually calculated the odds on this for you, in case you’re not good at these complex, veiny equations. Keeping in mind the time of year Bigfoot is most often sighted in these various locations, as well as the time of day and methods used for tracking Bigfoot and the actual odds of me finding him here, at this time, were fuck no. Fuck no I can’t find Bigfoot, because he’s not real.

Consider that humankind has found the coldest natural object in the entire universe, fossils from the first living veiny beasts on Earth, that stupid affluenza kid, and numerous missing plane crashes. If there were a race of hairy man-beasts populating the Pacific Northwest or anywhere else in North America, there would have been some kind of definitive evidence proposed by people who are not named Bubba or Cooter.

Dan and I finished our beers in the woods. We found one track that was probably mine.

Size 11 … ladies. Or guys who want to buy me shoes.

I also found a frozen turd that really made me laugh but the picture turned out pretty blurry due to my laughing as I took the photo. It wasn’t a Bigfoot turd, probably a raccoon or something. Still, that’s hilarious to me.

Dan decided he’d had enough of being in the woods with me, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d mostly wasted our day and provided little to no purpose for our journey other than the laziest attempt ever to discover a cryptozoological legend. Fortunately, that made my attempt just as relevant as anyone else’s, because come on. What would be a “serious” attempt at finding Bigfoot in 2016? Some kind of thermal-imaging drone and satellite tracking? That seems like an expensive prospect for a big fatty waste of time.

Dan called his wife to pick him up once we got back to the road. She seemed like a nice lady who could fight me and win with little effort. Neither of them offered me a ride. As I watched them drive off, I wondered if perhaps Bigfoot was now watching me from the trees and feeling a kinship with me as I, too, was now alone. But of course he wasn’t, because remember, he doesn’t exist. He and that veiny dick I’ve been asked to keep writing about are full-on fiction. No, the only stranger watching me from the woods was a friendly serial killer or public wanker.

I wondered why it is that so many people seem enamored with the idea of Bigfoot. Is it the mystery? The idea that, in a world of smartphones and WiFi and driverless cars, we could have somehow overlooked a man-beast living right under our noses? Possibly. Mostly, I think, it’s what I like to call Dorf Contrarianism. This is the idea that a stupid person will dig in like a tick when confronted with something they feel threatened by, in an intellectual fashion, telling them they’re wrong. The person doing it may not be trying to intimidate our Dorf, or even patronize them or talk down to them in any way, but that is how Dorf perceives it, because Dorf is not smart enough to know why it’s happening but is smart enough to know they’re being corrected. And they don’t like it. So they outwardly refuse it so thoroughly they must embrace the very opposite. They must hunt Bigfoot, simply because he is not real. They must drink that moonshine because it could make them go blind. They must fuck that cousin even if the baby’s going to always be leaning a little to the left. Such is the contrarian nature of Dorf. And that’s what keeps Bigfoot alive.

Check out other mythical monsters of lore and bull crap in 5 Myths That People Don’t Realize Are Admitted Hoaxes, and fear the shelled back of The Beast of Busco in 7 Monsters That Bigfoot Hunters Are Too Scared To Believe In.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel to see why ghosts are definitely real in 6 Most Eerily Convincing Ghost Videos On YouTube – The Spit Take, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook, and see if you can find Bigfoot in the comments. We hear he’s a fan.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn-chasing-fiction/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/03/14/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn-chasing-fiction/

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jimdsmith34 · 6 years

Text

Hunting Bigfoot: 4 Things You Learn Chasing Fiction

This is Dan. He’s loaded with beer and ammunition!

#4. Drinking Outdoors Is Fun

It’d be better if there were actually monkeys serving it, but other than that, A+.

#3. Losing Yourself Is Easier Than Finding Bigfoot

“I eat a lot of Jack Link’s, though.”

#2. Winter Is Stupid

Got wood? Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ahhh …

#1. Bigfoot Is Not Real

Dan and I finished our beers in the woods. We found one track that was probably mine.

Size 11 … ladies. Or guys who want to buy me shoes.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel to see why ghosts are definitely real in 6 Most Eerily Convincing Ghost Videos On YouTube – The Spit Take, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook, and see if you can find Bigfoot in the comments. We hear he’s a fan.

source http://allofbeer.com/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn-chasing-fiction/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2018/03/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn.html

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adambstingus · 6 years

Text

Hunting Bigfoot: 4 Things You Learn Chasing Fiction

This is Dan. He’s loaded with beer and ammunition!

#4. Drinking Outdoors Is Fun

It’d be better if there were actually monkeys serving it, but other than that, A+.

#3. Losing Yourself Is Easier Than Finding Bigfoot

“I eat a lot of Jack Link’s, though.”

#2. Winter Is Stupid

Got wood? Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ahhh …

#1. Bigfoot Is Not Real

Dan and I finished our beers in the woods. We found one track that was probably mine.

Size 11 … ladies. Or guys who want to buy me shoes.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel to see why ghosts are definitely real in 6 Most Eerily Convincing Ghost Videos On YouTube – The Spit Take, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook, and see if you can find Bigfoot in the comments. We hear he’s a fan.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn-chasing-fiction/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/171848317867

0 notes

allofbeercom · 6 years

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Hunting Bigfoot: 4 Things You Learn Chasing Fiction

This is Dan. He’s loaded with beer and ammunition!

#4. Drinking Outdoors Is Fun

It’d be better if there were actually monkeys serving it, but other than that, A+.

#3. Losing Yourself Is Easier Than Finding Bigfoot

“I eat a lot of Jack Link’s, though.”

#2. Winter Is Stupid

Got wood? Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ahhh …

#1. Bigfoot Is Not Real

Dan and I finished our beers in the woods. We found one track that was probably mine.

Size 11 … ladies. Or guys who want to buy me shoes.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel to see why ghosts are definitely real in 6 Most Eerily Convincing Ghost Videos On YouTube – The Spit Take, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook, and see if you can find Bigfoot in the comments. We hear he’s a fan.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/hunting-bigfoot-4-things-you-learn-chasing-fiction/

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