#I wrote this all in like an hour long state of big brain mode so excuse the mistakes that may be present

[sleepy-moron]

Second post about the st tarot deck making Mike the temperance arcana even though I know the cards probably aren’t hinting at the end of the series this was just too cool to not talk about and then this turned into a season five theory:

So temperance is typically represented by an angel and I was just sitting here like “hahah he’s a paladin or cleric that’s a cute little detail” and then I remembered there’s a famous story about an angel slaying a dragon but can’t remember the details so I google it to see:

In the book of revelations from The bible (basically telling the story of how the world will end) the archangel Michael slays a seven headed dragon (that represents satan) during the literal biblical apocalypse (I know the painted dragon from the show has three heads but I swear I have a point with this) with a head representing each of the seven deadly sins. This got me thinking about the four horsemen of the apocalypse and then I remembered the whole four chimes four deaths four gates thing and now we’re here. Then I remembered the “War is coming to Hawkins” thing from the promo and how a lot of the effects of the upside down line up with the horsemen and I kinda spiraled…..

So the first horseman is either conquest or pestilence depending on the source and both fit with the general plan of vecna. Conquest is obvious in that he wants to take over the world and pestilence refers to disease which is fitting with the crops dying in season two because of the mind flayer and the spores at the end of s4.

Next is war, which both ties in with a tagline for the Hawkins plot this season and is quite literally what ends up happening in that part of the story.

Then we have famine. Robin and Vickie are seen making sandwiches as part of a relief effort at the end of the show, the numerous conversations about food+ the pizza van in the cali storyline, and the fact there is no safe food or water in the upside down being a plot point in season one. Plus if we’re right about the code being foreshadowing vecna literally “feeds” on targets after Mike leaves to go meet yellow in the west.

Lastly is death, which is again a pretty blatant reference to what vecna does for the whole season and the general conclusion to people interacting with the upside down in any way. Black widow spiders are famous for being deadly and are heavily associated with Henry and the mind flayer resembles a spider so that’s another potential connection.

Also in the book of revelations some of the effects of the apocalypse are the sun going dark, a massive earthquake, and the stars fall from the sky……now why does that all sound familiar? Seriously if this wasn’t intentional it is one hell of a coincidence

So I’ve been thinking we’re going to have four major groups/plots again in season five and wouldn’t it be neat if they all lined up with a horseman in a literal or metaphorical sense? It fits with the season one groups (the adults, the teens, the party, and then Will by himself in the upside down) and Hawkins does get split into four. Mike is the leader of “gods” army and fights the dragon (vecna) who is cast down into a pit of flames (aka gets set on fire again but it actually works this time. Hawkins will be rebuilt (although possibly in another location) and things will be okay again.

[on-maars]

Find My Way Home (Back To You)

Alright I wrote a post Eddie Begins episode fic and I really hope you’ll like it :)

Read it on AO3

Eddie sighs and turns around for what might be the tenth time in the past two hours.

He can’t sleep. He can’t sleep without being back there again. He can’t sleep without stopping the nightmares. Not about the war. He’s had his fair share of night terrors about the war, but lately the nightmares have taken another direction. He doesn’t dream of being the target of a thousand snipers anymore. He dreams of that moment. He dreams of being back there again, buried in the ground, thirty feet of wet earth above him, trapped, without any way of getting back to his son, without any way of getting back to his family. It’s suffocating, and Eddie often wakes up soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead, his sheet drenched in sweat. Drenched in sweat, and tears. His tears.

He can’t sleep and he tried everything. Every method he can think of. Every method his mother used to teach him when he was scared and alone at night, suffering from insomnia. He tried some breathing exercises his therapist showed him the week before, tried taking a walk around the neighborhood to clear his head and take his mind off things, he tried reading a book and even went through some meditations videos on YouTube that Buck recommended to him a while back. But nothing is working. His mind keeps sending him back to that place. To the well.

Eddie turns around again and lets his eyes fall on his alarm clock as it reads 2:49am. Eddie sighs and presses his hands to his face, apprehending the 24 hours shift waiting for him in the early hours of the morning. Not necessarily because of the fatigue. After all it wouldn’t be the first time Eddie gets through an awfully long shift with the 118 with only a few hours of sleep in his system.

No, he’s only apprehending it because he knows, deep down, that he’s so far from being in the right state of mind to face the difficulties of his job. He feels more restless, more fidgety, less focused than usual. And if there is no doubt in Eddie’s mind that the 118 is going to notice his mood swings. And if they notice, then he’s going to need to explain. Explain the extent of how messed-up he is in the head. Explain how the war still terrorized him sometimes at night. Explain how tight his throat is ever since he’s made it out of that well. And that’s a conversation he’s not ready to face.

Eddie looks up at the ceiling and gropes around in the dark until his right hand finds his phone. He knows scrolling mindlessly the news is only going to keep his brain more awake but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He unlocks his phone and frowns when he notices an unseen message from his sister in his inbox. The message is short, but it catches Eddie’s attention.

“Isn’t he your friend Buck?!”

There is a link just underneath it and when Eddie clicks on it, his breath catches in his throat and his heart starts pounding hard against his chest. It’s a video. A video of that day. A video of the rig, collapsing, and burying him under thirty feet of earth in the process. Only the video doesn’t show only that. It also shows his coworkers’ reaction. It also shows Buck.

Buck

Buck, who collapses on the ground and completely falls to pieces. Buck, who screams his name and starts digging the earth with his bare hands. Buck, who bursts into tears and whose face is contorted with fear, rage and pain. Eddie watches him as he continues calling out his name in agony, he watches him as Bobby needs to physically restrain him to stop him from digging, and Eddie swears he can feel his heart cracked open at the sight.

The scene is devastating, heartbreaking, and the last seconds of the video only shows Buck, sitting on the ground, his head down, tears rolling down his face, as the rain continues pouring down on him.

By the time Eddie finishes watching the video, his hands are shaking and the room is spinning. His whole body is tense, buzzing with a nervous energy and Eddie closes his eyes fiercely but he can’t get the images out of his head. How can he? How can he when he had to sit through and watch his best-friend having a complete breakdown in a video with more than a million views? How can he when until then, he was so far up his own ass not to notice that Buck was hurting too? Not to notice that he wasn't the only one who ended up traumatized by this day?

He sits back straight on his bed, and leans his back against the headboard, running both of his hands through his hair a few times, ignoring how his heart pulses in his head, making it hurt.

He takes his phone in his hand and gets up, stepping out of his room and going down the stairs until he reaches the living-room. Here, he lets himself fall on the couch, rubbing his temples with his fingers, his eyes closed. In vain. It’s no use. It’s no use trying to get his breathing back to normal while the only thing he really wants is to see his best-friend with his own two eyes and make sure he’s okay.

“Can you come over?” He sends. It’s short and vague, but Eddie knows Buck keeps his phone in sound mode at all times just in case this kind of emergencies come up.

But is it an emergency? Eddie asks himself as he brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It’s not. Not really. But Buck’s answer still comes after just a few seconds.

“Be there in 15. You okay? Christopher?”

“We’re okay. Just need to see you.”

Eddie jumps out of the couch and starts pacing back and forth in the living-room, not knowing what to do with himself. He squats down and starts picking up every Lego bricks lying around on the carpet, on the coffee table under the sofa. Christopher was in the middle of building a (more than unstable) house before heading to bed and he seemed so tired from his school day Eddie didn’t have the heart to ask him to tidy. He’s in the middle of retrieving a brick which ended up under the carpet when he hears the distinct sound of someone opening the front door.

He whirls his head around and finds himself face to face with Buck who looks around the living-room in alarm, his eyes wide. His hair is disheveled and his shoes are mismatched and Eddie almost feels bad for waking him up in the middle of the night while they both have a 24 hours shift waiting for them in a few hours. His best-friend’s face softens when his eyes fall on him, and Eddie doesn’t waste any time to close the gap separating them and wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him close.

“Evan Buckley I swear to god you’re going to be the death of me.” He says, not thinking twice before burying his face in the crook of his best-friend’s neck. Buck seems taken aback for a few seconds, but he doesn’t question it and reciprocate the embrace with just as much vigor. “I’m sorry.” Eddie eventually says, grabbing his tee-shirt with his right hand.

“You’re sorry?” Buck repeats, his voiced filled with confusion. “About what?” He adds.

“God I’ve been so far up my own ass these past few days, haven’t I?” Eddie asks, taking a step back and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, following his gaze until he’s sure Buck looks at him in the eye. His best-friend seems reluctant at first, almost as if he already knows where the conversation is going, but then he finally meets his gaze and Eddie’s look is so intense and he’s watching him with so much attention something in his face just breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Eds?” Buck asks, but from the way his voice breaks, Eddie knows it’s just a way for him to try and take the conversation elsewhere.

“Buck.” Eddie says, and it’s a warning. We’re having that conversation whether you like it or not.

“Eddie, just- Don’t, alright?” Buck starts. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s all that matters.”

“I saw the video.” Eddie says, taking another step backwards until he sits on a kitchen chair, running his right hand through his hair.

“What video?” Buck says, his voice small, but sighs and looks down when Eddie maintains eye-contact. “Took you long enough.” He only adds, leaning against the fridge. “It was literally everywhere on the news. Big headlines too.” He says, letting out a humorless laugh.

“Buck-”

“But again, I’spose it’s fun to see a firefighter completely losing it after his best-friend has been buried thirty feet underground.” Buck cuts in, his voice hollow. “I guess it ‘entertains’ people just fine”

“Buck-” Eddie starts, but his friend is faster.

“As if I want to relive that moment, you know?” Buck goes on and his voice is louder now, more aggressive. “As if one time wasn’t enough.”

“Buck, I-”

“Eddie, you cut the damn line!” He exclaims and Eddie jumps with surprise at how raw and demanding his tone is. “You cut the damn line!” He repeats and a tear rolls down his left cheek. “And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I can’t even blame you for it! You wanted to save that kid… I mean, how can I blame you for wanting to save that kid, Eddie? I can’t. I would be a fucking hypocrite if I did, man. Cause I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t be mad.” Eddie says, keeping his eyes down, incapable of meeting his best-friend’s gaze. “It doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.” He adds. “Hell, I know I would be.”

“I just- Eddie, did you ever stop for a second to imagine what it was like for me? I was pulling you out Eds. I was pulling you out and then the weight was just- the weight was just gone. You were gone.” He says through gritted teeth and Eddie darts his eyes towards him for just a second, but that’s still enough time for him to see the expression of complete agony and pure heartbreak on his best-friend’s face. Eddie looks away just as fast and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“But that’s not even the worst part, oh no.” Buck goes on and Eddie knows this one is on a roll. He’s determined and he won’t stop until he got everything off his chest. “ Because then this damn rig just collapsed and I- I couldn’t get you out, I- You were… You were buried, Eds. You were buried and I swear to god I would have dug the whole thing with my bare hands if I had to.”

“I know you would’ve.” Eddie only says, staring at Buck, his eyes filled with the tears he’s been trying to hold back for the past fifteen minutes. “I know you would’ve.”

“I didn’t give up on you.” Buck answers, as if he’s trying to justify his actions in a courtroom. “You’ve got to know that, alright?” He repeats. “I didn’t give up on you. Even when people were trying to convince me that there was no way you would have survived that, I didn’t- I didn’t give up on you.”

“Hey, hey, I know.” Eddie instantly reassures him, getting up and closing the gap between them. “I know.” He repeats, cupping Buck’s cheeks with his hands. “You didn’t give up.”

“I didn’t give up.” Buck nods, his lips quivering.

“Buck, do you think- do you think I’m mad at you because you didn’t try hard enough?” Eddie manages to articulate, his fingers playing with the roots of Buck’s hair. “How could you have tried any harder?” Eddie adds, letting out a nervous laugh. “For Christ’s sake Evan, you told me yourself you were ready to dig the whole thing by hands. There’s nothing you could have done. You hear me?”

Buck frantically nods and Eddie sighs, wrapping his right arm around his neck to pull him forward. Buck’s whole body tenses and it’s only when his shoulders start shaking that Eddie realizes his best-friend is full-on sobbing against him, his tears wetting his white tee-shirt. Buck rests his forehead on his shoulder and Eddie simply runs his left hand through his hair while the other traces small patterns on his back, holding him tight. He presses his lips on his hair, closing his eyes fiercely for a few seconds while throwing his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.” Buck says against him. “Here I am again, making the whole thing about me while you’re the one who’ve been buried underground.”

“Don’t be stupid Buck, I’m the one who should apologize here. I was so focused on my pain and the nightmares that I-”

“Nightmares?” Buck whirls his head up to meet his eyes. “You have nightmares about the well?” He asks, his eyes full of concern, and Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah but that’s not the point, Buck.” He says, dismissing his concern with a hand’s gesture. “I should have seen you were hurting. I’m sorry.” He adds. “And yes I have nightmares but Buck you need to know you’re the only reason I got out. You and Christopher? I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Wouldn’t have done it. But I promised myself I’ll always find my way back home. So I did.”

Eddie cradles his chin with his left hand, forcing him to look up.

“That… That was sappy as hell, man.” Buck tries and Eddie snorts, placing his hand on his cheek to make him look away.

“Says the one who was ready to dig thirty feet of wet earth with his bare hands.” He says playfully and then Buck does this thing again where he looks down with a shy smile and Eddie’s heart just melts at the sight.

When Buck lifts his gaze again, their lips are only separated by a few inches of space and Eddie’s head is spinning. He stays there, motionless, not knowing whether he should finally gives in to years of pining and unresolved tension. But then, Buck’s eyes dart towards his lips and all his good sense goes up in smoke. Eddie looks at him for permission and when Buck nods, he places his hand on the back of his neck and presses their lips together. It doesn’t last long. It’s brief, and when Eddie takes a step back, Buck’s lips chase his own a second time and he only smiles and complies happily.

This time, the kiss is more heated and Buck’s hands find their way on the back of Eddie’s neck, biting his lower lip to demand access to his mouth. Eddie smiles against his mouth and runs both of his hands through his hair, bringing him closer. This earns him a small whimper from Buck and Eddie only kisses him harder, pressing his best-friend’s body against the fridge and sliding his hand underneath his tee-shirt.

“God I can’t believe we waited three years to do that.” Buck says Eddie huffs out a laugh against his lips.

“Well I mean you were a bit slow on the uptake.” Eddie teases him.

“Oh fuck off.” Buck taps him on the head playfully. “You know I couldn’t just- I had to be sure.”

“I know.” Eddie says, his voice soft.

“I couldn’t do the first move. I had to wait for… I had to wait for you to do it. Even if I knew that you- because I knew. Of course I knew. But-”

“Hey.” Eddie cuts him off by cupping his cheeks with his hands. “I know.” He repeats. “Alright then Evan. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Lead the way, Edmundo.”

“Not my name.” Eddie says with a smile, taking his hand in his to guide him towards the bedroom.

“Sorry. Eduardo.”

“Still not my name, man."

"Diaz?"

"That's it, you’re sleeping on the damn couch, Buckley.” Eddie warns but the smile on his face betrays him.

“Really? You would make me sleep on the couch? The guy who was ready to dig 30 feet of wet earth with his bare han-”

“Oh my god will you shut up?” Eddie whispers loudly, being careful not to wake up Christopher fast asleep in the adjoining room.

“Make me.” Buck says, a hint of amusement in his voice and Eddie?

Well Eddie wastes no time to crash their lips together another time.

[pluto-art]

Syncytium - Chapter 2 - Ferrum

Title: Syncytium - Chapter 2 - Ferrum Words: 5,707 Rating: T

Fan Fiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/2/Syncytium

Full chapter below the cut. I’d recommend the fan fiction version, however, which includes all the italicized words which are not emphasized here.

September 11th, 7:30 AM

Darkness.

A light flicked on. It flickered a moment before settling. A pen sharpened... and subsequently broken. Whoops. A vase with three roses delicately placed right near a picture in frame with four occupants. Perfect.

Pinky clasped his hands together, sighed deeply, and tipped his square rimmed glasses down a little, the better to address his eager pupils.

"Good morning, class! I am Dr. Ronald Pinkus, Professor of Trozology!"

And he wrote upon the blackboard behind him with vigor as he said it, accidentally flipping the 'k' in 'Pinkus'. He turned back towards the crowd.

"But you can call me Pinky! Ha-ha-ha!"

It was a carrying little laugh, bouncing and pinging excitedly off the walls with a lonely echo.

"I'll be your teacher this semester, and that's because, well, I'm the only teacher of this subject!"

He giggled again. No one said anything.

"You'll be instructed on the topics of Poitilism, Narfonics, and, of course, Trozology. Allllllllll grades are final, except, of course, when they're not, in which case... I'll get back to you on that!" said he, chuckling to himself once more. "Now, are there any questions? Anyone? Yes! Nilly."

If Nilly had raised her hand, no one noticed. But, then again, no one seemed to care. Perhaps it was because Nilly had no hands to raise in the first place. Perhaps this was because Nilly was actually a sack of flour. Or perhaps it was because all the "students" were made up of things like an empty bottle of soda, a bag of corn chips, two toilet paper rolls stacked one on top of the other, and a plunger. Whatever the reason, only Pinky seemed to have recognized Nilly and her very silent question. He didn't seem to mind, however. On the contrary, he positively beamed, acknowledging his pitiful excuse for a pupil-laden classroom as if they were real mice, voles, hamsters, and shrews hanging onto his every word like campfire kids to a spooky story.

"Well, I'm glad you asked that, Nilly, because I happen to be verrrrry versed in the subject!" Pinky snickered, eyes half-lidded as he picked imaginary dirt from his fingers, looking in the direction of his students with a very devious smirk indeed.

Several doors down and around a corner, in the middle of a long hallway, a locker was being absolutely mutilated. Books, pencils, various household tools, and a half-eaten burrito wrapped in tin foil were carelessly tossed onto the floor, its aggressor in a state of pure panic.

"Ohhhhh, shoot. Where are they?!" Gadget growled, hair a little unkempt as she flung a notebook over her shoulder, almost hitting a passerby in the process.

"Hey! Watch it!" the boy mouse shrieked, dodging out of the path of the wayward notebook just in time.

Gadget didn't even seem to notice as she continued to tear through her locker, muttering angrily to herself as she threw a pencil case onto the floor. It burst open. One of the pencils popped out, rolling all the way across from the locker and underneath the door of room three-nineteen. On and on the little chartreuse pencil rolled, finally coming to rest with a soft 'plink' against Dr. Globetrotter's desk. His ear twitched at the sound and his head peered around the side of the desk at its source. There sat a thin, yellow pencil. He picked it up, frowning, and set it down on a far side of his desk.

"As I was saying," Globetrotter rang, clearing his throat, but he'd barely reached out for his mug of steaming hot coffee before the class was interrupted yet again, this time by a very haphazard-looking and goggle-less Gadget.

"Sorry I'm late," she mumbled, head down and gaze firmly directed at the floor as she shuffled past a barrage of staring eyes to plop into her seat between Maisy and Tillie. Gadget shut her eyes tight. She, along with everyone else in the room, knew what was coming, and they all held their breath in anticipation.

The unpleasant echo throughout the room was palpable as Globetrotter set down his mug, glaring.

"Oh, well, I suppose we all can just excuse Miss Gadget here from arriving two minutes past our start time. Obviously, she has more important things to do than be punctual. I guess my precious hours of time spent preparing for this class that will help all of you get a proper education simply don't matter in light of one tardily-inclined, mucilage-chewing student forgetting their pack of lime-flavored gum right before 7:30, is that right?"

Sarcasm dripped like venom from every syllable, causing Gadget to shrink ever lower in her seat. Somewhere in the class, journal boy jotted down "tardily-inclined" and "mucilage-chewing" under the ever-growing list of Globetrotter insults. Maisy glared at their teacher, but, like every other student, she didn't dare say anything. To retort meant a week's worth of detention, and they all knew that it was better to bite the bullet now than suffer the consequences for a harsh retort later.

"It's not like I spend all night grading your measly excuses for a thesis, carefully combing every paragraph for even a sliver of intelligence, while you're at home watching reruns of Dukes of Hazard..."

On and on it went, ironically cutting into his so-called "precious time" to teach. On and on he rolled, all the way up until 7:55 AM. The only good thing about it was that it was twenty-five minutes they didn't have to spend studying. Some had taken to drawing little sketches in their notebooks, others took the opportunity to sneak in a snack or two, and Tillie was full-on knitting.

Finally, he reached the end of his spiel. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Now... Seeing as that's hopefully enlarged your minds a little, please turn to page eighty-seven of your textbooks, as we delve into the absolutely incredible topic of Meiosis."

"'Incredible', my arse," Maisy muttered. "Couldn't find your goggles, huh?"

Gadget shook her head, too embarrassed to give a verbal reply.

"Oh, leave her alone. We've forgotten our fair share of trinkets before," Tillie whispered, putting away her knitting. "What are you so upset about? I thought you had hearts for Globetrotter."

Maisy didn't reply, but shot another scathing glare at Globetrotter as she pulled out her textbook.

"Trusting that we won't have any more interruptions," bit their teacher, shooting a look at Gadget as he said it, "I'd like you all to turn your attention to..."

Bang.

Everyone jumped, including Globetrotter. He turned behind him to stare at the wall. What...?

"A-As I was saying, please direct your attention to..."

BANG.

Nobody jumped this time, but Globetrotter once more turned sharply 'round to inspect the wall. The heck?

A few seconds passed. Nothing. Perhaps someone was just doing maintenance... in the unused classroom?

"Kindly direct your atten-"

BANG!

"Graaaaaaaaahhhh!" Globetrotter growled, storming out of the classroom and followed by a host of eyes watching him go. Gadget cautiously sat up in her chair as he went.

Down the hallways he trundled, shoulders hunched, every footstep a declaration of annoyance as he made for door two-ten, pushing aside the occasional student or teacher who dared cross his path. It was fortunate the door was a little ajar, for he kicked it open with such force that it flew open, BANGED against the wall, and reverberated so heavily that it shook the walls. Had it been closed the door handle probably would have broken along with it.

"What in CURIE'S name are you DOING?!" the angry little mouse shouted, smoke practically steaming off of him as he fumed, his fiery gaze trained squarely at the tall, lanky mouse in front of him.

Pinky was in mid-swing, one leg raised high up in the air as his paws clutched firmly around a wooden baseball bat. He was dressed in full baseball attire, and his classroom had been very primitively set up to resemble a sandlot of sorts, each of his "students" serving as the players. Globetrotter's explosion had thrown him off only a smidgen. If anything, Pinky beamed and waved at the newcomer.

"Mr. Globetrotter! You're just in time for the home run! Or... you would have been if you hadn't thrown me off just now," he giggled.

"Would you kindly explain why you're using your room as a sports arena?!" Globetrotter snapped.

"Oh! Well, Nilly here wanted to know if I was well-versed in the thrilling art of baseball, and I couldn't turn that one down 'cause, you know, I am. Hmhm!"

Globetrotter turned to look at this "Nilly", arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

"That's a sack of flour," he retorted, unimpressed.

Pinky gasped.

"How rude! He didn't mean it, Nilly. Did you, Brain? Say you're sorry to Nilly!"

"It's Brian, and I am not apologizing to an inanimate object! And I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from playing baseball in a classroom! Don't you realize you're disturbing the peace - upsetting my students and keeping me from my work?"

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Is your classroom on the other side of that wall?"

"Yes."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Got it, Brain! We'll play baseball later, shall we?"

"You shall."

And with that, he stormed off... right into Olivia, in fact, who was in full delivery mode. The force of their impact knocked her backwards onto the floor.

"Ah! My letter!" she screeched, reaching for a little yellow note that had slipped out of her hands.

"Hmph," Globetrotter muttered, completely ignoring her as he trudged back to his classroom.

Olivia watched him go, reeling back a little at the slam of a door five seconds later.

"Ooo. Too angry. Too angry," she mumbled to herself, sprinting up to classroom two-ten and peering inside.

Pinky was now hard at work not playing baseball. All the chairs, tables, and "students" were being reshuffled to resemble a normal classroom again, the big television in the back rolled up to the front behind the main desk to serve as a new source of entertainment.

"Sorry, class. Baseball is canceled for the moment," apologized Pinky, hooking up the tv as Olivia tip-toed into the classroom and carefully shut the door behind her. "Oh well. That's why I brought my Honeymooners tapes, "he exclaimed, whipping out the tapes from the stand's shelf in a flourish. He was just about to pop one in when a light cough caught his attention. He turned around. There was Olivia smiling at him.

"Oh! Hello, Olivia!"

"Hello, Mr. Pinky," she said, a little shyly this time. "I've got something for you."

"Another letter?" he asked, taking it from her and reading:

Dear Mr. Pinkus,

I must regret to inform you that baseball or sports of any kind are not allowed in the hallways and classrooms. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I also appreciate my job, and I can't very well keep it when there's a home run going on a few doors down. This is for your own sake. I do hope this reaches you before Globetrotter does...

Sincerely, Mrs. Judson

"I think baseball in the school is a wonderful idea," Olivia piped up as Pinky read the letter, his ears lowering a little as he went over each word. "I heard we used to have a field, but... they got rid of that years ago." Her own little ears, round and pink, drooped at this. Pinky thought a moment.

"Well... perhaps we could make a petition?"

"Petition?"

"Certainly!" said he, setting down his tapes for a moment. "We could write up a letter saying we'd like a baseball stadium back on the lot, and if we get enough signatures..."

"We'll get one!" Olivia gasped, tiny hands tucking up against her chest in excitement.

"Well, maybe. It still has to pass the board of directors now, don't it?"

"We'll get a lot of signatures then. You get the form, and I'll get people to sign it!"

Pinky smiled.

"You've got yourself a petition there, Missy! I'll draw one up tonight!"

"Good good!" Olivia exclaimed, bouncing up and down, tam-o'-shanter bouncing this way and that. "So what do you teach?"

"Oh, a little of this. A little of that," Pinky said, dodging the question. "Do you like The Honeymooners?"

"The Honeywho?" she asked, shuffling about his desk and picking up one of the bunsen burners to peer into it with a curious eye.

"Now don't tell me you've never heard of one of the best television shows of all time!"

"Not really. I don't watch a lot of tv."

But whatever Pinky said next in response to this she didn't catch, for she had just discovered his notepad, and of the number of colorful stickers coating it, one in particular stood out to her. She gasped again.

"Is that a radish rose whatchamawhoozit?!"

Pinky was caught off guard. He stopped mid-sentence, stared at her, and slammed his hands down on the table, making her jump.

"You know what a radish rose whatchamawhoozit is?!"

"Look!" Olivia said, sweeping off her tammie, the better to see her fluffy ears. Hanging from each ear was a small earring, both shaped like radish rose whatchamawhoozits. "My mum used to use them for parties! I always liked them."

Pinky went wide-eyed.

"My mum did, too! You know... you're the first mouse I've met who knows what that is."

"I'm surprised most people don't know what that is!" Olivia giggled.

"Me too!" Pinky chuckled back, eyes a little misty.

For a moment they just stood there, smiling at one another, two radish rose whatchamawhoozit buddies meeting for the first time. There was something very comforting about it.

The slow tick, tick, tick of a wall clock nearby brought Olivia back to Earth, and she stepped back shyly.

"I... probably should go," she said, smiling. "She's probably waiting for me."

Pinky's face fell.

"We-.. uhh... would you like to stay for just a minute longer?"

"Sorry, but I really do have to go," replied Olivia regretfully, looking very much as if she didn't want to.

"Umm... what else do you like to do that's... not watching tv?"

"Well... umm... I do like to sing."

Pinky beamed, dug in his box, and pulled out a microphone attached to a small radio-looking device.

"Do you like karaoke?"

Olivia beamed.

Several doors down and one wall over, Globetrotter had everyone in a stupor. Gadget could barely keep her eyes open, one of the boys had taken to drawing circles over and over again in his notebook, and Maisy's brother was actually snoring. Perhaps Globetrotter would have cared if he hadn't been so engrossed in the exciting subject of Meoisis, one hand clasped firmly around a nearly-drained cup of coffee, the other brandishing a thick ruler at the blackboard behind him.

"The initial metaphase takes place when the homologous pairs travel along the metaphase plate. Kinetochore microtubles from the spindle poles attach to the-"

He stopped. His ears twitched. Some of the students lifted their heads, shifting in their seats. A distant sound of singing could be heard, just beyond the wall. Globetrotter frowned.

"Um. The microtubles attach directly to-"

It was soft at first, then it grew - louder, louder, louder. Pinky and Olivia's singing had escalated from a light hum to a crescendo and climbed all the way to the top in a full on opera. The student with the journal counted down on his fingers to his friend: three, two, one...

SNAP!

Right on cue, Globetrotter applied so much anger... or... pressure, rather, to his ruler that it snapped clean in half. Journal boy made a mark in his book: t'was the fourth one snapped this semester, apparently.

For the second time that morning, Globetrotter stomped out of his classroom, although this time he was followed, not by one student, not by two, but almost the entire class, albeit tepidly. Although he probably wouldn't notice them, considering the state he was in, caution was still advised... at least to a degree. Ronald Pinkus was in for it big time and they couldn't afford to miss this. They'd heard the rumors: that when Mr. B. got this flustered he'd actually physically vibrate, lose all mastery of the English language, and sometimes even spout intense poetry at the accuser. It was one of the only exciting things that happened in his classes and they sure as heck weren't going to pass up the opportunity when it presented itself.

Science room three-nineteen's teacher had barely managed four steps out the door, however, when he was approached by a tall lady mouse in a green dress. All the students moved back a pace, retreating into the classroom.

"Ah! Mr. Globetrotter. I was just coming to remind you that the teacher's conference is this weekend at 5:00 PM."

"Yes, Ms. Weatherby. I'll be there," he scratched, barely containing himself.

Ms. Weatherby stepped away, not the least bit perturbed, whether due to pure naivety or a lack of concern none could tell.

She was barely two feet away when Globetrotter continued his trek, down the hall and around a corner. His students followed at a careful pace. He'd just turned the corner when a boy vole with glasses knocked into him, his homework flying everywhere.

"M-Mr. B! I-I mean, Mr. Globetrotter!" he stammered, shaking from head to tail.

"What is it?!" Globetrotter growled, impatience growing by the millisecond.

"I-I-I just wanted to ask about the upcoming assignment. Is there any way I could turn mine in just... a day late? M-My mother is sick in the hospital, you see, and-"

But he was abruptly cut off as Globetrotter shoved him aside with a sharp, "NO!" to boot.

"O-Or I can just turn it in on time then! N-No biggie! Eheh...!" the vole stuttered, clutching the few remaining papers to his chest ever so tightly and quickly picking up the rest before running off. He jumped as he almost ran into Globetrotter's entire class. Gadget reached out a hand towards him, as if to apologize on Globetrotter's behalf, but Maisy stilled her with a shake of the head and a clutch of the paw. They tip-toed on.

Globetrotter was almost at door two-ten when plump Mrs. Judson came flying down the hallway.

"Globetrotter! Don't you even think about touching that door!"

The little mouse grumbled.

"I have EVERY RIGHT to open that door!" he shouted, already trembling. A couple of the boys in the crowd started bouncing up and down excitedly. This was just getting better and better. They might actually get a full show!

"You don't know what that poor boy's been through. He might be a complete boob, but you leave him alone! Let me talk to him," Mrs. Judson spouted, paws on her hips as she went face-to-face with Globetrotter.

"Mrs. Judson," Globetrotter replied, full on vibrating now, "If you don't get out of my way, I swear I'll report you to the principle for unlawful involvement in a teacher's affairs!"

"Hmph! 'Unlawful involvement.' There's no such thing."

"Oh, isn't there? I can MAKE it a thing! And," he added, voice low and threatening, "I'll tell them about Marley."

Mrs. Judson went wide-eyed.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would," Globetrotter seethed.

With brows furrowed and lips tense, she turned in a flourish and marched off, shooting his class a harsh glare as she rounded a corner, shaking her head at them.

"You watch your step," she hissed.

Some of them exchanged worried glances. It was incredible Globetrotter hadn't even noticed the crowd following him; so enslaved by anger was he. It was almost impressive. The entire group collectively held their breath as their teacher, fuming, flung open the door.

"WHAT THE BLAZES ARE YOU-"

But at this, he stopped, for what met Globetrotter's eyes rendered him speechless.

"Aaaaaaand wwwwwwwelcome to the show!"

The room was unrecognizable. A sparkling blue floor complemented an equally sparkling purple stadium decorated with red velvet curtains, all so dazzling that Globetrotter had to rub at his eyes to stop himself from going blind. The entire place looked like a game show one might see on tv - Wheel of Fortune or Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Energetic, happy-go-lucky music blared on a little radio in a corner, completing the effect, and a seemingly disembodied voice, all flamboyant and hospitable, dominated the scene.

"Come on in! Take a seat!" remarked the voice, which turned out to be Pinky's as he scooted Globetrotter into the room and onto a chair right next to Olivia, who waved at him.

"That's my new teacher!" she whispered excitedly to him, pointing at Pinky, who was fully decked out in a purple suit and bow tie. Globetrotter sputtered.

"Now, h-h-hold on! I need to tell you-"

"Why, yes. You do need to tell me your name, good Sir!" interrupted Pinky, holding up a microphone right in front of Globetrotter's face. "And you are?"

"I... ma... puh... G-Globetrotter, b-but that-"

"Ladies and gentleman, give it up for GLOOOOOOBETROTTER!"

An invisible crowd cheered. Olivia clapped.

"And your name, young lady?"

"Olivia!"

"OLIVIA!"

More clapping.

By this time, all of Globetrotter's class was pressed up against two-ten's door, eagerly peering in at the activity with wide, bugged out eyes.

"Now, folks, you know we just completed the singing competition, with an outstanding performance by little miss Olivia."

The invisible crowd cheered again, and Olivia blushed.

"But now it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for! Drum-roll, please," requested Pinky, and right on cue... there came a thundering drum-roll.

The entire class was now shuffling into the room, taking spots at the back that had actually been set up for a proper crowd. They filled every seat.

"TUUUUUURBULENT TRIVIAAAAAAA!"

Clapping and cheering from the invisible crowd on... the radio? another dimension? ... was now mixed in with actual applause from Globetrotter's class. He turned to stare at them, flabbergasted. He had an actual audience?! How embarrassing...

Two pedestals, each with a big red button in their centers, rose up out of the floor to rest in front of Globetrotter and Olivia.

"Now, you all know the rules!" Pinky continued, gesturing to a giant board behind him that was laden with a plethora of different topics. "Our contestant with the most points picks a topic, and both try to answer it! Whoever gets the most points at the end of the show wins!"

And he jumped up and down at this, Olivia mirroring him as she bounced around in her seat. Globetrotter was silent. He wouldn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. Every time he opened his mouth to voice his complaints, no sound came out, as if he was so caught off guard by the affair that he simply didn't know how to react. And rightly so. He simply had no words for this.

"Olivia! You're up first, my dear, so pick a subject!"

Olivia stood up in her seat, thought for a moment, then pointed at one of the topics.

"Ummm... I pick... Science!"

"Science it is! And heeeeeere's your question!"

And the little box marked 'SCIENCE' flipped over to reveal a small paragraph, which Pinky read out:

The first known telescope was submitted as a patent to the Netherlands government in 1609 by which spectacle maker?

Someone slammed down on their red button.

"Yeeeeeeeeeees?" Pinky questioned, sporting a wide, toothy grin.

Surprisingly, it was Globetrotter who answered. He actually was standing up out of his seat, looking mad as a hare.

"That's preposterous! It was patented in 1608, not '09, and the answer is Hans Lippershey!"

"CORRECT!"

Ding ding ding ding ding! went Globetrotter's big red button, as it flashed on and off a luminous green color. He sat down almost shyly in his seat, as if surprised he'd found himself out of it, as his entire class clapped and cheered. He turned to look at them with an expression of absolute surprise.

"Congratulations! You've just earned ten points! But Olivia is still in the lead with thirty. What's your next topic, Olivia?" Pinky asked, an open hand gesturing to the board.

"Ummmm... music!" she piped.

"You got it!" Pinky exclaimed, as the next little box labeled 'MUSIC' flipped over. Once again, Pinky read aloud:

Who composed this famous piece?

And a deep, booming tune played loud and clear throughout the room. Olivia slammed down on her button.

"Go ahead, Olivia!"

"Mozart!" she shouted out, but...

EHNG!

Wrong!

"Ohhhh. I'm so sorry, Olivia! But it's not Mozart! Do we have any other takers? Anyone?"

Globetrotter's button rang again, albeit with a bit more hesitance this time.

"Globetrotter!" Pinky shouted.

"That's obviously Beethoven," Globetrotter muttered, arms crossed indignantly.

"CORRECT!"

Ding ding ding ding ding! rang the little button again as ten more points went up on Globetrotter's side of the scoreboard. The crowd went wild. Some of his students had actually gotten popcorn from... somewhere, and looked as though they were having the time of their lives.

"Go, Mr. B!" some shouted out, and, "Trotter! Trotter!" others cheered. "You can do it!" one gal said. Globetrotter's ears perked up a touch. They were actually... supporting him?

"Oooooo. Globetrotter's giving you a run for your money, Olivia! Better pick a good one!" Pinky egged on.

"Hmm. I piiiiiiiick... mathematics!" she shouted, standing in her seat, two pink paws set firmly on the pedestal in front of her.

"Let's see that math question!" rolled Pinky, pointing at a box with 'MATH' written on it in big, bold letters, and reading out:

The square root of 6,428 is...

Before Pinky could even list out the options, Globetrotter's red button was punched.

"80.1748090113!"

"CORRECT!" Pinky yelled, and the crowd exploded. He was now tied with Olivia!

Globetrotter actually went slightly pink in the face as his class whooped and hollered and cheered him on. He almost dared to smile a little. This was... actually... kinda fun...?

"Aaaaaaand now! For the FINAL question! This one... is a TIE BREAKER," Pinky exclaimed dramatically. At this, all the lights dimmed at once, with spotlights thrown on Globetrotter and Olivia only. "Since you both have thirty points each, I'll be picking the question," Pinky continued. "Whoever gets this one right... is the ultimate winner."

The music boomed just as dramatically. Globetrotter actually swallowed thickly. The crowd went silent.

"Here... is your final question, in 'Entertainment'," said Pinky, and he read out:

Which character in The Honeymooners was known for his catchphrase, "Bang, zoom, right to the moon!"

Globetrotter began to sweat, not because he was oblivious, even though it was common knowledge that he rarely watched tv, but because he was embarrassed that he knew the answer. He had to answer, though. Surely, the kid wouldn't know. Would she...? And yet...

SLAM! went Olivia's paw onto bright red button. No way.

"Olivia?" Pinky asked, all ears.

"Mary Poppins!" she rang out.

ENGH! went her button.

"Ohhhhhh. I'm sorry, but that's not the right answer! Globetrotter?"

He was sweating all the more now. He'd surely be teased forever for this, but he couldn't not answer a question he knew the response to...

"Globetrotter? Ten seconds!" Pinky countered.

"Come on, Trotter!" one of his students shouted.

"Yeah, you can do it, Mr. B! Come on!"

And more shouts... and more... and more built up, until finally...

SLAM! went Globetrotter's paw on the big red button.

"Yeeeeeeeeees?" asked Pinky.

"R-Ralph Kramden!" Globetrotter shouted out, eyes tightly closed.

A pause. And then...

"CORRECT! GLOBETROTTER WINS!"

The din was deafening. Balloons and confetti actually fell from the sky as the lights went up all around Globetrotter, Olivia, Pinky, and the entire class as triumphant music was played. Olivia was jumping up and down, actually hugging Globetrotter, not at all perturbed that she'd lost, as the crowd poured out from their seats to congratulate their teacher. Globetrotter was completely stiff. How the heck was he supposed to react to this?

"Congraaaaaaaatulations, Globetrotter! Let's see what you've won!"

There were no show girls, so Pinky himself had to run off-set, grab a selection of items, and fly back onto the stage in front of Globetrotter.

"You win: an orange juicerator, a block of Worcestershire cheese, and a week's supply of paperclips!"

All these he dumped into Globetrotter's hands. Everyone clapped and cheered, and the celebration might have gone on forever had the bell not rung.

"Oh! That's the bell! Time to go, everyone!" Pinky directed, and they all filed out of the classroom, Globetrotter and all, Pinky bringing up the rear. He was still in his purple outfit. "Everybody go on to your next class! Go on! Thanks for playing!" he said, spending an extra second or two to thank Olivia for being such a good sport and handing her a bag of chips. She beamed, thanked him, and skipped off, crunching on them happily. Globetrotter remained, the only participant who hadn't quite taken it all in.

"What... just happened?" he asked, turning to stare at Pinky, his bulky prizes still clasped in his arms.

"You'd better get back to your room, Brain! Your next class is about to start!" was all that Pinky said as he gently pushed him forward, ducked back into his classroom, and shut the door behind him.

Globetrotter just stood there for a moment, staring at door two-ten, before looking down at the batch of prizes he was still holding. Without a word, he slowly, almost drunkenly, meandered back to his classroom. With some difficulty, he opened the door, set down his newfound possessions upon his desk, and breathed in and out, slowly, deeply...

What... had just happened? Never in his life had he ever experience anything like that, not in this school, not in public, not... anywhere, for that matter. It was a time-waster. It was ridiculous. It was... fun? He hated to admit that to himself: that somewhere, deep down, he'd managed to enjoy something so asinine. And yet...

He took a minute to go through each of the "prizes". An orange... juicerator, it was called? It was a portly thing, about half the length of his forearm, and sporting a curved spout that looked a bit like a faucet. How pointless. Unlikely he'd ever find a use for such an item. He'd never even heard of the thing until now. He tossed it in an unused drawer. The second was a block of Worcestershire cheese. That wasn't... all bad. He quite liked this type. In fact, it was his favorite. How did that bumbling idiot know that? Last of all was the "week's supply of paperclips". Handy, he supposed. Nothing wrong with some extra tools for one's classroom. These he put in a top drawer that was visited much more frequently.

He sighed again and stuck his hands in his back pockets. Something crinkled against his right paw... Huh?

He pulled out a note.

Thanks for playing with us! You have a lovely smile. - Pinky

Globetrotter blinked, taken aback, and was caught off guard at a sharp knock on his door. He tossed the note in the trash.

"C-Come in!" he stammered.

It was two of his students: journal boy and his friend.

"Sorry, Mr. B! We forgot our backpacks!" journal boy said, as the two mice ran to grab their packs. But as they headed back towards the door, they stopped. "By the way, um... congratulations, Mr. B!"

"Yeah, that was awesome!" his friend exclaimed.

And with that, they exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Globetrotter stood rooted to the spot. He'd surely die from all these positive comments. Never had he received so many before; at least, not under this roof. He peered into the trash can, paused a moment, then extracted the little note from it. He read it again:

Thanks for playing with us! You have a lovely smile. - Pinky

He settled on those last words again, for they stuck out to him.

You have a lovely smile.

And for a moment, though no one could see him, though no one was watching, he held the little note close to his chest, closed his eyes... and smiled.

-----------------------------

Author's Notes:

- Ferrum is the Latin term for Iron (Fe), which is sometimes found in paperclips.

- The nickname "Mr. B." is actually an obscure reference to another fandom I'm in. If you want the full story, message me. Heh.

- Globetrotter's reaction to Gadget being late was inspired by a friend's story in which one of her actual teachers would respond in a similarly harsh fashion to late students.

- Yes, Olivia's radish earrings are absolutely a reference to Luna Lovegood's equally unusual earrings.

- All of the information about meiosis I got directly from Wikipedia.

- The game show part of this story was my favorite part to write. Originally, I was going to have the whole thing be a lot more low-key, but this is technically a cartoon world, after all, so I figured... why not go all out?

- I finished this at 1:35 AM last night, two days after a surgery and while in pain. I have no regrets.

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

The Sky Beast, New and Improved

Eeeek I wrote another Mothman Ryan fic!!! All inspired by @q-unsolved ‘s amazing art :D

Summary:

Ryan Bergara is 100% human until they shoot the Mothman episode. They didn't find anything but Ryan might have brought a piece of the investigation home with him.

Or: A bit of Mothman attaches to Ryan and he gets pretty cool perks. Shane is a fan.

Find it on Ao3 here or read below!

"Eeeeee, last chance!" Ryan pinched his voice two octaves higher, poking his head out the car window to squeak into the woods on the side of the dark road.

"I think you've offended the Mothman." Came Shane's reply from beside him, the words tinged with mirth. Despite the horrid noises that the older man had made earlier for his moth call, he still somehow found Ryan's imitation extremely hilarious.

"Shut up, Shane," Ryan grumbled with a grin, starting up the car again. It had been a long day of shooting, and they were all more than ready to get back home.

If he was being honest he didn't really believe in the whole Mothman concept, and it boggled his brain that Shane could trust these crazy 'enhanced' natural creatures more than he believes in ghosts and demons. His friend was leaning back in his seat, but not tilting it back so much as to be in Mark's way, a self-assured smile on his face.

The hunt hadn't been entirely fruitless, Ryan reminded himself, their calls had attracted something, at least, just many much smaller somethings with sharp canine teeth.

There is a dark shape that appears out of the corner of his eye at night. With his irregular nocturnal patterns demanded by the nature of his work and spontaneous late-night research sessions, Ryan had first chalked it up to sleep deprivation. It is an actual phenomenon proven by science, Shane would have said, when your eyes don't get enough rest they start to bail on their job and show you random shit. But is the phenomenon normally limited to the hours after sunset?

There were nightmares too, way more frequent than what usually follows an especially creepy investigation. The dark shadow was there too, and in the once or twice that Ryan had managed to take control of the dream long enough to look, there would be two bright red spots at the top of the shape, then the figure would shoot off to the corner of his vision again, wings hardly moving despite the swift movement.

And the migraines, so fucking many of them. He just feels a pressure building up in his ears, like they were picking up something high pitched that his brain cannot register, but some primal part of him recognized as wrong, abnormal, dangerous, run . Then the pain would explode through his eardrums and stay lodged in his head for hours. Ryan went to his doctor after the third time he had doubled over in pain, the hospital did all sorts of scans but could find nothing wrong.

It was all stupid, the Mothman trip wasn't even that scary, why the hell was the thing showing up in his head? Why can't it leave him alone?

(two weeks later)

Ryan's alarm goes off at 6:00, and he flings out a hand to swipe it off without opening his eyes. He shifts a little, relishing the feeling of down against his back, keeping away the slight November chill. Yes, this was LA and the temperature never dropped below freezing, but a guy needs some soft fluffy blankets come wintertime, sue him.

The alarm keeps blaring. He tries again. And again. But the damned screen isn't recognizing his fingers.

"Nnurgh." He grunts, lifting his head from the nest of pillows he had curled up with the night before. It was sort of unusual for Ryan to sleep face down, but it had just been the most logical choice at the time. He pushes himself up to his elbows and rubs at his face, while his hand tries futilely to shut his phone up. "Why do I wake up so early." He grumbles to his palms, maybe his phone was broken, yes that would explain why prodding at the screen has been doing nothing--

Ryan stares at his hands, both in front of him. Then he turns to look at his phone.

There is a dark thing hovering over the buzzing device, surface shimmering slightly from the dim light peeking through the curtains. He jerks away from it, letting out an entirely unmanly squeak as the thing moved with him, curling around and behind him faster than he could turn around in his still sleep-relaxed body. A soft warmth closes on his back on the right side, solid and fuzzy in a way that eerily mimics the softness on the other side. Oh god, the thing's on his back.

For a few moments, Ryan can't convince his body to move and just stays half crouched on his bed. The slight chill that glances his front only accentuates his panic. Slowly rising to sit back on his heels, Ryan whips a hand back as fast as he can manage in the attempt to grab at the thing. Do not be afraid, do not be afraid--

The weightlessness hits him hard when the thing suddenly soars up and away until the only points of contact are two spots between his shoulder blades. The rush of air and following pull from those points lifts him clean off the bed, plunging him into blind terror for a few seconds as oh god he is in the air , hovering above his bed with arms flailing. The twin spots on his back strains with the effort as the thing flaps with quiet, powerful whooshes. After a solid five seconds, the thing finally stills, dropping him on his ass onto the bed with an ‘oof’.

What, the fuck.

Ryan gives his weird job all the credit for his ability to maintain the state of calm--or shock, honestly, he wouldn't be able to tell-- enough to climb off the bed and walk to his closet. At least the thing isn't moving now, though he can feel the weight of it on his shoulders. And okay maybe he does miss the warmth on his back, just a little, monster produced or not.

Heart thumping in his chest, he peeks at himself in the mirror, terrified that he'll see the thing's eyes staring back at him. His own hair is disheveled, his eyes wide and beady in the way that would have made Shane laugh. And oh yes, the thing was there, arching off from his back with a terrifying eight-foot span, dark-colored and still shimmering slightly in the dim room. He quickly turns to look at his back, wide eyes not missing the way the tip of the thing curled in to avoid hitting the closet door.

It takes his brain a minute to catch up to what his eyes were seeing.

Wings. He has wings .

"The fuck?"

As if in answer, one of the black wings flips down to slap him upside the head, as if to say: took you long enough you doofus.

"Ow!" He complains, but however he tries, and god knows he did, his hands could come nowhere near the damn things as they moved in every which direction with fluid ease, putting his body off balance in the process when they flapped around.

If this is the result of Shane taunting some demon he is going to kill him.

“Eeeargh! Eeeargh! Eeeargh!” His phone screams from the bedside table. Right. He almost forgot about his damn alarm amidst all the crazy.

Snatching it up from and turning off the awful noise, it doesn't even quite register in his mind as his fingers move across the screen until it was showing Ryan that he is calling Shane. The man picks up on the 7th ring.

"Ry, wha?" His voice is gravelly and scratchy from sleep and Ryan's shoulders lose some of their tension at the familiar sound.

"Shane can, uh, can you come over? Now?" He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, only jumping a little when the wings, his wings, settles against his back again in a warm blanket.

"Now?" A groan, Shane wasn’t a morning person, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Just, come over. Please." Ryan adds, leaning his head against the cool glass of the mirror. His head feels too hot, even when his front is still cold.

"Okay, okay. Hang in there buddy, I'll be there in twenty."

Shane gets there in fifteen minutes. Ryan hears the sound of approaching footsteps from his curled up position on his bed and is wrenching the door open before Shane has the chance to knock.

"Thank fuck." he breathes, grabbing onto an arm and pulling the taller man into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He keeps his back tucked against the door, the wings sparing his body from touching the icy surface.

Shane is studying his face with a perplexed expression and two thermoses of coffee in his hands, hair sticking out on one side in a horrendous cowlick. "Ryan, what happened?"

"You, um, might want to set those down and sit." He says, waving at the steaming cups of energy in Shane's hands, he's totally going to inhale one of those once his nerves are a little less shot.

Shane does so, expression tilting more and more towards worry as Ryan stays at his spot by the door.

"I'm going to show you something, and, and I'll need you to not freak out okay?" Ryan's voice shakes a little, and he holds his hands out in a placating gesture.

"For the record, if you just killed someone, first I will commend you for your productivity at six in the morning; second, I'll help you hide the body."

"Wha--no." Ryan huffs a laugh, the tension momentarily forgotten. They had known each other long enough that his big gangly friend knew how to get him out of panic mode. He gulps down a deep breath, and slowly steps away from the door, coaxing his wings to stretch out on either side of him. He has to admit, once he had stopped trying to grab the things they have been much more cooperative and responsive to his mind.

"Oh."

Ryan glues his eyes on his bare feet, cause he doesn't know what he would do if he looks and sees disgust or, or fear in Shane's face. "I woke up and just had these," the wings flap on their own volition, almost preening, Ryan realizes with mortification, "I-I don't know how it happened, they feel real Shane. What the fuck am I going to do? I don't know if its a demon thing or something to do with Mothman cause I've been having nightmares about it ever since we came back from Virginia--"

"Ryan, Ry calm down." Shane's out of his seat again, gripping onto Ryan's shoulders firmly to stop his rambling, "We'll figure this out, just, breathe."

Ryan let his head fall forward until his forehead’s pressed against Shane's rumpled hoodie, letting the steady beats of Shane's heart slow his own breathing. When he looks up again, Shane's staring at his wings with unabashed curiosity. Then he gets a light slap to the face to bring his attention back down to Ryan, courtesy of his right-wing. Huh, Ryan muses distantly, maybe having semiautomated wings does have some perks. The baffled expression on his friend's face right now is definitely worth it.

Chuckling in surprise, Shane once again pokes his head past Ryan's shoulder to get within an inch from the wings, his eyes crinkling into crescent-moon shapes. "They look less feathery and more, I dunno, maybe like deer velvet? They're quite fuzzy-looking." He pauses for a second deep in thought, and his hand on Ryan’s shoulder twitches like he wants to touch the wings. "The Mothman idea has more traction, I don't think if demons existed they would use their time to do this."

"I still can't believe you think Mothman is real but not demons." Ryan sighs, poking Shane in the chest with a finger. This has the unfortunate side effect of making him very aware that he does not currently have a shirt on. How had he not realized that? Will he have to cut holes in his shirts now? Fuck can he even go to work with wings sticking out of his back--

"Hey, stop that." Shane's hands on his shoulders give a light squeeze, and Ryan makes the effort to stop his brain from running away with his wits and hurling itself off a cliff, for both their sakes.

"Take your own advice and sit down." Shane's voice is gentle, and Ryan let himself be guided towards the couch and smiles gratefully when a warm cup is pressed into his hands. A few sips of the still too hot liquid goes a long way to ground him back into the normality of his morning routine. His wings find their own place to be, which turns out to be draped across the back of the sofa, their tips just peeking over the length of it.  

"I-I can fly." He blurts out, and a hysterical giggle bubbles out from his chest, and soon both of them were laughing and wheezing as the potentially fun part of the whole situation hit them suddenly.

"For real though, what are we going to do about this?" Ryan says in between giggles, gesturing at himself in general. "I mean it would be different if I can make them invisible or something but that's not--"

"Ryan," Shane's eyes are wide as he stares at the sofa, and his voice is full of wonder, "look."

Ryan cranes his head back to glance at where his friend was indicating and is, for the second time that day, shocked to hell and back. Seriously, if he is going to at least try to live a decent lengthed life, he's gotta get used to seeing strange shit. He can still feel his wings against the sofa, but they were not there. He reaches his hand back tentatively to where his limbs would have touched, and it's like his hand is passing through a dense, dry mist. His wings, but invisible.  

"They're still here." He murmurs in awe, moving his hand along the top of the sofa to stroke along the strange feeling of dense air. "They're invisible now."

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun." Ryan turns and with a flicker of darkness, his wings are back in physical form again, his hand resting gently against its fuzzy surface. Shane is full-on grinning, eyes alight with mischief, and he manages to say with complete seriousness, "Ryan, you're gonna be the new Mothman now."

And the strange thing is, Ryan doesn't feel repulsed by that idea. Far from that, the thought sends a thrill through him, awakening an almost primal part of him, the possibilities flitting through his mind faster than he can fully grasp each.  He grins back at his friend.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

[long-bodyswap]

A long day’s journey

This is also one of my favorites too. Found it in an old yahoo bodyswap forum. Enjoy.

Mike woke with a start when the tires hit the rumble strip.  It was a long day, he was headed home after a few days on the road.  He had made a few good contacts and wrote up some decent sales, but he really just wanted to get home and into bed.  The road wasn’t the place for a 45-year-old guy, and Mike knew it.  “Better left to the young punks,” he thought.  He really wanted a comfortable desk job, there was one opening up in a few weeks when Murray retired, then all he’d have to do was send those young jerk offs to meet with customers, God -it couldn’t happen soon enough.

He flipped though the radio stations, sure wasn’t much on the air out this way, middle of nowhere. If he was going to stay on the road he’d pop for XM or Sirius but his road days were coming to an end. 40 miles to Medford, 6:30 PM and it was already getting dark.  Medford was a college town, decent food, he could stop there grab something to eat and make it home by midnight if he pushed it.  Mike always hated this stretch of the trip home, just vast open spaces nothing around for miles, the road cut through part of an Indian Reservation, he never bothered to find out which one.  But he did always stop to pick up some cigarettes for Murray at the gas station where he crossed into the reservation.  He never could understand how people could pay so much just to watch it go up in smoke.  At least without taxes the prices were better, but still…  Oh well, Murray was a friend and had put in a good word for him with the bosses so he didn’t mind.

The sun had set, the sky went from orange to deep purple.  35 miles to Medford…  Mike glanced down at the radio as he flipped through a few more stations, something caught his eye and as he looked up it was too late --- there was a brief sound as metal hit metal at 60 miles an hour then darkness as everything slipped away…

“Doctor!  He’s coming around”

Mike heard that at some level, everything sounded weird.  He was in that in-between state not quite asleep - and not yet quite awake.  He felt like hell.  He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids felt strange, heavy.  It wasn’t just his eyelids, he felt heavy and it was very difficult to move.  He managed to get his eyes open, the room was dimly lit, he could sense a presence next to him, a middle aged woman stuck her head in front of his face, “OK.  Doctor!  His eyes are open.”

“Don’t try to move, you been through a lot.” Somehow Mike knew that was directed at him.  He was more than willing to cooperate, it would take all his will power just to lift his hand up, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.  He was ready to drift back to sleep, but the doctor came over, at least Mike assumed he was the doctor, he was 28 maybe 30 holding Mike’s chart.

“I’m Dr. Thompson, do you know where you are?”

Mike struggled to get “hoshpital” out, a little slurred but understandable.

“Great! That’s right” the Dr. replied, “Do you know what happened?”

Mike closed his eyes for a second, “Accident?” he managed to whisper.

“That’s right”, the Dr. responded.  “Do you know where you were headed?”

“Sleep…”

“No, don’t sleep, where were you going?”

“Home”, Mike was still in one word response mode, the Doctor wanted more.

“OK, can you tell us your name?”

“Mike Watson”

“How old are you?” “45” Mike croaked, “Water?”

“Nurse, just a sip..”  “Is that better?” the doctor inquired.,

“Yeah, think so”, Mike replied.

“Ok, I think you’re awake enough for me to fill you in on some of the details.” Dr. Thompson said.  “As you know you were in an accident, you were heading north to Medford, when a car crossed into your lane and hit you almost head on.  Your car was totaled, it was the airbags and seatbelt that saved you life, plus the fact that it happened in a wide open area, you were pushed into a field.”

Mike grunted ”Ummf.”

“We had to make some quick decisions.” the doctor went on,  “The collision knocked your ID a ways out, we didn’t know who you were, we had no way of contacting your family, the police only found it this morning after dawn.”

“Yeah….” Mike said waiting for the rest of the story.

Dr. Thompson hesitated, not sure how he should begin, after all he had never done this before…  “I don’t know if you are aware but Highway 40 cuts through an Indian Reservation, and that Reservation runs almost into town, the College actually borders it.  But anyway, the accident took place on the Reservation, so their local laws are enforced.”   Mike looked a little puzzled, why was the doctor telling him all this?  “Well, the driver that hit you was a local college student, with a bit of a history.  Josh had done this before, got drunk and killed another driver, but since he was underage and his family is well connected he was given probation and rehab and allowed to return to campus the next year.  There was quite a bit of outrage locally, but being on the football team and with his connections it was all down played.”  The doctor looked away, Mike could tell there was something he wasn’t telling him.  Dr. Thompson felt stupid, here he was giving a back-story, but how could he come right out and tell Mike what had happened to him?  The Dr. took a deep breath, “As I said, we had to make some tough decisions when you were brought in.  Josh had some minor injuries, and you were near death.  I guess you could say it was a function of where you were as much as anything, but…  we transferred your consciousness to Josh’s body.”  There, he said it.  

Mike looked at him dumbfounded, “Huh?”

The doctor went on  “The University has been doing a lot of research in the area of consciousness and it’s link to who we are, and with the influx of money from the casinos the Indians, or I should say Native Americans, own, our funding has gone up quite a bit and allowed us to progress rapidly.  Some of the expansion here at the university is onto the Reservation so their laws apply.  They have a very strict ‘eye for an eye’ philosophy that they live by.  When they found you and brought you in along with Josh and his buddy Tuck, the tribal leader was very upset that Josh was allowed to do this again.”  Dr. Thompson went on “ They insisted we rectify this situation, and while we had done human testing, it was always voluntary and reversible.  We were getting into a very ethically gray area, but the decision was made to go ahead. Josh was given the facts, he knew that tribal law dictated his execution if you died, and there was nothing anyone could do, it did happen on tribal land, their laws apply.  He knew he had a small chance of survival in your body, no chance if he didn’t do this and you died.”  The Dr. took a drink of water before he continued on, “By this point you were near death and we had to move quickly.  Normally the process takes hours, which we didn’t have.  So we had to make another hard decision.  We transferred the core of Josh out and transferred as much of you in as we could.  But this is a new area for us, we don’t know how this will all play out, you have Josh’s body, and his physicality.  You may have his knowledge and even some or all of his memories, we really don’t know.  You might end up as Josh with some of Mike mixed in, or Mike with some of Josh.  The two aspects may blend and you might decide you’re neither and decide to be ‘Jake’.   We just don’t know at this point.”

Mike laid there slack jawed, did he really hear what he thought he heard?  “But, but  --I’m Mike Watson!” was all he could say.  

“Yes, I know that.” The doctor said, “But at this point you really haven’t integrated with the part that was Josh, that won’t happen for awhile.  At this point you talk, and when you can, you’ll move like Josh, but you’re Mike.  Gradually you will become more aware of Josh and you will have to deal with that.”

Mike stared at the doctor for a minute taking it all in.  “Wha, what do I look like?” Mike asked.  “Well you’re about the same height, 6’3’’, you weigh a bit more, about 240 lbs, Blonde hair, Blue eyes.  We’ll let you up in a few minutes and you can see who you’ve become, we just have to make sure you’re strong enough.”

“My body?” Mike asked, looking like he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“It’s still alive, on a respirator.   Josh might survive in it, but he will be a paraplegic, plus there is a good chance of brain damage.  A blood clot broke loose after we did the transfer and he suffered a stroke, we’re surprised he lasted this long.  I should tell you this, if somehow your body survives and if you want you can be returned to it, it will be your choice.”

Mike lay there staring, was he dreaming?  This had to be a joke.  And a bad joke at that.

“Can you move your legs?” Dr. Thompson asked, Mike wiggled his legs, “Great, how about your arms?”

Mike lifted his arms, he took a look at his hands and had a shock, “The-the- these aren’t my hands!” Mike stuttered and he examined his hands.  They were big and beefy with long fingers, not at all like his average sized hands with short stubby fingers. He looked dumbfounded as he twisted and turned, open and closed his hands.  He looked at his arms, golden tan, very well muscled.  “This is real?” was all Mike could say.

“Yes, it’s very real.”  Dr. Thompson replied.

Now Mike knew why he felt so odd.  He was seeing with another man’s eyes and hearing with another man’s ears.  Everything looked a little odd, colors where somehow strange.  It seemed he could hear a bit more, softer sounds were clearer. He ventured a look down and saw a well muscled chest and he could feel his heart thumping rapidly.

The nurse came over and took his pulse, “Doctor, it’s quite high..”

“Mike, take a few deep breaths, try and relax a little”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not…” Mike stopped in mid sentence, was that really his voice?  It hadn’t connected before, he was talking with a soft southern accent!

“Mike, what is it?”

“My voice, why am I talking like this?”

The doctor took a long look at Mike before he went on, “As I mentioned before, it was a tough decision, but with the disparity in your bodies and ages, plus the time constrains we were dealing with, we opted to leave the physical side of Josh in place, so you have Josh’s characteristics, you talk like he does and you will find you move as he did.  Odds are you wont’ really be aware of it, since your physical aspects aren’t part of you any longer, your body is sort of on Josh’s auto pilot, it’s part of you now.”

“Can I get up now?” Mike said, “God, I’m really talking like this?”  The words sounded foreign to him.

“Lets try sitting on the edge of the bed first.”

Mike didn’t give it too much thought, as he quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The doctor look a bit surprised, but pleased “Great, looks like you are integrating well.”

The doctor pointed over to a large mirror on the other side of the room, “Think you can make it over there?”  “Nurse can you open the shades a little so Mr. Watson can get a good look at himself?”  The nurse pulled the shade halfway up; the light caused Mike to squint. Mike took a few small steps, felt stable and proceeded over to the mirror.  He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the light.  Mike took a deep breath and steeled him self for what he was going to see.  “Ok, guy you can do this…” Mike thought to himself.  He did a quick headshake as if to clear his thoughts and faced his future staring back at him from the mirror.  “Shit” was all he uttered, his mouth hanging open.  “Th-th-that’s me?” he asked incredulously. The doctor walked up and put his hand on Mike shoulder, “Yes, that’s you…” and just left the statement hanging in the air.

“I-I-I’m a kid!” was all Mike could say.

“Well, technically you’re not, Josh is, was, 19, an adult.”

Mike just stood there staring.  He blinked once, twice, three times. The image in the mirror did the same.  Mike took his hands and brushed his cheek, rubbed his jaw.  The skin was soft and firm.  He looked at himself.  He had a strong jaw line and a crease in his chin.  His golden blonde hair was cut short, kind of buzzed off the way kids wear it now.  His bright blue eyes had a fire to them.  His nose was slightly upturned and positioned between two high cheekbones.  He turned his head a little and noticed his ears.  They were moderate size and close to his head, the earlobes seemed to connect to his jaw line, “Damn” he uttered.  Everyone had something about themselves that they disliked, for Mike one of these things were his ears.  They stuck out a bit and as a kid he was always teased about it, not any more he thought.  With all that’s going on he had no idea why that thought crossed his mind.  

He took a step back in order to get a better look at himself.  He looked at the image staring back at him, young, tan, muscular, naked. Naked!  Mike didn’t even realize he wasn’t wearing anything.  He looked down at himself and over to the doctor.

“ Hey man, it all right, you’ve been naked through out the whole process.” The doctor said.

Somehow it didn’t bother Mike as much as it used to- shit, he was a hunk!  He had a thick neck that flowed into broad shoulders that had caps of muscle on the shoulders.  “Damn, I look like one of those models in the magazines.” He said as he looked down the body that was now his home.  Well-developed pec’s sprouted two small dark brown nipples, he reached up to rub them, they had decent sized bumps and the action was very pleasurable.  He had never given any thought to his nipples before, he was much more interested in women’s nipples, that could change… As he looked down, that broad chest tapered down to a small waist that displayed abs that must have taken years to get that hard.  Mike noticed he now had an innie, a small disk recessed into those massive abs.  As his gaze continued, “Fuck” came out of his mouth.  Mike stood there looking at the piece of manhood nestled in a golden blonde bush of hair.  Mike was always comfortable with his 5 incher, but he was now big, and uncut, and he had a mushroom head to boot.  His new cock hung there, and there was no hiding it.  It was very prominent, Mike didn’t know if it was the muscles, or just this guy’s anatomy, but he knew that from this point on his dick would always be one of his prominent features, there was no way to hide this.  As he looked he noticed his nice smooth balls.  Not a bad size and hairless, damn I guess this kid shaves his balls Mike thought.  He finally pried his eyes off his dick and balls and looked at the legs that supported him now.  He could tell this kid spent a lot of time working on them, big hard ass, massive thighs and calves.  The thick ankles lead down to wide, big feet, had to be a size 13 or better.

“So, what do you think?” inquired the doctor,  

“Shit, I don’t know what to think, I’m a fucking 19 year old jock, I cain’t say I’d ever dreamed this was possible.” Mike shook his head did he really say ‘cain’t’?  Mike had always prided him self on his diction, he always felt it was the sign of an educated businessman to be able to converse with others and sound intelligent, now he not only had a 19 year olds body, he was talking like one.  Damn…

“Do you feel strong enough to get cleaned up and dressed?  There’s a walk in shower in the bath, and I sent one of the techs to Josh’s dorm room to pick up some clothes, I don’t think anything you own would fit that body…” the doctor said as he looked over toward the nurse when he heard her pager go off.

As it beeped Mike looked over toward her too, “ Damn, she ain’t bad looking for an older chic,” Mike thought to himself as he gave her the once over.  “ Nice firm tit’s” he thought.  He blinked and quickly looked away, this didn’t go unnoticed by either the doctor or the nurse, Mike blushed, though it was kind of hard to tell with that dark tan, but his dick at half mast was a give away.  Not only was he 19, Mike discovered he was horny as hell.

“That was the tech, he’s dropped off a bag with some of Josh’s clothes at the front desk, I’ll go bring them in” The nurse said as she waited for the Ok from the Doctor.  He nodded, and she left with a little smile for Mike.

“Doctor..Uh..Thompson is it?”

“Call me Jim, were going to be seeing a lot of each other for quite some time” the Doctor replied.

“OK, Dr. .. Jim, I’m sorry about that.”

“Tell me, what were you thinking?   ---No, I don’t mean it like that” Jim added quickly when he saw the look on Mikes face.  “I really need to know what was going through your mind just now.  It will help in figuring out what is going on with you.”

“OK, Jim,” Mike said as he sat on the edge of the bed, “ I was thinking she was pretty hot for an older woman, her tit’s looked nice and firm --.  Dr., ..Jim, that’s not me, hell she’s a lot younger than me, no way would I think of her as older.  Women her age don’t give me a second look.”

“Mike, you have to remember your body is operating with a 19 year old’s libido, physically you are Josh now.”

Mike sat there, he looked down at his hands and at his cock still at half mast.

“Listen, how about if I give you some time to get to know yourself.” Jim said with a little smile.  “A nice hot shower and some clean clothes will make you feel like a new man.” He chuckled.  Mike didn’t know if he was ready for levity about his situation, but he did get the drift of Jim’s other comment.  

“Yeah, sounds good” Mike replied.

“Tell you what, I’ll leave my cell number here, either give me a call or ask one of the staff to get me when your feeling up to a talk.  Take your time, I know it’s a lot to get used to.”  Jim said as he started out the door.

“You have no idea” Mike muttered under his breath.

“Sure I do” Jim replied, Mike looked a little sheepish; he didn’t think Jim could hear him.

“ Everyone involved in the program has had to go through the procedure.  Granted, it was only for a few weeks, and we all returned to our bodies after the trial run was over, but yes, I do know what it’s like.” Jim said matter-of-factly.  “ Listen, we’ll have lots of time to talk later about the program and our goals, but right now you have more pressing matters.” Jim chuckled as he walked out.

One of the ‘more pressing’ matters Mike had to deal with has the fact he needed to pee, bad.  As Jim left, Mike moved quickly to the bathroom and the toilet.  He quickly flipped the seat up and pulled back his foreskin and let a heavy stream flow.  “Damn.”  That felt good Mike thought as he looked down and the stream was lessening.  “Fuck, I didn’t even think about rolling my cock cover back” Mike thought to himself as he shook the last drops of pee off his cock.  ‘Cock cover’ Mike thought ‘where the hell did that come from.’  ‘Shit, why does every sentence start with an expletive’ Mike wondered.  He flushed, and flipped the shower on.  The warm steamy mist quickly filled the room.  Mike stepped into the shower and the warm stream of water felt great on his back.  His hand instinctively found it’s way to his cock and was massaging it before he realized it.  He was hard in seconds. Mike looked down and was surprised to see the large dark purple head of his cock.  It was so sensitive he could barley touch it.  It was much smother than his cock, the years of being exposed to his clothes had taken its toll on it, it was rough and desensitized.  The feeling was exquisite as he rolled the foreskin back and forth.  It hit him right then what a crime it was to circumcise boys, the pleasure he was feeling was so much greater than he had ever felt before.  He closed his eyes and went with the pleasure.  Images of big-breasted redheads filled his mind, he was playing with their breasts, he was eating them out, the pleasure grew. Before he knew it he was spurting his load, it came and came.  “Fuck, that was some load, I wonder when the last time this kid came” Mike wondered. Still feeling the glow Mike washed down the wall where his cum hit and proceeded to wash his massive body.  He thought about the redhead in his fantasy, he was always a sucker for blondes but that redhead really turned him on.  It felt good rubbing the cloth over his body.  He could feel the muscles that rippled just below his skin.  As he stood there and let the warm water rinse the soap off his body he realized something, he didn’t have any tan lines!  “Fuck, this dude must tan in the nude, I wonder if that’s why it didn’t feel strange walking around naked” he thought to himself.  That was a new feeling for Mike, he was never comfortable walking around in the locker room naked as some of the guys were, he was always ashamed of his pudgy gut.  “No more” he thought.  He toweled off, and stepped up to the mirror., looked at his face and decided he liked the little bit of stubble that Josh had cultivated.  The dark stubble matched his eyebrows and contrasted nicely with his golden blonde hair. Mike tousled his hair and it fell into place, “I guess that is one advantage to short hair” he thought.  Mike looked at what toiletries were available, he found a disposable razor he wasn’t going to need at the moment, a tooth brush and paste, some deodorant and a comb, all typical hospital issue.  Mike slid his tongue over his teeth, they felt gummy, he was glad to be able to brush them.  As he bent over to spit out the foam he noticed his lips – full, red, sexy.  He spit and looked at his large white teeth, they weren’t quite perfect, a couple of the lower ones were crooked, but the overall effect made his face look more masculine.  He stood there and took a long hard look at himself.  He was one good-looking dude.  A knock at the outer door stirred him out of his reverie,

“I’ll put the bag with your clothes on the bed” he heard the nurse say from the other room.

‘Great, thanks ma’am ” he replied. He reached for the stick of antiperspirant, opened it and was about to apply it when it hit him, he had some of the ‘fuckinest hairy pits he’d ever seen’.  Wow, where did that come from Mike wondered? The hair was golden blonde as was the rest of his pubes, but damn there as a lot of it!  He applied the goo, and then he noticed the bush of hair visible even when his arms were down, though the muscles held them a bit way from his sides.  He gave himself one last look and left the room.

There was a black duffel bag with the school logo sitting on the bed, Mike walked over and opened it up.  There was an assortment of clothes there, but all were athletic gear, sweats, cross trainers, Ts.  Mike found some boxers in the bottom, they all had funky prints, he chose the ones with a smiley face with its tongue hanging out.  As he slid them up over his legs, he noticed his legs were pretty hairy too, but since it was blonde he didn’t notice it before that.  With the amount of hair in his pits and on his legs he wondered if the kid waxed his chest, he decided he’d find out soon enough.  Mike found a pair of socks and he picked up a grey muscle T, it had a logo of course, and he slid on a pair of breakaway warm up pants, and he pulled out a pair of cross trainers.  After he tied his shoes he walked over to the mirror.  Mike stood there for a long look.  The T was tight and his prominent nipples showed through along with his pecs and lats. These were defiantly his clothes, they fit him well.  He looked down at his hands, he flipped them over and looked at his palms, he saw a few small scars he wondered how Josh got them.  He looked over to the clock, it’s had been over 2 hours since the doctor left, Mike was curious about what to expect, and to find out just how this had happened to him.  He picked up the phone and punched Jim’s number in…

Mike thought it was strange, his whole world had changed in the past few hours, he was walking around in some strange kids body, but he felt fine.  His reality shifted and Mike felt he should be terrified of what had happened to him, but somehow he didn’t, why?  That was the first thing he wanted to ask Jim when he got there.  Mike went and looked out the window, he could see the rolling foothills in the distance.  He saw all the students going about their business, laughing, running, goofing off.  Mike rubbed his eyes, “Shit I can see a hell of a lot better.” he thought to himself.    He heard something behind him and turned to see Dr. Thompson come in.

“Looks like you’re doing OK”,

“Yeah, I guess” Jim looked at Mike for a moment, not sure what to say, Mike turned to him,” This is so fuck’n weird -- how come I’ve never heard of even the possibility of doing this?”

Jim looked at him, “Come on man, you’re a smart guy, how would the world react if it discovered that there was a possibility that someone was not who they appeared to be – what if this fell into the wrong hands?”

It hit Mike, all the possibilities, “Shit.”

“Odds are you are getting hungry, want to go grab something to eat and talk?”

“Fuck, Yeah, ...” Mike responded.

As they walked down the hallway to the cafeteria, Mike asked, “How come it’s so easy for me to function in here, I’m walkin’ and talkin’ like nothin’ happened?”

“We’ve found that the consciousness is pretty resilient, it adapts pretty easily.  I was a woman for a few weeks when I did the exchange and that’s a lot bigger change than you’ve gone through.  At first it was weird but after an hour or so I was functioning pretty much as my self.”

Mike looked at him,” You’re shittin’ me”

“No- in some ways it a little like what you’re going through, Karen and I agreed that we would try leaving the physical in place and adding our ‘identity’ to the body.  I was me, but without the male side, it was --- interesting…”

Jim kind of trailed off in thought.  They rounded the corner and entered the cafeteria, picked up a couple of trays and proceeded down the line.  Mike and Jim continued to talk, and halfway through the line Mike looked down and noticed his tray, it was loaded with protein and no carbs, he blinked.  Just then the girl behind the counter asked him what kind of entrée he’d like, he looked up and smiled at her and immediately started flirting with her, she turned around to get him a plate and Mike undressed her in his mind.  He could just see her there, firm tight breasts bouncing around as she served and a great ass, he could feel himself getting more aroused by the second.

“Down boy!” he heard Jim whisper in his ear, he looked down and saw what Jim had noticed.  Blushing, he looked away.  They picked up the rest of their food and found a table in the corner, away from the rest of the late afternoon crowd.

“We can talk here.” Jim said as he set down his tray.

“Yeah, I do have a few questions.” Mike said with the emphasis on few…

“I know it’s a lot to take in, plus your dealing with a teenagers sex drive.” Jim stirred his coffee.  “I’ve got to warn you, you’re in the eye of the hurricane right now.  You’re Mike and you only have a bit of Josh to deal with. Over the next few days you’re going to be exposed to more and more of Josh, some you may like and some you may not.”  Mike looked at him with a bit of apprehension.

“One thing we’re going to have to deal with sooner than later is the fact that Josh has an addictive personality.  We’d like to go in and see if we can remove that portion of Josh, before it blends with you.”

Mike looked at him, “Huh?”

“Now that you’re stabilized, we’d like to ‘explore’ that part of Josh that made him drink too much and use drugs.  It’s in there with you, you just haven’t connected with it yet.  We’re hoping we can prevent that since our best guess is it will infect you, sooner than later.”  Jim let that statement hang there for emphasis.

“Hey man, I’ve had the occasion drink, now and then even a bit too much at times, but I’m in control of it.  Hell it’s been years since I even touched weed.  I should be able to handle this.”  Mike said a little indignantly.

“Like you handle the pocket rocket down there?

Mike blushed.   Jim went on,” You have to realize that you are dealing with a whole new set of needs, wants and abilities.  You’re 19 again, your in sexual overdrive, and that is just the beginning.  We don’t know too much about Josh, but what we do know raises some serious questions about what we may have done to you in our efforts to save you.  We have a small window to do this, we’d like to try and ‘correct’ this after we finish here…  I’m serious.”   He could sense Mike’s incredulity.

“What the HELL have you done to me!  I didn’t ask for ANY of this!  Now you want to fuck with what’s left of my mind!  SHIT do you hear yourself!  Did I get any say in any of this?  You ASKED Josh, he had a say, but me, I don’t get any input and it’s MY FUCKING LIFE!”  Mike hit his fist on the table.  The whole room was watching him.  He was staring at Jim and Jim just sat there looking like he was run over by a truck.

Jim sat there for a moment collecting his thoughts.  “Listen, this wasn’t my idea.  I’m a researcher, and I just happened to be working when this happened.  I’m the lead on this project, that’s why I’m here.  I never said I agreed with it, but the decision wasn’t mine.  I seriously thought about walking away, but I have had the most experience, if you can call a 3 week transfer experience, so I agreed to oversee it. You are unique.  You may be the first to experience a change in the way we look at life and death, you may be the last if we fail.  I don’t know if we just jumped off a cliff ethically.”   He sipped his coffee as he let that sink in.

“You are an intelligent man, you’ve lived 45 years, and you have to know what the implications of this are, if you only stop and think about it.  When I first got involved with this process I was intrigued, hell I still am, but you have to know that I wrestle with the ethical implications daily. Am I doing the right thing?  I don’t know.  I do know if I wasn’t here someone else would be, and that person my not have the ethical qualms I have.  I don’t need you to point out what I have done, I’m well aware of it.  I know it’s been done TO you, and I can only begin to fathom your anxiety, but Mike, you have to work with the cards you were dealt.  You could be dead now.”

Mike sat there for a long minute staring at his hands.  “Maybe that would be better.  Maybe it was my time…  Sure, this kid screwed up, we all did when we were younger, maybe not as bad as Josh, but we all were stupid and think we’re invincible at 19 or 20. Hell, my own 22-year-old son still does stupid things.  What right to I have to take another persons shot at life, no matter how bad he fucked it up?  He might have learned something sitting in jail for years, I don’t know.”  

Jim thought it was incongruous hearing this coming out of a 19 hunks mouth.  This was going to be interesting… “Listen, we have your whole life to argue the ethics of this, but we really need to address the issue at hand.  You are at risk if we don’t do something.  Face it, this kid is an addict, do you want to live the rest of your long life doing AA and NA meetings, that’s where this kid was headed, he just didn’t’ hit bottom yet   –well he might have now…  Anyway, I really feel we need to do this now, You don’t know me but your going to have to trust me on this.  Please.”  Jim sat there and looked deep into Mike’s eyes.  Mike had to understand the risks he faced.

Mike sat there.  What difference did it make if part of the kid he didn’t even know was removed?  Why was he fighting it?  Was it the part of him that was Josh?  Did he trust this guy sitting across from him? Hell, he just met him a few hours ago.  He mulled it over, what was that? He really wanted something, but what?   Damn, it was a cigarette!  He looked at his chest, how could anyone who worked this hard to build a body like this ever think of smoking?  It wasn’t an overwhelming urge, so he wasn’t a hard-core smoker, but the itch was there.  “Dude, I really need a smoke.” Mike said. More and more he was talking like Josh.  “If we do this can you get rid of that too?”

“I think so, but you’ll still have the carvings for awhile.  Does that mean you’ll agree?”

Mike took a long breath,” I guess.”  

Jim blinked, thank god, he thought, somehow he was beginning to really care about this guy.  He knew he’d be driven by his addictions for the rest of his life if he didn’t agree to this now, before they took root.  Still, there was no guarantee it would work, but he had had to try…

They picked up their trays, and dropped them at the pickup window and Jim led Mike toward the transfer facility.  Jim greeted some of his friends as they entered, “This is the team that oversaw your transfer” Jim said as he directed Mike to a chair that looked like it was appropriated from a dentist’s office.  Mike rested his heavy frame into the chair and tried to get comfortable.  Jim and a couple of his associates came over.

“This is Rick and Karen,” he said.

Mike took a quick look at Karen then at Jim, Jim gave his head a slight nod, otherwise nothing was said.  Now Mike knew what Jim was talking about.  She was hot, Mike felt his ‘friend’ stirring, and quickly looked away.

“We’re going to wire you up now’” Jim said. Rick and Karen attached leads to various parts of his head.  Jim brought over some heavy, dark, funky looking glasses.

“Here, put these on.”

Mike slid the glasses over his eyes, he couldn’t see through them.

“OK, we’re ready to start.  Mike, watch the image in front of you.”

Mike heard a click and some swirling colors appeared on the built-in screens of the glasses.

“The colors are keyed to your mind, and soon you’ll find yourself drifting off, just go with it.” Jim said.

The colors looked so great soon Mike couldn’t help himself and he was out.  Jim, Karen, and Rick worked hard exploring “Josh” and modifying aspects of his personality.  It was a long, time-consuming process, but at the end Jim felt confident he had been successful. He also felt he knew Josh better.  Mike would have an interesting life ahead of him, if Jim wasn’t mistaken.  Mike noticed a change in the swirling colors and slowly woke up.

“Is it over?”

“Yeah.” Jim said as he wiped his brow.

“Damn, I still want that butt.” Mike said,

“You will, it’s your body craving the nicotine, it’ll pass.  Rick, toss me one of your patches.” Rick threw a patch at Jim,

“Hope they work better for him.” Rick had been trying to quit for almost a year now, but the long hours doing research always did him in.  The University was smoke free, but luckily for Rick their wing was on the reservation, so again their laws took precedence. Jim handed the patch to Mike; he opened it, lifted his shirt, and attached it to his side.

“How long does it take to kick in?”

“Not long, 10, 15 minutes tops.” Rick replied.

Jim motioned Mike to get up and head back to his room,

“Hey, man – Good luck!” Rick said as they left.

“So that’s Karen” Mike said after they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, like I said, it was interesting.”

“Did you do it?”  Mike asked with a little smile.

“Wouldn’t you?”  Jim replied.  He let the conversation drop, he really wasn’t comfortable discussing his sexual experiences, especially as a woman, with anyone.  They got back to Mike’s room, quickly, the complex wasn’t’ too large.

“Listen,“ Jim said,  “ You are in for a rough night.  I’m going to stay in the room next to you in case you need me.”

“What do you mean, ‘rough’ night?” Mike asked.

‘Well, like I said, you’re in the eye of the hurricane, you are going to start to get to know Josh, I guess is the best way to put it.  The first thing is going to be your dreams, if it gets too bad, let me know and I’ll get you a sedative.”

Mike was tired; the experience in the chair did him in.  “OK, I guess, I am a beat.”  He put his hand out, “ I’m sorry if I tore you a new one earlier, it’s not you, it’s this whole fuckin’ situation.  Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.”

Jim took his hand and shook it, but he knew tomorrow would be worse not better.  “Get some sleep man, you’ve been through it today.” he said as he walked out the door.

Mike closed it, went to the bathroom pulled out his dick and let a thick stream flow.  He shook his dick before he let the foreskin roll back down, washed his hands and gave himself the once over.  “What the hell is going to happen to me?” he thought as he turned out the light.  It was dark already, he really lost track of time, glancing at the clock he saw it was after 11 PM.  He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on a chair.  He walked over to the mirror and twitched his pecks, it seemed natural, but Mike had never done it before.  “Must be part of Josh’s nightly routine,” Mike thought.  He pulled his pants off, dropped his boxers, and rubbed his balls, -it felt good.   He flopped into bed, pulled the covers up, and flicked out the light.  He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, “What a long fuckin’ day it’s been” he thought.  Before long he drifted off to sleep.

Oh God, it felt so good, Mike just kept pumping, in and out in and out. He buried his head in those beautiful breasts, he wanted this to go on for hours, with every thrust his pleasure increased.  There was a tangle of legs, arms, fingers.  As he thrust from the front he could feel Tuck thrust from behind.  It was such a turn on to feel another cock finding pleasure separated only by a thin layer of membranes.  Tuck was ready to cum, he could feel him pressing on Kat’s back, Mike increased his thrusts as Kat moaned louder, no holding back now, he went deeper and deeper, OOOHHHH, GGOOODDD!  YES! He felt Kat’s spasms as she came, one more thrust and….AAAAHHHHHHH!!!  He collapsed on top of Kat, he could feel Tuck trying to roll out from under her. He looked at Kat, her body glistened with sweat, god she was beautiful!  He looked over at Tuck, his dark hair was all messed up, he chuckled, he knew how Tuck hates having is hair messed up, He’d tease him like hell about it tomorrow.  Kat slid over and kissed him, long deep and wet.  “Thank you, that was incredible!”  She turned and did the same to Tuck, he was lost in the afterglow.  They lay there in a tangle for a while longer then Mike felt he really had to pee.  As he untangled himself Tuck was feeling the same need. Kat rolled over and drifted back to sleep.  Mike and Tuck headed to the john.  Mike rolled back his foreskin and let the stream pour out, Tuck just let the stream flow.  They both arched their backs as the warm flow of piss gave them relief.  “Shit, bro’ that was fuckin’ incredible.” Tuck said as he slapped Mike on the back.  “Didn’t I tell you so.” Mike replied. He headed over to the sink and splashed his face with water as Tuck made his way back to the bed.  When Mike got there Tuck was curled up on one side of Kat, he took a position on the other side, he was glad Tuck was an ass man, he had those breasts all to himself…

Mike woke cold and wet.  He rolled over, “What the fuck ---!” He pulled the covers back and saw the cum covering the ripped abs.  For a moment he didn’t recognize the cock and abs he saw, then the previous day came rushing back to him.  He was in Josh’s body, “Shit”, was that a dream, or did that happen??  He wondered aloud.  Jim had heard him stirring and stuck his head in to ask if Mike was all right.   Mike quickly covered up, looking a little embarrassed.

“Hey man, it’s cool” Jim said, “ Go get cleaned up, I’m going to take a quick shower and change too, see you in 15…” and he was gone.

Mike flipped back the bedding, he and it was covered in cum.  “The hell with it” he thought and headed to the bathroom to pee and to get cleaned up.  After a quick 10-minute shower and a shave, the stubble was turning into a beard, he was dressed and hungry as hell.  “I wonder what’s taking Jim so long,” he thought as he reached for the phone.  Just then Jim knocked on the door.

“Damn, you really do look like a kid today” Jim said referring to Mike clean-shaven face.

“Yeah, I guess I know why he grew that stubble, I could pass for a fuckin’ 15 year old..” Mike said taking a quick look in the mirror. “Shit man, I’m starving.”

“ Me too” Jim said, “Lets grab something before we hit it today.”  They were feeling more comfortable with each other, but Mike skirted around what had happened last night.  Mike loaded up on protein again, and they found the same isolated table they had yesterday.  “So, you want to tell me about it?” Jim asked.

Mike got red,  “Do I have to?”

The simple reply was  “Yes.”

Mike proceeded to give him the highlights, getting hard in the process.

“Was it a dream?  Did it happen?  Who’s Tuck?”

“Tuck’s Josh’s best friend.  As to whether it happened, I don’t know.  But after rooting around in Josh’s subconscious yesterday, and reading up on his background, I’d say it most likely happened. “

Mike just stared at Jim.

“ I warned you.  There’s a lot more to come.  Josh was out there.  Sex, booze, drugs, it’s amazing he kept a 3.6 average and performed well on the field.  And, before you ask- yes he did do the work, the kid has, or had brains, and talent.  It’s too bad he was so fucked up.”

Somehow that bothered Mike.  Taking the body of a dumb jock was bad enough, but this kid had potential.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what? Live?”  Would you rather be in that room over there on a respirator? “ Jim said as he glanced to the west side of the room.

“He… I...  Josh’s there?”

“Yes”

“Alive?”

“At the moment.”

“Can I…”

“No.  At least not yet.”

Mike let it drop.

They loaded up the trays and dropped them off on their way out.

Jim wasn’t looking forward to what was going to happen next, but he couldn’t stop it.

As Mike was strutting down the hall in his new, muscular body he stopped short, “Shit!  What day is it?”  Mike blurted out with a Southern drawl, “How long have I been here?  Fuck, they’re probably wondering where the hell I am at work!  My neighbor is wondering when I’m going to get back, I’ll bet she is running out of food for my dog!”  Mike turned and grabbed Jim’s arm –“Why am I only realizing this now, did you fuck with my mind too?”

Jim pulled Mike’s hand off his arm and got a strong hold of his shoulder and forcibly directed him to an empty office down the hall from where they were.  Jim was glad that Mike didn’t realize he could easily take him with this new strength.  He kicked a chair over to Mike and sternly said “Sit!’

“What the hell do you think you were doing out there?  That was a common area, there are people who don’t know a thing about this Department and what we do.  It’s partly my fault, I should have warned you after your outburst yesterday in the cafeteria, but I had bigger issues on my mind.  You have got to keep this among us.  Feel free to talk all you want when you’re in our section of the facility but SHUT THE HELL UP in the common areas! Understand?”

Jim looked at Mike, Mike looked at Jim   Finally Mike said “Sorry, I’ll try and be more careful, but what the fuck is wrong with my mind?  I didn’t give a thought to any of this shit yesterday.  Why?”

Jim looked at him, looked at his watch, then back up. He pulled a chair over to where Mike was sitting.  “I don’t have all the answers, I can postulate why, but I can’t claim to know.  I guess the best way to put it is that your personality is starting to ‘coalesce’.  Yesterday you were the bare essentials of Mike, hung on Josh.  You were lucky to function at all.  We were really surprised that everything went as well as it did.  You have to remember outside of our group of six, you are the only other conscious person to experience this.  You know, in a lot of ways we’re finding our way just as you are, I’ll never claim to have all the answers, feel free to punch me out if I ever claim to.” Jim said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “So, what do you want to do?  Do you want to go somewhere and talk, you look apprehensive.”  Jim said as he got up.

“Dude, I’ve got so many fuckin’ questions my head hurts!  I don’t know what I want, sumpthin’ is buggin’ me -don’t know what it is.”  Mike said with a perplexed look on his face, finally getting up too.  He stretched and wriggled his upper body like he had a kink, “I want sumthin’, need sumthin’ but I don’t’ fuckin’ know what.”  As he walked over to the window he reached in and scratched his balls, “Look, what about my life, it’s like I fuckin’ disappeared! My job, my house, hell what about my son?  Shit, I‘m what two- three- years younger than him now?  What about my ex?  How do I explain this to her?  Shit!”

“Ok, if it helps, you’ve been here a little over two days, they brought you in late Tuesday night.  You were out of it Wednesday, yesterday you woke up, today is Friday.  We think we covered for you at work, someone called and told them you got food poisoning and you were sick in bed.  That bought us some time.  It’s the weekend, so hopefully with you awake now we can come up with something that’s plausible by Monday.  OK?”

“Shit.”  Mike looked over at Jim, “How am I ever gonna’ get my life back?  I cain’t go back to my job looking like this – I’m a fuckin kid!  Nobody would believe me if I tried!”  Mike was turning toward Jim as he jerked and quickly flopped into a chair as images raced through his mind.  People he didn’t know - but then did, places that he’d never been that seemed familiar, things he had done but never done.  He was getting high, he was running, he was suited up on the football field, he was fucking his brains out, he was driving a convertible, he was lifting weights, he was talking of an older man who was his father but wasn’t, he was kissing a girl, he was waving to his mom, he was skydiving, he was taking an exam, he was with his brother, he was on a jet, he was skiing, he was in Europe, he was scuba diving, he was in his dorm room, he was drinking with his buddies, he was petting his dog. All these images and more rushed through his mind, they were there then they were gone. Mike stared blankly at his hands. “Fuck….” He said under his breath as he slumped into a chair.

Jim grabbed his head and lifted it up and looked in Mike’s blank eyes –“Man, you OK?”  He was impatiently waiting for some sort of response, a blink, a grunt, anything.  After what seemed like hours Mike pulled Jim’s hands off his face, “Yeah, I’m still here. Damn, what was that?”

“Wha, what happened?” Jim stuttered still unsure if Mike was OK.

“There were all these fuckin’ images, but not really images. It’s like I was doing stuff, stuff I’ve never done.  There were all these people I knew them but I never met them –does that make any sense? Mike asked with a tone of uncertainty.

“You connected with Josh.” Jim said matter-of-factly - relaxing a bit.  “They were his memories, odds are just a brief flash, but I was afraid we might have lost you for a minute.”  Jim pulled a small note pad out of his pocket and noted the time and what they were doing.  “Maybe we’d better get you back to your room.”

“How come I still know so much about myself?  Did you transfer all of me on top of Josh?  How am I going to sort all the crap out?  Back there when --whatever happened -- happened it was so fuckin’ real, I knew those people and places like it was me, but it wasn’t.  How the hell am I supposed to deal with being 2 people?”

Jim could see the terror creeping into Mike’s eyes, hell it was scary enough at first when he swapped with Karen, but it was only for a few weeks and he knew he would be back to himself then, this was so much more. ‘It’s going to take some time to sort it, you, out.  This is all new to us too.”

“So… so who am I?” Mike asked, “ I mean really.”

Jim stood there and looked at him.  ‘I don’t know if there is one answer. If we tested your DNA it would say you are Josh, if I asked you, you would say Mike Watson.  My hunch is if one of Josh’s friends came up to you he’d think you were Josh, if your son came up to you I have no idea if he’d know you.  These are things we need to find out.  As I told you when we first met I really have no idea who you will turn out to be.  I have to believe it scares the shit out of you, it would me, but you got to know we’ll do what we can to help.”

Mike got up, that brief experience had him wiped, instead of his now usual strut he shuffled back to his room.  Sitting on the bed he was afraid to sleep, what if he had another dream like last night – that was the last thing he needed now. Jim looked at him not sure what to do.  “You want something to help you sleep?”

“Fuck, I don’t know what the hell I want.  I need somethin’ but shit, I don’t know what it is.  It’s like a fuckin’ itch you can’t reach.”  Mike looked at Jim, pulled his shirt off and tossed it across the room.  Scratching his pits he looked up at Jim, “What the fuck is gonna happen next – am I gonna wake up as Josh?  Hell- will I even remember being me –uh Mike?  FUCK!”

“Hey man, chill.  You are NOT going to wake up as Josh.  But I do think you do need some sleep, let me give you a light sedative, it’ll let you drop out for a few hours, there are a few things we need to talk about this afternoon – OK?” Jim looked at Mike with a questioning look on his face.  Mike nodded and Jim went to get the meds.

“Shit!”

Jim came running back in  “ –What?”

“I was thinking about what a fucked up mess my life has turned into, and I remembered something you said when we first met – you said Josh, I, we, were in an accident and Josh’s friend Tuck was in the car – what happened to him?  Is he walking around in someone else’s body too?  Is he dead? When I get out of this place am I going to be charged with killing myself and this guy Tuck too?”

“Calm down, first off no one is dead.  Josh is still alive in your body and Tuck is in a light coma, but all indications are he’ll be fine. Second, it was the reservation’s Police force that handled it. The Chief assured us that once we rectified the situation that would be the end of it. OK?  But, that does lead me to what I wanted to talk with you about later, the University does have a responsibility to notify the families of students of any accident, and Josh’s father is flying in this afternoon. Tuck’s folks are already here.  In fact they’ve been asking about you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck FUCK! “ Mike exploded as he beat the pillow.  “Can this Goddamned day get any worse?”

“Listen, we have time-“

“What to Fuck this up even more! Shit! We’ll just fuckin’ have to come clean, tell the tru-“

“Are you some kind of friggin’ idiot?”  Jim cut him off, “First, you KNOW this is top secret, second who would believe you?  Hell, you didn’t believe it at first and it happened to YOU!”  All this was getting to Jim he was loosing his objectivity along with his cool.

“I was hoping we’d have a little more time, that you might be able to access more of Josh’ memories so we could come up with some story that Mr. Hunter would buy.”

“Hunter?”

“Huh?”

Mike replied, ”You said Hunter, you never mentioned my- Josh’s last name before.”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t.” Jim let it drop.

“Shit, what am I supposed to say to him- ‘Hey dad, I don’t know who the fuck you are!’?” Mike just stated at Jim.

“Well, it’s an over used cliché but you could fake amnesia- that would buy us some time- you were pretty shook up in the accident and Tuck isin a coma...” God, Jim though, this was sounding more like a Soap Opera as each moment went by.  Jim stood there for a long moment, looked out the window at the rolling green hills that formed a backdrop for the University. Deep in thought, he tried various scenarios, finally it hit him -  “Just wing it-“

“Huh?’ was all Mike could say.

“You’re a father, you made the comment your son has screwed up, more than once I bet, right?”  Mike nodded.  Jim went on “did he ever really fuck up?”  “Yeah, there was the time-” Jim cut him off “ I don’t need the details, how did you react?  If you are like my father I bet you did all the talking didn’t you?  After all you totaled another car, injured your best friend, and this isn’t the first time.  No doubt he’ll go through the roof, all you have to do is react and mumble accordingly.  I’ll sedate you lightly, so you look a little out of it, Damn this might just work!” Jim was pleased with himself.  Looking at his watch, “the plane gets in at 2:30, half an hour to grab a cab and get here, it’s 11 now, that gives us about 4 hours…  Did you ever figure out what was bothering you?”

“Not really, I kinda’ feel like I need to do somethin’ I ain’t sure what.” Mike said as he kneaded his hands. “Maybe it’s all this energy I got, hell a few days ago I was 45, now I’m 19-“ it hit him “ Fuck, I need a good workout-“ his body was telling him things it’s mind used to know.  Looking down at himself, the large muscles waiting to be put to work, Mike had an urge to go for a nice long, hard, run, he needed to burn off some energy. “Listen, I, we’ve, got time -can I go out and run a few miles? It shouldn’t take too fuckin’ long-“

“No. Damn man, you’re supposed to be recovering from an auto crash, supposed to be a little out of it, it isn’t going to do much to convince Mr. Hunter to leave after he reaming you out if someone sees you doing wind sprints is it?”  Jim just stared at him.

Looking sheepish, Mike hung his head “No…”

“Here, take these.  They’ll knock you out for a few hours and leave you a just groggy enough to deal with your ”Father”. OK?” Jim set the pills on the table.  “I’ve got a few things that are demanding my attention to deal with right now, will you be alright if I leave?  Karen’s in her office around the corner if you need something, but I doubt you’ll be awake long enough to need anything after you pop those. All right?”

Mike nodded. Jim closed the door on his way out.  Mike decided to take a piss plus he needed some water for the pills.  As he walked into the bathroom he glanced at himself in the large mirror over the sink.  “Who the fuck are you dude” he said to himself. Washing up after peeing he stated deeply into his blue eyes, wondering what they had seen, what the kid behind them though of the world, of himself.  Walking out of the bathroom he looked around the room and out the window. He could see some girls lounging in the grass a few hundred feet away, and before he knew it he was hard.  He looked at the time 11:20, he wondered how long it would take to get this guy off, “shit, why not?” he thought.  He looked around for something to use as lube, didn’t find anything, and decided to play with his foreskin, he never really did get to examine it before…  Before he knew it he was deep into a fantasy about another red head, this one was a little on the thin side but damn she could move.  Too soon it was over, his chest was covered in cum, almost as much as yesterday in the shower, and this morning.  He chuckled to himself, “damn, high output balls, cool!”  He cleaned himself up and decided to pop the pills, soon he was in a deep dreamless sleep.

Jim flopped into his well-worn desk chair, “Problems, chief?” he turned, Karen was standing in the doorway. There was a time when he thought it was cute to be called “Chief”, after all they were on Indian land and he was their team leader, but not today. “God, I don’t know what we’ve gotten into, and hell if I know how we’re going to get out of it.  We’re all academic’s, not “Covert OP’s or even fucking Soap writers.”

“Huh?”

“Josh’s father is on the way in, and I have no idea how we’re supposed to cover this up, I even suggested Mike feign amnesia, but he wouldn’t buy it.  I really don’t think I’m ready to go public, even with Josh’s father, there is just too much we don’t know yet.”  Karen pulled over another well-worn chair that was pretty much molded to her form; all the hours they had spent over the years in the small office space took their toll on the furniture.

“How’s the subject doing?”

Jim glared are her, “The ‘Subject’ has a name, it’s Mike.” He said curtly.  He looked at her and realized he was loosing his scientific objectivity and he needed to take a step away from Mike, whom he felt was becoming a friend.  “He had a memory flash a while ago, I was afraid we lost him.  It was a little like what we went through, but a hell of a lot more intense.”  Karen nodded thinking back to when she flashed on being a man.  She had a little smile as she ‘recalled’ Jim’s first fumbling attempt at pleasing a women when he was 15.  Having shared memories was something they had learned not to bring up, for some reason it was painful for Jim.  It was interesting for her, she was the only woman on earth who had experienced sex from both perspectives, she thought it made her a better lover, though with the long hours they all put in she had little chance to put her theory to the test.

“I take it he came through it ok?  What was his pulse rate?”

Jim looked at her “I was more interested in his mental state, I didn’t check it.”  Karen was always a better clinician than he would ever be.  “It was weird, for a little while the cocky kid was gone, Mike kind of shuffled back to his room, he almost had an air of defeat about him.  It didn’t last long, I stepped out to get him a sedative and he almost exploded.  He’s still having a lot of feelings of guilt over surviving and when you couple that to all the changes he’s going through we are going to have to be very careful in how we handle him and the whole situation, this whole thing could blow up in our fuckin’ faces.  I don’t think we were ready for this, it was just too soon.”

Karen agreed, at least internally, she knew better than voice it at this point. “So, what’s next – how do you plan to proceed?”

“We, I just need to get him through the next few hours, then we can take a breath and try to deal with next week and creating a cover story for Mike’s family and employers.”

“So, have you checked in on Josh?  Some of the swelling has gone down and he is looking more human, but he’s still out of it, he may never regain consciousness.  I hate to say it but that may be a blessing for him and us.”  Jim knew she was right, but the scientist in him would love to see how Josh functioned and adapted in his new form.  “What if we just tell his family and co-workers he was in a serious accident?  It’s the truth… “

Jim thought about it for a moment “Yeah, but we already told them he had food poisoning how do we switch stories now?”

Karen looked out the window, it was on trait they both shared when they were deep in thought,  “Well… How about after he left the hospital he had a relapse while driving, and was nearly killed in the resulting crash?”  Jim chuckled, before this was over they could both be fiction writers.

“That might work, Josh is definitely too messed up to be moved, if he survives we could somehow insist on doing long term care at this facility, though I don’t know how we’d pull that off. But shit, it’s the best option we have at this point.  That just leaves one side of the equation to work with which is a hell of a lot easier.”  Making that decision lighted Jim’s mood, he glanced over at the clock and noted the time. “Damn, just a little over an hour to show time…  I gotta’ grab something to eat.”

“…up.. can you hear me… Wake up!  Mike, come on man you gotta wake up!” Jim was shaking Mikes beefy shoulder.

“Mmff?  Huh?  Shit! What time is it?” Mike sat up with a jerk.  He rubbed his eyes looked over a Jim,  “How fuckin’ long was I sleepin’ he drawled.  His southern accent seemed even deeper now.

“A couple of hours, it’s a little after 2.  We got about 45 minutes before Josh’ father gets here, do you think your up for this?”

“Shit, no.”

“Well you- we don’t have a choice.  We just need to get thorough the next few hours and then we can regroup and formulate a longer-term plan.  Karen and I have some ideas we’d like to discuss with you later, but now we need to get you ready for Mr. Hunter. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

”I’ve got a room set up in the medical wing of the hospital.  I got lucky and got you a room on the floor above the one Tuck is on, I sure as hell didn’t want you running into his folks while we’re there.  We’re going to have to put that off as long as possible.  Luckily Tuck has a record too so his folk might go a little easier on you when you do meet up.  But in the mean time Mr. Hunter is on his way in.”

“Damn,  what the hell is his first name, I should at least know that.”

“Ok, thumbnail sketch of what we’ve been able to put together.  Josh’s father’s name is Jacob, his – your - older brother is Jacob III, but he goes by J.J., his mother’s name is Marie, they are an old southern family from Georgia.  OK man, get your ass in gear, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Mike had his swagger back as they walked to the main section of the University Hospital.  It was hard to keep focused, there were so many great looking women, Mike’s body seemed to have a mind of it’s own, Jim had to keep him on track for his first outing.  Before long they were on the 8th floor in a private room overlooking the main portion of the campus.  Jim tossed Mike a standard hospital gown and Mike changed into is and was getting into bed when they heard the commotion out in the hall.

“Listen little lady, I want to see my son NOW!  Where is he?!”  Shortly the young nurse showed the older man in to Mike/Josh’s room, “Right here Sir..”  “Thank you, you’re excused I want to see my boy in private!”

“OK BOY, WHAT THE HELL IN ALL THAT IS GOOD IS WRONG WITH YOU! HOW MANY MORE TIMES ARE WE GOING TO HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS CRAP!”  At point Jim cleared his throat, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!” the older man said.

“Jim Thompson sir, I’m in charge of your son’s care” Jim said as he stepped forward offering the older man his hand.  The senior Mr. Hunter ignored it.  “Leave!  I need to have a talk with my boy here.”  “Sir I can’t do that, he’s been through quite a bit and his condition is improving but it’s far from stable.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT HIS CONDITION, NOW GIT!”

Jim stifled a gulp, he didn’t want to show any weakness to the older man, “OK sir, just for a few minutes, but I have to ask you to keep your voice down, your son isn’t the only patient here.”  With that Jim turned on his heel and left closing the door behind him.

Mike’s eyes were wide throughout this whole scene.  He didn’t know what to make of it.  There was something familiar about his “father” but he couldn’t place it.  His mind was racing, but Jim was right, Mike would do little talking during this visit.  He tried to take a deep breath while his “dad” focused on the young doctor, but the older man could sense the terror in his eyes when he turned to talk to him.

“My God Boy!  You’re a Hunter! You Damn Well Know Better!  Is Your Only Focus In Life to Embarrass This Family!  Your Brother Fucked Up Enough When He Was Your Age, But He Doesn’t Hold A Candle To You Boy!”  The Senior Mr. Hunter had lowered his voice, but there was no mistake who was in charge.

Mike was searching his confused mind there was something so familiar about the older man.  Was it a memory from Josh?, he didn’t think so, the older man was just so familiar.  As the older man railed on, getting red in the face, Mike’s mind was working. “Shit” he thought to himself the synapses finally connecting; the older man was Senator Hunter!  Damn, Mike thought Josh came from old money, really old money.  The Senator had been a fixture in the senate for over a decade, as had his father before him.  Think man, what do you recall?  They did a piece on the Hunters on 60 Minutes a while back, a story about political dynasties, what were some of the details?

“BOY, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!”

That stirred Mike out of his reverie. “Yes sir.” Mike gulped.

“Good!  If your grandfather hadn’t set up those trust funds I’d cut you all off, your brother, your uncle and you, but the old man tied my hands. I’ll be Goddamned if you will fuck up my political career. We’ll do what we can to down play this in the media, but after this you’re on your own!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND BOY!!!”

Mike started to reply but the Senator cut him off ”Shut the Fuck Up, there is NOTHING you can say to me to explain you doing this again, we went through hell last time and you fuckin’ promised your Grandfather this would never happen again.  He’s barely in the grave 6 months and here we are agin’!  I don’t want to hear a fuckin’ word from you!  From now on, you will show up for photo op’s and what ever function I deem you to be needed at, but that will the extent of your involvement with this family! UNDERSTAND?!?”

“Sir –“

“Don’t’ fuckin’ Sir me, a simple yes or no will do!”

Mike said a quiet “Yes” under his breath. The older man glared at him, and turned an left, making Mike feel as if he took all the air in the room with him.

“Shit” Mike said to no one.

The senator saw Jim in the corridor.  Grabbing the lapel of Jim’s lab coat, Senator Hunter glanced around for an empty room, found one and pulled Jim in.  “I want you to keep a lid on this!  Understand?  Do what you need to fix the boy up; I doubt there is much you can do to fix his attitude.  Is there anything I should know?”

“N-no Sir.  He should make a complete recovery in a few days.  I really think this experience changed him.”

“How the hell would you know what can change my son?  Fuck, some of the best doctors in the world tried to straighten him out and failed, how the hell do you think you can make a difference?  Now, what about the man he hit? Is he dead? ”

“No sir..”

“At least that’s one fuckin piece of good news.  Is he talking about pressing charges?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why the hell not!”

“He, he’s in a coma- his family isn’t here yet.”

“Listen, you seem like a reasonable man, if you can prevent the man from pressing charges there is something in it for you.  Understand?”

“Senator, are you trying to bribe me to cover up a crime?” Jim’s mind kicked into gear.

“Hell no.  I’m just saying it would be in the best interest of all involved, the man, the University and your career if this thing went away, and I have the connections on the University board to make your life hell if it doesn’t” With that he turned and walked out.

Jim smiled to himself, “This could work out better than I ever thought.” He mused to himself.  Hell, he might even end up with a bigger departmental budget after this all blew over.  “Shit- Mike!’ he said as he trotted down the hall to the hospital room.

As he rounded the corner in to the room “ Dude, where the fuck you been?!?!”

“The Senator button holed me, what do you think happened?  I’ve got my marching orders where you are concerned.”

“Shit, you too?”

They shared a knowing look between each other briefly. “Let’s get the hell out of here before someone sees you. I sure as hell don’t want to deal with Tuck’s folks now, the Senator was more than enough for one day, hell he was more than enough for one lifetime!”

Mike changed out of his hospital gown, and they went out through the back corridors.  When they were safely out of the medical wing they both seemed a little more relaxed, “So dude, you said you had some ideas on how to handle my situation?”  Mike inquired.

Jim looked around, the halls were empty, “Yeah.  Karen and I brainstormed.  We called your office Wednesday and told them you had food poisoning and that you should be able to travel by the week’s end.   What we came up with is that you insisted on leaving, something about getting back to your job, or what ever you think would work, and you were still too ill to drive and you drove your car into a tree or embankment or something.  That would explain your, or should I say Josh’s current condition, and if “Mike” dies then that issue is settled – not that I want that to happen.”

Mike looked at him, “Shit, what a fuckin’ way to go out.  Weeks away from getting off the road and “I” buy it due to food poisoning.  I dunno…”

“Listen that would get your ”Father” off our backs too. Hell, he all but guaranteed me a payoff if I made this go away.  If we go this route, then the only wild card is Tuck and his family.  We’ve got no idea how that will play out.  Maybe we’ll have more to work with when Tuck regains consciousness; I’ll go in then and see how much he remembers.”

Mike stopped short “Who all know about what happened?” he drawled.

“You, me, my staff, the deputy that found you and the Tribal Chief – why?”

“Dude, was Josh driving?”

“Yeah.”

“But what if he wasn’t?”

“Shit, what are you getting at?”

Mike’s eyes lit up “What if Tuck was driving?”

Jim took a hard look at him “I don’t know if I like what you’re getting at, Josh was driving”

“Yeah but if we are goin’ to fuck with what happened to me, Mike I mean, what if we fuck with what happened to Tuck?  Would the Tribal dudes go along with it?

Jim looked a little incredulous “The chief is a great guy but I’m not sure he would go along with this.”

“Even to keep the project secret?”

“Well, perhaps… if he was approached in the right way he might go along..”

“You’re a fuckin’ doctor --how much is Tuck gonna’ remember?  I recall reading some shit about people in trauma never remembering what happened just before the shit came down.  If he is told he was driving who the hell is gonna’ tell him different?  You said he has a record too, if we’re both OK, and no one else was involved there’s no harm no foul.”

Jim looked at Mike, “I’m glad I never had to deal with you before this happened if that’s how your mind works.”

“Hey dude I ain’t no angel, I did my share of fuckin’ up when I was young, and I learned how to deal with people.  20 fuckin’ years of doing sales on the road you learn how to work the angles, I ain’t proud of it, but that’ just how it is.”

They walked the rest of the way to Mike’s room in the wing of the facility that housed Jim’s research department with out saying a word. Jim deep in thought, Mike tired and excited about clearing up some of this potential mess he found himself in.  If this all came together he’d be a free man, at least he’d be able to sort out who he was.  After the past day or so that was a lot more than he thought he could expect.

“Dude, can you score me a couple more of those pills?  They fuckin did the job and after the day we’ve just had I could use some z’s.”  ‘Shit’ Mike thought to himself, after things settled down a bit he was gonna have to work on this kid’s vocabulary.

Jim hesitated, he didn’t want to overmedicate Josh’s body after all the trauma it had been through, but hell he needed some down time too and if he had to keep an eye on Mike again tonight that wasn’t going to happen. ‘Yeah I guess so, but this isn’t going to become a pattern --we worked our asses off to get rid of Josh’s addictive personality yesterday, there is no way I’m going to let you get used to using these things.  Understand?!?”

“Doc, I’m cool – it’s just for tonight.  Cool?”

Jim reluctantly nodded and when over to the locked med room and punched in his code.  Mike stood there waiting, pretty much wiped out from the day’s activities and it was only early evening.  “OK, this is the last time. Tomorrow you deal with what ever comes when you sleep, cool?”

“Yeah, cool.”

Jim pressed the green pills into Mike’s big hand.  “With the dose you had earlier, that should easily put you out for the rest of the night and well into the morning.  If you’re not up by 10, I’ll come in and wake you – OK?”  Mike nodded, “OK man get some rest…” Mike went into his room and Jim went and collapsed into the chair in his office, it wouldn’t be the first night he slept there.  “Hey chief, how’d it go?”

“Huh?  Sorry I didn’t see you come in.”

“So how’d it go down, did it play out as you wanted? Karen asked.

“Yeah, pretty much, but I had no idea how much of a devious mind Mike had.”

‘What do you mean?”

“Not tonight, I just want to do a quick bit of dictation and go hit the cot in the on-call room.  We can talk in the morning, but I think this all may just work out.  Wake me at 9 if I’m not up, OK?”

Karen nodded “ No problem. ‘Night.”

“Night”

Jim turned back toward his desk and pulled out his recorder.  He spent the next 30 minutes dictating the events of the day and his observations.  Satisfied he didn’t leave anything out he was ready for a decent night’s sleep, he didn’t even mind missing dinner.

[chiseler]

Imagine Electing Pete

On September 12, 2019, during the Democratic Primary debate in Houston, Texas, something strange, even epiphanous occurred. At least for me. The current Mayor of South Bend, Indiana, one Pete Buttigieg, evidently (for this was by no means visible to the eye) fell into a trance-like state and began to channel a voice that was, oddly, not of the spirit world.

The voice was that of Disc Jockey Glenn Beck, and the words were from a 2009 Mission Statement that he had composed for some extraordinary thing he'd started called the 9/12 Movement; a kind of protest/support group for those citizens longing for the rare fragrance of unity and togetherness which intoxicated all of America, we were told, on September 12, 2001; just one day after that thing happened in Lower Manhattan. "We were not obsessed with Red States, Blue States or political parties, the color of your skin, or what religion you practiced. We were united as Americans, standing together to protect the greatest nation ever created. We want to get everyone thinking like it is September 12th, 2001 again." Beck continued. "On September 12th, and for a short time after that, we really promised ourselves that we would focus on the things that were important -- our family, our friends, the eternal principles that allowed America to become the world's beacon of freedom." Amen. I suppose. Of course, how formidable the words, and how entirely sincere (or not) the sentiment may have been -- one cannot, I suspect, locate much nostalgia for that moment beating in the hearts of this country's Muslim communities, ever since marked for harassment (and frequently far, far worse) at the hands of those basking 'neath freedom's beacon -- it seems to have been a uniquely durable one. Personally, I had completely forgotten that . . . anyone . . . had told ev'ry little star just how sweet they thought everything was on that day. What I remember most Is the kind of unusually animated daze people were walking around in. The American Imagination was in high style that day. All anybody could talk about was What Happens Next, with many of these people consumed with their own, homemade fantasies of national vengeance toward those responsible. Their hearts were full, and grim. The Mayor of South Bend, as I say, appears to remember things rather differently, and one cannot question it. Six years later -- the clear sky of American unity having, for the rest of us, clouded over once more -- Buttigieg would remain so enthralled by this singular hour in Our American Story that he would leave his two jobs (it was, yes, that kind of economy) as a consultant for McKinsey & Co., and as a Fellow at the Truman National Security Project. He would enlist, voluntarily, in the United States Navy, jumping into our ongoing war of military aggression against the country of Afghanistan with both feet for a period of fourteen months. He ran numbers and drove officers around. Not exactly Audie Murphy in 'To Hell and Back' . . . or Abbott & Costello in 'Buck Privates' for that matter (if he triple-tapped an elementary school or watched our drones wipe out a house party or two, he has not admitted to it) . . . but it provided this future Presidential candidate a chance to build character (and, naturally, his resume). So, unlike a professional grifter such as Glenn Beck, when Buttigieg waxes nostalgic for those days of unity, one doubts his sincerity at one's peril. Buttigieg, during the debate in Houston, stated "All day today, I’ve been thinking about Sept. 12, the way it felt when for a moment we came together as a country. Imagine if we had been able to sustain that unity. Imagine what would be possible right now with ideas that are bold enough to meet the challenges of our time, but big enough, as well, that they could unify the American people. That’s what presidential leadership can do. That’s what the presidency is for." He concluded, of course, with, "And that is why I’m asking for your vote." To someone like Buttigieg, September 12, 2001 is a day that, I'm certain, he wishes could have gone on forever. But whatever he wants people to think, it was a day when the entire country was crouching as one, it seemed, gazing at everyone around them in fear and outright bafflement; a day that our rulers could have done (and in some senses did do) anything they wanted with us, and we probably would have gone along with all of it because we didn't know what else there was to do; a day, in other words, when our empire was never more firmly in the grasp of those who own it. Despite the loftiness of his rhetoric on the debate stage -- a mode of high school valedictorian speech he is often given to -- Pete Buttigieg is, underneath it all, a born technocrat; a classic, Eisenhower-era Republican; a creature of our institutions. He is not Franklin Roosevelt (that Bolshevik). He does not aspire to lift a frightened nation out of its slough of despond and keep its people safe from Capitalism's consequences and depredations; or anything, by all evidence, more inspiring  the citizenry than the 'Shut Up and Shop' society finally urged upon us in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. He is only here to apply for a job to manage this empire of ours, nothing more. But I can't help feeling there's something quietly monstrous about his true, evident nostalgia for that time when unity was accessible to some Americans and not to others. I had my first inkling of this a couple months back when he had to get off the campaign trail for a day or two because the cops in South Bend had been for too long conducting themselves like Cossacks under Nicholas II, rampaging with too much impunity through that city's Black neighborhoods (safely separated from the more upper class College Town South Bend is known for being), finally dropping too many bodies with too little pretext. After pleading to the national press that he had essentially no control, no control at all, over the police in his city, and every poll showing that Black voters utterly despise him, he headed over to the part of town in question to inform the residents to please stay on the line, as it were; their questions and concerns were important to him. In full Damage Control mode, Pete Buttigieg read his statement through a bullhorn to a group of women, members of a grossly victimized community, all of whom had had enough and were giving their Mayor the earful his White ass deserved. And he stood before them, this diminutive block of American cheese in shirtsleeves, collar and tie; the guy who blankly tells you he's sorry, but you're being let go and there's nothing he can do about it; standing with a bullhorn in his hand and not a hint of emotion in his voice as he droned into the instrument to his city's Black community: "I'm not asking for your vote." Some people in this country, you see, are asked for their vote; others are not. Matters of race aside -- and not much good can be said on Buttigieg and that subject; which is not to suggest, I hasten to add, that the man is racist. With his background he's probably never had to think very much about race -- one thing was clear to me: He's a real calm customer, this guy; doesn't break a sweat. Everyone says so. Smart as a whip, too. You hear that one constantly from his supporters: swooning over his credentials, his evident intellect, his grasp of languages ("Norwegian! Can you believe it?!"). It all feeds into the overarching perception of his ability to handle crises with the right character of detachment. Our media adores him, largely for this reason; and why shouldn't they? He's perhaps the closest thing to a polar opposite in this race to the dread Donald Trump without his skin being at all darker. With Pete Buttigieg as President, I have been told, we won't have to think and worry so much about what's going on in the world, the way we do now. We won't be on pins and needles, waiting to see what the President of the United States does next. We can, at long last, relax again; get some sleep. He's got this. I can understand the enthusiasm for Buttigieg on the part of those who wish to see him elected President (there aren't too many of them, if polling has anything to say about it, but they do make themselves known). I even can find it in me to share it. To some extent, anyway. There is, after all, true intrinsic value in the election, should it happen, of the first (openly) gay President of the United States; just as Barack Obama's election possessed similar intrinsic value; just as the election of our first Woman President will when it happens. It's the only, unambiguously good thing about a prospective Pete Buttigieg Presidency. But beyond that, and the fact that most of what is claimed for him is probably true, I actually dread his ever being President (that he is not the only candidate currently in the race who I can say this about does little to ease my anxiety). Last night's single file march down 9/12 Memory Lane tore it for me. I know what he is now, and no mistake. He is a living, breathing, competent, talented, educated, cultured (no Alfred E. Neuman for this guy), credentialed throwback to the brain trusts and planners of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, Rostow, McNamara, Bundy; every Ivy League war criminal Halberstam wrote about in 'The Best and the Brightest', who cooly, carefully ran the numbers, made their calculations, and executed a wholesale genocide in Southeast Asia. Buttigieg has the potential to be precisely the kind of cool, detached, analytical monster that will tell us, sorry, but entitlements have to be cut (numbers don't lie) or, worse, successfully oversee the ongoing, unending US war on Islam while our once again fat, dumb, happy country sleeps an untroubled sleep. In that sense (if no other), Pete Buttigieg is the most dangerous of all the candidates currently in the race. He's what Noam Chomsky warned us about fifty years ago.

by R.J. Lambert

[the-energon-hole]

Can you please do a Drabble for Tfp Optimus and Knockout where the reader (a human S/o) has an episode of sleep paralysis (or a really bad nightmare) and goes to them for comfort? (If this is too much or if you don't want to write this you don't have to I would just love to see an imagine like this ) ^-^

((A/N - I have never experience sleep paralysis, but my older brother has, and I have to say it sounds like the most unpleasant thing in the world. I wrote about the nightmare since I can relate to it a little bit more, but if you have sleep paralysis I am so sorry and I hope you can at least get a decent amount of sleep out of your nights.

Also I made this kind of long as I got carried away writing it in the background as I was playing video games on the side, gotta do that multitasking yo!))

Optimus Prime

Everything felt so uncomfortably fuzzy and distant, you had to for some reason keep reassuring yourself that your conscious mind was real and that you existed on some kind of level of understanding- but as the haze began to grow to a very loud and distracting level, and the darkness began to consume your perceived consciousness that the only emotions your ever waking mind can begin to comprehend was utter primal fear.

What was going on?

Were you even real? Was this life even real?!

A loud and slightly obnoxious air swallowing gasp left your mouth as you felt your heavy and slightly sweaty and sticky body shoot up from your once comfortable position in your warm bed. You clutched at your chest as the once warm blanket fell from your shoulders as the cold night air hit you like a ton of sobering bricks, you can feel your heart pounding a mile a minute as your hands are also shaking uncontrollably while you try to get your breathing under some kind of control. Fear was the only thing your body wanted to comprehend at the moment, sheer panic and terror was all that you were feeling as you swung your head back and forth to scan your bedroom to see if someone or something that must have roused you from your much needed and wanted slumber.The room was just as dark and empty as you remembered leaving is as you laid down to sleep.

For some reason that thought left you feeling a little hollow and anxious on the inside as the darkness began to seep into you, you reached behind you to clutch your once forgotten pillow to your chest as an off attempt to give yourself a little comfort and ease.

What was it that scared you awake?

Obviously from what you can tell it was a bad dream, but you just can’t seem to recall the contents of said dream that caused your mind to race this way, and now that you were thinking about jt you can’t seem to understand why your brain is telling you that you are in danger so long as you are still sitting here. This has happened before to you, bad dreams are a fairly common occurrence for a lot of people, but normally you are able to recall what it was that made you so nervous and you can rectify these feelings by applying logic and reason to your mind to remind yourself that those anxieties are unfounded.

A brisk and chilling walk down the street will help you clear your intrusive thoughts maybe, it will at least ease your racing mind of the idea that you are in some kind of peril and need to evacuate the safety of your room hopefully.You threw on a light jacket that you had hanging on a chair in your room and you threw on some old and worn out sneakers, and as you made your way to the front door of the house you made sure to be very careful as to not disturb the other people that are potentially still asleep inside the house. You shut the door slowly and quietly with that small click assuring you that you succeeded in not disturbing anyone, and as you turned to begin your small walk down the empty and slightly chilly sidewalk it really hit you how cold the air was outside. It was always colder here at night since this was an arid and hot climate during the day, it always felt like you couldn’t bundle up enough to stave off the chill in the air when you want to spend some time outside at night.

You liked living here well enough but as your body shuttered when another gust was kicked up you wondered how expensive it would honestly be to move out to a tropical island where cold air just doesn’t exist. You would have to deal with a lot of grainy sand though and from what you have heard it’s crazy expensive to live in a state like California or to live off the coast of Virginia near the beach. It made your mind come to ease a little as you thought about all the amazing possibilities of travelling all over the states, it was always something that you wanted to do but you are unable to because everything was so damn expensive.

Maybe one day.

“What are you doing out so late?” You asked as you noticed Optimus Prime parked a few blocks from your house just off of a freeway entrance seemingly just trying to blend in with a few other parked semis.

“Observing human drivers and interactions at night, but more importantly, what is it that you are doing out so late at night and alone?”

A car suddenly zoomed by on the freeway making quite a loud noise as you felt your heart begin to race again, living out here in the middle of nowhere in a town that is only a pit stop for most that is a very common occurrence, people speed through the main interstate on their way to the big city of Las Vegas during all hours of the day whenever the highway patrol isn’t skulking about. That was city never slept, and honestly, you were starting to get that sinking feeling that you might never sleep again either as your body began to tell you to allow that pesky panic to set in once again. Optimus seemed to pick up on your shift in demeanor quickly from what should have been just a small interruption in an ongoing conversation, and he was able to connect the two points together in him processor as he saw your hands begin to shake a little at your sides as you stare blankly at the empty freeway.

He knew that you were always a little skittish and jumpy whenever you were alone, and he knew you liked to be up and about and active whenever you were feeling anxious and closed off. He silently opened his cab door to you as you all but too eagerly jumped into the promise of safety and serenity that was in his alt mode. He asked you again in a much softer and quieter tone what was wrong and why you were out so late alone, and you told him about your eerie and intrusive feelings that all stemmed from a simple nightmare- but you can’t remember what your bad dream was about, which was a little embarrassing as you were beginning to grow frustrated at your brain’s own interpretations of what you were supposed to be doing and how you were supposed to react.

Optimus understood what you meant though, and he will be here for you until you can fall asleep once again, he doesn’t have anywhere pressing to be so he will happy to sit and stay with you until you are calmed down enough to once again be able to drift off into a blissful slumber.

Knockout

You must have been very exhausted from the days never ending problems and events that just seems to throw themselves at you just to keep you on your toes, as you don’t really remember falling asleep on a cold and rather hard examination table that was located within the medical bay of the ship, at least you hoped it was in there because if it wasn’t it would just add to the suffocating anxiety in which you can feel begin to creep up on you that pretty much just all but forced you to jump up with a cruel and atrocious start- you can feel you body ache a little as your vision began to clear from all the moist and sticky tears that unceremoniously made your face appear to glicine in the harsh light of this room.

Why the heck were you crying?!

Come to think of it, why were you even awake to begin with?

No one was in the medbay as far as you could tell from your position on the table in the corner of the room, and the only noises to be heard around you was the quiet and kind of calming noise of the humming and buzzing of various machines running in the background of the room. It appears that there wasn’t any kind of physical disturbance to be had in the normally quiet and cool room, so there was no reason you should have been jostled awake so violently like you were just a few moments ago.

You clicked your tongue slightly frustrated that you couldn’t find a physical cause of your restlessness because that meant it was all in your mind and you had to cope with that fact, and as you sat up to stretch your body to shake off the stiffness you tried to take your mind off the ever impending anxiety and try to relax and come back into the present form it’s hazy and foggy place that was known as the dreary dream land of your unconscious mind. It was strange that you were alone in the almost always busy and bustling room, Knockout is normally hanging around during all hours of the day doing various important work on some projects or just simply jotting down some data for future references or use, and on the rare occasion Starscream was out and about around here just ranting and raving about how in his mind the state of the Decepticons have started declining again ever since Megatron was resurrected from his eternal slumber.

Funny, just it seems like you and the war mongering villain have so much more in common than you thought.

It made you always laugh about how Starscream kept trying to make alliances within the ranks, only to burn the bridge so badly that he can’t even keep a proverbial bridge open long enough to cross it and take advantage of the benefits that comes from having allies in low places. He tried to manipulate you once, but you just scoffed at his inability to learn from his past mistakes as you didn’t want to be a reason he was severliy punished again by Megatron, and declined his “overly kind and merciful attempt at keeping you alive”. He was pretty peeved about you turning him down, he didn’t outright threaten you, but when he said he wouldn’t feel bad if an accident were to happen to you well- it kind of gave you that gross and muggy feeling deep within the confines of your chest that you can’t fully describe.

Hmm, there was that anxiety again, what was going on in there brain?A loud clang reverberated through the room unexpectedly as something big and hard must have hit one of the metal walls in the room, you couldn’t help but let out a pitiful loud whine as you instinctively tucked yourself into a kind of fetal position as you were still trying to shake off that fuzzy feelings that came with just waking up from an unsuccessful nap.

“Woah! Relax there, it’s just me.”

Knockout. It was just Knockout that came slinking into your cview, he had a look of surprise as he wasn’t expecting you to be that fearful of him accidentally hitting the walls.

You let out a noise of discontent and frustration as the cherry red mech approached the table where you were once resting so nicely, he tutted back at you as he didn’t appreciate the attitude you were giving him in his own medbay because he made one accidental noise. You just rolled your eyes and stood up for the first time in a few hours as your body began to pop and creak as you stretched out your tight and stiff muscles. You stumbled as you tried to walk again as it was partly because your leg was asleep and partly because your body was forcing your heart to beat so quickly in your chest, which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain brightly colored medic, and man did you wish he would just mind his own business sometimes.

You loved and appreciate this companionship you had with him, but sometimes being around someone for a long time can be a little grating, especially when that someone can read you like an open book like Knockout can.“Hmmm, what’s wrong little grouchy pants?”

Ugh, you hated when he patronizes you.

No you didn’t, you really loved it.

You told him that your anxiety was getting to the point where you couldn’t sleep, and you were being plagued by these violent and intrusive thoughts that almost make you regret falling asleep in the first place, it was kind of hard to admit these kinds of things out loud as you always regret oversharing your emotions with people, but you knew Knockout would understand given he has shared similar experiences with you before.

He hummed with that sultry voice of his as he approached the table you were still standing on. You felt his clawed digits brush against your face and stroke through your hair in that loving way you sometimes craved for so much. He all but grabbed you off the table and took you around the lab to collect more data, and to play around with some of his experiments he has going on in the background of the bay. It was a nice distracted from your racing thoughts as you felt comfort in the arms of the mech you are growing ever closer to as the days went flying by.

(06/02/18)

[jacobthespaceguy]

New life, new computer & new perspective.

I wrote this half a year ago and forgot to post this. Enjoy.

Dear Cosmonauts,

Greetings! It’s me, your boy! Did you miss me? No? Yeah, not too surprised. To be honest, I would be genuinely surprised if anyone actually read these. It’ll never stop me though. I love using this as some kind of escape. I think I’m trying to say that I’m officially back to blogging! Well actually, I never was in a state of, “blogging.” I just simply make a blog post every once in a while. So instead of being back, I guess I will simply start blogging more often. At the very least, try to. In an ideal world, I would create entries at least once a month, that’s not too much to ask for... just a few paragraphs every month. Sounds easy enough... On that note, it probably isn’t. But maybe it is. It depends on your personality.

Laziness. Saying laziness defines me is an understatement. I don’t want to be lazy nor do I wish I was. I’m honestly not too sure why I'm so lazy. I think this pandemic just made it really bad. Working from home 3/5 days of the week changes you. Early on, I figured I would be able to use this extra time to work on more music and I even started being a mixing/mastering engineer for a friend of mines. However, I ended up using this extra time to stay in bed and be useless. Some would say I'm being hard on myself but I'm not. I stay in bed and I waste my time, my friend's time, and overall, I'm just a useless human being. I feel like a failure sometimes. However, I do hold on to the hope that I can change. I want to change. Some days, I tell myself, "I'll be productive this time," but then stay in bed half the day. By the time I'm up and eaten breakfast and done my whole morning routine... it'll be 2 o'clock and the day is practically over. It's not really over, but it'll feel like it. It sucks. Now the pandemic is ending and I'll probably have to go back to work full time soon. I have no idea how I'm going to cope with that. I'm already depresso mode from things changing so much around me that I feel like a hermit and want to hide under my desk for the rest of my life. I hate change. I hate it, hate it, HATE IT. I know change is good and if my music career takes off, then they'll be a lot of change. Although, I would rather endure that kind of pressure than have to go back to work. Every day to get to my work is a 40-minute drive there, and an hour drive back since traffic is so bad. I know other people have it worse, but with how tired I am after a shift, I have days where I lay on my bedroom floor doing nothing and or nap until I finally get up to shower, eat dinner and finally get to the home activities I wanted to. However, at this point, it'll be 7 PM and I'm too tired to do anything other than watch YouTube videos until 1 AM, and then it's finally time to go to bed. It's a struggle and I can't seem to escape it.

I don't even know what I'm writing anymore and lost track of where I was going with this. I guess it's to complain about hating work and or my laziness? I originally started writing this post with the intention to talk about my new computer and how writing a blog post with it is a vibe. I bought a mid-2017 MacBook Pro back in August of 2019. It was the most absolute base model and only had 128 gb of storage and 8 gb of ram. WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF! I loved the flexibility of having a decent laptop for when I travel, but this was a bad purchase that left me financially ruined. I want to say that it was a terrible machine and I hated it. However, it ran decently most of the time and I must confess that Apple just knows what they're doing when designing computers. I can't argue though, since I started this blog, I became an Apple fanboy and I'm seriously buried in the Apple ecosystem. My phone, laptop, tablet at one point but sold, my credit card, my watch, earphones, and tracking devices are all connected to Apple and they basically run my life. However, my main machine will likely always be a Windows desktop.

Back to the MacBook Pro, my 2017 laptop having 128 gb made the machine unusable for me. Apple offering a 128 gb machine was a cardinal sin and I do the happy dance every morning knowing they no longer exist. After downloading Reason and Logic Pro, I had about 8 gb for any else I wanted to use. I couldn't even have all of Logic's sounds installed. Ugh. I never used the machine because I resented it so much. However, I recently started using it to record my vocals because the fans (despite going up 1000 db when I record in Reason) were quieter than having my desktop fans on when recording so I opted to use my MacBook Pro to record instead. In addition, it was really nice to have when I was on the go and needed a computer. Despite being a baseline laptop, it ran the project file for my song, "Nothing Was The Same," decently enough for me to get some mixing done at my Dad's house late last year. It still chugged pretty bad when I was traversing through Reason's sequencer. My final straw was when I wanted to try a vocal plug-in that refused to work on my PC so I pulled out my MacBook Pro and installed it on there and it worked perfectly. I was like, "Man, I wish this MacBook Pro just had a little more storage so I can actually use it efficiently." That's when the idea came to me, "Holy crap, let's just buy a new MacBook."

I would constantly go to Apple's website and look at their newest 16" MacBook Pro. It's when Apple finally let go of the butterfly switches on their keyboard and went back to a scissor-switch design and improved the heck out of the performance. It was a beautiful machine and I wanted it ever since they announced it. So I went back on Apple's website last week after testing that vocal plug-in and was reminded of the horrendous price. $3,000 for a decently specced computer was just too much. Someone on Reddit was telling me how great Apple's refurbished computers are and that they're basically brand new aside from the regular box it comes in. So I decided I wanted to get a refurbished MacBook Pro. However, the next morning, I decided to do a little more research and I thank God I did because after a little research, I saw how much better the new 13" M1 chip MacBook Pro was over the current 16" Intel MacBook Pro and that it was the best laptop to buy. Even better, it's cheaper. So after more research, I decided to buy a refurbished max specced out M1 MacBook Pro. I finally have 2 tb of storage. 2 TB!!! I have more storage on this laptop than on my Windows desktop. I also went with silver over space grey like my other MacBook simply because it looks so much cooler. I don't care for space grey anymore. Something about the classic silver is where it's at. Also, this keyboard is amazing! I'm using it right now to type this. The Touch Bar is pretty cool too. I thought it would be a weird adjustment but it was actually pretty seamless. My only complaint is that it's easier to tap it and do something while typing on the keyboard. Happened to me twice while typing this. Although, all I did was open the emoji window so it wasn't even an issue. However, I think I type a bit in an unconventional way than most of you reading this do so just ignore me. I would also like to brag about how quiet this computer is. I haven't heard the fan once and it's dead quiet. In fact, the M1 MacBook Air doesn't even have a fan, that's how good this new Apple silicon is. Lastly, I haven't had the computer heat up at all yet. I'm typing this using safari with a few tabs open, Logic Pro in the background and there's no part of the computer that's hot right now. My lap would've melted if I was using my 2017 MacBook and it's in great shape! I want to say this computer is a beast but, to be honest, I haven't had a chance to stress test it yet. I've had the computer for less than a week. I will definitely keep you all updated.

Wow, I can't believe I typed all of this simply because I imagined Adam Young in his basement late at night with his MacBook Pro writing his magnificent blog posts that inspired me to start this blog in the first place. For whatever reason, it's a real vibe for me and as I was fumbling through Logic Pro, I had the idea to write a blog and all of this entry just poured out from my brain to this text box. I sincerely apologize to anyone reading this far and to my future self who probably just spent 20 minutes proofreading and fixing errors I made. I'd imagine all the run-on sentences are probably infuriating. I think I spent 40 minutes to an hour just writing this.

In conclusion, I'm writing blog posts again and plan to release new entries at least somewhat often. I have quite a few ideas of things I want to talk about, so you guys will get to pick my brain soon enough. In addition, I may go public about this blog. It is public but I announced it a long time ago and I wasn't very big. But with my podcast and additional following over the years, I may finally get some readers. I'd be surprised if more than 3 people have seen my blog which I'm not upset about. I'm treating this as my personal time capsule and it's fun to go back and read. In addition, I'm going to die someday. I don't know when and how, but it provides a little bit of comfort knowing a potential love one may find this one day after my unfortunate death and get hours of personal content that they can read over any time. I don't mean to get morbid and I don't mean to say my blog is the second coming of Christ. I don't know what I'm saying other than I hope you enjoy it. Anywho, I plan to make blog posts more coherent and not so all over the place. I went from being lazy/hating work, MacBook Pros, and then to my death, all in the same post. I just got so excited once I started typing and couldn't stop. More posts to come. Thank you and goodnight.

-Sincerely,

Jacob McDonnell

[aliceyinh]

Life Goes On

Hi uhh.. I know this might seem kinda random and all bc it’s not bts related but I just wanted to share a little sth I wrote last year after a very rough period in my life just came to a close and I know how it feels like to think you’re alone in your struggles. So this is for anyone struggling, especially if you have a mentally ill parent. But also anyone else. You’re not alone. You’re never alone. And reading this again after almost 9 months I can tell you: It does get better. <3

[TW: mental illness/ psychosis/ depression/ bleeding(mental wounds)]

I think I want to talk about something today. I don't know if I'm ready but I wasn't ready when I packed my bags back then and moved to Canada. I just wanted to do it. And so I did.

I've been feeling lots of ways in the past couple of months, with multiple changing moods in one day. You might be asking yourself where I want to go with this but honestly I don't quite know myself. I thought many times about if I even should or not but there will always be points for and against it so.. screw it.

I think this year and all it's events resurfaced some things I had stuffed and buried somewhere deep down because I was tired of living with them - but never really healed from them. Which is probably why I ended up being crushed by them and in the state I am right now when they were presented to me again.

My mother suffers from a mental illness, in more detail the exact diagnosis states the words "Paranoid schizophrenic psychosis". As many mental illnesses it's something that can be treated, but never cured. My mom has lived with this illness for many many years, in fact, she lived without needing any therapy or medication for almost 10 years between her first and second psychosis and then again for around 3, completely stable and what others would label as "normal". This year, after being in the house for almost 2 months because of Covid she fell back into another psychosis after hearing she'd loose her job due to the pandemic. Because of this she was unable to work and fell deeper into a hole she couldn't get out of - and a hole I couldn't even find to get her out of because the way the psychosis affected her brain often made it impossible for me to reach her. The pandemic hadn't been friendly to me either. I think we can all agree that the amount of stress and pressure each and everyone of us has been under is beyond anything any of us could have ever imagined. Although I was still lucky enough to have a job, work had been more than a handful, conventions to have some carefree time were canceled and traveling was off the table. And then on top of that I suddenly was faced again with the weight of knowing that if I collapsed, if I quit my job to escape the stress, if I moved out to have some freedom, my mother would not be able to survive in the state she was in. There were no financial cushions, no one to look after her, no one to react if things went south. Coming home was always both, daunting and nerve wrecking. There were a lot of reasons I'm not going to go into why I didn't immediately react or call in family members. Let's just say the arguments against these options were just as big as the option of getting help. So in between 50 hour weeks, very little sleep, health issues, the stress of an ongoing pandemic and exhausting conversations to try to get my mother to see her neurologist and get back on her medication I just kept going - because I was the only one still able to. Everything just kept going wrong left and right and I heard my body screaming for a break and for me to get out of this because I hadn't realized until now how traumatized her last psychosis (I was too little to really know what was happening with her first one and she had her second one when I was in 11th grade - that's where it really hit) left me. I was always on edge. The way she spoke, her tone, her body language.. she didn't even have to say anything for my body to go into full on panic and fight or flight mode. A lot of time I felt like I didn't even have a mother anymore... there was just nothing left of the person I used to know. I do not blame her by the way. It was never her fault. She's probably suffered from this more than I can ever imagine. After all the stigma of mental illness was a lot worse when she had her first Psychosis back in the 90s. If anything, I admire her for the fact that she just keeps getting back up, being able to go back to a "normal" life - because many don't ever really get back out of it. But with everything going on it was just too much.

And I think I'm paying the price for not allowing myself to slow down. Because after she finally agreed to taking her meds again and her thinking going back to the way it used to be within like two weeks I kept feeling worse and worse. Don't get me wrong. The health problems were there before. Probably because of stress, not eating too well and just some weaknesses I've been dealing with. And the fact that for months and months I had one little thing after another and everything just getting a tiny bit worse each day despite me stripping myself down to the very last bit of energy I had left made something crack - in my body and soul. And now that I'm finally starting to process it and heal from them I have a hard time accepting that I am not the super energetic, positive, stress resistant can do person I used to be. Which again, makes it harder to heal in the first place.

It's funny how sometimes, healing from something feels more like being cut open again. Watching the cut bleed and then very slowly close is even worse. It burns. It itches. You get impatient. And you really want to scratch off the crust but you know it's going to take even longer to heal then. And it's already taking too long. It's agony, it's feeling better. And ever so often, even though you gave yourself all the time to heal, a scar stays where you used to bleed. And although you don't feel the itch and the pain anymore it's at times hard to look at. And to come to terms with the fact that some part of you will forever be a little different.

To be brutally honest. I'm scared of a scar staying. I'm scared I exhausted my mind and body so much that neither will be able to ever fully recover. And I am beating myself up about it. Yesterday a friend reminded me to be patient and give myself more time - give my body more time, give doctors and medicine more time. That I am healing and healing... is a long process. And it's gotta start somewhere so I decided to write.. and if you see this, share it with you. So you might understand the why and how and to let you know what happened and in the hopes that it might be a lesson to others to listen when their body is asking for a break.

[rockrevoltmagazine]

IBOTW: LENNE

Introducing LENNE, the new project with Jim Taylor, Morgan Rose, and Lenny Cerzosie Jr.

NEW SINGLE “Letting You Down” OUT NOW via IMAGEN RECORDS can be downloaded/streamed at

  https://songwhip.com/lenne/letting-you-down

  Back in the early 2000’s, Leonard Cerzosie Jr. started a band with his brother called The Infinite Staircase that did very well as an independent band. the band worked with artists like Earl Slick from David Bowie’s band, Candlebox, Sevendust, and even Zakk Wylde. In 2009, they scored a slot on tour with Black Label Society, Sevendust, and Dope that sealed a lot of friendships they still have to this day.

“In 2010, the love of my life passed away suddenly. Pill overdose. It was a devastating time. She was only 27. Morgan Rose and I wrote and recorded the EP, No Amends that was a dedication to my love” says Leonard Cerzosie Jr.

He continues, “Over the years, I’ve had my hand in multiple projects. I formed “Le Projet” around 2013 that featured members of Candlebox, Sevendust, and The Infinite Staircase. I also joined the Baltimore band “The Mayan Factor” a few years ago and have toured with them in Mexico City and the states. During all this, my mother was diagnosed with ALS. One day- after performing a friend insisted on introducing me to someone. He was confident we needed to meet. That was the day I met Jim Taylor. We did get along immediately and have since been composing all sorts of music together.”

“When my mother passed away, Morgan got very involved with what was going on with me and my dad. He invited us out to his place in Atlanta multiple times. We started recording songs with Corey Lowery that would ultimately become “LeNNe”. We spent much time digging deep for the right lyrics and tones. There were multiple artists involved over the course of a few years, but the official line up is me and Jim led by Morgan” he adds.

“Lenne is one of the most real artists I’ve ever come across. He wears his heart on sleeve, and expresses vulnerability that hits you in the heart. I love how he tells a story. These songs are an emotional roller coaster into the mind of a tortured soul” says Morgan Rose.

“We are very excited to have Lenne on the Imagen Records roster. I can’t wait for everyone to hear the music” says Bob Winegard, President of Imagen Records.

“Letting You Down” is the first single to be released. The song features Leonard Cerzosie Jr., Morgan Rose, Jim Taylor, and Corey Lowery.

  Why did you pick your band name?

Lenny: It kind of picked itself. We had various musicians record with us. The only constants were me, Jim, and Morgan. So, a name for the project never seemed that urgent until Imagen was interested. We were writing very personal stuff & had no gimmick. Just naked. So, Morgan felt we should just call it “Lenny”. Plain and simple. We decided to change the spelling to differentiate from other artists like Lenny Kravitz, among other reasons.

  Anything you would like to share, from new merch to upcoming shows/tours or songs/albums?

Lenny: “Letting You Down” is just one of 5 singles we’re going to release over the next few months. Hopefully, we’ll release a full album after that. If a touring opportunity comes up this year, we’ll definitely jump on it.

  How do you describe your music to people?

Jimmy: Big melodious heavy hooks with an ambient soundscape.

  How do you handle mistakes during a performance?

Jimmy: Adapt depending on the situation but DON’T STOP altogether!

Lenny: Pretend it didn’t happen. Laugh about it later. Learn from it for next time.

  Do you get nervous before a performance or a competition? What advice would you give to beginners who are nervous?

Jimmy: ALWAYS!!! Take a step back, breathe, then give it hell!!

Lenny: Nervous every single time. Best advice is to be prepared. Practice. Know your material so well you can play it without thinking. It’ll give you confidence on stage.

  What type of recording process did you use? Who produced your recording?

Jimmy: We started recording these in Corey Lowery’s studio in Georgia, then headed to Jose Urquiza in Illinois for additional overdubs and vocals.

Lenny: The songs themselves didn’t have much pre-production. We did most of the writing “in studio” and recorded as we went. Morgan is credited as producer. His brain is a wild place.

  How often and for how long do you practice? What do you practice – exercises, new tunes, hard tunes, etc.?

Jimmy: It depends but it’s generally a couple hours a day and I tend to switch it up between keys, mando, or guitar. I have books I’ve used over the years with music theory and scales. I’ve also been developing odd patterns and repetitious exercises for practicing. A HUGE one for me is playing alongside Youtube playlists or our own mp3s and finding something different each time. Lenny: My practice habits depend on if I’m in home mode or show mode. If there are shows lined up, I strictly practice the material I’ll be performing. In downtime, I like fingerpicking classical acoustic stuff or running modes on the electric. Jim and I always say you should touch your instrument at least once a day. Pun intended.

  How does music affect you and the world around you?

Jimmy: Simply put,I cannot live without it.

Lenny: It’s been such an important part of my life for so long. I can’t even imagine not having it to escape to.

  How did you form?

Lenny: Introduced by a friend. Invited to Atlanta by another friend. Studio chemistry with a new friend. It was a few years of this particular group just getting together every so often to record music. It became a thing. There was a natural vibe. Sometimes a bit dark but always honest.

  Which instruments do you play?

Jimmy: I do my best at keys, mandolin and guitar and typically weird stringed instruments haha

Lenny: I’m just a guitar player. I’m only a singer in the rock world. lol

  Where do you usually gather songwriting inspiration? What is your usual songwriting process?

Jimmy: We jam from the gut and then take the pieces that fit for a particular song we jam out and Len constructs his vocals around that. The riffs that we cut away we throw to something else! Morgan has this way of not only his insanely brilliant drum patterns but these hooks and melodies that grab ya! It’s wonderful!

Lenny: Inspiration for songs typically come from life events. It can start as a lyric or a chord or riff. We usually hit the studio with some idea or maybe a set of lyrics. Everyone does it differently but with this particular project the songs are molded as they’re recorded.

  Who are your favorite musicians? Groups? CD’s?

Jimmy: Metallica, The Chieftains, movie composers like Henry Mancini, Ennio Morricone, Max Steiner, Junkie XL, Dire Straits, Floyd, In Flames

Lenny: Sabbath, GnR, Floyd, Tool, Alice in Chains, Pantera, BLS.. I really dig Blues Saraceno & Richie Kotzen, too. My guilty pleasure is Sarah Brightman. Ha!

    Connect with Lenne (click icons):

IBOTW: LENNE was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

[sunshineweb]

Give Your Investment Ideas Some Legs

Ever since I started writing for Safal Niveshak, I always wondered where does Vishal gets his ideas for writing.

“Write more, write every day,” Vishal often recommends.

However, one of the most important (and often ignored) aspects of mastering any skill is tacit knowledge. Tacit knowledge is the knowledge that can’t properly be transmitted via verbal or written instruction.

In a master-apprentice relationship, more is caught than taught. This means a lot more can be learned by observing what good writers do because they may not explicitly verbalize when they’re asked to explain their craft.

Last year I connected a few dots when I noticed that Vishal walked more than 3200 km in a single year. That’s close to 10 km daily average.

I always wanted to travel the length of India. Finally did it…walking…step by step…over the last one year

pic.twitter.com/wOrsOsQtMb

— Vishal Khandelwal (@safalniveshak) October 1, 2019

Maybe that’s the connection I had been missing — the connection between walking and better thinking.

Of course, mistaking correlation for causation is a standard cognitive error. So I dug deeper.

My favourite investment writer, Morgan Housel, claims that almost all his ideas take shape while taking long boring walks. In a podcast interview, Housel revealed that he makes a conscious effort to walk (without headphones) for 40 minutes every day. When he notices a dip in the quality of his writing, he knows he’s not walking enough.

Walking can promote quality thinking, which can also improve your investment process over time. John Huber of Saber Capital writes in his post on walking, thinking, and investing –

I walk just about every day, sometimes for a couple hours at a time. This activity is something that I’ve begun doing more in recent years. My personal exercise routine has evolved since my days as a competitive runner. I still run occasionally, but I find it’s more enjoyable, and—at a more relevant level to this discussion—easier to get what I would call “quality thinking” accomplished. So I do occasionally exercise vigorously, but I think of walking more as an investing activity than I do an exercise activity.

After hours of reading annual reports, making calculations, and spending time thinking in my office, I sometimes find that walking helps me crystallize the work and the thinking that I put in earlier.

Basically, I’ve always felt that investing is a discipline that is most successfully implemented in a quiet environment that promotes thoughts, ruminations, and observations much more than it promotes hustle and activity. I’m a big fan of hard work, and a big fan of those that hustle. But investment is a field where one must diligently work, think, and act, and must resolve oneself that results come later—often years after—that groundwork has been laid.

What Housel and Huber practice intuitively is gradually being attested by research also.

Two Stanford researchers — Marily Oppezzo, a doctoral graduate in educational psychology, and professor Daniel Schwartz — concluded that walking has a positive effect on creative thinking. They examined the creativity levels of people while they walked versus while they sat. A person’s creative output increased by an average of 60 percent when walking.

“Many people anecdotally claim they do their best thinking when walking. We finally may be taking a step, or two, toward discovering why,” wrote Oppezzo and Schwartz.

Famous scientist Albert Einstein knew this secret. He said –

I take time to go for long walks on the beach so that I can listen to what is going on inside my head.

I am guessing that walking triggers the diffuse thinking mode in our brain.

Neuroscientists have discovered that when our brain is engaged in any cognitive task, it usually switches between two states — a highly attentive state called the focused mode and a more relaxed resting state called the diffuse mode.

Barbara Oakley, in her book A Mind for Numbers, writes —

It [Diffuse-mode thinking] allows us to suddenly gain a new insight on a problem we’ve been struggling with and is associated with “big-picture” perspectives. Diffuse-mode thinking is what happens when you relax your attention and just let your mind wander. This relaxation can allow different areas of the brain to hook up and return valuable insights. Unlike the focused mode, the diffuse mode seems less affiliated with any one area of the brain—you can think of it as being “diffused” throughout the brain.5 Diffuse-mode insights often flow from preliminary thinking that’s been done in the focused mode.

In fact, this connection between walking and creative thinking is centuries old. The 18th-century musician Mozart observed —

When I am traveling in a carriage or walking after a good meal or during the night when I cannot sleep–it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly.

As an investor, one of the most important activities that will define long-term success is how much you read and understand. And effective assimilation of knowledge will solely rest upon how deeply you reflect on it. Which directly correlates to how much time you spend away from chronic distraction.

Regular (and distraction-free) walks may sound boring and a waste of time, but trust me, they’re probably the simplest ways to add some extra percentage point to your long-term investment returns.

The by-product, that is, improved fitness and health, is like a special dividend.

* * * That’s about it from us for today.

If you liked this post, please share with others on WhatsApp, Twitter, LinkedIn, or just email them the link to this post.

Find time for a walk. But please wear your mask, maintain distance, and stay safe.

With respect, — Vishal

The post Give Your Investment Ideas Some Legs appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

Give Your Investment Ideas Some Legs published first on https://mbploans.tumblr.com/

[jesseneufeld]

Why Am I Waking Up at 3am?

Whenever I write about sleep, I hear from a chorus of people who struggle to sleep through the night. Anecdotally, it seems a far more common complaint than difficulty falling asleep in the first place.

These complaints are one of three types:

People who have trouble falling asleep

People who sleep fitfully, waking multiple times throughout the night

Those who reliably wake once, around the same time most nights

Understandably, this is a hugely vexing problem. Poor quality sleep is a serious health concern. Not to mention, sleeping badly feels simply awful. When the alarm goes off after a night of tossing and turning, the next day is sure to be a slog. String several days like that together, and it’s hard to function at all.

I’m going to go out on a limb, though, and assert that waking up in the middle of the night isn’t always the problem we make it out to be. For some people, nighttime wakings are actually something to embrace. As always, context is everything.

Instantly download your Guide to Gut Health

What Causes You to Wake Up In the Middle of the Night?

One of the most frustrating things about nighttime waking is that there are so many possible causes. Sometimes the solution is as simple as practicing good sleep hygiene. Other times, medical help is in order. Still other times, the solution is something different entirely.

Transitioning to Lighter Sleep Stages

Sleep isn’t a uniform state of unconsciousness you slip into when it becomes dark and, theoretically, ride until morning. It’s a dynamic process that goes in waves—or more precisely, cycles—throughout the night.

There are four (or five, depending on how you slice it) stages of sleep:

Stage 1: light sleep, occurs right after falling asleep

Stage 2: deeper sleep

Slow-wave sleep (SWS): deepest sleep, a.k.a. Stage 3 and Stage 4 sleep

REM: lighter sleep where our more interesting dreams occur (although we can also dream in non-REM phases14)

A single sleep cycle lasts about 90 minutes, during which you move from light sleep, through stage 2, into deep SWS, and back up to REM. Then down you go again, then back up, ideally at least four of five times per night.

Your sleep is also roughly broken into two phases over the course of a whole night. In the first half, you spend relatively more time in SWS. The second half is characterized by a higher proportion of REM sleep.

What does this have to do with nighttime waking?

One possible explanation is that as you transition into lighter sleep — either within a single sleep cycle, or as you move from the first to the second phase—aches, pains, and small annoyances are more likely to wake you up. These can include medical issues like chronic pain, sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome, or GERD. Soreness from the day’s hard workout, noise or light from your environment, hunger, thirst, or being too hot or cold might rouse you from your slumber.

If you’re waking up multiple times at night, chances are that you’re experiencing physical discomfort that you’re not able to sleep through. Sometimes it’s obvious, but not always.

Was It Something You Ate Or Drank?

While individual studies have linked sleep quality to diet and macronutrient intake (high versus low carb, for example), they are mostly small and the results inconclusive.15 Still, you might be able to look at your diet and identify a likely culprit. For example, if your sleep problems started after going carnivore or adding intermittent fasting, that’s an obvious place to start.

A food log can help you spot patterns, such as whether eating certain foods at dinner tends to correlate with poorer sleep. Alcohol and caffeine are big sleep disruptors as well, though you surely know that.

If you’re frequently waking up to pee, you might be overhydrating, especially in the evening. More seriously, it can be a symptom of diabetes or bladder, prostate, kidney, adrenal, or heart problems. Getting up once or twice to pee probably isn’t cause for alarm. It’s worth seeing a doctor if you’re getting several times or urinating much more at night than during the day.

Melt your stress away with Adaptogenic Calm

What to Do About Nighttime Waking

First things first, pick the low-hanging fruit

I’m talking good sleep hygiene practices. Things like:

Sleep in a cool, dark, quiet room.

Minimize exposure to artificial lights after the sun sets. Use blue-light blocking glasses, and turn on night mode on your devices.

Watch your alcohol and caffeine consumption, especially later in the day.

Go to bed around the same time each night.

If applicable, experiment with your diet and food timing

Depending on your current diet, some experiments you might try include:

If you’re ultra-low-carb, try increasing your carb intake for a few weeks.

Try loading more of your carbs into your evening meal.

Make sure your protein intake isn’t too low.16

Try eating your last meal earlier if you’re waking up with indigestion, or later if you’re waking up hungry.

Try a teaspoon of raw honey before bed

One hypothesis is that you’re waking up in the middle of the night because your brain gets hungry for glucose eight hours after your last meal. The honey provides some carbs to get you through.

There’s no concrete evidence for honey as a sleep aid, but plenty of people swear by this remedy. I’m not sure it’s likely to be more effective than eating a serving of complex carbs at dinner. That said, even for low-carbers, I don’t think there’s any harm in trying.

I’ll note, though, that fasting studies don’t show a link to sleep disturbances.17 That calls the “starving brain” hypothesis into question, but I suspect there’s an important nuance here. Individuals who can comfortably do longer fasts are almost certainly also fat-adapted and, at least during the fast, producing ketones to fuel their brains. Metabolically, they’re in a very different place from a carb-dependent person who struggles to make it through the night.

Consider napping

If you’re unable to get enough high-quality sleep at night, you might prefer to adjust your sleep schedule entirely. Instead, aim for a shorter nighttime sleep period, say five or six hours, paired with an afternoon nap. This is another variant of biphasic sleeping.

Years ago, I wrote a post on how to conduct just this type of experiment. Check it out and see if it might work for you. It’s unconventional in this day and age, but I know people who thrive on this schedule.

Finally, don’t hesitate to seek medical help

Sleep issues are a symptom of many diverse health issues, including hyperthyroidism, anxiety, depression, and, as previously mentioned, diabetes, heart disease, and others. Your doctor may want to test you for sleep apnea.

The Case of Hot Flashes

Hot flashes are a common cause of nighttime waking for women of a certain age. If you endure nighttime flashes, you’re probably familiar with the standard advice:

Sleep in a cool room

Use moisture-wicking pajamas and sheets

Try acupuncture or other mind-body therapies

Add supplements like folic acid, or herbs like black cohosh or chasteberry

Investigate hormone-replacement therapy

Unfortunately, as I’ve learned from my wife Carrie’s and many friends’ experiences, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. I do think acupuncture is a potentially helpful, underutilized tool. Mostly, though, it’s just a combo of trial-and-error plus time that seems to get most women through this phase.

Getting Back to Sleep

In the meantime, while you get to the root of the issue, here are some tips for getting back to sleep:

Take care of pressing needs. Get up and pee, get a drink of water, or adjust the thermostat. There’s no point in trying to power through the discomfort that woke you up in the first place. Just fix it.

Keep artificial lights and screens off. Use small nightlights to light your path to the bathroom if necessary, and wear your orange-tinted glasses.

Do a calm activity such as reading by candlelight, deep breathing exercises, or sketching or writing in your journal.

Most of all, don’t stress! Fretting is likely to keep you awake for much longer than simply accepting the fact that you are awake and lying peacefully in bed.

Are You Fighting Something You Should Be Embracing?

I’ve long believed that humans naturally tend to be biphasic sleepers. The idea that we should be passed out for a solid eight hours per night is a social construct not firmly rooted in our sleep biology.

Historian Roger Ekirch argues, rather convincingly I think, that before the advent of artificial light, humans across geographical locations and social strata slept in two chunks during the night. The first, usually just called “first sleep,” or sometimes “dead sleep,” comprised the first four or so hours. “Second sleep” went until dawn. In between, people would enjoy an hour, or perhaps two or three hours, of mid-night activities such as praying and meditating, reading and writing, having sex, and even visiting neighbors. This was seen as completely normal, even welcome.18

Anthropological evidence confirms that some modern-day hunter-gatherers around the world likewise engage in biphasic sleeping.19 Also, in one small experiment, seven adults lived in a controlled environment with 14 hours of darkness per night. Over the course of four weeks, their sleep and hormone secretions slowly and naturally became biphasic.20

Scholars argue that biphasic sleep confers an evolutionary advantage.21 If some individuals fall asleep earlier and some later, and most people are awake for an hour or two in the middle of the night, someone in the group is always up. That person can tend the fire and watch for danger. In fact, the waking hour was sometimes called the “sentinel” hour. According to Ekirch, it was often referred to as simply the “watch.”

Are You a Biphasic Sleeper, or Do You Have a Sleep Problem?

Waking up multiple times per night, such that you rarely feel truly rested, is a problem. However, we shouldn’t rush to pathologize a single nighttime waking. That might just be your natural sleep pattern. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’d be better off aiming for biphasic sleep either. Even if you wake reliably at the same time each night, sometimes a full bladder is just a full bladder.

The litmus test is how you feel. With a biphasic schedule, the intervening waking period should be pleasant. Your mind should feel calm and alert, if perhaps a bit dreamy. Anecdotally, many famous writers, artists, and sculptors have adhered to a biphasic schedule, believing that creativity and flow are enhanced during the mid-night hours.

Of course, you can’t tap into how you feel if waking is causing you a ton of angst. Remind yourself that waking can be normal, not dysfunctional. I know this can be easier said than done, especially if you’re sleep deprived. The thing about biphasic sleeping is that you’re still supposed to get the eight hours of nightly sleep you need, give or take. That means you have to spend nine or ten hours in bed. How many people do that nowadays?

See if you can commit to at least a couple weeks of sufficient time in bed. Push away your previous (mis)conceptions about what a “good” night of sleep is “supposed” to look like. Try to welcome rather than fight the mid-night waking. Be open to what comes next.

(function($) { $("#dfBgGBW").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfBgGBW" ); })( jQuery );

References

https://www.rwjf.org/en/library/research/2010/05/low-calorie-dieting-increases-cortisol.html

https://www.cnn.com/2020/08/05/business/grocery-prices-rising/index.html

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4947579/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4578804/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4405421/#:~:text=This%20study%20suggests%20that%20human,patients%20with%20obesity%20(48).

http://www.springerlink.com/content/w307w62037125v33/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1550413112001891

https://journals.lww.com/ejanaesthesiology/Fulltext/2009/12000/Hepatocellular_integrity_after_parenteral.17.aspx

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/22308119/

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/21288612/

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/24316260/

https://www.nature.com/articles/ncomms3316

https://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2011-03/uops-mwt030311.php

https://www.nature.com/articles/nn.4545

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3700250/

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://academic.oup.com/ahr/article-abstract/106/2/343/64370

https://academic.oup.com/sleep/article/39/3/715/2454050

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10607034

https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/pdf/10.1098/rspb.2017.0967

The post Why Am I Waking Up at 3am? appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Why Am I Waking Up at 3am? published first on https://drugaddictionsrehab.tumblr.com/

[lauramalchowblog]

Why Am I Waking Up at 3am?

Whenever I write about sleep, I hear from a chorus of people who struggle to sleep through the night. Anecdotally, it seems a far more common complaint than difficulty falling asleep in the first place.

These complaints are one of three types:

People who have trouble falling asleep

People who sleep fitfully, waking multiple times throughout the night

Those who reliably wake once, around the same time most nights

Understandably, this is a hugely vexing problem. Poor quality sleep is a serious health concern. Not to mention, sleeping badly feels simply awful. When the alarm goes off after a night of tossing and turning, the next day is sure to be a slog. String several days like that together, and it’s hard to function at all.

I’m going to go out on a limb, though, and assert that waking up in the middle of the night isn’t always the problem we make it out to be. For some people, nighttime wakings are actually something to embrace. As always, context is everything.

Instantly download your Guide to Gut Health

What Causes You to Wake Up In the Middle of the Night?

One of the most frustrating things about nighttime waking is that there are so many possible causes. Sometimes the solution is as simple as practicing good sleep hygiene. Other times, medical help is in order. Still other times, the solution is something different entirely.

Transitioning to Lighter Sleep Stages

Sleep isn’t a uniform state of unconsciousness you slip into when it becomes dark and, theoretically, ride until morning. It’s a dynamic process that goes in waves—or more precisely, cycles—throughout the night.

There are four (or five, depending on how you slice it) stages of sleep:

Stage 1: light sleep, occurs right after falling asleep

Stage 2: deeper sleep

Slow-wave sleep (SWS): deepest sleep, a.k.a. Stage 3 and Stage 4 sleep

REM: lighter sleep where our more interesting dreams occur (although we can also dream in non-REM phases1)

A single sleep cycle lasts about 90 minutes, during which you move from light sleep, through stage 2, into deep SWS, and back up to REM. Then down you go again, then back up, ideally at least four of five times per night.

Your sleep is also roughly broken into two phases over the course of a whole night. In the first half, you spend relatively more time in SWS. The second half is characterized by a higher proportion of REM sleep.

What does this have to do with nighttime waking?

One possible explanation is that as you transition into lighter sleep — either within a single sleep cycle, or as you move from the first to the second phase—aches, pains, and small annoyances are more likely to wake you up. These can include medical issues like chronic pain, sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome, or GERD. Soreness from the day’s hard workout, noise or light from your environment, hunger, thirst, or being too hot or cold might rouse you from your slumber.

If you’re waking up multiple times at night, chances are that you’re experiencing physical discomfort that you’re not able to sleep through. Sometimes it’s obvious, but not always.

Was It Something You Ate Or Drank?

While individual studies have linked sleep quality to diet and macronutrient intake (high versus low carb, for example), they are mostly small and the results inconclusive.2 Still, you might be able to look at your diet and identify a likely culprit. For example, if your sleep problems started after going carnivore or adding intermittent fasting, that’s an obvious place to start.

A food log can help you spot patterns, such as whether eating certain foods at dinner tends to correlate with poorer sleep. Alcohol and caffeine are big sleep disruptors as well, though you surely know that.

If you’re frequently waking up to pee, you might be overhydrating, especially in the evening. More seriously, it can be a symptom of diabetes or bladder, prostate, kidney, adrenal, or heart problems. Getting up once or twice to pee probably isn’t cause for alarm. It’s worth seeing a doctor if you’re getting several times or urinating much more at night than during the day.

Melt your stress away with Adaptogenic Calm

What to Do About Nighttime Waking

First things first, pick the low-hanging fruit

I’m talking good sleep hygiene practices. Things like:

Sleep in a cool, dark, quiet room.

Minimize exposure to artificial lights after the sun sets. Use blue-light blocking glasses, and turn on night mode on your devices.

Watch your alcohol and caffeine consumption, especially later in the day.

Go to bed around the same time each night.

If applicable, experiment with your diet and food timing

Depending on your current diet, some experiments you might try include:

If you’re ultra-low-carb, try increasing your carb intake for a few weeks.

Try loading more of your carbs into your evening meal.

Make sure your protein intake isn’t too low.3

Try eating your last meal earlier if you’re waking up with indigestion, or later if you’re waking up hungry.

Try a teaspoon of raw honey before bed

One hypothesis is that you’re waking up in the middle of the night because your brain gets hungry for glucose eight hours after your last meal. The honey provides some carbs to get you through.

There’s no concrete evidence for honey as a sleep aid, but plenty of people swear by this remedy. I’m not sure it’s likely to be more effective than eating a serving of complex carbs at dinner. That said, even for low-carbers, I don’t think there’s any harm in trying.

I’ll note, though, that fasting studies don’t show a link to sleep disturbances.4 That calls the “starving brain” hypothesis into question, but I suspect there’s an important nuance here. Individuals who can comfortably do longer fasts are almost certainly also fat-adapted and, at least during the fast, producing ketones to fuel their brains. Metabolically, they’re in a very different place from a carb-dependent person who struggles to make it through the night.

Consider napping

If you’re unable to get enough high-quality sleep at night, you might prefer to adjust your sleep schedule entirely. Instead, aim for a shorter nighttime sleep period, say five or six hours, paired with an afternoon nap. This is another variant of biphasic sleeping.

Years ago, I wrote a post on how to conduct just this type of experiment. Check it out and see if it might work for you. It’s unconventional in this day and age, but I know people who thrive on this schedule.

Finally, don’t hesitate to seek medical help

Sleep issues are a symptom of many diverse health issues, including hyperthyroidism, anxiety, depression, and, as previously mentioned, diabetes, heart disease, and others. Your doctor may want to test you for sleep apnea.

The Case of Hot Flashes

Hot flashes are a common cause of nighttime waking for women of a certain age. If you endure nighttime flashes, you’re probably familiar with the standard advice:

Sleep in a cool room

Use moisture-wicking pajamas and sheets

Try acupuncture or other mind-body therapies

Add supplements like folic acid, or herbs like black cohosh or chasteberry

Investigate hormone-replacement therapy

Unfortunately, as I’ve learned from my wife Carrie’s and many friends’ experiences, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. I do think acupuncture is a potentially helpful, underutilized tool. Mostly, though, it’s just a combo of trial-and-error plus time that seems to get most women through this phase.

Getting Back to Sleep

In the meantime, while you get to the root of the issue, here are some tips for getting back to sleep:

Take care of pressing needs. Get up and pee, get a drink of water, or adjust the thermostat. There’s no point in trying to power through the discomfort that woke you up in the first place. Just fix it.

Keep artificial lights and screens off. Use small nightlights to light your path to the bathroom if necessary, and wear your orange-tinted glasses.

Do a calm activity such as reading by candlelight, deep breathing exercises, or sketching or writing in your journal.

Most of all, don’t stress! Fretting is likely to keep you awake for much longer than simply accepting the fact that you are awake and lying peacefully in bed.

Are You Fighting Something You Should Be Embracing?

I’ve long believed that humans naturally tend to be biphasic sleepers. The idea that we should be passed out for a solid eight hours per night is a social construct not firmly rooted in our sleep biology.

Historian Roger Ekirch argues, rather convincingly I think, that before the advent of artificial light, humans across geographical locations and social strata slept in two chunks during the night. The first, usually just called “first sleep,” or sometimes “dead sleep,” comprised the first four or so hours. “Second sleep” went until dawn. In between, people would enjoy an hour, or perhaps two or three hours, of mid-night activities such as praying and meditating, reading and writing, having sex, and even visiting neighbors. This was seen as completely normal, even welcome.5

Anthropological evidence confirms that some modern-day hunter-gatherers around the world likewise engage in biphasic sleeping.6 Also, in one small experiment, seven adults lived in a controlled environment with 14 hours of darkness per night. Over the course of four weeks, their sleep and hormone secretions slowly and naturally became biphasic.7

Scholars argue that biphasic sleep confers an evolutionary advantage.8 If some individuals fall asleep earlier and some later, and most people are awake for an hour or two in the middle of the night, someone in the group is always up. That person can tend the fire and watch for danger. In fact, the waking hour was sometimes called the “sentinel” hour. According to Ekirch, it was often referred to as simply the “watch.”

Are You a Biphasic Sleeper, or Do You Have a Sleep Problem?

Waking up multiple times per night, such that you rarely feel truly rested, is a problem. However, we shouldn’t rush to pathologize a single nighttime waking. That might just be your natural sleep pattern. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’d be better off aiming for biphasic sleep either. Even if you wake reliably at the same time each night, sometimes a full bladder is just a full bladder.

The litmus test is how you feel. With a biphasic schedule, the intervening waking period should be pleasant. Your mind should feel calm and alert, if perhaps a bit dreamy. Anecdotally, many famous writers, artists, and sculptors have adhered to a biphasic schedule, believing that creativity and flow are enhanced during the mid-night hours.

Of course, you can’t tap into how you feel if waking is causing you a ton of angst. Remind yourself that waking can be normal, not dysfunctional. I know this can be easier said than done, especially if you’re sleep deprived. The thing about biphasic sleeping is that you’re still supposed to get the eight hours of nightly sleep you need, give or take. That means you have to spend nine or ten hours in bed. How many people do that nowadays?

See if you can commit to at least a couple weeks of sufficient time in bed. Push away your previous (mis)conceptions about what a “good” night of sleep is “supposed” to look like. Try to welcome rather than fight the mid-night waking. Be open to what comes next.

(function($) { $("#dfUzFnW").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfUzFnW" ); })( jQuery );

References

https://www.nature.com/articles/nn.4545

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3700250/

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://academic.oup.com/ahr/article-abstract/106/2/343/64370

https://academic.oup.com/sleep/article/39/3/715/2454050

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10607034

https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/pdf/10.1098/rspb.2017.0967

The post Why Am I Waking Up at 3am? appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Why Am I Waking Up at 3am? published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

[jacewilliams1]

On automation and airmanship

“I believe any good pilot has a certain skepticism. If he or she isn’t a skeptic, they are headed for trouble. This seems especially true with the computer—and when I say computer I include FMS, autopilot and all. Being skeptical means a pilot refers to raw data to be certain the FMS etc., is doing its thing correctly. This is not always easy because as the computer develops it makes raw data more difficult to see, find and use.” – Captain Robert Buck, TWA

I have been known, on occasion, to talk to the autopilot. “Why on earth are you closing the throttles now?” or “What? Who told you to fly at 210 knots?” It’s possible that this could be a little unnerving to an unsuspecting first officer, but there are occasions when it is necessary to question the autopilot’s intentions or even its situational awareness. Sometimes I have to intervene: ”No, no, let’s not do it that way… here, let’s try this mode…” And every so often, “Oh for goodness’ sake, stop making this harder than it is…” a comment usually associated with disconnecting the thing.

Some of that comes from the early days of my career, the first five thousand hours of which involved Convairs and Metroliners with no autopilots and no flight directors. We hand flew all day, er, night, every day and night. This was a pattern only gradually altered by flying the 727, whose autopilot was equipped with an input control that we commonly referred to as the “lurch lever” because the spring tensions were not well calibrated to the G tolerances of the typical passenger’s posterior. On legs under an hour, many of us never engaged the autopilot at all, nor did we activate the flight directors unless we were flying an instrument approach. We simply flew pitch and power like we always had.

It might sound crazy, but airline pilots once flew trips without ever engaging the autopilot.

But most of it comes from a strategy to manage two parallel and integrated situational awarenesses: the old, original one (where are we, where are we going and at what angle of attack), along with a new one (where does the autoflight system think we are, where does it think we want to go, how is it going to get us there and, perhaps of separate but equal importance, where are we within one or more flight envelopes that it is designed to protect us from departing?). Both situational awarenesses are vital to safety. But with the advent of the second awareness, the automation awareness, it has become common for the authorities, manufacturers and various other august bodies of expertise to start describing pilots as “systems operators” or “system managers.”

This is not really a new idea. In 1953, Guy Murchie, writing in his book Song of the Sky, rather presciently predicted “a maplike screen on which will be projected pips of light representing not only his own position but those of other craft, enabling him to monitor the traffic situation continuously and check navigation by eyesight in the densest cloud.” This is a curiously accurate description of an FMS-driven Navigation Display with TCAS superimposed. By 1959, General Pete Quesada, the first FAA Administrator, observed that, with respect to military pilots, “The day of the throttle jockey is past. He is becoming a true professional, a manager of complex weapons systems.”

But back in 1939, writing in his masterpiece, Wind Sand and Stars, the French airmail pilot Antoine de Saint-Exupery anticipated how we might lose control of this evolution. He wrote that,

In the enthusiasm of our rapid mechanical conquests we have overlooked some things. We have perhaps driven men into the service of the machine, instead of building machinery for the service of man.

It is easy to intuit how the concept of a manager of systems veers toward a man in the service of the machine. With the acceleration of automation in the cockpit, and the mishaps and accidents that have resulted, it seems to me that we have never truly resolved Saint-Exupery’s point. On the one hand, the pilot in command remains the final authority as to the operation of the aircraft. On the other, the pilot is an operator of complex systems that he is no longer expected to understand.

A few years ago, David Blair and Nick Helms published a thoughtful paper entitled “The Swarm, the Cloud, and the Importance of Getting There First,” a treatise on remotely piloted aircraft operated by the US Air Force. They concisely and carefully captured Saint-Exupery’s dichotomy in more contemporary terms:

The first truth of special operations holds that humans are more important than hardware. In other words, technology exists to enable people to fulfill the mission. This is the capabilities view of technology: machines are amplifiers of human will, better enabling them to make something of their world. By exercising dominion through technology, people gain greater command over their environment. The alternative is that humans are important to operate the hardware—that people are subsystems within larger socio-mechanical constructs. This view, cybernetics, encloses people within closed control loops that regulate systemic variables within set parameters. Rather than human versus machine, the true discussion about the future of RPAs addresses capabilities versus cybernetics.

The original intent of contemporary cockpit automation arose from the capabilities view of technology, in particular the capability to optimize aerodynamic efficiency while also optimizing airspace utilization. This was, and still is, clearly a machine in the service of man. The intent of automation began to migrate toward the cybernetics view with the notion that we could automate human error out of the equation. In my experience, this migration happened about the same time we transitioned from experienced instructors hand-drawing schematics on whiteboards to well-meaning but very inexperienced people flipping Powerpoint slides salted with schematics from the maintenance manual.

Is this technology in service of man or vice versa?

Cockpit automation is today widely discussed and trained from the cybernetics view of technology. This has been powerfully reinforced by the extensive understanding of human factors as a deterministic, predictable discipline, indeed, by the fundamental understanding of behavior from the deterministic view of neuroscience.

In their 2014 report entitled “A Practical Guide for Improving Flight Path Monitoring”, the Flight Safety Foundation noted that,

Multiple studies have shown that many pilots poorly understand aspects of autoflight modes, in part because training emphasizes correct “button pushing” over developing accurate mental models. Simply stated, it is impossible to monitor a complex system if a pilot isn’t sure how to correctly operate that system or what type of aircraft performance can be expected from each autoflight mode. A pilot who has an accurate mental model of the autoflight system can then learn how to use each mode and will be able to accurately predict what the aircraft will do next in a given mode in each specific situation.

A short trip through Mr. Peabody’s Wayback Machine will place us in a new-hire flight engineer classroom. The instructor is a retired chief master sergeant, and he is diagramming by hand the disassembly, piece by piece, of an air conditioning pack. By the time he is done, the new pilots will thoroughly understand how a pack works, and therefore have a solid grasp of what they are looking at on the pack temp gauge… at least that was the plan in those days.

In order to get rid of the flight engineer, we had to get rid of the pack temperature gauge. The thinking was that by automating the systems and improving the system status annunciations, we could make the task of monitoring systems much simpler. As we automated, we also watered down the ground school; there was no longer any reason to truly understand the system at a component level, since the automation would tell you all you needed to know. This is precisely the trajectory that Murchie had in mind when, continuing his 1953 description of a future cockpit, he said that,

Elimination of everything unessential is a big load off the crew’s brains. When the flight engineer wants to check whether his battery generators are working he used to have to read a dial needle pointing to numbers of amperes of charge or discharge. In the future he will only see a green or red light indicating “yes” or “no.” With fifty such indicators shorn of their wool, the crew will be spared much of the dangerous excess of information from which they have long had to select, abstract, interpolate, extrapolate, derive, and ignore—sometimes literally to the point of death. The airplane will enter a new phase of progress.

But along the way, I believe a very subtle paradigm shift occurred. Back in the day, we had a vague idea of approximately where we were in space. Between the A-N ranges, ADF pointers and LORAN systems, we were generally sure of which hemisphere we were flying in, and with some skill we could place the airplane over a runway threshold safely and reliably, albeit with little surety of exactly where we had been in the process of getting there. Whilst sorting out the bearings, radials and tones, it was essential to keep all one hundred and twelve cylinders lubricated, firing properly and not consuming more gasoline than was absolutely necessary. Monitoring had a great deal to do with aircraft systems, and less to do with the flight path. The flight path was more a matter of technique as long as one avoided an unintended stall.

But at the same time we were automating away little dials pointing at numbers indicating amperes, we were increasing airspace occupancy exponentially. Frequency, frequency, frequency. More flights, more options, more consumer choice, more tailored load factors, more capacity and then more capacity management… all while still operating approximately the same number of outer markers as we have for over sixty years. Capacity is choked; this leads immediately to tightening the longitudinal and vertical spacing between aircraft, as well as such things as Performance Based Navigation (PBN), Reduced Vertical Separation Minimums (RVSM), RNAV departures and arrivals, and the like. All of this is basically intended to obtain the maximum arrival rate possible for each runway at each terminal.

About the only way to fly an RNAV arrival to a busy airport is with lots of automation.

So the importance of flight path management has become supreme, and highly automated. In this manner, the airspace infrastructure has evolved into the kind of larger socio-mechanical construct that Blair and Helms described, in which people are subsystems. Along the way, the shift in paradigm, as well as a culture mesmerized with automation and digitization, slowly and unwittingly displaced procedural knowledge with declarative knowledge.

Simon Hall, of Cranfield University, has described declarative knowledge as, “the knowledge that the system works in a certain way,” and contrasted this with procedural knowledge, which he describes as, “ knowing how to use the system in context.” He explains that

The basic skills associated with “manually flying” an aircraft are predominantly based on procedural knowledge, i.e. how to achieve the task. However, the use of automation to control the flight path of an aircraft is taught as declarative knowledge. Pilots are required to manage systems based on a knowledge that the autoflight system works in a particular fashion. So, the pilot is faced with the same operational task of controlling the flight path but employs two different strategies of cognitive behaviour depending upon whether the task is manually or automatically executed.

It is important to stop for a minute and put this concept under a microscope. In the days of the flight engineer, declarative knowledge and procedural knowledge were more or less balanced, and they were integrated. Declarative knowledge supported procedural knowledge, and we were taught both. If you wanted to get the generator on line, you were going to have to synch the generator frequency to the bus frequency; you had to understand how this worked, and you had to be able to make it work, because it wasn’t going to do it by itself.

But right there, at that inflection point, is where the problems of automation gain a foothold, precisely because automated systems will do it by themselves. It is no longer a matter of procedurally operating a system; it is a matter of watching the system procedurally operate itself. When the Flight Safety Foundation describes an “accurate mental model which will enable the pilot to predict what the airplane will do next in a given mode for each specific situation,” they are referring entirely to declarative knowledge, a knowledge of how the system works, with the expectation that the pilot’s speed of cognition will exceed the system’s own procedural operation.

In the old days, the pilot’s speed of cognition controlled the procedural operation. Nothing would happen until you were ready for it to happen, because you had to make it happen. You could get behind the airplane moving in space, and you could get behind the situation in time, but it was pretty hard to get behind the systems. Today, you’d better be on your toes, because the automated system is going, with or without you. Indeed, the very phrase “predict what the airplane will do next,” as if this were a matter of conjecture, implies that the airplane has a mind of its own.

Yet the premise behind watered-down training is that the modern, sophisticated, fly-by-wire airplane is too complicated for the pilot to fully understand, and thus he or she has no need for extensive knowledge of the aircraft design and architecture. This is entirely in line with Murchie’s 1953 prediction that the crew “be spared much of the dangerous excess of information from which they have long had to select, abstract, interpolate, extrapolate, derive, and ignore.” Sixty years later, in the 2013 report Operational Use of Flight Management Systems, the Performance Based Operations Aviation Rulemaking Committee said that:

Pilot knowledge of the basic airplane systems is not as detailed as in the past. The WG recognizes that in the past, information was trained that was not needed or beneficial. The concern is that depth of systems knowledge may now be insufficient, and this may be operator dependent.

And so we arrive at the rather matter-of-fact condescension expressed in a pivotal statement following the 737 Max debacle:

A high-ranking Boeing official told the Wall Street Journal that “the company had decided against disclosing more details to cockpit crews due to concerns about inundating average pilots with too much information—and significantly more technical data—than they needed or could digest.”

Saint-Ex would have disagreed with some of Boeing’s philosophy.

St.-Exupery would have disagreed with this view. He wrote, also in Wind, Sand and Stars, that

The machine which at first blush seems a means of isolating man from the great problems of nature, actually plunges him more deeply into them. As for the peasant so for the pilot, dawn and twilight become events of consequence. His essential problems are set him by the mountain, the sea, the wind. Alone before the vast tribunal of the tempestuous sky, the pilot defends his mails and debates on terms of equality with those three elemental divinities.

In today’s terms, the cybernetic view of technology may, at first blush, seem a means of isolating the pilot from the essential problems of flight; it is easy to interpret envelope protection features this way. But at the same time, the capability view of technology amplifies human will, better enabling us to make something of our world. By exercising dominion through technology, we gain greater command over our environment… and thus we are plunged more deeply into those essential problems.

The deeper plunge into the essential problems of flight brings us, inevitably, to the problem of airmanship in an automated cockpit. When Staint-Exupery refers to the terms of equality on which we debate those three elemental divinities, he is referring specifically to the airmanship of his day. He began his approach to this question with an understanding of the mountains, the seas and the winds… the things which influence the sky, the great problems of nature into which the airman will shortly be plunged. He was interested in “all that happened in the sky,” things which signaled “the oncoming snow, the threat of fog, or the peace of a blessed night.”

We are still very interested in the threat of fog or oncoming snow. We are also very interested in windshear, convective available potential energy, lifted indexes, microbursts, outflow boundaries, ice crystal icing, collision coalescence freezing drizzle formation, and certainly turbulence, including mountain waves—pretty much anything that can ruin the peace of a blessed night.

To this we must add an understanding of the machine, an intuitive sense of its balance, its harmony, and its energy, a feel for how the machine leverages its precipitous position in the sky to resolve the problems of nature. To Saint-Exupery, the machine was the engine and flight controls all connected by stringers and spars and cables; today, we must include the complement of automation as part of the machine. For example, we must be constantly aware of pitch, power and vertical speed, while we also scrutinize Actual Navigation Performance (ANP) exactly as Saint-Exupery scrutinized the howl of the wind in the wires of his Breguet 14.

But in Saint-Exupery’s day, the idea of the pilot as a systems manager was unheard of, as was the contemporary suite of management school lexicon used to describe the systems manager. Terms such as discipline, professionalism, team skills, self-improvement, and skill acquisition were barely yet in anyone’s vocabulary. Nor were the now-classical superlatives, such as uncompromising, optimal, systematic and exceptional. Recent definitions of airmanship tend to include some or all of these terms; yet, in my opinion, all of them really beg the question. So what is airmanship really, and how does it work in an automated cockpit?

Let’s leave the management school semantics and centuries-old conceptual structures about discipline, obedience, and compliance behind for a while. All of these are tools we use to achieve the goal; they are not the goal. Rather, let’s begin by revisiting the words of FAR 91.1065(d):

For the purpose of this subpart, competent performance of a procedure or maneuver by a person to be used as a pilot requires that the pilot be the obvious master of the aircraft, with the successful outcome of the maneuver never in doubt.

Airmanship starts with the person in the left seat, no matter what the airplane.

The pilot, as the obvious master of the aircraft, forms the anchor of a definition of airmanship. This clearly refers to Saint-Exupery’s idea of the machine in the service of man. It also focuses responsibility and authority for the operation of the aircraft solely with the pilot, while placing distinct emphasis on knowledge and expertise. And yet, we have to be careful of the subsequent language, because the phrase “never in doubt” suggests the elimination of uncertainty, and that is a dangerous premise.

Looking back through early revisions and amendments to this regulatory language, it seems likely that the elimination of uncertainty was never really the intent; the language is always qualified with the words, “The applicant’s performance will be evaluated on the basis of judgment, knowledge, smoothness, and accuracy.” Indeed, the presence of the word judgment belies certainty; however, the problem is that an implicit expectation of certainty can create barriers to effective airmanship. For example, the successful outcome of a landing is always in doubt; this is the point of a no-fault go-around policy, which leverages the judgment and knowledge parts cited above.

Sadly, the expectation of certainty has a long history of coloring the understanding of mishaps. From the 1930s through the 1950s, the Civil Aeronautics Authority was so certain it understood what caused accidents that it published this axiom: “The capable and competent pilot will never allow an airplane to crack up.” Simple as that.

The paradox is that while we must have some degree of certainty that the flight will be successful—if it we didn’t, we would never fly—flight itself is inherently uncertain. While we cannot accept unmitigated specific risk (an unsafe condition with a probability of one), we have to be prepared to accept, and manage, the uncertainty associated with probabilistic risk (an unsafe condition based upon the averaged estimated probabilities of all unknown events). The interface between our own actions and the operating environment is the critical focal point. We can get into trouble if we assume that our own actions will assure the certainty of a successful maneuver.

The French philosopher Edgar Morin describes this paradox in what he calls the “ecology of action:”

As soon as a person begins any action whatsoever, the action starts to escape from his intentions. It enters into a sphere of interactions and is finally grasped by the environment in a way that may be contrary to the initial intention. So we have to follow the action and try to correct it if it is not too late, or sometimes shoot it down, like NASA exploding a rocket that has veered off course.

Ecology of action means taking into account the complexity it posits, meaning random incidents, chance, initiative, decision, the unexpected, the unforeseen, and awareness of deviations and transformations.

From this perspective, airmanship may be less about managing systems and quite a bit more about managing uncertainty. To some extent, this permeates our early flight training; we are warned by our mentors to “always have an out,” and we spent a lot of time looking for good fields to use in the event of a forced landing. As young pilots, we are impressionable and can easily envision a myriad of things going wrong, and as we strive to blend into the level of competence that we believe surrounds us, we prepare as thoroughly as we can. But as we develop an experience base, certainty seems more accessible. Indeed, one of the significant problems of modern aviation is that serious failures occur extremely rarely, and the uncertainty of our early flying days is replaced with an almost inevitable, and comfortable, complacence.

Morin goes on to discuss the use of strategy to manage uncertainty. He says that,

Strategy should prevail over program. A program sets up a sequence of actions to be executed without variation in a stable environment, but as soon as the outside conditions are modified, the program gets stuck. Whereas strategy elaborates a scenario of action based on an appraisal of the certainties and uncertainties, the probabilities and improbabilities of the situation. The scenario may and must be modified according to information gathered along the way and hazards, mishaps or good fortune encountered. We can use short term program sequences within our strategies. But for things done in an unstable, uncertain environment, strategy imposes.

A stabilized approach is not a program, it’s a strategy.

Probably the best definition of strategy that I have seen describes it as a “high level plan to achieve one or more goals under conditions of uncertainty,” a definition coined by Miryam Barad. This definition fits well with Morin’s concept. So what is an example of a strategy in the cockpit? The most compact example might be the stabilized approach concept. This can be achieved with or without automation, with or without a glass cockpit, and can be arrived at from a wide variety of descent profiles and lateral entries to the approach procedure. It can be achieved with or without a normal landing configuration, for example, in the case of a flap or slat failure. Nor does it necessarily lead to a smooth landing! Rather, it represents a high level plan to achieve a landing within the touchdown zone, on centerline and aligned with the runway, under conditions of some uncertainty, such as wind, braking action, pilot technique, even nominal fatigue.

A program, on the other hand, is manifested in profiles, litanies, callouts, checklists, and automated sequences. These have critical value as short term program sequences. But they themselves will not resolve instability or manage uncertainty.

Note that Morin is quite clear about the need to modify the scenario of action “according to information gathered.” The pilot must know exactly what he or she wants to do with the airplane, how the environment is likely to influence the plan, how the plan is evolving with the changing situation, and then how to utilize the all of the tools, including the short term program sequences inherent in the automation, to execute the plan.

With the strategy established, the application of Morin’s idea of the ecology of action is best considered through a short exploration of two concepts: prudence and mindfulness. These are common terms, and most of us assume that we know what they mean. In fact, both have very specific definitions, and in the case of prudence, a very long history.

In the fifth century, St. Augustine described prudence as “the knowledge of what to seek and what to avoid.” More specifically, in the seventh century, Isidore of Seville said that, “A prudent man is one who sees as it were from afar, for his sight is keen, and he foresees the event of uncertainties.”

But oddly enough, and at the risk of freewheeling completely off the rails of technical discussion, the best description of prudence that I have found was offered by St. Thomas Aquinas in his historically pivotal tome, the Summa Theologica, which he compiled during the thirteenth century. The word prudence derives from the Latin “providentia,” which means foresight. Thomas strengthened Isidore’s idea when he said that foresight “implies the notion of something distant, to which that which occurs in the present has to be directed.” He said that prudence is “right reason (what today we might call observed truth) applied to action.”

It turns out that St. Thomas’s ideas on prudence more or less make up the original foundation of what we consider as crew resource management. He describes three core elements:

Taking counsel, an act of inquiry, often seeking the opinion of others… first officers, flight attendants, dispatchers, mechanics, flight instructors, FSS briefers… lest something be overlooked. Thomas was quite clear on the assertion that a single person is often unable to capture all that matters to a given situation. Today, this speaks to the limits of human cognition within a dynamic environment.

Judging of what you have learned, an act of consideration, speculation, and for us, forming the opinions required by FAR Part 121, followed by an act of decision. Thomas splits this into two capacities: docility, the willingness to learn from others and decide accordingly, and shrewdness, the ability to draw accurate, “just-in-time” conclusions when there simply is no opportunity for extensive counsel or contemplation.

Executing command, the act of authority, in other words fulfilling the obligation bestowed on the pilot-in-command by FAR 91.3.

Thomas Aquinas, the first man to define CRM?

These three elements form the structure within which “that which occurs in the present” is directed toward “something distant.” If we listen carefully, we will hear these elements in the FAA’s explanation of FAR 91.1065, when they state that “The applicant’s performance will be evaluated on the basis of judgment, knowledge, smoothness, and accuracy (taking counsel, judging of what was learned, and executing command).” Remarkably, in the summer of 1901, Wilbur Wright reached back to these early discussions and penned what was probably the first description of prudence applied to air safety:

All who are practically concerned with aerial navigation agree that the safety of the operator is more important to successful experimentation than any other point. The history of past investigation demonstrates that greater prudence is needed rather than greater skill.

This brings us to an exploration of the more contemporary idea of mindfulness, “a rich awareness of discriminatory detail,” in the words of Karl Weick and Kathryn Sutcliffe. They elaborate on this by saying that being mindful means paying attention in a different way; it is to see more clearly, not to think harder and longer. You stop concentrating on those things that “confirm your hunches, are pleasant, feel certain, seem factual, are explicit, and that others agree on.” You start concentrating on things that “disconfirm, are unpleasant, feel uncertain, seem possible, are implicit, and are contested.” Mindfulness acknowledges the very same uncertainties which Isidore claimed a prudent man would foresee. This is the debate with Saint-Exupery’s elemental divinities.

Airmanship, in this context, can then be salted with more of Weick and Sutcliffe’s organizational ideas. First and foremost, the airman is preoccupied with failure, meaning what has already failed, what is failing at the moment, and what is likely to fail. The periodic twitch of a torquemeter, an unusual imbalance in generator load, a steady divergence between actual fuel burned and planned fuel burned, an unexpected collapse of the visibility, an unexpectedly long—or short—touchdown, an omitted checklist step, or certainly any number of unexpected automation behaviors… all of these things preoccupy the airman. What went wrong? Why did it go wrong? What does a particular failure mean? Is it a precursor?

Secondly, he or she is reluctant to simplify, despite seductive pressure to “eliminate everything unnecessary,” because simplification “obscures unwanted, unanticipated, unexplainable details and in doing so, increases the likelihood of unreliable performance.” This is certainly applicable to autoflight system function, but really to almost everything we do. There is no way to simplify the effects of airframe ice accretion, microbursts, or runway braking action, nor is there any simplification applicable to human behavior and error. Simplification invokes certainty, which flies straight into the face of the uncertainty which Isidore claimed prudence would anticipate. We cannot afford to obscure unwanted, unanticipated or unexplainable details.

Thirdly, the airman is sensitive to operations, a “watchfulness for moment-to-moment changes in conditions.” In this way, the airman “slows down the speed with which we call something ‘the same.’” The airman recognizes that today is not the same as yesterday, that the situation is ever changing, evolving, and uncertain. The same flight, in the same airplane, from the same gate is not the same today as it was yesterday. There are small differences which can have disproportional effects.

Lastly, the airman builds and maintains resilience, the quality of “recalibrating expectations, making sense of evolving uncertainties, and learning in real time.” To borrow from Weick’s writing on this, with some adaptation, a resilient cockpit works to keep errors small, improvises workarounds that preserve adherence to the strategy, and absorbs change while updating the strategy.

With the ideas of prudence and mindfulness front and center, let me turn to what I believe is the most important strategy implicit in good airmanship: the protection of the margins. Whether it be a forty five minute fuel reserve, 1.3 Vso, a 0.8% margin over net climb gradient, or a twenty mile berth around the downwind side of a thunderstorm, a core strategy of airmanship is the protection of the margins. The margins anticipate and buffer uncertainty. They provide space and time for any subordinate strategy to be modified. We cannot allow things of which we are already certain to erode the margins, lest the buffer against further uncertainty be lost.

Checklists and SOPs maintain safety margins and catch errors.

To that end, we land on the centerline for a reason: to preserve a seventy five foot margin of pavement on either side, to accommodate at least some of the threats that are “infinite in number, [and] cannot be grasped by reason,” like some combinations of hydroplaning and wind gusts, main gear trunnion fractures, airport snowplows wandering aimlessly around runways… in other words, the average estimated probabilities of all unknown events.

Further, we use standard operating procedures to track the centerline of the safe operating space, and to ensure that the procedural margins, and the error traps integrated within those margins, are available to function in the background. Standard operating procedures are themselves a strategy, a subset of the idea of protecting the margins; they are not a litany. They are intended to manage the ecology of action, and to track an action as it begins to deviate from our intention. This, too, is another way of looking at envelope protection, seen through the lens of the capability view; we gain greater control of our environment by using automation to ensure that critical aerodynamic margins are protected when hours and hours of sheer boredom lead to distraction or inattention, or are occasionally interrupted by brief moments of stark terror followed by a startle response.

These ideas largely inform both the old situational awareness, the aeronautical one, and the new situational awareness, the one aimed at automation. The thread that ties all of these ideas together is the acceptance of uncertainty. When Saint-Exupery uses terms like a debate with elemental divinities, or a tempestuous sky, he is describing uncertainty.

At this point, we can perhaps suggest a general definition of airmanship:

Airmanship is the application of both prudence and mindfulness so as to always remain the obvious master of the aircraft, and to construct, modify and execute the necessary strategies to ensure that the safe outcome of the flight is never manifestly in doubt, while always protecting the margins in anticipation of uncertainty.

If we see the operating environment only as a socio-mechanical construct, such as the National Airspace System, and thus teach only the cybernetic view of technology, we create a systems operator who is unprepared to debate on terms of equality with the mountain, the sea, and the wind, or, for that matter, with the central processing unit of the flight control computer. His terms have been dictated by the set parameters within a closed control loop, designed to trigger Morin’s “sequence of actions to be executed without variation in a stable environment.” The foresight is pre-programmed, trapped within the closed control loops, and limited to a narrow set of anticipated threats, or specific risks. This is antithetical to airmanship, because those parameters will eventually fall out of equality with the vast tribunal of a tempestuous sky.

The fundamental flaw in attempts to adapt the cybernetic view of technology to the problems of flight lies in the belief that we have expanded our knowledge to a point at which we have absolute, predictable, and repeatable control within a tempestuous sky. We don’t, and likely never will. An analog world will simply swat away a digital mindset.

If, on the other hand, we interpret automation through the capability view of technology, automation will always be subordinate to strategy, a machine in the service of man. Further, if we approach automation as capability, we are prepared for the degradation of that capability. Such degradation merely leads to modification of the strategy. Eventually, if need be, we will fly the approach by hand, using basic or even standby instruments, still remaining within the strategy of a stable approach.

Airmanship thus begins with strategy. Prudence facilitates an expectation that the action we have taken will begin to escape our intentions. A continuous loop of taking counsel, judging of what we have learned, and executing command, modifying the scenario “according to information gathered along the way and hazards, mishaps or good fortune encountered,” tracks the action and corrects its evolution, as it is grasped by the environment, so that the strategy is preserved, or, if necessary, modified, such as when we abandon the approach and go around. In this way, we remain the obvious master of the aircraft.

But human will cannot be amplified in ignorance. We need to recalibrate our automation training paradigm. We must begin with a discussion not of how the automation works, but of how we want to fly the airplane, what the essential problems of flight are, and then augment this broad discussion of strategy with the greater capabilities afforded through automation. Likewise, in all cases, we must emphasize how degraded automation impacts that capability within the original, overarching strategy. Finally, we must remain aware of uncertainty, and reference the training curriculum to the management of uncertainty. Memorizing “the litany” in isolation just won’t cut it, because the litany is a short term program, a closed control loop.

In the end, we can only preserve mastery of the aircraft if we understand airmanship as the management of uncertainty, not simply the management of systems. We must know how the airplane is constructed to achieve the design capabilities, and match this with a strategy for how we want the airplane to be flown to utilize those capabilities, and then insist that the autoflight systems fly our plan. When those systems don’t fly our plan, we need to step in and do some of that pilot stuff. The automation can never be allowed to become the master of the airplane, obvious or otherwise; in no case can it be allowed to place the successful outcome of any maneuver in any doubt whatsoever.

That is the essential nature of the conversation that I have with the autopilot.

The post On automation and airmanship appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/08/on-automation-and-airmanship/

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 130, November 2018

Last Saturday afternoon, Mum and I visited Narre Gate Medical Center. Over the last few days, the symptoms and side effects of my medication transition has gotten progressively worse and I made the decision to take a couple of days off work as I didn’t feel fit enough to be there. My regular GP wasn’t working and so I had to take a chance and hope that Dr. Rina Dela Cruz Sangalang would take my mental health and medication issues seriously. http://www.narregatemedicalcentre.com.au/

It wasn’t surprising that we had to wait nearly an hour and a half to see her but the receptionist’s attitude towards this fact really wasn’t helping matters. Still I feel like it’s a waste of time and energy to complain. Instead I just caught up on reading my book and occasionally pulled my phone out to scroll through Facebook posts. Having my Mum there for support definitely helped as my brain was still pretty foggy and I have confidence issues when it comes to seeing a doctor that I’ve never met before. Thankfully, Dr. Rina was worth the wait. https://www.healthshare.com.au/profile/professional/178711-dr-rina-dela-cruz-sangalang/

After explaining my situation, she advised that I may have signs of Serotonin Syndrome (though in my opinion, I feel that’s highly unlikely) and recommended that I stop taking the Sertraline (Zoloft) tablets completely and continue taking the Escitalopram (Lexapro) at 5mg for the next few days. She took my blood pressure and the results were normal. She also wrote me up a referral to Casey Hospital should my symptoms get worse as well as a medical certificate for work. Whilst all that may sound pretty extreme, I do believe that she had good intentions behind it. https://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/serotonin-syndrome-causes-symptoms-treatments#1

I feel relieved that she at least took my concerns seriously and didn’t palm me off to my psychiatrist or worse not believe me. I’m hoping that this solution will work and eventually the side effects will gradually reduce in severity. Like anything, I just have to be patient and take things one day at a time. Withdrawals from a previous prescription medication are quite common and my body is still in the process of adjusting to the new one. https://www.healthline.com/health/mdd/switching-antidepressants

On Monday morning, I caught up with my mental health support worker Seb at Jamaica Blue Cranbourne. Three sessions in, I feel like it’s getting a lot easier to be comfortable and open with my support worker. I decided to try a different approach, asking Seb about how experiences with mental health issues to essentially form a foundation. He mentioned that he’s had depression and anxiety in the past as well as agoraphobia, which is the fear of leaving your own house. https://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/health/conditionsandtreatments/agoraphobia

He also told me that his mother worked as a psychiatric nurse and many of his friends have engaged in counselling and mental health services. And from that information, I feel much more at ease and reassured knowing that he’s got a firm basis in mental health problems. Discussing my own personal issues from recent medication transition and side effects to anxiety triggers and work-related stress, environmental pressures and sleep problems. https://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/health/ServicesAndSupport/types-of-mental-health-issues-and-illnesses

In that regard, he is very supportive, understanding and sympathetic. It’s still socially awkward at times but it is getting easier and sitting next to the window inside the cafe provides a nice visual buffer. It’s also nice to talk about casual things like television shows, movies, shopping and the weather outside as well as having a laugh which is always important to do. https://www.gaiam.com/blogs/discover/7-health-benefits-of-laughter

On Monday night, I attended a HIIT Power small group training session with Cinamon Guerin at CinFull Fitness. After spending the last couple of days in recovery mode, I was determined to get back into some physical exercise again as I haven’t been for a few weeks. Whilst the usual barriers were there (profuse sweating, fatigue, racing heartbeat, getting easily breathless), they didn’t stop me though I was also being mindful of my limitations. Of course I made a joke about how much I sweat and will most likely need a beach towel during summer when I’m working out.

It’s frustrating when you have so much potential but physiologically things stop you and force your body to rest. Still overall I did really well tonight. We were doing 5 rounds of one minute duration movements including: skipping, med ball slams, weighted squats, overhead press, plank holds, push ups, sit ups, alternating lunges, step jumps, alternating step lunges, kettle bell swings. Certainly a full range of movement right there and it was tough but I was determined not to give up. The Energizer Bunny is back!

On Tuesday morning, Mum and I attended the Morning Melodies social function at Balla Balla Community Centre in Cranbourne East. There was the usual attendance of regular seniors, aged care residents, people with disabilities and palliative care nurses as well as entertainer and singer Vicki Lee. The songs she chooses to cover never fail to fill me with joy and positivity such as Johnny O’ Keefe’s Sing Sing Sing, Roy Orbison’s Penny Arcade and Meatloaf’s Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad.  

But things took a turn for the worse when Mum took me out to McDonalds Clyde North as my depression seemed to cloud over. It was most likely a result of having poor quality of sleep, feeling fatigued and irritable, adjusting to my new medication and the humid windy weather outside. I’m learning to be kind and gentle toward myself during these rough mental states but it is so far from being easy to deal with.

At the time, I just wanted to cry and have a mental breakdown in front of Mum because it feels like everything is going out of control in my life. So many aspects of my life just feel like unknowns: my job, my friends, my mental health and physical fitness, my goals and my plans for the future. But it was more I was just having a shit day and I just needed to go home and rest up in bed. https://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/coping-with-depression.htm

On Tuesday night, I went to a Body Combat class with Cinamon Guerin at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. A weird thing seemed to come over me tonight in that I was fully engaged and even confident during tonight’s class. It’s weird because I haven’t been to a Combat class in weeks and yet all the movements and combos just flooded back into my body like a memory. https://www.siphilp.com/les-mills-bodycombat-77-music-track-listing.aspx

It’s one of the reasons why dragging myself to the gym is worth it because most of the time I walk away from the workout feeling lighter, more clear headed, more positive and very very sweaty! Considering how depressed and sleep deprived I’ve been feeling lately, these are the kinds of benefits that I need on a regular basis. https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/10-benefits-of-exercise

Of course there were still a couple of tracks where I found myself being rusty and uncoordinated, particularly the one involving Zumba-like dance movements and a long sequence of squat and lunge pulses which burned like hell. But I pulled through it and my “never say die” attitude remained in tact. https://www.lesmills.com.au/bodycombat

It was also really humbling to see a few past members in the class actually remember me and acknowledge me. I guess it’s one of those anxiety-driven worries that you assume you’ll be forgotten if you haven’t been to a group fitness class in weeks but the opposite is true and it’s always a big esteem booster for me. As always, Cinamon continues to make these Combat classes heaps of fun and not too serious whilst making sure everyone is putting in 110% effort.

On Thursday morning, I decided to do a workout at the YMCA Casey RACE Health Club gym. I was feeling tired, irritable, restless and unmotivated so it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that getting myself to Casey Race took a tremendous effort. On arrive, my body was desperately craving for a coffee. The cafe at the entrance was moderately packed with people but they didn’t look especially busy. My mistake!

When I walked up to the counter, I had to wait for a few minutes as there was a line of coffee orders to get done. That was perfectly fine by me and yet the wait felt excruciatingly uncomfortable for some reason. Still I tried hard to be my normal patient self. I ordered myself the usual regular latte with one sugar and full cream milk. No issues there. I decided to take a seat and wait to get called up.

The crowd began to thin and so I was about to keep an eye out for when my coffee would be ready. Fifteen minutes later, everyone else’s coffees were done and it clicked that they had forgotten my order. I really didn’t have the energy, assertiveness or desire to go back up to the counter again and so I left the cafe without my coffee. The good news is that at least I decided to still workout for a while, jumping on the upright bike and treadmill.

Whilst this reads like a “poor me” story, this was enough to trigger my depression and put me in a really bad mood. And the worse thing is that it’s so irrational to feel like this. Look back, I’m sure that they didn’t deliberately forget to make my coffee but unfortunately my brain was in such a fog and clouded with thoughts like “I guess it’s just not my day today”. I’m learning to not let one bad experience ruin my entire today but having mental illness, it’s like asking me to “just get over it”. It’s not that simple and never will be.

On Friday afternoon, I attended the The Melbourne Disability Expo held at the Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre (MCEC). Being my first at this convention, I really didn’t have any expectations at all and just gave it a casual approach. I brought my Mum along for support which meant that we were both clock-watching as she had to get back before 3pm for work. But that was fine. Honestly I get myself easily restless and drained at these types of events so I can only handle 1.5-2 hours at the most.

We listened to an NDIS National Disability Insurance Scheme presentation on the main stage which sadly wasn’t really relevant to my case but it was still very informative. Then I began targeting specific services that I thought would hopefully fit my needs and goals on the NDIS plan. My first stop was Autism Spectrum Australia (Aspect), which makes sense considering I have a diagnosis of High Functioning Autism. I am considering applying for the Aspect Employment mentoring program which could be a positive thing for me.

Next we looked into Everyday Independence who specialise in Speech Pathology, Physiotherapy and Occupational Therapy. I was pretty hesitant approaching the two ladies at the booth but I decided to give them my contact details anyway. JobCo Employment Services & NDIS is an NDIS provider which specialises in mental health issues and can provide counselling services and employment opportunities. Finally, Afford are a disability services support agency which can offer me shared accommodation and independent living.

I think the most difficult part of attending any expo, convention or festival is that high anxiety factor from dealing with other people. I’m very much confronting that salesperson phobia head-on with many reps turning their attention towards me as I’m walking past their booths. It’s extremely nerve-wracking and intimidating for me especially when I don’t have the social confidence to know exactly what to say and what questions to ask these people.

And yet I still went ahead, got out of my comfort zone and did it. I’ve collected a whole bunch of information brochures, flyers, pens and business cards to look back on. Hopefully I’ll be able to use more of my NDIS funding and engage with these services over the next 8 months into 2019 and have a clearer understanding of exactly what I want out of my life. https://www.melbournedisabilityexpo.com.au/

[hellofastestnewsfan]

Paul Volcker’s 6-foot-7-inch frame was draped over a chaise longue when I spoke with him recently in his Upper East Side apartment, in Manhattan. He is in his 91st year and very ill, and he tires easily. But his voice is still gruff, and his brain is still sharp.

We talked about his forthcoming memoir, Keeping at It: The Quest for Sound Money and Good Government—about why he wrote the book and the lessons he hopes to impart. Volcker is not a vain man, but he knows that his public life was consequential, and he wants posterity to get it right. He also does not mince words. In our conversation, he assailed the “greed and grasping” of the banks and corporate leadership, and the gross skewing of income distribution in America.

Keeping at It, written with Christine Harper, an editor at Bloomberg, is primarily the chronicle of Paul Volcker’s public life, which was spent in the thin air of global finance. After graduating from Princeton in 1949, he studied economics at Harvard and then in London, where he focused on the operations of the Bank of England. For the next 20 years, his career cycled between the U.S. Treasury and the Chase Manhattan Bank, with a particular focus on monetary affairs.

Few Americans had heard of Volcker until he was nominated, in 1979, to be chairman of the Federal Reserve Board by President Jimmy Carter, a post he held for the next eight years. During that time, he almost single-handedly pulled the nation back from a near-Weimar-scale financial collapse. If there were a Nobel Prize for government service, Paul Volcker’s name would surely be on the short list.

Volcker’s career spanned nearly the entire postwar era. World War II had ended with the United States effectively controlling the major part of the world’s wealth. In a supreme act of statesmanship, Washington offered to provide trade credits and other aid to allies and former enemies alike, so long as they adopted reasonably democratic values. The American dollar effectively became the world’s currency at its 1934 peg—$35 per ounce of gold. That worked splendidly while America’s allies were in recovery mode, but by the 1960s most industrialized countries were competitive with the United States. Swiss currency traders, the nefarious “gnomes of Zurich,” realized that America’s gold reserves could no longer support its dollar issuance. So they started testing the dollar with sudden spasms of dollar sales in the hope of forcing a devaluation.

The classic method of meeting an attack on a currency is to raise interest rates to increase the attractiveness of holding it. But this was the early 1960s, and John F. Kennedy had promised to “get this country moving again.” Higher interest rates would have scuttled that ambition. The Treasury Department hit on a temporizing solution: a tax on foreign security purchases to curb the foreign traders’ enthusiasm for holding dollars. Volcker, then a deputy undersecretary at Treasury, drafted the enabling legislation. It did not take long, however, for traders to engineer an end run around the new tax by simply keeping their dollars overseas. Thus was born the “Eurodollar,” which would proliferate wildly, quite out of the control of the Federal Reserve.

Volcker returned to Chase for several years before rejoining Treasury as undersecretary for monetary affairs in the Nixon administration. The war in Vietnam—paid for by deficit spending rather than new taxes—had triggered serious inflation. Oil imports were surging, and currency traders smelled blood. But Richard Nixon had a genius for the bold stroke. Along with John Connally, his outsize Treasury secretary, Nixon in August 1971 brought virtually his entire economics team to Camp David, where he announced that he would cut taxes, impose wage and price controls, levy a tax surcharge on all imports, and rescind the commitment to redeem dollars in gold. In his 1975 book, Before the Fall, Nixon’s über-speechwriter, William Safire, recalled, “Volcker was undergoing an especially searing experience; he was schooled in the international monetary system, almost bred to defend it.” Everyone he had worked with “trusted each other in crisis to respect the rules and cling to the few constants like the convertibility of gold.” Volcker was charged with drafting the announcement of Nixon’s new economic policies, but his moroseness showed through. Safire did the final draft, proclaiming “a triumph and a fresh start.” About Volcker himself, Safire wrote, “It was not a happy weekend for him.”

As the ’70s wound down, the dollar became a debased currency—but one that, for want of an alternative, still served as the world’s most important reserve currency. Nations might make other provisions, but that could take years. To make matters worse, an ideological cleavage between Milton Friedman’s “freshwater” Chicago monetarists and East and West Coast “saltwater” economists added an unusual testiness to the board’s discussions. Monetarists looked to the supply of money, which is the multiple of physical money—M1 in the jargon—times its velocity, or turnover rate. Friedman’s rigid version of monetarism assumed that the velocity of money was fairly stable over time, so policy makers could ignore it and steer solely by M1. (Indeed, Friedman also believed that you could eliminate the Federal Reserve Board.) Traditionalists, such as Volcker and most other saltwater economists, looked first to interest rates as a policy tool.

By the time Volcker was sworn in at the Fed, in 1979, inflation in the U.S. was running about 1 percent a month, and rising. In 1973, the OPEC countries had forsaken the hallowed $3 peg for a barrel of oil—tripling their prices and tripling them again six years later. By then, spot prices for gold were bouncing around from $235 to $578 per ounce. When the U.S. Treasury, in the early 1980s, needed to raise money, it would be forced to float bond issues in marks and yen, so far had the almighty dollar fallen.

Two months into his new job, Volcker attended a conference of central bankers in Belgrade and was shocked to find himself harangued by his peers. As he explains in his memoir, German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt, who was a friend, lectured Volcker for almost an hour “about waffling American policymakers who had let inflation run amok and undermined confidence in the dollar.” A shaken Volcker cut his trip short, got his fellow Fed members on board, and called an unusual evening press conference. Most dramatically, he stressed that he was shifting his key policy tool to monetarism. As a hedge, he also raised the Fed’s discount rate by a full point. The New York Times editorialized about the rate hike under the headline “Mr. Volcker’s Verdun,” noting that when it came to holding the line on inflation, the Fed chairman’s message echoed that of Marshal Pétain: “They shall not pass.”

At first, the experiment seemed to work. The objective was to reduce the money supply and thereby bring down prices. By January 1980, however, the numbers were going haywire. Perversely, inflation took off—it reached an annual rate of almost 15 percent. The Fed’s technical staff ruefully admitted that Friedman’s money-supply theory was not precise enough to form a basis for effective policy. The Fed board maintained its monetarist rhetoric, but Volcker shifted back to raising interest rates in order to wring inflation from the economy. This was language that all businesspeople understood. The bank prime rate eventually jumped to 21.5 percent, T-bills hit 17 percent, and prime mortgages were at 18 percent. Those rates were the highest the country had ever seen. Volcker went on a grueling speaking tour to bolster the case for what he was doing.

By the time Ronald Reagan was inaugurated, in 1981, the U.S. economy had slipped into a deep recession, one for which the Volcker Shock was largely blamed. Unemployment neared 11 percent. Volcker became a target of popular anger. One welcome ray of sunshine came from the White House, with Reagan giving full support to the continuation of Volcker’s program. (Volcker later said, “I don’t kiss men, but I was tempted.”) Another came from the American Home Builders Association, in early 1982. Its industry had been badly hit by the recession, but Volcker gave a tough speech to the association about staying the course against inflation, and was amazed to get a standing ovation.

Inflation—blessedly—broke in mid-1982. The second half of the year saw a flat consumer price index. Real GDP for 1983 was a very respectable 4.6 percent and  a blistering 7.2  in 1984. By 1986 annual inflation had come down to only 2 percent. The crisis was effectively over. After 1982, Americans enjoyed the lowest interest rates (with a blip here and there) among the major industrial countries, and interest rates are low to this day. The second half of the 1990s was one of the most prosperous periods in history—there was a twin boom in high technology and in housing. Volcker attributes the crash that came in both industries to the same “greed and grasping” he cited when we spoke.

Volcker served two terms as the chairman of the Fed, giving way to Alan Greenspan in 1987. By that time, the challenges confronting the Fed had moved to new arenas—like the reckless “oil lending” by the big American banks to Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, and a string of smaller countries. In Keeping at It, Volcker writes, “Looking back, I see Latin America today as a sad culmination of hard-fought, constructive efforts to deal with a debt crisis that, aided and abetted by reckless bank lending practices, grew out of a chronic absence of suitably disciplined economic policies.” Volcker will never escape a Fed-inflected prose style, but his assessment is spot-on.

Retirement has treated Volcker well. He did some teaching and loved it. He spent 10 contented years as the chief executive of Wolfensohn & Company, an old-fashioned investment bank, which mostly gave advice on mergers and acquisitions. When he retired, he had plenty of time for nonprofit activities and was much in demand. He chaired inquiries into the ownership of Jewish art sequestered in Swiss bank vaults; the massive theft from food and medical programs after the Iraq War; and corruption in the World Bank.

Volcker also played an important role in the cleanup after the 2008–2009 crash. His advice was widely solicited, if not always followed. In his memoir, he describes sitting at a conference and listening to bankers warn that new regulations must not inhibit trading and “innovation.” He finally exploded: “Wake up, gentlemen. I can only say that your response is inadequate. I wish that somebody would give me some shred of neutral evidence about the relationship between financial innovation recently and the growth of the economy, just one shred of information.” His lasting contribution from this period is the so-called Volcker Rule, which bars traders from taking risky positions with depositors’ funds, and which he summarizes as “Thou shall not gamble with the public’s money.”

[Read more: Wall Street has basically the same culture that led to the 2008 crash. ]

Keeping at It is not a tell-all book. Volcker’s subject matter is economic policy, and his praise or criticism is almost entirely directed at specific ideas and actions. His first wife, Barbara Bahnson, died in 1998. In 2010, he married his longtime assistant, Anke Dening. There is not much of a personal nature in the book, and yet, unwittingly, it paints an accurate personal portrait. The picture that emerges is of a man of granitic integrity, committed to what he perceives as wise policies—committed, that is, to what he calls The Verities: stable prices, sound finance, and good government.

The secret of Paul Volcker was his father. Paul Adolph Volcker Sr. was almost as tall as his son. He was an engineer, with a degree from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, and he went on to become a city manager. The city he was most identified with was Teaneck, New Jersey, a municipality that had fallen prey to a corrupt political machine. It was the kind of challenge that Paul Sr. leaped at. In his son’s memoir, Paul Sr. is always working; even after a long day, he drove around his modest empire and made note of broken traffic lights, spilled garbage, and other petty violations. They were not petty to him. The city fathers once tried to can him for hiring a professional police chief. They couldn’t fire him, but they could stop paying him. Paul Sr. went to court and got his pay—and got his police chief. Exactly what his son would have done.

There are few people like Paul Volcker in the U.S. government today, or in business, for that matter—respected and trusted by everyone, whatever the disagreements, and motivated by public service. Volcker reveled in his middle-class status. He notes in his memoir that, in the 1960s and 1970s, Washington was “mostly populated by middle-class professionals, including families of civil servants and members of Congress,” and that “there wasn’t great wealth.” Now, he writes, Washington is “dominated by wealth” and by “lobbyists who are joined at the hip” with people in government, whether on the Hill or in the executive branch.

As a result, he says simply, “I stay away.”

from The Atlantic https://ift.tt/2CRHiWA