#and extra points for it being a damn parent. they bloody chose to have a kid so step tf up

[amuseoffyre]

I got thinking that the most honest and raw details about Ed and Stede's past are revealed in Stede's fever-dream and Badminton hallucination and Ed's coma, when they're confronted by their own subconsciousnesseseses (too many esesesss didn't know when to stop).

I had a pick over some of Ed's dialogue from the Gravy Basket the other day, which was barely even scraping the surface, including his expectation of violence when he's vulnerable, anticipation of hurt/cruelty in a domestic sphere and from a caretaker, desperate need for validation and approval and more.

While rewatching episode 1-4 today, it hit me how much Stede's demonstrate his belief that:

he was and remains nothing more than a disappointment to everyone around him, fit for scorn and derision (covering the parent, spouse and child for his fever dream)

no one would care if he was hurt ("Yeah, congrats")

he was insufficient ("you are such a disappointment")

he was a coward/weak ("He was scared of geese, for god's sake," say the man who shows up holding the goose he forced his son to watch him kill)

his choices, thoughts and fears would be laughed at (All of the above + Nigel)

no one cares about his physical well-being (Standing over him, taunting and laughing while he's in pain)

he was a terrible father by choosing to leave ("They'll never see papa again")

his children would hate him and wouldn't care if he was dead ("scoundrels spare no one")

Messy, emotionally-repressive autistic lad hasn't had anywhere to let out his distress for a long time, because he's never felt safe to do it. Mary says she knew he was unhappy and thought she heard him crying alone and, in a flat monotone, he denied it and said the crying was the wind.

He was conditioned to believe anything he said would be shot down. He wasn't allowed to express opinions and thoughts and his father made damn sure if he did have any, they were scoffed at and ridiculed, whether it was Stede's belief he was fortunate to have comfort and wealth or derision about his belief that he could marry for love. Mary's anger at his ship plan comes in there too, even if her reaction is warranted - he still sees a rejection of him, his ideas and the things he cares about.

It says it all that the only time he really does lose his temper in S1 (not including the meltdowns over things not going to plan) is when Jack is deliberately smashing all his buttons, treating him like his peers and dad used to and then, to rub it in extra hard, pissing on his shoes.

Stede tried to do what he normally did in stressful situations: he was going to go back to the ship so no one would see anything, because Conceal Don't Feel is that man's watchword. He bottles so finely he has an entire wine cellar of Trauma.

Ed catches him before he can leave and Stede's all out of control of his emotions and lets opinions fly and next thing he knows, Karl is dead, the crew are upset and Ed is leaving with Jack. So he learns Do Not Show The Emotions Again and boy, how that spectacularly backfires.

And on that note, watching S2, ohhhhhh there's an eruption coming at some point. He has been pushing it all down, shaking the bottles and stacking them. We've had his flashbacks again. We've had him kill for the first time. We've had him almost lose the love of his life multiple times. He's not dealt with any of that and a storm is a-coming now there's nothing to distract him from it.

Also, in case there's any doubts that his trauma isn't lurking to sneak back up and bite him, look at the man he chose to spend time with after Ed left him when he did something regarded as "man's work": an older man in a bloody leather apron just like his father in the flashbacks.

"You like me for me," he says to that guy, the one who has been reassuring him and validating him and telling him how good and worthwhile he is all day.

Stede "Daddy Issues and Then Some" Bonnet.

[saintedbythestorm]

Reminder to self:

You don't need to know if they've gotten better or worse, they were bad enough that you had to cut them out and that is all you need to know.

[lilhemmo]

35 and 96 AU for sweet pea

send me two au’s from THIS list + a ship/character

a/n: this one ended up being pretty long so read more under the cut!

-

It’s not unusual for you to come home bloody and battered.

You spend your nights at the Southside boxing rink, racking up a reputation and moving your way to the top. You end the night with a busted lip and some bloody knuckles, but it’s worth it.

The cash that lines your pocket makes the bruised ribs and split cheek much easier to handle.

“I can’t believe you won’t just friggin’ listen to me,” he grumbles, tossing some epsom salt into the warm bath water to help dull the ache. He made you a glass of water as well, a few ibuprofen on the counter to accompany the drink. You try not to laugh; it’ll make your ribs hurt.

Sweet Pea has been your only constant in life ever since you’ve been in the Southside. He lives in the trailer next to yours, so he always offers to drive you to and from the gym because you’re never in any shape to drive yourself home when the match is over. Pea also is the one to take care of you because your parents couldn’t be bothered to stick around after your teen years.

“Can we skip the parental speech tonight, Sweets?” you ask through breathless pants. You wince as you try and get into the tub without reopening every wound on your body. 

He glances over at you once you’ve tapped on the edge of the tub to let him know you’re in, “But that’s my favorite part - I love how you don’t ever listen to me.”

“Save the self-righteous, hypocritical bull crap, Pea,” you scoff, tilting your head back. “You and Fangs are out at night, beating up Ghoulies and protecting your own. Don’t act like I don’t hear your motorcycle rev up at night when you leave.”

Sweet Pea licks his lips and rubs his hands over his face in exasperation. You don’t ever let him get away with anything, that’s for sure.

You wave your hand, “I can take care of myself, Pea. If it bothers you this much, then just go home.”

“I can’t leave you,” he says quickly, grabbing the first aid kit and a couple of rags out of the drawers. Pea gets down on his knees beside the tub and gets to work on scrubbing the crusted blood from your wounds.

“How’s things going with Jos?” you ask, looking over your shoulder as he cleans the split skin on your shoulder. “You sleeping together yet?”

You’re sure that when he runs the sponge over the cut that he’s being extra thorough. You wince, but he speaks, “I saw Josie and Archie making out in the music room the other day. It’s pretty clear how she feels - or doesn’t.”

“Pea,” you turn to face him, your wet hand cupping his cheek. You feel your eyes soften the longer you look at him, “She didn’t deserve you. She made that abundantly clear the second she called you a fling.”

“That’s all it was,” SP shrugs, a mundane look on his face. “Maybe Andrews can help her out, he likes music and all that. I’m just a Serpent.”

You grab him by the jaw and force him to look you in the eyes, “Don’t you ever let someone else define you. Not anyone, and especially not Josie. You’re so much more than just a Serpent, Sweets.”

His eyes dart downward but you don’t make it out to be anything special. You release him and let your hand fall back into the bubbly water. You sigh, “I don’t know how people can treat one another like that, Pea. I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it all.”

“It’s okay,” Sweet Pea shrugs nonchalantly. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he cleans the wound on your cheekbone. It’s leaking crimson and he winces as he rolls the rag against the open cut.

“If this is about money, I-”

“This ain’t about anything, Pea. This is about me. It’s what I want.”

“You and Andrews make quite the pair,” he scoffs, replacing the bloody rag for a clean one.

You choose not to respond, and he finishes mopping up your blood, cleaning it out and watching as the water slowly turns red.

“Time for stitches.”

He walks out of the bathroom long enough to let you drain the water and dry yourself off. Pea even laid out fresh clothes for you on the counter. How he has time to do these things for you, you’ll never know. What you do know is that all you have in this life is each other now. Toni has run off to be with Cheryl, to partner with the Pretty Poisons to clean up the Southside. Fangs has been missing for years, ever since the Farm chose their ascension night. FP and Jughead moved to the Northside years ago, and Pea can’t fault them for trying to give Jellybean a better life.

The thin t-shirt you’re sporting was Sweet Pea’s at some point in life. It’s threadbare, but it’s perfect to wear after a match because it doesn’t suffocate you in your sleep. The arms are cut out, so it makes it easy for the both of you to apply bandages and wraps to the various parts of your body that usually end up battered and bruised. The neck is wide, stretched from use, and it’s fraying at the edges.

SP unloads a decent amount of the medical supplies, ready to get to work on the cuts on your face first. He takes a q-tip with ointment laden on it and starts to smear it onto every inch of broken skin that mars your face and neck.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have too many scars to count,” he mutters, cinching together a butterfly stitch on your forehead. Sweet Pea brushes your hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering on your jaw and neck.

“Scars are cool,” you shrug, dismissing his worried tone. “All the Serpents have them.”

Sweet Pea shakes his head, “You don’t have to do this, you can make more of yourself in better ways. You don’t have to just punch your way out.”

“S’the only thing I’m good at, Sweets.” You look up at him through your lashes. His brown eyes are warm, asking you silent questions just with the colors swirling around in his irises. 

His thumb brushes over a bruise on your jaw, “I can’t watch you kill yourself for the rest of your life.”

“Then don’t watch,” you snap, your voice steely and quiet.

Sweet Pea’s teeth wrap around his bottom lip, trying hard to keep his commentary to himself. Instead, he moves on to wrapping up your knuckles in gauze, taping them at the wrists.

He puts away the supplies in your cabinet and then turns to walk out the bathroom door, but you limp towards him to grab his wrist.

“Pea?” You cough at the exertion. “You don’t wanna stay and watch a movie like always?”

The last person you have in this world licks his lips and shrugs his shoulders, “You told me not to watch anymore. I’m just listening to your advice.”

And then he leaves without another word.

-

Weeks pass, and you throw yourself into your boxing matches. You fight opponents much stronger than you, you take hits harder than you ever should have. You don’t care because you don’t feel anything until you land inside that ring.

“Come at me, c’mon!” you scream, slapping your gloves together and bearing your teeth. “Is that all you got?!”

She rages at you and manages to get a good uppercut in before you slam into her chest and throw her onto the mat. Her back cracks and your body heaves in exhaustion.

“Yeah, that’s right! Stay down!” You seethe between your mouthguard, stalking her in circles, praying that she gets up so you can lay into her again.

Moments pass, and the referee declares you the winner.

The crowd goes wild, you receive your wad of cash, and then you trudge home.

It’s harder to ride your motorcycle with your injuries, but you manage. There are nights that you want to miss Sweet Pea’s truck, but you force yourself to wince and bear it. 

That’s how your days replay. You have nothing but your fists, absolutely nothing, but you have to be okay with that because it’s your own fault.

It takes another two weeks for a fight to get too violent.

The girl has you against the ropes, her fists drilling into your abdomen. You can hear your ribs crunching as she piles into you. The crowd is so loud that it hurts your ears, but the throbbing in your head drowns most of the sound into a blur of screams. You shout in pain and double over, giving her a clean shot at your head.

Your body flounders to the ground and the ref pushes her off to the other end of the ring so he can count you down. With every number that he rattles off, you feel a piece of your soul die. Tears are streaming down your face as you force yourself to slam your fists into the mat and push your body upright.

“You can fight?” the referee asks you.

“I’m good.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, so you scream at him, “I’m good, ref! Now let me go!”

The referee claps his hands together and you’re back at one another’s throats. You get a string of punches in, surely she’s hurting, but it does not stop her from slamming her knee into your gut.

You hear someone scream out in the crowd, but you barely have time to take notice of it as she grabs you around the waist and throws you down onto the mat.

“Get up!” she screams in your face, spit and blood flying all over you. You wince at the contact, but she screams at you again.

Her foot connects with your ribs, again and again, but you can’t find it in you to tap out, to tell everyone that you’re finished.

“Stop the fight!” you hear from the stands. It gets closer as it repeats itself, “Stop the damn fight!”

You reach up to try and punch her in the face, but instead she is straddling you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand and continuously punching you with the other.

“Get off her!”

You recognize the voice, turning your face just enough to catch a glimpse of his brown eyes. A tear drips down your cheek and the final punch lands across your face.

All you see is darkness.

When you wake, your whole body is weighted, tied down to a bed that you cannot escape from. Your eyelids are heavy, your breath is short. You want to sit up, but find that you aren’t in control of your own limbs.

You push yourself until finally your eyes are unglued and you can blearily glance around the room you’re in.

It’s very bland.

The room is painted white, the curtains made of fabric that looks like it is from decades past, and the scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils until they burn. There is a blanket covering your body, a machine beeping in your ear as it tracks your vitals. You’re not sure how you got here or how long you’ve been out, but as soon as your eyes focus, you zero in on the figure sleeping on the couch next to your bed.

You want to laugh, but your chest is in catastrophic pain. Instead, you focus on examining your roommate as he sleeps curled in on himself, a blanket laid over the top of him but still unable to cover his tall form.

His hair is a mess, covering his forehead and falling in his eyes. His cheek is pressed into the pillow, lips full and parted as he breathes steadily through them. The tattoo on his neck draws your attention and you find your eyes drawn to it like never before.

He is dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, the sleeves cut off to expose his tan skin and cut muscles. You wish that he were closer, but you’re glad that he’s not as the tears begin to leak from the corners of your eyes.

As if he has some sort of super power to sense whenever you’re in pain, Sweet Pea stirs from his sleep and sits up on the couch. He grunts as he stretches out his limbs, pops echoing in the room.

You sniffle against your will, the movement making you cry out in pain, and in a flash, Sweet Pea is by your side.

“Hey,” he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Hey, you’re okay now. We got you here in time.”

Sweet’s gentle fingers brush over your cheeks and he wipes the tears away. He smiles but you can tell he’s in pain himself, “Don’t cry.”

The doctors separate you as they flood the room, rattling off medical terms to one another so much that they make your head spin. Sweet Pea is constant, holding your hand tightly in his own no matter how inconvenient it may be for the nurses who are hovering by your bedside.

They leave, eventually, and the two of you settle into an uncomfortable silence. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand and it makes you tear up all over again. All of the nightmares and the anger come rushing back at once, overwhelming your soul and forcing a bubble of fear through your throat.

“I’m so s-sorry, Pea.”

You break down into tears, your shoulders shaking despite the pain. Your sobs echo in the hospital room, the walls doing little to dim the noise. You sniffle, shaking your head, “I should have never said that to you. I-It was stupid and it was selfish and I was angry.”

“I know,” he brings your knuckles to his lips. “I forgive you, okay? It’s okay, just-”

“No, it’s not okay! It isn’t okay. I pushed away the only person who cared for me, who put me back together after I was done tearing myself apart. I-I can’t believe,” your voice falters and you fear it may break. “I just want to go home.”

Sweet Pea nods, chewing on his lower lip. “I know. Just give it some time.”

You throw your head back and stare up at the ceiling, wonder just how much longer that may be.

-

You’re tucked away in your bed when you hear him pacing in the living room. You sit up, your sleeveless shirt pooling at your waist. You stand, holding onto your side as you make your way to where Sweet Pea is mumbling to himself the next room over.

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning into the doorway.

He looks up from his pacing, his hand covering his face. His eyes wander over your frame and you try your hardest not to blush. He’s seen you practically naked before as he washes your wounds and stitches you back to your whole self. How is this any different?

“Hey,” Pea echoes. He takes a few steps towards you, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Heard you in here, figured I’d give you some company.”

Sweet Pea reaches out and runs his thumb over the scar on your cheek bone. You watch as his eyes soften the longer his touch lingers. You lean into his fingers and he catches you with his hand.

“I’m sorry I left that night,” he whispers as if afraid of breaking the atmosphere. “I should’ve stayed.”

“I should have never told you to leave,” you admit, turning to kiss his wrist. You take a deep breath, “I-I was scared, and I didn’t like what you were saying and so I pushed you away. That’s not how you treat people - definitely not the people you love.”

His eyes connect with yours, a certain electricity running through them now. The touch of his hand expands to your neck, the base of your hair, and your fingers tremble as you press your palms to his chest. He smiles, a rare sight, and he cups your cheeks in his hands as he brings his lips down on yours.

Sweet Pea’s mouth is warm, his touch gentle, and he captivates you in a way that you know you’ll never find in anyone else. Your body aches as you sway in his arms, but you disregard the strain as you push yourself onto your toes to kiss him harder.

Your hands travel to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as you desperately try to convey your feelings through your lips. You can’t help but gasp as his teeth sink into your lower lip. Your fingernails bite further into his shoulder blades at the action and then it is his turn to wince into your touch.

“I missed you,” he breathes against your neck. His lips trail over your jugular and you find yourself ready to fly. Your back is pressed to the wall as his confessions fall over you, “I thought that you were dead that night, that I would never see you again. I thought I would never get the chance-”

His tongue presses flat against your collarbone and you press yourself closer to him. You drop your forehead to his chest in just enough time to hear him say, “I love you.”

As soon as the words are free, it’s like the two of you cannot get enough of one another. His hands travel your body like his kisses, unable to be satiated as they map out the contours and edges of your bones and skin and muscle. Your lips tangle together and your teeth clack against one another. You do not care how sloppy this is because this is all you’ve ever wanted.

Sweet Pea maneuvers the two of you back towards your bedroom, hoisting you up onto the bed as he runs his hands over your thighs. He hooks his hands under your knees and pushes you back so your head is close to the headboard. The look he sends you makes your blood boil and your cheeks burn.

“Wait,” you grab him by the nape of his neck, “I-I love you too.”

-

His index finger travels over the scars on your chest. He stops at a few, investigating them further. His thumbnail trails along hairline scars, his pinky finger dipping over deeper cuts. The pads of his fingers dance across the bruises on your ribs, staining them purple and yellow.

You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, your own thumb brushing over the scar that mars his lip. He catches your finger between the bite of his teeth and playfully smirks down at you as you try to force him to release it. You burst into laughter and tuck your head under his chin, feeling him pull your body closer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he whispers into your hair. He kisses the top of your head and burrows his nose into the crown of your head. “I’ve wanted to, for years, but I never could force myself to do it.”

“It’s okay, it’s my own fault for being so stubborn.” You look up at him and he steals a kiss from your lips. His palms are flat against your back, fingerprints finding the scars on your back as he continues his exploration.

“I love you,” he smiles as he looks down at you. The expression lightens his eyes, darkens his cheeks. He kisses your lips and murmurs the words again and again, “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

You laugh against his mouth and he does not relent as he slips his tongue between your teeth. Your bodies are flush against one another under the sheets and you’re not sure why you ever put this off.

Sweet Pea kisses his way down your jaw to your throat, “I love you.”

“I-I love yo-you too,” you manage, your eyes shuttering closed as his lips make swift work of your body. His hands are all over you and suddenly you’re drowning in him and you don’t want to come up for air.

[dwestfieldblog]

DIFFERENT SCENES FOR DIFFERENT GENES

I scry with my third eye. Something beginning with...V...Police patrolling the parks for people in numbers of more than two. Partners in masks, holding hands in gloves and everyone suddenly vulnerable, unable to gather in packs and gain vicarious strength. Droplets on breath, float and melt into eyes and everybody keeping their distance now paranoia is no longer irrational but sensible. Hello, hope you are doing okay.

This crisis will bring out ALL the best and the worst in people, in both selfless and panic based behaviour. The imminence of a possible bad death or infecting one you love can focus the mind wonderfully on what truly matters to the individual. Adults and children are dying independent of age and previous health status or racial characteristics, remorseless and random. The chaos plague in action and it is mutating. So let's have some lively imature comedy before we get deadly serious.

There are many who will use this situation for political ends and many rabid Endtimers of apocalypse who will be rejoicing somehow that Christ will soon return and save his flock of sheep. Two recent quotes direct from Trump's twitter; 'Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord' (Matthew 21:1) Well...'Oh God!' is what millions cry in orgasm. 'But the Lord watches over those who fear Him, those who rely on His unfailing love'. (Psalm 33) Really? How many God fearing Christians have died so far and in all the previous plagues?  As one American (or maybe hacked by Russia) site says;  'You can't hold hands with God when you are masturbating'. In other words Donald, if you are a wanker you will not get into Heaven. But I digress...

And other fundamentalists who have yet to notice that the virus is killing everyone from all groups, not just those who disagree with them. Kick them hard between the legs if they say this within earshot of you. Hard enough to stop them breeding. (Sidenote... nice to hear that many more pregnancies than normal have been logged over the last few weeks...folk staying at home with nothing better to do and subconsciously wanting to keep the population up. Arf. It is already up. 66.44 million people in the UK (of which England is 56 million)and the UK annual deathrate has been 9382 for the last five years.) Coming and going in the name of the Lord, hallelujah and pass the holy blood...

There were some people at the start of this, a doctor, a couple of journalists who started to warn about Covid 19 in December/January. They were quickly removed by the communists. The world could have had an extra five weeks to prepare and take measures. Hopefully many countries, if unable to actually sue the Chinese government for being totalitarian swine (and why not - Loss of earnings, cause of mass death, covering up facts and lying to health organisations) then the least we can all do is to stop buying ANYTHING from China. Check the labels first. The West has been outrageous in its kow-towing to a regime that machine gunned its own children from tanks, uses unwilling organ donors, transportse ethnicities of Tibetans and Muslim communities to ‘re-education’ camps. WE should have been ashamed. Now we should be angry. BOYCOTT CHINESE GOODS FOR ONE YEAR, GET THE COMMUNISTS OUT. 

Speaking of which, the ‘British’ deal with Huawei...giving even the crack of a possibility that a nation with such serious issues with ‘freedom’ and murder of its own citizens should be in charge of Britain’s infrastructure for information and hospitals and surveillance and....Well...it seems...how to put this...f..ing stupid. Done only in order to ensure more investment by China in our shrinking economy. ‘When China sneezes, the world catches a cold’...the markets certainly are. But sellers of respiratory face masks made in guess where are doing well. Well you know everything is made in China...

Globally, right now, we seem to have the worst possible leaders in charge for this crisis. The weakest, craziest and the most despotic (very often all in one). China, with mass interests in Africa and South America has sold the media line that the virus is an American creation to protect their newest client base. And every single damn time Trump opens his mouth, he just makes everybody on the planet who did not vote for him, all the less likely to believe a word. Or even that he exists. 

Horrible to see Michael Gove praising the medical staff in Britain for working their hearts out during this crises. He was one of the Tory MPs who voted against giving nurses a small pay rise in 2017. All but one did so, and when the vote was 'won' , the Conservatives let out a loud cheer. They cheered. Cheering now boys and girls? Many thousands of Labour supporters voted Tory in December simply because Corbyn is pointless as pointless can be and the Stalinist Momentum group trying to take over the party are bloody dangerous. I will never be a Socialist but I would truly like to hear why the posh rich boys thought it unnecessary to give a little bonus to nurses and why the bastards cheered. Unforgivable.

Boris taking cold revenge on the BBC for having had the temerity to ask him impertinent, salient questions in December...by decriminalising not paying the license fee. Succumbs to the virus after having taken three days to even organise a COBRA meeting of the highest and then shilly shallying for several weeks longer before acting to lock down the city. Enough time for the shops to be emptied in fear because Britain chose to be self isolating before Covid 19 was even known about. Anti bacterial soap stolen from hospitals. How many readers saw the photographs of the London underground the Friday after its Lord Mayor begged the public to stay home? Packed. Five percent in masks. Hoards of idiots at weekends getting drunk in London and the USA. ‘It’s only the old and weak who die’. No it isn’t. By no means are all those dying are old and previously ill.

This is what happens in various (if not most) countries, when the masses are not educated to cogitate for themselves. Governments neither need nor want the majority to be clever and ask questions at any point. They need basic workers, such as the ESSENTIAL WORKERS these days...easy to spot, they are the ones being paid the least amount of money) The masses are disallowed genuine opportunites to make money and keep it without being taxed at every turn. These two things result in vast populations who have been educated to be less than intelligent and millions who cannot afford to stop work and self isolate for a couple of months. They don’t have private health schemes, stocks and shares, a rich daddy or friends, family jewellery , a second car to sell or gold bullion in Switzerland. They have what they do daily, to make them money and pay bills and rent. Many of the poorest in numerous countries, live with their parents and grandparents. No real alternative but to work, mix and bring the virus home.

What would be wonderful would be if the landlords, big bosses and bankers (who, well...appear to have quite a lot of moolah) would say, ‘okay...you know what...no need to pay rent for two or three months and perhaps there is no work to be done but I won’t lay anyone off or count this as sick leave’. How f..ing likely is that to happen? There will be a few who will do the right thing. The rest will remain as the bastards as they always were. May the Devil take them.

And as for the hackers blackmailing hospitals...when they are caught, strip them, parade and flog them till bloody, and then put them away for Life without parole. At the very least. I would turn them loose in a crowd of those they had caused pain to. The same goes for any leader who had given them orders.

And ooh, ahh...the deadly serious internet conspiracy...apparently Bill Gates is acting like Thanos or a James Bond villain but without the charm and sense of humour. If this virus had been created by Man deliberately, there would already have been a vaccine somewhere. Perhaps there is. If you really are a nut, then watch where the cure seems to originate from and trace it backwards. And which of the ' Elite' refuse to have the jab. Interesting to think how long the Chinese (or anyone for that matter) have been eating bats and only now does this spring up. Yum yum. Yab Yab.

To quote from the master again..’Conspiracy is contagious and so is worrying about it. At such time, theories about totally imaginary conspiracies also escalate, because (a) times of transition make people nervous and uncertain, (b) nervous and uncertain people tend to become at least a little bit paranoid, (c) most people most of the time follow their own prejudices and anxieties much more than any technique for ascertaining objective facts, and (d) most people have no knowledge of the techniques or self –disciplines necessary to the search for objective facts.Robert Anton Wilson, Right Where you are Sitting Now. (Ronin Publishing)

Meanwhile...John von Neumann’s game theory continues to be used in global warfare scenarios...they are still attempting to overcome the odds against negative outcomes...More satellites fired upwards, planning to use EMP to disable the enemy’s networks before they do the same. Peace and goodwill to all, Amen...AI Terminators building the Matrix etc. 

But I remember some time in 1997 after five years of various daily practices in England and Czech Republic, a sudden moment in the countryside walking down a small valley...having an absolute instinct that humans would never be strong enough to destroy this world. Simultaneously there was a sure and clear feeling that I no longer lived in the time stream of a world which would be annihilated by nuclear war. Through my baby steps towards tiny pulses of enlightenment, I had stepped across to a parallel world. Breaching a strange loop in a 'quantum-jump to a different order of coherence.' (Identical, but not one in which such insanity would happen...) 

Twenty three years later after dropping many of the disciplines I had used in the Nineties and getting caught up in the horseshit of trump and such others - and my own failing mental health, I seem to have crossed back over into a world which is worse on many levels. There were flashes back then, revolutions without bloodshed, with dialogue, and agreements (even if based on trade and power sharing) but step by step, what I call the Conspiracy of Counter Evolution (Neophobes) struck back at the possibility that humans could do the right thing. Dragging the masses back into petty squabbles and bloodshed based on the three main (as they like to see themselves) religions and the eternal struggle for resources. Of which there are plenty for quite a few hundred generations yet, as long as we stop eating bats and don't allow the fundamentalists to wipe us out in the name of a merciful God. Nationalism and Religion are the perfect illusions with which to rule and dominate the gullible through fear, unprovable promises and selfish pride. And resources are mace to look limited and endangered in order to drive prices up. Fear, as was said, is big business.

‘Don’t associate with people who have a low view of humanity; it’ll give you a low view of yourself’ Mark Twain. And thus I remain cynically optimystic.

Did you know that 10 hours exposure to low doses of ketamine ‘enhances corticostriatal cross frequency coupling and hippocampal broad band gamma oscillation’...? Useful to know eh? Many things have the same effect without resorting to horse tranquiliser...like focusing on changing brain speed via breathing. He says on Codeine, whisky and Tramadol. And no doubt burning out all the couplings between the trains of thought but only last night. You will ‘be right there’? I will be wrong here.

I recently had a dream where I had set up a solo concert, all equipment ready, tuned strings, prepared gear etc, then on stage an hour before the start, realised I had forgotten to invite anyone...Hmm...Two more quotes...

‘Those who make peaceful revolution impossible make violent revolution inevitable’. JFK.

‘The only reason a caterpillar ‘knows’ how to become a butterfly...is because genes contain a memory of the future. This is a metaphor, remember, it may be a very useful one, at that.' RAW.

SO, HOLD ON TO YOUR SANITY, RELEASE ALL TENSIONS AS YOU WILL, BUT HARM NO ONE. KEEP A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOUR AND LOVE LIFE, FORM AND FORMLESS. BE AWARE AND SEE YOU LATER...D.