#anyway time to play mass effect & figure out a writing i can attach this as a header image for

[astorythatwritesitself]

yes good day hi I am being COMPLETELY normal don't look at the tags about this Valentine's YCH from @valkblue 😭

[campbluelake]

Can’t Get No Connection, Can’t Get Through | Ch4 Motive

Two weeks have passed since the creepy nightmare circus carnival has made itself a part of your lives. You have managed your best in this time. You’ve played a lot of DDR and Frogger. You’ve eaten more funnel cake than is advisable.

Yet, all good things must end. On the morning of the... the date is fuzzy but it must be the 19th, right? Ranger Buddy messages you over the walkie-talkie.

“Well it seems like you are quite enjoying yourselves these past few weeks. Almost makes you forget about everything else, doesn’t it?”

He pauses for dramatic effect, but before he can continue, a loud feedback noise can be heard, and an image overwhelms your brain.

It’s as though you’re overlooking the camp from some bluff that you know doesn’t exist. The sun is slowly eclipsed by a black, featureless figure--just barely humanoid with shoulders and a head. It looms over the camp, bright white dots for eyes bore down at the landscape. Its form shifts like liquid, two hands and arms distending from its inky mass. Its fingers dig into the earth around the camp and lift it out, pulling it close to its chest and cradling it.

Ranger Buddy doesn’t seem to notice this, and as soon as it is gone, he picks up where he left off.

“So I thought to myself - maybe it’s better if y’all just f-“

The feedback returns, and with it another vision appears in your mind.

Shadowy figures roam the campsite. Their wanderings are aimless and their dispositions are vacant. They pass by each other with little to no interaction. Their countenances brighten and shift into lively action when a snake enters their proximity, but that burst of life leaves them once the snake has slithered off to the next party. The laughter and joy that the small reptile pulls from the figures is familiar. You hear these sounds everyday.

And then it is gone.

“What is with these dang contraptions today! Maybe the batteries are on the fritz. Goodness gracious.”

“Anyways, as I was saying before, it’s probably better if you forget about all that other stuff. Things outside the camp and such. The outside world. You clearly want to stay here if y’all are going so long without killing each other, right? So I’m gonna do just that, a-”

The feedback cuts Ranger Buddy off once more. This has taken far longer than he has planned.

Before your eyes is a thick and aged leather bound book. It has seen wear and tear over centuries, fraying, cracking, and tearing in the various corners. Pages flutter as the book flips open to indecipherable words written carefully upon itself. Slowly, but steadily, drops of blood fall upon the book, and the droplets slowly sink into the divets of written word. With more blood, the writings light up with an eerie and malevolent glow. The cascade of blood increases as more blood flows into every crevice of the book, and soon enough, the script beams light that nearly blinds. What's left of the book after the burst of light is a supernatural blaze that eats away at the blood fuel and paper pages. It is a blaze that burns bright green.

“Dang thing keeps cutting in and out can’t hear a danggone... oh it’s back! Like I was saying before I get cut off again, you’re gonna start forgetting the outside world. It’s not relevant to your new life here and all. If y’all do have an attachment to the outside, and want to get outta here, you gotta kill. Do that and I’ll restore all y’all’s memories. Every last one. Tho I s’pose if you forgot it then you wouldn’t remember if you didn’t get it back but I’ll keep my w-”

Ranger Buddy is cut off one final time by a blast of feedback. With it, another vision accompanies you.

You see your reflection in a mirror, staring back at you. It’s you, but it isn’t you. It reaches out towards the glass while your own hand remains at your side, pounding on it with a closed fist. The glass cracks outwards in a spiderweb, distorting the image until you no longer recognize the person on the other side. Something dark oozes from the cracks. 

“Gosh Darn dang... Well y’all get the gist I’ll quit while I’m ahead. If you want to stop losing memories and get your old ones back, you know what to do. Enjoy the rest of your day now.”

The walkie-talkies go silent, and a few things cross your mind. What could you possibly forget? What have you forgotten already? Was that the closest Ranger Buddy has gotten to swearing in his life or death?

As you contemplate this, a new voice enters your thoughts. One different from Buddy’s, or anyone from the dreams and visions you’ve had in your camp experience prior. It is a bestial sound, that tugs at something primal inside of you.

<A bastardized destiny looms on your horizon. Do not fear it.>

<To defy one's fate is the birthright of humanity;>

<To deny it, your mantle.>

<Know this, and face your choices thus.>

<They are yours alone to make.>

[xenosgirlvents]

It had been a bittersweet goodbye, not just between La’al and Yr’va’yan, but for almost the entire Sept of H’kek’an. Their Little Hero was finally going to serve as the instrument of the Tau’va she had been born to be, but she was still their Little Hero. She had grown well into a confident, happy young adult, and the armor fit her well as she strode aboard the Orca that would take her from her home, but in their eyes, she was still that sweet little girl who they had loved over the sept’s years of isolation. Side by side with a trio of young Exodite warriors – each eager to avenge their home and those others had lost in the war, even if it meant leaving it behind – she turned to face the massed throng of well-wishers, her Ajii and Aun’Ui Erra’nan foremost among them.

Yr’va’yan’s smile was small and sad, but he held himself with pride, knowing the girl who had turned from his charge to all but his adopted daughter would do great things. And as she flashed that nervous grin of hers, his smile grew once more. Ui’Erra’nan’s face, on the other hand, was a show of dismay, hardly hidden under blatantly false pride and joy. He was ashamed of himself for caving so easily. She was still so young to go into a warzone like this, after all. But it was too late to stop her now, so all he could do was hope for the best.

La’al smiled one last time before donning her helmet, proud to finally be wearing her sept’s colors – primarily white armor from the waist up, with purple accenting, both colors at least partially relating to death and mourning in T’au culture, and emerald green armor and pants below the waist, in remembrance of the verdant beauty lost to H’kek’an. As the dropship’s door slowly shut and sealed, the four young warriors waved to those they were leaving behind, only finally turning to take their seats a few moments after being locked in.

Aun’Vre Da’ty watched the entire scene from her seat toward the front of the small transport, her daughter asleep on her lap but making her no less an intimidating figure, even for the Aeldari warriors. She understood the attachment that those of H’kek’an would hold for any of their surviving members, but she was a cold pragmatist in almost all things. It was all so unnecessary, especially since they had all known this day would have to come eventually anyway. She was Shas’faan, after all, and Tau’faan before that. She was, no matter the importance her sept-folk placed upon her, just one miniscule part in the vast mechanism of the Tau’va. But the experienced Aun knew political maneuvering and diplomacy well, so she smiled regardless. Even so, as La’al looked over to her, she somehow found the pair of heavily armed Honor Guard flanking her to be less terrifying than the Ethereal herself.

The ride up to the Kais’reka, repurposed once more into a warship, was short but deeply uncomfortable. Neither La’al nor Vre’Da’ty blinked the entire way – though La’al’s eyes were hidden within her helmet – and not one of the people aboard the Orca made even the slightest sound, including the sleeping child. The Aeldari especially, even with their lower empathic abilities as Exodites and the T’au’s own lacking psychic presence, were practically squirming in their seats trying to get some distance from the others in the craft. Just as they were reaching levels of discomfort enough to make the trio move from their seats to the furthest possible point of the transport from the Ethereal, the Orca shuddered around its cargo and Vre’Da’ty brought her smile back for the first time since the door sealed, visually genuine in every possible way but somehow more disconcerting than she had been the entire trip.

“Ar’cea, welcome to the Tau Empire’s military,” the Ethereal said to the Exodites before turning to La’al and rising from her seat as the door opened onto the Kais’reka’s main hangar, “As for you, this is your official welcome to the Fire Caste, Shas’Saal.” The hanger reverberated with the thundering of innumerable hooves, talons, and other feet crashing to the ground at once as a vast portion of the H’kek’an Kavaal and many of their auxiliaries stood to attention at the boarding of the Aun’Vre. As she strode out of the Orca with a near Aeldari grace about her, the child in her arms barely beginning to stir, she slowed by the now at-attention La’al.

“Or rather: Shas’La. Don’t fail the Tau’va. Don’t. Fail. Me.” And with that, she walked on through the saluting crowd, even the Kroot’s slavering hounds lowering themselves at the ends of their chains as she passed, all their aggression forgotten.

Shas’La La’al shuddered before stepping out of the transport to join the gathered mass, fear and excitement coursing through her veins in equal measure. She was finally a true Fire caste, and duty was calling her name.

(Its ya they, back with another part of what I’m fairly certain is a short story, but I genuinely don’t know how long a story can get before it stops being “short”.

… Anyway, commentary to handle immediately foreseeable questions:

One: No, she will never stop referring to Yr'va'yan as her papa. He played way too big a role in her life for her to ever consider him anything but family.

Two: The H'kek'an Fire caste is actually fairly intact after the Damocles crusade. They fought like devils and learned human strategy voraciously. And now, with every single member other than La'al herself hardened by at least five years of relentless combat, they are considered one of the deadliest fighting forces in the Empire’s western hemisphere, and one with an unusually high concentration of auxiliaries even now, before the effects of losing an entire generation take hold.

And Three: Yes, I did skip over the actual goodbyes and fair-thee-wells. I was just not at all confident in my ability to write that scene with the kind of emotional weight it both needs and deserves. Sorry

Also, I will be probably be taking something of a hiatus after the next part. Anyway, as always please share any comments, questions, and critiques you may have. I love answering questions and if there’s an issue with my prose or the story in general I’d like to try ironing it out)

Thank you for sharing again! So I have some more comments to pass on:

I enjoy the presence of auxiliary forces in any story about the T’au military very much. I think it’s an untapped well of potential to enrich and diversify the T’au’s military narrative by acknowledging and incorporating the contributions of auxiliaries and how the Empire has to handle coordination and communication with them. So that’s awesome.

I enjoyed the bit from the Ethereal as well, a nice change of pace, and someone I can see as having a good character with our little Heroine as the story goes on.

I’m quite eager to see her joining a Fire Team actually, in what sort of capacity she’ll serve there, particularly with her age gap, I think that could be very interesting to see.

As always a pleasure to read, thank you! :)

[are-you-still-writing-that]

An Open Letter

My longest companion,

I write to you now, that I fear I can no longer just sit back quietly, and let you wander through my life, unattended and ignored, like your company means nothing to you or me. I admit, that for the longest time, I was not even aware of you or your attendance to me. Only the observations of a good friend of mine have shaken me out of my unknowing, that I have wandered through now for the longest time. Though, there had still been suspicions coming from my side towards your company, I never knew anything concrete, that could lead me towards you. But I am as much at a fault for that, as you are, and we both know it.

You truly like to stay in the shadows, do you not? Always out of my sight, so that I can never quite catch an image of you. Haunting me, with a faceless figure so vague, that I always thought it to be a lacking construct of my dreams, of my tired mind unable to finish the entire image. You deliberately came to me only, when you knew, that I would not, rather could not, remember you clearly in the aftermath. For so long, you left me in the belief, that you were a construct of my own treacherous mind. A nightmare more persistent and fastened towards reality than others, and not an actual being of your own. But there was so much more, and worse things, that you did, no?

It is you after all, is it not? The one, who sends the shadows after me, that still haunt me everywhere I go, at any moment and every opportunity, in my life. Even in my worst nightmares, your faithful and loyal servants will follow me without a fault, so that I can never get rid of them, so that I am never able to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. Sometimes, I am sure, that they even are the reason of my worst nightmares in the first place. Those horrible little shadows, that will follow my every step, are positively driving me insane.

They did, from the very first moment, that I ever got aware of them. It is amusing, no? That I was aware of your servants earlier than of you?

Anyway, they drove me away from every safe haven, and chase me easily across the land, like a relentless predator, and I, the fool that I am, play the part of the prey far too easily. I never seem to be able to catch my breath, and I will always look over my shoulder, just to find your shadows once again. They eroded over time, any sanity, that was left in my bones, and left me as an unsure mess. I can, on some days, barely discern what is real and what is just my insanity rearing its ugly maw to swallow me whole in fantastical images. Was that your plan since the beginning? To drive me slowly insane, and with no way left for me, to return myself back to sanity?

Be aware, that I fault you for that more, than for anything else that has happened to me, over my plenty years on this plane of existence. Countless years indeed. I long ago have lost count, how long I am ghosting, never quite with purpose, and my attachments as steadfast, as the wind is on any given day, over this place now. Well, not quite like that. I have not lost the count of my many days, my own infallible memory will not allow that, but I wish to not remind myself again, how painfully long this life of mine came to be already. The amount of years brings me nothing, but sorrow.

I am not immortal, at least I sincerely hope, that I am not. My experience with my cursed longevity, as already showed me far too well, that I could not deal, with the trials, that would come to me, if I was truly unable to part from this world. I still feel the pain of my injuries, how some of my bones have been worn thin through excessive use, and I still bleed in a bright red. What my hope is for the moment, that till now, I just have not found a way to depart. Immortality or an unnatural long life-span, are truly not, what dreamers make it out to be. It is not a fate, that I would wish on anyone, but it is still not the worst thing, that I was cursed with. Rather it is a little side effect, that can not be avoided, that tears my heart apart in the cruellest way possible.

No, the worst thing about my little condition of my stubborn survival, without any end in sight, is a torture I truly cannot wish onto anyone. I saw so many of my friends, already pass away. Some peacefully, some taken away by violence. I do not think you know, how much has already been taken from me, that I can never get back, no matter which way I go. It fuels my anxiety, of moving on, of keeping up the fight. My memories of my dearest friends, slowly get buried under the sheer mass of memories that I accumulated, simply by still being here. It takes so long nowadays to find a memory of the dearly departed. It is a cruel fate, to live so long, without an end in sight.

Alas, I can thank you for that too, no? Are you not the one, that has cursed me to this? That has given me this cruel affliction, that I can never recover from? Why do people think that dying is the worst thing that can happen to someone? I know now, and maybe I have always known, that it is not. There are worse things, that can happen to someone, than simply taking a last breath, or closing their eyes, while listening to the last beat of their heart. At my point in life, with my experience, death would be truly a mercy upon myself. But thanks to you, the end is still not near.

I do not know what you had been thinking, if it truly is your fault, but I can attest, that either you have been wrong, and need to revise how to bestow a gift upon someone, or you were right, and truly have figured out how to inflict the cruellest pain on a person imaginable. I almost fear, what your intentions were. Why? Well, your intentions would undoubtedly reveal, what kind of being, had stayed so close to my side, has surely copied alone through sharing the same space, some of my mannerism, while I unconsciously copied some of yours. What kind of person, would make me this? The answer, would be unavoidable, with the reveal of your intentions, and the following reveal of you.

Another question though, this time, truly my own, plagues me though. Why it had to be me? It is a question I would like to have answered. It plagues me deeply and relentlessly, for I cannot find any answers on my own for it. Was my youth not enough, for my fragile heart? Did you need to make life worse, than I already was, simply by being there? Did you try to get my favour, in a way that would only get you my scorn? Or did you try to play a benign hero, only to fail miserably at every and any opportunity?

Forgive me, that last sentence, was uncalled-for. While it still puts a lot of what I feel into words, I may have worded it nicer, than I did now. But I also have to admit to you now truthfully, that whenever I look back onto everything that has happened to me, my anger gets the worst of me. This is the first time, I truly seem to be able to fault someone else for all the short-comings in my life, without any guilt for myself. It makes me the most poisonous to my surroundings, with my anger, so that everything, that comes into contact with me, might suffer, the same way I did. It makes me irrational, and my words hurtful.

Even though, I still do not quite know who or rather what you are, and my conscience and survival instinct are telling me to play this safe and smart, I cannot help myself, but to antagonize you. It seems, that I cannot convince myself, to soften the blows of my words, and dull the pain I want to inflict on you. How, after all, can I be pleasant to you, when you have ruined so many of my peaceful years already. I am faced for the first time, with the culprit of, not only, many tear, but also many hours of anguish, that I had to suffer through.

And if you truly followed me around, since I was nothing but a small whelp, you should recognize my empty platitudes anyway. At least, that is what I would expect of you. To be frank, I also do not care, at the moment at least, if I insult or hurt your feelings, while I still recognize, when I crossed a line, that I maybe should not have. It feels, almost revitalizing now, in this small letter to you, to air out, what has been bothering me for quite a while. It is refreshing, to throw empty platitudes to the side, and just let go of my strict manner.

Though I have to admit again, it confuses me greatly, that apparently you have tried to be my friend for so long, while I just never took direct notice of you, only of your shadows. My longest companion, I truly do not know if I should see you as my friend or my enemy. I am nowadays aware, that you have played both roles now, with great care, and my mind tears itself over that apart. I just can not figure out how to place you into my life. I am aware, that you have caused me great anguish, but also have saved my life on several occasions. At least you did, if I have placed your action in retrospect, right? Though, correct me if I am wrong. After all, I am trying to get an accurate image of you now.

Am I correct in assuming, that you posed as the call to adventure, that I simply could not resist, so many years ago? At first, I simply thought it to be my own desire to leave, and never return, that I had finally finished with the place, and the people occupying it. Alas, the longer I think of that day, the longer I think of the call, that I followed, the more sure I get, that the call came from someone else, and not from me. Like a friend calling me away? Or an enemy hounding me into a trap? Which one is it? Can you answer me that, because I know you were there, that day? After all, the shadows, that your so well-known for, were my cover on that fateful night.

Those black gloved hands, that I remember for so long ago, giving me comfort, when good dreams and good days were hard to come by, they belong to you too, no? In those memories, you feel nothing like my enemy. It is more, a silent guard, letting me know, that I am safe now, and have nothing more to fear. Not here. Not now. You posed as a silent comfort, whenever my nights grew worse and horrendous, no?

I only remember little of your actual appearance, but I do not think you can fault me for that, when it was your intention, that I would forget you. Though some things, just stood out to me, so that even my mind, heavy and slow, with the drag of exhaustion and sleep could remember those things.

You have a pale face, no? But not in any usual way. Otherwise, I am sure I would have forgotten your face a long time ago. But your lips, were always so pale, almost looking blue. The heavy and deep set bruises around your eyes, that seemed to come and go, like they were not even real, always threw me off too. Maybe, that was part of the reason I thought you as a figment of my imagination, your ever-changing appearance? I always thought you looked like you had been frozen to death, with your pale lashes and black bruises. Other times, I was sure you drowned a long time ago, because of the peculiar way, that your face was covered in splotches, marking you as a victim of suffocation, with your pale hair still dripping with water.

Sometimes, something from the deepest pits of my mind, tells me, that I would look like this, if no one had intervened so long ago. Frozen to death, before I even could achieve anything in my life, helpless to stave off the cold a bit longer, and unable to get to safety. Alas, drowning. If your attendance of me, has been even the least bit watchful, you know of my tendency, to get plunged into the ice-cold water. I fear the depths of a lake the most, I think. Often, I have already experienced how it feels, to slowly lose all air, as the water surface, gets further out of sight. Almost unreachable. I was so often pulled under, that it truly is wondrous that I am not yet, at the bottom of some lake. I even drowned in my own blood. So why do you look like this? Like deaths, I evaded?

Oh, that must truly be ridiculous for you to watch, which I am assuming you are. Your shadows, once one takes note of them, are rather hard to forget again. I am trying to figure out who you are, in a way that consists of piecing bits of interaction, that are still clear in my mind together, without any sense behind it. It is almost like figuring out a puzzle, only I know, that even if I had all the pieces, which I do not, it would still not give me a clear image of who you are, or rather of what you are. It is frustrating to know, that no matter what I do, I will not get closer to my goal. But I still hope, that this letter will at least entice you, to reveal more of yourself to me.

I spoke of it fleetingly, but there is another incident, that I still remember clearly. Can you remember it as well? I think around, that time I first became aware of you, just a thought in the back of mind as of yet, nothing concrete. But at that point, I can still feel your presence there. Maybe I was aware of your first interaction with me after all? I truly think so, because after this incident, something changed. Maybe it, was you? Because at first, I thought, it was just my childish excitement, about having discovered new hope for myself, and yet it was not quite that, no?

Not only your shadows have followed me all my life, there has been something else as well. Now you should know what I am talking about, no? It is the blue tulip, that I am talking about. The one, I am often carrying with me nowadays, courtesy of another friend of mine. I saw it as a child, and by all means, the circumstances were dire, and I should have died, that night. Still, I awoke the next morning, as if nothing had happened at all. Evading the cold in the end, and waking up in my own room again, buried under blankets. Being warm, and in no danger any more to fall victim to the harsh winter.

It was you, who saved me. I am sure of this. It was also your presence, that I could feel, as soon as I returned to the blue tulip again, with nervous energy cursing through me, and curiosity burning away in me. I have to admit at first it had frightened me greatly. The more I became aware of you, the colder it seemed to get, and in the end I had always been chased by you. But I think, I got used towards your presence over time, so much, that it rarely bothers me any more.

I do not know, any more, what I wanted to achieve with this letter. Or even if I have ever had a clear goal in mind, when I started to write. Maybe it was to vent at you? Maybe it simply was to acknowledge your existence? To admit, that you have been there for most of my life, and like I said, it could not go unspoken any more?

No matter my intentions, I think a lot, that needed to be said between us, finally got spoke out aloud. Alas, I hope to hear directly from you once. Not now, maybe not even in the next years, or decades. I do know, how much you love to stay in the shadows, but I still would like to hear from you as well.

Sincerely your charge turned friend

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HELENUS. Pika, I’ve been waiting for a Helenus application for a long, long time and I can say with utmost certainty that your application did NOT disappoint. Quite the opposite! You nailed every single aspect of Hugo down so perfectly I almost can’t believe it. His mannerisms and dialogue in your interview and sample were beautifully wary, and you get a sense of his devotion to God and why he’s so admired as a priest - but with one line you also nailed why he excels as an emissary. I can’t wait to see our beautiful, conflicted, weary priest on our dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours. 

                                                                         WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, i’m honestly not super picky.

Activity Level | tbqh…not great? i can’t promise anything more than my best, which is usually activity at least every other day (though i try to get on daily!). probably a 6/10, if i were to give it a number.

Timezone | pst.

Permission | ye sure!

In Character

Character | helenus ;; hugo kim

What drew you to this character? | i’m not gonna lie, hugo definitely snuck up on me. the paradoxical image of the sinning holy man was striking, but as i never read troilus and cressida, i didn’t quite feel comfortable enough with the character to apply the first time i peeped around diverona. so, this became an application for puck. anyway, fast forward a few days: i missed the friday acceptances, i looked into helenus a little (both the shakespeare and greek versions), and hooooo boy the inspiration just kind of…came? i mean, there’s a lot to draw from between the bio, the mythology, and the play.

to actually answer your question, i think what drew me to hugo was his internal conflict. hugo is a study in dichotomy, in balance. as a priest, he lives in a world of black and white, yet his reality bleeds an ugly, mottled grey (except for when it bleeds red, kek). he walks a precipice between faith and doubt (or more accurately, faith and love), and more than anything, i get the feeling he dreams on wings broken by reality. i’m not normally one partial to the good guys (i’m more of a chaotic-neutral kinda gal), but the thing with hugo is that he both is and isn’t a good guy, if that makes any sense. he’s a good man who does (has done, will do) bad things. he’s got vices that’ll come back to bite him in the ass. he’s an angel in free-fall, and i’ll be damned if that’s not intriguing to me.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

► 001. i am the lord thy god (comedy at its highest reveals a tragedy, and darling, you’re the biggest laugh of all)

living such a juxtaposed double life isn’t healthy. i’d like to explore how hugo is affected by the hypocrisy of his actions. how can a man preach kindness to all in one moment, then turn around and promise threats in the next? one of hugo’s biggest struggles is between balancing his role as a man of god and a man of the montagues. and obviously, this causes a lot of moral conundrums. at some point, the balance must tip.  i want hugo to make a choice one way or the other: fate or faith? it doesn’t have to be an explicit choice (in fact, it likely wouldn’t be), but rather, defiance or compliance with an order.  i want to see an embittered hugo, a cynical hugo. a hugo questioning his faith (or really, his identity). faith is such a central part of hugo’s character; what is he without it? is he anything without it? gimme a hugo wrecked by the war—just another casualty. how will this affect him? he is, essentially, pitting his family against his personal ethics—two fundamental aspects of himself. i imagine it may very well tear him apart, either figuratively or literally, depending on his choice.

► 002. thou shalt have no other gods before me (vacant eyes and hearts and hands)

all of hugo’s connections are fun, but oho, cinead’s. cinead’s. cinead terrifies hugo. hugo believes in one God, but to deny the power of the witches is a unique kind of heresy in which even hugo is reluctant to partake. there is only one way to reconcile this: hugo believes cinead to be the devil. well. perhaps not the devil, but his devil. i’d like to see the evolution of their relationship, how the unstoppable force meets the immovable object. hugo…doesn’t pride himself on being good at manipulating people, exactly, but he is aware he’s good at it. however, he’s outmatched by the witch, and i don’t know that he knows it. it might take him a while before he even realizes how easily he’s manipulated by cinead. interestingly, this is a plot that could break hugo, but is also possibly the only one that allows him to be truly free—after all, the hedonist is slave only to his own desires. so. yeah.

► 003. ye shall erect these stones which i command thee (though you shroud yourself in white, even you bleed red)

as a priest, hugo’s first and only devotion is to god. and he’s been good about that. but he’s still only a man. i’d like to see hugo form a romantic attachment to somebody. bonus points if it’s a guy (i hc hugo as being panromantic demisexual), because hi internalized institutional homophobia. the world of romance is a dangerous new frontier for hugo, and exploring that has a 70:1 chance of ending in angst, because, y’know…jesus.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“You’d probably expect me to say the Cathedral, wouldn’t you?” Hugo chuckles, steepling his fingers on his desk. “I mean, I suppose I ought to say the Cathedral, seeing how it is my home parish. And I do love it, I do. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful house of worship I have had the honor of laying my eyes upon, much less preaching in. But—”

(…but in Verona, the Cathedral is not a place for the Lord. It is a place for Them, and Hugo cannot help the seed of resentment that buds in his heart when he thinks of their arrogance, of their flagrant insistence to squander their power in the futile pursuit of more. They have deluded themselves into playing god, have lost sight of His way in their games of war. Pride is perhaps the most deadly of the sins, but it is not the only one.)

“—but I must admit to be rather partial to the library. I love books.” His small office is a testament to his statement. Books and writing are strewn across the room in an organized sort of chaos; there appears to be some kind of system, but it’s incomprehensible to the untrained eye. “Stories, facts…you could live entire lives in a library.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Busy.” There’s a rueful twist to Hugo’s smile. “It’s Lent, which means we must prepare for the Easter Triduum alongside regular mass…which means, basically, there’s a lot going on.” And that’s before he factors in his emissary work, which has been anything but typical since Alvise’s death. “Still, my day is pretty structured. I’ll wake up, pray, eat something light. Then I’ll go to the Cathedral and assist with business there for the day. How long I stay varies, depending on my, ah…personal business. Eventually, I’ll find my way home for the night. I always end the day with a prayer.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Hugo heaves a heavy sigh. “War is…” Ugly. Profitable. Terrible. Beautiful. He trails off, seemingly unsatisfied with the direction of his thought.

A moment passes. Another. He tries again. “One misconception people have about the Lord, I feel, is that He is responsible for war, for suffering. I think people misunderstand his power; God is Almighty and omnipotent, but also gifted us with autonomy. One of His greatest gifts is the freedom from him—the freedom to make our world. He relinquished control so that we may be free.” His voice lightens with a levity that only feels somewhat forced. “I don’t know that I’d call this war, yet, but for all our sakes, I pray it doesn’t become one. Things are already enough, as it is.”

He stands up; there is business to attend to. “There are a lot of things I could say about the war, but let’s leave it at this: may God have mercy on their souls.” He sighs. “On all our souls.”

In-Character Para Sample:

One truth that Hugo couldn’t deny: emissary work was not unlike addressing a congregation. In both, the man was the messenger—an arm of a higher being, with no real power of his own. An effective messenger understood this; an effective messenger didn’t need power. After all, why waste your breath preaching your own insignificance when you can channel the will of a god? No, persuasion was the most effective tool available to the mortal man. Though the body belonged to the Lord, the heart belonged to the individual.

And there were few people as good as playing heartstrings as the man who looked back at Hugo in the mirror. The man sighed, tugging one hand through his hair and another across his plain black shirt. Hugo’s vestments laid neatly folded behind him, the celebratory white and green a flash of brightness from the mass he concluded only an hour earlier. The mass’ other holdover, the joyful buzz from performing a service, had long since faded, only to be replaced by a new (though not unfamiliar) sensation: the buzz of anticipation. There were fewer things Hugo hated more than being called to work immediately following a mass. He had been acting as the Montague’s emissary for long enough that it didn’t phase him—he even had taken to wearing all black under his alb and vestments, just in case—but switching from a celebrant to a businessman was immeasurably draining.

Still, when duty called, he answered. Casting his reflection one more sigh, he grabbed the mobile off the corner of his desk and exited his tiny office. He took his time walking through the Cathedral’s hallways, nodding to everyone he passed in greeting but not making any effort at initiating conversation. He couldn’t help but blink when he exited the building; it was an overwhelmingly sunny day, truly worthy of being called the Lord’s Day.

Hugo headed toward the spot of darkness in the light, a sleek black sedan parked on the street corner. He nodded at the driver, an unremarkable associate whose name always escaped Hugo, in greeting, and settled into the passenger’s seat as the vehicle roared into motion.

“You’re late, Father,” the driver said.

Hugo caught the sigh that threatened to escape by the skin of his teeth—it was a terrible habit, the sighing, really. “Yes, well. Patience is a virtue, you know. Besides, I had a few matters to attend to at the church before I left.”

The driver snorted, an inelegant sound. “Pft. The church has been around for a couple thousand years. It could’ve waited ‘til after you did your business for the Family. Should’ve. Apparently you’re meetin’ with someone important.”

“More important than the—!” Hugo was scandalized. Did this heretic not realize that Easter was in a month? No, he reasoned, composing himself, probably not. The priest coughed into his fist, and continued in a more measured tone. “Ahem. Yes. I’ve been told this is a…delicate deal.”

That morning, Hugo had been told to pay a visit to a dealer associated with the Montagues. Apparently, the fool had been keeping a higher portion of his profits than the family liked, so they had decided to send the priest in to remind the man of the immorality of theft. Well, Hugo had supposed, you couldn’t deny the Montagues had a sense of humor.

Their conversation lulled into silence as the drove through the city. Hugo watched as it flew by in the window, nice neighborhoods bleeding into slums bleeding into historical centers. They slowed in a middling part of town—you wouldn’t take a tourist there, perhaps, but the area had a familiar vibrancy unique to locals. The driver pulled up to a rather nondescript home that looked to have been repurposed as an apartment complex.

“Ya got a gun on you, Father?” The driver asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” It weighed heavily in Hugo’s pocket, another habit adopted in Verona. “Wait here until I get out. I pray the proceedings won’t escalate, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Aw, Father, you don’t need to worry. Who in their right mind’s gonna shoot at a priest? That’s, like, a one-way ticket to hell.”

And extorting drug dealers isn’t? The sardonic thought went unsaid as Hugo gave the driver a final acknowledgement and exited the car. A cursory glance at the tenant list gave him his final destination, and he entered the building with a pride he didn’t feel, a one-man processional sent to deliver the word of God to the heretic. Upon reaching the intended’s door, he knocked once, twice. A man, presumably the target, opened it—what a fool, Hugo thought—and regarded the priest with a wary glance, hand snaking to the waistband of his pants. So he knew why the angel had been sent to his door. Good. That made Hugo’s job much easier. Primly, he adjusted his shirt collar.

“Tell me,” he said, voice gentle but knowing, “did you know that theft is a sin?”

Time to go to work.

Extras:

a playlist–

ultralight beam ;; kanye west

( i’m tryna keep my faith, but i’m lookin’ for more / somewhere i can feel safe / and end my holy war )

talking to myself ;; gallant

( how’d my own molecules forsake me? / atoms changed behind my back )

blessings ;; chance the rapper

( don’t believe in kings, believe in the kingdom )

fall away ;; twenty one pilots

( every time i feel my selfish ambition is taking my vision / and my crime is my sentence / repentance is taking commission )

in the woods somewhere ;; hozier

( his bone exposed / his hind was lame / i raised a stone to end his pain )

day n nite (nightmare) ;; kid cudi

( within his dreams he sees the life he made / the pain is deep / a silent sleeper, you won’t hear a peep )

fade ;; kanye west

( when no one ain’t around / i think i think too much / ain’t nobody watchin’ / i just fade away )

medicine ;; daughter

( you’ve got a warm heart / you’ve got a beautiful brain / but it’s disintegrating )

hc’s & misc. bits

hugo is technically ordained as an eastern catholic priest, but is familiar with roman catholic tradition.

hugo is fluent in russian and italian. he speaks the latter with a trace of an accent of the former. he also speaks pretty good english, and is fair in classical latin.

this was kinda obvious in the para sample, but hugo sighs a lot?? the man is tired; let him live. other ticks include pacing and holding his hands on his hips. he gesticulates a lot when he speaks, especially when impassioned.

he keeps an extensive collection of herbal teas. his favorite is oolong, though his daily staple is earl grey.

hugo and albert used to call each other every week. hugo feels guilty because he’s been letting their phone calls slide recently.

hugo tries not to curse, and is usually pretty successful. when he starts breaking out the expletives, you can safely assume shit has hit the fan.

hugo claims that his plain choice in clothes is strictly a practice in practicality and professionalism. this is true. it is also true, however, that he’s otherwise hopeless at picking outfits. don’t bother flashing your rolexes and red bottoms at him, because it’ll go right over his head.

i feel like i was a little heavy on the angsty/struggling side of hugo in the app, but he really doesn’t come across as such in his interactions. he’s kind of a nerd tbh.

anyway, thanks for reading! i wanna apologize for playing hard and loose with catholicism; i’m a minimalist catholic, but there are definitely aspects here that may or may not reflect the actual rl church haha

[oldjackivy]

Death Stranding Theories From the Outside...

So, here's the thing: I'm not a gamer. My wife, she's a gamer. She'll play mass effect all day. Me? The most recent games I've played are the Batman "Arkham" series, and Ghostbusters. Not the new one tied to the new film, but the 2009 one, with the original cast. Those are my most recent not because I'm a gamer, but because I love batman, and I LOVE Ghostbusters. That said, I also love creativity, and I love seeing/hearing/watching other people be creative. Hideo Kojima is a creative man. You don't even need to be a gamer to see that. So is Guillermo Del Toro. I have long loved his films, and felt like a kid in a candy store as I walked through his "At Home With Monsters" exhibit with a friend back in November. His creativity was on full display, and I relished it, seeing not only his own creations, but the things that influenced him. The things that made such an imprint on him that you can see how it drove him to become the creator he is today. It was like seeing the formula or the equation behind his works. If A= Classic monster movies and B= a love of old fairy tales, then A+B= Pan's Labyrinth... Or something like that anyway. I love art and writing and coming up with my own stories, and for me part of that involves taking the things I have experienced or learned about and finding ways to connect them and make something new or unique, then taking that new thing and again seeing how I can connect it back to this world. I really enjoy seeing other creative who seem to think along these lines too. When I saw Del Toro's name attached to Silent Hills, I got excited, and I vaguely knew Kojima was a big name in video games because of Metal Gear Solid, so I was pretty excited to see what would come out of the game. Norman Reeds as the lead character was a win to me too. Something about having an actor involved to the degree that they use their likeness in a game feels like it gives the project a little more "umph" to me, but, that's just me. And of course I was bummed to see the project get canceled... But it was what came out of all of this that had me hooked. 2 brilliant creative minds and a good actor deciding to carry on after what seemed like a pretty severe brush off, and the cancelation of a high profile project. Something good felt like it was gonna come out of it. And know, we see what that was: Death Stranding. Between cryptic words, a couple trailers, and the mysterious "Homo Ludens" mascot of Kojima's new company, there's a lot to process, and a lot to guess about. But there's also the overwhelming invitation to try. To find the pieces if that formula. The elements of the equation that Kojima built Death Stranding from. I saw a video recently (I believe from YouTube user YongYea) talking about comparisons between the first Death Stranding trailer and the first Terminator film. Now, at first I thought "OK, big whoop, here's 2 naked guys who start out on the ground and then stand up. It really evidence of anything, right?" But then I saw his side by side comparison of the two scenes... And my mind was blown. It was clear that Kojima purposefully built the Death Stranding scene to mirror the Terminator scene. Do I think it's some link between the two stories that is significant? No, at least not right now, but I do think it's a piece of formula. I think it's one of the things that was swirling around Kojima's head that inspired him. By no stretch of the imagination do I think I am any sort of equal to Kojima. He clearly knows a ton more about video games and making money than I do. But, I do think I sense something about him and the way he thinks that I can relate to... That I vibe with. He's a connector. He's constantly absorbing and analyzing the world around him. Facts, theories, history, legends, technology, advancements, people, all of it. Observing things and storing them away, noting how it all connects to the world around him, and then allowing his brain to connect those different concepts into something new. Taking things that haven't been put together before and seeing how they fit. Coming up with new meanings and interpretations of things. I read about how one of the Metal Gear games involves unplugging a controller and plugging it into the other controller port to confuse an enemy who up til then has been predicting your moves. That takes someone who is constantly thinking about how to reinterpret the world around him. The idea that he would be the 3rd person in the hospital, in his own creation, witnessing his creation, and then having it interact with him, and allowing the player to experience that too? That's someone who cares deeply about not creating a game, but an experience. A world. It totally falls in line with the "Homo Ludens" character from the Kojima logo. The Playing Man. An evolution. A character that represents all of us as we engage in his games. His name isn't Carl or Steve or NORMAN. He is... Kojima. He's you. He's me. He's anyone playing a Kojima game (or a game in general, I suppose). He's us. That said, he happens to look like Norman Reedus. BUT, this isn't Norman Reedus playing a certain character. Hell, it isn't even Norman Reedus as Norman Reedus. It's just... His shell? His body? It's the figure that represents this new man. This Playing Man. It's his likeness in the suit, but that likeness can be Kojima, it can be anyone. So when Kojima says "It's me in the suit" he's not lying. And when he says "it can be anybody" he's not lying. He's just being clever... He's also not lying when he says that Ludens is not Norman, and Ludens is not the main character Death Stranding. However, the main character of Death Stranding could very well be another example of Norman representing this Playing Man. Separate, but the same. Homo Ludens is the poster child, but game Norman is the concept in action. Now, as for the game itself... ... What if it's a meta examination of gaming itself? Think about it. When you game, you play, your character dies, you respect, you move on. But what if every playable character that dies becomes... Stranded? Every time you respawn, that old, shot up body that you just shed so you could take a new one out to battle is stranded. Every element t of the game, person, place, thing, etc, that gets broken or killed carelessly and thoughtlessly becomes "stranded", left to drift, winding up in some sort of game world graveyard. This explains why it's not just lifeforms that have the disconnect Ted umbilical cords dangling about, but stuff like the planes as well. It's a haunting place. One that looks like it's starting to become its own gnarly assemblage of weird biological matter and parts, if that creepy tank on the bridge is any indicator. And what if, in the midst of this madness and decay, there was life. A new form of life. A life to be protected, of fought over. What if this "playing man" is that life? Life that has evolved to care and understand "death" in a new way, and that death in any form is to be revered and deserves compassion, and that life is to be protected? Life that has evolved to be a product of this game world... Homo Ludens. Maybe that is what the baby in the pod is. Another video I saw, and forgive me, I can't find it again, and I can't remember who said it, but they put forth that the way things suddenly appear and disappear and change, sometimes off screen and sometimes in a burst of embers and light... Maybe that's the in game equivalent of having an invisible cache of gear and equipping it seemingly out of nowhere. Mads Mikkelsen is seen using his goggles, but as he flips them up, they disappear. In the first trailer, as Norman is holding the baby, connecting Ted to him via the cord, the shot is tight on him. We can't see the child, but suddenly, he reacts, and we pull out to see its gone, and later on, that a scar has taken the place of where the cord would have connected. Maybe it disappeared in much the same way Mads' goggles disappeared, just off screen. Was it because Guillermo "equipped" the baby from where he was? YongYea also made a video that showed by altering the speed of one of the trailers, the 2 trailers sync up in a way that makes it seem like as soon as Guillermo connects his cord to the pod carrying the baby, that is the moment when Norman loses the baby in his world. He pondered that maybe the fact that the "dogtags" on Norman's neck and the equations etched onto them, which pertain to quantum physics and black holes, possibly meant that the game would touch on those elements. He sort of dismissed the idea that speeding up the video played into the black hole theory, but I think he was on the right track. I think that is because these are 2 characters in different worlds/levels of the same game, but Kojima is taking this concept to new depths. These worlds/levels in the game might actually relate to each other in a way similar to the scene in Interstellar when some of the characters go down to the surface of a planet, only to find that an hour there was years on the ship in orbit. Maybe that's consistent between the worlds of this game. Clearly they are all suffering from the same affliction of being a place where dead things are stranded, but maybe those equations are the key to Norman moving throughout the levels, and maybe moving the baby back and forth through time is part of the game's mechanics to protect it. Maybe it's ability to relate to and move through time and space differently and still survive is a part of its evolution... From Homo sapiens into Homo Ludens. And what if Mads, as the villain, is able to manipulate all the death and decay and abuse it to his will? People have wondered if the oil is a sign that the game has something to do with an actual oil crisis, but I think it's not so much a firm in game literal element as much as just visual symbolism for the abuse of life. It leaks from Mads as he is connected to the world war 2 era soldiers in the tunnel. He's using all those discarded soldiers and warriors so carelessly "stranded" after their job is over, as his army, out to stop this Homo Ludens. To crush it before it becomes a threat. I think the five floating beings in the first trailer are that world/level's incarnation of Mads and his death soldiers. I think each level dictates their appearance. In the more war oriented world, they are soldiers. In the, literally, stripped down world Norman is in, the take the threatening appearance of some all knowing beings above him. They will follow you from world to world in pursuit of Ludens... I have more thoughts, but they're not completely fleshed out. I'll probably post them eventually. I've definitely been sucked down this rabbit hole. For me the fun isn't in trying to figure out every detail of the game's plot. It's in putting together the equation. Deciphering the pieces and influences and what they could mean when connected together, in the equation that will ultimately equal Death Stranding.

[hungeri-blog1]

ALIENS are US

Concept of ALIEN: ANY SOUL WHOSE PRIMARY DEVELOPMENT IS MORE THAN 51% IN HIGHER FREQUENCY DIMENSIONS AND LESS THAN 49% IN THE 3RD DIMENSION.

For me personally, it wasn't until I was about age forty in 1993 that I experienced a shift in my energies and started feeling more alien--i.e. more comfortable in other dimensions--than the earth plane. Up until then, my development felt almost perfectly balanced 50-50 between development in this plane and sojourns in other dimensions. And while I would say that I had a preference for sojourns in the earth plane before this time, after this--while I still have a great fondness for the earth--I no longer seem to feel any preferences between dimensions.

This feeling of non-preference was certainly reinforced ever since my soul mate, Jim Rush, passed over in 1997 at the age of sixty. Since then, his ongoing communion on to other dimensions continues to loosen any vestiges of attachment to being in any particular plane of consciousness with me and the occasional trips--or waking dreams--he takes me.

But for whatever the good reason: being a trance channel since 1972, feeling more grounded and stable from Taoist practices, or the Galactic Forces bombarding the plane to shift us all more towards the Light--or probably all of the above--I began to feel definitely as if I was more comfortable and more aware of being in other dimensions, while simultaneously being present in this body and this incarnation. In other words, my expanded concept of identity shifted its perspective to the purpose that it became viscerally integrated into my being.

Over time, my desire to paint began to fall away and my creative focus shifted to writing books, articles, newsletters and teaching workshops from this expanded concept of self perspective. And, in me marked a midpoint in my journey from coming in for a landing in this incarnation (right in the middle of my Uranian opposition cycle, BTW) to an awareness that I am now on the return-ticket portion of this ride while I still keep half of the portraits in my office focused in this dimension and half focused from other dimensions--to make ALL my clients feel at home--this shift.

What Does It All Mean?

You read my definition of aliens and can identify with not feeling at home or comfortable with your emotions, bodies or in the earth plane itself--welcome to the 10% (and growing all the time) of souls incarnate in the earth plane whose primary development is in other dimensions if you feel relief when.

The movie comedy, Men in Black, addressed this theme, with the premise that all aliens were delegated to remain on the island of Manhattan and maintain a human disguise. When, I saw this movie I wanted to yell at the screen, "They've all been confined to the East Village of Manhattan." And, yes, it's true! The neighborhood I live in has a disproportionate number of alien residents, literally, and I don't mean just off their countries.

On any Saturday summer night when I am people-watching from a sidewalk cafe, there are so many aliens, even with their alien pets, promenading up and down the main drag, St. Marks Place, and NOT all in disguise,, that it literally looks like a real-life version of the intergalactic cocktail bar in the original Star Wars movie.

On a slightly more serious note, what do I have to say about the clients who come to me in a way that is empowering to them to make the most of their experiences because they believe they've had alien sightings, alien implants or been abducted by aliens, etc.? Well, this is what I have to say: I work with anyone who comes to me. I don't argue, debate or dispute--but rather create a bridge reality so that we can work in a positive way going forward with whatever history, beliefs or fears they bring to me.

Just like in medication the placebo effect has been proven to be effective as a treatment--equally as much as drugs--over 30% of the full time, I think in the power of this mind to create our realities that are personal perspective and experiences. Therefore, in the most helpful way so that they can use their experiences as soul lessons for karmic healing while I have not personally had some of the experiences my clients bring to me to resolve, I do not discount them, but rather chose to work with them.

I call myself a "full-service psychic." This means that I've had people come to who believe they've been possessed by demons, discarnate entities, ghosts, aliens or whatever. My method of working with these kinds of clients is to empower them to acknowledge that--at a higher level of their being--they've chosen this experience and reality that is personal extremely specific karmic lessons which I can help them to own and integrate.

Almost all clients who believe they are "taken over"or "possessed" in some way are usually holding some very limiting karmic fear-based beliefs in which they think they're powerless over more effective and usually dark "outside forces"and so feel themselves energetically like they can't protect.

The great sleeping prophet of the 20th century said, "Mind is the Builder. as Edgar Cayce" And if we don't believe something is possible for us--then we can't manifest it.

For a more detailed explanation of this kind of projection, SEE MY ARTICLE ON SELFGROWTH: Owning Our Inner Pluto before . . . It Eats Us for Lunch

While I do not allow anyone to breach my psychic boundaries and feel strong and confidant in maintaining them, it has taken me much work over many decades to get here. Therefore, I empathize with anyone who does not believe it's possible to have this charged power within unique being. This is the very reason that I've selected to pass on my personal personal psychic empowerment methods. For lots more on this: EMPOWERMENT PRACTICES

Ultimately, my philosophy is: One Being===billions of faces. And this perspective that is metaphysical not only the horizontal axis of the earth plane--but also the vertical channel to higher dimensions as well. This means that, at the level approaching absolute reality, there are no horizontal boundaries that separate all souls incarnate in the world in terms of the cocreative Divine energies all of us are made up of. And vertically, there is nothing that separates us from beings in other dimensions--as we're also all made up of the same Divine stuff.

Once we dissolve the illusionary boundaries between ourselves and others--horizontally and vertically--at the level of relative truth in this plane of duality and, once we get a taste of how it is to be in all spaces and times simultaneously through spiritual practices, THEN this multidimensional game we're all playing in becomes much more cozy and much more fun. Aliens are us--indeed!

Right Back Story

For almost forty years, I've been painting portraits of Beings in what I call "Alternate Realities." In 1982, during the solo that is first of my work in Soho (NYC) entitled "Visions and Dreamworks," I had a small back room filled with figurative portraits from this reality and a large main gallery room filled with over a dozen portraits of what the mass consciousness would call "Aliens" or "ETs."

One of the most humorous aspects of this show, for me anyway, was that, while I had been stoned on grass when I painted all the figurative portraits, most of the alternate reality portraits had been done once I'd cleaned up my act and was in recovery. Most everyone during the opening thought for sure it was the other way around.

http://clashofclanscheats.us/ But the joke that is real yet to come. At the opening, me, "Where did you get the idea for all these aliens? as I was standing in the center of the main room, someone asked" Before I answered, I did a 360 degree scan of all the portraits. That's when, as if I'd been struck by lightning, I realized undeniably: THEY'RE ALL ME! .

Since 1972, I'd been channeling readings from an assortment of sources as I expanded the range of what my channels called my channel system that is"open." Most of the soul readings I did for others evolved from an original contact in the (Akashic) Hall of Records who initially called himself the Sympathetic Bridge Recorder. Then, over time, this Akashic contact merged with a group or gestalt of souls whoever function was to maintain and monitor the Soul Records at the particular level of the 6th dimension of consciousness, also known as the plane that is causal.

There were numerous other channels that came through in the early years. Some seemed much further out in frequency and tone than the ones I used with clients and originally labeled themselves: "From the other side of the Universe." Then, over time, these channels stabilized and began calling themselves the Highest Available Galactic Forces (acronym: HAGF). This channel, whom I call "my bosses," is the one I still use for my own readings in my personal marching orders as they direct me. HAGF is also the channel I utilize for readings of a planetary, global or perspective that is galactic well as setting the theme and tone for most of my newsletters these days.

Just about the time I had the revelation about the true identity of my "altered state" or "alien" portraits, my channels informed me--in no uncertain terms that: They (meaning all my channels) were: All me "all along." The various channels had just been labeling themselves for my convenience for over a decade and so as not to put me into shock by giving me more info than I was prepared to carry out. So, it seems it took over a decade of being a trance channel for my self that is"little ego/personality to be stable and right-sized (haha) enough to handle this concept of expanded identity. And I'm nevertheless working on it.

For a more detailed description of this process: Openings, a Guide to Psychic Living in the Real World, Part V, The Personal Development of this Channel System and Part VI, Channels of Influence.

Summation

About 10% or so of the people who arrive at me personally for soul readings are informed that their primary development is predominantly--meaning at least 51%--in other dimensions and are thus defined as "aliens"in terms of exactly what dimension they would be most comfortable home"to that is"phoning. The hallmarks of alien development are feeling: quite uncomfortable with the human range that is emotional the physical body and/or being at home in the thickness of the earth airplane at all.

The majority that is vast of who receive the news that their primary development is alien are incredibly relieved and many are not even very surprised at all, as their reading just confirmed what they, at least subliminally, already knew. And, learning that their spouses and children were many times of alien development as well, made it feel very right and cozy for them--even if they were advised to not necessarily share this info with their loved ones.

I also began working with quite a few of these alien souls in my psychic therapy process--with a special focus on helping them "come in for a landing." in terms of releasing any limiting karmic (or alien) beliefs, fears or aversion that kept them from fully embracing their assignment for this incarnation. This usually entailed rounding out their soul development through a cycle of lives of full immersion in the earth plane and full development of the range of humanness through different roles and scenarios, with a special focus on experiencing the human repertoire that is emotional.

These 10% are also the therapy clients whom give themselves the light that is green go further out into higher frequency dimensions than the causal plane as part of their work with me. Most clients choose to stabilize at the dimension that is 6th (that we also call "the Universal Flow State" or "Cosmic Ocean of Consciousness") because the optimal frequency to keep if they want to be able to simultaneously function in the earth plane. The plane that is causal also where one can learn how to access the Records and channel readings for themselves and others. And for most clients, I concur that going further out than the 6th dimension is not optimal for stabilization while in a 3D incarnation.

But, for those souls with alien development, going even further out and stabilizing in their 7th dimension functions and frequencies while starting up the space/time continuum with me, but the ultimate joy for them--and for me so they can experience being here and there simultaneous is, not just the culmination of their therapy.

Read More Articles about ALIENS are US on my blog http://hungeri.tumblr.com/