#its a very testimony approach to trauma

[rookisaknight]

Lrb relevant something about the way each brother is constantly reiterating their trauma in an attempt to subdue it.

Jacob, most direct and long-term recipient of their father's abuse, surrounds himself with people he's conditioned to become violent at the drop of a hat.

But its ok, because he controls the trigger this time.

Joseph, left abandoned by the splitting of their family, creates conditions for his new Family that are so untenable it's only a matter of time before any given member tries to leave him.

But it's ok, because being forced to constantly negotiate, gaslight, and threaten people into sticking with him makes him feel like he has power over his isolation this time.

John reliving his childhood torture every goddamn day, carving himself up when he can't carve up others and having his fear of damnation dangled over his head by his brother god. Constantly repenting, constantly atoning, never forgiven.

But it's ok, because he holds the knife this time. When you hold the knife, you get to say when it stops, and you get to extract sin from others rather than have it extracted from you.

[stopscammingartists]

it's so skeevy how glip n their community put responsibility on their victims to be completely infallible when daring to make a claim that they were abused. they have to walk on fucking eggshells because one wrong move and glip/the flora community just wont fucking read it and instead center an entire book about the 'wrong' statement instead. example being pengo not reading any of boo's stuff bc one sentence insinuated he lied about something.

this is such a classic manipulation tactic. the kind of thing an abusive cheating spouse does. "oh you caught me messaging someone? well you disrespected my privacy by going through my things!". that kinda shit. its abusive and only used to silence someone and intimidate them and they have to know this I mean. they cant be that dense.

anyway, pengo/glip/everyone here's a challenge. if you didnt read all of the allegations against you then dont bother responding them. nothing you say about it has any value unless you actually own up to what you did and better yourself or somehow refute it in a way that matters :)

Let me establish some context for anyone who doesn't know what happened with Lain/Spaggle and what her story is.

In 2014, Lain, who had just recently turned 14 posted to tumblr about how Marl approached her a few months ago in the Floraverse IRC and would talk about how he wanted to fuck Lain in vivid detail and send her pictures of dog genitalia.

She would retell her story a few times on different platforms over the years. Meanwhile, Glip would respond by claiming they had logs of Lain insinuating that she likes to bait adults into a child porn charge.

None of the logs Glip would ever provide will show this. Glip was simply lying. Glip, and Eevee both would make call out posts on tumblr continuing frame Lain as some insane 14 year old enchantress looking to entrap adults in a child porn charge. As if any adult, like Marl, who took this supposed bait wouldn't still be a pedophile. Glip and Eevee both would platform the anonymous testimonial they received about Lain from Lain's friend and, alarmingly, another adult who claimed that Lain "has done this before". Establishing Lain as a repeat-victim of childhood sexual abuse. Children who are sexually abused tend to never be sexually abused once.

Glip would continue to berate and slander Lain whenever she popped up until 2019. Propping up the words of the other adults who sexually abused this minor along the way.

Meanwhile, privately, Glip and their inner circle where looking to do something they where worried would have legal ramifications to them if got out.

According to @hexcryingwolf who was part of this group - Glip had obtained Lain's dox and had wanted to take legal action against the child who their then ex-husband sexually abused with photos of dog genitalia.

However, before Lain even came forward in 2014, Marl had convinced Glip to be filmed having intercourse with a dog, twice and was told by the person Marl cheated on them with that Marl had shown them pornographic content of their pet German Shepard dog, Apollo.

So when Glip framed Lain as some enchantress trying to entrap men, as some lying parasite and was trying to go after this child in ways that where legally dubious, they knew from the very start that Marl was a zoophile and probably had dog genitalia photos to send Lain better then anyone else. Because, naturally, Glip is also a victim of Marl's beastiality.

When Glip says they did not know what Marl was doing, or what he was capable of - they are lying. Nothing more, nothing less.

So, let's jump to the present and actually address what @sc0rfanos is talking about.

This is a 30-something adult who slandered, and silenced a 14 year victim of their shared abuser for nearly 5 years.

Glip does not get to demand that everyone else considers how they feel and how they're hurt, and how they're a victim while they wipe their ass with the feelings, pain and trauma they inflicted upon others.

Redirecting a point about how Glip abused Lain over the span of years to be about how Glip is a victim of said husband is fucking disgusting. Glip continuing the spout the words of the other adults who sexually abused this child in 2023 as if they matter or excuse their actions is fucking disgusting.

This only serves the purpose of redirecting the discussion away from Glip actions and the ramifications those actions have had on others into a discussion about how Glip is some sad lil' boo boo who was totally reasonable to do the things they did.

Eat dirt you disgusting worm of a person.

[mariacallous]

As the report of the independent inquiry into child sexual abuse (IICSA) delivers its findings, seven years in the making, the numbers alone are incredibly hard to confront: 79% of the thousands of victims and survivors who gave testimony were under 11 when the sexual abuse started. Children with disabilities and those who were already neglected were exploited disproportionately – a chilling insight into predatory behaviour: how it takes the very quality of vulnerability that should engender empathy and protection, and opportunistically exploits it instead.

Yet it is in hearing the voices of these victims and survivors that you begin to understand the vast and pressing duty this inquiry creates, a duty of root and branch change in how children are perceived, cared for and protected, and alongside that a duty of collective as well as institutional atonement.

The depths of cruelty described are fathomless: children passing out in pain, humiliated, violated, uncomprehending, suffocating under the weight of an abuser, frozen silent in fear. Testimonials to the Truth Project come from every generation, the oldest participants are in their 80s. What they said, and what they said they wanted now, spoke volumes. For 9% of them, this was the first time they’d spoken about their abuse, and they gave their reasons for this bravery very clearly. More than half said they wanted to prevent abuse happening to others; a fifth wanted to be heard. “These monsters have taken enough from me,” one man said. “Today,” he said, he was “going to speak”.

Twenty-one per cent of the Truth Project participants said they sought the opportunity to tell someone in authority about their experiences; 15% just wanted their account to be believed. For some, this was because they had previously not been listened to or taken seriously when they disclosed that they had been sexually abused. Barbara said, “I want my voice heard, I want it on record … I am not the child in the police station.” Another survivor recalled, “There’s so many moments where I was genuinely crying out to people and there was nothing, no one to listen to me.”

These crimes didn’t stop at the perpetrators, but were cloaked and underpinned by surrounding agencies and institutions who dressed up their cowardice as incredulousness. The analogies people use are heartrending. Phoebe, forced at gunpoint into sex work, was “like a little fish in a shark tank”; Adrienne felt “like a ghost – you are the last thing anyone thinks of”.

Prof Alexis Jay, the chair of the inquiry, touches starkly and soberly on the changing attitudes to abuse over the decades: from the 1950s, when people still had a notion of the “seductive child”; through the 1960s and 70s, when allegations would be stonewalled simply because the accused was by definition more powerful than the accuser; the 1980s, when it was yet to be resolved whether a child could or could not consent to sex; the 1990s, when alarm bells were written off as “over-zealous” and “moral panic”; and into this century, when even as the approach became more child-focused the terrain has still been marked by observable “differences in the treatment of wealthy and well-connected individuals, as opposed to those who were poorer, more deprived and without access to networks of influence”.

Certainly, our understanding of child sexual abuse has changed, in the sense that it is an unmitigated moral wrong, none would defend it; and this has tracked our better understanding of trauma, the near limitless harm it can wreak across a lifetime. Yet Jay’s analysis insists that, even though abuse may be better understood, systems to prevent it are still failing.

Of the 20 recommendations, three form the centrepiece: the first, a statutory requirement of mandatory reporting, which could ultimately make it a criminal offence not to report allegations. This is seismic: consider, for instance, last year’s report by Lambeth council into 40 years of failure of the children in its care. By 2020, the council was aware of 705 children’s home residents making complaints of sexual abuse. “Nobody in relevant positions of authority during that time could truthfully have said they did not know about the abuse of children,” it concludes. The second is a scheme for national monetary redress for victims. The third is the creation of a child protection authority, one in England, one in Wales, with the powers to inspect any institution associated with children.

Half of the victims and survivors were abused by family members, the rest in institutions ranging from the Catholic church to boarding schools, from young offender institutions to children’s homes. This careful, granular study reveals so much about the nature of predatory behaviour, and the culpability of the organisations that surround it. Abusers don’t just need their organisations to cover up their behaviour after an allegation, they need the structure of a church or boarding school or children’s home to legitimise their place in a child’s life to begin with. This creates in those bodies with loco parentis responsibility an overwhelming duty not to wait for an allegation and investigate it fairly, but to be constantly vigilant. This duty has often been ignored, and for decades, with effects that will continue to be felt for many more decades still.

This inquiry was always opposed by the Conservatives, Boris Johnson saying that police money spent investigating historic cases of child sexual abuse was being “spaffed up a wall”, in what sounded just like a characteristically vulgar lack of empathy. Perhaps, though, the government foresaw that this would have political implications that would have to be acted upon.

While child sexual abuse knows no class barriers, and can happen at Ampleforth, one of the world’s foremost Catholic boarding schools, as readily as in a children’s home, money still matters. When children are placed in care hundreds of miles from their homes, because private providers have found cheaper rents in Rochdale; when London and the south-east have precisely no secure children’s homes that accept criminal justice children, despite safeguarding being far better in a secure children’s home than in a young offender institution: these decisions create the ideal conditions for abuse to flourish.

The state cannot hold itself above responsibility when all actors, state and non-state, are called upon to regain the trust of the children who were failed and failed so comprehensively. So many are still having, as adults, to live with those failures.

[pristyncarereviews]

Pristyn Care: 3D Printing Technology on Custom Prostheses for Knee and Hip Joint Replacements

Technology stands at the forefront of rapidly redefining treatment methods and reshaping patient outcomes. Of all these advancements, 3D printing has quickly come to the medical forefront for developing prosthetics. It is developing a new platform to create prostheses, with a level of customization and detail to precision that was not seen before.

3D printing is a process by which computer-aided design lays the foundation for creating objects layer-wise. Pristyn Care, being a front-runner in innovative healthcare solutions, has introduced 3D printing technology for a better surgical outcome for knee and hip replacement. With this inclusion into its domain, Pristyn Healthcare not only places itself on top of medical technology advancement but also in the league of making lives better for those patients who require joint replacements.

Background on Joint Replacement Surgeries

Joint replacements, especially of the knee and hip joints, are necessary in extreme forms of arthritis, trauma, or degenerative conditions that restrict the free movement of the joints and cause disability and chronic pain. Traditional prostheses have given solutions, yet poor fit, and low longevity of the implanted prostheses leading to discomfort, and thus revision surgeries are some of the present-day challenges.

The age of custom prostheses using 3D printing technology is here. These tailor-made replacements are designed to fit into the unique anatomical features of the joint of a patient and, therefore, will ensure safety from many of the risks related to the prosthesis and will also make its functioning perfect. It is an advanced technology that guarantees patients solutions that are more personalized, more efficient, and effective. This considerably enhances the quality of life post-surgery.

The Advent of 3D Printing in Prosthetics

Prosthetics The science of prosthetics has entirely redefined design through 3D printing technology, also referred to as additive manufacturing. Admittedly, this additive manufacturing has only opened up new windows for complex, custom-fitted, and high-functional prosthetic joints.

This technology actually adds materials in layers, including polymers, metal alloys such as titanium and cobalt-chrome, and bio-compatible plastics, in order to build components designed exactly to the specifications of the individual. Meanwhile, the accuracy of 3D printing is superior to that of the manufacturing forms, in which the one-size-fits-all approach is often not able to handle the heterogeneous anatomies of the patients.

3D Printing Implementation at Pristyn Care

In contrast, Pristyn Healthcare has successfully combined 3D printing technologies with a great deal of customization in its surgeries for prostheses for knee and hip replacement. This helps in better planning and execution of the surgery with much more precision, which helps in better alignment of prosthetic joints. The 3D modeling of very detailed imaging before surgery is an asset in creating anatomically congruent prosthetics for optimal function in the patient.

There are so many case reports that assure the success of the approach, and already, in some Pristyn Care reviews, patients are reporting the kind of recovery times never seen before with the best outcomes post-surgery. Most of these user experiences are shared on Pristyn Care reviews, whereby the patients laud the level of personal attention and high-end technology use that essentially elevates the whole experience of surgery. These testimonials stand as formidable endorsements to both the effectiveness and patient satisfaction, emanating from the innovative use of 3D printing for Pristyn Care in healthcare.

Advantages of Custom-made Prosthetics Using 3D

There are massive benefits that come along with the use of 3D printing in the creation of custom prostheses as compared to the rest. Among the most significant benefits custom prostheses are able to provide are improved fitting and comfort. This fact is based on the fact that the design fits with the precise anatomical data from every patient in order to guarantee a natural and more comfortable fit. This, therefore, means that the patients who undergo surgeries are at ease, and the surgeons are also not worried since this technique reduces complications and associated risks when corrected. In essence, this ensures that surgeries are carried out with more ease, hence reducing the time spent in the operating room.

This, combined with the fitting of the prosthesis, results in high rates of recovery, and patients can resume their activities even more quickly. The materials used in 3D printing, such as advanced polymers and composites, are tougher and offer higher functionality. Such materials can be designed to offer similar mechanical properties to those of natural bone; that creates devices with much more extended durability, as well as function, hence wear over time, which is pretty important for long-standing joint replacement.

Challenges and Considerations

Though a 3D printer can provide numerous benefits, using a 3D printer in the production of prosthetics poses multiple challenges. Technically, it can be very difficult to attain the desired precision and strength of 3D-printed prosthetic components, especially in the replication of joint mechanics. From the economic point of view, although the technology has the potential to reduce costs in the long run, the initial investment in 3D printing equipment and expertise is high, as it has ongoing costs for material use and machine maintenance.

A very important issue is the regulatory hurdles. Each custom-made prosthetic must meet stringent medical standards and approvals in a process that can differ substantially between regions and is often connected with lengthy testing and certification processes. These in combination are important to consider for healthcare providers such as Pristyn Care, which weigh the leading-edge benefits of 3D printing against the practical, regulatory, and economic challenges.

Future Prospects of 3D Printing in Healthcare

Research is continuing in the field of 3D printing to expand the possibilities of its applications in the medical field. The innovations are continuous, not just in the quality of the 3D-printed prosthesis but also in extending the use of the technology into other medical fields, which includes the bioprinting of tissues and organs and development of new and more effective surgical tools.

And that is exactly how Pristyn Healthcare is spearheading R&D to further refine and expand its 3D printing capabilities. Their position in pioneering the technology gives the commitment to help improve surgical outcomes and bring an increase in the scope of minimally invasive treatments, which could potentially overhaul a number of other medical and surgical practices.

Conclusion

3D printing is going to disrupt joint replacement surgeries completely, giving customized solutions that take up patient outcomes. Pristyn Care is one of the initial service providers to their patients in this breakthrough medical enhancement, hence setting a higher benchmark in surgical care and life quality enhancement. It is not just about the benefits of modern health technologies but about leading medical advancement. For those who would like to see such innovative surgical solutions, “Pristyn Healthcare reviews” and visiting the Pristyn Care facilities can help one further understand practical benefits.

[onebillionstarsff]

if you think c!dream deserves torture, you don’t know what torture is

alrighty, it’s time for me to do annoyingly in-depth lore analysis again because i have seen way too many people on my dash and twitter timeline saying that c!dream deserves to be tortured.

i don’t really think people have a comprehensive, reality-based understanding of what torture actually is, what it can do, and the motivations behind it. i, unfortunately, do: i’ve done extensive professional-level study on torture, so i’m going to do my best to put out some knowledge into our little dsmp-related world.

obvious content warnings for references to torture and to violence below the cut (nothing too graphic, though; i know this isn’t an academic forum or government work)

all of this is /rp /dsmp

i’ll also list some sources at the very bottom if you want to learn more

alright then, let’s start: what is torture, anyway?

there are two types of definitions, general and legal. i’ll reference both, but the message they carry is essentially the same, so i’ll just paraphrase the united nations definition that’s party to (read: supported/enforced by) 170 countries:

torture is any act that intentionally causes SEVERE harm to someone, physical OR mental, for the purposes of extracting information or punishment for failure to do so, with explicit consent from an acting public authority.

i’ll break down those components in the context of the dsmp in a second, but i first want to make it very clear what torture ISN’T. torture is not manipulation, it is not "trauma” in the way trauma is broadly conceived, it is not even direct physical abuse. you can suffer abuse from, say, a parent or a partner, and that abuse is about a power dynamic, where one person is being forcibly subordinated to the other. torture, on the other hand, is not necessarily about power, and it’s definitely not ONLY about power dynamics; torture, by its very definition, has to be intensely and officially coercive, and it has to be SEVERE. there are not degrees of torture, like there are degrees of abuse: being deprived of sleep for days or even weeks at a time is just as psychologically impactful as losing a limb or being waterboarded (simulated drowning- a common torture method that the us has been known to employ).

this is my first major issue with the way some viewers of the dsmp approach this whole debacle. i constantly hear c!tommy’s manipulation by c!dream cited as a perfect justification for c!dream’s torture. what c!tommy, and others on the server- particularly the kids- went through is horrible, and intensely traumatic. i will never deny them that, especially as a survivor of abuse myself, but torture is not just another form of trauma. that’s a very important distinction that we, as viewers, have to draw: torture is considerably worse because it is sanctioned, it is coercive, and its explicit goal is not just to cause pain or make someone feel powerless (common goals of abusers), but instead to shatter someone.

in more specific terms, the mental goal of torture is to completely unmake someone’s conception of the world, how they interact with it, and their basic sense of identity. if you read accounts or speak with survivors of torture, it is frequently mentioned that their very way of processing everything in life was destroyed by pain and had to be rebuilt, completely different, after escape. by destroying one’s individuality, will, and their most integral of processing abilities, you destroy their grasp on the world; and, to put it lightly, such a breaking event is awful enough that, in an effort to make it stop and regain some sense of normalcy, the victim will tell their persecutors what they want to hear. it’s the reason why confessions obtained through torture are notoriously not admissible in courts of law. this goes far beyond abuse or manipulation, and i need everyone to understand that.

now, let’s get to c!dream’s situation. did he do awful things? yes, undoubtedly. i’m a c!dream apologist, but his manipulation of c!tommy and c!tubbo was very fucked up. beyond that, his notable “crimes” that others on the server aren’t also guilty of committing (e.g., murder, theft, arson, to name a few common ones) really just consist of especially massive destruction of property (people leave c!techno and c!phil out of this equation, much to my chagrin, but i won’t get into it here). punishment for his actions is understandable, and is typically what justice systems aim to do. but, even if we completely ignore the inherent inhumanity of pandora (HOOO BOY that’s a lot to ignore but i digress), c!dream is not being punished, he’s being tortured. 

going by the definition i used, let’s break it down:

c!sam knows what c!quackity is doing to c!dream, allows it, and even encourages it. as the warden, he is the person in an official, authority position giving their consent. 

c!quackity is, by his own admission, doing what he is to get information out of c!dream. it’s not a confession in this context, but very specific piece of knowledge, with the promise of death also hanging right above it.

list of extreme psychological abuse: long-term solitary confinement (torture if it’s more than 22 hours. c!dream has been in solitary confinement for more than 60 days now), deprivation of the passage of time, general verbal abuse, incredibly limited social contact (people start to fray without basic interaction after a while).

list of extreme physical abuse (god where do i start): prolonged starvation, malnourishment when he isn’t being starved (you will die without protein intake); use of Warden’s Will Breaker pickaxe (it can hack through obsidian, so i think that’s all i need to say), shears (can be used to do things like pull nails, break limb’s bones, amputate toes/fingers/a whole arm in c!ponk’s case), and an OP axe (a sharp blade capable of slicing easily through wood with brute force, and bone is significantly easier to crush than wood). 

so, we have consent of authority, coercion for the sake of extracting information, and severe physical/mental abuse meant solely to cause extreme pain. c!dream is being tortured according to the proper, internationally-sanctioned definition of the term, and that is not okay in any circumstances whatsoever. 

if you haven’t ever read survivors’ accounts (or the accounts of their victimizers), it’s difficult to understand just how uniquely despicable torture is, and the lifelong effects that remain after it’s over and done with. i honestly recommend you read some testimonials, because it absolutely changes the way you view authority and the world in general.

no one is deserving of this treatment, no matter what atrocities they may or may not have committed. 

it’s a basic tenet of human rights, and i don’t think it should be a hard pill to swallow that it’s never excusable in any circumstance. so, defend c!tommy & co. and criticize c!dream’s actions all you want, but please never say that torture is alright. that statement has real consequences, and real moral implications. don’t be an asshole, and don’t be disrespectful to people who have survived it.

if you’re curious, look into these events:

The Argentine Dirty War

Chicago Police’s Jon Burge and his torture regime

Abu Ghraib prison

Extensive torture by Pinochet’s regime in Chile

Guatemalan Civil War

Ugandan policing in the 21st century (Human Rights Watch report here)

if you want some reading, i recommend the following. tumblr will probably nerf this post because of links, but oh well.

Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment

Elaine Scarry’s The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (very important work in the literature on torture) 

John Conroy’s Unspeakable Acts, Ordinary People: The Dynamics of Torture

Levenson (e.d.) Torture: A Collection

[nowhere-to-go-but-down]

Klavier Gavin: Honorary Yatagarasu - 3

It was fascinating, watching Prosecutor Edgeworth work with Kay to make deductions using Little Thief's impressive holographic reconstructions.

The medium was clearly unfamiliar to Edgeworth given his reaction when Kay pulled out the device but that didn't stop him from plowing on ahead.

This is what Klavier wanted to get out of observing the investigation, getting to see how prosecutors worked in the field to connect evidence and testimony. And to get the experience of watching Miles Edgeworth himself in action? Priceless.

So priceless, in fact, that he grabbed a notebook as soon as he could to jot down notes. Around his fellow students at Themis he wouldn't have thought twice - he was graduating at seventeen just as much due to hard work as it was natural inclination for law and he had no qualms with showing that - but Ema and Kay were at best very recent acquaintances and it felt almost... intimate to do outside of class.

He had a distinct feeling that Gavinners' fans wouldn't expect him to take notes.

Ema shuffled over to Klavier as Edgeworth and Kay set about examining the most recent bit of testimony that the recreation had drawn out of him.

"It's kind of amazing to watch, isn't it?" she said more than asked.

Klavier could only agree. Prosecutor Edgeworth went about his work with efficiency and earned confidence in his insightful conclusions.

"Ja, I hadn't even hoped that Herr Edgeworth would be in charge of the investigation."

Ema frowned at that. "I don't think he is. Mr. Edgeworth mentioned some guy called Agent Lang earlier, I think he's in charge."

Klavier looked over at her in surprise. "Really? When Herr Edgeworth is here?"

Ema shrugged. She was about to say something else when something moved in Klavier's peripheral vision and he looked over at it, Ema following suit.

A strange character was making its way down to the stadium floor - the instantly recognizable Pink Badger. That would explain why the Pink Badgermobile was parked here.

Little Thief's latest projection clicked off as the employee approached the group, Kay practically sprinting over to the Pink Badger with her phone in hand.

"Pink Badger GET!" she exclaimed, posing for a selfie.

Ema repressed a shudder, though not so well that Klavier didn't push his sunglasses down to look over the rims at her. "Is everything alright, Frau Skye?"

She nodded reluctantly. "I'm fine." When he narrowed his eyes in disbelief, she sighed in resignation and said, "I mean it. The Blue Badger is just kinda based on some of my trauma. It's nothing I haven't talked to my therapist about already."

"Ah, apologies for prying," Klavier said quickly.

Ema waved him off. "You're fine, you weren't prying."

He hesitated a moment before saying, "Nein, I should have known. My class has studied State v Skye and we were given access to the complete transcript."

She shrugged stiffly. "It's fine. If I'm going to become a forensic scientist then I'm gonna have to get used to it anyways."

"That's admirable. I don't know if I could do the same in your place," Klavier admitted.

"I wouldn't either if it hadn't been for Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright," Ema Skye said easily, seeming to cheer up. "They both helped me and Lana so much, I have to do my best to do my part too. And that means solving crime scientifically!"

Edgeworth suddenly made a very loud and interesting sound as the employee took off her costume's head.

"Edgey-pooooooooooo! Why couldn't you understand what I was trying to tell you!? I mean, really! I was trying so hard to keep the kids' dream alive by staying in character!" the old woman prattled on even as his face continued to turn pale.

"So you're a friend of Mr. Edgeworth, too, Ms. Pink Badger?" Kay barreled forward, utterly unperturbed.

Wendy Oldbag, as it turned out, had also witnessed the murder.

"As it happens," Edgeworth grit out, "we already have a witness's testimony on this subject. There is no need for you to trouble yourself with this matter."

Klavier frowned to himself. That was odd... wasn't more information always welcome in an investigation?

"Oh it's no trouble for you, Edgey-wedgey!" Wendy Oldbag preened. Edgeworth actually sighed in apparent resignation, and then Klavier learned the hard way how witnesses were by far the most aggravating part of being a prosecutor.

Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for your account, Ms. Oldbag. If you would be so kind as to return to your seat..."

"Only for you Edgy-poo," Wendy Oldbag said, saccharine sweet, before turning a glare at everyone else like she was just daring them to say something.

The moment she was out of earshot, Prosecutor Edgeworth turned to Klavier and said, "Pray you never have to bring that woman to the witness stand."

He nodded mutely, writing that down and underlining it several times.

[i-am-very-very-tired]

In the wake of Tuesday’s shocking New Yorker exposé, several more actresses came forward with harrowing stories of sexual harassment and assault at the hands of movie mogul Harvey Weinstein. One of these brave women was Angelina Jolie, who said the predatory studio executive had made unwanted advances to her in a hotel room around the release of 1998’s Playing by Heart, which was distributed by Weinstein-owned Miramax Films. “I had a bad experience with Harvey Weinstein in my youth, and as a result, chose never to work with him again and warn others when they did,” she told The New York Times. Another was Gwyneth Paltrow, who alleged that, prior to shooting what would prove to be her breakthrough role in 1996’s Emma, Weinstein approached the then-22-year-old actress in a Beverly Hills hotel suite, put his hands on her shoulders, and intimated that they move to the bedroom for “massages.” She immediately left, disgusted. “I was a kid, I was signed up, I was petrified,” she recalled to the Times. The testimonies of Jolie and Paltrow proved particularly disturbing because they proved that Weinstein had the power and influence to silence anyone—even Hollywood royalty. Jolie, after all, is the daughter of Oscar-winning actor Jon Voight, and Paltrow the progeny of director Bruce Paltrow and actress Blythe Danner, and the goddaughter of Steven Spielberg. Another thing these two talented women have in common is their proximity to the actor Brad Pitt. Paltrow dated Pitt from 1994-1997 before breaking off their engagement, while Jolie was Pitt’s partner from 2005-2016. Their divorce is still pending. In the Times piece, Paltrow said that she’d confided in Pitt about the Weinstein episode, and that the actor proceeded to confront Weinstein at a film premiere and warn him to never do anything like that to his girlfriend again. (Pitt confirmed as much to the Times.)“Brad threatened Harvey. He got right in his face, poked him in the chest, and said, ‘You will not ever do this to Gwyneth ever again,’” a source told People, adding that if Weinstein did try anything again, the Springfield native told the portly New Yorker he’d get a good “Missouri whooping.” Many online were quick to praise Pitt, then a rising star, for giving a studio bigwig like Weinstein the business—something that precious few Hollywood men felt compelled to do both during the mogul’s three-decade reign of terror and after the sickening revelations came to light. But why, then, did Pitt continue to work with Weinstein not once, but twice: on 2009’s Inglourious Basterds and 2012’s Killing Them Softly? The Weinstein allegations have led to a broader discussion of Hollywood complicity—the power brokers who were not only aware of his despicable behavior but may have helped facilitate his hotel liaisons with a bevy of up-and-coming actresses. Paltrow told the Times that her hotel “meeting” with Weinstein was listed “on a schedule from her agents,” while the actress Rose McGowan, who reportedly agreed to a $100,000 settlement with Weinstein after a 1997 hotel incident during the Sundance Film Festival, tweeted out an alleged email sent from an agent to the actress Lindsay Lohan requesting a hotel “meeting” with Weinstein at the Peninsula Beverly Hills, the site of many an alleged Weinstein attack, for a cameo in an unnamed Scream sequel. The tweet has since been deleted.

While a parade of agents, executives, producers, and assistants were no doubt aware) October 10, 2017 @benaffleck “GODDAMNIT! I TOLD HIM TO STOP DOING THAT” you said that to my face. The press conf I was made to go to after assault. You lie.

George Clooney, a work friend of Pitt’s, claimed to The Daily Beast that he and many of his high-profile actor friends in Hollywood were unaware of Weinstein’s purported penchant for sexually harassing and assaulting women. “If you’re asking if I knew that someone who was very powerful had a tendency to hit on young, beautiful women, sure. But I had no idea that it had gone to the level of having to pay off eight women for their silence, and that these women were threatened and victimized,” he offered. But Brad Pitt knew. By his own admission, Paltrow informed him that Weinstein had sexually harassed her all the way back in 1996. While Paltrow explained to the Times how she felt she had to “suppress the experience” of being attacked by Weinstein, and, after being threatened by the exec, went on to act in several other Weinstein-shepherded films (including an Oscar-winning turn in 1998’s Shakespeare in Love), by the late-Aughts Pitt had the power to affect change. He was, as Clooney told Esquire, “the biggest movie star in the world… he’s bigger than me, bigger than DiCaprio.” He ran a successful production company in Plan B Entertainment, responsible for hits like The Departed. And yet, he opted to star in Quentin Tarantino’s 2009 film Inglourious Basterds, which was distributed by The Weinstein Company. A source close to Pitt confirms to The Daily Beast that Pitt knew of the Paltrow incident with Weinstein but that “Quentin went to him directly to bring him into the project, and Brad did it because of the relationship and the contact. Interaction with Harvey was very limited.” The source, however, went on to explain that since every Tarantino project has been distributed by Weinstein, Pitt understood that Inglourious would be as well. They could not confirm whether Pitt knew at the time of his then-girlfriend Jolie’s alleged incident with Weinstein, and representatives for Jolie and Pitt would not respond to multiple requests for comment on this story. And, while Pitt’s interactions with Weinstein may have been limited, the exec’s involvement in the project was anything but. Weinstein, who’s earned the nickname “Harvey Scissorhands” for his tendency to demand film edits, usually shies away from meddling with Tarantino movies but was rumored to have demanded that its initial three-hour running time be cut down by at least a half-hour (its final running time: 153 minutes). Weinstein also launched aggressive Oscar campaigns for the film and Pitt, fresh off a Best Actor nod the previous year for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, doing interview after interview touting their credentials and flooding Academy voters with cheap, non-watermarked DVD screeners. You see, there was a lot riding on Inglourious Basterds. The Weinstein Company was in dire financial straits, having recently hired a high-powered financial advisory firm to restructure after incurring heavy debt. The film’s ultimate success, earning eight Academy Award nominations and grossing over $321 million worldwide, helped keep the company afloat. Following the release of Inglourious, Pitt agreed to star in and produce an adaptation of the book Cogan’s Trade, directed by Andrew Dominik and developed by Plan B. After a heated bidding war, the of Weinstein’s appalling behavior, it’s not entirely clear how many actors were—particularly big-name male actors who had, as Lena Dunham so eloquently wrote in the Times, “the least to lose and the most power to shift the narrative, and are probably not dealing with the same level of collective and personal trauma around these allegations.”

McGowan charged on Twitter that the actor/filmmaker Ben Affleck, who dated Paltrow from 1997-2000, knew full well about Weinstein’s reputation (McGowan starred alongside Affleck in Phantoms, released by Miramax one year after her alleged hotel incident with Weinstein). — rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan distribution rights to the film were sold to The Weinstein Company, who promised a $20 million ad spend. The film, ultimately titled Killing Them Softly, was released in 2012 by Pitt and Weinstein, earning a meager $15 million stateside. Our source in Pitt’s camp said that they were “unable to provide any context” about exactly why Pitt chose to collaborate with Weinstein again on the crime drama (and in a much more involved capacity) despite his ex-fiancée telling him that she’d been accosted by the exec, and that he’d allegedly—perhaps unbeknownst to Pitt, perhaps not—attacked his then-partner Jolie. The Harvey Weinstein sexual-assault scandal has not only underscored the remarkable courage of the women who chose to come forward, but the cowardice and complicity of the myriad men in power who didn’t. As Lena Dunham wrote, “Hollywood’s silence, particularly that of men who worked closely with Mr. Weinstein, only reinforces the culture that keeps women from speaking. When we stay silent, we gag the victims. When we stay silent, we condone behavior that none of us could possibly believe is O.K. (unless you do). When we stay silent, we stay on the same path that led us here. Making noise is making change. Making change is why we tell stories. We don’t want to have to tell stories like this one again and again. Speak louder.”

[leviathangourmet]

(Archive Link)

I recently attended a Washington-D.C. event focused on community-building hosted by The Aspen Institute’s Weave project, which works to reduce social isolation and build bonds between Americans. During one portion of the event, various activists described how racism had impacted their lives and their communities. Following a number of such testimonials, a white woman from southeast Ohio named Sarah Adkins spoke about her own community work, which involves raising money to provide post-trauma support to individuals affected by tragedies.

Perhaps because several speakers had discussed racism and issues related to white privilege, Adkins spoke about her own self-perceived racial privilege. “I followed the perfect mold…I did all the things, I went to college, and I keep thinking of white privilege in my head so forgive me, that’s what’s in my head right now, very much white privilege,” she said, while reflecting on her middle class life in an affluent neighborhood.

But Adkins also went on to describe the reason she originally had become involved in community work—which is that her then-husband had killed both of her sons and then later took his own life. One can only imagine how much suffering this caused her. Yet she still viewed herself as privileged due to her race.

“I was wealthy, okay, I was a pharmacist, I made a lot of money, right? So after that happened, I really wanted to understand that for me there definitely was a lot of white privilege. I had money, I had health insurance, so people came in and cleaned up my house. I was able to pay for a funeral for my children,” she said.

I wondered how someone who’d lived through such an awful tragedy could consider themselves to be in any way “privileged.” Yes, she had the funding to clean up her home and bury her relatives. But nearly everybody has at least some advantages in life. It feels perverse for someone who has suffered so much to be confessing their perceived advantages.

When activists and academics invoke the phrase “white privilege,” they typically are speaking of advantages that whites, on average, have over members of other ethnic minority groups in our society. And there is no doubt that racial inequality is both real and persistent in the United States, where I live, and elsewhere. There is a sizable racial wealth gap, a life expectancy gap, and an incarceration gap. Many of America’s most pressing social problems disproportionately harm people from minority groups.

But there is a danger that, by talking about this inequality as an all-consuming phenomenon, we will end up creating a flattened and unfair image that portrays all whites in all situations and all contexts as benefiting from unearned advantages. Indeed, it’s possible that we will cause people to confuse a structural inequality that exists on the level of group average with the circumstances of every individual within a particular racial group.

In the case of Adkins’s tragic story, it’s not even clear that being white in any way constituted a form of privilege. Recent research has found a huge surge in white working-class suicides. In 2017, whites in the United States had a suicide rate of 17.8 per 100,000; for Hispanics, that rate was 6.9; for African-Americans, it was 6.9. The only group with a higher suicide rate than whites was Native Americans, at 22.2.

The phenomenon of suicide is not perfectly understood, but it is generally believed that loneliness and alienation are driving factors. Whites in America tend (on average) to be more culturally individualistic, while those from other groups tend (again, on average) to exhibit more collectivist social values. The group of which I am part, Asian-Americans, would be “privileged” on this index, since our rate (6.6) is well below that of whites. But would it really be wise for me to tackle the social problem of suicide by zooming in on some idea of “Asian privilege?”

In fact, research recently published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology suggests that such an approach wouldn’t just be unhelpful. It would actually be harmful.

I recently interviewed Erin Cooley, a psychology professor and lead researcher at Colgate University, about her research for Greater Good magazine. She studies prejudice and structural inequality and her research has illuminated the ways in which persistent racism continues to negatively impact the lives of racial minorities in America. A study she recently published, for instance, shows how participants were more likely to associate poverty with blacks as opposed to whites. Her team found that this association helps predict opposition toward policies that involve economic redistribution, since it is widely believed that these policies benefit blacks over whites.

Her team was curious about the impact of teaching people about white privilege. Would it make people more sympathetic toward poor blacks? As part of their research, Cooley and her colleagues offered study participants a reading on white privilege—based partly on the seminal work of Peggy McIntosh, who originally formulated the concept in the 1980s—and then described to them the plight of a hypothetical man, identified as either white or black, who is down on his luck.

What the researchers found is that among social liberals—i.e., participants who had indicated that they hold liberal beliefs about social issues—reading a text about white privilege did nothing to significantly increase their sympathy toward the plight of poor blacks. But, as Cooley told me, “it did significantly bump down their sympathy for a [hypothetical] poor white person.” (Among conservative participants, there was observed no significant change in attitudes at all.)

What accounts for this? One possibility is that social liberals are internalizing white-privilege lessons in a way that flattens the image of whites, portraying all of them as inherently privileged. So if a white person is poor, it must be his or her own fault. After all, they’ve had all sorts of advantages in life that others haven’t.

When we talk about racial inequality, it is important to understand that we’re often talking about structural or society-wide averages, not the status of all individuals at all times. It is true, for instance, that African Americans are disproportionately impacted by poverty. That means a higher percentage of African Americans live in poverty as compared to whites. But the largest number of individuals in the United States who live in poverty are white. We can’t, and we shouldn’t, assume anything about any individual’s life solely based on his or her race, or based on larger facts about racial inequality.

Racism exists, of course, and its impact is disproportionately felt by society’s minority populations. I have personally spent a decent chunk of my reporting career documenting this. But the fact that disparate treatment is inflicted on racial minorities doesn’t prove the existence of an all-encompassing pattern of white privilege. “If you’re white, chances are seeing a police officer fills you with one of two things: relief or gratitude,” writes one advocate of a privilege-centric worldview. But around half of the people who are killed every year by U.S. police officers are white. True, police violence falls disproportionately on ethnic minorities, especially African Americans. But if you’re white and you’ve been abused by a police officer, your individual experience may be just as painful as that of a black person who’s suffered similar abuse.

If we extend the logic of privilege beyond the issue of race, it’s easy to see the flaws with this approach. We know, for instance, that 93 percent of people in U.S. federal prisons are men. In nearly every part of the criminal justice system, in fact, men on average have it worse than women do. But does that then mean we should be discussing “female privilege”? Would it be beneficial to the men behind bars for women to proclaim awareness of their “privileged” status?

A typical conservative response to privilege discourse is to downplay the very real inequalities that exist. This isn’t helpful. We can’t escape talking about inequality in a diverse society. For instance, we shouldn’t shy away from looking at high maternal mortality rates among black women and how it may be linked to inadequate cultural competence among medical staff. However, what I would suggest is that we change the way we talk about this inequality. Asking whites to publicly confess their white privilege—in a manner that often resembles a religious ritual more than anything else—may lead us to unfairly flatten the experience of whites while, ironically, actually shifting attention away from those who are underprivileged. The Cooley study shows that this isn’t just a hypothetical concern; it’s a reality that has been demonstrated through research.

One alternative to white-privilege discourse would be to focus on the causes and consequences of deprivation rather than on naming groups of people we believe to hold special advantages—and to stop referring to things that we should expect for all people as “privileges.” It is not a privilege to have a decent and safe childbirth, or avoid harassment by the police, or to have enough to eat. All of those things should be something we expect. While we can and should aggressively address inequality, we should make sure the methods we employ serve to strengthen our sense of empathy rather than sap it.

[yomariejuana]

Racism isn’t Black & White

This is the first post of many to begin this blog’s new purpose. Recently I had an idea to start a conversation about race including key points that are rarely discussed. I felt that it was time to really think about my place in this big fight towards equality, and what I can do with my own experience to help clear out the emotional fog that doesn’t always allow us to move forward in a constructive way.

Amidst all the protests and riots concerning police brutality, I thought about the fact that a white man will never understand the struggles of a black man unless we created a state of oppression for him in the same way. However, that is far from the most humane ways of going about solving this problem. At the same time, black and brown people will never understand the way white people exist in this society. What I found the most enlightening during this thought process that I had is that light skin Hispanics have had a taste of both experiences. As Latinos, we come from an integrated background. We are the product of the races of the new world intermixing, and this gives us a unique perspective. Specifically those of a fairer complexion know both what it is like to live in an oppressed state because we share our darker brother’s and sister’s pain, living in the middle of the chaos, but we also walk with a degree of white privilege. White people feel less threatened by someone who looks like them (for whatever reason - perhaps in many cases about some fucked up sense of guilt through self preservation).

Whatever the case is, Latinos and black people share a bond formed through our own traumas, a consequence of living in America as a minority. We have suffered brainwash all throughout our experience as colonized peoples. We have been made to forget our power, made to forget that we are products of peoples who had a genuine connection to the earth and our place here as its children. Perhaps for that reason our ancestors were not as destructive and dead set on imperialism as much as the Europeans, who are clearly a lost race. Maybe that’s why they felt the need to exert their dominance over our peoples. One who possesses true power would never need to weaken someone else. 

Nonetheless, I believe we were all placed on the same hemisphere for a reason. Integration is our future. Latinos know integration, we need to stop picking sides (white vs black), and begin to take our own seat at the table with the intent to bridge the gap of understanding between us all. What’s more, I truly believe that if more white passing Latinos stood up and acknowledged our privilege, and used it to take the conversation to a new level, we would be better suited to resolve the problem.

White people and white passing Latinos are being made to be ashamed of their privilege, almost making us wish we were just as deprived just so that we wouldn’t feel so much shame about how the color of our skin affects everyone else. I understand that acknowledging our privilege as white passing minorities can feel like such a huge erasure of our ethnic identity, however as a light skin Latina, I refuse to be ashamed. Instead I will use my privilege and my voice to help establish a state of equality and true freedom. I refuse to sit back while my own family members and friends who just happened to be born with a darker complexion suffer just because white people would rather run away from the uncomfortable reality rather than support the movement. 

As you read everyone’s responses, please consider that whatever is written here that might offend you, confuse you, or otherwise trigger you are all individual people’s experiences. White people (yes, even the allies) often do not understand when they are stepping on the toes of the oppressed. Their experience is their own, and if we can find a way to dismantle their prejudiced views in a way that does not shame them for being a product of generations of slave owners and colonizers, then we are closer to our goal. Many truly do want to change, and we need to swallow our pride and approach our oppressors with loving, open arms. 

Thank you very much if you took the time to read this statement. I hope you gain some perspective, if nothing else, out of these testimonies.

[goodknees65-blog]

Physical exercise Moreover to Knee Osteoarthritis

If you're not working having a certain trauma-say, a ripped ACL-selecting knee pain can seem to be intricate. The knee is made up of two bones: the tibiofemoral joint, relating to the femur (thigh bone fragments) and tibia (shin bone tissue), also as the patellofemoral joint, relating to the femur and also patella (knee limit). Every is undoubtedly an anchor position for quite a few tendons, fascia, as well as other constructions, by way of example the IT music group. If you without doubt have adverse biomechanics, generally the result of muscles disproportion, especially weak glutes , repeating motion can inflame constructions in the knee also as outcome in precisely what is broadly normally generally known as anterior knee pain-a catchall group for popular pain through the front about knee problems relief. Stand straight with your back for your personal walls as well as the toes parallel, in relation to two toes out inside the wall surface, distribute stylish-size. the meniscus can tear from possibly trauma or damage or from damage. As each one of us all know knee pain may be really annoying. Additional benefit fallacy: exactly how a patellar tendon band can become worse your jumper's knee. Read through our demonstration abilities web pages for suggestions also as information on how to suitable probable get prepared for your presentation, commencing with: accurately exactly what is a business presentation. Hflta, resistant includes a habit to recommend that, throughout almost any supplied day,. Chondromalacia patellae overlaps together with the knee condition known as patellofemoral pain syndrome. Warmth may possibly promote healing in certain kinds of knee traumas. Please guide me out and i apologize for my unwelcome grammar/english. " assortment a number of shines as receiving the holy grail.

Joint pain is without a doubt one inside the most standard musculoskeletal problem that in fact provides individuals for his or her medical physician. Pain right behind knee is actually a of the most regularly came across orthopedic worry individuals exercise nowadays. The knee acts a great deal such as the body's suspensions system hauling from the undesirable weight from your entire body whilst presenting because of its flexibility. Strenuous real bodily exertions can place tremendous stress over the body structure of Todd's Feel Good Kneesturning it into in danger of stress. Without having contribution, many what cause knee injury can advancement to extreme leg conditions that may possibly leave you as well as your house immobile and in vital pain. The back about the knee is normally the commencing of pain from it is really just where cartilages, muscles, as well as lean muscle are placed. The good information is there exists no need to have to be at risk of pain powering the knee for a long time. You will discover quite a few treatment remedies which may get you back outside the house and perspiration swiftly. Review on furthermore to begin to see the vast area of back of knee pain. This truly stands out since the starting level to freeing oneself from knee pain and also pain.

From that point I would certainly say foam roll the IT music band. It's not really a muscles, it's a music group, however it can be as well as normally is liable for knee pain. So acquire your time. A certain to 2 moments. I'm moving from your very surface area of my best knee the midst of the ITB and also then I am about to take it from your center every one from the approach to the best from the the IT group.

Reading through some in the client testimonies, I must say I am just satisfied with each of the final result of this lotion. One particular individual requested when it helped for general knee pain, and most responses had been, Of course. There were numerous remarks linked to arthritis. An individual reported it was awesome for inflammation and arthritis, another customer with stage a number of arthritis talked about that the pain from the 1 knee went out as well as that wandering all around is attained comfortably now.

Could it be satisfactory to take advantage of range of motion tools like crutches or maybe a office chair for serious joint pain? I am mostly talking associated with hips with the same time as knees, having said that also lower back. I have really shattered knees that it typical person can Listen to crushing as well as crackling when I bend them, so you as well as your family can photo the quantity of pain I feel due to this. Jogging gets to be a real task that could take me individually to tears, nonetheless I've compelled me individually to simply laugh furthermore to power by means of it for the comfort these about me individually.

So I advise you, if you have knee pain (as well as I acknowledge a whole lot of individuals who could have obtain it, it really is typical sufficient within the realm of physical exercising), do stationary exercises, particularly the horse stance. Get it accomplished as extremely lengthy as you without doubt can. If you can take care of 1 moment, consider two. If you're alright with 5, do 15. In addition you can get individuals nowadays that could contain the horse posture for a long time on finish. So, it might possibly be accomplished. It may possibly be on you to attain it.

[dothewrite]

Could I request scenarios where Suga, Bokuto, Tanaka, and Kuroo's s/o pushes them out of the way of an oncoming car that runs the red light while they're crossing the road and she gets hit instead? You can have free reins with the endings/result; I'm just in the mood for some crying, scared angst. ^^; Thanks so much, love!

I opted to do shorter scenarios but for all of the characters you asked for, as an exception to my new announcement. Although I’m sad that I couldn’t write long bits for all of them, I thought this was brilliant for some practice on grief, and I’m sorry if they’re... if they make you sad. I hope you enjoy them all the same.

“They say that time heals all wounds,

but that presumes the source of the griefis finite.”

When they come to him, five hours later, the onlything they want are his words. Sugameets their eyes, unafraid, when he already had a foot dipped in fear, hisother drawing circles with its sticky grey residue.

Their lips move, eyes beady and unwelcoming. Shouldersheld rigid and feet a shoulder apart. Suga offers them nothing.

They begin with two officers, both women, one youngerthan the other, but both equally grim. They speak to him slowly, stretching outtheir words as if describing death to an infant, and Suga stares emptily atthem in return as they turn their head this way and that in slow arcs in amimic of the circle of life.

When there’s no sign of recognition, the older onefrowns, hand impatient on her hip and she turns to her partner, whispering soloudly that she needn’t have bothered unless her audience were all deaf. Barelya foot away, Suga picks up every word they say, listens to the emotionlesscontent and remembers none of the words.

The younger officer gives him a critical look, takesthe arm of her partner and vanishes past a corner. With nothing else to careabout, Suga’s gaze trails after them.

Two hours later, they reappear with her parents. Followingbehind the two officers, they’re crying, glistening smears all over theirblotchy faces. They fit right in with the other people loitering about in thetrauma ward.

Her mother is the first to touch him. She holds him bythe shoulders, her fingers digging into the dips of his tendons, surrenderingto the urge to shake the facts out of him like a piggy bank. She can’t find thewords to say either, and continues to sob silently while she shakes him, andSuga counts the number of times she shudders violently enough for the tears to spillfrom the creases along her eyes. Her father looms behind his wife, kind faceashen and uncaring when he asks Suga with a trembling voice if he could speakto the officers.

Suga shakes his head slowly. He can’t find a singlereason why he would open up to anyone. He can’t find a single thing worthsaying that wouldn’t put the truth to shame. A dozen witnesses’ words should beenough—an objective truth that they could put on paper and leave him be.

Her mother drags him into a hug. Her spindly arms aredeceptively strong, and those pinching fingers migrate around his shouldersuntil they’re crushing him bone by bone. She hangs onto him like one would abuoy; uninterested in comfort unless it’s a life raft, and Suga doesn’t move aninch. She’s trying to float on a sinking ship, but he says nothing; it isn’t asif in saving her, he could save himself.

Strategically positioned, the older policewoman peelsthe mother off of him with her nails and a flex of her arm.  She frowns at Suga disapprovingly, but stepsback to let her younger partner hand him a notepad and pen. She suggests hemight prefer to write, if he can’t bring himself to speak. As if instead oftraumatized he’d just had his voice knocked out of him.

Suga takes both items into his hands and rubs a thumbover the dented ball-pen. All four bystanders around him watch on with suchintensity that Suga has to wonder if watching people scrawl down their feelingshas become a national sport when he wasn’t watching. They’re waiting for him todrag the ink over the faded lines just like spectators cheering for the lionsto be released into the arena.

She’d probably be unimpressed if he got himselfarrested out of spite. He counts the letters as he writes, a miserablebullet-point at the beginning of each sentence. He doesn’t go over five lines,and ten words for each one. His heart isn’t a collector’s item, and having moretestimonies isn’t going to win them any more compensation.

When the younger policewoman takes back the pad andpen, she inspects his descriptions with the same frown and mutters something toher colleague.

They all leave him at once, having extracted what theywanted. Suga hears from just at the edges of his range that they’ll be back ina few days, looking for a longer testimony. He disposes the fact from his mindfive minutes later.

- - -

At home the next day, his mother knocks on the doorand twice she calls his name as if it would break from sound alone. Althoughit’s someone familiar here for something more than facts and answers, Sugacan’t bring himself to care. His mother lets herself in anyway when there is noresponse.

Holding a page from the local newspaper limply in herhand, she lays the obituary on his lap. The relevant section is circled inpencil in a hurried job to ensure Suga knows exactly who it is he should bereading about, in case he might have forgotten. How very kind.

“They’ve invited you to speak at her funeral,” hismother says. “You’d go after her mother.”

She waits for an answer but Suga has none to offer; heimagines the crowd of people who had never really cared about her or her laughterbut seeming to flock to her funeral as if her ghost would pass judgement on them.His mother waits a few minutes but leaves him be after a long silence, pityfree on her face.

Alone, the walls seem to watch him all the moreintensely than if they had eyes. His furniture presses in, stealing more of thehollow room with each inward crawl.

Still, Suga sits. The compression cannot reach him.His own walls press back the way he has practiced, and in his mind, he fightseffortlessly for the meagre space to breathe in his own room.

By the time the crack of light through his curtains dim,Suga approaches his desk and takes a seat in his cushioned chair. There is adent where he sits on it each day, and his stationery is lined up neatly forhis right-handed convenience. He pulls out the nearest notebook from his stack,flips past the finished homework, and settles his pen on the first blank pageit reaches.

When the first sentence comes out rigid and ugly, Sugaalmost breaks the page crossing it out in rapid lines. He tries again, pickingout words in his head before they reach his hand, but none of them fit. ‘Condolences’and ‘memories’ are treated with the same harsh slashes.

By himself and with onlookers that have no hands, noeyes and no opinions, Suga brings himself to try a little harder, yet each wordthat he selects from the jumble of a thousand combinations sounds artificial,unforgiving and disingenuous. All the other combinations that aren’t so, digtheir hooks into the sides of his throat and there isn’t a single sound thatSuga attempts to make that doesn’t drown him as quickly as they rush up fromthe pits. His hand stops because the letters have become hideous, scrawlingthings, and because the next words at the ready are waiting for him to falter.

Suga turns to another page, flipping from the back ofthe book, and gives in to the sour feeling in his stomach that has no interestin his stoicism and dry eyes.

He writes his eulogy. He is conscious of everysentence, every sentiment—even his handwriting. The feelings don’t roar norspill out like they do for everyone else—he has to push them through, rollinghis tongue around the invisible words that he takes care to not say aloud incase they start to slither out and wrap around his throat until it’s swollen,blue and motionless on the evening floor.

Quietly, secretly, Suga also writes his love letter. Atiny, worthless love letter for a great, dead love; a great grief and a great,grey feeling that threatens to smother all the other greats into a perpetualfeebleness. He writes so that he isn’t smothered before he can remember whathis love was like in his chest, before his head breaks apart all the jaggedpieces from its walls and places into a safe box where Suga can’t ever cuthimself on. He writes to recall all the lighter moments, the heavier eveningsand the ridiculousness of moments that had never made any sense in the present.He lowers them all down with cautious fingers, smoothing their edges until theink stains his fingers.

He can feel it—this will be his last time speaking,writing, singing and thinking of her with his chest split in half and his bloodbeating in his ears. It doesn’t bring him any more joy than ordinary memoryusually does, but this is a love letter, and Suga’s letters are always intendedfor the person on the other end of his mailbox. It has never mattered to himhow he feels, and today the least of all.

He decides on the last sentence, and when it iscomplete, he folds it into meticulous quarters and slips it into his bag. Thisletter’s mailbox is a far one, past a fire and beyond a cliff for its charredlittle remains, beyond the reach of any person who wants his story, his lifeand his pain for their funeral where tens of people who haven’t even heard her laughwill congregate like vultures.

He’s ready. Suga takes a deep breath, closes his heart,and begins another speech.

This second piece he hands later to his motherdownstairs. She is astonished to see him, relieved and too worried to have satdown for longer than five minutes. “Why are you giving me this?” She asks, eyeswide and offering the bit of paper back to him. Suga faces her slowly and declineshis invitation to the funeral.

A week later, Suga leaves home for a short trip. Theschool lets him be, and his mother simply waves him goodbye with her liptrapped between her teeth. His father has her face tucked in the crook of hisneck, and stares helplessly at his son.

Up until the moment Suga’s feet point him either rightor left on the empty street, he has no particular destination in mind. The journeyhas never mattered less to him when he walks with the understanding that if hewere even to cover a million and a half miles in his lifetime, he will carrythe weight of her, gladly, on his shoulders until there is nothing left of himbut dirt and dust.

For now, Suga suffers only the small burden of his foldedsoul in the second pocket of his backpack, and heads for the end of his mailbox,ready to burn.

  Tanakahurrieddown the aged pavement, flanked by two streaks of trees and cluttered foliage.Twice he had clipped the tip of his shoe against a crumbling stone, but he onlyclutched the parcels in his arms tighter against his chest and picked up thepace. The horizon beyond the tree-tops was beginning to deepen; the earthytangerine colour of impending dusk had slowly given way for the diffusion ofblue into its vibrancy, and soon, if Tanaka didn’t hurry, he would find himselfswallowed by the shadows that even streetlights couldn’t touch.

There was a healthy layer of brittle leaves thatblanketed the path ahead. From what he could notice, there must’ve been fewvisitors to walk along this mountain trail in a long while. After all, nothing remarkablewaited at the summit except for a view over his town, which one could find mucheasily on a lower hill.

However, this had been the one she had chosen, the oneshe had frequented, and the one Tanaka had brought her ashes up to long ago andscattered before the winds could die down.

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t have chosen this dayto have anything scheduled. There was enough racing through his mind withoutthe pressure of other people, all convivial and pleased to see him and waitingto hear his stories. But he would be there for Noya’s celebration—just this oneexception—even if he would be struggling to make it on time. Tanaka wasn’t surehe could take disappointing two people at once—and the fact that neither wouldblame him, both being far too good to do so, stung even more.

He reached a small ledge that jutted out directlybelow the sharp summit without losing much breath. It was a narrow stretch ofsoil that allowed only three people at most to rest on it at a time, andunsupervised the weeds had begun to spring out from all four corners, stealingwhat space they could. Carefully, Tanaka set down his jar of flowers and hisother two parcels down against a flat rock and tugged on a pair of gardeninggloves. It wasn’t an easy job, with his waist bent and legs squashed togetheras he yanked out fistfuls of weeds and wild daises. They weren’t muscles heused regularly, and no matter how often he soaked up the sweat that pooledabove his brow, there always seemed to be more grime and dirt that came fromhis gritty gloves. However, he took no breaks until they were all gone and, intheir stead, a small mound of discarded foliage which Tanaka kicked off theside of the mountain in one go.

It looked much better now, more recognizable and much cleaner,as she would have liked it. Tanaka took a seat cross-legged in the centre, andslowly unravelled the packages by his feet.

It made no sense at all to be careful with them, asthey were meant to be left on the mountainside for her, free to be battered by thewinds and rains, but Tanaka’s hands shook all the same when he pulled out athick, parchment-like envelope and a small photo album that sat snugly in hispalm. When he had been putting it all together, the stack of notepaper seemedto grow uncontrollably, scribbles running rampant across the never-ending pagesand he had been worried they wouldn’t fit into the envelope he had madehimself. Now, they seemed so disappointingly small, barely even larger than therock he’d rested his flower jar against, and not for the first time, a sense ofoverwhelming shame took over him.

She hadn’t liked flowers very much, either. Theylooked too much like aliens, she’d said to him a long time ago, nose wrinkledas Tanaka laughed over his embarrassment when he’d asked if she’d like someroses for Valentine’s day. They wilted far too quickly and attracted too manybugs. If she had been a flower, she’d insisted, she’d not very much like tostay in someone’s home with her legs cut off either. Tanaka had given herchocolates instead, and she’d appreciated those much more.

Chocolates were much less suitable for the outdoors,however. He couldn’t very well leave the packaging and all for a year, knowingthat it would simply blow away into the distance and become litter for somebodyelse to solve. And if she had reached his age, most girls—or women, now, hesupposed—would have received dozens of bouquets and hydrangea clusters from relationsand colleagues. It was what would happen, what should have happened, and Tanaka wanted her to have everything thateveryone else did. Even things she disliked, he needed her to have the chanceto dislike them, to complain about them, to toss them into the bin of her ownvolition with her wrinkled nose and curled lips.

Sometimes he felt incredibly selfish, like when he setthe flowers down beside him, overlooking their neighbourhood. The flowers he’dchosen were his own favourites, in his favourite colour. The jar he broughtthem in had been a gift from his sister, and he’d thought they matched. Thephoto album he had brought was small but thick, and filled with activities heenjoyed, with moments that he’d experienced, and with the people he’d chosen toshare them with. He’d wished for her to be there, picked out the ones that hethought she’d appreciate the most—but he would never know now. Each photographhe snapped he had her in mind, riding the moments with a leg on each side, notquite unhappy yet not quite satisfied. These were all moments he hadn’t livedto the brim, all moments he’d forgone appreciating in favour of remembering hisloss.

The letter, which had felt so relieving and so rawwhen he’d written it, now sat browned and jagged on the bare soil. It was fullof his emotions, his memories with her, all the things he wanted to say andstill said whenever he had the chance to.

She had no letters to send, no words to share, and nomemories to relive. From the very first moment, Tanaka had only lived forhimself. He’d let her—he remembered with piercing clarity his fear and hisrelief when he’d missed the feeling of the car running over his skull—he’dturned back and wanted to vomit when he saw her lying there on the ground withher arms bent at the wrong angles and her eyes wide open in terror. He’d beenthe one everyone comforted, the one everyone felt sorry for and pitied. He wasthe one his teammates cried for, and he was the one they’d tried cheering up.

All while the last thing she ever knew was fear, fearthat clung to her eyes in a film, a wordless scream in her shattered jaw thatTanaka will never hear and will never have to again.

He had it easy, hadn’t he? Even then, facing the sheerdrop only a few feet away from where he stood, he dared to listen to the callthat beckoned him towards it. It sounded like laughter, and it sounded likecowardice. She never had a choice, not like he did, and if he was a biggercoward than he already was, he’d be tipping himself over the place she’d lovedto frequent most, flaunting his choice in her face.

This small patch of ground fit for a two-personpicnic, there was no marker and no grave upon it. There had been no traces oftheir activities here, no remnant that said, ‘she had been here, and this placeshe had loved’. The offerings Tanaka had brought her were layers of his ownguilt and grief that he lay upon her memory, on the grave of himself, who hehad been and who he could be; her ashes had long left this place, and if shecould love it still, she wouldn’t have loved him then.

When he took a step back from where he’d left hisgifts, they looked terribly small and insignificant in the face of the viewbehind them. He took a deep breath, holding back the tugging impulse to launchthem off the mountain too, and forced his feet one in front of the other, allthe way back down the mountain trail.

It was ironic, then, that he’d made it impeccably ontime for Noya’s party. Not that his oldest, closest friend had organized it, ofcourse, but it was in his honour for getting on the national team, and Tanakarummaged around in his gut for the sincerity he’d stored away for the afternoon.He found Noya waiting for him in a quiet corner, his lower lip nibbled raw whichbetrayed his otherwise gallant expression.

“Thanks for coming,” Noya said immediately and jumped upfrom his seat. Tanaka found his arms gripped so tightly that they were goingnumb within seconds. “How are you holding up?”

Tanaka smiled and was alarmed with how easily hecould. “Better.”

“I—that’s good to hear. You’re welcome to stay as longas you want, obviously, but—you don’t have to. It’s already fantastic to seeyou.”

Not many people would share his sentiment, Tanakaknew. It wouldn’t look very sporting of him if the guest of honour’s bestfriend vanished before anyone could even say hello. He didn’t want to make itany harder for Noya than it already was.

“It’s fine,” he said. He shook his arms free of Noya’svice-like grip and patted his friend’s shoulder’s firmly. “It’s your evening,and I’m here. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Noya’s expression remained grim, unconvinced. “Yeah,like saying that’s gonna make me. I meanit, Ryu. I’m not talking it up either—there’s like, a freaking mob out therewaiting for you.”

“Me?” Tanaka was surprised. “The hell? It’s not my party.”

“Dude, you’re like a unicorn. Do you know how rare itis to see you at parties and gatherings like this?”

Itused to be very often, they both knew, but neither saidanything. Tanaka reached out and spun Noya around, pushing him away from thedim little alcove and towards the doorway. “I’ll be alright.”

When Noya stayed grim, Tanaka sighed. “I’m damnedhappy for you, and I’m not gonna ruin your night. You can get me as fucked upas you want as your present.”

“I don’t,”Noya grumbled, but had relaxed under Tanaka’s hands. “Okay, only if you sayso.”

“I say so.”

Tanaka had every intention of keeping his word, evenif Noya didn’t seem to believe him. Undoubtedly, he was going to have a set ofeyes fixed on him the rest of the night. To set an example, he stepped aheadand into the massive living room, letting the horrendously loud music drown outNoya’s complaints. Come on, hemouthed with a familiar grin, and slipped into the crowd of people in search ofa drink.

He’d only managed to locate the make-shift bar when agirl, a few years younger than him from the looks of it, appeared shyly infront of him as if unsure of whether he was going to barrel through herregardless. He didn’t, naturally, and paused to look down at her asunthreateningly as possible.

“What’s up?”

She threw a glance over her shoulder at something andrefused to meet his eyes.

“I—I’ve got a friend—and, uhm, she’s glad to see you?”Her inflection shot up at the end of her sentence, and she looked a littlefrustrated with herself. Tanaka smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Only,” she bit her lip, but soldiered on, “you don’treally come out to drinking things, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I guess?”

She looked startled by his apology, and finallyglanced up. Immediately, he could tell that she was a few years younger than hehad initially assumed. “Oh, I mean, you don’t have to apologize. My friend, she’s—she wants to know if you’d like to graba drink with her.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and Tanaka looked atwhere she pointed. There indeed was a friend, sandwiched in-between a smallgroup of four with drinks already in hand and chatting away. She snuck a peekat him and flushed and turned when he caught her looking.

He turned back to the girl in front of him, who was agood head shorter than he was. She seemed much more at ease now that hermessage had been delivered and no longer stood as if waiting her execution.

“I think your friend might have more fun with herfriends than with me,” he said as kindly as he could. “I’m not looking foranyone at the moment, sorry.”

She blinked. “Not even a drink?”

“Nah.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder beforestepping around her with a gentle smile. “Please tell your friend sorry fromme. I’ve got a girl waiting for me, you see, and I’m afraid that’s not gonnachange.”

  For the first time in his life, Bokuto Koutarou crouched, soundless, and scrambled for words that haddeserted him.

She lay in his arms, face scrunched up, eyes pressedshut and her mouth twisted in a quiet groan of pain that he was helpless toease. His arms, for all the strain they could withstand, were useless,trembling, and his palms that were coated with blood and sweat could only shakeas he cradled her head on his lap; he wanted to press her close, to soothe hersuffering from broken limbs and cracked bones he daren’t look down at, butabove all, he was afraid that any movement would hurt her more.

Bokuto realized that he was sobbing out loud when shestrained a hand up to brush against his cheek, and smeared a grime coveredthumb against the wetness that clung to his lower lip. The sudden sting of salton a cut startled him.

When she spoke, it sounded as if she did throughknives.

“Are you hurt?”

Bokuto watched as she attempted to crack an eye openbut winced, closing them again with a shaky breath. “Are you hurt?” She repeated.

His face crumpled as he rifled through everything thatrushed through him, none of them urgent about his own wellbeing in theslightest and bent down as low as his back would allow him to press his faceinto her hair, caring nothing about the dirt and salt and the heavy taste ofiron against her temple.

“Please don’t die.”

“Kou—”

“Don’t die.Don’t die.” He could hear his voice from a mile away, from a broken little boykneeling on scorched tarmac and here he was, opening his mouth and letting theshattered words flow. “Tell me you’re going to be okay, please. Please. I’m so sorry. I’m so fuckingsorry. I love you, I love you. Please stay with me.”

“Hey. Hey.”It sounded painful to hear her speak, her breaths rattling in her chest, andBokuto wanted nothing more but to hold her close, so very close that his life couldleak into her frail, twisted body. Forcing his eyes shut, he pictured it withall his might; the frantic, pulsing heartbeat in his chest spilling over intoher, past her broken ribs, and clutching at her beating heart so that it couldn’tgive up.

“Koutarou,” she said again, and he nodded mutelyagainst her head. He felt a hand slip into his, even if it was slimy and wetand too difficult for him to hold onto forever. “I’m gonna be okay. Kou—Kou,listen to me, love. I’ll be alright, okay? Kou?”

He kept on nodding, rocking back and forth on hisknees with her shallow breaths moist against his shredded shirt. She gave alittle sigh, one that came from deep, deep down, sounding as if she was veryexhausted indeed.

“Don’t cry for me, Kou.” Impossible. Bokuto gave athick sob and attempted to calm his breaths anyway, because he would doanything she said—anything. She could have demanded he tear his organs out oneby one to replace hers and he would’ve done it without a sound. “We’re gonna beokay. I love you so much, and we’re gonna be okay.”

From far away, Bokuto’s narrow world stretched out tothe sound of sirens that seemed to be spiralling closer and closer. He felt wrenchedin half; he wanted to hold her here against him for the rest of time where hecould feel her in his arms, still warm and breathing and saying all thosebeautiful, sweet words from her bloodied, parched lips. He also needed thoseambulances here ten minutes ago, packing her safely into the stretcher so thathe would be sure that she’d live, that she’d be fixed as soon as possible, andhe would wait by her door for as long as it took until he heard the news hewanted to hear.

He wanted to hear her laugh as she took everything sovery facetiously, making light of all the things that should be solemn. Just you wait, he could hear her sayingin his head as she craned her neck from the stretcher, once I’m out of surgery, I’m going to be in even better shape than youare. He would then wait, twiddling his thumbs, until she would come outagain, all spick and span, a million-watt smile on her face as she grinned athim, cradling his cheeks in her palms. She would lean in close, her breathtickling his lips, and she’d say warmly to him, I’m right here. I told you so, didn’t I?

“Kou?” He heard her voice again, and he knew that hewas back on his knees in the middle of the street with her soft, silky hairmatted against her forehead from the gash on her temple. “Kou, Kou,” sherepeated weakly, and he leaned down and slotted his lips over hers as desperatelyas he could. He wanted to taste her for as long as he could, to press down herthroat all the things he needed to hear from her, to stop himself from cryingall over again. She had no energy left to kiss back, but he could feel her lipscurl into a smile underneath his.

“The ambulance is here,” she told him quietly andsqueezed his hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Bokuto wasn’t sure if he could be brave enough tobelieve her, but time had run out for him to decide when a strong, firm handgrasped him by a shoulder and tugged him gently away. He was taller and widerthan the EMT that stood behind him when he got to his feet, but all he could doto help was to obediently drape himself with the blanket they handed him andstand to one side whilst they shifted her onto a collapsible stretcher.

“I’m going with her,” he said stonily to one of theuniformed men, and they cleared out a seat for him inside the ambulance with understandinglooks that carved up his insides with something hideous.

The whole affair lasted an unfair five minutes. Bokutowatched with wide, red-rimmed eyes as a flash flood of professionals andspecialists had waltzed onto the scene with their tools and bobs and just likethat—those pockets of timelessness as he’d cradled her jagged skull against hisshaking fingers, they were nothing—the ground was wiped clean of them, of howmuch he’d cried and how much she’d spoken to him with that charred voice andlidded eyes. When he reached out for her mindlessly, dull from the anxiety, thewoman next to him in uniform and looking loathsomely put-together, gripped hishand before it could make contact.

He snatched it back to his chest and glared at theground, wounded.

“She’s in a pretty volatile state,” the EMT said,sounding sympathetic. Bokuto shifted to stare at the prone body instead; herchest rising and falling so faintly that if he turned away for a second itmight fail in his absence. He kept his hand held close. “You can touch her onceshe’s out of the ER.”

He said nothing. Quietly, as privately as he can withthe small, struggling embers of hope, Bokuto relived in his mind her grin andher words against his cheek, murmuring: I’mright here.

The next time he arrived back into himself, forciblydragged from the depths by a firm shake, Bokuto was informed that it hadalready been a day since the accident. And perhaps he could accept such adescription, if only he didn’t believe that every single broken bone in herbody was deliberate, intentional and a heavy enough weight to be foisted uponon his own conscience. The doctor, whose hands were digging harshly into thedips of his flesh, asked in a concerned voice whether he was alright, and if heneeded a bed to lie down in.

“I’ll lie down when I see her,” he snapped, rough andangry.

The doctor jerked away and eyed Bokuto like the wildanimal he felt very much like.

“In here,” the doctor said. He didn’t touch Bokutoagain, but like a wraith without anything to cling onto except for the emeraldshimmer of the afterlife, Bokuto followed with mute feet.

Her family was situated in the otherwise generouslysized room, and they broke from their stations like a wave upon a dam, takingturns embracing Bokuto with watery smiles. They were trying their very best, hecould feel through his numbness, and her mother had crept up on him unawaresand had his pale cheeks grasped in her palms like a talisman. Bokuto did hisutmost to meet her eyes, but neither of them was deceived that his nicetieswere anything more than that.

“We were worried about you,” she said slowly, as ifspeaking to a jittery bird, “you’ve been out cold on the hospital bench andrefused to come in with us when we asked.”

He couldn’t recall a single moment of that, only howhis fingertips ached from where he’d bitten them down to the flesh. She lifteda hand to stroke his grimy hair like a child, with her other cupping the backof his neck in case he slipped through them again. A staggering pain clenchedhis throat shut and Bokuto had to swallow twice, hard, to be able to hold backhis sharp longing for comfort. The hand behind his neck tightened, and hermother pulled him into a slow, calm hug, rocking him back and forth like he haddone before.

When the doctor spoke, the words only barely madesense to Bokuto from very far away. “Her executive functions are gone,” he saidfrom behind that terrible haze, “her internal bleeding…concussion of thebrain…” He was still being held within a soft pair of arms that seemed to clingto him for hope as heavily as he leaned on them for the strength to stand. I’m right here, the words chantedthemselves in his head, we’re going to bealright. Kou.

“Bokuto?”

Bokuto pulled his head up and searched blearily forthe sound of his name. The rocking had stopped, and held at arm’s length, hewas alone again, the recipient of all the silent stares in the room. Theyprickled on his skin like a hundred needles and he kept his gaze hollow on theface of the woman he loved, the woman he was going to marry, lying wordlesslyin the centre of the hospital bed. If he dreamt hard enough, perhaps those lipswould move, giving weight to their voices he heard regardless.

“The last thing she said was your name, Bokuto.” God, he hated how he could still hear,how he was still there no matter how far he went away inside. How he couldunderstand every syllable from her mother’s mouth, how that stare was kind,bitter and incriminating all at the same time. “It’s what she would havewanted.”

Turning, he watched her coldly. It may have been thatshe couldn’t extend her sensitivity that far, or perhaps it was how far she hadsunk into the heaviness of her own declaration, but she met his eyes withoutseeing.

“We weren’t…always in agreement,” her mother admitted.“It’s…I know this is the least I can do for her. To make up for it all.”

Bokuto didn’t bother to wait for her beseeching look;how she dared to ask this as if it was her choice alone—as if she no longerbelieved that her daughter could make it. As if she’d forgotten those brilliantsmiles, those quiet reassurances and her wintery voice in one’s ear holding allthe answers to the miniature universe Bokuto hid underneath his heart. The roomstood motionless where her monitor still sounded to the rhythm of her pulse,their heads all bowed low and hands behind their backs.

“Bokuto?”

It’llbe alright. I’m right here.

“She asked for you.”

Kou?

Bokuto nodded to the doctor, neck stiff and lipstwisted in a grimace, and offered up what remained of him. He made the callwith barely a sound, a motion that dragged his head lower and lower, and Bokutowalked out of the room as silently as he had entered, leaving Koutarou behindat her bedside, holding her hand and kissing her brow. He left with them gifts;all their lost time and hidden smiles, the wet laughter as she departed thehospital with his hand in hers and hopes that they could be happy wherever theywere now.

In the stale, antiseptic smell of the third-floorbathroom, her blood underneath his nails stayed firmly jammed into the creasesof skin no matter how hard he scrubbed and scrubbed.

  She woke up on the fifth day. The room in its entiretyremained unchanged: the heartrate monitor continued to sound its steady, shrillnotes, the birds outside sang their morning songs and the steady breaths of aman drifting in a fitful sleep maintained its weary pace. Her eyelids creakedopen and her mouth opened and closed without sound.

“Hello?”

Kuroostartled awake from his shallow sleep when the hoarse, aged voice groundthrough the peace in the hospital room. As much as his reflexes urged him toleap out of his seat and huddle over her bubble of personal space, the days hehad been sprawled prone and unmoving in the lumpy couch had taken its toll onhis muscles. He managed instead to crane his neck to look, with his heart inhis mouth, and was met with confused, but good-humoured eyes.

“Hello,” he replied faintly, and almost laughed outloud at how ridiculously anti-climactic this all was. While his chest begun toswell against his will, pressing painfully against his ribcage, there were onlyquiet, shy words that hung about them.

“How long have I been out?”

She moved to shift herself higher up the bed and Kuroomanaged to rediscover his limbs in time to reach over and usher her back underthe covers. She gave herself a quick look-over, eyes widening at the lattice ofneedles and tubes hiking up her arms and legs but allowed herself to be pushed.

“I remember a car—” She paused, searching her fingerscurled around her sheets, finding nothing. “But that’s it.” She saw Kuroo openinghis mouth, and she added nervously, “Does my insurance cover this?”

He snorted, and his chest blew up more when a smallsmile teased at her worn face.

“If your insurance doesn’t cover a car-crash, I don’tknow what it would.”

“Being murdered, maybe?” She suggested, giving it agood think. “Permanently maimed?”

Her hand lay lax on the sterile sheets and Kuroo hadto hold himself back from gripping it so tightly that all the connectors andimplements fell off. He watched her pulse swell and ebb against the long needlethat drank from her wrist.

“I’ll let the doctor know, if you like,” he said.

“No thanks.” Her smile brightened into a tiny beam athim before it faded, and she turned her head to gaze at the tree that grewbeside her window. “They might send me off to the psych ward, which’ll be evenworse.”

“So very conscious of your insurance,” Kuroo murmured,and watched as a little light returned to her eyes. Her hand lay on top of his,her skin pulled taught over her bones from dehydration, and with purpose andthe lightest touch, he traced rings along each digit, twirling his tremblingfingers over hers. Still, she watched the leaves flutter through the autumnwind, her private room seemingly too small for her silence and his presence,which went uncommented on.

Kuroo knew this tiny little room better than his own.None of the nurses nor doctors dared touch him when they had first assigned herthis part of the ward, and thus Kuroo sat, motionless and vigilant at herbedside for five days, occasionally alternating between the hard, foldablechair and the musty sofa tucked into the far corner beside her bed. The openwindows were his only source of time; his broken hours of sleep haunted bysounds of her bones cracking, her muffled whimper and his own scream—and therelief in her eyes, unfocused but aware, when she saw him alive and untouchedbecause she had taken his place. He saw no point in waking the floor with hisown shouts and woke often to his lips dry and sealed shut with caking spit,stumbling afterwards into the hallway bathrooms for a hurried wash.

“Would you like to check your phone?” He asked,conscious of her mind wandering through the paths outside in the rehabilitationgardens from her blank, lost expression. “I’ve had it charged.”

He hadn’t allowed it otherwise. It was cracked, ofcourse, from the impact, and the screen was completely shattered. Still, he hadit plugged in day and night into the only spare socket in the room, minding itin case someone called. Many did, of course, but on his, which he had let thebattery drain out of in favour of hers in case her family attempted to reachher.

But situated in another country, they continued theirlives unaware of her situation when she had put Kuroo as her emergency contact.And, from her lack of concern, Kuroo guessed that she at least remembered that,and didn’t remind her of it again. He gave her hand a final squeeze and made tostand.

“I’ll go and let the nurse know you’re up anyway.Better sooner than later.”

“Kuroo,” her voice came haltingly from where she wasturned away, and Kuroo stopped where he was. “Do you know how I got into anaccident?”

It was a minute before he could speak, and even then,he sounded scratchy even to his own ears. “What do you mean?” He asked slowly.

“I—I’m missing some bits.” Kuroo came to realize, whenher voice trembled, that instead of dreaming, the reason she had turned awaywas because she had been busy fighting the panic that pushed against hercontrol. “I mean, I know it’s just an accident and a lot of people get intothose, but I—I can’t remember. That, and a lot of other things.”

“And me? Do you remember me?” The sound of his voicecracking was louder in his head, and he was glad she was turned away, so shewouldn’t have to catch sight of his pale face, twisted and sour.

“Of course,” she said, sounding surprised. “Kuroo, Isaid your name, didn’t I?”

She did, she had, and Kuroo’s throat was too closedfor him to say anything. He dragged a hand across his eyes furiously, one handon the doorknob and his breaths coming in ragged, heaving sighs.

“Kuroo,” she repeated quietly, and facing the door theentire time he imagined her speaking the wrong name softly into her hands, eyesdowncast and lips turned into a frown. “Thank you for being here when I wokeup.”

He felt a rush of anger, completely irrational anger,surge through him and for a moment he wanted to whirl back and shake her untilshe started to cry for all the pain she’d put him through. Until she took backthat inane sentence that was an insult to even be voiced out loud—not afterwhat she’d done for him, not after he’d watched her die for him, and here she—she “thankyou for being here-d” him. He’d be there through death for her, and beyond,and he if he could, he would shout it at her until she remembered every singleagonizing second of it all.

Kuroo could only nod mutely and slipped out into thecorridor, the door sliding shut with a tinny air-tight squeak behind him.

He surprised himself with how dispassionate he soundedwhen he informed the front desk of her situation. “She’s missing somememories,” he said calmly, as if reciting a PowerPoint. He kept his hands inhis pockets and his expression mild even when the nurses watched him for toolong. “She seems okay otherwise. Will you let me know if you need me foranything?”

They didn’t ask him where he was going, even as theyhurried into her room, cluttered with a mess of both their belongings that hadsurvived the impeding car. For such a large facility, there really werehorrifically few places where he could wander. That room he’d almost built anew house in these past few days had his absence filled almost effortlesslywith her vacant smile and sparkling jokes that were there to zing all the awkwardness away, and Kurooknew any more of that and he might kill a man.

The double doors to the rehabilitation gardens wereunlocked, and Kuroo walked right through them. The tree she had been soenraptured with by her window stood out like a sore thumb in the centre of thesparse park. He sat on the bench, ignoring the blanket of leaves that had piledup along the wooden slats. Kuroo attempted to summon up the grief he had criedsilently through the first few nights, if only to remind himself of a purer,less complicated brand of suffering. Where the dip in the sofa he’d left aftersleeping there for so long would mean nothing to her, Kuroo turned his closedeyes to the sky and waited for a lost sorrow to come upon him as surely as hersummons might not. It was a long time to wait, for there was a hollow in hischest where he’d cried everything out, each growing loss manifesting only as anache, calling out to him that nothing would ever happen again.

If only that were true. If only the leaves crunched upand falling apart underneath his palms would pause and return to the way theyhad been a few seconds ago. If only anything he said or thought or wanted tohit would freeze in time and slowly drag themselves back into nonexistence aminute later. He hadn’t realized that his brittle rib cage, so easily shatteredby blunt force, could harbour so much resentment for something he’d loved soguilelessly earlier that morning.

If only it could go back, turn back, his breathsforced back into his lungs where he’d expelled them—he could allow himself to loathethe image of her sprawled in her hospital bed with her pointless thank you, and her kind, gravelly voicecalling him Kuroo. And then, a minute would pass, and he could love her onceagain in the way he wished he was still allowed.

He stayed where he was, belonging nowhere, until thesky had dimmed beyond the overhead of the hospital. It was only until the soundof gravel crunching that disturbed his trance, a pair of harried trainers hurtlingin his direction that was far too fast for his liking. Kuroo cracked open aneye and watched he nurse marching towards him, perspiration seeping into herwhite collar. They must’ve looked all over for him as he’d forgotten his phonesomewhere in that god forsaken room.

She was still panting when she spoke. “Mister,” she saidtetchily, “you’re still her only emergency contact. If you’d like to come backin, the doctor would like to give you a prognosis and inform you of the follow-uptreatment.”

He wondered how much she remembered, but the nurse hadrevealed nothing about her reaction. Who in their right mind would leave afriend, no matter how close, as their only emergency contact? No questionsabout that precious insurance policy?

The nurse tapped her foot loudly on the pebbled path,and Kuroo met her eyes, glare for glare. Her fringe was pasted to her foreheadwith sweat, and staring at it, he supposed he’d given her enough trouble forone evening, no matter how disagreeable he felt like being.

“Alright,” he said, and followed after her.

- - -

“Thanks for today,” she said, always quietly, andalways shyly. “Again.”

“My pleasure,” Kuroo said. “We on for tomorrowafternoon?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” She pulled out her phone,scrolling up the calendar she always had open and tapped at tomorrow’s date.Kuroo spied four other bullet points scheduled in, and his name was highlightedin lilac, sat snugly in the middle of the list. “The tea gardens?”

“The tea gardens.”

“I’ll dress accordingly, then.” Kuroo had to bend downslightly to catch her tentative smile, directed fully at her phone and herfingers curled around the glass edges of it protectively. He wondered if toher, he was still something to be protected from.

He straightened back up and slotted a nice, kind smilein place. That seemed to bring her out of her shell a little, and he threw astep back into the mix, so that she’d be able to stand up straight instead ofhunch over her electronics as if she wanted to delve into them.

“I’ll text you,” she said as she waved him goodbye.“Thanks again!”

He waved back and waited for her back to recede out ofview in the crowded pedestrian crossing. The doctor would be pleased with theeffort he’d been putting in. Kuroo could envision his nodding head, thosehideous glasses covering half his face and his pudgy fingers tapping away onhis iPad. He didn’t care if he had a bias against him; he was a volleyballplayer, not a priest.

His phone beeped in his pocket, and he took it out.

Ihope it’s sunny tomorrow!

At least someone did; it was no-one Kuroo remembered.Occasionally on these miniature visits down memory lane-dates, he would takethose pockets of silence and envision himself walking away from the nurse thatafternoon. Marching out of the garden and never to return. He could go anywherehe liked, sit alone at the places where she’d take him with her knowing grinsand caustic humour, kicking him under the table and leaping onto his back inpublic and tickling his sides.

She wouldn’t be peeking under her eyelashes at him.Calling him Kuroo, sending him textsthat were meant to be nice, wringingher fingers in nervousness and stepping on those eggshells around him as if hewasn’t too far heartbroken to really care if she hurt him a little more. He’dbe able to grieve properly, to go over the pictures on his phone withoutthinking about how that face was still walking, talking and smiling, but to aKuroo that was half-baked in her memories, as she went about her days with onlyhalf of the affection, half of the liveliness. She wasn’t lesser. She wasn’tmissing any part of her. She was simply different, having vanished bits of thepast that made her into the woman who had leapt in front of that car for him,who had cried for him and who had laughed with a punctured lung for him. Thoseempty spaces had been so swiftly filled with new, unrecognizable parts, thatKuroo had almost reeled from the backlash.

‘Ihope it’s sunny tomorrow.’ She hated the sun. She might’ve hatedit still but had forgotten that Kuroo knew that about her. After all, who wouldwant to go to a park in the rain?

Kuroo knew he would regret thinking it. He loved her,he loves her still, and he would continue to love her until his last breath.But what was fundamentally her had been crushed underneath those wheels thatday and had left him all alone on the operating table. He would regret thinkingit. He would regret thinking it for the rest of his days.

If he couldn’t have been the one to die for herinstead, then he wished that she’d never survived at all.

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/lovehaswon-astrology-updatefull-moon-in-libra-the-mirror-effect/

LoveHasWon Astrology Update~Full Moon in Libra: The Mirror Effect

LoveHasWon Astrology Update~Full Moon in Libra: The Mirror Effect

By Archeia Aurora of The First Contact Ground Crew Team 

The Full Moon in Libra will occur on April 19th, 2019 at 29 degrees. This Full Moon is called a “Blue Moon” as it is the second full moon in a row to occur in Libra. Our first Full Moon in Libra was on March 20th, 2019 at 0 degrees. These full moons took us through a portal of transformation as the first one occurred at 0 degrees Libra and the second at 29 degrees (the final degree). 

Any Full Moon that occurs at 0 degrees represents the zero point. It is the birthing place of creation and where all possibilities exist. The 29th degree of any sign represents the critical degree, the final degree before the following sign. This always represents the culmination or ending of something. 

Our transformation this last month has focused on our self-love and ability to see that love within others. Libra is the sign of balance, peace, and harmony, but is also the sign of the mirror. In the wheel of the zodiac, the first 6 signs are focused on the inner self. When we get to Libra, we begin to turn that focus outward. The lower aspect of Libra struggles with validation and a lack of self-love. They see the beauty in all around them but often neglect to see it within themselves. This causes them to look outside themselves for love. 

We are the critical degree and the Universe is asking us if we get it yet. Do we now understand that we ARE love? That all we see outside of us is indeed just a reflection of what is within? We can never truly experience love by seeking external things or people. That can only come from within once we realize that we are One with everything. We are all fractals of the same Source, MotherGod. 

This Full Moon is a release point, a moment where we can let go of all the self-hatred and actually love ourselves as the beautiful divine beings we are. Part of the process is remembering that are not our programming, our conditionings or our traumas. We are beings of light that took the leap and faith into this 3D illusion, knowing that our hearts would guide us back to the Source within us. 

Although Libra is known for its harmonious energy, there is alot of tension around this Full Moon as well. Mercury has finally moved out of dreamy Pisces and is now blazing in Aries. We are ready to step up put our ideas and inspirations into action, no longer confused or hesitant. We also have this Full Moon opposing Uranus in Taurus. Uranus is the ultimate rebel and forces us to evolve no matter how uncomfortable it is. There will be sudden shakeups and experiences that will test us to see if we have really transformed. 

(Experience one of our amazing spiritual services as we assist you in remembering your divine essence and removing all blocks to divinity. Connecting with the unified field will catapult you on your ascension journey, and provide all the tools and techniques to navigate these intense energies: Spiritual Surgery Session, Session with Mother & Father God , Twin Flame Sessions (those seeking twin flames or those in potential twin flame partnerships), Astrology Sessions, Personal Ascension Assessments, and Ask God a Question.)

The Full Moon is also squaring Pluto, Saturn, and the South Node in Capricorn. This is by far the most intense aspect of this Full Moon. Capricorn and Libra are both cardinal signs, but their essences often clash. Capricorn is nitty gritty, it does whatever it takes to meet its goals no matter what, while Libra is equally as determined but prefers the peaceful approach, looking to make it a win-win for everyone. 

Pluto, Saturn and the South Node are currently starting a revolution within our political and financial systems. Humanity is facing its karma head on for the dysfunction it has created while also seeing how they have been living within limitations and structures that have done nothing but enslave them. 

As humans, our creative abilities were hijacked by the Cabal so that we would subconsciously create a world that did nothing but destroy us and enslave us within dysfunction, while allowing the Cabal to rule. Just as in Alice and Wonderland, we went down the rabbit hole into the matrix and began creating a world based on our subconscious, rather than with our full consciousness. The planet we see around us is a direct projection of all that lies within us. That is why the journey of transformation is so vital, as we become aware of the what lies in the subconscious it then becomes conscious. We continue this transformation until we are fully conscious beings, creating from pure Source love energy. 

Humanity is now going to be coming to the turning point where they realize they created this hell and they are absolutely responsible for it. Only once we take responsibility for what WE have created, the awareness transforms into consciousness and we now can harness the true light within which will begin to reflect to us within our external reality. This is part of the Libra essence, the mirror effect. 

As the Full Moon energies flood the planet, the question we must ask ourselves is do we take responsibility for what our external environment is reflecting to us? Do we finally understand that nothing outside of ourselves can reflect love to us if we are not embodying love within? Can we find the deep compassion within for every other being for we can see the same light within them? 

We are at the end of a very transformational portal and there will be fire works, breakthroughs and breakdowns. But at the end of this we will have brought ourselves to a whole new level of self-love and in turn be able to mirror that love to all around us. We are moving into a moment where nothing but love and truth may exist. Buckle up, its about to get interesting. 

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[atlanticcanada]

N.S. mass shooting inquiry: RCMP, police union resist calls for officers to testify

The RCMP and a police union are resisting calls to have officers who responded to the worst mass shooting in Canadian history be compelled to testify at the public inquiry investigating the tragedy.

All 18 officers who responded to the killings that left 22 people dead over two days in April 2020 run the risk of being re-traumatized on the witness stand, the lawyer for the National Police Federation argued Thursday.

Nasha Nijhawan told commissioners they must consider the inquiry's mandate to be "trauma-informed" in dealing with witnesses.

In addition, Lori Ward, the lawyer for the Attorney General of Canada, which represents the RCMP, said the families' lawyers must realize the public inquiry is attempting a "brave new world" in terms of its format.

"We hear the frustration from lawyers used to a trial-style approach to gathering evidence, but that doesn't mean other methods or alternate methods of evidence aren't meaningful," Ward said.

Most of the RCMP officers who responded to the killings have already provided extensive, unsworn interviews to commission counsel, she said, adding that unless it's clear something is missing, that should suffice.

Lawyers for family members on Thursday asked the inquiry for constables Stuart Beselt and Vicki Colford to testify under oath about the early hours of the attacks in Portapique, N.S., the community west of Truro where the shootings began on April 18, 2020.

Beselt was an acting corporal who was among the first four RCMP members to respond to 911 calls after the killer began his shooting spree.

Michael Scott, a lawyer representing 14 of the 22 victims' families, said, "We need to hear from these officers for the simple reason: they were there. We need to know what the officers heard and saw and did.

"We haven't heard from any witnesses and at this point in the process, we've moved very quickly through one of the central timelines."

Steve Topshee, a lawyer who represents two of the victims' families, noted that Beselt was the first to arrive and within minutes encountered Andrew MacDonald, who had been shot and injured, and MacDonald's wife, Kate MacDonald, as they were exiting the community.

The inquiry's summaries, released earlier this week, indicated that it was Beselt who determined that there was a mass shooting underway and decided to advance on foot with his body armour and carbine, along with constables Adam Merchant and Aaron Patton.

Colford, meanwhile, remained at the main entrance to the community, assisting the MacDonalds and relaying information to other officers.

"It's not to put him (Beselt) on the stand to cross-examine him, it's to get to the truth and get to the facts," Topshee said. "It's not a blame-seeking situation. It's an inquisitorial and fact-seeking situation."

He noted that as Beselt prepared to enter the community on foot, rather than continuing in his patrol car, he talked about the Moncton, N.B., shooting of five RCMP officers in June 2014. During an interview Beselt gave to the commission before hearings began, he told investigators that the Moncton shootings had taught officers that it was riskier to be in a car during a mass shooting than on foot.

"What is he talking about? That has to be explored," Topshee said. "That has to be looked into."

Topshee said he wanted to ask Colford, who has retired from the force, questions about information she had relayed to officers on April 18, 2020, about a possible escape route the killer could use.

The commission has published transcripts in which Colford radioed to her colleagues that she had heard there was "kind of a road that someone could come out," after she spoke to Kate MacDonald. The commission has said that the killer likely escaped through a rough road that wasn't being monitored by the RCMP.

Ward said Beselt and Colford had addressed key issues in their interviews, and she said it's unclear further testimony is needed. She also suggested questions could be submitted in writing.

Lawyers for the police union and RCMP argued that the questions victims' families have about the killings have already been answered and can be found in the written transcripts of pre-inquiry interviews.

Commission lawyer Gillian Hnatiw didn't advocate for having any of the officers testify. Instead, she said that some police officers, including Beselt, would participate in "a series of roundtables" composed of firefighters, paramedics and police that are scheduled to take place during the inquiry's second phase later this year.

However, Scott said this wouldn't address the questions families have about the police response on April 18-19, 2020, during the 13-hour manhunt for the perpetrator, who was driving a replica police vehicle.

"We are extremely frustrated at the prospect of having to justify seeking facts in a fact-finding process," he told the commission.

This report by The Canadian Press was first published March 3, 2022.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/cBVor7g

[gordonwilliamsweb]

How Rape Affects Memory, and Why Police Need to Know About That Brain Science

Annie Walker woke up one morning in 2019 with little recollection of the night before. She had bruises on her arms, legs, wrist and lower abdomen.

“But I literally had no idea what had happened,” she said. “And, for days, I was trying to put the pieces together.”

She knew she had gone to a Sacramento, California, bar and restaurant with a group of people, and she remembered drinking there and being left alone with the man she’d later identify as her rapist. But not much else.

Memories she couldn’t summon that first morning gradually came into focus over days and weeks, she said. The emerging details included what the man had been wearing, and the way he shoved her against the bar. One week after the attack, she reported the crime to the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department.

Then, in the days after making the report, another wave of memories surfaced — she recalled, vividly, that the man had raped her and had a weapon.

“I knew that there was a gun at my neck, at my back,” she said. “It was just clear.”

The detectives gave her a hard time, she said, when she called to report that she had remembered that her attacker had a gun. The Sacramento detectives assigned to Walker’s case didn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t remember all the details right away.

“I felt like I was just extremely cross-examined on the phone. Like, ‘Why didn’t you remember a gun? That’s, like, a really important thing.'”

Sexual assault survivors say interactions with law enforcement can be so intense, and so unsympathetic, that they add secondary trauma. Reporting a rape can be especially traumatic when officers cast doubt on victims’ stories.

But it doesn’t have to be, say scientists and scholars of criminal justice. If police gain a deeper understanding of what’s going on in the brain during and after a rape, they can change the way they approach rape cases and avoid making survivors feel blamed or disbelieved.

Scientists who study trauma and memory say it’s common for sexual assault survivors — as well as survivors of other serious traumas — to be unable to recall an attack fully. They might remember certain facts but not others, or struggle to recall events in the correct sequence.

When law enforcement officers aren’t aware of the neuroscience of trauma, or have no training to deal with it, there’s a tendency to dismiss or disbelieve victims who experience memory gaps, according to scholars and advocates for sexual assault survivors.

“There’s a real danger when investigators are asking people for information that was never encoded or has been lost,” said Harvard University psychologist Jim Hopper. “They can stress out the victim, leave them feeling misunderstood, incompetent, not wanting to further engage with the investigation.”

Walker’s alleged perpetrator was never arrested. And she’s still frustrated with the way detectives put pressure on her to remember details during the investigation.

The Brain in Survival Mode

When confronted with a crisis, the brain often activates its “fight, flight or freeze” response. In these scenarios, the brain’s “defense circuitry” takes over, explained Hopper. The prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for logical decision-making, is no longer in control and, instead, the areas of the brain responsible for scanning for danger take charge.

“And that’s what people are running on” when trauma happens, Hopper said.

Some people respond by mentally “dissociating,” or disconnecting from their physical selves. That survival response affects the ability to absorb what’s happening around them, Hopper said.

Studies on memory and recall during a traumatic event describe two types of details: central and peripheral. Central details are those that capture our attention and evoke emotions in the moment, such as a location. Peripheral details are those that a survivor might not have been paying attention to during the crisis, such as something the perpetrator said or whether other people were present. Central details tend to be stored more reliably and for longer than peripheral details.

Every day in courtrooms around the country, [defense attorneys] attack and question the credibility of victims of sexual assault for having the same kind of memories that soldiers have for their combat experiences.

Harvard University psychologist Jim Hopper

Sometimes survivors are unable to answer what might seem like a simple question if it involves a peripheral detail like the color of the attacker’s shirt. And Hopper said that can make officers suspicious.

Hopper, who gives legal testimony in sexual assault cases, said victims are often held to unfair standards, even compared with other trauma survivors.

“Every day in courtrooms around the country, [defense attorneys] attack and question the credibility of victims of sexual assault for having the same kind of memories that soldiers have for their combat experiences,” he said.

Victim advocates and criminal justice scholars say it’s important for detectives to be open to anything a survivor might say, whenever they say it — even if those details were not available in an initial report — because the information survivors provide later can be helpful for solving the crime.

Maintaining an Open Mind

Nicole Monroe, a police detective in Elk Grove, a suburb of Sacramento, said she and some of her colleagues have gotten additional education on brain science, and it has changed the way they approach sexual assault cases.

Monroe tells victims she works with that more memories will continue to surface in the days, weeks and even months to come.

“Smells will come back. Sights will come back. When you think of these things, give me a call and let me know, so that it can be added,” Monroe said. “Because little things like that are going to make a difference.”

Traditionally, law enforcement officers are trained to conduct an interrogation that may involve drawing out specific details, usually in chronological order.

“The expectation is someone is supposed to come in, sit down, they’re supposed to be ready to talk, they’re supposed to know what to talk about,” said Carrie Hull, a former detective with the Ashland Police Department in southern Oregon. “They’re going to tell you what happened to them from the beginning, through the middle, and then the end. That is a very traditional understanding.”

Hull is now a consultant for police departments, and part of her work involves advocating for the adoption of a technique known as Forensic Experiential Trauma Interviewing, or FETI. The training can help law enforcement learn how to ask questions differently: with empathy, patience and an informed understanding of how a traumatized brain makes memories and recalls them. Training in the technique is available through an online course, but it’s not a mandatory requirement for most police departments.

People who take Hull’s course learn specific strategies for helping someone resurface a relevant memory that he or she may not have had access to when they first walked into the interview room. Hull said FETI discourages counterproductive practices such as paraphrasing, changing the victim’s words, interrupting or giving advice.

Hull said the overarching goal of trauma interviewing is to first “collect the dots, then connect the dots.” In other words, simply interview the victim about what happened. The sharper, more aggressive investigative tactics can wait.

There isn’t research proving that law enforcement departments who take this training solve more rape cases. But victim advocates and scholars said it’s a best practice that could make working with police a more positive experience for victims and, eventually, help bring more perpetrators to justice.

“If I had my way, every one of them would be doing this,” said Dave Thomas, a program officer with the International Association of Chiefs of Police.

Annie Walker is still struggling to recover from her sexual assault, but it’s complicated because she’s also healing from the way law enforcement handled her case. She said both police officers and survivors need more education on the way trauma affects memory.

She said if survivors knew what to expect in terms of memory issues, it wouldn’t be so frustrating. “They need to feel like the way that things are happening in their mind is normal. Normal for them.”

This story is from a partnership that includes CapRadio, NPR and KHN.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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This story can be republished for free (details).

How Rape Affects Memory, and Why Police Need to Know About That Brain Science published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[stephenmccull]

How Rape Affects Memory, and Why Police Need to Know About That Brain Science

Annie Walker woke up one morning in 2019 with little recollection of the night before. She had bruises on her arms, legs, wrist and lower abdomen.

“But I literally had no idea what had happened,” she said. “And, for days, I was trying to put the pieces together.”

She knew she had gone to a Sacramento, California, bar and restaurant with a group of people, and she remembered drinking there and being left alone with the man she’d later identify as her rapist. But not much else.

Memories she couldn’t summon that first morning gradually came into focus over days and weeks, she said. The emerging details included what the man had been wearing, and the way he shoved her against the bar. One week after the attack, she reported the crime to the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department.

Then, in the days after making the report, another wave of memories surfaced — she recalled, vividly, that the man had raped her and had a weapon.

“I knew that there was a gun at my neck, at my back,” she said. “It was just clear.”

The detectives gave her a hard time, she said, when she called to report that she had remembered that her attacker had a gun. The Sacramento detectives assigned to Walker’s case didn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t remember all the details right away.

“I felt like I was just extremely cross-examined on the phone. Like, ‘Why didn’t you remember a gun? That’s, like, a really important thing.'”

Sexual assault survivors say interactions with law enforcement can be so intense, and so unsympathetic, that they add secondary trauma. Reporting a rape can be especially traumatic when officers cast doubt on victims’ stories.

But it doesn’t have to be, say scientists and scholars of criminal justice. If police gain a deeper understanding of what’s going on in the brain during and after a rape, they can change the way they approach rape cases and avoid making survivors feel blamed or disbelieved.

Scientists who study trauma and memory say it’s common for sexual assault survivors — as well as survivors of other serious traumas — to be unable to recall an attack fully. They might remember certain facts but not others, or struggle to recall events in the correct sequence.

When law enforcement officers aren’t aware of the neuroscience of trauma, or have no training to deal with it, there’s a tendency to dismiss or disbelieve victims who experience memory gaps, according to scholars and advocates for sexual assault survivors.

“There’s a real danger when investigators are asking people for information that was never encoded or has been lost,” said Harvard University psychologist Jim Hopper. “They can stress out the victim, leave them feeling misunderstood, incompetent, not wanting to further engage with the investigation.”

Walker’s alleged perpetrator was never arrested. And she’s still frustrated with the way detectives put pressure on her to remember details during the investigation.

The Brain in Survival Mode

When confronted with a crisis, the brain often activates its “fight, flight or freeze” response. In these scenarios, the brain’s “defense circuitry” takes over, explained Hopper. The prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for logical decision-making, is no longer in control and, instead, the areas of the brain responsible for scanning for danger take charge.

“And that’s what people are running on” when trauma happens, Hopper said.

Some people respond by mentally “dissociating,” or disconnecting from their physical selves. That survival response affects the ability to absorb what’s happening around them, Hopper said.

Studies on memory and recall during a traumatic event describe two types of details: central and peripheral. Central details are those that capture our attention and evoke emotions in the moment, such as a location. Peripheral details are those that a survivor might not have been paying attention to during the crisis, such as something the perpetrator said or whether other people were present. Central details tend to be stored more reliably and for longer than peripheral details.

Every day in courtrooms around the country, [defense attorneys] attack and question the credibility of victims of sexual assault for having the same kind of memories that soldiers have for their combat experiences.

Harvard University psychologist Jim Hopper

Sometimes survivors are unable to answer what might seem like a simple question if it involves a peripheral detail like the color of the attacker’s shirt. And Hopper said that can make officers suspicious.

Hopper, who gives legal testimony in sexual assault cases, said victims are often held to unfair standards, even compared with other trauma survivors.

“Every day in courtrooms around the country, [defense attorneys] attack and question the credibility of victims of sexual assault for having the same kind of memories that soldiers have for their combat experiences,” he said.

Victim advocates and criminal justice scholars say it’s important for detectives to be open to anything a survivor might say, whenever they say it — even if those details were not available in an initial report — because the information survivors provide later can be helpful for solving the crime.

Maintaining an Open Mind

Nicole Monroe, a police detective in Elk Grove, a suburb of Sacramento, said she and some of her colleagues have gotten additional education on brain science, and it has changed the way they approach sexual assault cases.

Monroe tells victims she works with that more memories will continue to surface in the days, weeks and even months to come.

“Smells will come back. Sights will come back. When you think of these things, give me a call and let me know, so that it can be added,” Monroe said. “Because little things like that are going to make a difference.”

Traditionally, law enforcement officers are trained to conduct an interrogation that may involve drawing out specific details, usually in chronological order.

“The expectation is someone is supposed to come in, sit down, they’re supposed to be ready to talk, they’re supposed to know what to talk about,” said Carrie Hull, a former detective with the Ashland Police Department in southern Oregon. “They’re going to tell you what happened to them from the beginning, through the middle, and then the end. That is a very traditional understanding.”

Hull is now a consultant for police departments, and part of her work involves advocating for the adoption of a technique known as Forensic Experiential Trauma Interviewing, or FETI. The training can help law enforcement learn how to ask questions differently: with empathy, patience and an informed understanding of how a traumatized brain makes memories and recalls them. Training in the technique is available through an online course, but it’s not a mandatory requirement for most police departments.

People who take Hull’s course learn specific strategies for helping someone resurface a relevant memory that he or she may not have had access to when they first walked into the interview room. Hull said FETI discourages counterproductive practices such as paraphrasing, changing the victim’s words, interrupting or giving advice.

Hull said the overarching goal of trauma interviewing is to first “collect the dots, then connect the dots.” In other words, simply interview the victim about what happened. The sharper, more aggressive investigative tactics can wait.

There isn’t research proving that law enforcement departments who take this training solve more rape cases. But victim advocates and scholars said it’s a best practice that could make working with police a more positive experience for victims and, eventually, help bring more perpetrators to justice.

“If I had my way, every one of them would be doing this,” said Dave Thomas, a program officer with the International Association of Chiefs of Police.

Annie Walker is still struggling to recover from her sexual assault, but it’s complicated because she’s also healing from the way law enforcement handled her case. She said both police officers and survivors need more education on the way trauma affects memory.

She said if survivors knew what to expect in terms of memory issues, it wouldn’t be so frustrating. “They need to feel like the way that things are happening in their mind is normal. Normal for them.”

This story is from a partnership that includes CapRadio, NPR and KHN.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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Notes on AKAI SOLO’s Eleventh Wind

Rhythm in poetry need not be “smooth” or “musical” (since that word has a questionable meaning). Be cautious of these descriptions as a so-called “good ear.”

—“Manifesto” from Russell Atkins’ Juxtapositions

I try to become really liquid with the shit—not even liquid. I try to become formless.

—AKAI SOLO

Always the same thing. A drop of hope glimmers, then a sea of despair begins to rage, and always the pain, always the pain, always the anguish, always one and the same thing.

—Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilyich

I've been robbing motherfuckers since the slave ships.

—The Notorious B.I.G., “Gimme the Loot”

1.

There’s an “unfinished” aesthetic (I mean it gently, fondly) to AKAI SOLO’s work. His rhymes often start in medias res. The listener needs to become oriented to what he’s spewing, but he barely allows you to catch your breath. For anyone who’s ever been thrown [au]topsy-turvy by an ocean’s wave, you can respect the power of the primordial soup flow. Each verse is a wipeout. It’s Ron Wilson’s relentless drums on the Surfaris’ 1963 “Wipe Out” and the Fat Boys’ rollicking 1987 version all at once—joy pulled from despair.

2. “…a sunken system”

What is flow? In AKAI’s case, it’s something abrupt—both a step-up and a step-to. Is it free-form? Is it automatic writing gone horribly wrong? Is it asemic writing? Is it a Ouija-like push of the pen across the page? A flower doodled on scrap paper? Is it AKAI’s language acquisition happening in real time—a babbling? It’s not an infantile flow, though. Mannish boy? Man-child? It sometimes sounds like lips smacking of Mississippi mud. Think of AKAI on Shrine’s “Parables” (which begins with the lapping of waves—not the babbling brook): he takes “a deep sea soak in plasma.” The structure and borders of AKAI’s bars are liquid (formless); his words wash over.

3. “Pondering of the painter in between strokes.” (An Unknown Infinite, “Concrete Slides”)

Who’s out of pocket? Geochemistry tells us small pockets of water pulsate deep below the Earth’s surface. I find AKAI to be offbeat in both senses of the word. He’s both outré and outer space. Antediluvian and FEMA flood recovery plan. His bars rupture the very notion of time, of meter. To rap along with AKAI is to have an out-of-body experience—our neuroscience skitters and we gain an astral perspective on what the physical mouth is doing. Sheldon Pearce has called AKAI’s verses “impressionistic.” Plugging into AKAI’s music is to induce the Stendhal syndrome—beholding the sublimity of Claude Monet’s Impression, Sunrise, but—more accurately—Calida Garcia Rawles’ Singularity, seeing as how AKAI keeps it hyper-real. He “signs” nearly all his songs—another painterly touch.

4. The Earth is a great place to visit, but I ain't stayin’. (J-Ro, The Alkaholiks)

AKAI SOLO is for the antisocial kid who quotes Bruce Lee under their yearbook photo: Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless—like water. Water is everywhere on Eleventh Wind, even if the album title suggests other elemental forces. AKAI sometimes slurs, but not drunkenly—this isn’t some stumbling and staggering likwidation: it’s a reflection of your own grogginess, your own inertia from sleeping on his flow. There are oceans between J.M.W. Turner’s The Slave Ship and the “Big Pimpin’” of Jay-Z, but AKAI’s poetics bridge the two. He comes at us, off-kilter, aslant, like the uneasy and queasy cover art for O.G.C.’s Da Storm.

5. “…a ship came, seeking harbour, fleeing from torture & swords” (from Kamau Brathwaite’s “Noom”)

The content often defies logical reasoning. He spits non-sequiturs in a literal sense, in that he does not follow. He machetes his own path (cutlass, more likely). AKAI is Cappadonna with his words—his slang is editorial, and it floods similarly. Zilla Rocca has called Cappadonna’s work “a waterfall of energy and creativity.” The same, seriously, could be applied to AKAI SOLO. I’ll call it logorrhea—and I don’t mean that pejoratively. It’s the seasickness you stomach so you can see the sunset from hundreds of miles off land.

The songs on Eleventh Wind are essentially single verses. There’s no middle eight, only an interminable Middle Passage. And water is everywhere.

6.

AKAI’s lineage traces to the same cove you’d find Mr. Complex and Saafir washed ashore. Like those predecessors, his un-rhymes and rhythm-driven bars beat against the rocks, ebbing just when you think he’s flowing. He’s an H2O proof MC. He’s Black hydropower, and, like the ancestors, AKAI continues to speak of rivers, of swerve of shore to bend of bay.

On “An Ode to the Isolated,” argov’s production sounds submerged, certifiably Cousteau. We’re immediately in the deep, and the beat platforms AKAI’s aqua-lung breath control. He’s “in a den of dissonance dissolving,” which puts language to what’s happening sonically here better than a critic ever could. AKAI is “overwhelmed by your deep blueness”—the vast blue sea. These are pandemic blues. The Covid-minded lyric, “Masks donned as requested,” doubles as the masculine trap to swallow pain, smothering emotion in gritty sand, while still forward-facing a street persona. AKAI has acknowledged Eleventh Wind was, in part, generated from a depressive state.

7.

[Testimony of John Cranston, a sailor upon the Polly, describing a slave woman hoisted down to sea from the mainmast in a chair after being isolated for small pox, June 15, 1791]

Q: Did you not hear her speak or make any Noises when she was thrown over—or see her struggle? A: No—a Mask was ty’d round her mouth & Eyes that she could not, & it was done to prevent her making any Noise that the other Slaves might not hear, least they should rise. Q: Do you recollect to hear the Capt. say any thing after the scene was ended? A: All he said was he was sorry he had lost so good a Chair. Q: Did any person endeavour to prevent him throwing her [over]board? A: No.

8.

“Tetsuo” draws on Tsukamoto’s trilogy of cyberpunk perversity. How AKAI could feel “washed before the water touch the skin” is beyond me, as the skin crawls with maggots. The penetration of metal rods, but no tetanus—no lockjaw. Only body horror flow. He’s sketching futures—and all of them are nightmarish: “Surrounded by a blanket of ashes, / We all fall down like that one song said we would.” AKAI vaguely alludes to a plague rhyme of yore. And the uncertainties we’re living with come through even in his drafts, as the liner notes on PTP’s cassette release of the album provide a set of lyric options: “Surrounded by a sea/bed/blanket…” Choose your own misadventure.

9. From at least the sixteenth century onward, a major part of the ocean engineering of ships has been to...minimize the wake. But the effect of trauma is the opposite. It is to make maximal the wake. (Christina Sharpe, In the Wake: On Blackness and Being)

On “Tainted,” AKAI—young as he may be—identifies the foolishness of some of his peers: “N----s wanna toast on a slave ship / …sinking with the drink.” AKAI suggests they’re still on the slave ship, ignorant of the fact. When he goes off on a paranoid tangent full of what seem to be elementary internal rhymes, it’s anything but: “hitting a lark / in the dark / in the park / skill a shark / or a narc / ill a mark on his job every time.” This litany of monosyllabic rhymes sounds an alarm.

10. “Even though the vessels differ, we’re all still sailing. / …navigation through suffering.”

“Still Sailing” acts as a centerpiece for the water imagery on Eleventh Wind. It’s also a self-assessment of his style. The “wavelength irregular” puns on wave and owns the irregular flow; “my groove goofy,” he admits. His vulnerability is stunning, refreshing: “I was ensuring my work was worth something.” Such vulnerability is liquid, is flux, reflects reality:

In a dirt sea, all I am is a seed Reaching for what I mean to Rooted in what it is, galvanized by what can be.

Even AKAI’s other nature metaphors—like earth (be it rare-earth or “Real Earth,” no matter), seeds, and roots—are built on water ones (“dirt sea”). This is Wallace Stevens-level abstraction. “Flowing like katanas of grass / Landscaping through with blazing sound waves” does it again (“flowing”/“grass”). And, of course, the mention of flowing katanas invites a Liquid Swords comparison. With the even cuts of AKAI’s sharp lyrics, it’s warranted.

I want to feel like Vast Aire, “like Moses with a staff that parts the Red Sea,” but it’s not so simple. Meaning is slippery on the album—hard to get your footing, your sea legs. Listeners are pulled into rip-tides and torn asunder, repeatedly. AKAI’s songs are raw—not in a hardcore way—in a work-in-progress sense, the way some of the most sincere songs humans have recorded are at times unfinished ones. Like Dylan’s “Santa Fe,” for instance, where the words converge into a slurry.

11. “Your water heavier than it’s supposed to be and they know that.”

On “Candor,” AKAI speaks on the burden of family discord, a “dilemma with me and mines.” In venting, he channels and subverts LL Cool J: “Don’t call it a comeback / These are just preliminary steps / On your back like structural racism is.” Where LL foregrounded his pugnacious masculinity, masking his insecurities (all the while calling for his “Mama”), AKAI is more likely to allow his tears to rain down like a monsoon. Candor has its origins in kand, meaning “to shine.” AKAI’s words offer glimmers of clarity, of openness.

12. “Depression stirs me before the morning chirps.”

Eleventh Wind closes with “Nebula”—gases flow, dust is bathed in glowing starlight. Again, we’re persevering: “Sound like nil singing / Feeling like nebula unraveling / Feeling like infinity expanding.” The consecutive gerunds emphasize AKAI’s desperation. He’s nihilistic here, nonexistent (“nil”) and grasping for meaning. In that way, he’s not so different from us approaching his music. Whether people are hot or cold, irate or aloof, he turns to water for comfort: “When I want to feel the heat I don’t get from people, I resort to water. / When I want to feel the cold I know people for, I resort to water.” AKAI SOLO doesn’t just bless us, he christens us.

Images:

The Fat Boys & The Beach Boys, “Wipeout” music video (screen shot) | The Surfaris, “Wipe Out” 12” (Decca, 1963) | Fat Boys, “Wipeout!” 12” (Tin Pan Apple, 1987) | Jay-Z, “Big Pimpin’” music video (screen shot) | J.M.W. Turner, The Slave Ship (1840) | Originoo Gunn Clappaz, Da Storm cassette cover (Duck Down/Priority Records, 1996) | Claudia Garcia Rawles, Singularity (2018) | The Alkaholiks, Likwidation album cover (Loud, 1997) | James Neagle, Frontispiece for the Dying Negro (1793) | Screen shot from Tetsuo II: Body Hammer (Shinya Tsukamoto, 1992) | Hokusai, Feminine Wave (1845) | Carina Nebula, NASA, ESA, and the Hubble SM4 ERO Team | Claude Monet, Impression, Sunrise (1872)