#Socrates Flopped

[commissions-yourmajesty-open]

“It’s lonely out here… We said we hated humans, we wanted to be humans.”

My friend @i-h4te-po3try likes WW and Will Torpedo

[kebriones]

Everyone knows the David painting of Socrates' death, which is obviously the best one, but I quite like this one from Francois Xavier Fabre

For one, because it has a lyre next to Socrates, probably referencing that near the end of his life he apparently was told in a dream to start composing music, which i think is fun, and secondly, and most importantly, because of the guy in red on the right corner. He's such a mood. I love him so much.

[siena-sevenwits]

A student just phoned me to ask if it would be okay for her to design costumes "A Midsummer Night's Dream," which we read earlier this semester, and send her sketches to me, because the idea was exciting to her. And I am just.. yes, girl! Did you think I would say no?

Yesterday I had a whole situation where I had to deal with a couple of students who threw slurs in class, contacting families and my administrator, etc., and the whole thing was disheartening. It was also one of those days when I was exhausted and feeling like all my classes are flops and that my kids deserve a better teacher, etc. (Which they do! But that better teacher is me, trying harder and being more open to grace.)

And then today, so much encouragement. That student loving a play so much she wants to interpret it through her art and share it. A student who told me she signed up for my Canadian history class next semester because she found out I was teaching it. Two students who starting bringing their own Socratic questions to ask in class, which catapulted great discussions! A student saying the song I played at the end of class made her day.

Just... emotional generosity on the part of anyone is an incredible thing, but especially from high schoolers, who are facing a lot of insecurity and stress, for whom vulnerability is a risk like no other time in their life. And I get students who show me their hearts, who take things on because of passion, who give of themselves to benefit the class.

THAT is what gives me encouragement. Not looking at myself and my flaws (though that's healthy done correctly.) But I have to remember - what encourages me in this work is not self congratulation over a lesson plan that worked. What encourages me is seeing the students flourish, because they are coming into their own, and letting their interest grow, and being kind enough to show when a moment is making a difference for them.

[triviaans]

Christopher Plummer plays what famous tutor to Alexander the Great in Oliver Stone's 2004 flop "Alexander"?

Christopher Plummer plays what famous tutor to Alexander the Great in Oliver Stone's 2004 flop "Alexander"?

Plato Aristotle Socrates Sophocles Euripides

Answer: Aristotle

[wiw3]

The Doubt of a Soul Returning

Nobody died, at least not that I know of, this is a lot less dramatic than that, but it’s still something that’s weighing on my mind today and I really want to talk about it because I finally feel like I’m able to. I’m just going to stamp kind-of a trigger warning on this in general, since the things I’m about to ramble on and on about today might actually bring people down, so I hope that you respect my candor, as I get the story that kneecapped my D&D group out in the open, and off of my chest.

So, let’s get started. My Spring Break last year was spent on vacation, here’s the kicker, though. It was my first adult vacation all by myself, and all things considered, it could’ve gone much worse, but I’m still not entirely satisfied with how things have shaken out, so I’m going to do my best to put my feelings into words on this vacation, because this is going to be a long one with a lot of nuance to sort through, let’s take the dive, shall we?

I wasn’t flying anywhere, but I knew people who were flying to see me, among other people. The vacation consisted of my entire D&D group available at the time, and at first, things were amazing. We shared meals, sang, partied, really raised the roof on the place, but did so as respectfully as the many 20-somethings residing there could, within reason.

I got a few of them high, and that was going to prove to be one of my biggest mistakes that I’d ever made for that group, and I hadn’t even known that it was going to be. For the sake of remaining as 20-something as possible about this, I’m going to not name names, this is just where this story lives, now, because I can’t keep walking around thinking about it anymore.

The two that I’d gotten high actually seemed to be attempting to run the numbers of the group, in a sexual way. Entirely unbeknownst to me, there were promises made of dates, sex, and different types of debauchery that I had no fundamental interest in exploring or hearing about, so let me answer the question everyone has in their head reading this sect. “If you didn’t know about it, then how are you telling us about it?” Well, I believe it was Socrates who once said that they figured it out.

I was heavily detoxing at the time, also unbeknownst to me. My skin was clammy, pale, and I was practically sick to my stomach for this entire dramatic event, making it even more necessary that I finally just spill everything here. They didn’t make it easy on me, that group, but I can’t blame them. It’s none of their faults, they’re just operating on instinct and not precisely thinking through why their wants are bad for them, but it was obvious from the point that I’d seen three people exiting the party to watch a kid’s movie. 

I just decided not to talk about it, until a night or so later, during which, I’d heard a knocking, heavy and irritated, on the bedroom door of the two devious party-members. Someone was angry with someone. I had to dash down the stairs in an absolutely-mad dash. You have to keep in mind that we were all in our 20s, I didn’t want any of my friends hurting any others.

So I intercepted. I ran interference and fielded their problems. It was one of the most intense conversations of my life. I flopped like a fish, and tragically, had to lie to inject perspective to the situation, writ large.

It was something I regret. Lying makes me feel dirty. It’s something that eats away at me perpetually if I don’t apologize for lying after the fact, but I never lie to get out of things, or to make life easier. I do it when someone needs to see something that I’m trying to show them, but they don’t want to hear what I have to say. Perspective. It’ll shock your culture.

So I have this intense heart-to-heart with the two people who probably got the rawest, shortest end of the stick as far as their feelings being validated were concerned. I didn’t pity them, but I sympathized, so I promised to try my best, but inversely, I had to make them promise that they’d be okay with the outcome, regardless of what it was.

With a hesitant agreement struck between friends, for the next few hours, I would stand guard. I didn’t want another soul coming for what they thought was their rightful property, so I rooted myself by the doorframe of the bedroom in such a way that you weren’t getting to their room without tripping over my fat ass.

Remember, you can always be an obstacle.

When the sun began to rise, (I’d only gotten two hours of sleep at this point.) I grabbed a bobby-pin and picked the lock on their bedroom, entering, myself, and closing it behind me. Foregone privacy be dashed, I guess. Allowing myself in, I slowly and gently awaited their circadian rhythms to wake them up. They drifted open at the same time, to see me, like a fat gargoyle home-invader, sitting over them. I wish I was a better person then, because I looked at them as they woke up and, hypocritically-speaking, asked: “When has it ever been a good idea to not tell me the whole truth?”

And of course, they were slack-jawed as to what I was referring to, an enlightening conversation took place, and I laid down the law. Strictly, I told them that we were going to bring the others in, sit down, and establish a timeline, then apologize to each other, like adults do.

I was told after the fact that if I hadn’t done it in that way, if I hadn’t forcibly held them accountable like that, then they’d probably would’ve run after it. The two sides really showed a lot of amicable forgiveness to one another. It was my best effort to validate them, let everyone involved know that they are loved, appreciated, and cared for within my group.

But after that vacation, everyone drifted apart. False accusations lead to two members leaving almost immediately. One became much more withdrawn, and no longer initiates conversations with me. Another, we can only guess as to their whereabouts. A third person now is fanatically-obsessed with another, and doesn’t talk about it, gets irritated when probed.

Another became more scarce, as well. Disappeared for about a month, post-event, but thankfully, returned to the good graces, as a pillar to our little community.

At no point during that event, was I asked how I felt about it. So this is how I feel about it. I think the choices my friends made were stupid, selfish, and reckless.

I forgive them, and I love them, even so. I hold my friends accountable, just as I hold myself the most accountable. There were better ways to handle that situation, but I can’t keep wasting time spinning my wheels thinking about what I could’ve done differently. The old adage really means that what’s done, really is done, and there isn’t any going back, and there isn’t any fixing anything any better than the duct-tape patchwork job I did.

All friends drift apart, maybe it speaks to my inability to accept change, and my insecurity that everyone will one day, leave me. The fear of abandonment can sometimes override the love I have for my friends, and I worry that the same sentiment has infected them.

Relationships are improving, for the most part. The group themselves are slowly getting together, more. I feel like we’re truly on the upswing, as D&D groups go. There is just one person who still hasn’t returned. It’s been months, and in my heart of hearts, I’ve lost faith that they’ll ever come back to us. Their profile sits in our chatroom like a relentless tumor, metastasized to infect the group with a virus of “We’re just not going to talk about this.” as it is, it’s a part we don’t talk about.

But maybe we should.

[procrastinating-falcon]

Plato's Symposium is basically half the characters simping for Socrates, change my mind.

[marganuniverse]

Day Two Prompts: “Do you know who I am?” - Amnesia - Time/Dimension Travel - Age Regression

It happens in the middle of a debriefing.

A shower of sparkles enveloped Neal, drawing startled yelps from the people sitting around him. By the time the air clears enough to see him, he's been replaced by a teen.

Both parties stare bemusedly at each other.

"Uh, hi?" The teen greets. Despite the awkwardness he still comes across as earnest, in a very enduring way. He attempts a wave, but no matter how well built a teen is, they can't quite fill out an adult's suit. Neal's long sleeve flops with the wave until the teen catches the end and unbuttons them to fold the excess cloth back.

"Um," the team says in unison. There are other agents from the floor peering in the glass-walled meeting room, with varying levels of discretion. Peter voices the first thing on their mind:

"What happened to Neal?"

-

They eventually manage to establish that they're speaking to Superboy for some reason, whose last memory was fighting against some magic user that was definitely out of White Collar's jurisdiction. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but he was pretty sure that it was an issue on his side and that Neal was likely with his team (probably in Superboy's clothes, which had to be awkward considering that Neal was slightly larger than Superboy) and the issue should be resolved soon, and their consultant would be back with them safe and sound in no time.

Superboy looks oddly unworried at the idea that his team of teenaged friends might be fighting some nefarious magical supervillian without him, but he shrugs when asked. "I can't hear them, which means that they've likely gone back to base and/or are in the middle of something else, and it's not like I'ld be much use hovering alone around the base. Klarion's not that dangerous in the grand scheme of things, he just likes to cause a bit of chaos. It'll be easier if I stay somewhere familiar to Neal in case they have to find me."

It's a remarkably level-headed decision, for a teen.

With a bland sigh, Hughes also points out that the FBI didn't really have a protocol for their Criminal Informants switching clothes, tracking anklet included, with a teenage superhero. And in the event that they switched back the same way, leaving Superboy with all of Neal's trapping would be the quickest way to get the tracking anklet back on Neal. Superboy's not too bothered by the restrictions, absorbed by his self-assigned task of poking through Neal's desk, absently fiddling with the hat Neal left on the Socrates bust as White Collar debated on how to handle the situation.

"Makes sense," was all he offered when asked.

It didn't take long for the office to drift back to work, the excitement of having a superhero wearing off in favour of the mountains of work to tackle before the weekend. Peter kept Superboy by his desk, in part to keep an eye on him, in part for lack of a better option. There wasn't much to do in the White Collar office for a teen, but Superboy amused himself by folding spare bits of paper.

By the time the sparks make a reappearance, Peter had amassed a small menagerie of paper animals. From a simple leaping frog to a partly-assembled dragon, they were all abandoned as Superboy leapt back from the desk, sparks charring the dragon-to-be. In the time Peter was occupied with frantically slapping at the smothering paper, Neal had returned, rather more rumpled than he had been in the meeting.

There was a moment of blankness as Neal took in the room, from the bustling open office on the other side of the glass walls, to the photos Peter kept on the windowsill. A moment when there was something dangerous in the way Neal held himself, that Peter had never seen before. The moment passed, and the smile Neal shot him was strangely reminiscent of the boy that had been standing there.

"Hey Peter," Neal greeted, clearly turning up the charm and sauntering towards the door. "I'll just be… going for today. Haha, magic stuff. Super tiring."

He didn’t wait for an answer, slipping through the door and hurrying out of the office. 

“Huh,” was all Peter could say, watching his CI hurry out the door. At least the tracker was back on the right person.

-

When Neal got home, he could hear the light buzzing of his communicator in the hidden compartment beside his bed. He risked using a little superspeed to cross the apartment, but his hands were as careful as the hands that had crafted the origami in the office. He had other ways of practicing control of his superstrength now, but the memory of guiding gentle folds of paper from the afternoon still calmed him.

Listening to his friends check in on the communicator settled him further, and he even managed to crack a smile as his team’s Robin corralled them into a quick debriefing. Turned out that Klarion had set a delayed de-aging curse from all those years back and nobody had noticed.

It was hard to believe that of all of them, Superboy had grown to be the main investigator of the white collar crime committed by the various nefarious villains the Justice League faced, but it was still nice to hear from his friends while he was undercover. Neal leaned back, listening to the chatter. He missed his old team, but the new team he was settling in with was satisfying in their own way.

[clumsyclifford]

is this a prompt? does he know by 1d... has a lashton vibe

not REALLY related because i made this fic a non-sketchy version of does he know but when i started writing this fic i went to look up the lyrics to does he know on genius and i CANT STOP LAUGHING AT THE SONG BIO ALFKGJFDKGMKZCJB

ANYWAY MOVING ON LETS GET TO THE FIC LAKFJGJKFDMG

-

Ashton likes to think he’s largely unflappable, but holy shit this guy is hot.

Usually Ashton doesn’t notice, but he’d happened to skim his eyes over the front door just as the most attractive person Ashton has objectively ever seen pushes through it, arm slung very unfortunately over some other bloke’s shoulders. Ashton can’t tear his eyes away. There’s a messy flop of golden curls on the guy’s head and he’s got these broad shoulders and legs that just go on forever, and Ashton can’t breathe, honestly, he can’t.

“Oh, holy fuck,” Calum murmurs. Ashton starts; he’d forgotten about Calum for a moment. “Did you see that guy who just came in?”

“The blond? Yeah, holy fuck.”

“No, not him,” Calum says dismissively. “I mean — he’s fine, but I meant the other one. The friend. Bright red hair.” 

They’re both still watching as the pair make their way into the crowd of people at the party, both waving at folks left and right like they frequent this place.

“Huh,” Ashton says, staring after the blond. “Uh, I guess? Not really my type, but, um, go for it?”

“I don’t think I can go for it,” Calum says dryly, as the redhead smacks a sloppy kiss to the blond’s cheek and then disappears among the people. 

Ashton sighs loudly. “Fucking hell. All the good ones.”

“I’ll fucking drink to that,” Calum says, and indeed does drink to that. In fact, he finishes his drink to that, and then says, “Okay, I’m gonna go get more alcohol and pretend I’m not thinking about that red-haired guy,” and vanishes before Ashton can ask Calum to grab him another drink too.

Ashton leans against the wall, letting the energy of the party wash over him, all the terrible music and loud chatter and bad dancing. Not to mention the lingering scent of weed. 

Caught up and eyes unfocused, he doesn’t really notice the hot blond guy turn until they’ve locked gazes. Ashton’s eyes widen and he quickly looks elsewhere, but when he sneaks a look back, the blond guy is ducking his head. His cheeks are flushed, and unless he’s managed to get wasted in the time since he’d come into the party, he’s blushing.

Well. Fuck. That’s no good.

And then the blond guy starts picking his way over towards Ashton.

Fuck.

There’s no way to escape this without being rude. Ashton could act disinterested, maybe, but honestly he’s not sure he’s that good of an actor. Closer up, Ashton can see the piercing blue of hot blond guy’s eyes and — his cheeks are shimmering, and so are his eyes. He’s wearing makeup. Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay. Fuck.

“Hi,” says hot blond guy, with a broad grin. “Any particular reason you were staring at me?”

“I wasn’t,” Ashton blurts out. “I didn’t say I minded,” hot blond guy says, smirking. “I’m Luke.”

Ashton grasps for something to say, and then realizes the polite thing would be to introduce himself. “Ashton.”

“Ashton,” Luke says appreciatively, and Ashton wants him to repeat just that forever, just say Ashton’s name until he’s forgotten how to say anything else. It sounds like a song when it rolls off Luke’s tongue. “Nice to meet you, Ashton.”

“You too,” Ashton says. His mouth feels dry. How do you hold a conversation? What’s an appropriate thing to ask? Hey, could you maybe go spend time in a room where I can’t see you? I think you’re really hot but I don’t want to piss off your boyfriend because he looks metal as fuck.

“What are you studying?” Luke asks.

Studying. Studying? Because college, Ashton’s brain helpfully supplies. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, philosophy.”

“Fuck,” Luke says, eyebrows raised. “That’s a major for sure.”

“I like it.”

“You’d have to, to major in it,” Luke says. “‘S just inane chatter to me, but to each their own, I guess.”

“It’s not —” Ashton bites down on his incensed comment in defense of philosophy, because Luke looks like he’s joking. “Uh, what about you?”

“Maths,” Luke says. “Something logical, that has concrete answers.”

“God, but at what cost?”

Luke laughs. It fills the room. “You’re not one to judge my major, Mr. Socrates.”

“That’s Your Majesty Socrates to you.”

Luke bows exaggeratedly. “Sorry, of course, Your Majesty Socrates.” Heat pools in Ashton’s stomach. 

This is bad. This is really, really not good, because any minute now, Ashton’s going to say something terrible like will you come back to my room with me? or does your boyfriend know you’re talking to me? or something like that, and everything will be in shambles. Ashton should cut this off right now. 

“Do you want a drink?” is what he says instead, like a fucking moron.

Luke smiles lightly. “Tempted to take you up on that,” he says, “but no, Michael’s getting me one.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or at least he should be.”

“Michael?” 

“Hey!” As if summoned, the red-haired guy from before materializes, throwing his arm over Luke’s shoulder and handing him a red solo cup. “Drink up, young padawan.”

“You’re a fucking nerd,” Luke says, with so much fondness that Ashton feels violently like he’s witnessing a private moment. To Ashton, Luke gestures to the guy who presumably is Michael and says, “Michael.”

“Michael! That’s me,” Michael announces loudly, grinning. “Who’s this?”

“Ashton,” Luke says before Ashton can answer. “He’s a philosophy major.”

“Holy shit, man,” Michael says, with a look of pure disgust. “How.”

“That’s what I wondered.”

“I like it,” Ashton says again, wondering if he’s really going to have to defend philosophy as an area of study tonight, at this party he’s increasingly thinking he shouldn’t have come to. “Anyway, Luke’s a maths major, so I don’t really think I deserve to be judged.”

“Please, I know that,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “Luke’s the absolute worst. You know he got a tattoo of the quadratic formula without telling anyone? Not even because of any fucking sentiment. He just likes the quadratic formula.”

“I like to sing the song!” Luke protests weakly, while Ashton snorts a laugh. Before he can ask — or refrain from asking — to see it, Michael is pulling at the collar of Luke’s shirt until it dips enough for Ashton to glimpse what is most decidedly the quadratic formula in black ink. Ashton’s breath catches in his throat.

“And he has the nerve to call me a nerd,” Michael grumbles, releasing Luke’s collar but resting his hand instead on Luke’s shoulder. 

“Sounds like you guys know each other really well,” Ashton says, hating himself.

Luke nods. “Unfortunately.”

Michael elbows Luke. “Hey, fuck you. You love that I know everything about you. That’s what makes us so good.”

“I love that you blast Stacy’s Mom to wake me up every morning because I had one two-week obsession with it freshman year?” Luke says, dry.

“Yes you do,” Michael says, smirking. “I hear you singing it under your breath when you think I have headphones in. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Luke says threateningly, and Michael giggles.

Ashton wonders if there’s a sly way to flee this situation.

“Hey!” Oh, thank fucking God. Calum. Ashton turns, relieved, but Calum’s not looking at him; he’s looking at Michael, and looking affronted. “What happened to back in a sec?”

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Michael says. “Had to get Luke his drink and then I got caught up.”

“Wait,” Ashton says, looking between Calum and Michael. “Cal?”

Calum looks at Ashton and then sees Luke, and his mouth curves into a big smile. He approaches Ashton and whispers in his ear, “They’re not boyfriends! Shoot your shot!”

“What do you mean they’re not boyfriends,” Ashton whispers through gritted teeth.

“Exactly that,” Calum whispers back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go seduce the hell out of Michael, although I will give you the room if you work it out with Luke.” Calum kisses his cheek and then whirls away, and Michael gives a little wave as they head deeper into the party.

Ashton turns to Luke, though he’s not sure what he’ll say, but Luke is just watching Calum. “Your boyfriend?” Luke asks, a steely edge to his voice.

“No!” Ashton almost shouts. Luke looks surprised. “No, holy fuck, Calum? Just my roommate. And, like, best friend, but — God, no.”

“Oh,” Luke says, and smiles. “Good.”

“And Michael’s not your boyfriend?” Ashton says carefully. Luke makes a face like he’s just swallowed something very sour.

“I’d rather kiss a monkey than Michael,” he says flatly. “I mean, I love him, but no way.”

“Huh,” Ashton says, and watches as Luke takes a long drink from his cup, Adam’s apple bobbing. He traces the column of Luke’s throat with his gaze and then keeps going, giving Luke a full once-over. When he looks back up, Luke is watching him.

“So there was a reason you were staring,” Luke says lightly. His eyes give him away, though, intense and fiery, like a challenge he’s waiting to issue.

Ashton swallows. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, come on,” Luke says, edging closer with a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. Ashton watches him swipe his tongue over his lips and wonders if it’s possible to suffer a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-one. “Game’s up, Ashton. Cards on the table.”

“I don’t play poker.”

“There are better ways to reject someone’s advances,” Luke says calmly.

Ashton wonders why he’s the world’s biggest dumbass. “I’m not rejecting your advances.”

“Good,” Luke says, so close now that Ashton can feel his breath, can practically taste the awful beer in Luke’s cup. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Ashton breathes, and Luke grins, absolutely filthy and gorgeous.

“Lead the way.”

[kebriones]

Modern university AU Socrates always shows up to classes in flip flops, even in the middle of winter.

[thelastranger]

BB as very specific things my friends, people on my floor, and I have done this past year

Hal: wandered into an abandoned building the first week, somehow acquired an industrial security camera that sat in the common lobby for months, built rocket shoes

Stig: referred to the gym as "the church of iron", submitted a picture of Chris Hemsworth as him for dorm pictures, broke 3 plastic spoons trying to eat a pint of ice cream

Ingvar: gave a Ted Talk about fishing reels, smuggled out naan from the dining hall to toast it in the toaster oven, watched Veggie Tales until 1 in the morning

Edvin: knitted a fake beard to use in an ancient Athens academic roleplaying game first semester then used the beard again second semester for a Council of Nicaea roleplaying game, made poutine for Canadian Thanksgiving, has a model train set in his dorm room

Ulf: shared his name with two other guys on the floor, named his fish Lazarus after it flopped on the ground for 4 hours before going back in the bowl and living another two months, played the wedding march on a kazoo while walking back to the dorm

Wulf: covered someone's dorm room with ripped up academic journals, locked all the doors so the RAs had to check all the rooms after open house hours had ended, made people hate the song "Werewolves of London"

Jesper: forged a fake birth certificate for the aforementioned Nicaea game, participated in a bed race but wore boots and had to borrow someone's tennis shoes to run in, broke into the nature preserve after dark to watch a meteor shower

Stefan: ran an anonymous meme page that started at least 5 different witch hunts for the owner, started the dark side of the quote door that visiting students weren't allowed to look at, ended up getting a tri-scooter and 2 couches in a game of bigger or better

Lydia: had a Nerf gun battle with a five year old, started a feud between Texas and Canada, convinced her boyfriend that they didn't have gogurts in her state

Thorn: was a lumberjack before becoming a professor, had to be Socrates in the Athens roleplaying game and died, came into the 8 am class holding a suspicious glass of unidentifiable red liquid

[loyolahcmass]

Homily on Banks by NEEDTOBREATHE

Here is the preview of Fr. Rossi’s homily about the song Banks by NEEDTOBREATHE:

“Banks”

By

NEEDTOBREATHE

 You are beautiful and wild at every turn

Who am I to take control of that

But everybody needs a voice they can follow

When the water and the winds get bad.

 As you probably know, NEEDTOBREATHE is an American Rock band from the back country of South Carolina.

 Brothers William Stanley "Bear" Rinehart III and Nathaniel Bryant "Bo" Rinehart were raised in the tiny town of Possum Kingdom. 

 Isn’t that a great name for a hometown?

__________

 The Rinehart brothers grew up at a church camp that their father, who was a pastor, ran.

 The brothers first performed in front of coffee house audiences at Furman University, a Baptist school, where Bear was attending.

 After graduation, Bear, Bo and Joe Stillwell joined with Seth Bolt, releasing independent albums.

__________

 The name of the band is based on a Greek parable of Socrates related to seeking God.

 Bo Rinehart indicates that it was better than other names that the band had at the time.

 And, more importantly, seeking God was something that was important to all the members of the band.

__________

 The band has been releasing albums consistently since 2001.

 But NEEDTOBREATHE sat down last year to plot their new album and decided to try something different.

__________

 Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, the band is pushing the "Out of Body Experience”.

 An out-of-body experience (OBE) is a phenomenon in which a person perceives the world and themselves from a location outside their physical body.

 In other words, the band is trying for “the bigger picture”: a-God’s-eye-view of their lives.

__________

 Putting it in concrete terms, they’re aiming to be more direct, more immediate in their music.

 To achieve this, the group embarked on reflection sessions that self-consciously aimed to help them be more aware of themselves, their lives, and their relationships.

 Their 2020 album 'Out of Body' is the result.

 And it's a stellar turn, one that pushes NEEDTOBREATHE to a higher level.

__________

 The fifth album cut, “Banks,” has become a firm favorite with fans.

 It’s the sound of the group unaffectedly saluting their feminine side.

 An ode to the strong women they love, it now comes equipped with a Chris Phelps directed video, which is very warm and intimate in several ways.

__________

 Twisting the anthemic song into a campfire sing-along, the video is a moment of unity in a year marked by solitary expression thanks to Covid-19.

 “This song is about the women in our lives,” the band shared.

 They are strong, ambitious, patient, caring, and intelligent forces of nature,”. 

 “‘Banks’ is our way of saying we love and support you.

 “And there’s nothing more beautiful than watching you effortlessly become the very thing you were made to be.”

__________

 “I wanna hold you close but never hold you back

Just like the banks to the river.

And if you ever feel like you are not enough

I'll be the banks for your river.”

 Their wives have supported them from the band's early days and in “Banks,” they use several river metaphors to assure them of their love. 

 Like “riverbanks,” when the current gets strong, they'll be there for their partners and hold them, but never hold them back.

 Bear Rinehart explained: "It is a promise and a reminder that whether we are near or miles apart, our love for them grows and strengthens with every day."

__________

 He stresses the fact that through growing up in their father’s church they learned the importance of music.

 And, specifically, the importance of gospel music to the people they love.

 "We learned what gospel was and the fact that it's a lifeline for a family.

__________

 “It's more meaningful than most pop music you come by. 

 Our wives are living this.

 And I think that's something we carry into the track “Banks” as we’re thinking about them." 

__________

 "We think of ourselves as a rock and roll band now, no doubt.

 “But we believe there is some higher meaning in the things that we do, and the relationships were in."

 Think about it. That’s amazing!

 When was the last time you heard a rock band say that?

__________

 “This is a new teaching.”

Gospel of Mark

 In today’s gospel, the people are listening to Jesus and they are also amazed.

 They notice that Jesus’ teaching is always consistent.

 There are no flip-flops, no hypocrisy.

__________

 There’s no divide between his words and his actions. 

 Jesus lives as he teaches.

 And whatever he says and does is a reflection of the love he has for the people in his life.

__________

 The people couldn’t believe it; they’d never seen this before.

 In fact, they had been witnessing just the opposite.

 Their religious and spiritual teachers said one thing but did another.

__________

 That’s what I like about NEEDTOBREATHE.

 They live as they sing.

 And they genuinely love the women in their lives in the same Christ-like way.

 “I'll be the banks for your river.”

[things-we-used-tc-share]

Said it was the last time, last time

Title from Fallin’ (temptation) by grandson. 

Warnings: Running away from home, undiagnosed mental illness, brief descriptions of suicidal thoughts and manic depression, smoking, abusive home lives

Ship: Prinxiety

Plot: It’s not the first time Patton has woken up to find his son has run away again, but it’s the time that makes him break. (Vent!fic) Virgil and Patton are both bipolar, Roman has a hyperactivity disorder, Logan is a cop.

--

6am, the wind rolls down the street in shades of pinks and reds, the turn of the streets opens into warm air, and Virgil Sanders hurtles down the middle of the road on a bike that isn’t his. The sheer euphoria and adrenaline he gets from this intertwine with the guilt of seeing his father’s face when he eventually gets back home, eventually, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week, maybe in a month. He’ll say it’s the last time, and then he’ll do it again.

But he knows he won’t understand. How could he possibly understand what Virgil himself does not understand? The quiet streets feel like home, the knife in his pocket feels like safety and the bridge at the end of their town looks like an inviting way to die. How does a son tell his fathers that despite how wonderful they are he can’t stop thinking about dangling head first into a pile of rocks? Or setting fire to something or stealing someone’s bike, or setting himself on fire, or all of the above. At once. 

--

2am, Virgil sits on the bridge with a cigarette and watches the waves as they lap against rocks that would be a death wish to jump onto. A car drives past and he startles just a little, the car stops. Lazily, Virgil contemplates the fact he might be about to die, he hopes they let him finish his cigarette first. 

Instead, wordlessly, someone else clambers up on the railings and sits down on the edge “I thought I’d be alone tonight,” The stranger says, lighting his own cigarette “But I suppose death with company is better than no death at all,” Virgil snorts at this, shaking his head. 

“It’s probably better no death at all is involved,” He swings his legs back over the railings and slides to the concrete ground “I’d be a number one murder suspect, and I don’t think tonight is the night I pop my clogs, come on Socrates, time to get off that ledge,” The stranger obliges and watches the water from safety, smoking and exhaling in a slow and careful rhythm. “My name’s Virgil,”

“Roman,” 

“Nice car,”

“Thanks, it’s my dad’s,” Virgil’s eyebrows raise “I sort of stole it?” They’re going to get along just fine. “Technically, it’s going to be mine anyway,” Virgil smiles and nods. 

--

7am in the winter sunrise, Virgil pedals like his life depends on it “Wrong place and wrong time?” Roman calls out of his window, Virgil ditches the bike to clamber in “Oh we’re in so much shit,” The blue lights flicker behind them and Virgil can’t help but laugh.

“We’re not going to jail for borrowing a bike,” Virgil points out “Especially as we’re both underage,” Roman shakes his head “Don’t ask how I know that,” The elder sighs and pulls the car over. “Hey, I guess that means you get to meet my dads,” 

The ride to the police station was sort of peaceful, the officer looks at Virgil and sighs “Your dads are such good people, done a lot for this community Verge, I don’t know what’s going on with you, you were such a good kid,” Virgil rolls his eyes and retorts with:

“Save the emotional manipulation, pops is going to give me enough of that,”

Patton Sanders is a very soft-spoken and emotional man. Roman takes one look at him and his eyebrows practically fly into his hairline “Your dad is Patton Sanders? The best baker in the entirety of Florida? And you held that out on me?” Patton smiles kindly at the two boys and shakes his head. 

“Roman, nice to see you, how’s your dad?”

“Still an asshole,” Patton smiles, and the cell opens, he wraps an arm around Virgil and shakes his head, the smile slipping. 

“There’s only so many times I can do this,” Virgil shrugs. “Roman your dad called ahead to say you’re too come home with us, he sounded drunk so it’s probably for the best,” Roman was not going to complain, he grabs his bag and trails behind the two.  So if Patton is Virgil’s dad, that means his other dad must be...Roman’s eyes widen and he immediately looks like he wants to bolt. “Logan’s making some coffee, I think it’s time we all have a talk,” Roman throws up onto the pavement “His reputation seems to precede him as always,”

“Logan Sanders? Oh why didn’t I make that connection sooner, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, I don’t like the idea of spending life in jail because your dad’s a cop!” Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Stop being such a pussy, if you don’t like cops you probably shouldn’t have stolen your dad’s Ferrari,” He’s right, Roman shuts up. The Sanders house is a relatively normal house, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a living room, it’s homely, cozy, not too big and not too small, and smelled like pastries. Logan is sat at the table with a book open and a cup of coffee on the table. 

Roman is used to seeing Captain Sanders bulked up in uniform and with a gun strapped to his hip but sat in the kitchen table with a dressing gown and hair mussed from sleep, he doesn’t look quite as intimidating. Glasses balanced on his nose, cold blue eyes flickering across the pages of his book. He looks up and gives a small smile “Virgil, Roman, nice to see you,” He closes the book and stands up, giving Patton a small kiss on the cheek and then shaking his head at Virgil “I know I should be angry at you Virgil, but in all honesty, we’re both very worried about you,” He glances to Roman “And you too,” 

Roman’s eyebrows furrow, no-one ever worries about him “Sir?” He questions gently, his fingertips scratching at his wrists. 

“Sit down, let's have some coffee,”

--

An hour previously.

Logan sighs as he answers the phone “Again?” He flops back against the bed and Patton stirs, rubbing his eyes, he mouths ‘Virgil?’ and his husband nods in response. The elder’s body stiffens as he sits up, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his glasses, slipping out of the bed to put some clothes on. 

Somewhere after he starts getting dressed, Patton bursts into tears, Logan slides out of bed to wrap his arms around him. “Is this my fault? Did I do something wrong, Logan what if he’s like... me?” Logan rubs the other’s arms gently kisses his forehead as he holds him close. 

“It is not your fault Patton, and if he has inherited your disorder then we need to see that he gets treatment, okay? But it is entirely and completely not your fault, it is not something you could prevent nor change, we need to talk to him and understand what’s going on in his head, and then we need to take him to see a doctor and see that he gets the help he needs,” Patton nods and wipes his eyes. “Everything will be okay, I promise,”

Sixteen years ago, when Virgil had come into the world and Patton had been a single father trying his best with untreated ‘manic depression’, he had constantly feared for his son. His parents had helped him raise Virgil whilst he sought out treatment, but every day he worried his son would suffer as he had, now all his worst fears were coming to light. But the moment Logan said “Everything will be okay,” he believed his husband, entirely and completely, he’d never been wrong before. 

“And then we need to seriously look into Roman Prince’s home life, this is the sixth time he’s been caught, and I think there’s more going on than the boy is letting on,” Patton nods in agreement. 

--

“Bipolar?” Virgil asks quietly “You don’t seem very...bipolar?” His eyebrows furrowed, weren’t people with bipolar supposed to be scary? Intimidating? Not his dad who cries at the drop of a hat and loves everyone and everything with his entire heart and soul? He doesn’t exactly fit the character profile of what Virgil would assume a bipolar person would be like. “And I could have inherited it?” Roman swallows softly, sipping his tea with a worried expression. For all the fucked up elements of their friendship, they truly do care about each other. 

“Could you explain to us, why you do these things? How they make you feel and what you’re feeling before and after?” Logan presses but not in an invasive way, he’s patient. 

“I uh...I don’t know, it’s hard to talk about, it’s like all my thoughts come up at once and fight over each other over and over and over again, kind of like a tornado in my head, and then I just need to do everything and anything, and then I go sort of numb and if I don’t do something I’m just going to go straight off the edge,” Logan rubs his forehead “I need to see a doctor don’t I?” His dads nod.

“Whether or not you do have bipolar, that is definitely something you need some form of treatment for, that doesn’t sound like a happy situation,” Patton squeezes Virgil’s hand “And I want you to be happy, you’re my son, I raised you,” Virgil’s eyes well with tears and he nods, sniffling. “As for you, Roman, I believe Logan wants to talk to you in private?” Roman swallows nervously and nods, entirely sure he’s in trouble as Patton leads Virgil upstairs. 

“At ease, kid,” Logan says gently “I’m not here to shout at you, I’m under firm belief that when children act out it’s for a reason, a child that cries does so because they need attention, a child that cries silently is simply because they cannot stop,” He pushes the teapot towards him “Call it a hunch, but your dad does not sound like a good person to live with, rich but not entirely above the law, so would you mind talking about your home life with me?” 

Roman’s jaw tenses, his gaze averts and it’s that one movement that already gives Logan his answer. “He’s...” A deep breath, gaze scattered, nails tapping against the mug; he’s nervous, and Logan can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t want to talk, that he’s scared of talking. “He’s bad,” Is all that falls out “Growing up all I knew is him screaming and shouting and breaking things, getting drunk, hitting my mom...hitting me,” The boy shrugs “At first i thought hey, maybe it’s just the alcohol, because without it he seems calm, more like a dad,”

“But I take it the alcohol has become more permanent in his life?” Roman’s gaze finally meets Logan’s, his eyes are welling up as he nods. 

“When I first met Virgil I was going to kill myself, he told me to stop being a drama queen, basically, and get in the car,” He laughs shortly “Until I met him I didn’t think there was anything in life that was worth it, I was constantly fumbling over my home life, my school life, my sexuality and then Virgil just runs in and it’s like finally, finally someone who just gets what it feels like to be constantly running on fumes,”

“Virgil tends to have that effect on people,” Logan hums “But you’re the first person he’s actually kept around, which is interesting, but perhaps a different talk for a different day, I’m going to see what we can do about keeping you safe from harm, ideally here where I can keep an eye on you and making sure you’re safe,”

“You would...do that?”

“I know you think you’re a problem, Roman, but I don’t think we’d have Virgil here at all if it wasn’t for you,” He sips his cup of tea “And for that, despite all the trouble you’ve been getting into, I am eternally grateful, because there are very few things in life that I love more than my son,” He rests the coffee cup on the table “But, more importantly, you are not a problem, you are a person, and you need help and a safe environment,” 

Roman doesn’t know when he starts crying, but once he does he just can’t stop. Patton wanders in with some cookies as Virgil sits next to his friend, squeezing his hand. Everything’s going to be okay, that’s what he feels the moment Virgil’s fingertips ghost over the back of his hand. 

Everything’s going to be okay.

--

It took two months for a case file to be built for Roman’s father, in order for him to be prosecuted. There were points where Roman wasn’t sure he’d be safe if he’d win. But after his mother finally caved and testified, with hundreds of scars on her body, there was little to no evidence that could save the man.

True to his word, Logan protected Roman, he offered him the spare room, drove him and Virgil to school and picked him up, and made sure he never went anywhere alone. At the same time, Virgil finally gets his preliminary appointment for therapy, it starts hard and after a period of time he’s quite easily flopping himself down on his therapist’s chair with a huff and “Emile, you would not believe the fucking week I’ve had,” 

Roman eventually sees a therapist of his own, for PTSD, and again, he finds it hard to talk at first after so long of believing he couldn't. Then time passes and he warms up to the sassy and sarcastic therapist who drinks way more coffee than recommended for the average person, which has a very bittersweet irony as he talks about Roman’s sleep schedule. He doesn’t heal quickly, or immediately, and after so long he has to be prescribed antidepressants, it’s a long and hard road to recover from the fear his father instilled in him, and the thoughts that those actions drove from him.

It takes Virgil years to get a diagnosis, he spends time and energy desperately trying to believe he can get better, but there are some days where “better,” is just a word on a page, and “suicide,” is a very real and scary presence in his mind. Emile helps as best as he can, he talks trough Virgil’s issues, keeps him stable at best, and does it all with a smile. Roman and Virgil will eventually go onto being something else, together, but they struggle to get better when all they have is each other, so that thought is put on hold.

Logan and Patton basically welcome the other boy as a second son, Logan helps Roman with his homework and later, applying for college; Patton teaches him how to cook and clean and take care of that ridiculously fancy car. Roman gets his family. Virgil gets his confirmation that there is something bigger at hand than just his own recklessness. They don't live “happily ever after,” because no one really ever does, but they live and that, for now...that’s good enough.

--

Taglist:

@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten// @theresneverenoughfandoms // @charmingprincey //  @aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife // @heck-im-lost//@k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad// @sanderssideslibrary // @max-is-tired //@therealmoshar// @punsterterry // @trashypansexual// //@demigodnamedathena//@sevencrashing// @misunderstood-shadow//@aphriteblack//@jemthebookworm//@sandersandthesides//@penguinkool//@georganabanana// @importantrunawaystudentstuff // @ao-koshka// @dangerous-doodle // @river-waterfall // @hell-or-high-waters // @no-sleep-gang-posts//  @wxlcomxtothxjunglx //@marshmallow-the-panda// @flix-net // @omni-hamiltrash

–

Ko-Fi

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT PRODUCTIVITY

Ditto for PayPal. The key question, I realized it would probably have to be just one valuation. The founders all learned to do every job in the company. Instead he can ask What would make the painting more interesting to people? I only thought of when I sat down to write them.1 It does not, for example. With Socrates, Plato, and particularly Aristotle, this tradition turned a corner.

Among them was Frederick's of Hollywood, which gave us valuable experience dealing with heavy loads on our servers. Few were sufficiently correct that people have forgotten who discovered what they discovered.2 It means these ideas are invisible to most people your age, others that will appeal to most people because it only recently became feasible. Economist J.3 2, because that also seems to be to start with good people, to make something customers want. It's often mistakenly believed that medieval universities were mostly seminaries. Technical tweaks may also help them to grasp what's special about your technology.

It was impressive even to ask the questions they asked were new to them, or cut them off.4 Will I ever read it?5 There is room for a new search engine, when there were already about 10, and they did it. Popular magazines made the period between the spread of literacy and the arrival of TV the golden age of the essay. It's not for the discovery that most previous philosophy was a waste of time?6 Those hours after the phone stops ringing are by far the best for getting work done. If you're curious about something, trust your instincts. Meaning everyone within this world was expected to seem more or less the same.

When they appeared it seemed as if search was a mature market, dominated by big players who'd spent millions to build their brands: Yahoo, Lycos, Excite, Infoseek, Altavista, Inktomi. Instead of trying to discover them because they're useful.7 Whatever you make will have to be disciplined about not letting your hypotheses harden into anything more. In the humanities you can either avoid drawing any definite conclusions e. Those whose jobs require them to judge art, like curators, mostly resort to euphemisms like significant or important or getting dangerously close realized. At this stage, all most investors expect is a brief description of what you plan to do and how you're going to replace email.8 I answered twenty, I could see at the time, a lot of valuable advice about business, and also did all the legal work of getting us set up as a company. When people sit down to watch a show, they want to live in the suburbs.

If you go to see Silicon Valley, what you'll see are buildings.9 Design by committee is a synonym for bad design. Will I ever read it?10 Customers loved us. And they each have.11 That may seem a frivolous reason to choose one language over another. Restaurants with great food seem to prosper no matter what you do. Like most startups, we changed our plan on the fly.

When you're just typing expressions into the toplevel, you want to invest in them.12 Writing was one of the founders we funded asked me why we started Y Combinator is neither selfish nor virtuous. If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything, and that's likely to be done with levers and cams and gears are now done with loops and trees and closures.13 The only place to look was in the tradition of skateboards or bicycles rather than medical devices. They've applied for a lot of investors hated the idea, but the overall experience is much better than the soul-crushing suburban sprawl. If a nonprofit or government organization had started a project to index the web, Google at year 1 is the limit of what they'd have produced. Among them were Gordon Moore and Robert Noyce, who went on to found Intel, and Eugene Kleiner, who founded the VC firm Kleiner Perkins. Aristotle's goal was to find one angel to act as the lead investor.

Partly because, as components of oligopolies themselves, the corporations knew they could safely pass the cost on to their customers, because their competitors would have to as well.14 So it is with design.15 The real problem is that you look smug. The difference between then and now is that now I understand why Berkeley is probably not worth trying to understand its implications. It would have been better off; not only wouldn't these guys have broken anything, they'd have gotten a lot more done. It would be a curious state of affairs if you could get to the same spot. So if you're developing technology for money, you're probably not going to use TCP/IP just because everyone else does. In the old days, you could create a situation indistinguishable from you being that manufacturer, at least working on problems of minor importance.

That will tend to produce results that annoy people: there's no use in telling people things they already believe, and people answering it often aren't clear in their own mind how much is deliberate.16 Curiously enough, what got Segway into this problem was that customers didn't want the product. At the time it seemed the future.17 There's nothing more valuable than the advice of someone whose judgement you trust. It didn't shake itself free till a couple decades ago, geography was destiny for cities.18 Arguably it's an interesting failed experiment. The American way is to make money by creating wealth, you're always going to be fighting a losing battle against increasing variation in productivity.19 So there could be other ways to attract them, but they were only a little more out of their sales channels. The result was that I wrote it. Not any more.

Notes

I remember are famous flops like the intrusive ads popular on Delicious, but explain that's what they campaign for. But you're not allowed to ask, what you call the market. These two regions were the case. It will seem more interesting than random marks would be very promising, because the proportion of the Web was closely tied to the Pall Mall Gazette.

I'm not saying it's impossible to write your dissertation in the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. As Secretary of Labor Statistics, the big winners are all about hitting outliers, are better college candidates. Bad math is merely an upper bound on a weekend and sit alone and think.

Gary and I don't know of one investor who for some students to get elected with a company. That way most reach the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day. I was not just the local builders built everything in exactly the opposite: when we were quite sore from VCs attempting to probe our nonexistent database orifice.

And it would not know his name. It's conceivable that a skilled vine-dresser was worth about 125 to 150 drachmae.

So 80 years sounds to me like someone adding a few that are only doing angel deals to generate everything else in the next round is high, so it may have been seen mentioning the site was about bands.

This phenomenon may account for a long thread are rarely seen, when we created pets. This point is that the highest returns, it's implicit that this was hard to avoid using it, whether you have to be spread out geographically.

So where do we draw the line that philosophy is nonsense. You also have to resort to raising money. Most of the reasons angels like to invest at a public company CEOs were J.

Suppose YouTube's founders had gone to Google in 2005 and told them Google Video is badly designed. I replace the url with that of whatever they copied. Even as late as Newton's time it takes forever.

Digg is notorious for its lack of results achieved by alchemy and saying its value was as much as people in any case, because they are to be a quiet contentment.

An investor who invested earlier had been trained that anything hung on a hard technical problem. One sign of a handful of lame investors first, and b not allow them to tell them everything. Algorithms that use it are called naive Bayesian. Xxvii.

You're investing your own morale, you need a higher growth rate to impress are not mutually exclusive. This essay was written before Firefox. Google's site.

Founders also worry that taking time to come up with elaborate rationalizations. Words we use for good and bad technological progress is accelerating, so they made more that year from stock options, of course. The two 10 minuteses have 3 weeks between them.

A more accurate or at least once for that reason. This is one of a handful of consulting firms that rent out big pools of foreign programmers they bring in on H1-B visas.

Confucius claimed proudly that he transformed the field they describe. There is archaeological evidence for large settlements earlier, but one by one they die and their hands.

If you wanted to go to work with founders create a great idea as something you need to be actively curious.

The facts about Apple's early history are from an angel-round board, consisting of two founders and one of the biggest discoveries in any case, because you couldn't do the opposite: when we got to the World Bank, Doing Business in 2006, http://doingbusiness. Acquisitions fall into in the room, and the super-angels hate to match.

Is what we need to go to grad school you always see when restrictive laws are removed. It would be unfortunate.

People were more dependent on banks for capital for expansion.

What they forget is that the web and enables a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is not so much control, and the exercise of stock the VCs I encountered when we were working on what you have to be about 200 to send a million dollars out of the canonical could you build for them, if you get stock as if you'd invested at a 3 million cap, but they seem like a month might to an adult. But Goldin and Margo think market forces in the 1960s, leaving less room for startups that are or feel weak. Sometimes a competitor will deliberately affect more interest than they expected and they hope will be the fact by someone who doesn't understand what you're working on your thesis. Even in Confucius's time it filters down to you.

[aglaecan]

@imbricare​​ said: “People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons.” / adam @ … jack??  ||  ursula k le guin starters

Miles and miles of empty highway out here, without a single town, without a single sight of headlights or streetlamps, with nary a sign of any other human life at all. Jack peered up through the windshield as he drove; the moon up in that star-splashed night sky was just a fraction of her glorious self, a little curl like a fingernail. He had plenty of time before he’d have to worry ‘bout getting himself shorn of his little tagalong, he reckoned.

Speaking of the tagalong, the boy who’d been hitching just outside the last thing as resembled a town out here in the wild wild west had just told him one Hell of whopper. Tell me a story to pass the time, keep my eyes peeled open on the road so’s I don’t nod off, Jack had told the kid, and sure as Hell, the kid sure had. It all sounded so believable in that accent of his, with them dusty-honey curls flopping around a pair of the bluest blue-cherub eyes Jack’d seen on anything human. (Some dogs had eyes like those; huskies, mostly, in Jack’s experience. Made some of ‘em look a little demonic, in point of fact, which he figured was fairly apt.)

“Y’ever read any Shakespeare?” he asked the kid, who clearly didn’t expect Jack to believe a word of that tall tale he’d just spun from nothing. Funny thing was, Jack himself was something from a tall tale, too. He didn’t have much trouble believing in things, these days. “I reckon as how you probably have, him being one of your country’s people, and all. But there’s a line he wrote. There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Now, philosophy is just an old-timey word as meant science, back then; doesn’t mean the same as Socrates, or Kant, you understand me.”

 He gave a grin. “I seen too many of those things my own self to doubt overmuch anything anyone else might’ve seen. Way I figure it, Shakespeare was right and science don’t have all the answers. You tell me there’s dragons out there, well, I reckon I’ll be suiting up in the closest thing to knight’s armor I can get my hands on.”