#basically we need to bring back bartering system

[telomeke]

ID text–

The first post by Tumblr user @‌reasonandempathy starts with a series of images comprising a Twitter thread posted by Sayed Tabatabai, MD @‌TheRealDoctorT at 5:01PM UTC 16 September 2020:

“Why do you want to be a doctor?” I answer without hesitation, “I want to help people.” “There are many ways to help people.” “I want to save lives.” “There are many ways to do that too. So I’ll ask you again, why do you want to be a doctor?” “Because I believe in it.” I think about that exchange now and then, some times more than others. Why do we do the things we do? What do we really believe in? My next clinic patient is one I’ve known for many years. He is visiting me today via Zoom. I always look forward to talking to him. As soon as the visit begins, I notice that his camera is angled off-center so I can’t get a clear look at his face. I ask if he can adjust it, but he says he’s having technical issues. No problem. I can adapt. It isn’t just the camera though. Something feels off today. Almost immediately I can tell that he sounds subdued. He isn’t cracking his usual jokes. I’m comfortable with silence, even in the heart of a busy clinic day. Silence is often where the healing happens. After asking how he’s doing, I let the silence between us grow. The question, when he asks it, is one I don’t expect. “Doc, which kills you faster? Blood pressure you don’t control, or blood sugar you don’t control?” The surprise on my face must register, because he explains further. “I just can’t afford all these medications anymore.” He continues. “The way I see it, doc, I only need to stick around 4 or 5 more years. That’s how long my pet dog has left, then I ain’t got no more family and it’s me all on my own. So I figure maybe take the diabetes ones and skip the blood pressure? Or every other day?” As I review his meds and start discussing our options with him, he adds one last remark. “And I’m real sorry doc. I know we go back a ways, but I can’t afford my co-pay. I’ll pay you later. Promise.” And just like that, I understand why his camera is angled. And just like that, I’m again struck by the cruel illusion of what I do. The system I’m part of. This patient did everything right; got insurance, paid his taxes. And he still has to barter years of his life. And he can’t bring himself to look me in the eyes as he does so. Our healthcare system is too often unethical, immoral, unsustainable. The insurance paradigm is focused on revenue generation. It strips the basic human dignity from patients, to the point where they can’t even make eye contact anymore. I know that I’m part of this system. He’s old enough to be my father. Some part of me imagines that he is my father. Tears threaten my vision, as a hot anger floods me. Now I wish I could angle my camera away. I ask him if I can write about him. Because people need to know. His response lingers with me. “Sure you can doc. But people already know. Lots of people deal with this. It ain’t that people don’t know. It’s just that nobody cares. Nobody gives enough of a damn to change anything. Nobody… cares.” The visit ends. My Zoom window closes. His window closes too. I feel it. There’s something insidious here. A casual cruelty we’re all complicit in. “I can’t go to rehab, insurance won’t cover it.” “Insurance won’t pay for that medication.” “I can’t afford any of this.” “I’m uninsured.” This isn’t right. None of this is right. Twenty years ago, I gave a medical school interview. I wore my best suit. I sat up straight. I said I believed in medicine. I meant it. Some part of me once burned brightly, but that fire is down to flickering embers. Our lives mean more than this. More than this.

This is followed by a screenshot of a tweet by Albert Lee @‌AlbertLee2020:

In America, you and your doctor can both agree that you need a surgery but you have to get permission from a third-party for-profit insurance company or it can't be paid for. It's called freedom.

Tumblr user @‌reasonandempathy's post was then reblogged by Tumblr user @‌nateconnolly, who added a link to the donor page of recommended charity RIP Medical Debt (a charity that buys medical debt and forgives it), as well as a screenshot rating its trustworthiness as a organization to be supported with donations:

Rating Information Great This charity's score is 100%, earning it a Four-Star rating. If this organization aligns with your passions and values, you can give with confidence. This overall score is calculated from multiple beacon scores, weighted as follows: 32% Accountability & Finance, 50% Impact & Results, 7% Leadership & Adaptability, 10% Culture & Community. Learn more about our criteria and methodology.

Our system is broken.  It is cruel.  It is dehumanizing, degrading, and it’s vile nature is so, so unnecessary.

We need universal healthcare today in America.  We needed it 40 years ago.  It’s cheaper, it’s simpler, it’s more efficient, it’s more effective and it is so, so, so much less cruel than what we have.

Additional sources/references:

Universal Healthcare Cost in America would be cheaper by trillions of dollars

The US has worse life expectancies than socialized healthcare countries

We have worse generalized healthcare results

We have the most expensive care

Our system is so cruel and unique that doctors from other countries literally can’t believe what happens here

I can’t tell you where or how to activate to help solve this.  There are politicians, groups, and activists pushing for this in so many ways.  I can tell you when, though.

Now.

[nspiresoft]

Backlinks and everything you need to know about them!

It is really a valid question as it's quite easy to get bemused between the likes of inbound links, incoming links, and backlinks and think that they're totally unlike one another, when in reality they're all pretty similar to one another.

In this article, we are mostly going to talk about each and everything that you should know about backlinks, so that our beloved readers can begin your SEO journey without hesitation.

Let's get started!!

What is a backlink?

The basic and most simple definition of backlink is that it's a simple link from any web page, web directory or a website on the Internet to your site.

In simple words, if any other website links to your website, it's called a backlink.

It is an important aspect of Digital Marketing.

How can backlinks affect your SEO?

Backlinks are known to be one of the 200 ranking factors followed by Google and have a very adverse effect on your SEO. However, the fact of the matter is that not all backlinks cannot be treated equally. Because a good and high quality backlink is always going to be way better than a normal or a generic one. A good, quality inbound link is the one that directly targets your area of interest or niche.

Also backlinks are pretty much important to SEO as all of the search engines look towards the backlinks as a show of respect or confidence towards your content, which further helps your site to rank higher on search engines.

So if a lot of sites start linking back to yours, search engines will more often than not give your content a forward push helping it to rank better in the search results.

Why are backlinks important from Google's standpoint?

Now that basics are done for, let's dive a bit deeper and understand why backlinks are considered important from Google's standpoint. So, for the starters the Google search engine uses backlinks as a medium which helps to improve your sites ranking.

Also, backlinks are known to have the most effect on site rankings.

Benefits of using backlinks:

Helps sites to gain faster indexing.

Improves ranking over all the search engines.

Spreads brand awareness.

Increases domain authority.

Brings referral traffic for monetization.

What is a quality backlink?

Quality backlinks play a very crucial role when it comes to growing your website. A high quality backlink is considered to be the one that's highly reputable, natural and highly relevant.

Also a quality backlink comes from a high domain authority website which is well-trusted not just by search engines but also by searchers.

The highest quality of backlinks are known to be the ones that use relevant keywords within the anchor texts of the links.

How to get backlinks to your website?

Listed below are the few strategies to help you generate valuable backlinks for your website.

 Create attractive content.

Creating creative and attractive content on your blog is one of the most underrated techniques. Creating content that's good for attracting backlinks, as well as improving the time that users spend on the website which indirectly improves your SEO.

Other than posting long form content, other things you can do is perform surveys, publish data that's statistically true and the list goes on and on.

Basically all you have to do is make your content so attractive and so unique that people can't resist linking their sites to yours.

Do guest posting.

Every serious blogger at least once in their life for sure does guest posting. Basically guest posting is like a barter system in which you publish a post on someone else's blog in exchange for some backlinks to your site.

Backlinks play a crucial role in growing your website.

One of the most important strategies to help your site rank on Google as well as other search engines is getting more and more backlinks.

Nevertheless, taking shortcuts as well purchasing spam networks, low quality directory links, cheap link services which promise to deliver a huge boost to your sites ranking is a huge no.

Whereas, publishing content that's high in quality, is interactive and helps to build relations with other sites from your niche and gain natural as well as high quality backlinks is a big yes.

While, backlinks is one of the most crucial part of SEO, there are still a lot of other things and aspects that one should know in order to grow their site, and at Nspiresoft we have everything that you need not just for generating high quality backlinks but also to scale your business.

Still have doubts regarding backlinks? Feel free to ask us in the comment section.

[argyrocratie]

“According to Graeber, himself an anthropologist, there simply are no examples of communities where the internal distribution of goods was managed by barter between the members. Barter took place between separate communities where low levels of trust prevailed, or between individuals “not bound by ties of hospitality (or kinship, or much of anything else).” And when it occurred, it was a matter of pride to have gotten the better end of the bargain by cheating the other party.110 So barter did not take place within hunter-gatherer groups or villages, because the distribution of most goods was governed by Bookchin’s “irreducible minimum.”

This is not to say there was no reciprocity in the sharing relations within communities, but as Graeber says “If… one cares enough about someone - a neighbor, a friend - to wish to deal with her fairly and honestly, one will inevitably also care about her enough to take her individual needs, desires, and situation into account. Even if you do swap one thing for another, you are likely to frame the matter as a gift.”111 Here’s how he describes the likely resolution of a typical case - Henry having potatoes and needing shoes - in which the problem of “double coincidence of wants” arose:

For example, if Henry was living in a Seneca longhouse, and needed shoes, Joshua would not even enter into it; he’d simply mention it to his wife, who’d bring up the matter with the other matrons, fetch materials from the longhouse’s collective storehouse, and sew him some. Alternately, to find a scenario fit for an imaginary economics textbook, we might place Joshua and Henry together in a small, intimate community like a Nambikwara or Gunwinggu band.

SCENARIO 1

Henry walks up to Joshua and says “Nice shoes!”

Joshua says, “Oh, they’re not much, but since you seem to like them, by all means take them.”

Henry takes the shoes.

Henry’s potatoes are not at issue since both parties are perfectly well aware that if Joshua were ever short of potatoes, Henry would give him some….

SCENARIO 2

Henry walks up to Joshua and says, “Nice shoes!”

Or, perhaps — let’s make this a bit more realistic — Henry’s wife is chatting with Joshua’s and strategically lets slip that the state of Henry’s shoes is getting so bad he’s complaining about corns.

The message is conveyed, and Joshua comes by the next day to offer his extra pair to Henry as a present, insisting that this is just a neighborly gesture. He would certainly never want anything in return.

It doesn’t matter whether Joshua is sincere in saying this. By doing so, Joshua thereby registers a credit. Henry owes him one.

How might Henry pay Joshua back? There are endless possibilities. Perhaps Joshua really does want potatoes. Henry waits a discrete interval and drops them off, insisting that this too is just a gift. Or Joshua doesn’t need potatoes now but Henry waits until he does. Or maybe a year later, Joshua is planning a banquet, so he comes strolling by Henry’s barnyard and says “Nice pig … “

In any of these scenarios, the problem of “double coincidence of wants,” so endlessly invoked in the economics textbooks, simply disappears. Henry might not have something Joshua wants right now. But if the two are neighbors, it’s obviously only a matter of time before he will.

This in turn means that the need to stockpile commonly acceptable items in the way that Smith suggested disappears as well. With it goes the need to develop currency. As with so many actual small communities, everyone simply keeps track of who owes what to whom.112

This is basically a mutual credit clearing system, much like those practiced in medieval villages where nobody had any specie currency, and everyone simply ran mutual open tabs — as recounted by Graeber — and in more recent times advocated by Tom Greco and practiced by some of his followers, but without any standard unit of account. Lacking a unit of account by which to quantify the values of different goods, such societies resorted to assigning goods to broad categories of comparable value as a rough standard for gauging how much one party was obliged to another.113 The invention of a common denominator of value, and pricing of goods, would obviously be an increase in efficiency for such a system, as in the medieval case and in Greco’s credit-clearing systems; but that requires neither specie or other “backing,” nor the possession of value from past exchanges in order to have purchasing power. In fact such credit systems using quantified units of account arose, as Graeber describes it, after the collapse of both the Western Roman and Carolingian empires: “People continued keeping accounts in the old imperial currency, even if they were no longer using coins.”114 In fact villagers actually continued denominating their exchanges in the monetary standards of dead empires for centuries after state-minted coins had come to be denominated entirely differently, using the old Carolingian denominations for 800 years and into the 17th century.115

And even later, it was a common practice in specie-poor areas for fishermen, farmers, etc., to run tabs with merchants against the sale of their output.116 Better yet, Graeber pushes the time frame in the other direction and cites evidence that such credit systems in ancient Mesopotamia predated both trade and coinage, being first used by temples as an accounting system for the goods shuffled around between their own departments.117

This was a system of mutual credit characterized entirely by flows and requiring no preexisting stocks, and hence anathema to Austrians and other ideologists of hard money.

And the kinds of markets that existed in the medieval world of non-usurious, running-tab mutual credit — supplemental to an economy where most subsistence needs were met through direct production for use, characterized by high degrees of solidarity and mutual aid — were fundamentally different in character from the rapacious, extractive capitalist markets that replaced them.

The peasants’ visions of communistic brotherhood did not come out of nowhere. They were rooted in real daily experience  of the maintenance of common fields and forests, of everyday cooperation and neighborly solidarity. It is out of such homely experience of everyday communism that grand mythic visions are always built….

…On the one hand, [English villagers] believed strongly in the collective stewardship of fields, streams, and forests, and the need to help neighbors in difficulty. On the other hand, markets were seen as a kind of attenuated version of the same principle, since they were entirely founded on trust.118

In fact, the kind of semi-solidaristic economy, in which merchants and tradesmen saw their customers as neighbors and governed their relations accordingly, persisted well into the modern era. As Graeber argues, when Adam Smith wrote that the brewer, butcher, and baker acted entirely in view of their own self-interest and without regard to anyone else’s, he was not describing the behavior of actual brewers and butchers in the world he lived in; he was — like Locke the “historian” of private property — attempting to create a world.

…[A]t the time Smith was writing, this simply wasn’t true. Most English shopkeepers were still carrying out the main part of their business on credit, which meant that customers appealed to their benevolence all the time. Smith could hardly have been unaware of this. Rather, he is drawing a utopian picture. He wants to imagine a world in which everyone used cash, in part because he agreed with the emerging middle-class opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone really did conduct themselves this way, and avoid confusing and potentially corrupting ongoing entanglements. We should all just pay the money, say “please” and “thank you,” and leave the store.119

And it was precisely to the extent that the state and capitalism destroyed “everyday communism” that society first became the war of all against all that Hobbes posited as a “state of nature.”

The question remains of just how so much of our production and consumption came to be governed by market exchange, versus direct production for use in the social sector, subsistence on the commons, gifting, etc. The simple but accurate answer is the state. States created economies dominated by exchange in the cash nexus by paying their soldiers and other functionaries in money, and requiring subject populations to pay taxes in the same money.120

This was true of the so-called Axial Age empires of the 1st Millennium BC. And it was true of modern colonial empires, in which head taxes were introduced to compel the native population to enter the wage system or produce for the cash economy121 “Greek coinage seems to have been first used mainly to pay soldiers, as well as to pay fines and fees and payments made to and by the government….”122

For that matter it was true of early modern Europe, in which the expulsion of formerly self-sufficient peasants from the commons, combined with the conversion of enclosed commons to cash crop production, left the dispossessed peasantry with no choice but to sell their labor for wages, and to buy food on the market. A simple change in title was sufficient to shift the same productive activity, by the same people, on the same land, consuming the same output, from the non-monetized to the monetized economy.

According to Graeber, the prevalence of specie-based money is characteristic of periods of instability, uncertainty, generalized warfare, and resulting social atomization. The lack of trust makes credit-based systems unviable, and increases reliance on the store of value function of currency. At the same time, armies and states tend to be in possession of large supplies of looted precious metals.123

If large-scale forced land privatization and ongoing accumulation by dispossession are one side of the primitive accumulation process, then the imposition of money exchange as the predominant form of economic activity — and the concomitant restriction of the issuance of money and credit to a privileged class — is the other.

— Kevin Carson, Capitalist Nursery Fables: The Tragedy of Private Property, and the Farce of Its Defense

[colormeyondublue]

Chapter 13: Welcome Back

Chapter 12 Here  Chapter 14 Here

Later that morning, after a good long snuggle session, you finish packing for your trip. You find yourself back in your office with Yondu so you can lock everything up before you leave. Kraglin is the only one with a key to anything, but the captain wants to be sure no one can get in your office to snoop around.

He wanders over to your desk to make sure the drawers are locked, and he finds something odd in the top drawer. “Whatssis?” he asks, picking up the notebook and flipping through some pages.

You gasp and quickly pull the notebook from his hands. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just some doodles and notes. Nothing important.”

“Notes about what? Doodles? Why can’t I see it – huh?" He presses.

“It’s just nothing important. Doesn’t matter.” You turn to stuff it in your bag and hope he lets it go. You’ll never admit it, but you’re a little embarrassed. These notes and doodles were from when you first starting falling for Yondu, and they were kinda dorky. Little planets, stars, hearts and Yondu’s arrow piercing through a larger heart was scribbled all over various pages. You even started writing his name in cursive on some of the pages.

“Uh, no. Hand it over missy. No secrets 'tween us.”

You reluctantly hand him the notebook and hope like hell he won’t taunt you for it.

“I dunno what yer worried about. It’s just little shapes and planets and stars on here. And an arrow? What’s this stuff on the side?” Yondu points to the cursive writing on the page he is referring to.

Of course! Yondu can’t read English cursive handwriting!

“You mean you can’t read that?”

“Those are letters?! No, I can’t read that. It ain’t like no language I’ve ever seen.”

“Yondu, it’s called cursive, or script. It’s a form of English Terran writing. I learned it when I was really young. I love writing this way, it’s really relaxing.”

“Okay, so whatsit say?”

“That’s your name. Those are planets and stars, that’s your arrow, and those are little hearts. Your arrow is going through that heart like Cupid’s arrow. I think I actually doodled some of this the night I went to the bar with you for Geff’s birthday.”

“What’s a Cupid?” He asks.

“Oh, Cupid is…well, he’s Roman. It’s a long story involving Terran history. Basically, it’s symbolic of love. If Cupid, an ancient Roman deity, shoots you through the heart with his arrow, the first person you see after he shoots you is the one you fall in love with. It’s totally a myth, but that myth goes back thousands of years. When you fall in love with someone, people will sometimes say – ‘you must have been shot by Cupid’s arrow!’ Kinda silly when you think about it.”

“So ya drew all this ‘cause you were thinkin’ about me?” He continues to flip through the pages, and each one is a little different than the last.

“Well…yeah. I did. But this was all before I had the guts to come out about how I felt. So, I poured it all into my notes. I never thought you’d find it.”

A little smirk appears on his face as he marvels at the pages. He snaps the notebook closed and throws it back into the drawer before he locks it. “Let’s keep this safe here until we get back. Then I wanna bring it back ta our quarters so I can look at it whenever I want.”

~~~

The two of you pack up your belongings into the Warbird before you head out. Kraglin shows up in the docking bay to see you off. He greets you with a smile and a friendly hug.

“You better get back up here soon. The boys’ll miss ya too much.” Kraglin is only half joking. There is no doubt that there has been some worry among not just Yondu and Kraglin, but a few of the guys that you won’t come back, but no one has said anything. What you didn’t know, was that you really had made a big impact on the whole crew. Your outburst in the mess several weeks ago made the crew start thinking about who they are, what they stand for, and what they want out of life. Not that much has truly changed, but the seed was definitely planted thanks to you.

“Awww. What would you guys do without me?” You tease. You hug Kraglin back and Yondu tells you go ahead and get comfortable on board. He’s got something to discuss with Kraglin.

Yondu watches you step on the Warbird and he turns back to Kraglin. “Alright, so I’ve programmed our comms to have a little bit farther reach so I can still get ahold of ya if things go sour. I don’t think anything is gonna happen down there, but I wanna be careful. Terrans are s’damn touchy. Keep this on you at all times. Same goes fer me. If anythin’ fishy happens on board while I’m gone, you comm me and I’ll be up here quick as I can. I trust you and the boys to keep this place handled and I trust you to choose second in command while I’m not here.”

“Yessir. We’ve got it handled. Don’t worry about a thing. Go down there and make the most of it. We’ll be in touch if we need anything.” Kraglin pats Yondu on the back with a reassuring smirk. Yondu rolls his eyes and smirks back before boarding the ship.

Yondu sits next to you in his pilot chair and hits the ignition. Before long, you’re out of the docking bay of the Eclector, and off into open space. The two of you are silent for a few minutes until you hear Yondu speak up first.

“So – uh…I know yer really excited, and I know how much ya love yer Earth and yer family…but there’s somethin’ that’s been on my mind fer a while. I gotta just get it out there.” He hesitates for a moment while he programs the ship to auto pilot. “If we get there, and all goes well, and ya start feelin’ like ya wanna stay, I won’t hold it against ya. I know how much it all means to ya, and I won’t be mad atcha’ if you decide to stay with yer family.” He notices you start to protest, and he raises his hand so you let him finish. “Honey, you were kidnapped. You were stolen from yer home and yer family. You were sold and traded and bartered for like property. Ya got lucky when you escaped from the Skrull, and ya did pretty well fer yerself on Krylor. Yer a tough woman – you’ve proved that. I just wonder if being back home and with yer people won’t make ya wanna stay with ‘em.”

“Yondu, I understand your concern, but I am not leaving you. Ever. Yes, I love my family. Yes, I love my planet and everything that comes with it. But, after all I’ve been through I think I’ve realized that I love you more. My life has changed drastically over the past few years, and I don’t think I would change a thing that happened. Every single step I’ve taken since that morning by the river has brought me to you. Since finding you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t think anything can change that.”

Yondu just stares at you. The happiest she’s ever been? With me and that sleezy crew that calls 'emselves Ravagers? Even after what happened with Trenvik? He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he simply takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He then covers your hand with his, and sighs. You stand and walk to him. You carefully nestle yourself in his lap, snuggling your head into the crook of his neck. Yondu wraps his arms around you, and you feel him relax beneath you.

“How long until we approach the solar system?” You ask.

“It’ll be a couple hours until we reach that first little planet’s orbit, and then several more hours ‘til we close in on Terra’s atmosphere. The Warbirds thrusters are wide open, but it’s still a good distance. Gotta hand it ta ya Terran’s…ya’ll got a big solar system fer sure. Have ya even explored all of the planets here, or are they too far apart?”

“We know a lot about the other planets and their moons, but we haven’t visited them other than sending rovers to take videos and photos. They’re too far apart for what technology we have. Our rockets are super slow, and we burn through too much fuel. But, we do know a lot about the different atmospheres of each planet. We know their surface temperatures, and which ones might have had liquid water at some point. Not a single one is suitable for much life, but there is talk about the possibility of colonizing Mars.”

“Hmm.” He says simply. “Tell me somethin’ about Terra.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. What’s the first thing ya think of?”

“Hmm. Well…when I think of Earth, I think of the trees. I think about the forests, rivers, waterfalls, and wildlife. Sometimes humans forget that we aren’t the only ones who call Earth home, but I never forget. Each creature has value. From the tiniest bird in the sky, to the largest whale in the ocean. We are all connected, and we all have something to give.”

“What’s a whale?” he asks.

You simply giggle and rub his arm. “I’ll show you when we get there. Anything you wanna know, I’ll teach you. I can’t wait to show you everything.”

A few more hours go by with idle chit chat, and occasional comfortable silence. You tell him all about your home, the city you lived in, and what it was like growing up on Earth. You catch Yondu smiling at some of the stories you tell and he thinks your sister sounds annoying, but nice nonetheless. You begin to yawn and doze off a little in his lap. “Hey, why doncha’ go get some sleep in the bed back there. I’ll be fine up here – ain’t tired yet. We’ll be there before ya know it.”

“But I don’t wanna leave you all alone up here.” You say.

“It’s alright baby, I’ve flown a lot longer than this in my time. Go on now, getcha some sleep. I’ll be up here if ya need me.”

“Mmmmokay…I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” You mumble as he lifts you from his lap. He watches you make your way to the bedroom. Once you’ve closed the door, he picks up his comm off the control console and gets in touch with Kraglin to make sure all is in order back on the Eclector. Kraglin assures him that everything is fine, and the crew is content with their time off to just play games and drink as they please. Some have even taken to doing some odds and ends jobs to improve their cabins or M-Ships.

Before he knows it, he spots a little blue dot. The Warbird is closing in on your planet. He waits a few more hours before he decides to wake you. The closer the ship comes to Terra, he decides to engage the signal jammers so Terran communication systems and satellites can’t pick up any signals or sounds coming from the Warbird.

A while longer passes, and he heads back to the bedroom to wake you. There’s already a pretty good view of Earth out the front window, and he can’t wait to surprise you. You wake at the feeling of a large hand tapping you on the shoulder. You sit up and try to let your eyes adjust to the dimply lit room. Yondu has a very mischievous grin on his face.

“What’s going on? What are you up to?” You ask.

“Come here, there’s somethin’ you gotta see. But first, you gotta close yer eyes.” He insists.

“Close my eyes?”

“Do ya trust me?”

“Of course, I do!” You say with a smile.

“Well then c’mon! But keep yer eyes shut.”

You close your eyes and giggle lightly as you take his hand. Slowly, he guides you to the front of the ship where you can feel him position you in a specific spot.

“What are you up to, Yondu?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see. Okay…open.”

You open your eyes, and a gasp escapes your mouth before you have time to stifle it with your hand. Tears are immediately filling your eyes, and you can’t keep a few from falling. You shutter a little, and your breath is completely taken away. There it is. The oceans, the clouds, the beautiful green continents. Earth. After all this time, there it is. You can’t believe what you’re seeing, the beauty of your planet is stunning.

“Welcome back sweetheart.” Yondu says as he quietly presses a soft kiss to your temple.

[historic-old-guard-lover]

How good is each old guard at maths and arithmetic and handling money ? ( Personally I think Yusuf is the best since he was a merchant from a society that heavily emphasized maths and science )

In an attempt to keep this post a reasonable length, I’m actually going to focus on key points in the history of money (and the required skills and concepts for its use). If you want me to overview the history of math like number patterns, numeral systems, geometry, etc., just submit a second ask!

TL;DR: Headcannons For Each Immortal’s Background with Money:

Lykon: has an amazing memory for debts, carries an bag of tally sticks and I.O.Us, uncanny ability to keep cowrie shells safe

Andy: wishes that literally wearing money hadn’t gone out of style but can begrudgingly appreciate how much easier coins made life, is very happy when someone else manages the finances (she was a god, they don’t pay) 

Quynh: likes to remind people that paper money was invented in the East (especially if she is from the very north of Vietnam which was part of the Song Empire), the quickest with numbers of the older members but can’t be trusted to hold onto the currency

Joe: designated banker of the group, picked up reading economics papers a few centuries ago for fun, knows the exchange rate of their destination even if he forgets where they’re going, definitely the one in charge of remembering which banks have their savings

Nicolo: got lazy after traveling with Joe for a while and just points to him when someone asks about money, 110% a gold-digger who spent all his wealth to come first crusade and then married a rich husband and 110% does not care when Nile calls him one, if you were insistent you’d realize that he’s picked up pieces of information from reading over Joe’s shoulder

Booker: pretty good at picking investments but makes sure to have Joe approve all of his major decisions, spent years as Joe’s apprentice and is now allowed to do most of the online banking so that Joe doesn’t have to, enjoys messing with people on the stock market (especially shorting stocks for famous companies - he’s in for the LONG run)

Nile: thought she was great at budgeting until she met everyone else, confuses and frustrates everyone by insisting that they should invest in bitcoin, gets overwhelmed when Joe and Booker lay out their financial system after she insists that she gets involved (she didn’t even know that there were that many banks!) and then never asks again

The underlying skills of managing money are nothing new to humanity. Humans have been keeping ���count” for a long time. The oldest tool for documenting numbers and quantities is the “tally stick” which is exactly what it sounds like: a stick or bone that people kept track of things on. The oldest artifact found so far that archaeologists believe represents an attempt at recording numbers is the Lebombo bone which is between 44,200 and 43,000 years old. The current hypothesis is that tally sticks and similar tools helped keep track of money before the invention of writing (briefly discussed in this earlier post), but it is impossible to know for certain how the earliest money worked. This means that even the oldest members of the Old Guard who predate writing needed some experience with basic arithmetic and budgeting.

[ID: picture of the Lebombo bone showing the intentional tally marks.]

This brings us to the two broad categories for what money can represent: “money of account (debits and credits on ledgers) and money of exchange (tangible media of exchange made from clay, leather, paper, bamboo, metal, etc.)” as Wikipedia’s History of Money page explains. We’ve just covered “money of account” with the tally stick and writing. The “money of exchange” is also straightforward, a medium to convey the transfer of wealth. The value needs to be linked to something (redemption credit or inherent value), but this concept predates semi-precious metal coinage that most people picture. You can think redemption credits as early “I.O.U.” papers that would be traded around. The important part of “money of exchange” or currency is that it’s a physical object and not an abstract concept like “debt” that has no physical state (ie. you can’t own negative money). The currencies before coin-based money were livestock or agricultural products (or representative tokens) starting around  ~9000 - 6000 BCE and cowrie shells around 1200 BCE in China. Fun fact: cowrie shells are both the currency that was the most widely used and lasted the longest. You go, you funky little mollusks!

[ID: ~6 visible threads of cowrie shells labelled as “NATIVE SHELL MONEY” with the note “Sections of “cowries” thread on cane. New Ireland, Pacific. Presented by Mr. J. F. Cockerell”]

Not to be a smart-ass, but I think that Lykon, Andy, and Quynh deserve credit for the best money-handlers in the literal sense. Physically, a cowrie shell is much more breakable than a piece of copper. I can only imagine how many shells would get accidentally crushed when falling off a horse or throwing your bag to the ground. If you dropped it, it was gone. I could never do it. I can barely let someone else keep track of *digital money* I’ve never seen in bank accounts. That is the idea behind history of money in my opinion: it becomes more and more abstract. It has always required abstraction since it replaced the literal exchange of goods for goods (bartering), but the digital era makes it possible for someone to hypothetically never see government-issued money in order to participate in exchange. Back to the old folks of the Old Guard, they understand money but probably don’t care for the craziness of the banking industry because money to them was always very physical. You wore you money or hide it, but you never misplaced it because then you had no way of regaining it.

After the invention and standardization of coinage, which Yusuf and Nicolo benefit from, the next big innovation is the invention of paper money or the banknote. (Note: yes, I’m skipping a whole bunch of history, but feel free to scroll through images of medieval coins here. Once coins are invented, they just get changed so much, any time the ruler changes. They’re a good historical tool and help show cultural exchange, but kinda boring in terms of invention.) True paper money appears first in Song dynasty China in the 11th century CE. It’s considered different from previous forms of paper currency (aka I.O.U.s or promissory notes) because the government issued them and specified their redeemable value in coinage. It’s like they say, running out of copper is the mother of invention. With the expansion of the Mongol Empire (who I love and wrote about here), paper money started becoming a thing throughout the rest of Eurasia as part of a coinage exchange system around 1200 CE.

At this point, we’ve built up the basic system of money that will become the basis for Booker and Nile’s understanding of currency. You may think that they have a distinct advantage over things like banking and exchange rates, but you’ve overlooked the Islamic Golden Age (a classic blunder!). Using the caliphate’s gold dinar as a stable currency system, Muslim economists invented “credit,[90] cheques, promissory notes,[91] savings accounts, transactional accounts, loaning, trusts, exchange rates, the transfer of credit and debt,[92] and banking institutions for loans and deposits[92]” from the 7th to 12th centuries CE. As a merchant, Yusuf has been involved with banking his entire life and is probably the best at it. He might need a little help with technology because of e-trading and online banking (provided by either Booker or Nile), but he grew up with one of the earliest “modern” banking systems.

[ID: the two faces of a gold dinar issued during the reign of the Fatimid emir Al-Mu'izz li-Din Allah in Mansuriyah in 344 AH (955 CE).]

It’s no wonder that Europeans wanted to invade the Islamic Empire - I’d be jealous too! Nicolo can have some credit, too. The European middle ages saw the invention of “trade bills of exchange” which we can understand as multi-purpose notes which could both act like a traveler’s check (deposit somewhere, withdraw money elsewhere) or a loan (take one out, then pay it back later). Get the pun now? It’s an early multi-purpose credit system that was handy for trade. Nicolo wouldn’t have been totally helpless with money and understood the basic tenants of banking (like credit) if he has a wealthy background, but I think he would have been impressed with the Islamic Caliphate’s systems.

The next innovation in banking is the establishment of the “fractional-reserve system.” This wasn’t possible until the establishment of the first central bank (the Swedish Riksbank) in 1668. Prior to this, you were supposed to be able to go up to a bank, ask them their worth, and then see the actual money that gave them their value. This would sometimes cause bank failures because too many people requiring that you give them the sum of their account at once (called a bank run) would bankrupt a bank as they tried to collect on loans and stocks to get the cash. In comes fractional-reserve banking in which a centralized body like a national bank sets up rules on how much money a bank needs to keep physically on-hand for the loans it makes. These rules, backed by national assistance, allowed bankers to make loans and credit less risky; as long as they always kept say ten percent of all the money they were in charge of, the government would temporarily help them out if everyone wanted their money suddenly. This means that Booker is the first immortal born after the establishment of modern banking, characterized by international exchange, government-stabilized banking, and venture capitalism. As a forger, he clearly has experience with money.  Don’t be sad for Nile because there is one innovation that characterizes her lifetime: cryptocurrency.

[ID: an infographic summarizing how bitcoin works.]

Remember how I mentioned that money has become increasingly abstract? Cryptocurrency, starting with Bitcoin in 2008, is the total abstraction of wealth: it only exists as ledger entries. The entire system has no physical basis, not even a government guaranteeing that it has value. I grew up with Bitcoin and even I am confounded any time that I ponder it. Quite frankly, it proves to me that fiat money (money without inherent value, ie. a coin of gold versus a piece of green cotton that says $1) doesn’t make sense. Nile, who has been surrounded by modern computing for her entire life, is the one best suited to understand cryptocurrency and other digital banking systems. Andy feels like it might be dark magic, Joe is horrified, and Booker is torn between awe and terror.

[kyndaris]

Parables of Our Times

Right after finishing a very high-octane, action-heavy title, I thought it best to slow down and try my hand at a game that had tickled my curiosity for a good long while. Considering how much I enjoyed Gone Home, Tacoma and The Vanishing of Ethan Carter, it came as a surprise when I finished Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture with very mixed feelings. Instead of falling in love with a quaint English town and the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the people that had lived there, I was tempted after an hour or so of play to stop and try my hand at something else.

I can’t rightly pinpoint what exactly about the game, from developer The Chinese Room, did not sit right with me. After scouring the internet, I feel like it must have been the pace of the game and the lack of objects that could be interacted with. From the very beginning, it felt as if the playable character moved at a snail’s pace. Other titles that might be considered ‘walking simulators’ in their own right felt faster, or were perhaps more dense. Even holding down R2 did not elevate how slow I moved around the world. In fact, the speed was also detrimental to my desire to explore and see more of the town I found myself in. Why bother heading to a particular point of interest if it took forever and a day to reach it and head back to the critical path?

Additionally, the lack of objects that could be picked up and studied also served to dull my interest. In fact, other than with doors and the occasional radio, the only other thing that I could interact with were strange globules of light that required the controller be tilted either left or right. The controls for this, in particular, did not seem very intuitive and the prompt at the beginning did not anchor in my head until I found my third ball of light. 

What I did like were the revelations about each named character and the other individuals that lived in the town. Whether that was Wendy trying to meddle in the love lives of her son and his previous beau (as well as her disdain for his American wife), to the interactions between Jeremy and those that attended his church.

While the conversations proved illuminating when it came to understanding the many different individuals that lived in Yaughton, Shropshire, I feel like it was a missed opportunity that other ways to tell the story were not included.

The mystery behind the disappearing populace - supposedly a sudden influx of Spanish influenza - did prove to be intriguing. After exploring the first area, it was clear that this was something more. The tissues covered in blood and the recording made by the local physician only served to heighten the possibilities of what was truly going on. As the story continues, the player learns that a strange phenomenon may be the actual cause. Fearful, Stephen Appleton calls on the government to spray nerve gas over the entire town to stop the spread of this alien contagion.

In many ways, the quarantine that surrounded the town is reminiscent of our current battle with COVID-19. Locked in our homes, unable to venture overseas or even cross state lines has proven a difficult enterprise for many. And like some of the characters in the game, there have been the occasional individuals that have tried to sneak past borders or lied to authorities their actual movements in order to be allowed sanctuary in another state or city.

Fortunately, we have yet to be turned into dust and sucked up into a glowing pattern of light. Whether it’s meant to be considered an alien or a concept of faith is unclear. What is strange in Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture is that only humans were infected. Birds and cows simply dropped dead. There was no dusting a la the Thanos Snap in Avengers: Infinity War. 

Speaking of which, Stephen feared that the contagion of light had traversed the phone lines and had spread outside the valley where the town of Yaughton was located. If that was the case, who is the playable character? Are we also a ball of light? After all, I had no feet or hands. I hardly heard any indication of footsteps. Yet, somehow, I could still get trapped on random geometry in the environment.  Alas, a mystery to solve another time.

On the other side of the spectrum of games that I managed to finish quite quickly was The Walking Dead: The Final Season. After the whole debacle of Telltale shutting its doors due to unsustainable business practices and the game initially being released on Epic Games Store, I wasn’t quite certain if I would ever see Clementine’s story through to completion. Yet, fast forward a year or two and I managed to purchase it on Steam.

Clementine has always had a special place in my heart. After looking after her while playing as Lee Everett, I had watched as she grew up in a world that was very different from our own. Each subsequent game only seemed to further paint a grim and bleak future for humanity after the zombie apocalypse and I feared something terrible would happen to the little girl I found nestled in her tree house, waiting for her parents to return home.

In The Final Season, several years have passed and Clementine is in her late teens. With her is AJ, the son of Rebecca and a very precocious five year old. He seems incredibly mature for his age and behaves basically like a rebellious teenager. Except, of course, that he still has a very black and white view of the world. Shoot monsters in the head. Food and bullets are good. Clementine is the best.

What felt different in this title, rather than the ones before, is that after an encounter at an old railway station, Clementine is welcomed to a small community that is largely run by kids. Or, at the very least, teenagers that have also lived through the traumatic beginnings of the apocalypse. There are no adults - for many of the teachers abandoned these troubled youth at the first sign of danger. And instead of trying to prove herself in a world full of adults, Clementine is able to interact with people her own age or younger. Coupled with looking after AJ, she is the one that needs to be responsible and make sure that AJ doesn’t grow up to become a completely jaded ten-year old.

The narrative of The Final Season is centred around the Erikson Boarding School and the students there. Leader of the small group is Marlon, voiced by none other than Prince Noctis himself, Ray Chase. Violet and Louis came next in import. Then came Willy, Aasim, Ruby, Mitch, Omar and Tennessee. Oh, and mustn’t forget Brody. Voiced by Hedy Burress (or Yuna from Final Fantasy X)! 

Interacting with this gaggle of kids was refreshing. Instead of suspicion, Clementine and AJ were met with curiosity. While Ruby might not have liked the fact that AJ bit her, or his eating habits, it was very easy to like each character and not have to dwell on what each person’s agenda was and wondering if they would betray the group.

Alas, Clementine’s good deed in trying to find more food leads to Brody freaking out when Clementine mentions meeting a scavenger also looking for food: Abel. The climax of the first chapter ends with the discovery that raiders have previously taken two members of the Erikson Boarding School kids and may have returned. But before Marlon could atone for his crimes, he is shot dead by AJ. Plot contrivances somehow allowed the five year old kid to pick up the gun that Marlon dropped by his feet, sneak up behind him and shoot him right in the head. Don’t ask me how.

The next two chapters proved excellent in building up the tension of confronting the raiders, one of which was Season 1 Lilly. I knew the instant that I had to once again select my choices from the previous titles that she would be making a reappearance. After all, she was a plot thread that had yet to be neatly tied into a bow. And despite everything - like the hardening of Clementine and making her a ruthless survivor - I could not order AJ to shoot the conniving ex-military woman.

In fact, I played Clementine as I did most of my other characters when it comes to role-playing games. Emphatic and desperately trying to make the right choices. 

While the story did feel a little cliched with many familiar beats, I did feel strongly invested in trying to pass on everything I could to little AJ. In that, The Final Season felt like it came full circle with Clementine getting bitten and faced with the dilemma of turning or allowing herself to be killed. Rather than repeat what happened in the first season of The Walking Dead, however, the epilogue shows Clementine surviving her leg been haphazardly chopped off with an axe covered in walker guts.

How did she not manage to bleed out? Did the other kids manage to find her in the barn and free both her and AJ? How did she not die from infection?

Like many mediums that are set after the apocalypse, the humans here are hardy and tenacious. In a world where many of us are struggling with a pandemic that does not appear to be seasonal and with long-lasting symptoms that can affect individuals months after the initial diagnosis, it does feel like we’ve entered a nebulous stage of despair. Whole countries have been shut down, re-opened and sent straight back into lockdown when numbers have climbed. With summer approaching in Australia, it feels like the worst may have passed. But for the rest of the world in the northern hemisphere, winter is coming. With it comes the additional risks of normal flu and cold. 

But what The Walking Dead: The Final Season left me with, despite how glum a zombie outbreak would bring, is that there is still the chance for hope. Of creating a family and living instead of surviving. 

Even when society has collapsed and most have returned to old bartering systems or looking after their own crops, there is still light at the end of the tunnel. 

[banjaro]

Here we are again

I made this account in highschool for a girl. Well half for a girl, half for me. It was basically just a diary that I never expected anyone to see but her. But I didn’t have a diary at the time and I really needed one. I’ve been trying to keep a written diary but that is not working out so well for me, I write too slowly to keep up with how fast I’m thinking and by the time that I have the first sentence down, the next one has escaped my thoughts.  So here we are again. I need a diary. I need to write how I’m feeling. If she sees this, it’s kinda whatever. I’m doing this for me. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t feel like myself. I feel.. broken. I feel like anymore I’m either sad or I feel nothing. I want to feel something. I have a therapist now, but an hour is not enough time and I don’t think that a single person ever really has a chance of understanding me when I only see them an hour a week. I’m not good at building relationships, even worse at maintaining them. Until now, it never really was an issue. I always had the opportunity to meet new people. If I didn’t like where I was at in life, I slept easily. I knew that I always had the opportunity on to the next stage of life. That’s not really the case anymore. I’m 21. I’m stagnating. I can not stay in this town my whole life In college I have the friends that I have made but they all feel so temporary. I’m scared. I’m scared that I will never have enough. I’m scared that my voracious apatite for NEW NEW NEW ( things, people, places, experiences) is becoming unsustainable. I’m not the kind of guy that sticks around for too long. It doesn’t make sense to me. I can’t stay in one place. Something is always wrong. I’m too picky. I’m too greedy. I’m too selfish. I’m always too much and not enough and I think the world revolves around me. I refuse to change. I want to change, but I wont. I have all of the opportunity to. I have boundless opportunity, but I’m pissing it away.  My problem is that I want things but I don’t take into consideration the amount of work that is going to go in to get the things. Then once I have committed to the thing, but not committed to the work, I get disheartened and give up. It’s pathetic. I want everything and I have convinced myself that I want nothing. I do not see myself clearly as I am. I am not many of the things that I have convinced myself that I am. I am not everything that my mom thinks that I am. I’m easily distracted. It’s showing right now. I want to finish these thoughts but I think of somethin else and I move on.  I think that’s why I don’t learn from my mistakes. I don’t finish what I start. I don’t reflect. Something else, some new thought always takes the previous one’s place and won’t let go. My mind is just wandering all the time. I need to focus. I need long term thinking. I need to change a lot.  Who are you changing for? Myself? I guess? I have this ideal version of myself in my head. It’s everything that I would like to be. I think the problem with that is that I don’t ever write any of those things down. “He” changes all the time. “He” is all of the things that I want to be at that moment. He has done all of the hard work for me. I never do wish that I was the guy that was exercising and practicing mandarin. I just wish that I was hot and I knew mandarin. I think it would be neat. But then you have to ask yourself, why is it that you want those things. I think it’s because I want the approval and admiration of others. But that’s not how you get those things.  Who has my approval and admiration. I don’t think anyone does. And because of that, I have no idols. I have no goals that I am shooting for. I have no path to wherever I’m trying to get. I don’t even know where that is. So I guess this exercise is only helpful if I actually get something done in. So I guess what I want to get done is to actually define what it is that I’m after. I want to know what I want. I don’t think that I’ve ever defined that. Well maybe once but it was not a perfect system. What are things that people want? Like what drives anyone? I think ultimately, it’s relationships.  A connection with another human? I can tell myself that I don’t want that. And I have for a long time. “I’m a lone wolf. I don’t need anyone. I want to be able to do everything myself.” But at the end of the day I’m pretty sure that’s what is hardwired into my brain. Also at the end of the day that is one thing that I can not get from myself. I can not get any validation, love, or respect out of myself. I need that from others. I understand human relationships to be like barter systems. They make sense to me. I want something definite. I give you x, y, and z, and in return I get things like love, respect, and validation. But in my experience A) the exact thing happens where I want a thing but don’t want to put in the work to get the thing, and thus I am a shitty partner in all relationships and B) I do not have a good grasp of what exactly it is that motivates people and thus can not give them what they want. Okay great, two paragraphs musing about the fickleness of human connection. that doesn’t really help with my plan of writing down my goals. Who is this man that I want to be? What are his motivations? I think something that I admire about his is that he has no motivations. He has it figured out. He has everything that he could ever want and more and he is satisfied with it. I’m fighting the urge to end it here. I am getting distracted with other things and I have hit a point where I have to actually do critical thinking and, like a lightning bolt or a river, my brain is trying to take the path of least resistance. What do I want? I’m going to save the why for another day. If I can figure out any part of this I think that I’m going to call that a win.

* More confidence in my actions, decisions, and words

* More confidence in my body * More confidence in my ability to speak and form a connection with another human. * A more continuous and reliable narrative of my life, thoughts, and actions throughout my life. Those four already feel insurmountable. What actions can I take to bring myself close to these goals? I’m not sure. I’m going to do some research and get back to you on that. My problem is that I have to keep reexplaining to myself simple things. Probably because I don’t write down my explanations to myself. Hopefully this will help Side note: in the spirit of honesty with myself. Something in my soul is hoping that she reads this. She was always a safe place. Something that I could count on. She was a relationship that was there to stay, until I got overwhelmed with the thought of that and ran and hid before I could face the judgement.  I’m not expecting a response but the same part of me that hopes she reads this is the same part that is hoping that she responds. I know that time in my life is over. I know I can’t go back. I just hope that I can find someone that gives me the same feeling that she did. And I hope that she can find that same feeling in someone else. Another big read.

[copiosis]

When Bernie Sanders Marries Ayn Rand

By Writer KJ McElrath

If there is a silver lining to the current coronavirus pandemic, it is that it has exposed fundamental weaknesses in the current capitalist free-market economic system that most of us have taken for granted our entire lives. People in low-wage service jobs, food-service workers, education support personnel, private tutors and instructors and others with jobs that frequently bring them into contact with the general public have been hit especially hard. Most of these workplaces –  restaurants, lounges, schools and even libraries –  are closed for the duration.

Today conservative leaders, who typically expect most people – including those they claim to represent – to fend for themselves, actually support massive financial aid programs...that's how bad it is. The Trump Administration's $2 trillion dollar stimulus package perplexes my imagination. That a conservative administration would offer such a thing boggles the mind.

Other governments around the world are following suit. For example, the U.K. government recently announced that it will pay 80 percent of worker salaries up to £2500 per month ($2900 USD) for 12 weeks, while offering tax breaks and interest-free business loans. Across the Channel, France is preparing to nationalize several industries while suspending tax, rent, and utility payments for small companies.

The problem is we, as a global, tightly interconnected economic society, now are in uncharted territory. Our economics can't handle much more of this and for two fundamental reasons:

One, our economics depends on endless growth and expansion. Coronavirus has stopped that dead in its tracks.

Two, our economics finances endless growth through debt cycles, which fall apart when debtors can't pay creditors. Debtors can't pay if they can't work.

If there was ever a time to think outside the box, it is now. Our immediate solution is for government to throw money  —  cash payments, low interest rates, subsidized loans or grants, etc at the problem. In the short term, this is indeed necessary as most of us have not slack in our finances to weather such storms.

But such actions treat the symptoms while ignoring the underlying disease. Biologically, coronavirus is most dangerous to those who have other health problems, such as compromised immune function. Economically, it appears to have a similar effect on unhealthy financial systems.

Socialism is not the answer

Would the type of socialism offered by once-presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders save us? For awhile, it could — but like government stimulus programs, it would be a stopgap solution. The problem here is that socialism can't spur innovations that benefit society.

Second, the idea that people should receive free anything — including housing, food, health care and education — is anathema to those who espouse unbridled, free market capitalism. Yet, lack of these basic survival needs, or even the threat of losing them, is at the root of virtually every problem society suffers today.

People can live without jet skis or the latest and greatest smart phones. They cannot live without food, clean water, shelter and medical care when needed. Without some degree of education, they cannot be productive members of society. Yet, our economies demand that all of these things be commodified and profit their providers.

Meanwhile, those very same providers must pay labor, cover raw materials costs, pay taxes, legal and other operational expenses.

To suggest that "necessities" should be “free” may rightfully evoke hard resistance from free market supporters, yet the stress from putting price tags on necessities creates crime, disease (mental and physical), environmental degradation and more — adding hugely to the cost of running society.

Perversely, money spent addressing these problems contributes to a nation’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP). Ergo, someone who contracts cancer living near a factory producing toxic waste actually contributes to GDP when they (or someone else) pays for their treatment. Law enforcement officers pursuing criminals become part of the GDP as well. Divorcing couples contribute to GDP through lawyer and court fee costs.

Is there a better way? Some visionaries believe so — and are working to bring it about.

A better way...

These visionaries recognize a major part of the problem is not capitalism, but rather the way the exchange of goods and services happen  — i.e., money, or currency. Whether it is tangible cash, an amount recorded in a bank ledger or other account, or invested in securities, money can be transferred easily. That is a definite advantage, but there are downsides; money can be lost, stolen, taxed away (directly and indirectly), devalued and manipulated, and withheld when someone is prevented from earning or receiving it — as is happening in today's coronavirus pandemic. The consequences can be devastating.

Barter comes to many people’s minds as an alternative, but there are reasons why money replaced trading livestock, handicrafts, produce, etc. Unless people have many different productive skills and abilities others need, or offer wide ranges of services, the barter system can't alleviate poverty and inequality. Barter also involves material things that can be lost, stolen or destroyed (and even taxed, as many have discovered).

Imagine an alternative:

a means of exchange representing actions benefiting society and the planet, that cannot possibly be stolen, taxed or otherwise transferred away from owners

a system guaranteeing everyone access to housing, food, medical services and education without incurring long-term debt servitude or worry about a paycheck

a system based on free market principles that encourage innovation

a system in which only actions benefitting people and/or the environment in some way are rewarded

Such innovations are already underway, and have been for some time. They are made possible by rapid technology advances. As more working people suddenly find themselves idle for the long term, some are finding interesting innovations that onced looked ridiculous, but today are not so.

Humanity: where great ideas come from

Dr. Albert Einstein reportedly said, “Imagination is more important than Knowledge.” In light of Dr. Abraham Maslow’s famous Hierarchy of Needs (a review and explanation for the uninitiated is available here), imagine what humans might achieve if they were liberated from the need to “earn a living,” but still expected and motivated to strive for more by simply making choices and acting in ways that serve the greater good.

We all see it happening now, with the popularity of “humanely raised” eggs, poultry and meat, recycling and repurposing, reducing one’s ecological footprint, roadside miniature lending libraries, community tool and vehicle share programs and more.

In Portland, Oregon, homeowners are being offered incentives to provide shelters for homeless people on their property. Some small businesses specialize in making new products from existing and/or previously used components. Entrepreneurial individuals are creating solutions for environmental problems.

Admittedly, so-called “Utopian” societies have failed in the past. As floundering and corrupt as American capitalism has gotten over the past four decades, it has not yet become the total and abject failure that was the late U.S.S.R.’s Socialist Worker’s State.

That said, western capitalism is nonetheless a very large, unwieldy vessel sailing at a high rate of speed — one that needs to change its course fairly soon, if it is to survive.

As the Captain Edward Smith of the R.M.S. Titanic discovered too late, such sudden course changes are difficult at best.

Perhaps what needs to be changed is not so much the system itself, but rather the means of exchange. Such change must happen so nobody goes homeless, hungry, without medical and dental care, and everyone has access to education in any field. At the same time, the new system must encourage industry and innovation while respecting private property rights. Nothing would be confiscatory or redistributive, nor would taxes be assessed.

It sounds almost like “Bernie Sanders Meets Ayn Rand” or "Bernie Sanders and Ayn Rand have a baby". This has been one of the primary issues in recent elections: do we want or need the State to own and operate everything, distributing “to each according to their needs” while taxing “from each, according to their abilities”?

Or do we want to do away with government and regulation altogether, and allow individuals and organizations to become as wealthy and powerful as possible, regardless of any harm in done the process?

What if a society could have the best of both? What if one fed the other? What if, through Bernie-style socialist programs, more people were unleashed from having to have “jobs” simply to pay the bills in order to survive, and instead were free to pursue their passions, such as science, research, technology, engineering and invention as well culture, humanities and the arts? Can one imagine the new Renaissance that might come about?

Such a system has the potential of generating wealth and well-being in a private, free-market system beyond Rand’s wildest dreams.

You don’t have to look very far back to find examples. Would the world have had the genius of Leonardo da Vinci without the patronage of the Medicis? Would we have heard the music of Franz Josef Haydn without Prince Esterhazy?

Now, multiply those two examples by a few billion.

Passions can create our future

Would everyone throw themselves into their “passions”? No. Many may not even know what their passions are. For them, there are educational opportunities (which would bring their own rewards), or they may decide to sit on the beach all day — and as long as they do no harm, that’s fine. If they ever want something more, they’ll find ways to make the world a better place.

If not — at least they won’t go hungry and homeless. But really, earning that “something more” would not be difficult under such a system. In fact, it would be more difficult not to contribute in some way.

If the 1933 Harold Arlen — Yip Harburg song Paper Moon comes to mind, you’re not alone. Indeed, some skepticism is warranted. Nonetheless, two communities, one in California and the other in Oregon, tested out such a comprehensive economic system, with success. A devoted group in Portland continues exploring it over the last six years, and it has generated significant attention around the world.

This group’s website recently came online, where one can go to learn more about this alternative economic system in which there are no losers, and winners’ victories do not come at the expense of someone else. Under such a system, disparities of wealth will certainly still exist, but the kind of grinding poverty that causes hunger, disease, crime and other problems will not.

Meanwhile, the barriers to people who want to accumulate more will largely go away; there will be equal access to opportunity and tools to improve one’s material lot in life for those who choose to do so.

Greed will still exist, but in this new system it's harnessed and channeled into positive outcomes for everyone.

Now that so many of us are under lockdown or quarantine and are starting to clearly see problems existing in the current system, it is as good a time as ever to consider alternatives.

Learn more here.

[anchanted-one]

Eternal War 22 Asylum

Lana walked out of the shower to find that Arro had already fallen asleep. He looked so peaceful! She chuckled softly, taking it in for a second. She walked up to him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, getting a whiff of the mint-essence soap they had both used. It had only been six days since his rescue, so it still brought a thrill to see him alive, well, happy, and free. Given the circumstances of their relationship they were already geared away from taking each other for granted; but having lost each other for five whole years she suspected that it would be some time before she got used to the sight of him.

She chose a red plaid shirt and loose fitting swamp-green pants for a change, since it had been ages since she had truly felt secure enough to walk around without her armor. Her Lightsaber, of course, was never out of her reach anymore. 

As she made her way to the bridge, Senya emerged from her own cabin down the hall and grinned at her. “Morning Lana. Sleep well? Or at all? I imagine last night was the first time you two had time to properly celebrate your reunion.”

Lana’s answering smile was arranged to convey just how happy she was, since words alone wouldn’t suffice. “I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am right now. Arro’s out of his prison, and he’s safely away from his captors despite the odds being so heavily against us. And when I was with him the past few days, just being in the same room as him, talking to him, laughing with him… it felt so damn good!  Sex has never felt that great before either.”

Senya giggled, elbowing Lana in a comradely fashion. “You’ve earned it little girl! I’m so pleased for the both of you; I can’t believe I actually had a part to play in the most romantic kind of story there is!”

“And now I will keep my word and help you all out against the Eternal Throne. I believe I got the sweetest bargain in history.”

Senya threw her head back and laughed heartily at that, and Lana joined in. “You know, Lana, looking at you one would never guess what a romantic you are. Or how open. You look quite the opposite. Like you’re reserved and secretive. In most ways you are even a staunch pragmatist. But in dealing with allies and interpersonal relationships you are much more open. Especially given how every last one of the other Sith I have encountered are like. It always amazes me.”

Lana smiled sadly. “Well, there is a reason for that. But I can’t bring myself to talk about it in depth. In summary though: In the days leading up to the second outbreak of open hostilities, and during the war itself, I worked with Intelligence. There were so many secrets, lies, betrayals. I tried to leave it all behind, but even as late as Rishi, I was still keeping secrets. Using my allies. But that last time was too much for me. I swore I would always be honest and open with my allies at the very least. I never want to be that woman again.”

“I understand,” Senya patted her back sympathetically. “We all have things we don’t want to talk about.”

They had reached the Bridge. The door opened, revealing Koth and Knight Farya arguing light-heartedly about guns

“C’mon girl, you know the M-96 Mattock has a much higher fire rate!” Koth was laughing “And almost a third as light too. Chugging a Zaber around is tiring work!”

“But the Zaber’s Explosive Heads pack enough of a punch to make your target’s ears ring,” Farya argued. “And that’s when they block it with their shield! When it hits the body... I’ve seen a marksman headshot a Swamp Maworr that was charging at his buddy from three hundred meters away; that thing’s head exploded! Deadly, and so accurate too! The weight actually absorbs some of the recoil! And they’re so powerful they have to be custom-made for their bearers.” 

“Oh, sure, sounds good for a pampered rich kid” Koth responded disparagingly. “But the M-96 is a true veteran’s choice! It’s larger magazine allows us to fire a lot more rounds before running out!”

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” Lana remarked. 

“Farya’s great!” Koth beamed. “Whoda thought that Knights were such purveyors of fine arms?”

“Vortena kinda knows his weapons too,” Farya grinned. “I am suitably impressed.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Lana gave them her warmest smile in response, making them both blush.

“So when do we reach Asylum? And how’s the ship holding up?”

“Three more hours in Hyperspace,” Koth answered. “Hyperdrive worked well. Once. Omnicannon worked. Once. We can start working on repairs once we’re docked. I reckon we’ll need to requisition a lot of technicians, droids, parts, and heavy machinery. With a standard workforce it should take... Maybe a month to get it fully operational, two tops?”

“That should be fine,” Lana answered. “TeeSeven is interfacing with the ship, acquainting himself with the Droid brains. He should have a good working synergy with the ship’s main computer soon enough.”

“Hell, that droid’s so good he’s done already, getting himself an oil-bath now.” Koth said incredulously. “I still can’t believe he found us in the middle of the Swamp and got onto the ship without any of us noticing!” 

“On the subject of capable Droids, where is HK?”

“He’s offered to help the refugees learn some basic tasks on the ship; and to keep them safe from any lingering infestations.” 

Lana nodded approvingly. “Once we get to Asylum we can take some time, stretch our legs. We can resume our last meeting. We can drop the disguise filters since we’re on Asylum now.”

“What about Arro?” Senya asked.

“He is still recovering, so we can’t expect him to fight Arcann, Vaylin, and Akahte all by himself. Yet. But he can meet the others, start familiarizing himself with the Leadership and the makeup of the Alliance.”

“In other words, if we get to fight on our terms, Arro can beat all three? I find that hard to credit!”

“You’ve yet to see him at his best,” Lana assured them. “His display yesterday was still a fraction of what he can do.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Senya said. “But Arcann and Vaylin are mighty enemies. And this Akahte… by all accounts she held her ground admirably against Vaylin herself. The three of them together…!”

“In the right circumstances there won’t be time for much use of the Force. In Saber combat, he is peerless. He could take down all three before they could react. But Akahte knows this, and she will never face him directly, if she can help it. Which is why we need the Alliance in the first place; so that we can create the most perfect opportunities we can, to face them in and not just point him in the general direction of the enemy and say ‘Get em, boy!’”

“Even Valkorion feared facing him head on,” Senya conceded. “On that subject, I believe Valkorion when he says that he does not plan to take over, and that he sincerely wants to aid Arro. For now.”

“Then why offer his power at all?” Lana asked. “Why not just sit back and watch?”

“Valkorion might see Arro as being worthy of His powers since he beat Him in fair combat.”

“The Immortal Emperor—” Fariya started uncomfortably.

“Don’t, Fariya. You don’t know Him like I did.”

“Try sharing a little less,” Koth laughed.

“That… wasn’t what I meant!” Senya said, face reddening. “What I mean is… He’s not some God. He was a man, and far more cruel than noble. To the rest of the Galaxy, he’s an outright monster.”

The junior Knight shivered. “That will take some getting used to, Lord Commander. For us all.”

“Take all the time you need,” Senya assured her. “It’s not my Husband we’re fighting against, it’s—well. It’s my children.” 

*

“There it is: Asylum!” Koth pointed at the forward Viewport. It was a blue world with a big moon. From the flashes all over the planet, it appeared that the world was prone to lightning storms.  “One of the depressingly few places in Wild Space which is still free of Arcann’s control!”

“That Shadowport isn’t on any map,” Lana said. “It’s a haven for refugees fleeing Arcann’s regime.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet my crew,” Koth grinned. “They’ll be so happy to see you! And one of them claims he’s already met you, so you can finally put an end to the question whether or not he was making it all up!”

“Does he say I owe him money?” Arro asked, much to Lana’s amusement.

“Do you owe money a lot of people?” Knight Khoarad asked, as he entered the bridge leading his comrades Wodar and Jettarn. All of the Knights had discarded their Zakuul armor, at least until they could modify them in some way to reflect their new allegiance. 

“The Jedi aren’t supposed to own anything,” Lana gasped, struggling to breathe from her laughter. “They usually draw funds from a collective treasury when they need to pay. Trouble is, those funds are only good in Republic space, and to a lesser extent, Hutt space. Sometimes though, they’re worthless, and have to rely on goodwill, barter, or—most often—for non-Jedi comrades to pick up the tab. Which means that at any given point of time, they owe money to a half the galaxy!”

“I’ve repaid my debts,” Arro said defensively as the others roared with laughter. “Mostly.”

“And still tens of thousands in debt, no doubt!” Lana chortled. “Oh, don’t worry about it, my Love! I’m sure most of them have forgotten by now!”

Arro gave a pained chuckle. He should never have asked.

*

The ship shuddered as it entered the upper atmosphere of Asylum. The familiar bzzt of the atmospheric shields protecting the ship that Arro normally took for granted were a great relief to hear; given that this had been a derelict ship a week ago, he was afraid of critical systems malfunctioning when used even though he had triple checked each of these. All the more important since they were attempting to enter during a lightning storm; the flashes left deep dark after-images in his eyes and the thunder made his teeth click.

The Landing systems, however, were far from perfect and required a fine handling which Koth didn’t seem to have. The Gravestone all but crashed into the dock.

“That’s it, Koth, as soon as we get a better pilot you’re relegated to cheerleading duty!” Senya admonished.

“My landing in the swamp was better than this,” Arro complained.

“You’re welcome!” Koth glowered. “And welcome to Asylum Kiwiboy!”

“Don’t I get a welcome too?” Farya pouted. 

“Welcome to Asylum Farya.” Koth replied, hastily adding “And all you others too!” before each person called him out for forgetting them.

As they emerged from the ship’s main boarding ramp, a group of rough-looking thugs walked up menacingly to intercept them. Probably not happy with Koth’s landing, Arro thought. “We don’t want any trouble people.”

“That’s a shame, cuz trouble just walked right up to yeh!” The apparent leader, a particularly tall and muscular human male said with a wide grin. Cracking his knuckles, he added “Nice ship you got there. We’ll be coming on board.”

“Please don’t make us fight,” Arro groaned. “It feels like that’s all I’m ever doing! Just for once, can I be welcomed like a friend? Or at least without knuckles and guns, or something?”

“Heh heh heh! Wish granted!” the tall man boomed, slapping him hard on the shoulders. “Welcome to our little haven, half-pint!”

Half-pint? Arro thought indignantly even as he was confused by the sudden shift in demeanor. The man turned his wide grin to Arro’s side and bounded forward, roaring “Captain!”

“Outlander,” Koth said as he returned the man’s bear hug. “Meet my crew, the best Engine Burners in WIld Space?”

“Is that your official name?” Arro asked with interest and Senya said “‘Captain’? Did you promote yourself after deserting?”

“‘Engine Burners!’,” a woman with shoulder-length, electric blue hair barked. “We could work with that!” “This is Len,” Koth said, introducing the giant. “My Second-in-Command. Blue here is Tora, the best engineer you’ll ever meet!” “Wrong!” She declared. “The best Engineer… EVER BORN!” She struck a pose for effect before dropping her arms to her side again. “This is one fugly ship, bossman I can have it scrapped in just a few moments, I don’t think we’ll find anything interesting in that piece of junk.”

“Your best Engineer,” Arro said cheerfully. “Tora, like Koth, you will be kept as far away from important tasks on the Gravestone as we can possibly keep you!”

Tora’s face froze midway into the expression of outrage she was about to assume when she heard Arro’s words. “The Gravestone? This piece of crap?” The others were also stunned into silence. As one, they looked to Koth, who nodded impressively. Like a proud salesman showcasing his prize ware, he indicated the ship behind them. “She may not look like much, but that’s coz we pulled her out of her grave in the Eternal Swamp and only just put some life into her! But even this was enough to take out hundreds of Eternal Warships! Wait until we have her fully operational!”

The silence stretched for almost a minute before the Engine Burners began cheering wildly. They began to talk all at once when they were done applauding. “How did you find it?”, “I wanna take er for a spin NOW!”, “Hundreds of ships?”, “I heard that was from a reactor blowing!”, “The Gravestone!”, “The GRAVESTONE!”, “We’re gonna win this, you hear? We’re gonna win this!”

Arro disengaged from the throng along with Senya and Lana, leaving Koth to talk with his exultant gang. As he did, he recognized a man with an aim-aiding Cybernetic. A soldier—Republic, but who was stationed on Marr’s ship during their fateful expedition.

“Well it’s good to see you alive, soldier!” Arro called. “Corporal... “

“Name’s Rallo!” The Soldier replied, fighting to get to Arro. “You saved my skin that day! Mine, and a bunch of others! I never thought I’d get to say thank you in person!” He grinned as he shook the Jedi’s hand. “Thank you so much, man! I’ve treasured each second of my life that you saved from the past few years more than I did my entire life before! Found my wife, joined a new family—” he indicated the Engine Burners. “And learned to take a moment to be grateful for every day I managed to live through!”

“Well done, Ralo!” Arro laughed. Grinning, Rallo saluted before returning to his new crew.

“There are some more people you should meet now that we’re here,” Senya told Arro. “We can start with the Scions. They were the more mystical of the Orders protecting Zakuul during Valkorion’s reign, but they didn’t fall in line with Arcann, so he had them massacred. The Survivors have an enclave here. They have been greatly looking forward to meeting you.”

*

[singledarkshade]

Scarred By Time

Summary: Gideon awakes to find Rip alive, she is now controlling a building instead of her ship and that time has been changed so there are now no Heroes or Legends in the world. Their new mission is to fix everything but they’re going to need some help. Author’s Note: For Day 7: Free Day – Anything goes, so do your own thing and give us whatever you like. I felt that this could have been used for several of the other days themes so I decided to use it for the Free Day. This story originally come from a small fic I wrote called TM Consultancy. This is the beginning of the expanded version that I will hopefully write the rest of at some point. Enjoy.                                 ********************************************* “Captain Hunter?”

The surprised voice of Gideon when she came online made him smile, happy to have her back with him after what seemed like forever.

“Hello, Gideon,” Rip said softly, “It is so good to hear your voice again.”

“Please advise where we are and what has happened?” she demanded, before her voice softened, “How are you here? I believed you to be dead.”

Rip grimaced slightly, “It’s a long story but right now all that matters is that you’re here with me. I want you to do a full system check and confirm that you have complete access to our new home.”

A few seconds passed before Gideon replied, “All systems are working at peak efficiency. I assume the story you are not telling me includes why I’m currently controlling a building and not my ship.”

He nodded, “I have a lot to tell you, Gideon. The Waverider is here, I have it in the basement but currently travelling through time is not an option.”

“Why?”

“That’s part of the story,” Rip sighed, he closed his eyes and reached out to use the wall to keep himself upright.

“Captain?” Gideon called worriedly.

“I’m alright, Gideon,” he assured, “Just tired. It’s been a long few days getting you online again.”

“Then the story you have to tell me can wait,” Gideon told him, “You need to rest.”

Rip smiled, it had been so long since he’d heard her concern for him, “I’m going to. I just needed to have you online before I could sleep.”

 Gideon watched her Captain as he staggered to his bed, he toed off his boots before dropping his jacket onto a chair then fell onto the bed. He lay face down drawing the blanket over himself and was unconscious within seconds.

Watching him, Gideon was confused and concerned to see how he was dressed. Rip was wearing his normal jeans but also a long-sleeved, high-necked shirt as well as a pair of leather gloves. Gideon knew her Captain, knew him better than anyone and this was not something he would normally wear. The gloves especially worried her.

Not that he had been wearing them as it made sense if he had been working, but the fact he hadn’t removed them for sleeping was concerning her.

Taking in how Rip had his face buried into the pillow, Gideon knew that he would sleep for some time. Putting aside all her questions for the moment, Gideon instead decided to investigate her new surroundings. The building had ten floors and she had access to all of them, finding the Waverider sitting powered down within the basement as Rip had told her.

She could sense the time core, but it somehow had a lock on it so that it could not be used. No matter how she tried to access it, she was stopped.

Intriguing.

Rip had transferred almost everything from the ship into the building, except the dream sensors which concerned her as he had never bothered about her ability to monitor his subconscious while asleep. However, he had included holographic emitters everywhere that would allow her to use her avatar throughout the entire building.

The fabricators had been integrated into the kitchen and a large otherwise empty room on the fifth floor. Finally, she moved to the infirmary, and found two cryogenic pods in use. Searching for who was in them Gideon was annoyed to find no information and unfortunately her sensors did not let her see inside them.

She had a lot of questions for when her Captain woke up.

                                  *********************************************

  Rip sighed happily when he woke up, feeling better than he had in weeks.

“Good morning, Captain,” the welcome voice of his best friend came making him smile, “You have slept for nearly sixteen hours.”

Getting off the bed, Rip stretched wincing slightly at the few cracks he heard.

“After you have a shower, I shall make you some breakfast,” Gideon told him.

Rip stalled, looking down at the gloves he was still wearing and knew he had no option but to tell her.

“Before I…” Rip trailed off taking a deep breath, “There’s something I need to tell you but it’s part of a bigger story.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t tell me until you’ve had breakfast,” Gideon noted.

Sighing he replied, “I wish it could wait but for me to have my shower you’re going to see.”

“See what?”

Slowly Rip removed his gloves, holding out his hands showing Gideon the scars that ran along his hands up under his sleeves. Before Gideon could ask Rip pulled his shirt off letting her see the criss-cross of scars along his torso.

“Rip,” his best friend’s voice was filled with horror at what she saw, “How did this happen?”

“It’s part of the long story,” he breathed, “But I’m okay. I promise.”

Gideon was silent for several moments before she asked, “How much of your body is scarred?”

He sighed, “My face and neck are basically the only thing that aren’t. I cover up and no one can see them.”

There was silence for several minutes before Gideon spoke again, “Have your shower and I shall make you breakfast, Captain. We will talk once you’re ready.”

  Rip leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea. Showered and dressed he had once again completely covered the scars that enveloped his body, mostly so he didn’t have to see them. He hadn’t just been hiding them from Gideon.

“Okay,” he sighed, “I suppose I should let you know what happened and why we’re now here in Star City inhabiting a building in the 21st Century.”

“That would allow me to assist you,” Gideon told him.

Rip smiled slightly before asking, “What is your last memory before I reactivated you.”

“Miss Lance was speaking with Dr Palmer,” Gideon said, “She had been having an extremely bad day and was talking about how much she wished to see her father and sister again. She then spoke about how she felt her decision to go on the Queens Gambit was the start of the path which led to their loss.”

“And she wished that she had never gone,” Rip said softly.

“Yes.”

Letting out a long sigh, “It wasn’t Ray she was speaking to but a Djinn. The first Djinn to be specific. It used her wish to recreate the world from that point, a fixed point in time, removing the Bureau and a lot of the world’s heroes.”

“Is that why we are here?” Gideon asked, “I assume you were injured and stayed away to heal after you survived the overloading of the core. But how would you remember the team if time has been altered?”

Sighing he shrugged, “I didn’t survive, Gideon. The time core destroyed me, it’s where the scars are from because I was torn apart by the energy.”

“So, the wish the Djinn granted brought you back?” scepticism filled her voice.

“Nope,” he became very interested in the contents of his mug, “Time did.”

“There are moments, Captain, that I enjoy your flair for the dramatic,” Gideon noted, “However, this is not one of them. Explain.”

“It turns out, what none of us knew, is that Time itself has a physical manifestation when he wants to,” Rip explained, “And since the Djinn’s interference in the time stream was so great, which has had and will continue to have consequences like no changes before ever have, he put me back together to try to fix it.”

Silence filled the room again and Rip waited for a few moments before he continued his story.

“Because of what the wish changed, the fact it was a fixed point,” Rip continued, “Time can’t do anything himself without destroying the universe. What we need is to find the Djinn again and have Sara take back her wish.”

“How can we do that?” Gideon asked.

“I made a deal with Time.”

“You bartered with Time itself?” amusement filled Gideon’s voice, “That should surprise me, Captain but it doesn’t. What did you get from your deal?”

Rip smiled, “I got you. I asked for the Waverider, although we’re stuck in this time period for now. You’ll also have noticed the two cryogenic tubes in the infirmary, I thought we might need some help. And I asked to be given some time to set up fully.”

“How long have you been here, Captain?”

Rip gave a sad smile, “Three years.”

“Do you know where Miss Lance is?” Gideon asked, knowing his previous statement was something he currently didn’t want to discuss.

Rip nodded, “Which is why I settled in Star City. She is however a little young at the moment and the others haven’t arrived in the city yet. I need to set up a business that we can use to bring the team together.”

“That makes sense,” Gideon told him, “What kind of business do you feel you could run, Captain?”

“I created an entire Time Travel Organisation,” Rip reminded her annoyance in his voice, “I know how to do this. Besides I have you this time to help me.” He could feel her smugness before Rip continued, “We are going to be a Think Tank, tackling problems for all businesses. Which is how I can hire the rest of the team, considering their diverse specialities.”

Realising his tea was now cold, Rip made himself another one waiting for the inevitable question.

“Who are in the cryogenic chambers, Captain?”

Finishing making his tea, Rip tapped a few controls allowing her access to the information.

“Captain?”

“Both have unique insights that we’ll need,” Rip noted, “I just hope I can persuade them to help.”

                                  *********************************************

  Gideon left her Captain working on installing the dream sensors. Now that he had given her the full story, he was happy for her to monitor and enter his dreams once more. Studying the building, Gideon began to formulate a plan.

The length of time her Captain had been alone setting this building up concerned her. Even though the Time Masters insisted that their Captains have no ties, they understood the fact that a connection of some kind was required to keep their sanity which was why each was assigned an AI to watch over them.

The bond between AI and Captain was important but her bond with Captain Hunter was special and had become so much deeper than any other. They were connected in a way she didn’t understand, and his death had hurt her deep in her matrix that she still couldn’t comprehend it fully. He needed her too and this time Gideon would look after him properly, the way she should have before.

“Okay,” Rip’s voice brought her to him, “I have installed the dream sensors.”

“Excellent, Captain,” Gideon told him, “Please come to the fabrication room on the fifth floor.”

Rip gave a confused frown, “Why?”

“I have something for you,” she told him adding before he could say anything else, “Please, just do as I ask.”

He shrugged then headed to the elevator. Once there he walked to the fabrication room.

“I’m here,” Rip said looking around, “What do you have for me?”

The fabricator activated, and he looked confused as he lifted out the gloves Gideon had made for him.

“I already have a pair,” Rip noted, looking at the thin brown leather gloves he was holding.

“Put them on, Captain,” Gideon ordered.

Knowing it pointless arguing with her, Rip sighed, “Fine.”

He peeled off the gloves he was wearing, trying not to look at the criss-cross of lines covering his hands, before sliding the new ones on. Surprised by how comfortable they felt and how much easier they moved, almost as though they were a second skin, “These are great, Gideon.”

“I am glad you approve,” she stated, activating the holo-emitters appearing before him in her human form.

Rip stared surprised to see her use this avatar.

“Okay,” he said bemused and a little suspicious, “What are you doing?”

Gideon smiled at him, “Hold out your hand.” Confused Rip stared at her making Gideon roll her eyes, “Just do as I ask, Captain.”

Rip let out an annoyed sigh but held his right hand out in front of him, his eyes widening when Gideon took his hand in hers.

“What?”

“I included sensors in the glove to allow you to feel my touch,” Gideon smiled at him, “This will allow me to work as an assistant that can be seen while we build up the business.”

Rip stared at her, “You can touch me?”

“And you can touch me,” Gideon replied, “Or anything I wish to give you.”

Slowly he reached out, gently cradling her cheek with his left hand smiling when Gideon leaned into his touch.

“I can feel you,” Rip whispered achingly.

Gideon squeezed his hand and gave him a smile, “I can include the sensors in all your clothes if you wish.”

Slowly, Rip nodded stroking her cheek and sliding his fingers through her hair, “These are amazing.”

A smile crossed her face and Gideon squeezed his hand again, “Now I believe it is time to waken the others.”

  Rip headed to the room with the cryochambers, still trying to get his head around the fact he was able to interact with Gideon on a physical level. It was incredible.

He had missed her for so long, he spent a long time talking to her when she couldn’t reply that to not only have her here but to be able to touch him was…

“Captain,” she spoke up, “Are you joining me or not?”

He grinned and bounded up the last few stairs, “Okay, I’m here.”

The door opened and Rip smiled to see Gideon standing there, he guessed that she liked this form and he would be seeing her like this a great deal from now on.

“Who are we waking first?” Gideon asked.

Rip frowned in thought before shrugging, “Mr Rory seems to be the best option. He has the most knowledge of time travel, due to his time as Chronos, and will be able to understand what happened. I hope.”

“He may be surprised to see you,” Gideon told him, “And considering what the team were dealing with may not believe it is you.”

“Mick trying to kill me,” Rip mused, “What else is new?”

“Captain,” she scolded.

Rip smiled at her, before he reached out and touched her arm because he could.

“Okay,” he moved to the controls, “Let’s defrost Mr Rory.”

  Gideon watched her Captain closely as they woke the man once known as Chronos. His time as the bounty hunter still haunted him but the knowledge that came with it had helped the team on many occasions. Not that they realised this, Mick tended to do things from the back and get the others to where they needed to get to without them realising.

Standing at her Captain’s side they watched the large man slowly open his eyes, looking around confused.

“Welcome back, Mr Rory,” Rip said, bringing the other man’s attention to him.

Mick stared at Rip for several seconds before starting menacingly forward, stopping confused when he hit the forcefield Gideon erected quickly.

“Hunter is dead. Who are you?” Mick snarled.

“This may be hard to believe, Mr Rory,” Rip said, “But I am alive, and I need your help.”

Mick stared at him unmoving, “How did you survive the explosion of the time core?”

Gideon could see the discomfort in her Captain at the question, so took over quickly.

“It is a long story, Mr Rory,” she said.

Mick stared at her for several minutes before asking, “Gideon?”

She nodded, “Yes, Mr Rory. I decided this form would be advantageous for our new mission.”

“Which is?” Mick demanded.

Rip gave a slight smile, “What else, saving time and the Legends.”

Mick let out an amused snort, “Of course it is. What did the morons do this time?”

“I’ll explain once I wake my second guest,” Rip told him, “But I might need your help to persuade him I’m me.”

  Rip folded his arms waiting while John finished his spell, the other man looking concerned when nothing happened.

“Are you done yet?” Rip asked.

John leaned back in his chair, arms folded unconsciously mirroring the other man still staring at Rip suspiciously, “And you expect me to believe you’re Rip Hunter? When he himself told me what overloading the time core would do to someone.”

“He’s got a point,” Mick noted from his seat.

Rip let out a long sigh.

“Captain,” Gideon spoke up, “Perhaps you should show them. Let them understand fully.”

Dropping his eyes, especially at the interested stares from the two men.

“And after that you can explain Gideon’s new look,” John said before adding, “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

Rip turned to Gideon, looking for comfort as he drew his glove off and pulled the sleeve up along his arm showing the scars on his body.

“Bloody hell,” John spat as he propelled himself out of his chair, “You look like…”

“You were torn apart,” Mick finished for him, looking up at Rip he stared at him hard, “What put you back together?”

Sliding his glove back on and fixing his sleeve, Rip began to talk. Explaining everything to them.

“I told them,” John snapped, slamming his hand off the table, “I bloody told them to be careful what they said until we stopped the bloody thing.” He shook his head, “Honestly, it’s a miracle they survived as long as they did.”

Mick nodded in agreement.

“To be fair to Sara,” Rip said, “The Djinn did ensure she had several terrible days. We’re just lucky she didn’t wish she’d never been born.”

John nodded in agreement before asking, “What’s the plan?”

                                  *********************************************

  Gideon stood waiting for Rip to get dressed. Although her cameras could see everything anyway, she kept her back turned in her human form. She knew that he felt uncomfortable for her to see the scars that covered him.

Not that they mattered to her, all Gideon cared about was that her Captain was with her once more.

“Okay,” he said, she turned to face him, “Shall we see if this works?”

Gideon nodded, she reached out and drew her hand along his arm watching the amazement cover his face at her touch.

“Oh, Gideon,” Rip whispered, tears filling his eyes at the connection. Something she knew he hadn’t had in a long time, something he needed but would never admit to anyone. Not even her.

“As long as you wear the clothes with sensors in them, you shall be able to feel my touch.” She gave him a smile, “And I would like to try something, Captain if you will allow my indulgence.”

Confused he nodded, letting out a soft gasp when Gideon wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, her head resting against his shoulder. Rip hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her too, sliding his hand through her hair.

“I missed you so much, Gideon,” Rip whispered to her, “And this is a gift I never could have imagined.”

Gideon smiled, the sensors providing the feedback to allow her to feel him as well. They held on to one another for a while before Gideon moved away.

“We have a great deal of work to do, Captain,” she said softly, “And Mr Constantine is on his way to speak with you.”

Rip nodded, reaching out he rested his hand on his cheek, “My Gideon.”

Turning her head slightly, Gideon placed a soft kiss on his thumb, “Always, Rip.”

  Rip called to come at the knock on the door.

“What can I do for you, John?” Rip asked as the other man walked into his room, “You’re not here to try and exorcise me again I hope.”

“No,” John said as he wandered the mostly bare bedroom, “But I’ve been thinking over everything you told us.”

Rip nodded and started out the room with John following him. He knew John would pick up on it, but he’d hoped to have a few days at least before the other man caught on.

“And?” Rip asked.

John caught Rip’s arm stopping him, “If we do get Sara to take back her wish then everything goes back to the way it was, right?”

“That is correct.”

Frowning John demanded, “Where does that leave you?”

“John…”

“Rip,” John snapped, “When things go back to the way they were, what happens to you?”

“Exactly what you’re thinking,” Rip shrugged before sighing, “My purpose was to protect the timeline. I gave everything for it, even my life. You saw the scars, John. I’m a patchwork person only here to fix things one more time. This just gives me a little more time to spend with Gideon.” Rip paused holding out his hand, not able to see the scars as his gloves covered them, “He promised this time it won’t hurt as much.”

John suddenly asked, “It hurt?” before wincing at the stupidity of his question.

Rip looked up at his friend and shrugged again, “Time energy ripped me apart, John. Yes, it hurt.”

John looked as though he was about to say something else but, instead he clapped Rip’s arm, Then I guess we have some work ahead of us.”

Part Two

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Changeling Loyalties: Chapter 6

A Small Problem

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway. 

I forgot to post this here...

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

~~~~

Toby was practically drooling as he stared at the strange and colorful crystals the vender was selling.

“Close your mouth, Tobes,” He heard Jim say with a snicker.

Okay. Maybe he actually was drooling, but could he really be blamed? They didn’t sell these kind of things on the surface.

“Sooo, how much are these?” He asked the shopkeeper, a stout, light grey troll about a head taller than Blinky. He leaned against the table and tried not to look too interested.

“What’ve ya got?” The shopkeeper asked in a gruff bored tone.

Toby blinked. Did the trolls here have a currency? They ate the metals humans prized for their own currency. He looked around him at the different stalls trying to see if he could spot a transaction, unfortunately most of the trolls were just talking.

In the Darklands, while it was generally every troll for themself, they did do some bartering. Toby himself had been rather skilled in finding and extracting valuable gems and minerals. It had not gotten him very far in a society based on violence, especially when the other changelings kept stealing from him. Eventually he had put a stop to that by crushing some stinger crystal and putting it in an offending troll’s food; the results were not pretty but it did the job…

“Toby we need to get going,” Jim said, tapping his shoulder.

“Right!” Toby shook himself back to the present. “Let me just try something first.”

He turned back toward the shopkeeper, who was now polishing what looked like a glowing amethyst on a stone wheel.

“Sir? Sir!” The troll pulled the crystal back and turned toward him with a grunt.

“What kind of things are you looking for?”

“What’ve ya got?” The troll repeated, making Toby feel a bit like he was talking to an NPC in a video game.

“Nothing at the moment…” The troll started turning away. “But! I happen to have unlimited access to the surface.” Toby’s gaze darted around quickly cataloguing the wares at the other stands. “Socks… blankets, tin cans… lightbulbs, you name it I can get it for you!”

Now he had the troll’s interest. The troll’s eyes, grey-brown and translucent (smoky quartz maybe?), sized Toby up. The changeling carefully kept his pose casual.

“Hmmm… Come later and A’ll give ya a list. Bring that stuff and w’ll talk.”

“You got it,” Toby said shooting him finger-guns and winking for good measure.

Jim let out a groan, before grabbing his arm and dragging him off.

 ~~~~

“Trollhunter!”

Toby jumped as a portly troll lady barged in on their history lesson.

He shot her a look of annoyance as Blinky turned toward her. He had actually been enjoying himself. Aaarrrgghh was quite comfortable to lean against, he had Jim beside him and out of danger, and Blinky was a very good reader. Also, while he knew the basics of what happened at Killahead, he had never really learned the details.

“What is it Bagdwella? Is it the heartstone?” Blinky asked closing the book with a concerned expression.

“Stalkling?” Aaarrrgghh rose to all fours.

“Is Bular in Trollmarket?” Jim asked nervously.

Toby doubted that was the case; there’d have been a lot more screaming.

“No. No. No!!!” Bagdwella yelled waving her arms around. “Rogue gnome!!!!”

~~~~

The glue traps were kind of creepy, Toby reflected with a shudder. He wasn’t familiar with gnomes, but their skeletons looked eerily human. Not to mention he’d always been of the opinion if one was going to kill something they should do it quickly. He figured it fell into the whole “treat others how you wanted to be treated” thing. Slowly dying from starvation and dehydration was not a nice way to go.

Bagdwella was explaining her problem to Jim who seemed to be just as baffled about why he was being called on to help with this as Toby was.

“See you need a gnome catcher,” He said with an awkward smile when she had finished. “And I’m, well, the Trollhunter. So…”

“Oh no, Master Jim,” Blinky interrupted. “The Trollhunter cannot refuse a call and what better a call for you to train with than a pint sized quarry.”

Toby supposed he could see Blinky’s reasoning there. Still…

If Toby had come to one of his superiors over something this trivial he would have gotten a harsh reprimand for wasting their time at a bare minimum. Did they really treat all the Trollhunters like this or was it because Jim was new and hadn’t earned their respect yet? Or, more likely, because he was human?

A sound that was something like a guitar drew their attention to a rack of socks. The gnome emerged strumming a makeshift instrument made out of a small rake and singing incomprehensible words. It was actually a pretty good musician. Toby found himself warming up to the creature… at least until it stole his belt and nugget nummies.

What ensued after that was something like a cross between slapstick and the world’s worst game of wack-a-mole. The gnome eluded them at every turn, slipping out of their hands and through crevices, stealing things all the while, until it ultimately got Jim’s amulet and escaped into its hole.

“Oh come on,” Jim muttered as he foolishly reached his arms into the hole.

“So what now?” He asked, finally giving up and turning to Blinky.

Blinky sighed.

“Well if you had lost or rejected the amulet would have returned to you, but unfortunately as it has been thieved it will not do so.”

Toby choked on his saliva.

“That… seems like a really bad system,” Jim said slowly echoing Toby’s thoughts.

Blinky shrugged.

“It talks about it in A Brief Recapitulation. Not much is known as Merlin was notoriously close-lipped. Fortunately that is not the problem at hand.” He folded his upper arms behind his back and started tapping the lower ones together. “No, our current problem is how to retrieve the Amulet.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Jim complained, “I can’t fit in that hole.”

A slight, but concerning, smile formed on Blinky’s face as he tapped his chin.

“Currently.”

Toby wasn’t sure what he was talking about but Aaarrrgghh apparently knew.

“Bad idea,” The Krubera rumbled shaking his head with an apprehensive look.

“No Trollhunter has ever lost his amulet,” Blinky said irritably. “We'll need time to procure the Furgolator.”

“Uh, the Furgolator?” Jim, understandably, sounded concerned.

“Don't you worry about anything, Master Jim! Tend to your studies. We'll watch over the hole.” Blinky said resting a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, you'll return refreshed to deal with this, um… little problem.”

Toby, however, was not about to let it go that easily. Especially not when Aaarrrgghh seemed to dislike the idea.

“What, exactly, is a Fergolator?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“It’s a machine we use to compress minerals,” Blinky said. “If the gnome won’t come out, the Trollhunter shall go in.”

“You’re going to shrink me?” Jim yelped.

“Precisely!”

Toby did not like the sound of that.

“Have you tested it on humans before? Or at least animals?” He asked. “Because from what I know, humans do not compress well.”

“Well…” Blinky had the nerve to give them a guilty smile. “No… but I’m not concerned…”

Toby crossed his arms.

Blinky frowned.

“It’s our best option,” He said throwing up his arms. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

Toby glared at him, something unpleasant simmering in his chest. His fingers twitched.

“Not yet, but anything’s better that squashing Jim in a machine that’s never been tested on humans.”

This was his best friend they were talking about.

Jim glanced from Toby to Blinky then quickly stepped between them.

“Woah there!” He held out his hands placatingly. “How about instead of arguing we take a break and do some brainstorming.”

“That sounds like a stellar idea,” Blinky relented with a smile.

Toby huffed and stepped back. He needed to get Blinky some books on human anatomy before the troll went and did irreversible damage to one of them.

~~~~

After quite a bit of discussion it was decided that Jim and Toby would acquire a high powered vacuum cleaner and see if they could suck the gnome and his stolen goods out of the hole. However, as it was going to be dark soon, they would be coming back to do it the next day.

“Well that was… something,” Jim said pulling off his werewolf mask.

For some reason Toby had insisted on them wearing their disguises until they got into the bushes.

“Yeah…”

Jim glanced over to see Toby frowning. His eyes darted around their surroundings as if he was looking for something.

“Toby?”

Toby blinked and refocused on Jim.

“Yeah it was! I can’t believe Blinky was just going try shrinking you like that!” He grinned. “Though if it worked I guess we could have had you go to school in my Sally-Go-Back clothes. You would have looked so cute.”

Jim groaned but felt a smile creeping across his face anyway.

“Maybe we could have shrunk you instead. I could have gotten you a chocolate fondue fountain to swim around in.”

“Tempting but no.” Toby said with a shudder. “I’m already way too short.”

“I like to think you’re fun-sized.”

He shot Jim a mock-glare.

“Hey! That’s my line. Anyway, I’ll hit my growth spurt soon.”

“Uh-huh…”

Toby attempted to punch his shoulder and almost tipped his bike over when he dodged. Jim smirked at his friend and sped up.

“Hey! Get back here!”

The race home left them both winded but Jim didn’t mind. It was nice to have a bit of normalcy for once. It was also nice messing around with Toby, he’d been a bit worried that…

“Oh look, Mom… I mean Dr. L’s home!”

She was. Her blue car had just pulled into the driveway ahead of them. Jim couldn’t help but to pedal a little faster.

“Hey Mom!”

She was just getting out of the car and turned at his call.

“Oh! Hi Jim!”

Jim coasted into the driveway and hopped off his bike to go give her a hug. With everything that had happened over the course of the week it felt like it had been forever since he’d last seen her.

“Good to see you kiddo,” She said returning it.

“Hey Dr.L!”

“Hi Toby,” She said with a smile as they pulled apart. “Are you boys going to be home for dinner tonight?”

“Oh course,” Jim said.

“You sure have been out late,” She continued, retrieving her bags from the car. “Do you have some big school project or something due?”

“Or something…”  Toby muttered.

Jim winced, he felt a bit guilty about not telling his Mom about Trollhunting but she had enough on her plate right now. She’d be worried (Terrified if he was being honest with himself). It wasn’t like she could do anything about it.

He frowned, feeling the happiness leak out of him as his hand drifted to his empty pocket.

Blinky had said that if he refused or lost the amulet it would come back to him (unfortunately that didn’t work if he was trying to get it to come back on purpose. Seriously what was Merlin thinking?). It was… It was a little disconcerting to hear just how permanent the position he now held was. No take backs… and yet… he’d never had the chance to accept or refuse it in the first place.

“You okay, Jimbo?”

He glanced to his right to see Toby staring at him, eyes bright with concern. It looked like his Mom had already gone in the house.

“Yeah… I just… I guess I’m a little bothered by what Blinky said about the amulet returning if I reject it.”

Something in Toby’s expression shifted, his gaze becoming a little sharper.

“Do you want to reject it?” He asked tone completely serious.

Jim blinked, a little taken aback.

“I… I don’t know… I mean I don’t really care for the fact that I have a killer troll out to… well… kill me, but Trollmarket’s cool and I like Blinky and Aaarrrgghh… Draal not so much…”

Jim trailed off, frowning, then shrugged.

“Well it doesn’t really matter since I can’t get rid of it.”

He turned back toward the house.

“Come on, I’m going to get started on dinner. With any luck I’ll get it done before the hospital calls Mom again.”

There was a pause and then he heard Toby make a noise of agreement and follow.

~~~~

Toby was in good spirits when he retired to bed for the night

Dinner had been delicious: salmon, wild rice and a nice side salad, curtesy of Chief Jim. They’d called Nana over and the four of them had eaten together for the first time in about a month. Afterward they played a round of Rummikub before Toby and Nana retired to their house for the night.

He’d gotten his homework done and even gotten a round of video games in before going to bed. Unfortunately he should have known his lucky streak would not last long.

It was about three in the morning when Toby’s phone went off. He groaned and groped around in the dark until he found it. Toby hissed at the bright light before squinting at the screen. He groaned again. Maybe he could just pretend he’d slept through his phone going off…

He sighed and sat up dislodging Kracka from his chest. The goblin shot him an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” He said in English before switching to Goblin. *Gather pack. Called for clean-up.*

Kracka immediately perked up and darted off, rousing Bob who was sleeping at the foot of the bed on the way by.

Toby snorted, padding over to the closet to grab his hoody. At least one of them was happy about this.

[horrorsleazetrash]

$300 Apartment by T.H. Cee

At the ripe old age of eighteen, I decided to move out and get my first apartment. Inexperienced and broke — never a good combination — I searched for the cheapest place to live, crossing out every ad in the newspaper above $300. I eventually found a place a few days later. In my mind, I’d stumbled upon the deal of a lifetime. Several units were available in a large and quaint old home converted into a two-story apartment house. From what I remember, the faded wallpaper masked an antique visage that borderlined on decay. A nicotine-stained ambience plastered the rooms with a cancerous yellow. You could almost hear the chipping lead paint crumble. Rehabbed just enough to convey the concept of occupancy, the structure appeared to be either on the verge of becoming an historic home or winning an eminent domain raffle. But the great news — the landlord advised basic utilities were included — all for $300 a month. In a hurry, I quickly leased a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, and through a belief that my frugal search was somehow successful, mistakenly ignored the rest of the area. My naïve ears failed to warn me what the surrounding neighborhood tried to say. On a budget and motivated solely by price, the crazy taste of freedom had blinded me to the imperfections of what $300 could … and could not buy. ### The first day living there, I noticed a large hole in the bottom of a bedroom closet. A few hours later, I met my downstairs neighbor, Jizz Man. Jizz Man, when informed of my discovery, quickly held his needle ravaged arms up two feet apart. With wide eyes and a graphic vigor, he described the actual size of a rat he’d seen scurrying from his unit the day before. Somewhat of a philosopher, his potent use of simile immediately grabbed my attention. “That fucker,” he said matter-of-factly, “. . . was larger than a cat.” ### The next day, I met one of my next-door neighbors. For the record, I don’t recall his name. But for the sake of keeping things concise, being this is a story — let’s just call him “Old Alcoholic Dude” or Mr. Oad for short. It's also important to note that Mr. Oad was married, to none other than Mrs. Oad, who as my luck would have it ... was also an alcoholic. Mr. Oad banged on my door promptly at 8 a.m. With ass breath, he welcomed me to the neighborhood, and in a gruff tone, offered me the deal of a lifetime: a no risk chance to double my money, to experience high finance at its most primal level. “Just give me $10,” he said slurring his words, “and you can have $20 back in food stamps.” He then began to clear his throat with a cockeyed grin; in my mind, I watched three wet coughs form an imaginary ellipsis and introduce daylight to dark phlegm. My first impressions were that his liquid habit had washed away too many brain cells, that the man couldn’t chew a stick of gum and walk a sobriety line. I also surmised he probably wasn’t going to buy Girl Scout cookies with the proceeds — that is, unless they were somehow laced with rum. The scene played out like a dental nightmare, with Mr. Oad's breath reminiscent of a used anal thermometer thirsting for alcohol. The putrid wind expelled from his lungs hit my nose as if it were a fecal brick. In my mind, he’d become the unofficial spokesperson for the hazards of not flossing. Our conversation ended abruptly when I told him I had no cash. He quickly turned away quite frustrated, and in a welcome reprieve of sorts, spared me his next exhale. With a mixture of tenacity (and a possible case of the DTs) he started knocking on another door before I could close mine. In retrospect, I suppose many great sales motivators would have been proud. ### At the time, I had a girlfriend named Darcy. She was a Drama major and from what I remember a bit on the ostentatious side. Notorious for changing her hair color as often as her underwear, she possessed the unfortunate luck of being an eccentric bohemian. Back then, I overlooked these personality quirks primarily because of her bra size. That much I remember. As a young man in those days, I’d begun to look at many things on a sliding scale — and breasts happened to be one of them. Darcy was excited to see my place. She happily bounced from room to room and rambled on ad nauseum. “I love this. I love that,” she would say. In many ways, the girl was easy to please. Along with the apartment, we had a bed and didn’t have to use the backseat of my Gremlin anymore. I no longer needed to cover her face with a sweater attempting to keep the decibel level to a minimum. Not a huge fan of multi-tasking during sex, it was pretty much a win-win. ### Even my best friend Derrick liked my new digs. He’s been dead now for twenty years, but I still remember the first time he strutted into my apartment on that day — how he looked around a few moments before using his favorite catchphrase and part-time mantra. “Cool.” A person of few words, Derrick would always be cool to me — Miles Davis cool. If there’s a heaven, I surmise he's up there right now, fornicating with all the female angels and snorting fairy dust. Maybe even looking down at me and throwing high fives. We were kindred spirits back then, teenagers at that mysterious turning point of becoming men, keeping true to what decades later would be called the “Bro Code.” On occasion, I’d let Derrick bring women to my apartment after I left for work or school. From an economic standpoint, it became the barter system at its finest. All he had to do for me was leave a six-pack in the fridge and occasionally change the sheets. Mi casa, su casa.   ### My new life, however, did not escape peril despite these obvious perks. Enticed by the idea of saving money, I’d not yet learned how greed could inversely make things more expensive. An acquaintance talked me into taking on a roommate after a few weeks living alone. According to him, the dude “walked on water.” My main regret: finding out too late, he literally thought he could. I discovered after the fact that my new roommate, Brian, worked nights, and while not sleeping during the day, went door to door handing out his religious cult’s magazines. Unfortunately, this didn't get disclosed until after he'd moved in. Footnote for the naïve, the absolute first thing to ask before you shake hands and give anyone a key: You’re not crazy, are you? I'd always considered myself open-minded. Even somewhat spiritual. A huge fan of the “love thy neighbor” concept — especially females. If you’d asked Darcy, she would have vouched for me back then. But nevertheless, after several weeks, Brian’s proselytizing, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, took a strange and unexpected twist. With his “brotherly acceptance” stepping over into the dark side, he portrayed a different type of Passion Play, and to my surprise, soon crossed the thin bromosexual line of no return. Because he’d been my first roommate, I'd assumed it was normal to see him occasionally walk around naked. This belief, however, quickly changed when he added an erection into the mix, accompanied by garish bouts of living room masturbation theatre. Then, slinking into my room one night, his hands made the fatal mistake of moving from his penis toward mine. Not wanting to be a rape statistic, I taught him through a chokehold to speak in tongues. From the apartment to the hall, he got his ass pounded — and not the way he would’ve preferred. At the highpoint of our skirmish, my pugilistic rendition of the Last Rights almost introduced him to his maker. You would have thought he'd been thrilled. But when push came to shove, the man had no faith. Our battle ended with his baptism to the bottom of the first-floor stairs compliments of my large heterosexual foot. To summarize the moment: “‘No’ means no!” What devolved into a homoerotic adaptation of “Dante’s Inferno,” ended in forty days, and almost forty nights, if you included the evening I ended our arrangement by kicking that conflicted simian down a flight of stairs. In hindsight, the situation helped me understand a few things — like why my cousin, for amusement, always comes to the door naked when Jehovah’s Witnesses knock. ### A few days after getting rid of St. Brian (the Patron Saint for homos in denial), I discovered my other neighbor, who’d recently moved in, worked as a prostitute. This knowledge compliments of rolling paper-thin walls and a thick headboard that banged out a raunchy Morse Code. Weirdly, it was a result of this discovery that Darcy developed her own version of drama exercises to, I assume, hone her budding thespian skills. It started one night while both of us were in the throes of “enjoying each other’s company.” As we lay in bed, we overheard my neighbor on the other side of the wall working overtime. After listening to her and her John’s theatrics for a few moments, Darcy suggested, just for laughs, to emulate them. This meant, when my neighbor moaned or screamed, Darcy would do the same; when my neighbor’s “trick” made any sound, I would mimic it. We would also have to make these noises while doing what they were doing on the other side of the wall. In a matter of seconds, the moment transformed into an erotic version of Twister choreographed to an X-rated soundtrack. “Spank me daddy,” screamed the hooker. “Spank me daddy,” Darcy shouted. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … If you’d asked Darcy at the time, she would’ve said the exercise had been about (in a dramatic voice): “transcending the emotion” or “being able to duplicate the acting experience.” That’s at least what she told me. This off-the-wall form of role-playing she’d concocted became hilarious. Especially, when we realized they could hear us on the other side, befuddled about what to make of it — like maybe their apartment was special in some way or had built in reverb. It also makes me wonder today if Darcy is now a porn star. When I consider all of the factors, it would make a lot of sense. “What the fuck was that?” said the John. “What the fuck was that?” I echoed. “Shut up and put your finger in my ass,” yelled the Prostitute. “That’s not your finger,” moaned Darcy. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … The other thing that wasn’t so cool about my neighbor, the working girl — she had a pimp. This deduction came from the noisy conversations that often followed when he'd show up. Keeping pretty much to the same predictable script, he’d always start out yelling something like, “Aww Hell Naw!” and then make some loose reference to where his drugs were kept followed by many sentences ending in the word “bitch.” Their meetings either closed with a classic pimp ritual common to the “Slap-a-Ho” tribe or an S&M session on angel dust. After a while, it became too difficult to tell the difference. ### For most young people, one’s first apartment becomes a ceremonial rite of passage. A path toward adulthood. Mine, however, had jumped the tracks and taken a nefarious turn; before I realized what happened, I found myself trapped in what seemed a ghetto bar mitzvah — one where I'd wished my yarmulke (if I even had one) were bulletproof. To avoid the constant drama, I struggled to keep a low profile. If one tenant didn’t have the police at their door, another one did. I became the poor college kid amidst all this wild trailer trash excitement. Then, one day, everything went sideways and shitty. Mr. and Mrs. Oad began to go on longer binges where they brazenly avoided sobriety for days at a time. I’d hear them up at all hours yelling and screaming. Even crying. And sometimes around 3 a.m., I would listen to Mrs. Oad loudly whimper the following: “I’ll be your German. Let me be your German.” The deviant sounds that followed, molested my ears. Also causing me to throw up a little in my mouth. Had you been able to read my thoughts back then, you probably would’ve seen a pink elephant wearing a Speedo. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the situation did. My neighbor’s long benders bled one into another and took on a sinister dimension, becoming one never-ending event. Mrs. Oad, the more dramatic of the two, did one of two things intermittently: She would climb naked out of her second story window onto a large tree and scream at passing airplanes or she would run naked around the building with a machete. Before I realized what happened, it became a National Geographic episode outside my door. I’m not sure where she got the machete. Truth is, her charging at me with the mighty blade effectively killed my curiosity to stop and ask. Every time I heard some bimbo tell me about how grueling her aerobics class had been in those days, I’d think of Mrs. Oad, her wrinkled and gravity-ravaged body, weapon in hand, chasing me up a flight of stairs. It somehow didn't compare. The situation, over time, took on a theatrical déjà vu. When she screamed naked from her tree at airplanes, the moment reminded me of the character Tattoo on “Fantasy Island,” the little person known famously for the line “Da Plane! Da Plane!” Thirty years later, this memory remains. When flying, I often catch myself looking out the window, wondering if there are other Mrs. Oads down there somewhere, and if so, are they staring upward, challenging me in some unknown existential way. Say what you will about the woman, her movements were quick despite her obvious age. The police came out numerous times, but every time they’d show up, she’d sneak into her apartment before they could record the offense. This wouldn’t happen today, as the same circumstance would’ve easily gone viral the first hour. Viva la YouTube.   ### Along with the approaching heat of summer, however, Mrs. Oad’s psychosis escalated. Her behavior became more defiant. Everyone sensed she was moving toward an impending and inevitable face-off — one where I'd hoped to enjoy eight hours of sleep after someone carted her ass off in a straitjacket. But after several weeks, there was still no end in sight. Like a hurricane stalling offshore, this quagmire of dysfunction neither waxed nor waned. But then one day, everything suddenly changed. I remember how Derrick and I trudged our way into the local grocery store. We were there in aisle three, when Tom, an old friend from high school appeared. Along with serendipity and a giant bag of weed, he'd moved back into town. He also needed a roommate. Thirty minutes later, the three of us sat in Tom's van, and over a few beers and the occasional bong hit, a new roommate alliance was forged. He even offered to help move. My luck appeared to be changing. That afternoon, we became the Three Musketeers, local Ganja Chapter 420. Poster boys for P.S.A.'s against reefer madness. Our perspective clouded by copious amounts of THC, we could have doubled for the Three Stooges with a profound case of the munchies. Derrick and I, for humor’s sake, decided not to warn Tom about Mrs. Oad's theatrics while on our way to retrieve my stuff, and on a last minute dare, looked forward to the opportunity of watching him discover this spectacle for himself. The moment would be priceless. Of course, when Derrick and I decided to do this, we planned on only letting Tom carry the light stuff. Say what you will about my sense of humor; I am not a monster. Once we arrived back at my $300 apartment, however, the timing could not have been worse. We found ourselves staring into the pinnacle of Mrs. Oad’s latest and greatest binge. She sat perched in her tree, like a sentry at a bipolar nudist colony, babbling something about Germans again. After Tom stopped laughing and got up off the ground, we each drew imaginary straws. Our strategy was simple: The three of us would slink onto the property and take turns running into the building like wasted commandos on some secret recon mission. We hoped to avoid any confrontation, and with hands full, desired to bolt out the front door with as much of my belongings as we could carry. I’m not sure what was worse, the threat of seeing an approaching machete or Mrs. Oad’s prune-like naked body with breasts jiggling at half-mast. The circumstance nurtured in me, apart from the potential risk for retinal scarring, a rock-solid appreciation for older women who wear support bras. We’d just finished loading up the van when police arrived. In my opinion, six months too late. Mrs. Oad held the machete in her hand with her eyes locked on the approaching news helicopter while she clung screaming from her tree. Caught up in the pandemonium, I suddenly heard my landlord’s booming voice. He’d just pulled up behind the gathering crowd, seen all my belongings in Tom’s van, and realized I was moving out. As a bargaining chip, I said he could keep my deposit in exchange for early termination of my lease. I also promised not to walk over to the news crew and tell them about his many code violations. Although initially annoyed, he quickly accepted my proposition. Smart man. We ended the transaction through a quick handshake. With a firm grip, he wished me well over the windy effects of the chopper and sporadic bullhorn shouts from police. He even said he’d give me a stellar reference. In many ways, I often think of that moment as my first step toward a higher credit score. From the front passenger seat of Tom’s van, I now saw Mrs. Oad on the ground in the fetal position, her naked body tangled and sedated in a police net. A tranquilizer dart protruded from her cellulite riddled ass. I took one final look back at my $300 apartment. Immersed in the bittersweet dysfunction of it all, I sensed my residency there had come full circle. I realized someday I would hold a different perspective and have to laugh … maybe even write a story. --- T.H.Cee has had other short stories published in Black Fox and New Praxius. He also had another story that will be published this month at Oddville Press.   --- Show your love for Horror Sleaze Trash by following us and checking out the links below! --- Facebook . Instagram . Twitter . Patreon . HST Merch!

[prakashsontakke]

Being a musician in India

The challenges

Being an independent musician ( a term which I still don’t understand cause you are a musician anyway even if you are a dependent or you are not Independent enough to decide if you are still a musician ) is always a tough proposition . Somehow or the other this question often arises if you are successful one at that or not . That again gives rise to different kinds of questions like what is your measure of success , how do you rate yourself etc . Often it boils down to a basic question as to how much money you have made . Let us also consider the fact that very seldom someone asks if you are happy doing what you are doing cause its generally concluded that if you have made money then you must be happy .

You might have spent a few decades or at least one in this field to even start understanding how the dynamics of this field work . For that you need to understand which scene do you belong to or are you capable of creating one ( quite literally of course ) . There are presumably X number of scenes in India .

Lets have a look at these scenes one by one and figure out where you stand …

The White Kurta and Silk Pyjama Scene - These are those who have been on the top for a long time .They have gotten their Padmashrees and the Padmabhushans and might have missed the Bharat Ratna by a whisker .They usually talk in a slightly sombre voice and give tremendous importance to themselves .Usually this scene happens to exist in Mumbai and a little bit in Delhi .and they simply love and believe that Mumbai and Delhi are and will always be the only centre of knowledge and existence of India .These make sure that their next generation is always there to reap all the benefits that they have sown . Even if the children do not emerge to be good or even average musicians it doesn’t bother them cause then they become Managers and Promoters of the existing brand .The artistic mitochondria of course .

2. The colourful kurta scene - These are those who have never been on the top but are trying their best for quiet some time .They have sometimes gotten their Padmashrees and the Padmabhushans and talk in a slightly higher decibels and also try to speak some controversies at times . A pretentious voice of dissent and act as though they don’t give tremendous importance to themselves .Usually this scene happens to exist outside  Mumbai , in other words Chennai where they will get their Magsaysay because they have a great network of Press  and they simply love and believe that anything other than  Mumbai namely Chennai Delhi  Calcutta  is and will always be the only centre of knowledge and existence . Their mitochondria of course 

3. The designer Kurta scene - These can be found hovering around with the White Kurta scene people .They are often the people who carry out all the jobs of the white kurtas and have someone of their family firmly connected with the white kurtas . Majorly found in Delhi and Calcutta or some  They often get their due respects by the time they reach 50 plus age and are sure that they are destined to be the next white kurtas .

4. The Safron kurta scene - These are usually good musicians who are upset about not getting the Mumbai scene and they keep doing something or the other desperately to get into the good books of Mumbai . They often don’t succeed anywhere majorly but can be seen everywhere by being sweet to everyone and grabbing some important concerts on barter system . They also are pretty good at working the NRI scenario and succeed in getting good deals from across the seas .They are also pretty close to the next generation of the White Kurta scene and keep getting small rewards for this honesty . Sometimes the white kurtas use these for the NRI day out scenario .

5. The Khadi Kurta Scene - These are pretty smart and most well connected in the internal scenarios of every scene and are the go to people for the awards and fellowships . They do not communicate easily till they measure your gait and success in their internal surveys and could be pretty cold at times .Overall I would say they could prove to be a much better investment then any other scene , They also have a daughter or a son who happens to be making all the right moves to directly become a White Kurta some day .

6 . White half shirts and Khadi jackets circuit - Apart from this small work keeps happening in the name of music promotion by Sabhas who are still promoting Indian classical music 72 years after independence  . These so called music promoters are usually part time music enthusiasts . They have a job a successful job profile and have taken up this work for some kind of clean tax dodge .

Theie first call however goes to the first category and these work heavily under the influence  of the first category .They keep taking money from upcoming artistes for their sabhas and they don’t call any other segment other than the top white segment. So now it is evident that the funds are being raised for the top segment somehow . So voila we have an art community which is completely serving on its own . Its taking money from the up coming and sponsoring the up going .Wow what a balance .

7 . The pls call me segment - These are guys who will creep up on you on a lazy Saturday evening and tell you that you are extraordinary and you need to be encouraged and promoted . Usually such talks sound like honey to any artistes ears and he will immediately find sense in it . These guys after a hearty meal sponsored by the artiste at a good restaurant will tell him to keep some money aside to go and work the interiors of the HRD ministry . Just a bit of spending will  get you this scholarship and that fellowship or even better a big grant for your institution . Usually they don’t deliver much if you stick to the tried and tested line

 “ payment on delivery” . 

8 . Artistes converted to / Converting to /  wanting to convert to Organiser

Actually think of it why does such a thing happen  . When I get upset at not getting the right concerts I will somehow make it happen …… well this is how it starts . You start organising the concerts and you see suddenly lot of people who never spoke to you previously suddenly become friendly . All other artistes  who were your contemporaries and rivals suddenly start  smiling and become friendly . So true because thats what everyone wants to somehow become a performer  . Similar things happened in the past when musicians were close to certain people in some organisations and so they were offering the barter system  but now the musicians themselves have made organisations to promote themselves completely . The only disadvantage in the long run is that your other skills take over and the skill for which you become an artiste takes a back seat . 

 9 . The Consultant module - Sounds very hep in writing but actually in Music shows consultancy is just a phone call away. Earlier days there was a supposed connoisseur who gave advices on whom to invite 

10. The Weekend Music Maestros  - This has seen the sharpest rise in the last decade . They are hand in glove with segment 6 .These are usually musicians employed in some company most often software companies . They just need a place to jam and play their music rather practice with grace . A huge segment of organisers are very happy with this lot cause they are what we call as “ Artistes with benefits” . These can have incredible access all the way upto the first White Kurta segment  and they are gigging anywhere and anywhere mainly because they can go anywhere . These are also somehow responsible for bringing down the overall financial respect which the profession deserves . For them money is anyway coming from some other source so they will never stand in any line . 

11. Mediatic  - These are people who have started a platform to promote music . Some of them are good but some just waiting to make a financial model which will be successful . Sometimes these will ask money in return for the services offered .A popular TV channel also did this promotion drama for a little while after which they started boorishly asking for money .

That was a little bit about the so called classical Music scene now lets measure the other scenes like Fusion or Jazz etc

The Fusion scene - This scene is dominated by lot of head bobbing and going hysterical on the stage kind of behaviour .The musicians here are sweet ready to go ballistic on stage at the press of a button . Again here there is a big hand of the white Kurtas on top , The only reason White kurtas  are not so successful here is because they don’t care and they cant believe  that they have to actually talk to people and convince them … how lowly is that . 

The Jazz scene - Here again the beauty is the definition of Jazz is still a very unclear phenomenon in India . A huge segment of Jazz listeners in India actually believe that Jazz begins with Summer Time and ends with My funny Valentine . 

Metal / Rock / Various segments of metal and non metals 

This is still unclear to lot of people as to what exactly is this scene .In their social media posts they can write good tings but then who is listening is a big question .   This segment is generally left for college festivals and strange that even there this segment is slowly subsiding and giving way to the only scene of “ BOLLYWOOD”

THE BOLLYWOOD SCENE 

The biggest question is where is this scene not existing  ???

The White Kurtas to the Metal Rock scene are all nursing cosy dreams of someday making some connect and being successful there . The connect is unavoidable . Like someone once said about “ politics being in your pants ,  shirts …everywhere .

Every music scene is affected by this because somehow this scene has convinced India that if money speaks it speaks only through Bollywood . 

The so called emerging scene of Independent music scenario 

Though all successful musicians here actually became successful by non Bollywood work previously but their Dal Roti comes from here so the sincerity is always there .

Music institutions and the Online Medium 

Actually if you look around you can sometimes understand that so many scenarios existed all these Years because a large part of music education was not taken very seriously . People come to music institutions just to help them be a brilliant performer , How many actually want to be a teacher is a question that one needs to ask sincerely . Plus there is so much to music then just being a performer . Did you know that well I don’t thinks so .Apart from appreciating a few WhatsApp posts which spoke about the great aspects of learning music nothing much meets the eye .

So the key is with these music institutions who are actually taking music teaching very seriously . Even the online medium has taken a major leap in terms of the music education thus providing a better insight about music and its existence and importance to society .

So where is the independent scene does it exist 

Just tell me how many channels are actively showing some content or the other , How logical is the chance to get your Independent content featured there . Show me any channel in India which will promote  individual and independent music anywhere in India .Where is the content again here in these so called Independent channels there is a Bollywood propaganda in some way or the other .

The only scope for independent music artistes actually is only on Social Media and the rise of the social media has actually given rise to lot of artistes being discovered all over the country . The only big question that however remains to be answered is as time passes on the only proof of the pudding is there in eating it .The only difference being that this pudding cant be bought anywhere it has to be delivered free .So what after the pudding has proven itself repeatedly over the years who is paying for it .

The Author of this is a musician who has lived each and every scene and wants to be a part of none .

[jamesstegall]

Afghanistan’s looming cash crisis threatens to worsen a humanitarian disaster

Afghanistan’s banking system is in a state of collapse, and people throughout the country are running out money. And this cash crisis—partly due to the international community’s efforts to starve the Taliban of resources—is having an outsized effect on everyday Afghan citizens, leaving many without access to important services as the UN warns of a growing humanitarian disaster.

Asef Khademi, who was previously working to modernize the country’s financial systems, is one of the many people now hiding in Kabul who wants to leave Afghanistan, but his hope is waning fast. 

“I’m just knocking on every door, just sending emails to everyone to see if I can get out of this country,” he says.

Khademi is afraid because for the last three and a half years he has been working for an internationally-funded project to bring digital currency and banking into people’s lives. Afghanistan Payments System, or APS, was founded in 2011, funded by the World Bank, and became part of the Central Bank of Afghanistan two years ago. 

It was an important project: the Afghan economy runs on cash, and only an estimated 10 to 15% of citizens have a bank account. APS was meant to help Afghanistan become less cash-dependent, make economic transactions more secure and efficient, and bring real banking to more people. And, says Khademi, it was moving fast before the US withdrew its forces and the Taliban took over.

Now, though, as chaos continues to unfold in Afghanistan, the project has stopped, and cash is running out before any viable alternatives have been put in place. 

But a different outcome was within reach, Khademi says: Afghanistan was perhaps just a year or two away from having a 21st-century digital banking infrastructure that could cope even if cash disappeared. His team was “very committed and hardworking”, he says, regularly working up to 17-hour days to support rapid growth. They were “so passionate about the economy to be standing on its own.” 

“We were hoping our efforts would pay off,” he says, through tears. “It seems like everything was in vain, everything we have done. It seems like a dream, but now it’s never going to come true.”

Frozen assets

The cash crisis is not an accident. Most of the previous Afghan government’s assets were held in offshore accounts that have since been frozen to prevent the Taliban from gaining access, according to former Central Bank governor Ajmal Ahmady. And the US has chosen to prevent the Taliban—which is on the Treasury Department’s sanctions list—from getting hold of other funds by freezing Afghan government cash reserves and halting planned shipments of cash. Many Afghans have been expecting such a situation for weeks, with long lines at banks as citizens worried about the future drained them of cash.

ATM activity went through the roof. “Friends [who work in banks] said where they normally did hundreds of transactions per day, they were doing thousands,” says Ruchi Kumar, a journalist and contributor to MIT Technology Review who worked in Kabul for eight years but fled the country recently.

The problems caused by the lack of cash are building up. US dollars are becoming increasingly scarce, the value of Afghan cash is plummeting and, according to Khademi, the price of basic goods is skyrocketing. Cash remains in circulation—Afghanistan has a sizeable informal banking system, run though local unlicensed currency traders. Sources say that they are still operating, but without banking activity, money supply will soon run tight. 

Some outsiders are trying to fill the gap by running online fundraising campaigns, while others have even suggested that cryptocurrency could step into the void. 

But getting money into the country from outside has become more difficult. Western Union, the world’s largest money transfer company, has suspended services in Afghanistan, and NBC reports that MoneyGram has halted operations there too. Meanwhile some foreign crowdfunding websites, such as GoFundMe, have been accused of “disingenuous” behavior after blocking some fundraising efforts for the country while letting others proceed.

“I didn’t think this day would come”

While digital alternatives have largely failed to fill the gap left by the cash collapse, there have been some windows of opportunity for alternative services to help out.

Kumar, the journalist, says that vulnerable Afghans are using services like WasalPay—an online payment system for utility bills—to keep their phone credit topped up.

She’s using it to send money that people in distress can use to stay connected. Her network includes journalists, activists, and human rights defenders; they are able to use WasalPay to access funds coming from outside the country, whether from individual donations and contributions, or from larger sources such as the International Women’s Media Foundation. 

Many of the recipients, she says, are indoors, in hiding, with little but their phones and the clothes on their backs. The money helps ensure they can keep in touch with their families, but it also gives them a shot at getting a plane out of Afghanistan. 

“They are trying to leave the country, and they’re waiting for someone to say it’s time to leave and go to the airport,” Kumar says. Women—especially single women who work—are especially at risk. “They cannot leave their homes, especially if they know they are on the Taliban’s target list. So we are trying to facilitate phone credits remotely.”

Kumar says she is inundated with requests: she has made 140 payments so far and already has requests for another 40.

Sher Shah Rahim, the CEO of WasalPay, says that he’s had to shutter some of his other businesses—including KabulReads, Afghanistan’s first online bookstore—over safety concerns. But he’s committed to keeping WasalPay going until at least December, given that it has become essential for some. It’s not easy, though.

“As a company, I have no cash on me because I didn’t think this day would come,” he says. “I had all my money in the banks, and the banks are closed.”

Looming chaos

All these efforts are a race against time, however. With the exit of international forces and media planned for the end of August, the situation could worsen considerably. After that point, it will become much harder for people to flee. 

“They’re already secretly cracking down at night time, going to peoples’ houses to search for them,” says Kumar. “But they will crack down much more after the 31st. They’re even texting people threats saying that.” 

“They might just destroy it. They might just burn all of these technologies.”

As with so much in Afghanistan right now, the broader financial situation is chaotic and hugely uncertain. The value of the afghani, the country’s currency, has plummeted, and it’s unlikely to stabilize for some time, according to Thomas Groll, an economist at Columbia University. 

For now, many Afghans will be forced to rely on any cash reserves, local currency traders or bartering to get the goods they need, Groll says. 

Local entrepreneurs are worried for their own safety and that of their families. Khademi has lost many family members, including his father, to Taliban attacks in the past. Rahim, meanwhile, plans to wait and see what Taliban rule is like, although he’s shutting down his office and orchestrating remote work set-ups for his 18 employees. 

But beyond worrying about their immediate safety, they also see a wasted opportunity to build a genuine future.

“Everybody relies 100% on cash, and this was about to change,” says Rahim. “[APS] finally succeeded bringing digital banking to Afghanistan, but as soon as they launched and began to start walking from crawling, the Taliban came and everything basically turned into dust.”

Khademi, meanwhile, isn’t sure what happens next. “I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, to reach the level I am at today,” he says. “I don’t want to lose it all at once.”

He’s heard rumors that banks will be open next week, and he thinks the Taliban could even decide to continue the project. But he also thinks that it could be shut down. “They might just destroy it,” he says. “They might just burn all of these technologies. Who knows?”

from MIT Technology Review https://ift.tt/3mhj2Ue via IFTTT

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Economic Differences

(I started planning this fic AGES ago, back when @cedar-king, who suggested the premise, was still using their main Pikuna account as their Strange Magic tumblr rather than having a side blog. I’ve finally written it! Only took ... nearly two years ... *innocent whistling* 

It’s a very ‘domestic’ story, really. The entire plot is a couple talking about money. Marianne and Bog are working out how to mesh the fays’ coin-based economy and the goblins’ barter system for international trade. 

Not in continuity with my other stories.)

“You’re joking,” said the Bog King flatly, when Marianne showed him the shiny disks. “Your country bases its trade on metal tokens?” 

“It’s easier than a barter system,” Marianne insisted. “If you want something and don’t have something the shopkeeper wants in exchange, you just give them coins and get what you want, and they can trade the coins for whatever they want later.” 

“More efficient for the ‘buyer’, maybe, but it increases the overall number of transactions for the shopkeeper, making it less efficient for them.” 

“But this way they aren’t dependant on waiting for a customer to bring in just the right thing, and can get it for themselves a lot faster.” 

“Assuming they don’t mind carrying the dead weight around.” Bog scoffed. Marianne glared. 

“Coins are a reliable system. They’re specially designed to be hard to fake.” She held one up and indicated the small but detailed picture on it. “Whereas in a barter system, somebody could be cheated into trading for … spoiled food or a poorly made tool or something.” 

“A con artist could still trick someone into buying such a thing regardless of how they’re paid.” 

The Fairy Kingdom had a robust economy based on buying and selling things with coins, which Bog didn’t fully understand – the metal could be useful if melted down for other purposes, but not that useful in such a small amount. The concept seemed to be deeply rooted in trust. The seller was to accept that the buyer’s coins had value because the buyer claimed they had value. 

The Dark Forest had a thriving network of trading and bartering, where the value of what was being offered up was tested either during the exchange or soon enough afterwards that any con artists were usually caught swiftly. 

Marianne and Bog had to work out some way to translate those systems so that they worked together, to avoid the unpleasantness of some fay offering a goblin merchant ‘useless metal bits’ for their wares, or some goblin being accused of theft for offering goods or services ‘instead’ of payment. 

“On a large scale,” said Marianne, tapping her freckle, “I could see the Fairy Kingdom paying the Dark Forest in money for imports, and the Dark Forest keeping that money to ‘trade back’ for our exports, but that doesn’t solve the issue of an average fay or goblin crossing the border and needing food on the other side.” 

“Going into your kingdom, something could be set up for goblins to exchange goods for coins at the border? I don’t know how well that would work going the other way, though.” 

Marianne groaned. “I do. I’m picturing a huge border marketplace, every shopkeeper crying out to each hapless tourist that they have just the thing that goblins will find useful; please, stop in and buy a few items to trade once you go into the Forest …” 

“That actually doesn’t sound bad. Maybe a bit of a nuisance for the towns if the markets are close enough that the noise carries.” 

“The concept is probably fine, it’s just that I’m sure some merchants would charge a lot more than the goods are actually worth, and if they haven’t spent any time in the Forest before, then whatever the tourist buys might end up being useless over there, and they’ll have spent all that money for nothing.” 

“I suppose we could share the barter reports.” Bog wrapped one hand around his chin and tapped the claws of his other hand on the table. “The Dark Forest is divided into a few regions, mostly by geographic borders like wetlands, and the Castle receives notice about which goods and services are most in demand in each. I was planning to show that to you anyway, for trade purposes, but if your public also had that information –” 

“They’d know what goblins would want in the area they wanted to explore!” finished Marianne triumphantly. “And then a border marketplace could actually be useful, not just an excuse for merchants to line their pockets –” 

“To do what?” Bog squinted at her, not unlike how he squinted at Thang for mixing up a message from the mushroom line. 

“Oh, that’s an expression. Um, pockets are … bags sewn into clothing, to carry stuff without holding it in our hands. A lot of people keep their money in a pocket.” 

Marianne demonstrated, reaching into one of the folds of her skirt and pulling out another coin. 

“And ‘lining your pockets’ is – the full version, I think, is ‘lining your pockets at someone else’s expense’ – it’s about unscrupulous merchants who charge more money for their goods than the goods are worth, so they take more money than they’ve earned; or it can be about unscrupulous employers who don’t pay the people who work for them enough money for those people to buy things they need; or,” here she flushed, “about royals and nobility who use tax money for personal benefit instead of the benefit of the Kingdom.” 

“Tax money?” 

Marianne blinked at him, looking as confused as he was. 

“You don’t have – right, without money it would be different. Okay, so, do goblins … send food and such to the Castle, since you’re all so busy there running the country that you don’t have time to hunt full time as well?” 

“Oh. Tithes and tributes. Yes, we have that.” 

“Right. So, taxes are basically that, but with money. How it’s supposed to work is that the local nobility gets money from taxes and forwards most of it to the Royal Family, and then if we need … for example, say that a town needs their main road repaired. Then the royals or nobles use the tax money to pay for the materials, and to hire people who can either fix the road or tear it up and rebuild it properly, so it won’t just wash away with the first rainstorm, and the money basically gets spread back out around the kingdom.” 

Bog nodded. 

“But if we were ‘lining our pockets’, then we’d be getting all that tax money and doing nothing with it, just having a heap of gold in the treasury for the sake of having one, or spending it on things for ourselves while the town’s road never gets repaired.” 

“I would think you’d just be deposed for that. That’s happened in the Dark Forest before, with food hoarding.” 

“Yes, that is probably how it would end, but some people are selfish and short-sighted.” 

“So a border market could work,” said Bog, “but we need to keep an eye on everyone to make sure they’re trading useful items.” 

“And real money,” said Marianne. “The coins are hard to fake, like I said, but forgeries do happen and if goblins don’t normally use money then they won’t know what to look for.” 

[spicybisous]

A Pragmatic Approach to Religion

I have a bachelor’s degree in Religious Studies, but not for the reasons you might think.

You see, a majority of people often confuse religious studies for theology, which is the study of God. Which god? Well, that depends on which faith’s theology you’re studying. Rather than studying the word of a specific religion’s God, I opted to look into religious studies, which combines political science, objective world views, and international policy all wrapped up. I actually learned very little about individual faiths, but more about their existence world-wide, and the many different roles religion plays depending on what continent, village, and culture you’re referencing. It provided me with experiences beyond belief, and since I have graduated, I have successfully communicated with people from all walks of life, with a lot more understanding for the importance religion (r spirituality) plays in their lives. I’ve been able to connect with people and think completely objectively in ways I never thought imaginable.

During my junior year of university, we were asked to look at religion through a new set of glasses; separating faith and believe from religion, and re-applying it to something people would not automatically assume is religious. We were also asked to explain whether or not we felt that religion was a noun, or something else.

I figured I would share a snippet of my presentation, mostly because for once in my life, I really have nothing else to write.

Scholars have been studying religion for centuries, and while there is a multitude of evidence supporting the existence and presence of religion, they have failed to produce reason to believe that religion stands as an independent object of study. Sociologists and theorists alike, have made a seemingly successful differentiation between religious and secular institutions, and many will agree that religion and the rest of the secular world are two different entities, but how much truth to that statement can there be? Theorists have also made multiple attempts at defining what religion is, arguably, with little to no avail. One clear theory surrounding the futile attempts to define religion came from 1960’s theorist Wilfred Smith, who believed that the attempts to define religion as a “thing,” were misguided on the basis that religion itself does not define any one particular phenomena that can be picked out among cultures or societies. He stated that, contrary to many other theorists’ studies of religion, it did not have a common feature which could be recognized across planes. Many other scholars believed religion could be easily spotted across cultures due to its indicative nature, but here, Smith, along with Durkheim, argues that religion is a Western social construction, superimposed upon many different phenomena to give the illusion that religion is a unified institution. In fact Durkheim pushed this theory to the fullest extent, suggesting that religion itself was a unified system of both practices and beliefs (Nine Theories of Religion, 104).

The idea of religion can be traced back about 5,000 years, near the dawn of written language. Since it has made its appearance in society, religion has served a great purpose; defining gender, marital, and miscellaneous social roles, setting moral boundaries for the creation and upholding of laws, and providing people with an optimistic outlook to the woes of life. That is just it, though. Religion plays a crucial role in almost all aspects of historic and modern society, and is always accompanied by some greater, all knowing entity. It may be studied alongside economics, politics, law, and home-life, but to what extent can one study religion without observing another core facet of society? In order to be a true object of study, it would seem that one should be able to quarantine religion, and study it without interference of other aspects of human life. In a multicultural world, it seems irresponsible to assume that religion, as a singular body, exists in every society. It seems that theorists often make the mistake of dubbing a cultural as “religious,” based on a template that has been constructed to throw various beliefs and actions towards religion, rather than human nature. Now, to say that religion may not necessarily exist as a solitary object of study is not to say that it does not serve an immensely important function. Religion has managed to infiltrate every aspect of human existence, driving the mind, law, politics, and social and personal spheres, to define good and evil.

Notably, religion is responsible for telling humans what is right versus what is wrong, how one should think, behave, and execute day-to-day actions. All of these religious dictations are designed to not only create a highly-functional society, but to keep people safe. For example, Exodus 20:13 and Deuteronomy 5:17 both state “You shall not murder” (Holy Bible, New International Version). Matthew 19:18 further defines this as well:

“Then he said to Him, “Which ones?” And Jesus said, “You shall not commit murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness.”

In fact, there are more than fifteen separate mentions of the above throughout the Bible, and many of them present repercussions for committing these transgressions, which would require one to face a court (Matthew 5:21). From this, we can infer that the justice system was born. However, rather than to credit the creation of all things to religion, one could just as easily say that religion was the excuse for such happenings. One modern-day example is the relationship between a parent and child. The child will blindly follow the word of the parent, both out of respect, but also out of deeply-rooted fear of both disapproval and punishment. The same can be observed about religious people throughout history; they followed the word of God out of fear of the unknown, or of a cruel, grueling punishment. God holds the idea of Heaven and Hell over the religious people as either a prize or damnation. This seems to be more of a basic human thought process, cloaked with the excuse of religion, because if there stands nothing to be afraid of, what would encourage people to follow such laws or precepts in the first place?

In terms of economics, Karl Marx decides that the purpose of religion is to create an illusory fantasy to appease the poor. He strongly believed that religion served as comfort for those who were being exploited and taken advantage of (Nine Theories of Religion, 113). Predating Marx’s concept of the sociology of religion and publishing of The Communist Manifesto (1848) was the sale of indulgences around 1517. Marx’s theory fits this example perfectly, as the Church used its religious platform and power to exploit the population and used scare tactics in order to revamp their economy. The demand for indulgences skyrocketed, and people were selling property rights and homes to both the Church, and non-religious entities such as princes, in order to afford these symbolic tokens to ensure theirs and their families’ safety in the afterlife. This was one of the first moves into a more progressive economy, which did not rely solely on the barter system to acquire goods. In the 1560’s though, the people questioned the validity of Indulgences once the church began selling them for those who had already passed away. Suddenly, the people were awakened, as Marx claimed they would be, and began questioning the time constraints and limitations of their indulgences. Many people began to feel the heat of the proposed scam the church had pulled on them.

Based on the ordinary traits attributed to religion, one could say that Americans are religious based on the traditions, rites, and rituals observed throughout the greater society. However, upon further examination, these phenomena could easily be accredited to patriotism and early Biblical dictations for safety and wellness. For example, American rituals may include more obvious representations of nationalism such as the Pledge of Allegiance. Another vivid example is Americans and their relationship with sports, namely, baseball and football. Along with extensive preparation and somewhat of a uniformed appearance in support of a specific team, there are many superstitions which arise as well. This of course, brings forth the need to differentiate between sports and religion. By the standards of what is and isn’t a religion, sports seems to be a strong contender, but lacks the ability to settle on one divine or Supreme Being. Religion then becomes contradictory to itself, in attempts to be defined by the parameters previously set because Hinduism, a very widely accepted religion, grants divinity to hundreds of different images.  One might ask how theorists have gotten around this contradiction, by stating that Hinduism is still ultimately ruled by one supreme power, but that each god and goddess is simply a more personalized and relatable conduit to convey the same one-being’s word. Now, with this angle in mind, who is to say that each sport in itself is not its own religion, and each individual team is just a smaller, more personalized representation of a more influential power, such as the NFL of MBL. The lines by which religion was previously defined are clearly blurred, and seem to be ever-changing in order to outsmart modern challenges to the integrity of religion as its own brand.