The novel begins September 3, 2006, a Sunday. In "physical time," our reality, Andre Agassi played and lost his final match of his career. Steve Irwin, the croc hunter, would die the following day from a stingray's three barbed venomous spinal blades puncturing his heart. Senator Barak Obama was still denying he was intending to run for President (he would announce in February 2007.) The number 1 song in America and the UK is Sexyback by Justin Timberlake. Egypt warned of Palestinian terror attacks against Israelis vacationing in Sinai. Charlie Sheen turned 41. 200 Taliban are killed in a major battle in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Iraqi leaders announce the capture of the #2 leader of Al Qaeda. Europe's space agency purposely crash-lands a lunar probe into the moon.
In short, nothing, on balance seems to have happened in the world that has any particular world-historical or even US-historical import. Just a day. Even searching back 4 extra days from September 3 - since we are told that the man viewing the art installation is now on his fifth straight day in the museum - nothing all that *important* seems to have happened on any of those dates, the way saying a novel is starting on June 6, 1944, or (obviously) September 10, 2001, or July 16, 1945 or November 22, 1962 would be of course trying to tell us something.
Q: why is Delillo's purpose (is there one?) for telling us this specific date? Why is it important that the man is there on September 3, 2006 watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a31q2ZQcETw over and over.
Q: who is the man? Delillo himself? Just a random unnamed character? Is it definitely Finley and Elster who are the two men who come into the room? The description of the older man "long white hair braided at the nape" [p.7, Scribner] certainly seems to suggest it is Elster, described in Ch. 1 as a man "with silvery hair, as always, was braided down into a short ponytail." If it is definitely them, what does it mean they attended a museum show together? Anything?
This is not the first Delillo novel to open with a scene where a movie, and anonymous characters' responses to watching it, is central to the narrative - Players opens with a movie being shown on a plane that is basically a silent movie of a terrorist machine-gun attack on waspy golfers, only accompanied by a pianist (yes a pianist) in the airplane bar filling in the suspense with improvised show tunes - and it is not the first to open with an examination of an art installation - Underworld, after the fantastic baseball game section - opens at Klara Sax's airplane bomber art installation commune. But this opening seems to introduce two characters obliquely, and of course only if you've paid close attention to the description of Elster's hair could you think back to it being him, perhaps.
"The nature of the film permitted total concentration and also depended on it." "The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw." [p.5, Scribner]
Q:Who is this person watching and why should we care?
Q: Did the opening sequence provide you any insight other than , perhaps, confusion? Something other than "what the hell did I just read?" What? Does your reaction to the opening sequence change when you know (if you did before this post) that the Psycho installation was and is real?
Moving on to Chapter 1 [p. 17, Scribner], we learn that we are on Day 10 of a 12-day period of time that relates the initial relationship between Elster and Finley. Finley, who is probably in his early to mid-30s and 73-year-old Elster are spending time at Elster's house in the desert to record a one-take movie of Elster's testimony of what it was like to serve in an administration that went to war under less than honest circumstances.
Our narrator is Jim Finley, a documentary filmmaker who has made exactly one film about Jerry Lewis's telethon appearances - Lewis, a "rampaging comic" to whom Elster would merely be a "straight man." [p.27] Elster, who Finley also describes as "not a man who might make space for even the gentlest correction," [p.22] is a non-political theorist being brought in to an administration to provide narrative to their war. I've seen references to him being based on Paul Wolfowitz, the political scientists who became Deputy SecDef in the Bush II Administration who famously nearly swallowed his comb to wet it to comb his hair in an image that likely sealed his fate in D.C. as unserious and ridiculous who was then shuffled off to the World Bank, but would Delillo ape the man AND mention him in the narrative? If so, that seems clumsy.
Q: Do you even take Elster serious as a character or believable as a "brain" behind the narrative of an administration going to war? A man who speaks in bad koans and aphorisms like "Time becomes blind." [p.23] and who reads Louis Zukovsky into the night? (Zukovsky famously worked on an epic poem called "A" for over almost 50 years, finally finishing it a few years before his death in 1978.)
Finley tells us: "To Elster, sunset was human invention, our perceptual arrangement of light and space into elements of wonder." [p.18, Scribner]. Elster has come to the desert to seek - something - we know not what and are not told definitively - but his narrative of what his role was in Washington was to create a interpretation of the "closed world" for the "plotters, the strategists" [p. 28] and ends up delivering to Finley what I think Finley was after - the cynical idea that Elster was giving form and shape to the government's bullshit narrative - "The state has to lie. There is no lie in war or in preparation for war that can't be defended. We went beyond this. We tried to create new realities overnight, careful sets of words that resemble advertising slogans in memorability and repeatability."
Q: Is Elster ultimately right? Did the country have a "shadowy need" [p.34] for such a narrative? See, for instance: "Let's roll." [probably in reality, "Let's roll it" referring to a beverage cart to break into the cockpit.]
"Shock and awe." "Global War on Terror" "Slam dunk" "WMDs" "The Surge" And perhaps most infamously "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques"
At the ends of the chapter, we get what counts as a cliffhanger in this slim novel: Elster's adult daughter would be coming for a visit, Jessie who was "otherworldly" [p. 36].

Hi! I’m Ashton 22M, So this will be more of a unique post. I’ve made a post before looking for snail mail penpals which this will still be by mail but Im interested in making some penpals where we send things that are a little more unique back and forth to each other.
I think it would be awesome to send - art pages - drawings - journal style pages - small crafts - stickers - pages of just rants/vents and random thoughts - craft supplies - book exchange -poetry -postcards - long letters - random photographs of daily life
Id love to hear your thoughts, inspirations, dreams, your past, what makes you who you are, what your favorite poem is, how you got that scar when you were 5, ya know the deep stuff haha
I know this post is a bit all over the place but if any of this interests you feel free to send me a message and let me know which one (or multiple!) of these categories you’d like to send back and forth to each other!

[I wrote this article about Macbeth for my college's newspaper, and I thought this subreddit might enjoy reading it!]
I have joked before that Shakespeare’s two favorite subjects–surpassing love, murder, madness, and crossdressing–are botany and birds. If you’ve been to New York City you might be aware of the “Shakespeare Garden” in Central Park, whose theoretical aim (though it proves nigh-impossible in practice) is to house specimens of all the plants which Shakespeare mentions in his plays. As it turns out, Bard quotes make for quite a diverse garden: there are roses which assuredly would smell as sweet by any other name; there are daffodils, that come before the swallow dares, and take the winds of March with beauty; there’s holly, heigh-ho; there’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance, there’s pansies, that’s for thoughts, there’s fennel for you, and columbines–no word on whether or not they could find any violets, though. I suppose there’s no objection to be made against those who complain that Shakespeare’s language is “flowery”; even as vicious a villain as Iago deigns to express his philosophy on life by way of botanical metaphor: “Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners.” And, of course, the plot of A Midsummer Night’s Dream revolves around a magical flower which makes people fall in love.
I doubt anyone will object to my claiming of birds as Shakespeare’s other poetical fixation: I suspect that the majority of falconry knowledge which most non-falconers have today comes from reading footnotes in their copies of Shakespeare plays, explaining exactly what Richard II means by “How high a pitch his resolution soars,” or why Hamlet says “Hillo, ho, ho” to Marcellus. But while plants are so common in Shakespeare that I don’t know of one play which we might say is especially densely forested with references to them, there is one play that stands out as particularly full of birds in comparison with the rest of the Shakespearean canon. That play is Macbeth.
This is the sort of thing that one only notices after having read a play so many times that the actual events of the plot become akin to the meter of a poem–beats which must be hit, and which start to feel so natural that one hardly notices them–and one’s attention drifts away from the big, important speeches and toward the more utilitarian words and odd little moments that bridge them. I am not the first to point it out, but it is, all the same, a delightful quirk of the play, and could be a good way for Sophomores to throw their classmates for a loop in seminar [Note: Students at our college study Macbeth during their Sophomore year.]: why are there so many birds in Macbeth?
KING. Dismay’d not this/Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? SERG. Yes,/As sparrows eagles… -Act I, Scene II
LADY. …The raven himself is hoarse/That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan… -Act I, Scene V
BAN. This guest of summer,/The temple-haunting martlet, does approve/By his loved mansionry, that the heaven’s breath/Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze/Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird/Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle… -Act I, Scene VI
LADY. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman… -Act II, Scene II
LADY. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. -Act II, Scene II
PORTER. …come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose… -Act II, Scene III
PORTER. ‘Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock… -Act II, Scene III
LENNOX. New hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure bird/Clamour’d the livelong night… -Act II, Scene III
OLD MAN. …On Tuesday last,/A falcon, towering in her pride of place,/Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d. -Act II, Scene IV
MACBETH. …Light thickens; and the crow/Makes wing to the rooky wood… -Act III, Scene II
MACBETH. If charnel-houses and our graves must send/Those that we bury back, our monuments/Shall be the maws of kites. -Act III, Scene IV
MACBETH. Augurs and understood relations have/By magot pies and choughs and rooks brought forth/The secret’st man of blood. -Act III, Scene IV
LADY MACDUFF. …the poor wren,/the most diminutive of birds, will fight,/Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. -Act IV, Scene II
LADY MACDUFF. How will you live? SON. As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF. What, with worms and flies? SON. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF. Poor bird! Thou’ldst never fear the net nor lime,/The pitfall nor the gin? SON. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. -Act IV, Scene II
FIRST MURDERER. What, you egg! -Act IV, Scene II
MACDUFF. …there cannot be/That vulture in you… -Act IV, Scene III
MACDUFF. …O hell-kite! All?/What, all my pretty chickens and their dam/At one fell swoop? -Act IV, Scene III
MACBETH. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!/Where got’st thou that goose look? SERVANT. There is ten thousand– MACBETH. Geese, villain? -Act V, Scene III
Above I have listed every ornithological reference that I’ve found in the Scottish Play; as we peruse them, we certainly cannot conclude that every individual reference is of the same kind, or carries the same import. I will not pretend, for example, that, just because geese and ravens are both birds, the Porter’s invitation for the imagined English tailor to cook his goose in Hell merits as much attention as Lady Macbeth’s ominous declaration that “the raven himself is hoarse”. Nor do I think that any individual reference particularly demands explication; by itself, any one of these bird-invocations seems perfectly natural. Shakespeare’s talent is such that he can repeat a motif in such a way that on the macro level it is obvious yet on the micro level it hardly feels present. But that macro level is what interests me here: what impression is created, on the whole, by the presence of so many birds in this play? I have a theory, which, though it may seem far-fetched, I think merits at least some consideration, and which, at the very least, I have not seen stated elsewhere, and so may make a novel contribution to the conversation.
Macbeth is both Shakespeare’s most supernatural tragedy and his most Sophoclean; these two superlatives are inextricably related. The appellative Weird given to the opening scene’s three Sisters–derived from the Old English wyrd, meaning destiny, and famously given its more familiar connotation by Shakespeare himself in this very play–is, among the Bard’s works, unique to Macbeth; and just as that word appears nowhere else in Shakespeare, so is the concept it represents absent in all tragedies but this one. Though Hamlet may cry out against outrageous fortune, and though Othello may rhetoricize about how no man can control his fate, it is only in Macbeth that we truly feel that the events we see play out before us are fated, predestined, inevitable. [See Note 1.] The ghost in Hamlet commands his son to revenge his foul and most unnatural murder, but does not tell him it is certain that he will succeed; indeed, would not the drama be sapped of its intrigue if that level of certainty were present? Meanwhile, the supernatural interlopers in Macbeth offer the Scottish thane not a mission, but a prophecy: All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter! From its mystical opening word–When, not If–the Scottish play makes us aware of the certainty of all that is to befall our tragic antihero. Macbeth is thus a different sort of tragedy than Shakespeare’s others, and it works by an inverted mechanism. While the tragedy of, for example, Desdemona’s death is that it may have been prevented, the tragedy of Macbeth’s destruction is that it represents the fulfilment of fate; and this is the very same mechanism by which Oedipus Rex operates, complete with its own “Weird” character in the form of the seer Tiresias. Though Calvin managed to accept that some men are destined for greatness and others for ruin, this idea is, to Shakespeare and Sophocles, nothing short of agonizing–the stuff of tragedy.
Now: what does all of this have to do with birds? Consider these words from Antigone, spoken by Tiresias to Creon:
You shall learn, when you hear the indications of my art! As I took my place on my ancient seat for observing birds, where I can mark every bird of omen I heard a strange sound among them, since they were screeching with dire, incoherent frenzy and I knew that they were tearing each other with bloody claws, for there was a whirring of wings that made it clear… (Lloyd-Jones translation)
Consider next these words from Oedipus Tyrannus, spoken defensively by Oedipus to Tiresias:
Why, come, tell me, how can you be a true prophet? Why when the versifying hound was here did not you speak some word that could release the citizens? Indeed, her riddle was not one for the first comer to explain! It required prophetic skill, and you were exposed as having no knowledge from the birds or from the gods. No, it was I that came, Oedipus who knew nothing, and put a stop to her; I hit the mark by native wit, not by what I learned from birds. (Lloyd-Jones translation)
The practice of divining the future from birds–be it from their behaviors, their cries, or their innards–was, to Sophocles and his contemporaries, not superstitious hokum, but a practical science at which one could be skilled or unskilled, and it bodes ill for Oedipus that he is so quick to disregard it in favor of his own native wit. [See Note 2] By Shakespeare’s day, the practice had long been relegated to the realm of outdated hocus-pocus, but the Bard still saw some truth in it; in Macbeth, there is a recurring sense that, when the world is sick with some great wrong, its first symptoms manifest in the behavior of birds. When the “fatal bellman” the owl shrieks in the night, Lady Macbeth takes it as a sign that her husband is about his bloody business. The day after the murder of Duncan, as Ross converses with an Old Man about the strange things they’ve seen the previous night, “unnatural/Even as the deed that’s done”, the killing of a falcon by a mousing-owl–an omen straight out of Sophocles–is mentioned before the madness and cannibalism of Duncan’s horses, even though the latter would surely be more immediately noticeable and ghastly than the former.
These are the most obvious examples of birds as ill omens in Macbeth; yet even the more innocuous invocations of birds throughout the rest of the play continually turn our thoughts back to the ancient Greek understanding of fate and prophecy, and thereby remind us that, however savagely he may fight at Dunsinane, Macbeth’s fate is as fixed as that of Oedipus. The birds have already foretold all.
Note 1: The closest thing there is to this kind of fatalness in another Shakespearean tragedy is the several superstitious occurrences in Julius Caesar–both the soothsayer’s message of “Beware the ides of March” and the bestial portents such as the lack of a heart in an offering and the whelping of a lioness in the streets. Still, I will insist that these omens do not convey a sense of fatedness to the audience as strongly as the Weird Sisters in Macbeth by virtue of their being told to Caesar himself, not to Brutus, the play’s true protagonist, and by the fact that Shakespeare elsewhere uses dialogue to throw some doubt upon the idea of predestination: "Men at some times are masters of their fates:/The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,/But in ourselves, that we are underlings." -I.ii
Note 2: The Liddell-Scott Greek Lexicon identifies at least two separate verbs referring to bird-based divination, both of which are present in the quoted passages: Tiresias uses ορνϊθοσκοπέομαι, observe birds, interpret their flight and cries, while Oedipus uses οιωνίζομαι, take omens from the flight and cries of birds. The latter term comes from οιωνος, a large bird, bird of prey, such as a vulture or eagle, and so distinguished from a common bird, while the former comes from ορνις, which more generally refers to a bird, including birds of prey and domestic fowls. Birds of both kinds are present in Macbeth; there are οιωναι, such as the “falcon, towering in her pride of place”, as well as ορνες, like the Porter’s goose and cock. I therefore see little value in interrogating the kinds of birds invoked by Shakespeare, the specific cultural associations and significance of the owl, the raven, or the wren; rather, if we reduce them down to their barest existence as birds, animals of the class Aves, and consider them in an ancient Greek light, then things become a bit clearer.

I’ve been with my boyfriend for two years now. We met online and we’re in a long-distance relationship. I’ve had such wonderful times with him and I love him. But lately, as we’re becoming more serious, I’ve been noticing things about him that bother me. I feel like I don’t really have a normal boyfriend and I feel like I deserve better. I suddenly catch myself wondering if this is really going to work out and if I won’t be happier with someone else. I’ve really loved him so much, he was everything to me. I was always bursting with love for him. I feel quite numb lately, because there are so many things about him that I’m starting to notice now, and they’re starting to bother me. I feel resentment towards him.
First of all, he is a bit overweight and I’ve been waiting two years for him to lose weight. It stayed the same in the first year even though he promised me he would lose the weight for me. We dated for nine months online before meeting and he only told me he was overweight two months before we were going to meet up. I didn’t know, because the only pictures of him online were of when he was slim. He is starting to lose weight now, but it’s going quite slowly and I feel like I need to push him and help him all the time.
Second of all, he’s not financially stable. He’s a freelance writer but he doesn’t earn any money. He lives with his parents which is not ideal but wouldn’t bother me so much if he was actually employed and earning money. When we ‘works’ it’s just him writing stories and poems for himself. He does receive £500 a month because he once tried to commit suicide when he was 17, but that will end soon and still, it’s not enough. He also dropped out of college because of that so he doesn’t have a degree either. I told him that I would like him to get a job because we want to get married early and it’s important that he has a steady income before we do. He asked me if I could look for jobs for him, which was fine by me, I don’t mind helping. He looked a little aswell and asked around in some libraries but he’s not really doing anything about it now. He’s not actively searching. It really comes from me. He’s setting up his writing website now but even that takes so long. I don’t feel much motivation or ambition from him.
Third, he doesn’t have his driver’s licence and he doesn’t have a car. I was the one who really spurred him on to get lessons. He’s had two lessons from his dad in two months. He’s not really doing much for it. If he really cared he would make sure to get at least one lesson a week.
I feel like there are so many things that lack in him. I really love him, but I feel like I constantly have to see things through my fingers. I’m constantly waiting for him to do and achieve the things that I want him to do. I feel anxious and stressed. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have a future with him. I can’t see us living together in a nice house with children. I can’t see him being a father. It’s all just a dream. It’s not normal that I should make my boyfriend get a job and work and get his licence. He’s turning 25 this year, these are things he should already have and that he should be doing on his own, I shouldn’t have to tell him. I stayed because I really thought it would get better and maybe it is getting a little better, but it’s not enough. I don’t feel safe, I feel unstable. I feel like it’s just a game. I’m doing my part, I’m in college and saving as much money as I can. I feel like he’s not doing his part. And now I actually feel like I love and like him less because of all these things, because it makes me feel resentful and unnattracted to him. I keep imagining myself and a man who has a job and a house and is independent and even the thought of that makes me feel so relieved. I’m thinking of being with other people and it makes me feel guilty. I really don’t need much, I’m not asking for a huge income and a big house. And I’m also willing to work hard myself, but I can’t do it alone. Even if we just live in an apartment and don’t go on holidays that much, I don’t mind if I’m with the man I love. But this is not even at the minimum.
I’m all alone in bed now, he walked away angrily to sleep downstairs because I called him a manchild because he said he doesn’t want to come to my house during the six weeks we won’t see each other. It made me feel annoyed because even if he doesn’t like my house or my parents and is afraid of flying, would it really be worth not seeing me for so long? I feel so sad and hopeless. I just want a man. I’m done with this. I’m going home tommorow and maybe I should just break it off now, although his parents booked a holiday for us all in Cornwall in June. Please help me. I’ve always been willing to fight for him and wait for him and make sacrifices for him. I’ve been cutting down my own needs for him, but my patience and hope is running out now.

I am having a party with a small group of people. They are all friends from various social groups I am a part of. I have joined a new group of friends and in this group I (24 female) really got along well with one person (31 female), we’ll call her Emma.
Eventually, Emma told me that she liked me. I told her that I didn’t feel the same way, but I would still like to be friends. I ended up being quite busy after that finishing the semester, visiting family and whatnot. I would still see her on the occasional weekend outings with our other friends. At these hangouts, I was more hesitant with Emma because I wanted to gauge how she felt/give her the space she needed.
It became increasingly clear, every time we were hanging out with friends, that she was avoiding me more and more. At one group hangout (trivia), I arrived late so everyone was already on teams. So I just talked to people. Emma was already drunk. It ended with her joining into the groups I was talking to and bumping me and making me bump into people. At one point she put her hand over mouth. She kept wanting to talk bout me not hanging out with her anymore (to which I told her we could talk about it later).
I later asked Emma what was up that night and she said she did not remember anything (I found it hard to believe). Another night, she ended up walking me to my car and we talked about the whole thing and she told me her friends suggested that we should be friends. After that I gave her space, it was clear she needed it. There had been several hang outs we were at, and our interactions were a little awkward. We had a long conversation about things again. And it seemed like things were fine and we could interact and it wasn’t too weird.
Fast forward to last week, I went to trivia and Emma was really avoiding me. I had invited a few people from our friend group to my party, so when Emma, one of the people I invited, and I were in conversation they brought it up. I asked her if we were good and she told me that was a weird question to ask, so I sort of just let it go. On another occasion, at a club, Emma started making small digs at me in front of people. So I decided to leave.
When I got home I ended up talking to Emma for hours. She told me that she did’t trust me and said she was hurt that I ghosted her. Which surprised me. But I explained that I did’t see it that way. There was one conversation, in particular, she mentioned, where she sent me poems, and she wanted me to send her poems back but I didn’t want to send her poems (I already sent one).
It was clear that she was mad about the poems. Towards the end of the call, she said she was mad that the party came up and she should have left earlier and that I was in the wrong for it having come up. I know she wanted me to invite her then and that’s what she was hoping for in bringing it up, but I don’t want to feel uncomfortable or feel like there would be drama. So, AITA?

I realized that all my life I’ve loved to write way more than a normal person would. I would sit on the computer for hours writing stories as a kid. Throughout my life I’ve written short film scripts, fiction novels, so many lists of other things I liked, analyzed characters, make songs. I write poems like every second of the day. In middle school i was inspired by “The Raven” wanted to be a writer and would write stories to read to the class and scary poems. My favorite class was ELA because sometimes we’d get to write creative writing or argumentative essays. I don’t do hours of research about writing because honestly learning grammar and structures just makes it not as fun for me and I don’t read much real books but I read an extreme amount of fanfiction and lately comic books too. I consume a lot of tv and animated media which when you think about it is all about storytelling. I like to listen to people talk like audiobooks when it’s a real book. These are some of the reasons I didn’t think writing could be considered a special interest because most my special interests I know so much about that I infodump facts about it a lot but i realized that most people don’t write as excessively as I do and I didn’t even realize but I was infodumping to a friend about some stories I’ve written and realized that it’s really been my life long interest.

e.g. for an unseen poem with a long name, or like Checking Out Me History, can I abbreviate it into COMH?

Here we go—I'm finally making a post!
So, after months of lurking (and a handful of half-written posts), I'm finally taking the plunge and giving this a shot. I know they say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but in my case, it begins with a single post. So, here goes nothing, right? Haha.
What am I looking for?
In a nutshell—authentic, meaningful conversation. A few days ago, a few other faculty members and I met up for an evening out to celebrate the end of finals. A few of us stayed pretty late, pontificating about life, talking about the most random topics, and basically just enjoying each other's company. I don't know about you, but in today's world (where so many of us are glued to Zoom screens and remote work), we need more of that sort of dynamic—just genuine, authentic, long-form discourse. I like to believe with the right sort of person (and the right sort of conversational skills), you can cultivate that sort of vibe in online conversation.
For example, when I think back to the past, one of my favorite memories was a lengthy conversation I had with a random stranger at a cozy little coffee shop in a small town in Upstate New York. We talked about everything from philosophy to the best type of coffee beans. That's the sort of conversation I crave!
A bit about me:

• I'm 34, male, and work in higher education.
• I finished my doctorate a few years ago (Finally! I can now add "doctor" to my name without having to prescribe anything or perform surgery, haha — although that dissertation was brutal, just sayin').
• I love the outdoors and often take local day trips to explore new trails and scenic spots.
• I have a passion for photography, always trying to capture that perfect shot (though my cat remains a stubbornly uncooperative model).
• Journaling and poetry are my ways of reflecting and expressing my thoughts, even if my poems often end up sounding like Dr. Seuss after too much coffee.
• Long hikes are my therapy. Nature has a way of putting things into perspective.
• I have a knack for making terrible puns. Consider yourself warned.
• I like to pretend I'm a trivia night enthusiast, though my knowledge of obscure 90s cartoons is more impressive than practical.
• I'm convinced that breakfast foods are acceptable at any time of the day. Pancakes for dinner, anyone?
• I’ve been known to binge-watch documentaries about anything from space exploration to ancient civilizations.
• I’m a coffee enthusiast and love experimenting with different brewing methods and beans.
• I’m secretly training for the “Olympics of Procrastination,” and I’m a gold medal contender.
• I pride myself on my ability to parallel park in one go – a skill I wish I could add to my résumé.
• My superpower is finding the perfect GIF for any situation.

So basically...
I'm hoping to find thoughtful interactions with folks who genuinely want to discuss all that life has to offer. I'm drawn to people with a natural zest and curiosity for life, who embrace a growth mindset, and who value emotional intelligence and strong communication skills. Whether we're delving into deep philosophical questions or sharing our favorite recipes, I'm looking for someone who appreciates the beauty of a well-rounded, engaging conversation.
If this sounds like you, send me a chat message! I'm looking forward to hearing from you!

I (f, 22) just wanted to vent somewhere people will actually understand. I’ve been dealing with GP for about 4 years now and finally got diagnosed last year, i had the botox injection in september and was in hospital for around a month, didn’t have to go back to a&e at all until the end of march where it all started happening again. for the first time in years i actually felt free and i was able to live as close to a normal life as i could, obviously being careful in what i ate and portion size but pretty much had freedom to eat what i wanted when i wanted and it just made me feel somewhat like a normal person.
since the end of march i’ve been in and out of hospital, i had another round of botox early april but that didn’t seem to help and the doctors couldn’t explain why, they said maybe it wasn’t injected in the right place or they didn’t use enough, they honestly were nearly as clueless as i was. in the end they decided to repeat the botox, that was just over a week ago. i was sent home the same day, had to go back to a&e later that evening, was sent home 2 days later and again was back in a&e that same evening. i’ve now been kept as an inpatient for a week and i’m still finding it hard to eat/drink without being sick and feeling really intense stomach pain, it gets to the point where i’m rolling around, crying and screaming in pain. doctors don’t seem to do much at all other than keep me on regular IV cyclizine and metoclopramide for sickness, subcutaneous morphine injections for the pain and a sliding scale to manage my T1DM.
when i was healthy for that october-march period i’d managed to gain some weight and was around 50kg, a week ago i was back to the godforsaken 46kg i seemed to always be stuck at before, and now i’ve gone down to 43kg which has been really disheartening and has taken a toll on my mental health. i felt i was doing so well, not only had i gained weight but also muscle, i was exercising more than i ever could have before and even walking 10-12km a day, now i can barely walk down the hall without feeling drained. i managed to get a job which i was doing quite well at and it was my first job, at 22, because i could never get hired before due to being so unreliable with my condition, luckily they understand what i have to deal with as it is my boyfriend’s family business.
i don’t know, everything is just making me feel really down and depressed and all i want is to be able to go home and go back to my life. staff at hospital also don’t help, the majority are nice but i still get comments from certain nurses who accuse me of faking to get medication or who complain when i’m crying as i’m “disturbing others” when there’s nothing i can do. i hate the way my body looks again, i hate the gap between my thighs and how i can see my ribs and bony shoulders. i hate my arms even more, all the bruises and needle marks from blood tests and IV drips, it makes me look like a junkie and i find myself crying because of it a lot.
i’ve been referred to another hospital for a consultation regarding a G-POEM but still haven’t heard from them yet. it’s just getting to the point where i’m feeling so hopeless and helpless. i’ve also been put back on anti depressants and taking diazepam regularly to help with the anxiety and distress it all causes.
at home i smoke weed, a decent amount, which helps with my appetite and also helps with my mental health struggles but obviously being in hospital i haven’t been able to smoke which makes everything so much worse as i don’t have anything to distract myself from what’s happening. some days smoking is the only thing that will get me to eat and keep me from having anxiety toward food.
my boyfriend (m, 29) and his family have been really supportive and they’re pretty much the only reason i haven’t spiraled into a full on mental health crisis, he visits nearly everyday and so does his mother who has been such a huge support for me as my own family aren’t there for me. i actually asked my mother if she would come visit me, i knew she wouldn’t, but i did it anyway, she came up with a bullshit excuse as to why she couldn’t and that nearly broke me because i was already feeling so low and on top of that i then felt rejected by my own mother, i should’ve known better but at that moment i just needed my mom. the one who came through for me that day was my boyfriend’s mom who came to see me as soon as she found out how upset i was, she held me, she let me cry and hugged me so tightly and reassured me i was loved and cared for. she’s truly been the mother i needed through this.
i know that i can be somewhat healthy and live almost normally, but right now things are just so bleak and i’m struggling to see a way out, all i want is to just be normal, it’s all i’ve wanted my entire life and it’s like no matter what i will never get that. i’ve had T1DM since i was 9 with 2 diabetes related comas under my belt by age 10, PTSD, depression, and anxiety since 12, and the GP since i was 18, it’s like i can’t catch a break. no one understands what it’s like but i keep getting told “i get it” or “i relate to that” and i know people are trying to make me feel better but to me it just comes across as diminishing what i’m going through and have been going through for so long. I was also recently told just how bad my GP is and i just couldn’t stop crying for hours, i was always told it was ‘severe’ but now i know that i have 96% retention after 4 hours and all it did was make me feel even more hopeless.
sorry for the long post, i just really don’t know where else to go where people might ACTUALLY understand what i’m going through

Humans are Weird – Storm Watching

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-storm-watching
“Why did we even bother building a base on the land anyway?” Rollsaround asked as he absorbed the dim light filtering through the wide windows of the base.
The windows gave an impressive view of what the humans in their generosity called a “coastline”. Instead of gently undulating coral beds easing down into the water the glittering volcanic rock dropped abruptly from the graminoid covered highlands and dove down dozens of meters to where it usually met the heaving surface of the water below. Today however the water had seemingly decided to express its objections to the separation and was attempting to scale the cliffs in massive waves. The base vibrated from the force of a gust of wind and Rollsaround hunkered deeper into his mineral bath.
“Do you require another introduction of thermal-loaded water?” Tenth Cousin asked from where she perched on a Shatar couch, reading something that was supposed to be very masculine poetry from her homeworld.
“I do not,” Rollsaround reassured her. “I was just reacting negatively to the storm.”
She tilted her head to examine the weather conditions with a thoughtful set to her antenna.
“I think it is a pleasant change,” she said. “The harsh, unfiltered lights of the suns here means that we have no real night. The clouds at lest allow the illusions of dusk, and the wind overhead is not entirely unlike breezes in Father’s canopy if you can focus your attention on some pleasant task.”
“Well if we can’t go outside during clear weather without protection due to the radiation,” Rollsaround grumbled, “and we can’t go outside in stormy weather due to the, well, the storm, I say we should have just built a floating base that we could submerge during storm weather.”
“There is perhaps logic in that,” Tenth cousin agreed, and very deliberately tilted her head back to the poetry.
Rollsaround drooped his leading appendages over the edge of the bowl and absorbed the storm light in a slightly sulky mood. The airlock cycled open and Third Sister stepped in with the brisk stride that Rollsaround had noticed that high ranking sisters only used when they were looking for someone who had committed some infraction. Tenth Cousin brought the poem up closer to her face and started moving her mandibles as if she was completely focused on sounding out the words. Third Sister tilted her head the examine the cousin and then abruptly swiveled her body to focus on Rollsaround.
“First Ecologist,” she began, “do you know First Mechanic’s current location? The exterior vents in my lab require percussive maintenance.”
“He is off shift by now,” Rollsaround said. “You should check the washrooms and his quarters.”
However even as he offered this sound advice Rollsaround felt a ripple of unease. Human Friend Conner almost never went to his quarters after his shift. He was highly social, even by human standards and usually came to the main room to chat first thing.
“I have already checked both of those locations,” Third Sister stated. “He is not there and he is not answering his comm.”
Rollsaround mulled over that. Clearly Third Sister needed to find the human. An improperly vented laboratory in such a base as theirs was a serious health risk.
“Have you checked the storage areas?” he asked.
“I did a ping for his comm,” she replied, “but it is not reading as in the base at all so I could not locate the room he was in. I was surprised as I didn’t think we had any shielding strong enough to block the comm signal in the base-”
She cut off as Rollsaround suddenly surged up out of his mineral bath and crawled out of it.
“What is the matter First Ecologist?” Third Sister asked in confusion.
“He has gone out for a walk,” Rollsaround said, forgetting in his rush to add emotional undertones to his words.
“Out?” Third Sister demanded, her antenna going lax with confusion.
“Out to watch the storm from withing the wind currents,” Rollsaround explained.
“How do you gather that?” Third Sister demanded.
“He has described storm watching on his homeworld to me,” Rollsaround explained as he opened the hatch to the sub floor currents. “He also mentioned what he thought the perfect storm watching spot would be on these cliffs. That spot is behind enough rocks to block the signal. Now if you will excuse me I am going to go fetch him.”
“He has broken regulations!” Third Sister clicked, her frill flashing red with alarm.
“That on a secondary vine,” Tenth Cousin interjected as she came up to them. “The same regulations apply to you First Ecologist! The wind-”
“I am rated as fully wind resistant under these conditions,” Rollsaround said with a dismissive wave, “one of the perks of not being built like a windmill.”
“Your thermal mass-” Tenth Cousin tried again.
“I am fully warmed at the moment and I will turn back if my core temperature drops too low,” he interjected again. “Now if there are no further objections?”
Without waiting for their objections he dropped down into the sub-floor current and tapped the control panel to direct the current to the main outlet. He bundled his appendages and let himself be swept into the cold, but fresh exterior water. He bumped up against the smooth rise of the outlet and edged up out of the water. The wind was powerful. He could feel it tug at him if he raised a gripping appendage high, but at least over the main path there were eddies along the ground that were so comparatively we that he couldn’t even feel them. He began shuffling at top speed along the path. A the crest of the first high spot the winds did hit him, shoving his body sideways. However, as he had expected it required barely a fraction of his strength to grip the path firmly with his set appendages as he moved the free appendages forward. It barely even slowed him down, the roar of it was rather disconcerting when it wasn’t muted by the base walls however. He did wonder how the human had made it this far. After a long steady shuffle he rounded the corner that was blocking the signal and spotted a tall figure down at the cliff’s edge that wasn’t normally there.
Rollsaround activated the comm he was holding pressed against the ground. There was a significant delay before the human responded.
“Human Friend Conner,” Rollsaround said, trying to put firmness in his tones. “Come now and carry me back to the base. I am at the crest of the hill looking down at you.”
There was an odd sound from the comm that suggested the human was trying to say something back, but human speaking organs were not optimized for shielding the microphone of a comm while speaking so the human simply gave two short radio bursts and the tall figure on the cliff’s edge began swaying back and forth as it moved towards the path. Rollsaround anchored himself more fully against the blasts and watched in grim interest as the gusts blew the tall human form to one side and then the other as the human struggled up the path.
When Human Friend Conner finally did reach him the human didn’t bother speaking. He just reached down with a grin and tried to lift the Undulate off of the path. For one long moment Rollsaround hung on to the ground in a show of strength. He wasn’t sure if it would impress the human but a little dominance display did seem called for. He let go when the look of perplexity fully formed on the humans face but before he could give a more powerful tug and they headed back to the base.
Being carried over a meter above the ground in this wind was another experience altogether. The swaying of the human in the wind felt far wilder than it had looked, and Rollsaround found himself clutching tightly to the human’s coat as the wind tried to rip him away. They finally made the base airlock and stepped through to the blessedly still air. Rollsaround dropped to the floor and shook the cold water off of himself.
“I think Third Sister would like a word with you,” he said.
Granted she would probably want a word with him too, but Human Friend Conner didn’t need to know that.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

https://preview.redd.it/292890cl190d1.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=80452218955753005afd72dfd6f5c56b3cf0c658

Humans are Weird – Storm Watching

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-storm-watching
“Why did we even bother building a base on the land anyway?” Rollsaround asked as he absorbed the dim light filtering through the wide windows of the base.
The windows gave an impressive view of what the humans in their generosity called a “coastline”. Instead of gently undulating coral beds easing down into the water the glittering volcanic rock dropped abruptly from the graminoid covered highlands and dove down dozens of meters to where it usually met the heaving surface of the water below. Today however the water had seemingly decided to express its objections to the separation and was attempting to scale the cliffs in massive waves. The base vibrated from the force of a gust of wind and Rollsaround hunkered deeper into his mineral bath.
“Do you require another introduction of thermal-loaded water?” Tenth Cousin asked from where she perched on a Shatar couch, reading something that was supposed to be very masculine poetry from her homeworld.
“I do not,” Rollsaround reassured her. “I was just reacting negatively to the storm.”
She tilted her head to examine the weather conditions with a thoughtful set to her antenna.
“I think it is a pleasant change,” she said. “The harsh, unfiltered lights of the suns here means that we have no real night. The clouds at lest allow the illusions of dusk, and the wind overhead is not entirely unlike breezes in Father’s canopy if you can focus your attention on some pleasant task.”
“Well if we can’t go outside during clear weather without protection due to the radiation,” Rollsaround grumbled, “and we can’t go outside in stormy weather due to the, well, the storm, I say we should have just built a floating base that we could submerge during storm weather.”
“There is perhaps logic in that,” Tenth cousin agreed, and very deliberately tilted her head back to the poetry.
Rollsaround drooped his leading appendages over the edge of the bowl and absorbed the storm light in a slightly sulky mood. The airlock cycled open and Third Sister stepped in with the brisk stride that Rollsaround had noticed that high ranking sisters only used when they were looking for someone who had committed some infraction. Tenth Cousin brought the poem up closer to her face and started moving her mandibles as if she was completely focused on sounding out the words. Third Sister tilted her head the examine the cousin and then abruptly swiveled her body to focus on Rollsaround.
“First Ecologist,” she began, “do you know First Mechanic’s current location? The exterior vents in my lab require percussive maintenance.”
“He is off shift by now,” Rollsaround said. “You should check the washrooms and his quarters.”
However even as he offered this sound advice Rollsaround felt a ripple of unease. Human Friend Conner almost never went to his quarters after his shift. He was highly social, even by human standards and usually came to the main room to chat first thing.
“I have already checked both of those locations,” Third Sister stated. “He is not there and he is not answering his comm.”
Rollsaround mulled over that. Clearly Third Sister needed to find the human. An improperly vented laboratory in such a base as theirs was a serious health risk.
“Have you checked the storage areas?” he asked.
“I did a ping for his comm,” she replied, “but it is not reading as in the base at all so I could not locate the room he was in. I was surprised as I didn’t think we had any shielding strong enough to block the comm signal in the base-”
She cut off as Rollsaround suddenly surged up out of his mineral bath and crawled out of it.
“What is the matter First Ecologist?” Third Sister asked in confusion.
“He has gone out for a walk,” Rollsaround said, forgetting in his rush to add emotional undertones to his words.
“Out?” Third Sister demanded, her antenna going lax with confusion.
“Out to watch the storm from withing the wind currents,” Rollsaround explained.
“How do you gather that?” Third Sister demanded.
“He has described storm watching on his homeworld to me,” Rollsaround explained as he opened the hatch to the sub floor currents. “He also mentioned what he thought the perfect storm watching spot would be on these cliffs. That spot is behind enough rocks to block the signal. Now if you will excuse me I am going to go fetch him.”
“He has broken regulations!” Third Sister clicked, her frill flashing red with alarm.
“That on a secondary vine,” Tenth Cousin interjected as she came up to them. “The same regulations apply to you First Ecologist! The wind-”
“I am rated as fully wind resistant under these conditions,” Rollsaround said with a dismissive wave, “one of the perks of not being built like a windmill.”
“Your thermal mass-” Tenth Cousin tried again.
“I am fully warmed at the moment and I will turn back if my core temperature drops too low,” he interjected again. “Now if there are no further objections?”
Without waiting for their objections he dropped down into the sub-floor current and tapped the control panel to direct the current to the main outlet. He bundled his appendages and let himself be swept into the cold, but fresh exterior water. He bumped up against the smooth rise of the outlet and edged up out of the water. The wind was powerful. He could feel it tug at him if he raised a gripping appendage high, but at least over the main path there were eddies along the ground that were so comparatively we that he couldn’t even feel them. He began shuffling at top speed along the path. A the crest of the first high spot the winds did hit him, shoving his body sideways. However, as he had expected it required barely a fraction of his strength to grip the path firmly with his set appendages as he moved the free appendages forward. It barely even slowed him down, the roar of it was rather disconcerting when it wasn’t muted by the base walls however. He did wonder how the human had made it this far. After a long steady shuffle he rounded the corner that was blocking the signal and spotted a tall figure down at the cliff’s edge that wasn’t normally there.
Rollsaround activated the comm he was holding pressed against the ground. There was a significant delay before the human responded.
“Human Friend Conner,” Rollsaround said, trying to put firmness in his tones. “Come now and carry me back to the base. I am at the crest of the hill looking down at you.”
There was an odd sound from the comm that suggested the human was trying to say something back, but human speaking organs were not optimized for shielding the microphone of a comm while speaking so the human simply gave two short radio bursts and the tall figure on the cliff’s edge began swaying back and forth as it moved towards the path. Rollsaround anchored himself more fully against the blasts and watched in grim interest as the gusts blew the tall human form to one side and then the other as the human struggled up the path.
When Human Friend Conner finally did reach him the human didn’t bother speaking. He just reached down with a grin and tried to lift the Undulate off of the path. For one long moment Rollsaround hung on to the ground in a show of strength. He wasn’t sure if it would impress the human but a little dominance display did seem called for. He let go when the look of perplexity fully formed on the humans face but before he could give a more powerful tug and they headed back to the base.
Being carried over a meter above the ground in this wind was another experience altogether. The swaying of the human in the wind felt far wilder than it had looked, and Rollsaround found himself clutching tightly to the human’s coat as the wind tried to rip him away. They finally made the base airlock and stepped through to the blessedly still air. Rollsaround dropped to the floor and shook the cold water off of himself.
“I think Third Sister would like a word with you,” he said.
Granted she would probably want a word with him too, but Human Friend Conner didn’t need to know that.
https://i.redd.it/gdoknun0390d1.gif

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

There has been a lot of discourse surrounding the name and mascot vote for the team, and I wanted to lay out what I believe makes a good team name, as well as which of the popular choices best fit.
For this purpose, I’ll use the most common names I see thrown around as potential favorites from what was included in the official vote:

• Outlaws
• Mammoth
• Yeti
• Swarm
• Mountaineers
• Black Diamonds

1 The name should have ties to the location of the team

I understand that there are a number of teams that don’t have any connection to where they are based out of, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a somewhat dumb argument to make. For the vast majority of teams, the name has some reason. It can be something historical like the Jazz being passed on from New Orleans and is now part of Utah’s history even though we don’t have a raging jazz scene. It can be tied in with the local wildlife or geographical surroundings of the area like the Coyotes were in Arizona. I could go on with more examples, but the point is:
We are choosing a new name to represent Utah’s NHL team, and that name should represent Utah.
From this requirement, we can narrow down the list to the following possible names:

• Outlaws - History of outlaws in Utah from Butch Cassidy to the Sundance Kid
• Mammoth - Mammoth remains have been found here
• Swarm - Known as the “Beehive State”
• Mountaineers - Mountains. Not really needing much of an explanation
• Black Diamonds - Known for skiing and snowboarding

2 The name should be unique to the major professional sports

I understand that some (looking at you Colorado) are up in arms about their precious Lacrosse teams that are already using the names Mammoth and Outlaws. Unfortunately, It’s going to be near impossible to find a name that is good, and hasn’t been used somewhere before. As long as we’re keeping it unique within the major leagues, it doesn’t really matter if some lacrosse, ultimate frisbee, or your cousin's little league team shares a name. The Utah NHL team would immediately become the most popular team with those names. The vast majority of people you’d ask would have never heard of any of those teams before. Not a knock on the sport itself, but sharing a name with a lacrosse team is an absolute non issue. It’s just not popular enough to make a difference. If anything, maybe it helps draw some attention to the existing team.
They left out names that people really like (Raptors) because it’s already in use for a large professional team. You have to draw the line somewhere, because it’s going to be too hard to have a 100% original name that checks all the boxes.
None of the names remaining are already in use among the 4 major leagues, so we can just move on.

3 The name should be cool and provide a unique branding opportunity

This one is more self explanatory. It can come down to opinion, but since it’s my post, I’ll give mine. I think all of these are unique, but Mountaineers feels like the branding would be easy to fall short. It has potential, but there’s also a chance to get something really boring and generic. The others feel more fool proof, so we’ll remove Mountaineers here.

• Outlaws
• Mammoth
• Swarm
• Black Diamonds

4 The name should flow of the tongue nicely

This one is an awkward one to qualify one name over the other. None of the remaining names have a real alliteration, Yeti being the closest as the start of Utah and Yeti have a similar sound. Utah Outlaws has a near rhyme with the -ah and -law.
While those fit the best, I don’t feel that any are serious offenders of coming out of the mouth awkwardly. For the sake of narrowing the list down, I’ll remove Black Diamonds since it’s just a little bit of a mouthful.
This leaves the list here, with Outlaws having a slight edge in this category:

• Outlaws
• Mammoth
• Swarm

From here, it’s just a matter of choosing your favorite of the remaining names.
The last point really could be finding the name that feels the most "classic". New team names usually stand out from the rest of the league that has old names, established in history. Look at the Oilers compared to the Kraken. It doesn't quite feel right.
To me, Swarm sounds a little XFL/WNBAish. I wouldn’t hate it, but I think it’s the worst of the remaining names.
Mammoth is cool and fits the “cold” theme that they are apparently in love with based off the other names, but the name that I feel check all of the boxes the best is clearly Outlaws.
Classic sounding name with historical ties to Utah, feels like it should already be a team in one of the 4 major leagues but is somehow still available to be claimed and uniquely used, is easy and cool branding, and rhymes with Utah to make it come off the tongue easily. It can also be shortened to “Laws” which is equally cool.
Please vote accordingly.
Tl;dr There are some decent options, but Outlaws checks all the boxes.

A poem I found on the internet maybe in sometime in 2000-2010, its a continuation/analys of the age old question "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck".
I'm aware of the Monkey Island continuation... "A woodchuck could chuck no amount of wood since a woodchuck can't chuck wood... But if a woodchuck could chuck and would chuck..." and so on. But that's only 5 lines.
And what I'm looking for isn't that, this went on for a solid page. I believe it went into more abstract things like economics... It read like an essay, but was so full of rhymes and wordplay that it could also be considered a poem. It was quite funny.
I though it would be easy to find... but no.

OKAY OKAY new day new story also atp I'd like to call this the not so lucky chronicles of nvm too big of an intro already soo here goes the story ehm ehm
12th was over and I was doing neet entrance preps (repeat) so basically wasting an year jus cause I couldn't face my ex [whole another story]
Apo angne irunn kure avumbo I meet this girl from kasargod and start talking away and she was like proper "bro" material like angottum ingottum ookal and it went ahead very smoothly.
Until AADUJEEVITHAM happened like I was watching the movie and was bored to death so I started texting her and somewhere around the interval she said "ente ponn vazhee...." istg my brain stopped braining for a second like maybe it's the way she said it or maybe it was me having hallucinations like najeeb did but everything changed after that
We started flirting and suddenly the cringe and corny lines felt like poems....angne kure naaal poi until one day I was like "she is too adipoli like what If some other idiot figures that out" and I asked her if I could ask her out....Apo she said "ask me neritt"
That wouldn't have been a problem if she was actually near but apolekum classes were over and she was back home and since her favourite movie was thattathin marayathu I collected all the vinod-ism in me and booked a train ticket to kasargod
And when I reached there I called her to let her know I'm there but she said she was out with her fam so I'd have to wait like 3 hrs before I go to her place soo I watched VARSHANGALKU SHESHAM and ohhh did I fall for "Madhoo pakaroo" and the line struck a string in my heart ayoooo😭
Angne full romance pidich I went to her place at like 10 pm (after the movie was over) and otw I had the dumb idea to ask a random naatukaran [evdeya etta ee ______ sthalam] and he was like "Nee eth naatina entha ivde" me being the idiot I was said "njn thrissurna friendine kaanan vanatha" [when she asked me not to talk to the people there]
Pinne onum parayanda njn avde RSS ayi when infact i didn't even know what it meant 😭
Random naatukaran : nee RSS aleda Me : ala etta njn CBSE ayrnu🥹 (In full confidence) [my name being of a Hindu deity and the place I was from in thrissur didn't help support my case]
Angne I was taken to the police station out of suspicion enitu since they didn't have proof and my only known associate was her...avlde uppa had to come to get me out and the problem was he was proper orthodox conservative dad and he didn't even know I existed....soo that didn't go well at all and my parents were called to take me back home.
Out of all the people that heard my story only one policeman was kind enough to understand the kind of idiot I was for coming all this way just to ask her to be my gf but he said "ninak vidichadh anel ninak kitum"
Long story short her dad shipped her to thodupuzha and since then no contact. Last I heard they were planning to get her married off soon after a year
And the way back home I was legit crying to this song not cause I put myself or my parents through this but cause "I COULDNT SEE HER" like she was my iravinte thozhi
And like I never got into a train or ever went to kasargod kannur or kozhikode after that thanks to the police also telling me "jeevanode kitiyath bagyam"
And then till now vere onilekum poi chaadila Like I keep waiting for call ipo varum naale varum kinda thing
Angne my friends seeing me be like this took me to idukki with em we had a blast and while coming back home we had board a train from aluva to thrissur (relatively short ride)
And since we were late we had to get into a sleeper and then walk our way to general but the doors to the general were closed (the ones connecting sleeper and general) so we had to stay back with some passengers
And this lady with a kid starts talking to me and she introduces me to her daughter who was also doing neet and they were going to kozhikode and this girl jus keeps talking to me like she knew me for decades and when we finally stopped (we ran out of casual questions to ask) I put on my headphones and madhoo pakaroo starts playing
She hears it and says it her favourite song (ik ik ithu matte padam ale moment njnum atha vijariche) so I give her a piece and we listen to it apolekum my stop arrives and she gets off too get to the general compartment with her fam and before going I look at her thinking [instagram ID choikano?] And for a moment it felt like she was waiting for me too pakshe I jus turned over and walked away
With a lot of sadness but while wearing a smile and I get out to the bus stand and start crying like without even thinking where I am and my friends come and hug me and I tell em "ipo njn okay ayada" [like they were convincing me to move on from the issue and her after the kasargod incident and be like "nee okay avada ithu vidd"]
Whoever she was acted as this closure I never got from the KSG girl and also ended my ptsd with the song the place and the train
I wouldn't ever understand why I never took a chance to ask her name but ig that's how things are sometimes...I was at the right place at the right time
I guess maybe I was destined to forever fall in love with people I couldn't have maybe there's a whole assortment of impossible people waiting for me to find them. Waiting to make me feel the same impossibility over and over again - [I read this somewhere]
And maybe I'll grow to regret not asking her all this but for a moment she said everything she had to say with her eyes and like someone said "the eyes chico they never lie" and if she didn't mean anything by that look
Maybe the way my eyes interpreted it was the point of difference hence my eyes were the one speaking the truth of my heart
Lesham cringe anenu ariyam pakshe angerr paranjapole premam enum painkilli aan 😌🥹
[Shubam]

Usually after a binge I’m so motivated to eat right and never binge again and work out perfectly etc. This is all fun and dandy for the first couple of days but then urges get too intense and I end up giving in. However, these past couple of days I’ve managed to fight the urges.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s an awful feeling. I feel my chest tighten and my heart begins to pound. I just wanna let go of everything and give in. But I allow myself to feel the pain. I don’t try to just ignore the urge; I tell myself that it sucks. I cry it out and maybe write some poems about how terrible I feel. But I don’t give in, and eventually it passes.
I guess it’s like an exercise session- it sucks in the moment and might even hurt a bit but in the end you feel good. So I allow myself to feel these sucky feelings and acknowledge them.
I know it’s easier said than done and might not work for you, but it’s surprisingly working for me and I feel so proud of myself.
My grandmother tells me that I have it in my hands and that IM the one in control, not the binge demon or the food. I repeat this mantra to myself and other affirmations like reminding myself that binging feels good in that moment but the agonizing and torturous feeling that follows after isn’t worth it.
You wanna know what feels better than the mid-binge euphoria? NOT binge eating and feeling proud of yourself for it. I also try to gamify it and see how long I can have my winning streak for.
We got this. I believe in you.

What is it with the Irish and digging? I asked my shovel knee deep in the garden Digging space for dog who couldn’t dig anymore. I couldn’t really handle a spade, just like my old man, we struggled away in turns and old clothes.
weak after forty minutes of cutting rock and clay. I stopped a few inches short of four foot and rested but had to resume the position; working to a deadline.
I kept digging. I wasn’t sure whether It was sweat or rain on my skin but I removed my jumper for the moisture. The roots in the hole’s side drew blood and tears scratching my bare arms as I delved in to scoop up more soil.
I kept digging. Half expecting to uncover bones, treasure or even turf but continuing I shook hands with the endless hard clay.
Dog went fifteen minutes later, in pain but relatively peaceful. It was the first time I saw death happen in my twenty four years.
Tiny Red breasted vultures now congregated around the hole looking for worms. We put dog in a throw and I put her in place
mother hugged brother as mourners do. Teary eyed father in a fitting role delivered a short, stoic sermon before I resumed the part of custodian and filled the hole.
I couldn’t stop for rest I couldn’t even think about my task. Longing to swap my compatriot spade for a squat pen or one more walk. I topped the mound off with her old kennel.
I’ve never been haunted before but hours later I can’t forget the smell of her final moments, I hope the memory of that smell leaves me alone.
What is it with the Irish and digging? I read the poem that evening, I could no longer see the romance in digging, repetitive, joyless a thankless task. I almost resented my pen. this turf to my clay these potatoes to my rocks. Heaney’s unsung heroes to my little role that morning, gravedigger.

[All are welcome, provided you dress accordingly, lest you disappoint the count. It’s a Masquerade ball at a faux medieval castle.]
Sazabem Castle on Lake Kardos looked ancient but appearances are deceiving, it was only a few years old, renovated specifically for a fairy tale atmosphere by its latest owner, the illustrious Count Fazekas Bertalan. He was known as an outgoing romantic poet and such a residence fit the bill for the grand parties he threw, where guests would step back in time, to a more elegant age. It was at once such party that allegedly he proposed to the silver screen actress Luca Boros and was turned down. It was the final saga of a whirlwind romance that brought him to the attention of the nation. It is likely a number of his poems were written about her, but she wasn’t the first, he had a bit of a reputation as a playboy. His own ancestral estate in Lower Astana was never in his mind up to par and as a result, he paid little attention to it. Sazabem was his crown jewel where he did all his entertaining.
For his latest party, Fazekas planned an elaborate masquerade ball, where he would invite the most interesting people in the nation, not just aristocrats but politicians and celebrities. He longed for engaging discussion. While not overly political, Fazekas has lent his name to certain liberal causes, such as women’s suffrage and has expressed support for some Liberal party figures, along with some in the PLP. Even then he did not discriminate in his invitations on that basis.
His main goal however was not just conversation, but a more profound connection. He found himself lonely and wished to meet someone that would make him soon forget about Luca. One such lady he hoped to meet was Princess Fruzsina. Perhaps they could strike up a relationship, but that remained to be seen, he would not make that assumption. Still when she confirmed she would be attending, he was quite excited.
The evening of the party, any guests had to cross a bridge to the castle, the gates were ‘guarded’ by his staff in costume. With the exception of the upstairs, guests were free to explore the grounds. The ballroom, one of the private dining rooms and the gardens. Many rooms and spots had great views of Lake Kardos.
Count Bertalan went from room to room, talking to his guests, and making sure the food was good and the beverages were flowing, partaking himself somewhat. Only the finest would do. He himself was dressed up as an 18th century gentleman, in a blue jacket with gold trim. His mask was also gold with a similar pattern. He also wore a carnation.

Unveiling the Allure of the Ghazal Form**
Summary:
A ghazal is a poetic form with Middle Eastern origins, typically composed of rhyming couplets and a repeating refrain. Each line of the poem shares a common meter, and the last word of the second line in each couplet rhymes throughout the poem.
Examples:

1. "The Beloved" by Rumi.
   
2. "Ghazal" by Agha Shahid Ali.
   
3. "The Ghazal of What Hurt" by Peter Cole.
   

Tips for Creative Writing:

• Embrace Repetition: The consistent refrain creates a melodic quality.
  
• Convey Emotional Intensity: Ghazals often explore themes of love, loss, and longing.
  
• Play with Imagery: Use vivid imagery and metaphor to enhance the emotional impact.
  

Questions for Exploration:

1. How does the repetition of the refrain contribute to the overall tone of the ghazal?
   
2. Can you think of other cultural traditions that incorporate similar poetic forms?
   

Additional Resources:

• Read the works of contemporary poets like Fatimah Asghar and Safia Elhillo for modern ghazals.
  
• Explore classical ghazals by Mirza Ghalib for insights into the traditional form.
  

Creative Writing Prompt:
Step 1: Choose a theme or emotion to explore in your ghazal.
Step 2: Craft the first rhyming couplet with a meaningful refrain.
Step 3: Continue developing the theme in subsequent couplets, maintaining the rhyme scheme.
Example:
In the night's embrace, a silent moonlight gleams (A) Lost in the echoes, the heart silently dreams (A) Whispers of love in the gentle night's streams (A) A ghazal's refrain, where longing redeems (A)

KEEP GOING

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