Cheesies psycho aber

~Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität und satellitengestützte Belästigung/Terrorismus:~ Ziel dieses Videos ist es, Sie und die Öffentlichkeit über den illegalen kriminellen Einsatz der Satellitentechnologie zur Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität zu informieren, die gleichzeitig mit dem als organisiertes Stalking bekannten Belästigungen genutzt wird, um Individuen jahrelang zu belästigen und zu terrorisieren.
Video-Quelle: Mind-Control-Klassiker-Aufklärungsvideo (technisch: low quality, Inhaltlich aber zutreffend): von OSINFORMER: "REMOTE NEURAL MONITORING (Satellite Harassment/Terrorism) Reality and Awareness!", verfügbar unter:.​ Technologische Belästigung durch Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität Technologische Belästigung bezieht sich auf die Verwendung von Technologie, um eine Person aus der Nähe oder aus der Ferne zu beobachten, zu verfolgen, zu überwachen und/oder zu belästigen. Die Technologie kann Audio- und/oder Videoüberwachung, GPS-Tracker an Fahrzeugen, „Nicht-tödliche Waffen“ (NLWs), gerichtete Energiewaffen (DEWs) und Satelliten umfassen, die als Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität bekannt sind.
Die Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität hat folgende Fähigkeiten: Sie kann eine Person verfolgen und deren Bewegungen nachverfolgen. Gedankenlesen ist möglich, indem die Gedanken einer Person gelesen und Antworten oder Reaktionen über Fernseher oder Radios auf das, was diese Person privat denkt oder sagt, gegeben werden. Sie kann diese Person mit gerichteter Energie treffen und sich in alle Elektronik einklinken – Fernseher, Radios, Polizeiscanner, Computer mit Sprachmorphing-Synthesestimmen – und ist in der Lage, Dinge über Fernseher, Radios zu sagen und (Voice Morph) Stimmen von Individuen zu klonen oder zu kopieren, diese dann über Polizeiscanner zu senden und die Stimme eines Schauspielers oder einer beliebigen Person über das Fernsehen zu imitieren und auf das zu reagieren, was Sie denken oder sagen, mit der Stimme dieser Person.
[Anm.: Dies ist ein typisches Symptom für paranoide Schizophrenie, dass Fernseh-Moderatoren, Radiosprecheinnen oder so direkt Botschaften an einen richten würden, z.B. sich selbst oder andere zu verletzen oder abwertende, erniedrigende, beleidigende Kommentare [Es ist nur eine von vielen gleichzeitig eingesetzten Foltermethoden, um den psychischen Zusammenbruch der Opfer zu erzwingen bzw. mittels Folter die Willensbrechung oder dissoziierte Persönlichkeitsspaltungen [induzierte Traumata] zu bewirken; auch alle weiteren Stimmen sind möglich von nahestehenden Menschen bis hin zu Professoren, Stars oder Geheimdienst-Präsidenten; da deren Stimmmuster beim Verfassungsschutz bzw. deren Tarnorganisation massenhaft gespeichert ist und daraus normalisierte Stimmmuster technisch erstellt werden können, die Radio- oder TV-Signale synthetisch überlagern: hört sich einigermaßen realistisch an. Bei Bedarf kann ich eine Videodatei hochladen: denn kürzlich habe ich für eine Freundin ein Video aufgenommen von einem schönen Wetterphänomen: als ich das Video abspielte, war deutlich folgendes von einem dominanten Mann mittleren Alters zu hören: "Sorry, that I help them killing you. Sorry, that you help me killing you." Es ist ein physischer, harter Nachweis, da diese überlagerte Tonspur in der Videodatei enthalten ist - und hört sich mega-psycho an: es handelt sich um einen Aspekt schwerster Folter. ​ ~Fähigkeiten der Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität: Gedankenlesen, das Lesen von Gedanken aus der Ferne:~ Sehen – wie durch eine Kamera – durch die Augen des Opfers, um zu sehen, was das Opfer sieht. Hören – die Fähigkeit zu hören und aufzunehmen, was das Opfer hört. Dies ist, wie illegale kriminelle Menschenhandel- und Schutzgeldoperationen mit dieser Technologie der Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität kriminell durchgeführt werden, um von ahnungslosen Opfern zu profitieren.
Gerichtete Energieangriffe: Von der Satellitentechnologie zur Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität, die in Form von Schocks, Stößen, Stichen, Piken, Stichen, Verbrennungen kommen kann. Schlafentzug, verursacht durch gerichtete Energieangriffe aus dieser Satellitentechnologie. [Anm.: Ist äußerst schmerzhaft und wird zehntausendfach pro Tag angewendet:] ​[Anm. [... Es könnte möglich sein, ein System zu entwerfen, das sowohl als Radar als auch als Waffe fungiert, das zuerst das Ziel erkennt und verfolgt und dann die Leistung erhöht und das Ziel auf elektronische Weise angreift."​[1] US Air Force (1995). New World Vistas: Air and Space Power for the 21st Century – Directed Energy Volume, Scientific Advisory Board (USAF), Zugangsnummer (DTIC): ADA309595, Washington, DC, (11.05.2024).​ Computer-Gehirn-Schnittstellensteuerung und -kommunikation Komplexe Kontrolle des Gehirns, wie das Einpflanzen von Gedanken, das Abrufen von Erinnerungen, das Einpflanzen von Persönlichkeiten. [Anm: Psychiatrisch diagnostisch: Gedankeneingebungen mit Fremdbeeinflussungserleben, ggf. Ich-Störungen [Verlust der Selbstgrenzen], tatsächlich wie alle andern Symptome auch: elektromagnetische Mind-Control.​ Anzeichen dafür, dass man kriminell mit Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität ins Visier genommen wird Ihre Gedanken werden aus der Ferne gelesen. Sie haben das Gefühl, beobachtet zu werden. Personen, die sich am organisierten Stalking gegen Sie beteiligen, geben Hinweise oder zeigen Ihnen durch ihr Verhalten, dass sie Sie sehen können. Sie werden mit organisiertem Stalking ins Visier genommen, während Sie gleichzeitig mit der Satellitentechnologie zur Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität ins Visier genommen werden. Organisiertes Stalking beinhaltet normalerweise irgendeine Form von elektronischer technologischer Belästigung, die gleichzeitig entweder am Boden oder über Satellit stattfindet.
Elektronische Belästigung/V2K Mikrowellenhören, auch bekannt als Stimme-zu-Schädel (V2K), was auch das erzwungene Hören von Audio-Belästigungen oder Stimmen beinhaltet, Symptome, die psychische Erkrankungen nachahmen und den Anschein einer psychischen Erkrankung erwecken, aber keine psychische Erkrankung sind. Hartnäckiges lautes Klingeln in den Ohren, bekannt als (Silent Sound) falscher Tinnitus. Dies ist häufig und wird oft von Zielen und Opfern von organisiertem Stalking berichtet.
Stille Töne Hören von Tönen oder Tonstößen in den Ohren, die irgendwo zwischen 5 und 10 Sekunden dauern können, die sich in Lautstärke und Tonhöhe ändern können. Übertragung spezifischer Befehle in das Unterbewusstsein. Visuelle Störungen, visuelle Halluzinationen.
Fernmanipulation Fernmanipulation menschlichen Verhaltens, Gedanken oder Handlungen. Hören von Stimmen oder Flüstern, die scheinbar aus verschiedenen Räumen Ihres Hauses kommen, durchgeführt durch die Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität.
Audio-Belästigung Hören von Stimmen oder gesprochenen Eingriffen in Ihr Fernsehen, Ihren Polizeiscanner oder Ihr Autoradio, die auf das reagieren, was Sie privat denken oder sagen.
Gerichtete Gespräche/Nachplappern Fremde oder Familienmitglieder, die am organisierten Stalking gegen das Opfer beteiligt sind, wiederholen, leiten weiter oder plappern private Dinge nach, die Sie gedacht, getan oder gesagt haben, während Sie allein oder privat waren, indem sie gerichtete Gespräche verwenden.
Psychologische Kriegsführung Die Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität wird gleichzeitig mit organisiertem Stalking eingesetzt, um Individuen zu zielen, zu belästigen und zu terrorisieren, indem die Gedanken des Ziels und Opfers (Evozierte Gedankenpotenziale) verwendet werden, um koordinierte kriminelle Belästigungsaktivitäten gegen das Ziel und Opfer zu lenken und zu koordinieren.
Zitate zur Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität „Ich weiß aus erster Hand, dass Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität eine Realität ist. Ich habe die operationellen Fähigkeiten dieser Technologie miterlebt und sie wurden später von einem Bekannten bestätigt, zusammen mit Gedankenlesen, einer der bizarrsten Anwendungen eines Satelliten, ist es, jemanden physisch zu schlagen. Ein elektronischer Satellitenstrahl, der weit weniger Energie benötigt als zum Abschuss von Nuklearraketen im Flug, kann jemanden auf der Erde treffen oder blutig schlagen. Ein Satellitenstrahl kann auch auf ein menschliches Ziel gesperrt werden (locked on targeted invidiual), wobei das Opfer der Bedrohung nicht entkommen kann, indem es herumläuft oder herumfährt [...] [Anm. Verfolgungsradar mit Feuerleitsystem zum Beschuss des verfolgten Opfers, was schwersten Folterungen Tür und Tor öffnet].​ Wissenschaftler stimmen zu, dass Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität gefährlich und gesundheitsschädlich ist Als direkte Folge der Technologie der Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität wird das Opfer jahrelang schädlicher gerichteter Energie ausgesetzt, was ein Gesundheitsrisiko darstellt.
Es gibt mehrere Artikel mit Informationen, die im Internet erschienen sind und die Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität als Verbrechensbekämpfungs- und Erkennungswerkzeug darstellen. Die Fernüberwachung der neuronalen Aktivität wurde nicht erfunden, um kriminelle Gedanken im Inneren des Geistes zu erkennen. Sie dient keinem legitimen Zweck in der Strafverfolgung.
Fundort: https://www.weltverschwoerung.de/threads/gang-stalking-verfolgung-durch-kriminell-terroristische-geheimdienst-banden-mit-energie-und-neurowaffen.29145/page-2#post-795147

Es ist mir etwas unangenehm, darüber zu schreiben, aber ich M fühle mich teilweise einsam, besonders jetzt, da mein 20. Geburtstag in ein paar Monaten bevorsteht. Dieses Jahr werde ich meinen Geburtstag nur mit meiner Familie feiern, da ich keine Freunde habe, die in meiner Nähe wohnen. Mein einziger enger Freund lebt leider 600 Kilometer entfernt.
In meiner Kindheit hatte ich kaum richtige Freunde und wurde lange Zeit gemobbt. Zusätzlich dazu musste ich zweimal umziehen, was es noch schwieriger machte, Freunde zu finden. Zusätzlich zu den Umzügen habe ich aufgrund des starken Mobbings und anderen Problemen zwei stationäre Therapien gemacht. Als ich danach wieder in die Schule ging, war das Mobbing nicht besser, da ich als der "komische Psycho" galt.
Seit etwa drei Jahren lebe ich wieder an dem Ort, an dem ich bis zu meinem 13. Lebensjahr aufgewachsen bin. Obwohl ich noch viele Leute kenne, mit denen ich zur Schule gegangen bin oder sogar im Kindergarten war, hab ich zu keinem dieser Leute Kontakt
Ich habe gerade meine Ausbildung erfolgreich abgeschlossen und überlege, meine Azubi-Kollegen zu meinem Geburtstag einzuladen. Leider habe ich das Gefühl, dass es ähnlich wie bei meinem 18. Geburtstag enden wird, als nur zwei Leute kamen und wir dann zu dritt waren. Ich hatte das ständige Gefühl, dass die Leute lieber woanders gewesen wären.
Es macht mich traurig alleine zu feiern, und ich bin ehrlich gesagt ratlos, wie man echte Freunde findet, da ich bis auf diesen einen keinen hatte.

For those who don't know, Psycho Synner was a band made by former Five Finger Death Punch members, Jason Hook and Jeremy Spencer; after leaving that band, they wanted to do something different. Psycho Synner was a devil-themed band, and their songs typically had 1 of 2 messages: Either 'I'm so mad, Imma kill you' or, 'I'm so horny, I wanna f**k you'.
If you know this band, you know Psycho Synner was very cringey and strange, people actually think they were trying to appeal to incels. Me personally, I think it's okay to not like their music, even I think it leaves lots to be desired; but, Psycho Synner was just dumb fun in my opinion, not meant to be taken seriously. I enjoyed listening to their cheesy lyrics, and super-simple tunes, because it was just fun.
However, because of the backlash, the band broke up, removing their music from Apple Music, Spotify, etc. The only way you can listen to their work, is by looking on the archives on YouTube. I miss how funny this band was, and would like to see them make a comeback, or at least return their music to the platforms.

•Die Situation: Mein (34 F) Mann (33, zwei Jahre zusammen), hat mehrfach den Wunsch geäußert Streits aufzunehmen um bspw. zu beweisen, dass und wie ich bestimmte Dinge gesagt oder nicht gesagt habe, oder er etwas bestimmtes auf jeden Fall (nicht) gesagt hat. Ich habe einerseits betont, dass er mich vorher um Erlaubnis fragen soll und andererseits, dass ich den Gedanken als gängelnd und als Drohung empfinde, da es aus meiner Sicht primär darum geht mir zu zeigen dass ich das Problem in unserer Kommunikation bin oder dass er Recht hat. Und das obwohl ich in letzter Zeit sehr stark an meiner Kommunikation und meinem Konfliktverhalten gearbeitet habe und meine Kommunikation und Selbstreflexion sehr krass weiterentwickelt habe., was mir sowohl mein Partner als auch Freunde Rückmelden. Ich empfinde es eher so, dass ich ehrlich bereit bin mich zu reflektieren und Aussagen von mir zu hinterfragen/zurückzunehmen, während er das im Vergleich schon immer sehr viel weniger ist. Ich kann an einer Hand abzählen wie häufig er sich schon mal entschuldigt hat für sein Verhalten oder seine Worte. Er wehrt meine Kritikpunkte meistens ab und ist sehr von seiner eigenen Wahrnehmung überzeugt. Meine Befürchtung ist, dass er mit seiner eigenen Argumentation eigentlich in jeder beliebigen Diskussion alles was ich sage so hindrehen kann, dass es für ihn positiv und für mich negativ ist, da gefühlt nur seine Wahrnehmung zählt und zur objektiven Logik erklärt wird. Als er eben in einem Check-in Gespräch über einen vergangenen Konflikt einfach eine Aufnahme gestartet hat habe ich deswegen geschwiegen und mich geweigert zu sprechen, habe stattdessen etwas in der Küche gemacht um mich der Situation zu entziehen. Daraufhin war er offenbar sauer und ist demonstrativ spazieren gegangen.
Ich möchte selbst bestimmen wer mich wann aufnimmt und ich möchte mich nicht bedroht und gegaslightet fühlen, aber jetzt fühle ich mich durch diese Reaktion sehr schlecht und die Verlustängste, an denen ich auch arbeite, kicken. Ich habe das Gefühl dass ich hier einfach als Psycho entlarvt werden soll und mich nicht wehren kann denn alles was ich sage wird auf jeden Fall gegen mich verwendet werden.
Was soll ich tun und wie damit umgehen? Soll ich das mitmachen nur um zu schauen wie es sich entwickelt?

Sorry, wenn das jetzt vielleicht ein kleiner Rant wird, aber eine Sache die mich teilweise mit am meisten an mir bzw. meinem ADHS nervt, ist das typische Schubladen Denken/die Erwartung von Anderen. Irgendwie scheine ich die Menschen um mich herum ständig zu enttäuschen, dass ich nicht so bin wie man eventuell von mir erwarten würde. Besonders anstrengend/auffällig finde ich das beim Thema Dating, aber eigentlich betrifft es alle Lebensbereiche (Freunde, Arbeit, egal wo).
Ich (M) habe sehr oft das Gefühl, ich muss mich komplett verstellen und spätestens ab der Sekunde, wo mein "wahres Ich" durchkommt, scheine ich andere teils übelst zu verschrecken. Ich weiß nicht wie oft ich schon Sätze gehört habe wie: "was bist du eigentlich für ein Mann", "Du bist ja schlimmer als jede Frau so wie du alles überdenkst", "Kannst du mal aufhören den emotionalen rauszulassen", "Was macht das denn für einen Eindruck, dass du deinen Schlüssel immer noch an einem Band trägst", "(Fidget)Ringe sind unmännlich, das geht ja gar nicht"... uswusw.
Meistens fühle ich mich nach solchen Gesprächen auch noch super schlecht, keine Ahnung ob das dann Imposter Syndrom ist, auf jeden Fall habe ich dann oftmals ein fies schlechtes Gewissen, weil ich weiß, dass ich wieder irgendwen enttäuscht habe - als hätte ich ein Versprechen nicht erfüllt oder so.
Zwar bin Ich bin relativ groß, sportlich, tätowiert, gerade bei fremden Menschen kann ich die kurzzeitig ganz gut für mich begeistern und weiß eigentlich schon wie ich einen guten, charimatischen ersten Eindruck machen kann. Das Ding ist aber nur: Ich schaffe das nicht, dieses Bild länger als vielleicht ein paar Stunden aufrecht zu erhalten, meistens bin ich danach auch komplett tot, so anstrengend ist das. Nur wenn ich diese Maske nicht aufsetze, ich hätte vermutlich gar keine Freunde, niemals einen Job gefunden oder jemals auf ein Date gegangen.
Eigentlich bin ich extrem sensibel, mega schüchtern und traue mich oft - besonders bei Menschen die mir wichtig sind - gar nicht mal so sehr viel zu reden. Nach der Arbeit bin ich teilweise wie tot, da kann ich nicht noch ewig socialisen oder irgendwas machen, ich mag einfach gerne meine Ruhe. In meinem Kopf habe ich die selten genug. Dazu bin ich tollpatschig, verplant und ständig Verträumt, komplett unorganisiert und die Tatsache dass ich NULL erwachsen bin (mit Geld umgehen, gut organisierter Haushalt...) rundet das Ganze eigentlich nur ab. Kurz: Das Absolute Gegenteil was scheinbar von mir (als Mann) in der Gesellschaft erwartet wird. Wenn ich dann noch erzähle, dass ich ADHS habe und mich deswegen behandeln lasse, hab ich direkt den Stempel "Weichei", "Psycho" oder "P***y" auf dem Kopf oder wird mir auch gern mal direkt ins Gesicht gesagt.
Eben spätestens ab der Sekunde wo eben das Durchscheint (oder mein Wahnsinn sich auf einmal freien Lauf lässt und ich die Maske des "coolen Typ" nicht aufrecht erhalten kann) darf ich mir dann eben meist solche Sätze anhören und falle - hier wieder stark aufs Dating bezogen - direkt durchs Raster. Scheinbar möchte keine Frau auf diesem Planeten einen Typ daten, der das Gegenteil des "Klischee Mannes" ist. Oder eben durch seine Unorganisiertheit vielleicht den Eindruck macht, nur eine Ersatzmami oder sowas zu suchen, obwohl das halt einfach nicht stimmt.
Oder keine Firma jemanden einstellen, der am liebsten einfach nur seinen Job erledigen möchte und nicht jeden Abend noch After Work Dinner, Party oder Feierabendbierchen mit den Kollegen braucht. Ich bin einfach nach Feierabend TOT, bloß weil ich sportlich bin hab ich nicht endlos soziale Energie. Warum ist das für andere ein größeres Problem als für mich?
Auf jeden Fall kotzt es mich einfach nur an, wieso ist es heutzutage für Andere immer noch so verstörend, wenn man als Mann eben auch emotional und sensibel oder ein bisschen "drüber" ist. Oder einfach gerne seine Ruhe hat. Wieso ist es eine so riesige Enttäuschung, wenn jemand nicht in die Schublade passt, in welche andere einen verordnen würden. Wieso gilt es als ach so schrecklich "unmännlich", wenn man nicht dauernd "cool" bleiben kann oder sich stark mit sich selbst und seiner Psyche auseinandersetzt :(
Tut mir echt leid für den langen Text aber das musste einfach mal raus, es macht mich einfach nur noch fertig und ermüdet mich auch und ich weiß auch gar nicht worauf ich so hinauswollte.

Hallo ihr lieben,
ich habe mich nun dazu entschieden einen Wegwerfaccount zu erstellen um hier eine Frage zu stellen.
Die Situation ist wie folgt:
Meine Freundin und ich sind nun seit fast 3 Monaten zusammen und daten seit ca. 4 Monaten. Sie hat mir von Anfang an von Ihrem "Drogenabhängigen Psycho Ex" erzählt welcher immer wieder vor Ihrer Haustüre auftaucht und Sie via E-Mail belästigt. Er ist nie aber handgreiflich geworden oder weiteres. Ich war öfters bei Ihr zu Besuch und habe mein Auto in Ihrer Garage parken dürfen. Ihr Ex kam zu der Zeit auch immer noch vorbei und hat geklingelt, die Tür hat Sie ihm nie geöffnet und er wusste auch nichts von meiner Wenigkeit bis zu diesem einen Tag an dem ich mein Auto in Ihrer Einfahrt statt in der Garage geparkt habe. Daraufhin waren die E-Mails etwas mehr von Hass erfüllt bis es dann eines Morgens einen lauten Schlag an einem Fenster gab. Er hat das auf das Haus mit einer "legalen Waffe" geschossen. Wir haben direkt die Polizei gerufen etc. und diese konnte den Täter dann auch innerhalb eines Tages ausfindig machen, die Waffe sicherstellen und vor kurzem kamen auch die Ergebnisse der Analyse der "Patrone" welche bestätigten, dass Ihr Ex das war. Er kam darauf in Untersuchungshaft + Einstweilige Verfügung. Das alles war für mich persönlich schon sehr unangenehmer Stress. Durch die Verfügung und seine Inhaftierung fühlten wir uns aber erstmal sicher.
Nun haben wir aber vor 3 Tagen etwa eine Rose ohne weiteres in Ihrem Briefkasten aufgefunden. Kurz danach haben Wir vom Gericht bescheid bekommen, dass er wieder auf freiem Fuß sei. Natürlich gibt es keine Beweise dafür, dass er die Rose in den Briefkasten gesteckt hat, wir sind uns aber sicher denn er hat auch wieder eine E-Mail geschrieben. Wir fühlen uns jetzt natürlich nicht mehr so sicher. Meine Freundin hat schon alle rechtlichen Schritte eingeleitet.
TL;DR: Exfreund belästigt und stalkt meine Freundin bis hin zu häuslicher Gewalt.
Nun zu meiner Frage:
Sollte ich, aufgrund dessen, dass ich mich auch unsicher und unwohl fühle auch rechtliche Schritte gegen Ihn einleiten? Hat das überhaupt einen Zweck? Ich möchte, dass er zur Rechenschaft gezogen wird für seine Taten und das wird auch passieren, da bin ich mir sicher. Er schadet unser beider Psyche.

Hey ihr Buben und Mädchen,
ich habe letztens etwas aussortiert und kann euch folgende Manga anbieten:

• My Home Hero 1-8 60€
• Fruits Basket Pearls Edition Komplett 1-12 110€
• Kaiju No. 8 Band 1-9 60€
• Rental Girlfriend 1-25 150€
• Life Lessons with Uramichi 1-7 40€
• Mein Schulgeist Hanako 1-8 50€
• Zetman 1-3 40€
• Dai Dark 1-4 30€
• Das Band der Unterwelt 1-3 16€
• Dandanan 1-6 inkl. Schuber 40€
• Prinzessin Sakura 1-6 komplett mit Schuber 45€
• MPD Psycho 1-3 42€
• Weekly Shonen Hitman 1-2 8€
• I'm Standing On A Million Lives 1-2 12€
• Cells At Work An die Arbeit Blutplättchen 1 4€
• Night and Sea 1-3 komplett 15€
• Shojo-Mangaka Nozaki-Kun 1 4€
• Star Wars Die Legenden von Luke Skywalker 7€
• Record of Grancrest War 1-2 9€
• My Love Story Ore Monogatari 1 4€
• Pokemon Die Ersten Abenteuer 1 4€

Der Zustand ist jeweils neuwertig. Manche sind noch gar nicht gelesen, andere nur einmal, aber ich hab ne richtige Macke und muss immer ganz besonders auf meine Bücher aufpassen, also sind die wirklich einwandfrei.
Versand kommt entsprechend dazu, entweder als Warensendung oder Paket. Gerne können wir das ganze auch auf Kleinanzeigen abwickeln. Bei den Preisen kann man in manchen Fällen auch bestimmt nochmal reden.
Viele Grüße

Winnih the Pooh: Blood and Honey.
Das war schon ein Film, bei dem ich mir gedacht habe. Jooo, Junge, da hat sich einer aber Winnie the Pooh einmal so richtig vorgenommen und seine Fantasie so richtig rotieren lassen.
Es ist halt so ein Film, auf den man sich einlassen muss und bei dem akzeptiert werden muss, dass auch die nettesten Helden aus der Kindheit die absoluten Monster sein können.
Wie dem auch sein; auf eine gewisse neugierige Art und Weise hoffe ich ja, dass die Macher sich noch ein wenig austoben können. Ein Zombie-Pinocchio wäre schon eine Idee oder ein Psycho Peter Pan. Whatever.
Gutes Video wiedereinmal.
​
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_NSDVSGqhI

A small scratch. Almost like a graze. That’s how it all started.
So small and innocuous that I almost missed it as I went about my morning routine. It wasn't until I caught sight of my arm in the mirror that I noticed the red strip of aggravated flesh, about the size of a bottle cap, glaring angrily from the underside of my forearm.
I looked at it through the reflective surface of the mirror as I brushed my teeth, perplexed. I was prone to injuries like this, small scrapes and bruises often appeared on my limbs leaving me wondering exactly how I’d gotten them. Racking my brains, I tried to recall anything that might shed some light on how I’d managed to get this particular one, but try as I might, I came up blank.
I always put it down to being clumsy, I’d probably just walked into something a little too hard, not paying attention to where I was walking and not noticing the scrape until I caught sight of its aftermath several hours later. Either way, they never worried me, they were just something I had come to expect. They would go away in a couple of days and I’d be back to normal. But something about this one was… odd.
Normally, whenever I noticed the results of my clumsiness, I’d feel something as soon as I saw it. A throb of pain or the warmth of enflamed flesh as my mind realised that my body was injured. Some kind of unpleasant sensation, warning me to be more careful next time. It’s funny how you don’t feel them sometimes until you see them, like your brain only realises at that moment that it’s supposed to be hurting. But as I stared at this new scrape on my arm, I felt nothing. No pain, no heat, nothing.
Leaning in closer to better inspect the wound, I could see clearly that several layers of skin seemed to have been torn away. The red, meaty flesh beneath was almost exposed to the surface. It should have been agonising, all of the nerves and sinew exposed to the air like that. But still, I felt nothing.
Even more confused, I reached my hand to it and gingerly pressed my fingers against the raw surface. It was deep, deeper than anything I’d done by accident before. Expecting my protesting nerves to shoot an agonising jolt of pain through me as my fingers made contact, I tensed, readying myself for the oncoming wave. But there was nothing.
I could feel the wound, and I could feel my fingers pressing against it, but there was no pain, no heat, nothing. Just what the hell was going on with my arm? I must have caused some nerve damage or something, ripped away the nerves on the surface level and damaged the ones that were exposed so badly that they couldn’t even communicate with the pain receptors. I could probably still feel my fingers as I lightly touched the graze due to the skin in the surrounding area reacting to the pressure change.
Dumbfounded by what I was seeing, I stood staring at the pill-shaped mark in the mirror. A thought snapped me out of my stupor as I watched the pinkish flesh glistening. It was exposed. Even though it didn’t hurt, I needed to cover it up. The last thing I wanted was to get it infected, especially if I couldn’t feel it.
Reaching down, I opened the drawers of the cabinet below my sink and fished around. I kept all of my medical supplies in there. Plasters, pills, thermometers and most importantly, bandages. Grabbing a roll and dragging them out, I set the tap running and allowed a small amount of water to pool in the basin.
Adding a few drops of antibacterial soap into the small pool, I carefully scooped the water into my hand and washed the open wound. Once satisfied that it was thoroughly clean, I wrapped the bandage around it tightly, cutting it to size with a pair of scissors that I awkwardly fished out of the cabinet.
I still couldn’t feel it, even with the fabric of the bandage pressing against it, even when my shirt rubbed it as I got myself ready to leave for work. After a few hours, I’d almost completely forgotten it was there at all. It just felt like a normal day. I went about my work as usual, enjoying the hustle and bustle of my office, chatting with my co-workers and trying to clear the backlog of tasks that had slowly been snowing me under these past few days.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. After changing from my work clothes into something more comfortable I made myself a quick ready meal, sweet and sour chicken, and sat in front of the TV to relax. After binge-watching six episodes of a show that my colleagues recommended, I could barely keep my eyes open anymore.
Placing my plate back in the kitchen, I made my way to the bathroom to clean my teeth before getting ready for bed. As I entered the room, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. The bandage around my forearm was still exactly where I left it, clinging tightly to me. The sight of it brought the memories of this morning flooding back.
Carefully I peeled it away, revealing that nasty, pill-sized gauge. It looked the same as it had this morning, red, aggravated and raw, but to my relief, there were no signs of yellowing or pus developing. There was a small patch of blood on the bandage where it looked like it might have wept slightly, but that was it.
I washed it again, making sure that it was thoroughly clean, before making my way to my bedroom. I thought it was probably best to leave it open to the air as I slept, after all, that’s what the doctors say helps most cuts to heal faster. Getting changed into my pyjamas I clambered into bed, getting myself comfortable, before exhaustion overwhelmed me and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The sound of my alarm blaring startled me awake. The morning sunlight was seeping in below the curtains as I clumsily swung at the alarm clock in an attempt to stop its incessant sound. After a couple of attempts, my hand fell on the stop button and the ringing ceased.
Grogilly getting to my feet, I stumbled into the bathroom to get myself ready for another day at the office. The light stung my eyes as I flicked the switch and made my way over to the sink. Putting some toothpaste on my brush and bringing it up to my teeth, a cold sweat broke out and I dropped it as my strength left me.
There was another one. Another graze. Right there on my forearm, right next to the first one. They were identical, the same shape, the same size, the same red flesh glaring out from beneath. How had I managed to do it again?
I stared at it, wide-eyed and not sure of what to think, not sure of how I could have managed to get another identical wound on my arm without noticing for a second time. Just like the first one, there was no pain, no feeling as I scrutinised it in the mirror. I reached my fingers to it again, gingerly feeling around to make sure it was really there, that I wasn't going insane. When my fingers caressed it, they felt the skin drop into a small chasm of flesh, but there was only the same light pressure as yesterday.
I tried to replay everything I’d done that previous day in my mind, my eyes darting back and forth between the two wounds. I forced myself to remember every little action, no matter how small. Nothing jumped out, I couldn’t remember having any clumsy indicents yesterday. There had been a few close calls sure, but nothing that would have resulted in a scratch, let alone an identical graze. How the hell had I managed to do it again? It didn’t make any sense.
Filling the sink, I washed both of my wounds carefully, bandaging them up again tightly before pulling on my shirt. Just like yesterday, I couldn’t feel the wounds through the bandages, couldn’t feel them when my shirt rubbed against them, couldn’t feel them when I rested my arms on the desk at work.
With them being out of sight, it’s like they weren't even there. But I knew they were, the thought of them kept on invading my mind as I sat there, staring at the screen of my computer. I couldn’t focus, I kept thinking about how these ugly wounds had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. Why couldn’t I feel them, surely with how deep they were I’d have felt something when I caused them. Maybe it’d happened in my sleep? Maybe I’d been in that deep of a sleep that I’d not woken up? That still didn’t explain why they were identical though.
The hours seemed to crawl by as I tried my best to focus on work, my thoughts always returning to the gauges on my arm. Regardless of how hard I tried, I could barely focus on what my co-workers were saying as they engaged in their usual office chats with me. A few of them could tell that I was distracted. Each asked me if I was ok, if there was something wrong, but what could I tell them? They’d think I was just fixating on a random coincidence, making a mountain out of a molehill.
After what felt like an eternity, it was finally time to go home. Walking through my front door, I didn’t feel any better. I went about my evening almost robotically, unable to fully relax and unwind. Cooking myself a quick meal without really paying too much attention to what I was doing, I sat in front of the TV again, ready to continue with the binge-watching. After a few episodes, the flashing images on the screen weren't enough to hold my attention as I kept glancing down at the bandage on my arm.
Eventually, the light from outside faded and with it, tiredness followed. Making my way to the bathroom again, I brushed my teeth before gently removing the bandage from my arm. There were two red patches on it this time, from where I’d undoubtedly caused myself to bleed when I rested my arm on the desk.
The two grazes were both the same as before, still red and raw, but clear of any signs of infection. I stared at them again, leaning in to scrutinise them for any clue as to how I could have caused them. The skin around their edges looked rough and torn. Whatever it was that I’d done had obviously ripped the skin away rather than cut into it. Surely I would have felt that?
Still, frustratingly, nothing came to mind. Sighing, I filled the sink again and began to wash the wounds. Drying them off, I took one last, perplexed look at them before heading to bed.
Another dreamless sleep took me quickly, and before I knew it the blaring of the alarm clock roused me from slumber. Just like the day before, I staggered from my bed to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror yet again, I glanced down at the wounds on my arm, and ice filled my veins.
There were two more. Two more deep gauges in my skin, perfectly in line with the other two. Just like the others, there was no pain in my arm, no sign that I’d torn away layer upon layer of skin to reveal the tender meat beneath. They sat there, glaring at me, surrounded by the enflamed red flesh on either side.
This couldn’t be happening. There had only been two when I went to sleep. How had I managed to injure myself not once but twice more in exactly the same way, all while I slept? It was impossible. There was no way that this was just a coincidence.
Rushing back to my bedroom, I frantically threw the covers off the bed. I was looking for something, anything, that would explain how this kept happening. Maybe a shard of something sharp or the pointed edge of a spring in the mattress sticking out. Just something.
As the covers dropped to the floor, they revealed the clear bedding beneath, just as it had always been other than for a few small patches. I’d not noticed them before, paying minimal attention to my bed as I came and went, but right where my right arm would have rested were a few small, slowly browning patches, intermingled with fresher red colours.
Leaning closer, the unmistakable metallic stench of iron filled my nostrils. Blood, dried blood. It had to be from my arm. Frantically feeling around the area, I half expected to feel a shooting pain in my fingers as I stumbled upon whatever hidden hazard was responsible. But there was nothing, just the soft cotton of the sheets.
I didn’t understand. There had to be something, there had to be. These things seemed to happen when I was asleep, I was convinced of it. There had to be something in my bed. How else would I have managed to injure myself like that?
I searched for another few minutes, feeling around the entirety of my bed and the floor surrounding it, but it was ultimately fruitless. The room was as clean and clear as it had ever been. There was nothing to explain what was happening.
Defeated, I trudged back to the bathroom, unable to shake the growing worry that had rooted itself in my mind. What was happening to me? Would I wake up tomorrow with more of these things? Why didn’t they hurt?
Washing all of them as best I could, I bandaged them up and got dressed. Regardless of how I was feeling, I still needed to go to work. Making a mental note to buy more bandages on the way home, I set out, trying and failing to ignore the steadily panicked thoughts swirling around in my head.
There were more the next day. I awoke to the light seeping in through the curtains, my scalp tightening and my heart beating out of my chest as I saw the patches of blood on my bed again, three more. Inspecting my arm, sure enough, three new gashes were there, surrounded by inflamed, red skin.
Each of the new abrasions was uniformly sitting next to the others as they glared back at me. Each of the gashes was as deep and aggressive looking as the last, revealing my crimson, exposed flesh beneath. I could see the muscles below squirm and tense as I moved my fingers, bile rising in my throat as the tendons slid back and forth beneath the tissue.
My right arm now looked as though a part of it had been thrust into a knife fight, the deep tears covering the majority of one side of it as they snaked their way around my pale flesh, looking like crimson mountains. I still couldn’t feel them. No matter how hard I pressed my fingers into the warm, wet tissue all I could feel was the pressure. Why didn’t they hurt?
My mind began to spiral. I didn’t know what to do, or how to stop these cuts from happening. Yes, they’d all been on my arm for the moment, but what would happen if they ended up somewhere else, like my face? My eyes? If I’d been able to tear away several layers of skin then my eyes would stand no chance.
And come to think of it, where was my skin? The chunks in my arm were pretty sizable, large enough that there should have been some remnant of the flesh that used to be there, a piece of it resting on my bed next to where it had been torn away. But there had been nothing when I checked yesterday, and there was nothing now, just the fresh bloodstains on my sheet.
I needed help, I didn’t know what was happening. A part of me wanted to go to the doctors or to a hospital, to show them my arm and tell them how this was happening each night as I slept. But a bigger part of me knew how I would sound to them. I’d be lucky not to get sectioned. No, I needed to talk to someone, to try and get my head straight.
I couldn’t face the thought of going in to work. I couldn’t think straight as it was, and I couldn’t face the questions from my co-workers. Sure I could bandage my arm again, but it was going to get to the point where the bandages would be clearly visible through my shirt, and that would come with the inevitable, albeit well-meaning, interrogations.
As soon as I finished on the phone with my boss, I called my best friend, James. I needed to talk to someone and James was the only person I could think of who wouldn’t look at me like I was going insane. Dialling his number, I held the phone to my ear, hoping against hope that he would answer. I needed to speak to someone, I felt so vulnerable in my home, so unsafe. After a few, agonising rings, he picked up, greeting me in his usual, loud, jovial fashion. His demeanour soon dropped to one of concern as he picked up on my desperate, terrified tones.
After frantically trying to explain what was happening, I could tell from the way he responded that James didn’t understand what I was talking about. He could tell that I was panicked though, and said he would come over after he finished work later on that day. It couldn’t come fast enough for me.
Sure enough, gone 5 pm the doorbell rang and James stood on the other side. I invited him in, trying not to look too panicked. I didn’t want to worry him any more than I already had. Once he was sitting comfortably on my two-seater sofa, I began to slowly explain what had happened. The marks on my arm, the fact that each morning there seemed to be more and more and I couldn’t figure out why.
He looked at me sceptically at first, assuming that this was some kind of prank, that I was trying to set him up. I could tell from the look on his face though that he was concerned as his eyes quickly darted towards my bandaged arm before flicking back to mine. I could tell he needed more proof so, very carefully, I slowly peeled back the bandages. They had stuck in places where the gashes had leaked, the dried blood adhering the bandages to my skin.
Peeling them away, James’s face dropped as I presented my arm to him. He winced as he leaned in closer, the colour draining from his face as he watched my muscles slowly moving in the open air, exposed to the elements.
They look kinda like scratches. That’s all James could say as he forced his gaze away from my torn flesh. Confused, I asked him what he meant. He proceeded to reach out, spreading his fingers and hovering them over each of the gashes. I’d never noticed before, but with his fingers hovering just inches above my arm, it was clear that the uniform pattern of the wounds followed the pattern of splayed fingers. James made a clawing motion to further iterate his point, making me feel sick to my stomach.
A chilling thought crosses my mind. What if someone was doing this to me, waiting for me to sleep and then cutting my arm or something? Some kind of psycho with blades on their fingers? I know it sounds crazy, straight out of some cheesy 80s horror movie, but then so does the idea of several identical wounds appearing overnight.
No, I was going crazy, there was no way things like that existed. My panicked mind was just jumping to conclusions based on random coincidences. There had to be a rational explanation for this, there was no way these were actually scratches, they just happened to fit the pattern. James laughed to himself at how absurd his suggestion was. I laughed too, although I couldn't quite suppress the nervous quaver in my voice as the thought of someone doing this to me lurked in the back of my mind.
James stayed with me for another few hours after that, trying his best to figure out what was happening to me. He suggested perhaps speaking to the doctors, or at the very least getting them to check out the wounds, to make sure they weren't going to become septic. I shot that idea down with the well-rehearsed argument I’d had in my own head earlier that morning. What we needed to figure out, what I really needed to know, was how this kept on happening.
After throwing suggestions back and forth it felt like we were both no closer to having any answers, both coming up blank before he ultimately had to go home. He needed to get himself ready for work tomorrow and see his kids before they went to bed. As much as I didn’t want him to leave, I didn’t want to be on my own, I knew there was nothing I could do to make him stay. I watched helplessly as he waved from the other side of the door, reassuring me that everything would be ok, that we’d figure it out, before closing it behind him and leaving me alone in my house.
That thought from earlier wiggled its way to the front of my mind again. What if someone was doing this? After all, now that James had pointed it out, the marks did look deliberate, almost man-made. What if it wasn’t a coincidence? My mind worked overtime as I started to pull together an idea. This kept happening while I was asleep so I had no way of seeing what was actually going on. If I could just see myself while I was sleeping, then maybe I could finally understand what was happening.
Going into my room, I glanced around before my gaze settled on my bedside table. If I were to lean my phone against my lamp, it would be angled perfectly to catch my right side as I slept. I’d be able to see my arm all night, then I could watch it back in the morning and see exactly what I’d done.
For the first time in the last couple of days, excitement welled up in me as I solidified the idea in my head. This was going to work. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. This whole ordeal was nearly over. I was probably just catching my arm on something and now I’d finally see what.
Although the idea of sleeping instilled a slight sense of dread in me, knowing that there would likely be more nauseating gashes on my arm in the morning, it still did nothing to dampen the anticipation of finally finding out what was going on.
I went about my evening almost excited about going to bed, watching TV until I was sufficiently tired that I felt I could sleep. Following the same routine as the previous nights, I washed my slashed arm thoroughly before cleaning my teeth and changing into my pyjamas, then clambering into bed. Setting my phone in its position I turned off the lamp and, in the darkness of my bedroom, I sank into a soft slumber.
The blaring sound of the alarm clock roused me from sleep again as I forced myself up into a sitting position, slowly remembering the events of last night. I glanced down at my right arm and shuddered.
Sure enough, there were four fresh gouges, the sheet where my arm was resting now stained again with dried blood. I winced as I stared at the raw, exposed sinew. They were further up my arm now, slowly climbing towards my bicep. Although they glared at me, inflamed and aggressive-looking, there was still no pain. I felt sick just looking at them, they were a grotesque tapestry of fleshy crevasses, with scarlet mountains descending to bare tendons and muscles beneath.
Trying my best to ignore the bile slowly rising in my throat, and suppressing the terrified thoughts that threatened to overtake me, I saw my phone sitting there on the bedside table still recording, just as I’d left it. Snatching it from the nightstand, I stopped the recording, eager to watch through the playback to finally put an end to all of this.
As I sat there, skimming through the video, my heartbeat fluttered in anticipation. I was about to finally find out just what the hell was happening. Scouring the first few hours of the footage, there was nothing, just me, lying there asleep, hardly moving. It was strange seeing myself like that, so still and peaceful. Still, it didn’t dampen my excitement, it just meant that whatever was happening had happened later into the night. However, as the hours of footage ticked by at quadruple speed and the screen remained almost still, only my occasional stirrings giving any indication that the video was still running, I couldn’t help the feeling of hopelessness that slowly started seeping its way back in.
Sudden movement from the screen caught me off guard and, much to my dismay, I saw myself slowly propping myself up in bed as the distorted sound of the alarm clock rang out through the speakers. The footage continued as I reached out for the screen before it came to an abrupt end.
The soft sting of tears burned in my eyes as I sat there on my bed, defeated. I tried to make sense of what I’d seen on the camera. There was nothing, nothing at all. I’d woken up with four of these god-awful wounds but there was still no explanation. As far as I could tell from the video I’d hardly even moved in my sleep, maybe shifted positions once or twice but nothing that would have resulted in this. And there was nothing else, no crazy person cutting away at my arm. So how the hell had I ended up with even more wounds?
Another panicked thought flashed through my mind. Was I seeing things? Were the wounds even there? Mindlessly, my hand slid across my raw arm, my fingers skimming along the smooth, soft skin before it gave way to the spongy tissue below. Again the pressure was the only indication they were there at all. Were the sensations just in my head maybe? My mind somehow tricking me into seeing and feeling these things, even tricking me into seeing the blood on the bed? That would explain why there was no pain.
No. No, it couldn’t all be in my head. James had seen them when he’d come over yesterday. He’d commented on them, held his hand over them. He knew they were there so they had to be real. But then if that was the case, if they were real, they were somehow appearing on my arm with no explanation. I’d have almost preferred it if they had been a figment of my imagination, at least I could explain that.
The flood of panicked thoughts overtook me, almost suffocating me with their intensity. I felt trapped, lost, alone. I called in sick to work again, hardly registering the notes of sympathy in my boss's voice as he expressed his concern. I couldn’t think straight. I needed to get out of there. It felt like the walls were slowly closing in on me, like they were waiting for me to turn my back on them so they could take another chunk out of me.
After quickly washing and bandaging my arm, and then getting dressed, I decided to go for a walk to try and clear my mind. That walk ended up turning into several trips around the town. I found myself coming up with any excuse not to go back to my house. Although I had no idea what was happening to me, every time I’d discover a new gash it had been after I’d slept in the house, and the thought of going back made me feel so completely vulnerable that I couldn't bear it.
I went to the park and sat on the benches, watching the branches of the trees listing in the wind and listening to the trickle of the small stream that snaked its way through it. The beautiful surroundings, normally soothing and tranquil, were all suppressed by the cloud of worry that was eclipsing my senses. What the hell was happening and how could I stop it?
I couldn’t help the terrifying new thought that kept worming its way into my brain. As stupid as it sounded, if there was nothing physical responsible for this, as the video from this morning had proven, then what if there was something incorporeal? The idea of blaming the supernatural felt silly to me, I never much cared for ghost stories or the like, always seeing them as a fun way to scare people and nothing more. But with everything that was happening, I was willing to try just about anything to make sense of it.
After a long day of conflicting thoughts and aimless wandering, the sun began to sink in the sky, casting slowly dimming golden rays across the tarmac of the streets. It was going to be getting dark soon, and as much as the idea of going back to my house filled me with dread, I knew I couldn’t stay out there on the streets.
Reluctantly returning home, I gingerly opened the door, half expecting someone to jump out at me as I entered. The door opened to reveal the darkness of my home, as quiet as ever, no sign of anything moving or having been moved since I left that morning. Still, I couldn’t relax knowing that something here was the cause of these mysterious wounds on my arm, just waiting for me to sleep again.
Glancing down at the bandage, the idea of a supernatural cause floated to the forefront of my mind. I knew it was silly, but I indulged the thought, actively considering that it might be a possibility. Grabbing my laptop and booting it up, I sat there on my sofa for the next few hours searching online for anything that might explain… well… anything.
I scoured page after page of numerous different sites. Some just relayed ghost stories or creepypastas, while others held forums discussing other unexplained phenomena. There was nothing there that could help me though. I almost laughed as I imagined what I would say to myself if I'd seen myself reduced to this a week ago. I'd have probably laughed in my face at how absurd I was being. Still, I needed to be sure.
With each link I clicked, I could feel the hopelessness of my situation bearing down on me. This was futile. I didn’t know what to do. There had to be something, some kind of explanation. Someone had to know what was going on, they just had to.
After hours of fruitless searching, exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, the hours of staring at a bright screen in a slowly darkening room finally taking their toll. I found myself having to re-read line after line of some of the articles, their meaning not seeping in at all through the haze of fatigue. I lasted about another half an hour before my eyelids drooped one final time, staying firmly shut as I succumbed to exhaustion, falling asleep right there on the sofa.
I slept terribly that night, being more accustomed to the soft mattress of my bed, rather than the firm cushions of the sofa. When I finally opened my eyes it was still dark, the moonlight seeped in from the cracks in the curtains, and the screen of my laptop had long since darkened. I had no idea how long I'd been laying there for. I tried to stand, to stumble into my bedroom and collapse on my bed, but my legs remained still and unmoving. Struggling through the fog of sleep, I tried to raise my leg again, but it ignored my commands.
Panic set in slightly as I tried to at least sit up, but again my body ignored me. Frantically trying with all my might, nothing happened, my body lay as still as the dead. My eyes grew wide as I realised what was happening, I was paralysed on the sofa. I couldn’t tell if this was a dream or if I was awake. All I knew was that I wanted this to stop, why was my body not listening to me? Was this sleep paralysis? I’d never experienced it before but I’d heard the stories people told and they all sounded awful.
The thoughts whirled around in my head as I stared at the ceiling. A subtle movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention and my blood ran cold. I flicked my eyes up towards its source, terrified that there could be something in the room with me while I was trapped here like this, but it was hiding in the darkness just beyond my eyeline.
Then there it was again, that same, frantic, almost scuttling movement. I swear it got closer this time, like whatever was responsible was crouched just behind my head, next to the arm of the sofa. My scalp tightened as I imagined someone squatting down next to me, ready to do god knows what while all I could do was lie here trapped. I scrunched my eyes shut, willing this to stop, for my body to just respond to me.
Another scraping sound crept through the darkness. It was closer this time, my eyes snapping open again instantly. A broken moan was all that seemed to escape my lips as I tried my hardest to scream. Hands! A pair of greying, skeletal hands were floating above my eyes. Their emaciated, knotted fingers seemed to stretch over me as I lay there, unable to move. All I could do was watch in horror as they slithered their way over my torso, coming from somewhere just behind me.
This couldn’t be happening, there’s no way this was real. This had to be that sleep paralysis demon that everyone talked about, this all had to be in my head. Try as I might to cling to that thought, it did nothing to make me feel any better as I watched those frail hands slowly working their way towards the bandages covering my arm.
With a gentle, graceful motion, they slowly undid the knot tying the bandage and I felt it slipping away. It took me a second to register it, but as soon as I did I let out another stifled scream. I felt it! If this was all in my head then how had the bandages fallen away? This was real, it had to be. The same wheezing exhales escaped my lips as I strained to try and turn around. I needed to get away, as far away as I could from whatever was behind me. A soft shushing sound filled my ear, so close that I could feel the breath of whatever spoke it. I froze, a fresh wave of terror washing over me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I tried to look up, terrified as to what I would see, but my head still refused to move. All I could do was watch, petrified, as one of the long, broken fingernails of those spindly fingers reached out. It hovered above my arm as though waiting for something, completely still for several seconds, before the jagged edge plunged deep into my skin. I winced as it sawed its way through layer after layer of skin, embedding itself further into my flesh. I gritted my teeth in preparation for the jolt of searing pain I knew was sure to come. But it didn’t.
Slowly, it pulled back and lifted, ripping up a tattered strip of my bloodied skin. I watched in disgust as it flapped there, dangling from the jagged fingernail like a fleshy plaster, still attached to the rest of my arm. With the same graceful precision as it had used to undo the bandage, the other hand slowly moved in, slicing away at the skin with a sawing motion of its cracked thumbnail until the ribbon of flesh was freed.
Lifting their gruesome prize free, the hands began to retract. As they slowly retreated above my face, the dangling flesh clinging to the cracked nails, I stared in horror, unable to take my eyes off the piece of me that had just been carved away. I could make out my hair clearly, each individual strand reflecting the moonlight. The fat and remnants of connective tissue that sat beneath it made me feel nauseous as it dangled inches above my face. I tried to scream again, hot tears beginning to work their way down my cheeks as the hand steadily dragged the strip of flesh out of my eye line and back towards whatever it was that was sitting behind me, all the while softly shushing me with its unnatural voice.
I just wanted this to stop. I couldn’t understand what was happening. I kept telling myself that this wasn’t real. Although I knew better, I could see it happening right in front of me, all I could think was that this had to be a figment of my imagination. It had to be. I was going mad. Because if this was real, then it meant that there was some ungodly creature sitting inches away from me stealing pieces of my skin as I watched on, helpless. What did it want, why was it doing this to me? No, this had to be in my head, a result of the sleep paralysis.
Movement caught my eye again as the hands reappeared, slowly snaking their way back across my torso towards my arm again. The strip of bloodied skin was no longer dangling from the wretched nails, but the index finger of one of the hands was dyed a deep crimson. I watched in horror, unable to move, unable to scream as this scene played out again and again, the fingers peeling away strip after strip of my flesh.
Each time I could clearly see the nail plunging into my arm, slowly tearing away a ribbon of skin before the other moved in, ripping it from me and snatching it away. Still glistening with blood as it was lifted above my head, a small trail of had formed along the path the hands took, some of the still-warm droplets falling onto my face. I could feel the heat of the blood, smell the metallic iron that made my stomach churn, but all I could do was stare up, terrified as it ran down my face and pooled with my steadily flowing tears.
After the fifth time this happened, the hands retreated beyond my eyeline. I waited, unmoving as my heartbeat pounded in my ears, expecting the hands to reappear at any second to steal another chunk of my flesh. I could hear sounds from behind me, shuffling and scraping combined with a strange wet squelching, getting further away as whatever that… thing… was must have retreated back into the darkness, leaving me alone, motionless on the sofa.
I lay there for I don’t know how long. A few minutes? A few hours? I wasn't sure. I couldn’t shake the image of those grotesque hands, flashes of them digging and tearing at my flesh replaying over and over in my head. The room was deathly silent now. Any sound, no matter how small or inconspicuous, set me on edge as I lay staring at the ceiling. I expected that thing to return at any moment, not satisfied with what it had already taken, ready to reach out those decrepit fingers and steal yet more of my skin.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my limbs started responding to me again. Shakily, forcing myself up, I pulled my right arm towards me and inspected the five new gauges. Nausea washed over me as I stared in horror. They were there, plain as day, glaring at me next to the others. My arm now resembled something you might find in a butcher shop, with several spots of raw meat clearly visible from the deep pits of missing skin.
It was real! That thing! It was real and it was taking my skin. I didn’t know what it was or why it was doing this to me, but it must have been taking slivers of my skin for the past several nights while I slept. I frantically scanned the room, expecting to find whatever that thing was lurking in the shadows, ready to leap out and finish the job now that I was aware of it. I needed to get out of there. I didn’t know where that thing had gone or if it was just biding its time, waiting for me to fall asleep again for another opportunity to steal more of my flesh.
Without a second thought, I snatched up my keys and ran for the front door. Charging across the drive to my car, I flung the door open and fumbled the keys in the ignition, not even bothering to reach for my seatbelt. The car roared to life and I slammed my foot down on the accelerator, racing out of my driveway and onto the main road. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere but here. I had no idea what time it was, it was still dark so I assumed it must have been late, but I didn’t care. I found James’s number in my phone and rang it.
After several seconds he answered, his voice groggy from being dragged out of what I can only assume was a pleasant slumber. I don’t think he quite understood what I was saying as he fought off the clutches of sleep, but he could tell from my distraught mumblings between the sobs racking my chest that I was clearly distressed.
When I arrived at his house a few minutes later, I was a wreck. The adrenaline that had obviously been coursing through my system, triggering my sudden flight, had begun to dissipate leaving me shaking and exhausted. James opened the door in his dressing gown, a perplexed look across his slack face. I felt a slight pang of guilt as I saw the bags under his eyes, but I needed to talk to someone.
I explained everything, showing him the fresh gashes on my arm where those god-forsaken fingers had ripped away the skin. He looked at me horrified as I relayed the story of how I’d been trapped there, forced to watch as they they tore away strip after strip. I could tell he was worried about me, thinking that perhaps I’d mentally cracked. I can’t blame him, nothing about this made any semblance of sense. He offered for me to stay with him for a while and I couldn’t thank him enough.
My relief was shortlived though, as the following day more gashes appeared along my arm. Although I was staying at James’s house, that thing must have followed me somehow. Somehow it knew where to find me. That was three weeks ago, and it’s only getting worse. It's already taken all of the skin from my right arm now and it’s moving onto my left.
I don’t know what to do. It keeps working its way along, taking small patches at a time. Every day it takes more than the last. No one knows what it is or what it wants. I can’t find anything online that helps. The cuts still don’t hurt but I’m terrified. It’s only a matter of time before I get an infection or something worse. But there's something else too, another thought that keeps me up at night.
All I can think about is…what happens when there's no more skin left?

Hallo, ich habe noch einen Monat für meine Psycho BA und habe extrem Angst wegen der Stichprobe durchzufallen.
Vorgeschichte: Mein Prof hat darauf bestanden alle bei ihm müssen einen Längsschnitt. In seinem Forschungsbereich darf man aber leider nur Arbeitnehmer in Vollzeit erheben, was VP-Stunden als Anreiz nichtig macht. Zudem wurde mir verboten einen finanziellen Anreiz zu versprechen und mein Netzwerk ist lachhaft klein. Ich sitze nur hier mit einer post drop out Stichprobe von knapp 20 Leuten. Damit kann ich wenig anfangen und habe extreme Angst durchzufallen, da dies das Ende für mich bedeuten würde.
Gibt es Leute hier, die auch schon Erfahrungen mit kleinen BA Stichproben gemacht haben? Wie extrem wirkt sich das auf die Note aus?

this is a phenomenal episode. is this widely regarded as such? i don't see it on any "best episode" lists. but i think it's fantastic. i'm on my third run through of the series at the moment, and it stands out to me as the best of season 1 at the very least.
just a few highlights:
chris's "ever had ow-er sausages?" dream
tony, worried about the feds, handing carmela a shotgun and asking for her jewelry
AJ's feeble attempt to kill a fly
chris has a meltdown at the bakery (vito is there, but he's not vito!?)
chris and paulie have the "i got no arc" conversation.
melfi's ex-husband sums up the entire series in one masterful piece of dialogue:
the man's a criminal, jennifer... and after a while, finally - you're going to get beyond psycho therapy, with its cheesy moral relativism - finally, you're going to get to good and evil... and he's evil.
tony smokes a cigarette backwards after chris unknowlingly calls him a "mental midget"
FBI raid on tony's house (the grasso incident)
the dinner scene where tony lists the accomplishments of italians - "it was antonio meucci!"
melfi shakes tony down for his missed appointment - "but you weren't..." / "motherfuckin' cocksuckin' money."
livia tells junior that tony is in therapy, which really gets the ball rolling on whatever happened there.
quite possibly the best end credit sequence/song in the entire series. definitely one of my favorites. chris looking for his name in the paper while Cake's "Frank Sinatra" plays.
it's a perfect sopranos episode. i've said my piece.

Servus miteinander
Ich versuche die Situation möglichst neutral darzustellen. Ich lebe mit jemandem aus meinem Semester zusammen, Ende Juli sind unsere Abschlussprüfungen. Jetzt zum Problem: Er möchte direkt bis 30.7. ausziehen weil er eh so nah am Wohnort Familie hat dass sich das laut ihm alles mit Auszug ausgeht. Letzte Prüfung ist am 27.7. Das Problem ist zum Einen habe ich es etwas stressiger weil ich noch keine neue Bleibe habe und ich deshalb selbst wenn 3 Tage zu knapp bemessen halte für den kompletten Umzug wenn man vorher wirklich nichts dafür machen kann. Zum anderen ist er Dauerkiffer und recht antriebslos (sein Bett habe ich damals zusammengebaut weil er mir leid tat - dieses müsste er halt jetzt auch abbauen und Sachen vom Vermieter die vorher drin standen auch wieder aufbauen). Ich traue es ihm zu dass das am Schluss an mir hängen bleibt und da sehe ich die doppelte Miete nicht mehr ein. Finanziell sollte es sich dank Unterstützung meiner Eltern ausgehen aber 400€ zusätzlich tun auch weh.
Seit neuestem kommt es auch öfter zu Streit weil mein MB sich oftmals aufgrund fehlender Sauberkeit beschwert (beispielsweise Glas nicht im Geschirrspüler wenn dieser voll war bei Abfahrt oder Glas steht am Couchtisch). Gleichzeitig raucht er trotz meines Asthmas teils in der Wohnung und ist auch kein sauberer Mensch und hat vor kurzem nach einem Streit zb extra nach dem Schei*en nicht gespült um mich zu provozieren. Eigentlich waren wir sehr gut befreundet aber dieser durchgehende Streit ist der Freundschaft natürlich nicht zuträglich.
Wir haben noch eine Woche um unsere Wohnsituation durchzusprechen (haben danach ein Praktikum) aber ich merke wie mein MB keinen Finger rührt - soll ich es einfach laufen lassen und schauen was passiert, mich darum kümmern dass er früher aus der Wohnung kommt und die Miete alleine stemmen oder sogar den Vermieter als Vermittler einschalten? Ich habe auch etwas Angst um meine Kaution und befürchte Psycho Terror wenn es nicht nach seiner Meinung geht. Was würdet ihr tun? Falls ich etwas vergessen habe oder etwas Zusammenhang fehlt schreibe ich es hier oben dazu.

Habe stress mit meinem (noch) Vermieter, der macht psycho terror und versucht mich immer klein zu machen. Jetzt ende des monats ist schlüssel übergabe. Ich will aber nicht mehr unter vier Augen den Typen sehen. Der stand mal um 23 uhr vor meiner tür und hat mich angeschrien und zur sau gemacht weil ich alles nur noch schriftlich haben wollte. Dann stand er immer unangemeldet in meiner Wohnung. Kann ich bei schlüsselabgabe mit 4 freunden auftreten wegen beweise? Er dreht sich nämlich alles immer so hin wie es für Ihn passt. Sei es das ich Monatelang hinter ihm her gelaufen bin wegen eines Wasserschadens.. wo er mir jetzt vorwirft ich sei Schuld und hätte mich nicht gemeldet, dabei hab ixh beweise ohne ende..

The name on the sign was Haunted Street. I had always thought that was strange but I wrote it off as a joke some developer had played back when the homes were first built. I'd known about the place all my life because that's the road my grandmother lived on but we'd never spent the night so I never really got a chance to put the name to the test.
It was spring break and I was out of school for a week so my parents decided that would be a great time to visit. I was in the ninth grade at the time and didn't have much else going on so I was fine with it. It'd be nice to see old Grandma Gable again. Last time she saw me I was half my height and age.
She lived alone in that old house. I felt kinda sorry for her but she had a bridge club she went to and kept herself busy with charity work. She was getting really old and we were starting to worry about her. My folks even toyed with the idea of moving in with her so if there was an emergency, we'd be there to call for an ambulance.
We arrived on a Monday night in a rainstorm. The road was bumpy and in disrepair so my mom kept hitting potholes causing the car to bounce up and down. Water blurred the view out the windows while blue flashes from the sky sent blinding shock-waves through the car. The thunder was deep and rolling. The mood in the car was odd and apprehensive as we rounded the corner and the headlights illuminated the street sign. Haunted Street. It felt like we were starting a cheesy B Horror flick, only myself, my mom, and dad were the main characters.
The house came into view through the downpour, its dim glow fading in through the storm. It was an old Victorian thing with three floors, a basement, and an attic. The attic was small and rose above the roof like a little tower on top. It had a large round window with lots of ornate designs. The windows on the lower floors were all lit a dim red from fabric curtains. Its appearance was reminiscent of the Bates house in Psycho. The developers must have had a strange sense of humor when they built this neighborhood.
We got out and ran through the rain to her front door. She had a small foyer so we just walked in as my mom called out for her. She came around and gave us all hugs and the usual. She sat us down in the living room and got us all dry towels and hot tea she had made.
The interior had high ceilings and lots of bare wood. There were rugs on the floors and a creaky stairwell at the back of the living room. All the furniture was antique and ornate like everything from the old world. There was a small graveyard out back where Grandma had buried all of her various pets over the years. She even had little headstones made for them with their names on them. It was sweet and sad at the same time.
Gable was a strange old woman who had lived a mysterious and bizarre life for her time. She had traveled with a carnival as a fortune teller, managed a Wax Museum in Salem, and finally settled down with my grandfather who had been a semi-famous spiritualist in the 1940's.
Grandma Gable loved to get out her scrapbook and go through her photos with us and tell us all about the old days. It bored my father but I enjoyed looking at the faded and aged black and white photos of people I didn't know, most of whom had long since passed. We moved to the dining room table where she was going to give us the standard family history lesson.
The display of old photographs spread across the table told the story of her travels with images of unusual and strange people. The bearded lady, a carnival barker, a lion tamer, and others sat contrasted by images of wax figures of the Queen and other notable historical figures. There were photos of Gable with her crystal ball and of grandpa holding a seance. The figures in the pictures were all fascinating characters but there was something off and disquieting about them that I couldn't put my finger on.
As I sipped my Earl Grey tea she told us we'd be having guests for the week. She was excited for me to meet some of her old friends. My mother looked confused and asked her who was coming but Gable just smiled and told her it'll be a nice surprise.
After the storm let up, we got our luggage out of the car and put them into the rooms we'd be sleeping in. My parents were going to take the room down the hall from Grandma on the ground floor, and I was given my pick of anywhere else in the house. For some reason I thought the third floor would be fun, up away from the others with a view out the window that looked over the front yard and street below.
The wooden stairs creaked and groaned as I ascended. I wondered how long it'd been since the wood had endured the weight of a human body. At Gable's age it was unlikely she'd ventured up them in some time.
The second floor was dark and quiet. I peered down the hallway at the row of doors. A sense of some presence there arose within me, followed by a chill and mild fear. I wanted to go check to make sure the rooms were empty but my apprehension held me back in an uncomfortable way so I continued up to the third floor were I'd decided to spend the night.
I chose a room to the front left side of the house if you were looking at it from the street. There was a bathroom that adjoined the rear left side room and two more rooms across the hall which also shared a bathroom. At the back of the hallway was an iron spiral staircase that led to the attic. Both floors had deep red plush carpeting and framed black and white photos of people hanging on the walls. Some of them I recognized from the photos Gable had shown us. The hallway was lit by a small chandelier and the bedroom used a few Tiffany style lamps.
The wood beneath the carpet creaked and bowed as I walked across it making me wonder if choosing the third floor on such an old house had been a mistake. I tested the bed and it seemed solid and secure on the floor. I decided I probably wouldn't fall through if I sat on it, took the risk, and found to my relief that it was safe. It was late and so I climbed under the covers and drifted off to sleep.
I woke sometime in the night to the sound of raindrops bluntly tapping on the window glass. I could reach the curtains without getting up and so I pulled them back and watched the watery spectacle backlit from the streetlight below. The light rain was calming with its muffled tones and distant thunder. I was cozy under the covers and glad to be out of the wet, chilly, night air.
I glanced towards the back wall in the room and watched the shadow of the water on the window draining downward interrupted by light splashes of new raindrop strikes against the glass. It painted the wall with a dreary display that seemed like a psychedelic movie without the vivid colors. As if watched on an old black and white TV.
There in this display of light and shadow, the moving fluid lines made images when combined with the ornate pattern of the wallpaper. I could see faces there. Long and twisted. Morphing. Laughing maniacally. Staring right at me from the wall as if the shadows somehow were aware of my presence.
I knew it was mere illusion. A coincidence of patterns on the wall and moving shadows of the rain on the window. But it was unnerving just the same. The faces moved as the water flowed causing a menacing animation. But why only faces? Shouldn't the shadows take on a variety of formations?
Then I saw it. One of these faces looked like a man I'd seen in Grandma Gable's photo collection. He had a thin mustache and deep set eyes with short, slicked back, dark hair, parted to one side. He seemed to display an evil grin when i recognized him as if he were reading my mind.
Just out of a perverse curiosity I thought to myself that if he really were reading my mind somehow, I asked him to nod. Just then some wind kicked up and several gusts of blew the running water on the window up and down causing the shadow to nod and laugh.
This freaked me out so much I sat up in bed, turned on the light, and closed the curtain. For a few minutes I just sat there still. I breathed deep and listened. The house was quiet. I looked around the room at everything. I was alone. Nothing seemed odd about the room at all.
I convinced myself that it had just been a strange coincidence. It had to have been. I went back to sleep, this time I left the light on.
The next morning my mom rapped on the door. I called out and she said breakfast would be ready in a few minutes. I sat up and opened the curtain. The sun wasn't fully up yet and the sky was a deep medium blue. There were a few birds chirping in the distance somewhere. Things seemed normal.
I walked over to the bathroom door and opened it hoping the plumbing was in adequate condition for a shower. I stopped, dumbfounded. There was a man in trousers and a sleeveless t-shirt, leaned over gazing at himself in the mirror whilst shaving his face. He did not turn to look at me as if he hadn't noticed the door opening.
I thought it must have been one of Gable's friends she had said were coming over. The fact that he was shaving implied he had spent the night, or been driving all night. I decided not to startle him lest he cut himself in the moment so I gently closed the door.
I wasn't sure if there might be other guests in the other rooms, so I just made myself as presentable as I could and headed down for breakfast instead of taking the risk of disturbing them to use one of the other showers.
Halfway through breakfast the man still hadn't come down. I asked Gable about him but she said no other guests had arrived yet. The four of us were the only ones in the house she said. I thought she was trying to be spooky and play a little joke so I let it go.
After eating I went back upstairs to check. I knocked on the door to the bathroom and called out to the man. There was no answer so I opened the door. The room was dark and empty. I turned on the light. The sink and bathtub were bone dry. The whole room was as if no one had been in there for quite a while. I had seen moisture on the mirror earlier but there was no sign of it at all. In fact, the mirror was dusty.
The door that led into the other bedroom was slightly ajar. There didn't seem to be any light on in there. I knocked on it and again called out to the man in case I was just losing it. I said out loud that I was opening the door then slowly pulled the door open revealing a dark and empty room. The bed was made. There were no bags or luggage to be seen. No sign of the man at all.
I checked the other two rooms on the third floor as well and they were both empty. I wasn't ready to believe in the disappearing man just yet but I was creeped out enough to use the shower on the ground floor where my family was nearby.
I decided to check the rest of the house out after lunch. I asked Gable if any of her expected guests had shown up while I was in the shower. I didn't want to walk in on anyone who may have occupied a room during that time, however brief. She said they hadn't.
I quickly checked all the rooms on the ground floor. My parents room had my father in it. My mom was coming out of the ground floor bathroom as I passed. I glanced inside Gable's room. No one was in there. I searched the whole floor including the kitchen. I even checked all the closets. No one else was on the ground floor other than my parents and my grandma.
The second floor was still dark and foreboding. I slowly walked along the hallway there eyeing each picture on the wall as I passed. At the far end of the hallway were four empty frames up on the wall. Two on each side of the hallway.
The bedrooms were laid out the same way as on the third floor with two sets of rooms on either side of the hallway connected by a shared bathroom. None of them had anyone inside.
I was sure the man must be hiding in the attic. He must have been a squatter, living there without Grandma Gable's knowledge or permission. She never went upstairs anymore, I thought, she couldn't climb the stairs at her age. That has to be it. He's a squatter.
I ascended the spiral staircase cautiously, and slowly entered the attic. The only light up there was coming from the round window. It dimly lit the room but failed to illuminate the dark edges on either side.
And in those spaces was clutter. Boxes and papers. I could see the edges in dim black and shades of grey. There was enough room for a body to be lying in the dark there. I scanned the blackness with eyes wide open and straining to see. I tried the overhead light but it did not turn on.
I took a step closer and noticed a box full of crumpled paper. In the gloomy light I thought I could make out something there. I couldn't tell if it was more clutter in the box or some fingers sticking up. Whatever they were, they were solidly still.
I took another step towards it to make sure. Just more clutter, I thought. Then it lifted up and rotated over as if it were a hand connected to an arm somewhere in the black.
My heart felt a punch and I flailed backwards reeling in terror. I stumbled down the stair calling out for my father.
Within ten minutes we were both back up there with a flashlight and a baseball bat. No one was there. I found the box and all it had inside it was some packing paper and party streamers. My father told me I was freaking myself out and that I should take a bedroom on the ground floor with the rest of the family.
He re-searched the entire house with me to set my mind at ease. When we were both satisfied that no one was there, I packed my belongings and moved into the room closest to the stairwell on the ground floor. Just up the halfway from my parents and Gable.
I felt both confused and embarrassed. I knew I'd seen these things.
At dinner my grandma told me she had a surprise for me. She wasn't going to tell me but in light of my needing a bit of cheering up, she said, she decided to break the news early. She'd left me the house in her will. I'd almost thought it was a joke.
After we ate I went out back to sneak in a cigarette in Gable's pet cemetery. The air was cool as the sun glowed through the cloud cover on the horizon. The little gravestones looked lonely and for a moment I wished I'd spent more time with Grandma over the years so I'd have some fond memories of the little creatures.
One stone had a depiction on it of the doggy that I'd presumed was buried there. Little white thing with black spots and one big black spot around his right eye. Just then I heard a scratching on the rear door of the house. I looked up and there was that very dog. He tilted his head to one side as he looked at me. Then he turned around and seemed to disappear into a crack in the wood. It was as if he stepped into it. The crack was no wider than a few centimeters yet the dog slipped into it with ease.
At this point I was convinced I was having full blown hallucinations. I went back inside to talk to my father about it but Gable said they'd gone to bed early. That sounded like a good idea to me so I told her I wasn't feeling well and I was going to do the same.
I woke again in the middle of the night to the sound of someone coming down the stairs pounding their feet on each step. I thought maybe Grandma was falling or something, so I quickly went out to the foot of the stairwell where I saw nothing. No one else got up. I found it hard to believe they hadn't heard it.
I stood there for a minute and listened but the sound did not return. I stared up the stairwell and found myself afraid to climb it. I knew I should check to see if Grandma had gone up there and needed help but I was reluctant to do it.
Eventually, I forced myself to go up after retrieving the flashlight my father had used earlier. It shone a circle of light on the steps as I ascended. On the second floor I had the impulse to look at the pictures again. When I got to the empty frames at the end of the hall I found to my horror that two of them now had pictures in them. One was a black and white picture of my father and the other was of my mother.
Things were getting too weird for me. I went back to bed determined to tell my parents that I wanted to go home the next day.
Morning came and at breakfast Gable sat at the table alone. She said my parents were sleeping in. Going to bed early was out of character for them but sleeping in was just plain a lie. I didn't know what was going on but I was going to find out. I ran to their room and opened the door. They were not there.
I ran back to scold Grandma and demand answers but she was no longer at the kitchen table. I scoured the house searching but all three of them were gone. However, on the second floor another blank frame now had a photo in it. Just like the others it was a black and white picture which looked like it had been taken in the years prior to World War II. It was a picture of Gable. I looked at the last empty frame on the wall and I knew it was meant for me.

(a) Ja, also erst einmal vorweg: Natürlich hat es unser Planet (und alle, die darauf leben) verdient, dass wir uns mehr für ihn einsetzen. In diesem Fall wäre mehr ausnahmsweise immer besser. Mehr von? - - - -Ich verzichte. Manchmal denke ich auch einen extra Gedanken oder in Diskussionen nehme ich die Position von Umweltschutz ein.
2000 Wörter; Inhalt: (a)Disclaimer (b)Community (c)Sorgen (d)Persönliches-Aha (e)Verzichte (f)Extra-Gedanken-denken (g)External-Content (h)Umweltschädliches-Verhalten (i)Abschließende-Gedanken (j)Quellen; TL;DR.
(b) Warum ich hier poste: Ich mag die Community und scheue mich ein solches touchy subject in einem anderen deutschen Forum aufzumachen. Ich möchte von meiner Erfahrung mit Nachhaltigkeit und Umweltbewusstsein erzählen. Ich freue mich von Euch zu hören, was Euch gar nicht so schwerfällt. Ich finde, hier wird konstruktiv unterstützt und geholfen und bei diesem Thema ist wirklich jede Hilfe essenziell wichtig.
(c) Was mich aufregt und mir Sorge macht: Menschen, die jetzt direkt Verbote hören. Verbote sind doch Teil unserer Kultur. Wir haben auch Körperverletzung "verboten", weil wir halt bio-psycho-soziale Gesundheit wichtiger finden, als das Recht jemanden verletzen zu dürfen. Wenn wir weiter so konsumieren, verschwenden und denken, wie seit der Industrialisierung, dann wird das noch eine heiße Kiste. Menschen hungern, schwitzen und leiden heute und gestern und morgen (aufgrund) unter den Folgen es Klimawandels. [1] Wie, der politische Diskurs sein wird, wenn wir Klimaflüchtlinge bekommen, möchte ich mir gar nicht vorstellen. Wir wissen gesellschaftlich seit den 70er Jahren, welchen Weg wir beschreiten. [2] Das 1,5 Grad Ziel gibt es als solches nicht mehr. [3]
Ich möchte sagen: Der Konsum dieser Menschheit, mein Konsum, geht zulasten bestimmter gesellschaftlicher Gruppen. Damit gibt es eine kollektive (gesellschaftliche (politisch (wirtschaftliche))) Verantwortung, ja. Aber mein individuelles Verhalten trägt zur Realisierung dieser Verantwortung bei. Es macht eben doch auch einen Unterschied. Wir kommen um ein Umdenken und -handeln nicht drumherum.
(d) Mein Erlebnis mit Banane und Joghurt: Einer meiner Eye-Opener-Momente, war der folgende. Ganz normale Woche: Ich wache auf, mache mit einen Kaffee, mache was für die Uni. Ich kriege Hunger, gehe an den Kühlschrank und entscheide mich für Müsli. Bin stolz auf mich: Ich esse mein Müsli jetzt ohne Banane, die gibt es schließlich nicht regional und anderes Obst schmeckt mir auch. Während ich esse, frage ich mich: Wie viel CO₂ ärmer (ish) und damit "besser" ist mein Müsli denn? Bananen haben 0,6 g/kg (7 Bananen) CO₂ Ausstoß - check! Und der Rest? Joghurt 1,7 g/kg CO₂, das sind 2,5 Becher à 400 g (5 Portionen). Sprich: Ein veganer Joghurt mit Apfel hätte durchschnittlich nur 0,6 g/kg und 0,3 g/kg verursacht. Ich denke mir klasse: Ich verzichte auf Banane, dabei wäre es viel besser auf meinen Joghurt zu verzichten. Und das, obwohl der Joghurt regional produziert ist und nicht mit dem Schiff zu uns transportiert wurde.
(e) Worauf ich verzichte: Ich haben festgestellt - Kosten und Nutzen sind für mich nicht gleich verteilt. Bei manchen Sachen fällt es mir gar nicht schwer zu verzichten.
-> Fleisch. Ich mochte es noch nie, wenn Fleisch zäh ist, oder in Fett schwimmt oder gar auf Fett herumzukauen. Meistens habe ich Fleisch aufgrund von Gelegenheit oder Alternativlosigkeit gegessen. Seit ich selbst koche, kaufe ich einfach keins mehr und habe mit der Zeit gelernt, ohne Fleisch geil zu essen. Klar gibt es bei mir nicht mehr den “Fleisch(Ersatz)-Beilage-Saucen-Teller” und mit etwas Willen kann das auch wirklich jede*r neu lernen!:)
-> Milchprodukte. Auf einer Skala von Umwelt-schlecht sind Tierprodukte einfach wirklich generell schlimm. Butter(!!!) braucht krass viel Milch und ganz oft benutze ich tierische Produkte, ohne, dass ich den "besseren” (gewohnten) Geschmack würdige. Insbesondere in gewürzten Gerichten und Saucen, nutze ich nur noch Ersatzprodukte aus Soja, Hafer, Kokos und pflanzlichem Öl. Auch Joghurt esse ich im Müsli mittlerweile vegan. Selbst einen mir schmackhaften Milchersatz für den Kaffee habe ich gefunden. Einzig auf Käse verzichte ich nicht ganz - genieße ihn, wenn es welchen gibt, dafür aber umso mehr!
// Vegane Highlights. Möchte ich Euch an dieser Stelle nicht vorenthalten. Selbstgemachtes Humus (auf allem, was Brot-artig ist). Hackersatz bei DM (Sojagranulat oder Jackfruit). Asiatisch kochen lernen (war bei mir ein geschmacklicher Gamechanger). Falafeln (Gerne auch im Döner-Äquivalent Eurer Wahl). Aufschnitt von Rügenwalder-Mühle (soll geschmacklich Wurst sein, wer das mag).
-> Kinder. Den krassesten CO₂-Abdruck [4] haben wohl (für dendie Durchschnittsbürgerin) Nachfahren. Ich war mir noch nie so krass sicher Kinder haben zu wollen und der Anblick von Überbevölkerung und Klimawandel haben mich darin bestärkt, nicht Kinder zu bekommen "weil man das halt so macht", weil ich Angst habe im Alter einsam zu sein oder Sinnstiftung brauche. Ich freue mich über Kinder und freue mich auch für Paare, die - mittlerweile oft nach langem Weg - ein Kind bekommen. Nur für mich ist es nichts und der Verzicht kostet mich lang nicht so viel, wie er sicherlich andere kosten würde.
-> Auto. Ich besitze kein Auto. Autos stehen einfach irre viel herum, sind laut, nervig und hässlich in unseren Städten. Klar sind sie auch praktisch und wenn ich die Transporthilfe brauche, miete ich auch eins. Aber meistens gestalte ich meinen Alltag (Einkäufe) etc. einfach so, dass es ohne Auto gut geht. Natürlich lebe ich in einer Stadt und bin "gut" angebunden. Aber auch hier fährt man in ein Industriegebiet schnell mal 45 min, wo das Auto nur 20 min hin bräuchte. Manchmal nervt mich das. Gerüche, Geräusche, Verspätungen stressen mich auch. Aber ... ich brauche kein Auto und manchmal sind die 30min "verantwortungsloses" Pendeln auch ein toller Raum um die Gedanken schweifen zu lassen.
(f) Worauf ich bewusst achte: Bei anderen Dingen, geht es gar nicht um den Verzicht an sich, sondern darum, sich die Mühe zu machen, kurz zu überlegen, Alternativen zu suchen, in ein extra Geschäft zu fahren oder ein bisschen mehr Geld auszugeben. Einige Beispiele, die mich schon begleitet haben.
-> Kann ich Verpackungsmüll vermeiden? Verpackungen nerven mich sehr. Wie oft, sind Dinge 3x verpackt und dann auch noch in Plastik. Wo ich kann, versuche ich das zu vermeiden. Mein Waschmittel (Spül- und Waschmaschine, Shampoo, Seife) gibt es zum Beispiel als PulveStück und mit Papierverpackung (z. B. Klaro & Frosch [5]). Im Supermarkt verzichte ich auf die Tütchen, ich habe immer einen Jute-Beutel dabei. Alles gar kein Ding, sobald es Gewohnheit ist.
-> Kleidung shoppen: In meinem Kleiderschrank gibt es so 20 Items, die ich liebe und wirklich bis in den Tod trage. Ich denke, das geht vielen hier so und diese Items sind nicht das Problem. Ganz im Gegensatz zu den 100 anderen Items, die ich so 2-5 mal trage, bevor ich sie aussortiere. Ich habe mir mittlerweile angewöhnt: Ich kaufe nur noch, worin ich mich wirklich wohlfühle “Marie-Kondō-Prinzip: Macht mich das Item glücklich?”[6] und was, sich in meine 20 Lieblingsitems gut einpasst, Stichwort: “Capsule Wardrobe”.[7] Ich kaufe nur online, wenn ich mir zu 90 % sicher bin, dass das Kleidungsstück passt. Hier gibt es so viele Möglichkeiten: Nutzt Kleider-Tausche, habt JOMO beim Verpassen eines Trends und sucht nach langlebigen Produkten, Stichwort: “build for life (The [BIFL Request] Series)”.
-> Was für nachhaltige Periodenprodukte/ Hygieneprodukte gibt es eigentlich? “In der Regel ohne Müll” :D. Gerade für Frauen gibt es hier tolle Produkte, die es sich lohnt auszuprobieren. Das Thema schaut man sich einmal im Leben intensiver an, schaut ein paar Videos, liest Rezensionen und kauft, was zu einem passt, done. Gleiches gilt z. B. auch für den Rasierhobel (z. B. von Mühle [8]).
(g) Was mich inspiriert hat: Es gibt wirklich tolle Videos z. B. von Dr. Mark Beneck [9], die auf den Zustand unseres Planeten aufmerksam machen, dabei helfen wissenschaftliche Updates zu bekommen, den eigenen Konsum zu reflektieren und dann auch anders zu handeln. Ich abonniere solche Kanäle [10] ganz bewusst, weil ich so immer wieder Ideen finde, was ich noch anders machen kann. Wer es gerne etwas unterhaltsamer mag, könnte z. B. Jokos Amazon Mini-Serie schauen [11] oder Böhmermann zu Greenwashing [12]. Ein Teil des Denkens wird mir quasi abgenommen - nett, oder?
(h) Was ich trotzdem mache: Andere Dinge kosten mich persönlich mehr. Ich fliege ab und zu in den Urlaub ans Meer und schlafe auch mal im Hotel. Ich esse gerne Avocados, Spiegelei und Käse. Aber: Ich achte darauf, dass ich den Konsum 1. genieße und schätze und 2., dass er eine Ausnahme und etwas Besonderes bleibt (z. B. ein schönes Wochenende-Frühstück). Und glaubt mir, wer mal 30h mit dem Zug nach Stockholm unterwegs war, der weiß den 2h Flug zu schätzen. ;-) Klar wäre es besser nicht zu fliegen und keinen Käse zu essen, das weiß ich. Aber ich werde nicht eine “Umweltsünde” als Ausrede nehmen, mich gar nicht zu bemühen nachhaltiger zu leben. Kein Fleisch zu essen, hilft diesem Planeten trotzdem.
(i) Was mir wichtig ist: Mich nerven die kapitalistischen Lobeshymnen des stetig wachsenden Markts mit endlosen Ressourcen. Und wann immer mir Menschen in Gesprächen davon erzählen, versuche ich, darauf aufmerksam zu machen, dass das Märchen des Teller-Wäschers für 99,99 % der Menschen das bleiben wird: Ein Märchen. Das Ziel von Nachhaltigkeit ist nicht Reichtum. Das Absurde an Nachhaltigkeit ist: Ich tue mehr, in dem ich weniger tue.
Wir alle haben ein Gewissen und ich finde es wichtig sich diesem zu stellen, sobald man begreift welche Katastrophe da auf uns zukommt. Ich sage: Betrügt Euch nicht selbst, macht die Augen auf und seid Vorbild. Klar ist die persönliche Veränderung zu Nachhaltigkeit und Umweltbewusstsein nur ein Schritt, aber es ist der, den man mit der größten Selbstwirksamkeits-Erfahrung tun könnte.
Ich bin nicht selten überfordert mit der Komplexität unserer Märkte und das ist okay. Wie nachhaltig und umweltfreundlich etwas ist, lässt sich nicht immer auf den ersten Blick und oft nicht ohne einige Recherchen feststellen. Dafür habe ich nicht jeden Tag die Kapazität, aber ich achte darauf, dass ich mir an einigen Tagen dafür Zeit und Kraft nehme. Einige absurde - und ggf. demotivierende - Nachhaltigkeits-Highlights aus den letzten Jahren: Rosen aus Kenia sind umeweltfreundlicher als Rosen aus den Niederlanden. [13] So komplex ist die Milchverarbeitung [14]. Wie viel Geld sich mit gebrauchter Kleidung machen lässt. [15] Deutschlands Subventionierung der Tierwirtschaft. [16] Die Geschichte des Deutschlandtakts. [17] Ich wünsche mir mehr Transparenz in Politik und Industrie, um diesem Chaos zu entkommen!
Und trotz allem: Ich werde am Samstag auf meinem Balkon sitzen und 25 Klimawandel-Grad genießen. Und ihr solltet das auch tun! Nachhaltigkeit und Umweltbewusstsein ist gar nicht immer ätzend und Verzicht kann auch richtig erfüllend sein. Gerne bin ich dort nachhaltig, wo es mich wenig kostet und an den guten Tagen, lasse ich es mich auch gerne etwas Resilienz, Zeit, Kraft und Geld kosten. Der erste Schritt ist gar nicht schwer. Welchen seid ihr gegangen?
(j) LINKS zum Weiterdenken :) [1] Unwetterereignisse: www.umweltbundesamt.de/themen/klima-energie/klimawandel/weltweite-temperaturen-extremwetterereignisse-seit#Chronik; [2] Klimawandel in den 70ern: https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Die_Grenzen_des_Wachstums; [3] 1,5 Grad Ziel: www.quarks.de/umwelt/klimawandel/15-grad-ziel-erreichbar-klimawandel/; [4] CO2 Rechner: https://uba.co2-rechner.de/de_DE/ [5] Claro & Frosch: www.claro.at/de/produkt/pulver-jahrespaket/ & https://frosch.de/de/produkte-und-tipps/bunt-waschpulver-granatapfel.html [6] Aufräumen mit Marie Kondo: https://www.netflix.com/de/title/80209379 [7] Capsule Wardrobe: https://www.reddit.com/capsulewardrobe/ [8] Rasierhobel: www.muehle-shaving.com/TRADITIONAL-Rasierset-Rasierer-und-HalteS-R41 [9] Vortrag: Time is up (2023) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAi_I73kqcE [10]: Klima.neutral, quarks.de, zucker&jagdwurst, etc. [11] The World's Most Dangerous Show (2023): www.amazon.de/Joko-Winterscheidt-Presents-Dangerous-Staffel/dp/B0B8JXGHL8 [12] Greenwashing im Wohnzimmer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxK1gx2jKVU [13] Rosen: www.fairtrade-deutschland.de/service/presse/details/bessere-co2-bilanz-als-niederlaendische-gewaechshaus-rosen-11614 [14] Übersicht Milchverarbeitung: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2e/Milch.svg [15] Altkleidergeschäft: www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SjNh5IwKp8 [16] Subvention der Tierindustrie: www.geo.de/natunachhaltigkeit/24116-rtkl-billiges-fleisch-studie-deutschland-foerdert-die-tierindustrie-mit [17] Deutschlandtakt Umsetzung: www.tagesschau.de/wirtschaft/unternehmen/bahn-deutschlandtakt-101.html
TL;DR: Manche Dinge tue ich für die Umwelt und es fällt mir gar nicht so schwer. Das ist doch das mindeste, was ich tun kann und eigentlich geht auch so viel mehr! Ich verzichte auf Fleisch- und Milchprodukte, ein Auto und Kinder. Nachhaltigkeit heißt zu realisieren, dass Reichtum nicht alles ist und man mehr tut, in dem man weniger tut. Ein für die Umwelt schlechtes Verhalten ist keine valide Begründung nicht darüber hinaus nachhaltiger zu leben.

The late 80's and early-mid 90's featured a number of thrillers where slice of life stories were constantly being invaded by obsessive psychos. However, the assailants weren't masked men, demons or killer dolls, they were domesticated everymen (and women) whose docile nature belied the evil living underneath and dammit, they just don't make 'em like they used to! Literally! They can be horror-adjacent, erotic, Hitchcockian or just down right cheesy and you know what? I enjoy the heck out of 'em anyway. Does anybody else miss these flicks?
For those who don't know what kind of films I'm talking about, some examples are Fatal Attraction, The Stepfather, Pacific Heights, Sleeping with the Enemy, The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, Mother's Boys, Unlawful Entry and Single White Female.

When I was a little girl, a bad man did bad things to the kids in my town.
I am (or was) a product of that man's experiments.
Which influenced my April Fools prank.
Imagine spending your afterlife stuck in high school.
Luke was watching me again. I wondered if he was waiting for me to pass on.
I had my reasons for staying behind.
Death means peacefully sleeping, but I don't think I deserve it.
It's not even that.
I can't pass on, even if I wanted to.
Four years ago, I became a victim of my own April Fools prank, and managed to take half of my school with me.
I won't say I killed them.
Killing would have been merciful.
Still though, it's not like what happened to our school is on anyone's radar.
The disaster was covered up, and a brand new academy was built on the skeleton of what I destroyed.
Luke was one of my victims. I was pretending not to see him, though he was pretty obvious, sitting on the wall outside the main entrance with his feet dangling. It took me two and a half years to actually talk to him, and he still keeps his distance. When I'm not looking though, I can sense his eyes digging holes into the back of my head.
I have told him multiple times it wasn't technically me who killed him, but try explaining that to a nineteen year old ghost with serious trust issues.
The guy was glaring at me, sandy blonde hair tucked under his hood.
It was a daily occurrence, I had gotten used to it.
He was brighter than usual, the blue and gold of his letterman jacket catching my eye. It was pretty, until I noticed he was too bright. Under the early morning sun, Lucas Aisling looked almost ethereal, bleeding streaks of light catching his hair. The guy was practically a beacon. There were live students walking around, and the veil between life and whatever we are is getting thinner every year.
Two years ago, a girl saw me.
She thought I was a senior, talking to me like we were friends. I should be turning 20 years old in September.
Still. I'll take the compliment.
The problem was, though, nobody else could see me.
The poor kid was called a freak for weeks until she stopped coming to school.
According to whispers, a junior girl had been hit and killed by a drunk driver.
So, people teetering on the edge of death can see us.
If Luke wasn't careful, someone closer to death was going to glimpse him.
There was a lot more ghost activity, I noticed.
It made sense.
Even those who have passed on tend to leave footprints, especially near anniversary days.
Sitting in my usual spot under the shade, I offered Luke a smile. I loved sunny mornings. When I was alive, I never got to see the sun. I was always trapped inside Dr. Mycroft’s basement.
Clinical white walls that are suffocating.
Needles in my arm, in my neck, in the backs of my legs.
I had to sit on an observation table every day and prick my finger on a needle.
Does it hurt?” he would ask me with beady eyes.
Yes.
But hurt didn't mean hurting in my mind.
According to Dr. Mycroft, I had a severe neurological condition.
That was his excuse to fuck with my brain, and my Mom was none the wiser.
“Luke!” I mimed at the boy to get out of the sunlight before someone saw him.
Sometimes, if I look too closely, I can see what I did to him, especially when he's sitting right under the sun's rays.
Initially, he was just a shadow bent over himself kicking his legs.
Closer.
I started to see him shift, reality taking over. I am a firm believer of the afterlife editing away your injuries, your scars, what killed you. I'm still too scared to look into a mirror in fear of what I look like. I want to. I know what I used to look like. I had dark blonde hair and pale skin. My eyes were a little too far apart, and I hated my nose.
I saw Luke's eyes first, hollow sockets carved into him, dark and empty and wrong.
Luke turned to me, and I glimpsed thick black tendrils still streaked across his face where the virus polluted his bloodstream.
I know it's dead. I know the virus is no longer hurting him, but I can see what it has done to him, poisoning his veins and blood, a vicious streak snaking around his skull. His mouth split into a scowl, and I glimpsed stringy pieces of flesh hanging from his teeth. There were chunks taken out of his cheeks where he had ripped at his own skin, tearing flesh from bone, a cavern at the back of his head where his brain burst from his skull. The virus was gone.
What he had done to himself while under my influence, however, was still there.
When the boy turned to me, shuffling back into the shadow, he was back to being an outline. I still didn't understand why he was yet to pass on.
Luke shot me the bird, a small smile curving on his lips.
I couldn't tell if he was being an asshole.
He probably was.
Slowly, I lowered my arm, my stomach twisting.
I mean, I did kill him.
So, he had every right to be pissed.
I remember Luke’s death in too much detail. I remember every death. Every infection. Every student who lost their minds, and gave into my influence.
Even post life, this thing still won't let go of my mind. When we were kids, our town doctor diagnosed a group of us with the exact same brain condition, successfully gaslighting our parents into believing we would need weekly check ups. Luke was one of those kids.
I've tried to talk to him about it, but he's not interested. I ask him if he remembers the experiments and headaches, the pills that tasted like barf, and the memory loss.
I just got a weird look in return.
“Okay, so you don't remember group therapy when we were kids?” I asked him one day, the two of us sitting inside Blackwood’s cafeteria. The new academy was a step up from the old one. It was a pity I was dead, or I would definitely try the cheesy mashed potatoes.
Luke was cross legged in front of me on the table itself, his gaze on some kid’s raspberry pudding. Ghosts get hungry too.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he muttered, his gaze following the kids spoon. I could tell he was avoiding me.
“Dr. Mycroft.” I said, louder. The sound in the cafeteria was deafening, I could barely hear myself speak.
“You don't remember him giving us weird candy that wiped our memories?”
Luke lazily met my eye. “Isn't that the point of memory loss pills?”
“No,” I said, “I mean–”
“Why are you speaking to me?”
His words stung.
I swallowed down a petty retort, holding my tongue. “I'm just bored, I guess?”
“You killed me, Aurora,” he said, for maybe the thousandth time that week.
He had eternity to forgive me, and I had a feeling Luke Aisling wasn't planning on offering a truce for at least a hundred years. “Why does it matter?”
Luke scoffed. “You keep talking to me about experiments and mind control and evil doctor's, but that doesn't change the fact that you fucking killed me, dude. Your shitty prank destroyed our school.”
He laughed, and it felt like knives sticking into my spine.
“Even better, you made me want to die! You made me want to mutilate myself, and you're sitting here trying to fucking apologise? Do you even understand what you did? You turned our school into that, played with our minds like we were your dolls, and… made me do this?” he pulled up his letterman sleeve, and I could see where he'd carved layers of flesh from the bone. I remember him shrieking with laughter, revelling in every slice, the blade going deeper and deeper into his skin.
Something sour squirmed up my throat.
Luke pulled down his sleeve violently, his eyes searching mine, frantic, terrified of me.
“Do you even care?” he leaned forward, icy breath in my face.
“Because I'm yet to hear a fucking apology.”
I jumped when he stood up. I could see it in his eyes. He had been talking to others, who called me a psychopath.
They probably got off on telling him I enjoyed what I did. Hannah, who haunts the school gym, and Levi, another of Mycroft’s old experiments.
They were the usual suspects. Luke was getting emotional, his voice breaking. He was trying to speak, tripping over his words. The poor guy was getting red in the cheeks, eyes filling with tears.
“You don't care.” Luke said, his voice breaking into a sob. The lights in the cafeteria bathed him in a sickly golden glow, and once again, I could see his infected self bleeding through. I saw his skeletal grin, bright red oozing down his chin. The bulbs flickered above him.
“You're a fucking psycho.”
Ouch.
But he was half right.
Part of me knew what he was going to say.
Luke was still in agony.
Death didn't take that away. It didn't take away the mental turmoil of being possessed by a mutant virus tearing into his skull. I had no idea how to make it better for him. Sorry isn't strong enough, and he's already fucking dead.
What does he expect me to say?
I didn't need that speech. If I heard it, I would break and allow myself to be selfish.
I was in agony too. And not just mine. My friend’s.
Their thoughts, their memories and sensations.
I can feel all of them. And they never stop.
Luke didn't deserve me being selfish.
So, I offered him a smile and walked away.
I've been trying to find a way to tell Luke it wasn't my fault.
But every time I sit down and ask if we can talk, I end up spewing useless excuses.
Luke didn't remember being part of Mycroft’s experiments.
What he did remember, however, was his brutal death.
Luke Aisling was right.
I did make him want to die, to rip himself apart and cannibalise himself.
I forced him to stab at his flesh until he was writhing in pain, pleasure, that satisfied that parasite inside his brain. If he actually listened to me, he'd know that it wasn't me who killed him. Instead, someone was trying to save him.
There was a student among the infected, hiding inside a classroom.
Still conscious and aware of himself, this student attempted to save an infected Luke.
The virus didn't like that, so it destroyed Luke’s brain, killing him instantly.
His death was a warning. If they tried to save an infected person again, it would kill the host.
I don't know how to tell Luke that.
I’m responsible for him being in that state.
Why he was tied down to a desk, giggling through a mouthful of blood.
Telling the student to kill him, to hurt him.
Begging.
There's not a lot of ways to say, I'm sorry I turned into into a braindead freak. without coming across as insensitive.
There's not much to do when you're dead except miss the days you're alive.
Except being alive to me was waking up every day as a test subject. I won't go into too much detail, I don't deserve or want sympathy. I want to tell Luke that my state of mind wasn't even mine. It was twisted and contorted. I realized something was wrong with me when I was seven years old and stabbed myself with a pen. Mom asked if it hurt, and I said yes. But it didn't hurt. It felt good.
I killed my best friend’s cat with my favorite book.
When I was asked why I did such a thing, I said I didn't want it to be sick anymore.
Another lie.
I told Dr. Mycroft that it made me happy, so to him, I was considered a success.
Slowly, I started to get weird thoughts.
I imagined what my third grade teacher's brain looked like, fantasising cutting open her head and peeking inside. Mom bought me a bunny for my birthday, and I watched it get mauled by a dog. Dr. Mycroft told me pain was a good feeling, and I wanted to test it out.
I tried it on myself.
Eleven years old, I stabbed myself in the knee with a kitchen knife.
I did feel pain, bad enough to make me cry.
But they were happy tears.
I did it again.
Then I killed my mother.
Dr. Mycroft said Mom would like it. It was the best thing I could ever give her.
I wasn't the only one who killed my parents. All of us had been carefully moulded and groomed into murdering our Mom’s and Dad’s, with Mycroft and the town covering it up. He even brought his own son into the experiment. Mycroft wanted to create a whole new state of mind, and we were bis guinea pigs. My best friend quickly fell victim to his brainwashing.
She became a different person, unaware that she was being puppeteered and had killed not just her mother, but her closest friend in freshman year.
Mycroft used her like a toy, forcing her to remember and then forget, contorting her mind into his.
She ended up like a shell. Mara still looked like my best friend, but there was something hollow carving her inside out. The other kids were the same. Connor in the school newspaper club. Joey, Luke, Levi and Ben in junior varsity. Mycroft had moulded their brains since they were kids, making them kill on command, murdering loved ones and being forced to forget.
They came to school and acted like themselves, but with one single word, or a flick of a button, Mycroft could send them into a manic daze, happily tearing people apart for the thrill of it.
Revelling in pain.
That's what they were. Mindless zombies that thrived on their own agony.
It's weird. I think I was the only one awake.
Mycroft didn't need to erase my memory, because killing didn't faze me.
Mycroft’s son, however, was the opposite.
While we had been turned into mini sociopaths, Mycroft’s son, who had his mind fucked with so many times he was both completely oblivious and chronically narcoleptic, would be the light who would lead us out of the dark.
According to Daddy Mycroft.
This psycho saw the other kids as nothing more than mice inside a maze.
And I was the cat.
April 1st 2021, I was excited to prank the whole school.
Yes, I was a psychopath. Mycroft insisted on sessions with me after school.
Sometimes they were in his office, while others were at home.
I met his son multiple times, though the boy was usually too out of it to even notice me, sliding downstairs with his blankets wrapped around his head.
“Daaaad?” he would grumble, immediately sticking his head in the refrigerator. “How long was I sleeping?”
“Two days,” His father would reply, offering his son apple juice. He downed the whole glass. Mycroft gestured to me. “Say hello to my patient, Aurora.”
The boy’s half lidded eyes raked me up and down. “Hi.” he said, through a mouthful of chips. This kid really had zero idea his father was an evil mastermind turning the town’s kids into murderers.
Not me. At least, I was still aware of myself.
My April Fools prank was completely innocent. Initially, I was just going to put shaving cream in everyone's lockers. It was cute and funny, and I planned to film the whole thing.
I got a text the day before from an anonymous number which simply said, “April Fools prank? I can help you.”
Who is this? I texted back, intrigued.
“Call me J.” the text said, If you want to prank the school, meet me in the IT room tomorrow before class. Bring a memory drive or I can't do it.
Okay, but what is it?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he sent me a link to a website where you could purchase viruses. It looked pretty legit. The description simply said, A fifteen second video of your choice which will send your loved ones to sleep! Perfect for celebrations, or April Fools Day!
Mara was sceptical when I told her on the way to school.
“It sounds shady,” she mumbled, her gaze stuck to the ground.
Mara wasn't acting herself, though it's not like I was surprised.
Sometimes, I caught her staring down at her hands.
Like she could see her mother’s blood staining her fingernails.
I had witnessed my best friend remember killing her mother already.
It tore her apart into tiny pieces, pain that was so hopeless, twisting Mara into a monster I couldn't wake up.
If I told her about the blood on her hands, it would trigger her to wake up.
As Mycroft’s perfect killer.
So, I held my tongue and smiled, wrapping my arms around her.
When I got to school, I headed to the IT room.
Mara was following Connor around, which was cute.
The two have known each other since they were kids, and yet had their memories wiped of every meeting.
Mara was the first person he came out to, the first person he trusted.
I think the two of them had emotional memories, binding them together.
Somehow, even without memories, they were still friends.
I watched my friend join Connor Marlow’s side, the two of them already comfortable with each other. Mara had been gushing over the boy for months, and I had no idea how to tell her he was gay, and crushing on Joey Summer’s.
Mara did know.
Like I said, Connor came out to her in freshman year.
But Mycroft screwed with her memories, turning Mara into a shell of herself.
The whole school knew, and she was completely (stupidly) oblivious.
Before I could watch her embarrass herself (again), I slipped into the IT room.
It was empty, so I slumped down at a PC and downed my morning coffee. It tasted bitter.
“You're early.”
Twisting around, a shadow stood at the door.
I blinked. The shadow waved awkwardly, and I realized who had been texting me. Mycroft’s son entered the room, swaying a little. I could tell he’d had one of his episodes. He fell asleep a lot, sometimes even standing up. The boy offered me a small smile.
When he wasn't high on medication or his father’s obvious brainwashing, Mycroft’s son looked good. His hair was a mess of light brown curls, a beanie fitted over the top. The kid dropped his backpack before falling into a chair next to me, almost toppling over. His eyes were a little too dilated.
“Did you bring your, uh, stick thingamabob?” he snapped his fingers, frowning, “Memory drive. That's what I mean.”
I couldn't stop myself. “You're J?”
The boy cocked his head. “Jasper.” he said, “I thought that was obvious.”
He blinked at me, rubbing his eyes.
“Wait.” Jasper’s lips broke out into a grin. “Aren't you that weird girl who hangs out with my dad?”
“Aurora.” I handed him my memory drive, and he slid it into the back of the PC.
“Huh.” he shrugged. “Small world.”
I nodded. “So, what does this thing do?”
Jasper cracked his knuckles, playing with the mouse. I watched his gaze frantically flit from file to file.
“Nothing serious. It'll just send the whole school to sleep for like, fifteen seconds. They'll have no idea.”
I was suddenly giddy with excitement.
“Really?!”
He shot me the side eye. “No, I'm joking.”
“What is it though?” I whispered, leaning closer. “How can this thing do something like that?”
“Dunno.” Jasper had major toothpaste breath, “I don't really understand it myself.”
He wafted at me to move back. “Personal space,” Mycroft’s son muttered, before jumping up. “There. Just click start and it'll be on everyone's phone. Happy April Fools.”
I frowned at the screen. All I could see was code. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on the the mouse.
“Where's start?”
“It's literally right there,” Jasper prodded the screen impatiently.
I saluted him. “Okay, so you're a computer nerd, I get it.”
“Thanks.”
This guy spoke fluent sarcasm.
I didn't click yet, my stomach in my throat. “What if it's, like, dangerous?”
Jasper folded his arms. “They're going to sleep for fifteen seconds at the most,” he rolled his eyes. “It's barely nothing.”
“And if it's not nothing?” I turned to him, “You'll know what to do?”
“Yes.” he curled his lip. “Maybe.” Jasper sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Okay, no. But this isn't a nuke, dude. It's an April Fools prank.”
I nodded, bracing myself.
Okay, sure, I thought, sweat trickling down my neck.
Barely nothing, right?
I clicked start and immediately backed away, hysterical giggles escaping my mouth.
“Fuck. I did it!”
Jasper was smiling, but only slightly. “You evil genius.”
Turning to the screen, I squinted to see some kind of change, but nothing happened.
I peered closer.
“Maybe it was a dud?”
My phone suddenly vibrated in my jeans, and so did Jasper’s.
Outside the door, I could hear ringers going off.
Pulling out my phone, there it was on my screen.
There it was…on my screen.
There it was… on my… screen..
The thought didn't stop. It was stuck, like a broken record.
I was aware I was still holding my phone, my eyes glued to the screen.
I couldn't look away.
“Aurora?”
Jasper’s voice faded, collapsing into white noise.
There was something creeping inside my head.
Slimy and tangled, a leech clinging on for dear life.
“Aurora!”
I blinked, and Jasper had pulled the phone out of my hand, stamping on the screen. It was still there, dancing between splinters, on every single screen, and it was getting harder to think straight. Words were tangled on my tongue, some of them mine, but most of them were garbled nothing, a string of letters and numbers jumbled together. Mycroft’s son was standing in front of me, except the boy didn't feel real. “Hey, what's going on? Dude, you're blanking!”
He was shaking me, and yet I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I could still feel it, a sentient thing twisting itself around me, bleeding into my skull.
It was testing me, burrowing its way inside my brain to learn who I was. I screamed, barely aware of being on my knees, my fingers clawing at my eyes, blood already running down my face.
I touched my cheeks gingerly. Did I do that? Did I scratch and claw at my own face?
“Turn it off!” I managed to shriek, blinking rapidly. “Did you do this?”
“What are you talking about?” Jasper hissed.
“Your dad!” Squeezing my eyes shut, an array of colours were still there, blinding me. “Did your dad do this?”
“No!” he yelled back, “I mean… I…I may have gotten it from one of his guys, but he said it was just something that could send you to sleep!” Jasper was panicking. I could sense him pacing back and forth. “Fuck. What did I do? What did Dad do?”
Jasper pulled the plug, throwing the monitor on the floor. He started towards another monitor, stumbling back.
“What the fuck is that thing?!”
He tried to grasp the memory drive, but it was stuck.
“Fuck. It's not coming out!”
Outside, screams erupted, running footsteps thundering past the door.
It was in my head, feeding from me.
Burrowing deeper and deeper, until I was ripping my hair out.
It told me to spread it.
“Get out.” I managed to choke out.
“What?!”
Before I could reply, the door was swinging open.
Dark figures emerged, grabbing Jasper and yanking him back.
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing? Get off of me!”
His cries fell into a faded muffle cry. I saw the flash of a shot.
It was so quick, a prick of silver slicing into the back of his neck, the boy crumpling to the ground.
I watched them carefully place him on the floor.
Mycroft.
Whatever this was, the bastard was in control.
And his son was unknowingly part of it.
When the shadows twisted towards me, I stumbled back.
By now, the thing inside my head was in control.
The monitor was lifted back onto the table, switched on, and I found myself staring into oblivion, vivid explosions of color exploding in the backs of my eyes.
I think that is when this thing fully took over, learning from my already contorted mind.
Her name was Luna, and she was hungry.
She was fascinated by humans, and my thoughts in particular.
Luna wanted to copy herself inside every student’s head.
The virus wanted all of them to crave the urge to rip themselves apart.
The virus grew inside of me, mutating into a physical thing, spreading itself across school. It made me its Queen.
I was only aware of myself on two occasions.
The first, was when the virus spoke through me. When Mara was at my mercy inside my new playground.
She asked me why I did this, and I didn't have an answer for her except the truth.
It started as an April Fools prank. I never wanted to hurt anyone.
But. I couldn't deny the feeling of pleasure that came from seeing my best friend just like me. Mara was a puppet of mine for a whole year, destroying herself and others, mutilating her body and carving herself into pieces. It was exactly what I had been feeling like my whole life.
What Mycroft turned me into.
Now the whole school felt like that. They were part of me, one whole mind.
Jasper Mycroft tried to kill me, kill it so I took his mind too.
Right in front of Mara.
His father tore a lot away from him, traumatic memories of a childhood with experiments. When I dug inside his skull, splitting his brain in half and forcing those memories to the surface, he had no choice but to join me.
Embrace her.
Luna.
I watched him break, and it was beautiful.
The virus and I as one laughed at him rocking back and forth, such a steely mind coming apart at the seams. Jasper’s screams of agony morphed into euphoria, biting his fingers off one by one. I enjoyed the sensation, his sensation, of his teeth biting down, chomping through skin, muscle and bone. One memory in particular drove him more and more insane, until he was frothing at the mouth, clawing at his skin.
We made him tear off his own flesh, wearing us instead, a plant-like tendril which wrapped its way around his skull.
We forced Mycroft’s son to terrorise Mara, puppeteering his every move.
He did something bad when he was fourteen.
Under his father’s influence, slicing the throat of Mara’s best friend.
He never forgave himself, and that just made him easier to control.
Part of me wishes I never took the mind of Mycroft’s son.
Luna preferred him to me, growing bored of my mind. She started to retract, slowly, but I was too far gone.
She wanted a King instead of a Queen.
The second time I was aware of myself, was my death.
Yes, I died. Pretty brutally too.
Though maybe I deserved it.
Towards the end of Luna’s lifespan, my body gave up.
As a host, I broke apart, splintering into bloody mounds of festering flesh on the ground. Luna’s followers tore me apart, glueing and stitching pieces of me onto their own bodies. They were my disciples, my followers. Mycroft’s original subjects. There were two types of infection inside our school. The majority of our school became mindless, psychotic killers, while Mycroft’s subjects kept their consciousness.
Zombies, with coherent thought.
Mara did stop us in the end. Movie ending.
Explosions.
Well, controlled ones.
Luna was destroyed when the school was blown to pieces. Thankfully, no many casualties.
Just a lot of infected kids quietly being shoved into a white building.
Our town is out of the way, so it's not like anyones noticed.
And the remnants of her, of me burned.
She let me go, the physical and mental chains around my skull coming apart.
I could rest.
Well.
I can't call stuck on the campus rest.
Mycroft and his connections have been covering up Blackwood since.
You can't even find us on a Google search. We do not exist. Unless you look for the other academy we are now.
It's got a different name, though I still don't know what it is. It's in Latin.
So, here I am, stuck, no longer poisoned by Luna.
One day, I will find a way to tell all of this to Luke.
We were just a really unlucky group of kids under a mad man's microscope.
I don't think I'm ready to be forgiven yet though.
It takes time.
I went exploring around the new campus yesterday. Usually, I stay on the first floor where Luke likes to chill out.
They have a new English teacher.
I know he can see me. When I slinked inside the room and situated myself in a seat, his eyes snapped to me, recognition sparking in his expression.
He's older, maturer in the face, no longer hiding behind his beanie.
Everything about him screamed his father. The black suit moulding him into the perfect heir, his hair slicked back, a pair of raybans perched on top.
Jasper nodded at me, his lips twitching into a smirk.
I wondered why he was there, why he was teaching at only twenty years old.
Didn't college come before a job?
When he projected his laptop screen onto the wall, however, I realized I was staring at my April Fools video.
Now a series of bright colors and twisted shapes, it was the perfect trigger.
This thing had been modified, perfectly cut and edited to create the opposite of what I did. Instead of violently killing each other, these kids sat very still, their eyes glued to the screen. They might have looked fine, but I could sense Luna already clawing her way through them.
One boy's head jolted to the side, his hand slipping from where it was resting under his chin.
I noticed a blonde girl's eyes roll to the back of her head. She didn't fall or collapse, her body suspended on puppet strings.
The front row broke out into an eerie smiles.
I should have known Jasper Mycroft would be a product of his father. I just didn't want to believe it. The last time I saw him, he was both aware and not, in limbo between life and death. Mycroft’s son sacrificed himself to destroy me and Luna. I guess his Dad got to him.
Jasper spent two years clawing out of his manic father’s control, only to slip back under.
I barely recognised my old high school friend.
This man had that exact same glitter in his eyes I saw in his father when he was poking and prodding me in his office.
Jasper leaned against the wall with his arms folded, revelling in my fear.
“Fuck.”
Luke was standing behind me, his eyes wide.
“What's he doing to them?”
I met Jasper’s gaze, my stomach twisting into knots.
“Nothing good.”
Luke stepped into the classroom. “That's Jasper Mycroft, right?”
“Yep.”
“And he's…”
He trailed off, but I answered. Mycroft’s son was enjoying my clear discomfort, what was left of his mind poisoned, ripped apart by his own father. I wondered if this was his job now. Was he tasked with spreading Luna through schools?
Subtly creating not just soldiers, but a whole new state of mind craved pain.
“He is.”
No matter how much he fought to kill his father and end the experiments, they got into his head in the end, successfully grooming him into Mycroft’s successor. Jasper Mycroft didn't look healthy. His cheeks were pale, shadows under underlining his eyes. I could see the strain in his face, make-up hiding writhing tendrils spiderwebbing across his face. As if he was reading my mind, Jasper placed his sunglasses back on, turning to the screen.
Only those who can see us are close to death.
Mycroft’s son was struggling to stand. Luke pointed it out.
A thin line of red dripped from his nostril. Jasper swiped it away with his suit sleeve.
I stepped out of the classroom when Jasper gestured for me to, “Shoo.”
Luke followed, and for the first time in three years, this guy is actively talking to me.
“What do we do about Mycroft?” He joined me, sitting under an early sunset.
“I have no idea,” I told him truthfully.
Luke’s gaze fell on the sky, vivid yellows and oranges reflected in his iris.
“Should I talk to the others?” He said, “Maybe we can all try talking to him.”
I turned to him, noticing a scarlet blush spreading across his cheek. ”Others?”
Luke’s smile was sickly. “The others are avoiding you.” he paused, “But, I mean, you don't seem as psycho as I thought.”
“Wow.” I said. “What a compliment.”
Luke stayed with me for most of the night, the two of us sitting in comfortable, almost heavenly silence.
What do I do about Jasper Mycroft?
Maybe his host body is dying.
Which meant he’s either following orders, or planning to go out with a bang.
I'm terrified he's going to turn his class into what we were.
And history repeats itself.
You can stop him, Mara.
That’s why I'm writing through you.
You came back here at the right time, and I need you to know Mycroft’s son is going to try again. Please save these kids.
You CAN stop him, right?
Right?!

Years ago I made a guide to hard dance music on this very sub, I was an anxious high schooler who could barely put to words what he was listening to so needless to say that guide sucked, so I've decided to make a new one. My main goal is not to feed people a bunch of regurgitated information and talk about what I heanotice

DISCLAIMER: I am no music scholar nor do I agree with every single genre definition out there, I find the pigeonholing to be pretty silly sometimes. There will be holes in this list and possibly some wrong info, my only area of expertise is that I've been listening to this stuff for upwards of 10+ years. (This list will be in no particular order)

• Early Rave: Haaaaaakuuuuuhhhhhhhhh!!! One of the best things to come out of the Netherlands, distorted 909s, rave stabs, horror movie samples and fast tempos. Early Rave is a pretty broad definition but in this case I'm talking about Gabber. Ground zero for tons of genres that will be mentioned in this list, and still so very fun to move your feet to!

Example: Predator vs Wedlock - Get on Down
Artists: Ruffneck (and his thousands of aliases), 3 Steps Ahead, Chosen Few, Nasenbluten, Predator
Labels: Ruffneck Records, Bloodyfist Records, Industrial Strength Records, Wax Weasel, Pengo Records, Cenobite Records

• Makina: A Spanish genre of music (with a healthy community in Japan and the UK) and also one of my favorites on this list! A sort of combination of trance and happy hardcore, sped up and given this addictively bouncy off beat bass! There are a few offshoots within the genre itself (Base Makina) but the stuff I want to talk about is the cheesy happy kind.

Example: Netherworld - Atlantis
Artists: DJ Ruboy, M-Project, Xavi BCN, DJ El Brujo, PJ Makina, Pastis & Buenri, 3R2
Labels: BIT Music, ADN Sound, Burning Chrome, DJ's At Work, UAM (Underground Amateur Music)

• Hardstyle: At some point Gabber died and from the ashes came Hardstyle! Slower and with longer, less overdriven kick drums, it showed that faster isn't always better. Hardstyle was my starting point for Hard Dance music and I know I'm not alone. There's something for everyone in this genre and it has gone through many changes with distinct eras between each change, covering all the off shoots and era's is worthy of its own thread

Example: Ran-D - The Twilight Zone
Artists: Technoboy, Headhunterz, Wildstylez, Da Tweekaz, Zatox, Coone, Tuneboy, Audiofreq, DJ Thera, Noisecontrollers
Labels: Scantraxx, Dirty workz, A^2, Italian Hardstyle, Gearbox Digital, Theracords

• Happy Hardcore: Applied to a lot of genres and styles over the years. Happy Hardcore to me is pitched up vocals, breakbeats and sickeningly sweet melodies that grew alongside Gabber. A lot of Happy Hardcore producers would go onto produce what we know as UK Hardcore today. Happy Hardcore emerged around the same time as Eurodance so some of the parallels are unsurprising.

Example: DJ Trixxy & DJ Brisk - Eyeopener
Artists: Banana Man, Hixxy, Darren Styles, Scott Brown, Brisk, DJ Ham
Labels: Blatant Beats, Evolution Records, Slammin' Vinyl, The World Of Obsession Recordings

• Freeform Hardcore: A combination of Trance and UK Hardcore with some leanings into Psytrance here and there. Deep and haunting with some flangers and phasers thrown in for good measure. I don’t have much else to say about the genre other than it can truly be an experience sometimes.

Example: Alek Szahala - Afternoon Owl
Artists: Alek Szahala, Betwixt & Between, Substanced, A.B., Transcend, DJ Rx
Labels: Nu Energy, Stamina Records, FINRG, ReBuild Music, Watchtower Records

• Terrorcore: Emerged around the same time as Gabber and honestly early Terrorcore is kinda hard to distinguish from it. Terrorcore has since grown and developed into something much more distinct, I've never been able to properly describe how it's different so I'll just say it's faster and more aggressive than your average Gabber track. It has some noticeable similarities with Speedcore (vocal chops, drum patterns .etc)

Example: Danny Ovington - Cocaine MF (Tim Shopp Remix)
Artists: Noisekick, The Destroyer, RedOgre, DJ Smurf, DJ Skinhead, Tense, Nevermind, Drokz, SRB, Akira
Labels: Noisekick Records, Airfight Records, This Is Terror, GGM (Geordie Gabba Mafia), Hong Kong Violence

• Speedcore: Fast as fuck boiiiii, seems to be getting more recognition in recent years due to rhythm games (I have no hard evidence to back this up) 300 BPM distorted kick drums that can range from black trench coat school shooter waiting to happen levels of edgy all the way over to clown dancing at a birthday party levels of silly, certainly not for everyone but I fucking love it (has an amazing community of producers in Japan)

Example: m1dy - 37 Dicks
Artists: m1dy, Kobaryo, Komprex, Jimmy S, Quick Brown Fox, Loffciamcore, Gabba Front Berlin, DJ Freak, Lord Lloigor, Passenger of Shit
Labels: SKRD!!!, Psycho Filth Records, Noistorm, United Speedcore Nation, Speedcore Worldwide, MADDEST CHICK'NDOM, Canadian Speedcore Resistance, Shitwank Records

• Extratone: Towards the bottom of the musical Iceberg, people tend to laugh this genre off and I can see why. 1000 BPM kick drums and ear rending, abrasive soundscapes that you do not want to listen to while under the influence of anything that speeds up your heart rate. Still as a bridge between harsh noise and hardcore, I can dig it, and there are some producers who do some interesting things at such high tempos

Example: Pyrrhon - House of pain
Artists: Gridbug, Annoying Ringtone, Neocoretex, PRESSTERROR, Ralph Brown, Junkie Kut, Coakira
Labels: Legs Akimbo Records, Extratone Records, SKRD!!!, Speedcore Worldwide, Splitterblast Records, Fujimi Industry Records

• Digital Hardcore: Remember when Alek Empire made good music? Digital Hardcore is a “beautiful” combination of Punk Rock and Hardcore dance music that comes together as a flaming middle finger to the establishment, with one of the first acts being Atari Teenage Riot. As the years have gone on more metal influences have seeped into Digital Hardcore, widening the definition a bit but God damn there's nothing like a distorted 909 over a sick guitar tone

Example: Atari Teenage Riot - Your Uniform (Does Not Impress Me!)
Artists: Atari Teenage Riot, Akira Death, Ozigiri, Moshpit
Labels: Digital Hardcore Recordings (I don’t listen to digital hardcore enough lol)

• Frenchcore: People clown on the French for various things but God damn what an amazing country for electronic music! Early Frenchcore is quite different from what it is now, mainly known for it’s current iteration with big distorted sausage kicks that are just a hair away from clipping the fuck out of your preamp. Not entirely sure why but it shares a good chunk of it's community with Hardtek so it's not uncommon to see producers do both

Example: Lenny Dee, Randy & The Sickest Squad - Boomshakalaka (2016 Rebuild)
Artists: The Sickest Squad, Radium, Adrenochrome, Le Bask, Hellfish, The Speed Freak, Dr. Peacock
Labels: Peacock Records, Audiogenic, Frenchcore Worldwide

• Hardtek: Associated with free parties and dudes with dreads. 190 BPM often copyright infringing goodness, has become my go to genre to spin at parties and people who've never heard it tell me how much they like it! I've never been able to really discern what separates it from “Tribecore” but that's technically another genre (Raggatek is super similar so I'll just include it in this section)

Example: Guigoo - Just 1 Love
Artists: Billx, Mat Weasel, Floxytek, Guigoo (FANT4STIK) Harry Potar, C3B, T-Menace, Dr. Looney, Tanukichi, E-Coli, Vandal, Lolistyle Gabbers, Mandidextrous, MikkiM, Loctek
Labels: Undergroundtekno, Narcotek, Kaotik Soundsystem, Amen4tekno, Raggatek Power, Hardtek.jp

• Breakcore: Has seen a rise among the zoomers and Tiktok kids due to artists like Sewerslvt and Machine Girl, I'm not here to debate whether or not that's a good thing. Breakcore has it’s roots firmly in Jungle, and you can hear it in a lot of earlier iterations. Breakbeats chopped, screwed and mangled with loads of samples from any number of sources. Brutal and fast with ragga vocals, distant and moody with loads of reverb and rave sounds or goofy and dumb with pop samples and fast kick drums there's a little something for everyone here and I hope people don't stop at just Sewerslvt and Machine Girl (I like both SS and MG)

Example: Repeater - Collision Repair Specialist
Artists: Ruby My Dear, Bong-Ra, Rotator, Venetian Snares, DJ Skullvomit, Kyou1110, Ladyscraper, XÄCKSECKS, DJKurara, Squarepusher, Passenger of Shit, Epsilon, Goreshit
Labels: Day of the Droids, Breakcore Gives Me Wood, Murder Channel, Super Bad Midi Breaks, PEACE OFF RECORDS, Shitwank Records, Bloodyfist Records

• Gabber: Wait didn't we already do this one? Sort of! After OG Gabber died a new generation started, like Hardstyle this genre has gone through many different changes and is worthy of it's own thread. It's a genre I have a lot of love for and is one that would make most people's eyes go wide when I would show it to them lol. I don't like the direction Gabber has gone in recent years but I'll always have my favorite era to look back on

Example: Evil Activities - No Place To Hide
Artists: Angerfist, Outblast, Art of Fighters, Neophyte, Ophidian, Andy The Core, I:Gor, Evil Activities, Unexist, Mad Dog, Stunned Guys
Labels: Enzyme Records, Masters Of Hardcore, Deathchant Records, Hong Kong Violence, Dogfight Records, Industrial Strength

• J-Core: The older I've gotten the more I dislike this name. I can't for the life of me find this article but in it I want to say DJ Sharpnel said that J-Core was used on file sharing clients and forums to classify ANY KIND of Japanese Hardcore. To me J-Core doesn't have defining sound (like Frenchcore) and it's used very loosely to the point where it's kinda useless. Which isn't to say you shouldn't check out Japanese Hardcore artists because holy shit it was life changing for me!

Example: Anglerfish Team - Enter Enter MISSION! (DJ Sharpmarker Remix)
Artists: REDALiCE, t+pazolite, DJ Sharpnel, Noizenico, DJ TECHNORCH, DJ Genki, DJ Myosuke, NNN, Roughsketch, Kobaryo, DJ Noriken, P*light
Labels: Shaprnel Sound, 999 Recordings, HARDCORE TANO*C, Solidbox Records, C.H.S, Japanese Stream Hardcore, Sketch-up! Recordings

• Crossbreed: A combination of Industrial Hardcore and Drum & Bass, not gonna lie I've never heard much of the DNB influence in this creature but holy shit this stuff can knock a tooth loose. Tight snares, dirty kicks and a dark atmosphere all combine to make something so fucking awesome that even the most snooty Drum & Bass head can be swayed by it’s dark powers

Example: The Outside Agency - Prepare to Die
Artists: Eye-D, DJ Hidden (The Outside Agency), Igneon System, C-Netik, Hallucinator, Switch Technique, Sinister Souls, Counterstrike, Lowroller, The Satan
Labels: Genosha One Seven Five, PRSPCT Recordings, Oblivion Underground Recordings, Abused Recordingz, Future Sickness Records

• Hands Up: Remember the 2000s? Remember when Hands Up could chart and be played on mainstream radio? Ahhh good times… One of the softer forms of Hard Dance, I guess you could consider it pop music but boy do I sure love it and all it's bubble gum goodness, still going strong away from the limelight!

Example: Cascada - Everytime We Touch
Artists: Danceboy, CLAWZ, Summertunez, The Italo Brothers, Rob Mayth, Aki, Smile dk, Vau Boy
Lables: Hands Up Legacy (I can’t find many labels lmaooooo)

• Eurobeat: I mean… I'm sure most people know about this one. Evolved from italio disco with it's catapult to recognition being the Anime “Initial D” I'm not 100% sure it's Hard Dance, but lots of hard dance fans I know fuck with it so I'll put it here! A hard to describe kick sound and blaring synths trying to emulate brass with some vocals by dudes with noticable European accents! What's not to love?

Example: Smile.dk - Koko Soko (AKIBA KOUBOU Eurobeat Remix)
Artists: Oddesy (Ken Blast), A-One, Go2, Lupin, Hot Blade, Za-Za
Labels: avex (specifically the Super Eurobeat comps, I’m being a little lazy here but holy fuck there are so many that it's more than you could ever ask for)

• Hard Trance: Back when Hardstyle was new, Hard Trance and it were hard to distinguish. There are a few variations of Hard Trance but my favorite will always be Gated Kick Hard Trance. If you can imagine Hardstyle percussion mixed with Trance Melodies then you've already got a good idea of what it sounds like. Not as popular as it used to be but somehow stays alive

Example: Josh Lang - Sawtooth Highway
Artists: Luca Antolini, Andrea Montorsi, Splinta, Kid Kaos, Alex Kidd, Josh Lang, Log:One, Nomad, Pacific Link, Yoji Biomehanika
Labels: Kiddfectious, Therabyte, K405 Records, Lashed Music, Trancefuzion Recordings, Hell’s House

• UK Hardcore: Happy Hardcore cheese with an offbeat bass. I'm oversimplifying but that doesn't mean I dislike it! I’m willing to bet if Hardstyle wasn't your starting point then you got your start with UK Hardcore.

Example: Darren Styles - Satellite (Update)
Artists: Nu Foundation, Nanobii, Rythmics, Gammer, Darren Styles, Re-Con, Brisk
Labels: Together We Rise (TWR), Relentless Vinyl, Next Generation Records, Lethal Theory, Nu Energy

• Schranz: When I think rave music this is one of the first that comes to mind, a genre of Germanic origin with galloping kicks that pound on your brain. I'm not huge on Hard Techno but God damn do I love me some Schranz

Example: Julyukie - Hard Techno Junkie (Slugos Remix)
Artists: Eto & Gab, Viper XXL, Instigator, O.B.I, Slugos, Greg Notill
Labels: Bitshift, Hardsignal, Pounding Grooves, Kombination Research, Skizofrenik Records

• Hard House: To me there's two iterations of Hard House, American and UK. American Hard House had a pretty major scene on the West Coast (specifically in California), more hardcore influence with some leanings into Jumpstyle of all things. Really amazing stuff, and when you find a hard house mix CD uploaded to YouTube you can find plenty of people reminiscing about the good times had at the arena. UK Hard House is more bouncy, it kinda sounds like Makina at a slower tempo. I've heard the term “Scouse” thrown around but have never been able to find a proper definition of it :/. I don't know as much about the history of UK Hard House but I still love it all the same!

American Example: DJ Work - Hocus Pokus
UK Example: Mark Kavanagh - Is Everybody Ready?
Artists: Tidy Boys, Darren R, George Centeno, BK, DJ Irene, Lisa Lashes, Tony De Vit, Poogie Bear, Mauro Picotto
Labels: Underground Construction, Nukleuz, Tidy Trax, Jump Wax Records, Tripoli Trax

Hallo, Ich schreibe grade meine Thesis für den B. Sc. Psychologie und bin einfach ausgebrannt. Meine ganze Begeisterung für dieses Fach hat sich verabschiedet und ich will nie mehr in eine Uni. Das Problem ist, dass man allein mit dem Bachelor in Psycho einfach nichts Wert ist und höchstens als Quereinsteiger ungelernt irgendwo anfangen kann. Ich habe kein Geld für Reisen, wschl keine Master Zusage und keinen Funkten Motivation mehr in mir. Langsam bin ich leider mit meinem Latein am Ende, bleibt mir nur noch eine Ausbildung?
Wahrscheinlich dient das hier auch eher dem auskotzen, aber eventuell findet sich ja doch ein psych Bachelor hier, der es auch geschafft hat etwas mit diesem sinnlosen Abschluss anzufangen.