In the small town of Ashford, nestled deep in the mountains, there was a legend that the locals spoke of in hushed tones. It was said that HIM, a malevolent entity, roamed the surrounding forests, preying on those who dared venture too far from the safety of their homes.
Caden Moran was a skeptic. As a reporter for the town's small newspaper, he prided himself on debunking myths and legends. So when he heard about HIM, he decided to investigate, convinced that there was a logical explanation behind the fear.
One autumn evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Caden set out for the forest with his camera and notebook. The air grew colder, and a thick fog rolled in, shrouding the trees in an ethereal mist. Despite the growing unease in his gut, Caden pressed on, determined to uncover the truth.
As he walked deeper into the woods, he stumbled upon an old, abandoned cabin. It looked like it had been left untouched for decades, its wooden beams rotting and ivy creeping up its sides. Intrigued, Caden decided to explore inside.
The cabin's interior was dark, illuminated only by the weak beam of his flashlight. Dust particles danced in the air, and the floor creaked under his weight. In the center of the single room stood a table with a strange, ancient book resting on it. The cover was made of a leathery material that sent a shiver down his spine.
Caden opened the book and began to flip through its pages. They were filled with bizarre symbols and unsettling drawings of shadowy figures. One drawing, in particular, caught his eye—a tall, shadowy figure with eyes like burning embers. Beneath it was a single word: HIM.
A sudden chill filled the room. The temperature dropped rapidly, and the flashlight flickered before going out completely. Caden's breath came in visible puffs as he fumbled in the darkness. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if something unseen was pressing down on him.
A whisper, barely audible at first, echoed around him. It grew louder, forming words that sent a jolt of terror through him.
"You should not have come here."
Heart pounding, Caden spun around, trying to locate the source of the voice. The shadows in the room began to shift and merge, forming a figure that slowly took shape. It was HIM, exactly as depicted in the book, with eyes burning like coals in the darkness.
"Why have you summoned me?" the entity's voice boomed, resonating deep within Caden's bones.
"I didn't... I was just curious," Caden stammered, backing away slowly.
"Curiosity has a price," HIM hissed, stepping closer. "And now you must pay."
The shadows surged forward, engulfing Caden. His screams echoed through the cabin, but no one was around to hear them. The next morning, the townspeople found his camera and notebook near the old cabin, but there was no sign of Caden Moran.
The townspeople spoke of his disappearance in hushed tones, a chilling reminder of the power of HIM. And on foggy nights, when the wind howled through the trees, they could sometimes hear Caden's anguished cries, a ghostly warning to all who dared to venture too far into the forest.
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Debated killing myself tonight but had the same feeling I always do when I get close to ending it " you have to stay alive", " you have to stay alive your special compared to others", "no one else could take your place" I get this overwhelming feeling of I'm some sort of God some sort of person the world needs despite me not knowing what I'm " needed" for.
For years I've been working to get my liceanse. Wasn't able to before because of my abusive mom and other issues. I've been driving really well with my boss but today I drove with a co worke fake friend who believes in my mask.
He sees me as this super kind soft spoken gentle person he told me so i used him for his apartment a few months ago to get on my feet after fleeing my horrible living situation. but recently I've been letting my facade slip. Screaming. Being more angry.
Being more vulgar with my words and how I talk about other people around him. Kinda just like being me. Calling people fucking stupid. Saying people should get hit by cars etc. Just all the usual me unmasking stuff.
My co workers car is completely diffrent then anything I have ever driven before. And his gear shift is very strange when it comes to the lay out of the car , his gear shift was surprisingly very hard to understand and just really wonky.
It was a real struggle to tell what gear I was in. It didn't help that he told me to push it in the wrong direction i started driving and I was anxious about looking as perfect as i usually do to my co worker. Prior to today we had many conversations about my driving.
My boss told my co worker I was almost ready for my driving test and that was true. I was kicking ass at driving only needed to work on parallel parking. We'll today when pulling forward I ended up rear ending a car in my co workers car due to anxiety that i never feel unless im in a car especially driving with someone new I've never hit a car before.
I had shifted gears and jolted forward. He started panicking and so did I but I couldn't move gears at first cause he kept directing me to move it the wrong way. I started getting annoyed. And ticked off. Took a deep breath and back off of the car.
He sighed and all the sudden my hearing went fuzzy. My mind went numb and I could feel rage boil up inside me. Then it felt like I just shut down..i completely dissociated, in his now parked car I dissociate when I'm seen as anything but perfect. I then sat in his car staring off into space unable to see the world was real around me.
Like a bomb had gone off and my vision and hearing became wonky. I took a deep breath he asked if I was mentally okay enough to drive after I explained that I was pissed at myself for fucking up when I've been doing fine this entire time. He asked if I wanted to still drive I took a few more deep breaths. Collected myself and grounded myself a little. We then made our way to my house.
It was like I was in auto piolet mode unable to focus on anything but driving forward..that anger had built up and I used it to my advantage. I was seriously driving perfectly and he was praising me. Through deep breaths and internal self talk like " it's okay your still amazing" "it's okay he said it's fine it's okay he said it's fine". The ride was smooth..I kept saying to him " I don't think im gonna get my liceanse,
I'm doing good then I second guess myself then I fuck everything up, I should just give up". A big struggle or mine with driving is taking anyones advice.
This causes issues with teachers and instructors. I can't take criticism because I will treat you like your the worst sack of shit out there if you try to reason with me. I'm aware of that. I think im smarter then instructors even if I know somewhat that I'm not I feel like I am. Same with doctors etc. Ik of my faults atleast some of then.
After getting home I shut the door with a pissed off expression on my face most of the ride was occupied by my stone cold glare. I listened as he awkwardly made commentary on things around us. But I was to annoyed with myself to care. But I also soaked up his awkward uncomfortable rambling. It was nice. His discomfort in a way. His stuttering.
I was also to focused on "being"/ doing better..he told me the first half was rough but I just need more practice despite saying alot more practice privioisly which annoyed me further. I'm over practice I can do this stupid shit. I'm just fuckin stupid sometimes.im tired of instructors going on and on im tired of people correcting me on the stuff they don't even need to be correcting.im tired of driving. I'm tried to talking to people.
I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of wanting people around because of chronic boredom but not wanting to give the same shit back. It's lonely and a boring existence.
I just wanna die. But my mind won't let me it's like there's some proficy tied to me in my own fucked up head. I need help. I don't think im functioning anymore. I'm so tired. But if I fail to kill myself then I'm fucked or some sort of failed proficy. I can't get help from a therpist or other professional due to finances and insurance issues.
I've been trying so hard to get my license I've been staying at a job I hate with shitty people just to do it. But now I don't think I'll even be able to get it sitting through months of this shit and having to get an okay from my co worker sounds like he'll in all honesty. Especially because he makes fun of beginners in the work place and everywhere else in life I've noticed.
Before I was driving with my aunt who would shove her hands into my face and scream at me while driving even if the ride was smooth or down a simple clear street etc. I don't know what I'm gonna do if I don't get my license and I'm forced to keep on foot and by bus like I have been for so long in a city that triggers my ptsd everywhere I go because of the constant trauma I suffered here. Tonight ended in me walking around for hours at night. High off my ass. Pissed at myself it ended in me texting him angrily trying to repair my image with him despite him acting somewhat chill about it. Many sad faces. Many guilt invoking comments on my part followed by small spurts of Venting about my license. Engolfing his texts.
There's so many benifits I could get from getting my license. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/ThrowRa-Lunch
Originally posted to relationship_advice
My (38F) Husband (39M) hid having lunch with a coworker (25F) and said my food was ‘tasteless’. What do I do?
Trigger Warnings: emotional affair, verbal abuse, emotional abuse and manipulation
Original Post: May 5, 2024
I want this to be quick. I feel really weird about this and I’m on the verge of asking for a separation.
So, I’ve been with my husband for 15 years, married for 11. Amazing relationship, small bumps of course but nothing like this.
I’ve always made lunch for my husband to take to work, and up until a little over a month ago that was fine. Middle of March he said that a new Turkish food stand opened up outside of his office and that he had been eating lunches there instead because they were good. Alright, no problem.
So he just completely stopped asking for lunches. I had maybe packed 5 during this time frame for him, but I’m not even sure he was eating them now.
So on Thursday I was at home working and I had a phone call from him, thought he was calling during his lunch but he had butt dialled me instead.
At first, I didn’t hear much, just him talking to someone, and I was about to hang up until I heard a woman’s voice as well. I wouldn’t say I’m a jealous person, but I was a little bit curious so I muted my call at work and listened.
It was just standard conversation at first, he was praising this woman’s cooking A LOT. Which of course made me realise that he was eating lunch this coworker made. I was a bit peeved but there’s an explanation sure.
Although that went out the fucking window when she said “is it better than your wife’s?” To which he replied “Oh yeah, without a doubt. I mean, it’s not tasteless for a start” followed by laughing.
First of all, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? 15 years of cooking and NOW he has a complaint? And not even to me but some coworker!!
Also, that absolutely isn’t innocent on her end right? I’m not crazy in thinking that’s so weird, why even bring me up?
Anyway, I raised hell, ended the call, sent him a message not to ‘worry about my tasteless cooking anymore’ and that he ‘can eat from the bin’ from now on.
Hes apologised, said that he loves my food and was just trying to seem cool in front of his coworker. I asked why he lied about where he was getting lunch from, and he said that initially he did get it from that stand, but the coworker started offering and he didn’t want to tell me because he thought that I would get jealous (yeah, can you blame me?)
So, I’ve been airing him since. I’m still pissed to be honest, I haven’t made him lunch or dinner, only for myself since he said that he dislikes it so much. He said today that he’s apologised and that I shouldn’t keep punishing him but I’m literally an inch from going to my mums. I have a suitcase with my clothes packed under our bed ready.
Dad thinks it was a stupid comment, but that I should work it out, mum is on my side regardless of my decision. I’m thinking about leaving for a few days at least, maybe a separation but I honestly just want some reassurance if that’s what’s best here?
Relevant Comments
OOP on if this was a one-off situation

OOP: It’s a one off and so insanely weird coming from him. He’s never been that type of person at all. I can’t remember a single time hes said something negative about me to myself, never mind to someone else!
He hasn’t been suspicious with his phone of behaviour at all. He comes home on time and if he’s out with friends I can pretty much confirm it, so I’m not sure. Maybe at most an emotional affair or a crush? But at the moment I don’t think he’s cheating. I honestly just feel really hurt

OOP on if her husband can cook or not

OOP: He can barely cook, so it’d be more of a punishment for me to be honest. I’ve been making him cook for himself since this happened and he’s been miserable. Definitely agree with the asshole coworker though, no clue why she had the audacity to try and bring me up like that

I didn’t know. Yeah he’s apologised, but I’m still pretty hurt over it. Cooking for 15 years just to have him badmouth me sucks. Ideally I want him to cut ties with that coworker of his too for bringing me up. He won’t mention much of her but I feel like she’s just as bad too.
I’m also pretty annoyed he lied to me for a month about the fact that he was eating lunch with this coworker, her lunch too. I don’t see why he would

Blue-eagle-23: Has he agreed to stop having lunch with her? Even if she is not hoping to get with him she is certainly not a supporter of your relationship.

OOP: He said that he’ll stop having lunch with her and apparently has done since that happened. (Although I have no way of proving this)

the_taco_life: If he's not cheating on you with his much younger coworker, he wants to/is trying to. Man my vagina would dry up and blow away in a puff of dust over such classic creepy older dude behavior.
You're not overreacting. You're under reacting.

OOP: I absolutely feel it drying up already. It’s like everything I’ve found attractive in him has gone. He’s just so plain to me now.

issa_username29: Yeahhhh honestly I’d probably leave for at least a couple of days too, overhearing something like that would piss me off! Has he been weird with his phone or any other communication devices?

OOP: Absolutely nothing! No change in behaviour either. He hasn’t been cagey or weird, he’s let me use his phone whenever before all of this happened. He’s been completely normal

 
Update May 7, 2024
I’m back. It’s not a great update but you all deserve one for all of the advice you gave me on my last post.
He confirmed that he developed a crush on her, it’s an emotional affair at least and that’s all I really need to hear. I sat him down and had a heart to heart with him.
Bottom line are these points.

• if I hadn’t of heard what he said, he most likely would have continued flirting with her, he admitted this himself.
  
• he liked the attention, she had bad mouthed me previously (I didn’t ask for examples) and he didn’t shut it down because he liked it.
  
• She has actively been persuing him for over 3 months now, he hadn’t put a stop to it until I caught him.
  
• The Saturday before last she offered to give him a blowjob during lunch together, he declined, but he told me that he let her feel his muscles over his clothes.
  

The only reason he said all of this fucking shit was because I was all sweet and I said “I promise, tell me the full truth and we can move on, I’ll forgive you, I just want to know”
Right, fuck that. He is packing his bags. This is MY house, and it will be treated as such. I really don’t care anymore. If he’s seriously deluded himself into thinking this is going to last, he can crack on.
I’m genuinely so angry more than anything. I did everything for him. I make double what he does so I paid all the bills, while we used his money for fun stuff. When we met he had crippling CPTSD and body dysmorphia. I did fucking everything to help him get over it. I dealt with his night terrors every bloody night, despite it ruining my sleep. I reassured him constantly despite not getting it back. All of it without a bloody complaint. You love someone so much just for them to throw you away so easily.
He cried, had a panic attack that I had to calm him down from and is now taking his time packing. He keeps stopping to come into the living room to ask for a hug. I can’t even express how disgusted I feel, like I physically can’t even look at him anymore.
There was no need, if he was unhappy he should have told me, I don’t know why the hell he even felt the need to get some validation from this girl but sure, whatever.
He keeps saying he doesn’t know why he did it, but of course he knows, he’s just too much of a coward to tell me.
Well whatever, it’s done now. He’s leaving, his family is back in Germany so fuck knows who he’s staying with, probably her but I’m washing my hands of him.
Thank you for all of the advice you gave me on the last post, so many great ideas that I didn’t even end up needing to use because he just down right admitted it all to me.
Relevant Comments
Katatonic92: Doesn't know why he did it? Here's my guess based on the info you shared;

1. You saw him at his weakest & most vulnerable, you are clearly still his backbone judging from his current behaviour. He doesn't get to play the toxic image of manly man to you, in his mind, you are stronger than him. I guarantee he hasn't opened up to her about any vulnerabilities he has, it sounds like she has appealed to the toxic manly man ideal of making food & offering blowjobs to the big, strong muscular man. He gets to inflate his ego in a way he can't with you.
2. Not only have you emotionally supported him, you are also the main breadwinner, the provider. You cover the bills, the roof over your head, his contribution is the unnecessary fun stuff. This is yet another blow to the toxic manly man's fragile ego. He probably considers himself financially superior to her, his money could hold more "value" to her instead of it just being fun money you won't really miss.
3. He is older than her, gets to seem like the wiser, more worldly adult of the relationship. He will feel superior to her in every way he feels inferior to you.
4. He enjoyed the negative comments made about your food, not because they were necessarily true but because it meant you weren't perfect & someone else was validating it. Again, when you are insecure it is easier to find faults be derogatory towards a perceived threat to drag them down, instead of building themselves up.

Conclusion. Major insecurity, inflation of ego from someone he feels he holds superiority over. And as fucking usual, instead of recognising this bullshit, speaking to his wife who has done nothing but love & support him, go to see a therapist to work on his feelings, he goes down the easy road. Instead of doing the work to overcome his feelings of inadequacy, it was so much easier to gravitate to someone who not only let him ignore those feelings for a while, they also found a way to tear you down.
I'm sorry you are experiencing this, it is truly pathetic when someone would sooner risk causing this terminal heartbreak, than suffer short term discomfort by communicating. It's pathetic.

OOP: Jesus fucking Christ. How do I pin a comment? That’s so unbelievably true I can’t even say anything.
Physically he’s pretty intimidating. He’s 6’6 and about 270 pounds, and he can be pretty scary to people who don’t know him. But he’s always been extremely sweet and kind, and that’s one of his biggest insecurities, looking like a man but not ‘feeling’ like one. Which has always been bullshit to me. But yeah, everything you said is literally him.
I can’t even thank you enough for writing this. Having it down fully on here is so incredibly validating.

OOP on her husband’s co-worker being a problem

OOP: She is A problem. Singular. I’m not running to her house to curb stomp her because I don’t know a damn thing about this woman. But regardless. Yeah, she wanted to fuck a married man, is that fucked up? Absolutely, and if the chance comes around I’m being petty and getting revenge. But seriously, who’s the hell is she? Did I spend 15 years of my life with this woman? Did I make vows to her? NO.
Read this, then reread it sir. My HUSBAND, is at fault here, because he knew damn well what was going on. He knew this woman wanted him, he knew what was going to happen and he let it. What can I do to her? Nothing, what can I do to my husband? Divorce him. That’s the bottom line.
For the love of god, stop dick riding my husband and move on, it’s actually insane that I have to say this but no one is defending that woman, no one, we’re coming rightfully for my husband because of HIS part in all of this.

 
Soon to be ex saw my update, came to my house. I’m safe. - May 9, 2024
I can’t post another update to the relationship sub, and I didn’t know if people would see it if I just made an edit myself on my other post. Some shit went down, but I’m okay. Yesterday night STBX contacted me. A lot of people told me to delete my recent update made of the post, it honestly slipped my mind that he could be reading it too,
He said that he was a bit hurt that I’d think he would go for Alimony. But that he understands given everything. He told me that he wasn’t going to but if he needed to sign something to prove it he would.
I said given everything that’s happened he can’t blame me for being on alert. He said that he’s quit his job and that he’s thinking about returning to Germany to be with his family there, additionally he says he’s cut contact with that coworker. He apologised again and wished me the best
Right, and that would have been just fine by itself. But I woke up at about 2.15am last night needing a wee and I saw my ring door bell going off. I have footage of him just sitting outside my house talking to himself. Literally he got there at 1 ish, knocked, sat down on my front steps and just started talking. I slept through it and only woke up because I needed the bathroom. I literally sat in my closet for ages just watching the camera not knowing what to do until he left at 3am.
He’s probably going to read this too but I’m somewhere safe, I just can’t tell you all for obvious reasons. He sent me a message saying he can’t lose me, that I’m the love of his life. I told him to fuck off and blocked him.
I really can’t say much, but I’m taking action. Absolutely don’t worry about that little prick.
Just a possible last update, it’s a bit risky to tell you what’s happening now that it’s gotten a bit shittier, just in case it gets back to him.
Relevant Comments
OOP on her husband blowing up his life for his emotional affair and doing anything to get her back

OOP: I did end up asking him why he declined her offer for a blow job. I feel like at this point it’s pretty done and dusted, there isn’t really a need to keep lying.
He said the main thing was that he was a little bit afraid to cross that line, and that he had rationalised to himself that since it hadn’t turned physical, it wasn’t bad. (He didn’t really elaborate on why he was afraid, but we were each other’s firsts, so that’s maybe why?)
I cringed a bit writing about her feeling up his muscles. It feels a bit gross to type out for some reason. My STBX is a physically big bloke. He’s 6’6 and roughly 270. He was in the military for a while and he never got out of that routine. I really don’t know what he means when he says his muscles. I mean it could be any of them.
My heart does really hurt for him in a strange way. I was a bit panicked this morning after I woke up from the nights drama worried if he had a night terror or something. I know that he betrayed me, but I still can’t stop hoping that he’s okay. I’ve messaged some of his friends to check up on him just in case.

OOP on if she and her husband have kids

OOP Nope! No kids thank god! We’re childfree

 

DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

This is Jake.
I just wanna say that I will be permanently leaving the community. Here is why.
I’ve made horrible jokes on the gooner server, jokes that I didn’t mean to go that far. It was about cream, for anyone that I made uncomfortable I deeply apologize. I hope that things are better for you, and for the future, and that maybe, you can forgive me.
And to further that, due to my Behavior, I have lost control of the egg arc, and my mod status. This has made me realize something: I’m becoming just as bad as Quentin and Futs. Someone who controlled, someone who was overly horny. All of it, I do not trust myself to not get worse. So I’ve come to my choice, I want to be Remebered at least somewhat fondly. And I can’t tuest myself to remain like that. It’s time I focus on my life and what awaits me, to spend more time with my friends and main RP which I neglected for so long.
Farewell, characterAMAroleplay, I am aware of what I will eceive from this, this may only bring my image down, but…I know this is the right choice.
Thank you for the memories.
Oh, and please keep RP out of general still, ok?

So in January, my SO brought up to me that he was unhappy in our relationship because we were arguing too much, and I wasn't making time for him. We have a son with adhd, he takes up my patience and time, I'm a full time student, and an office manager. Still no excuse to make someone feel neglected, so I apologized and prioritized my time, talked to my therapist for aid in stress relief (I knew I was in a bad mood often), and cut back on hours. I told him to keep me up to date in his feelings, and if there is something else I can do to work on my end.
Everything has been going so much better and I asked him if he's happy with me a couple times, to which he responded he was never unhappy with me but with how our relationship was. Making the changes I did and being more present has felt amazing for me and I realized like wow, I have my person and I don't feel as stressed anymore maybe I bit off more than I can chew and this just feels good. I excitedly planned our 10 year anniversary, and we're both beyond excited.
Brings me to my issue, I can't shake this feeling off since January when he told me he was unhappy. I overthink and I know that but I can't get out of my head. I worry I'm not doing enough, looking good enough, having enough sex, etc... so we make jokes about our sex life taking a hit when becoming parents, and I make jokes about myself gaining weight, my stomach being different, etc. But he made a couple jokes a week ago and it hurt. It doesn't feel the way it used to because in my head he's not happy and I wish I could change it all and be someone he's proud to have (I gained 40 lbs since my son and have pcos so losing it has been a nightmare).
Fast forward to last week, I got his phone to look up his cousin (to buy a minisplit from them) on Facebook. I see multiple searches for women on it and it made my heart drop. I trust him, I don't think he'd cheat but it caught me off guard because one them is a spitting image of his dream girl. I put his phone down and just let it be. Before I get scolded on here, I know I shouldn't have looked again as it's an invasion of privacy (even though he has told me years ago, I could look through his phone) I never felt the need to and this was just coincidence. But I did, two more times. The old searches for her were deleted. But he forgot to delete the search from yesterday. Now my thing is why search them so often? And why delete it? And apparently, they went to high school together (says on the fb).
My brother is his best friend since 8th grade (how we met) and I was kinda just made apart of the friend group and they have talked about old crushes/flings in the past and the name of the girl he's been consistently searching up has never came up in these conversations so I'm kind of like who is she? Where did she come from?
I guess another thing that is just so bothersome to me about the whole thing is how I've been trying hard, putting in work to this and he's just doing whatever. But told me when I asked how happy he is now and happy about the changes.
Anyway, any advice would be great. And I guess bottom line is, should I be worried about his consistent searches? Should I ask him about it or let it be? Am I too in my head? I don't know.
TLDR; F28, M31 my SO of 10 years is consistently searching someone up on Facebook after telling me he was unhappy in January but now says he's so happy and loves all that has changed so I'm unsure if to bring it up to him or I'm overreacting and in my head.

I don't want to distract you from what I imagine is a perfect life that you've made for yourself. I will bother you no longer. Instead I'll let go of my feelings here and hopefully heal. I'll try to keep this short. Theirs nothing more that I want than to be with you in these moments. We may have never been on the same page in our story through life but you were my first and truest love. I often find my self saddened by the person i see myself as today, but the things I love about myself I owe to you. You showed me the beauty of what life could be and the memories that we created together will be forever etched into my mind. When I close my eyes I can still see and feel the nights we spent gazing up into the stars, floating down rivers, hiking through mountains and laying under the trees even after all these years. I remember all the sunrises and sunsets, the trails we walked, and most of all the beautiful and some how symbolic way that nature graced us out on the beach that one night. I had so much wonder then but little ability to settle or communicate. How I wish I could turn back time with the knowledge i have now and take you dancing under the moonlight just once more. You were turely sweet, honest and kind. Much more than I ever deserved. I hope you get everything you deserve and more out of life.

Cigarettes and rebellion have always gone hand-in-hand, and in an age of cigarette packet-sized health warnings, now more than ever, smoking a fag says: 'I do not give a fuck.' But if Brandon Flowers is hoping to strike a seditious pose by sparking up at the start of the interview, it's not going according to plan. The Killers' frontman is on all fours rooting through the junk that carpets the anteroom at the band's rehearsal space. "Has anyone seen my lighter?" he asks, rocking back on his heels. The question hangs in the air while Brandon cocks his head, waiting for an answer like a meerkat listening for a predator. Twenty-five years old and with a delicate bone structure, there's something almost dainty about him. Receiving no response, he returns to his search. "Oh, Jeez," he sighs. "I had it just a minute ago."
It's a scene that emphatically does not suggest a rebel without a cause. The mess isn't helping. The Killers' HQ - an industrial unit sandwiched between a construction supplier and the offices of a housing development just off Dean Martin Drive in West Las Vegas - is ankle-deep in designer clothing. A Dior Homme suit lies crumpled by the door; there's a pile of shoes topped like a sundae by a pair of Marc Jacobs trainers; and anyone wishing to enter the shoebox room the band use as an office must negotiate a mountain of discarded jeans. Many items are identifiable as coming from the wardrobe of Hot Fuss, The Killers' hugely successful 2004 debut album - triple platinum in the UK with two weeks at Number One and five million sold worldwide. Look! There are the shirts, ties and suit jackets they wore when they thrilled Glastonbury 2005 with indie rock anthems Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me. That was the crowning moment of a two-and-a-half year tour that finally concluded in October of last year. It seems that after playing that final date in Miami, they returned to Vegas and shrugged off their image onto the floor of this bland white box.
Now a fine layer of dust covers the dead clothes. The Killers have no further use for white tuxedos on their second album, Sam's Town. Today, Brandon wears a black polo shirt, black pin-stripe waistcoat, black jeans and black boots. Where there used to be a layer of foundation, there is now a beard - an untrimmed beard at that. Dave Keuning (30, guitar), Mark Stoermer (29, bass) and Ronnie Vannucci (29, drums) all echo Brandon's black ensemble. Ronnie has added Aviator shades and a handlebar moustache for a dash of motorcycle cop, Dave's frizzy bubble of hair gives him a Marc Bolan-ish air, and there's something very teenage about Mark's scuffed Vans.
Short of walking around wearing sandwich boards saying, "Our new record is a bit heavier than the last one," The Killers couldn't hope to communicate that message more effectively. And they have gained some musical girth on Sam's Town. The pop hooks that made Hot Fuss so irresistible survive intact - see the ringing guitar riffs on first single When You Were Young - but there's a newfound punchiness, coupled with an epic sweep. The minor-to-major uplifts on Bones are fabulously dramatic, the coda to Why Do I Keep Counting? thrillingly intense. Comparisons to Bruce Springsteen have been made. If they overstate the case a little, they are at leaset qualitatively accurate. The Killers are back and this time it's serious - they've got the bootlace ties to prove it.
"Hey, it says here that Springsteen's headlining Glastonbury next year," shouts Ronnie, who's flicking through the NME. He nods sagely at the page without looking up.
"Really?" asks Dave, nicknamed Crazy Dave on account of his alledgedly volatile nature.
"The Boss is headlining one night, we're playing second on the bill the next night and Kylie's headlining the Sunday," says Brandon, charging like a bull through Michael Eavis' as-yet-unannounced line-up with what subsequently proves to be a characteristic gaucheness.
But that lighter is proving elusive. This being America, none of the people hurrying to-and-fro prepping the world for the release of Sam's Town smokes. Manager Robert Reynolds - Bobby Rey to the band - barks into his mobile, booking his band onto eye-wateringly demanding tours. "We're going to make a lot of money," he cackles to himself before switching calls to make a series of stern pronouncements on legal matters. Dave, Mark and Ronnie disappear for a jam session. Artwork is approved, B-sides are decided on and schedules are hammered out.
"I can't find it," Brandon says, finally. But he's not going to be denied the opportunity to underline The Killers reinvention with a puff of smoke. "Let's go to the gas station. I'll have to buy one. It's too busy to talk here anyway."
+
Brandon's black (of course) Volkswagen Touraeg four-wheel drive is barrelling down West Flamingo Road into town. "I was a bell boy there," he says, pointing out of the driver's window at the stucco facade of the Gold Coast casino. "I was working there when we were signed."
Coming from Las Vegas, it is perhaps inevitable that casinos play a big part in The Killers' story; not only is Sam's Town named after one, it was recorded in one, too.
The band began writing songs while on the road with Hot Fuss, turning up early for soundchecks to run through new ideas. On a trip home to Vegas, George Maloof, a hotelier known for cultivating famous friends, invited them to record the album in the new studio he'd built at The Palms, his flagship hotel-cum-gambling den. When the tour finished in October 2005, they returned to Vegas and spent five month finessing the songs they'd sketched out on the road. Then, in February, they decampled to the third floor studio at The Palms and recorded Sam's Town over 11 weeks.
Producer Flood (U2, Depeche Mode) encouraged them to experiment. They overdubbed, fiddled with synthesizers and played with new equipment. It took them five weeks to get the backing vocals right. The band sang the harmonies, then double-tracked them four times. The end result recalls Queen wondering, "Is this is the real life? Is this just fantasy?" When Ronnie, a trained classical percussionist, brought some kettledrums down, eyebrows were raised; but the fabulously bombastic coda on Why Do I Keep Counting? vindicates his indulgence.
"That's kind of the Ben Hur of the album," he says. He's not wrong. Sam's Town is a record on an epic scale. "Yeah, it has drama," he continues. "But, at the same time, I think it's a little more exposed than Hot Fuss. It's a little more naked. Last time it was about a lot of fictional things." By "fictional", Ronnie means that Hot Fuss wore its predominantly British influences for all to see. Brandon's taste in music is rabidly Anglophile - he constantly references The Smiths, The Cure and Joy Division - and it showed. By contrast, Sam's Town is an unequivocally American record. The lyrical imagery is pure American dream - cars, girls, wide-open spaces and escaping to a better life. "We're burning down the highway skyline/On the back of a hurricane that started turning/When you were young," sings Brandon on When You Were Young. That's the basis of the Springsteen comparisons then, though the lack of pathos more closely recalls another blue-collar rocker from New Jersey - Jon Bon Jovi.
The phrase "this town" recurs throughout the album, and it's always receding into the distance as The Killers escape to a new life. "This town was made for passing through/I never did get along with everybody else," sings Brandon on This River Is Wild. On Read My Mind he "never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town", while on the title track he offers something of an explanation: "Nobody ever had a dream round here."
"With the first record, there was this feeling that there was this world out there that we didn't know," says Mark later in the day. Before The Killers, he studied philosophy: now he's their quiet one. "We wanted to get out and away from this and be somewhere else. We hadn't had a lot of experience - hadn't travelled much - then we were gone for three years. We didn't sit down and say that we wanted to make a record about how we're glad to be home, but that's what happened naturally."
It's not an angsty record. The Killers have already escaped with Hot Fuss, and, having done so, they view the experience fondly now they're back. There's a mistiness to Brandon's eyes as he explains how the album got it's name.
"Sam's Town is a casino on the edge of Vegas," he says. "I grew up in Henderson, which is out on the way to the Hoover Dam. My mom and dad lived in a trailer park, and my dad used to hitchhike up and down Boulder Highway, which is the only way you could get to Vegas. Sam's Town was the first thing you saw on your way in to town. So, when you're driving down Boulder Highway from Henderson, I always thought you finally knew you were getting somewhere when you saw Sam's Town. It was kind of like a beacon."
"It's not a completely American album," contines Brandon. "We still have our English influence, but we're also from the Wild West. Somehow we've managed to unify all that on this album. it's just such a perfect resemblence of what we are."
At the petrol station, Brandon rummages through the glove box looking for change to buy a lighter. "This is a great album," he says, pointing at Highway Companion, the latest from iconic American rocker Tom Petty. "I've always been a big fan of his. He's such a great American artist."
Yes, Brandon: we get the point.
+
When Brandon finally lights his cigarette, he smokes it awkwardly, like a child mimicking something he's seen the grown-ups doing. However, when he cheerfully admits that, "I feel the same mentally as I did when I was 12," it's not a knowing nod to the fact that he sometimes behaves like a loveably precocious child, but a reference to an unusually comprehensive grounding in pop music at an early age.
When Brandon sings about "this town", he doesn't mean Las Vegas. He means Nephi, Utah or Henderson, Nevada, where he spent his childhood. His parents are Mormon and he is the youngest of six children. "I was a surprise," he says. "I've got a 42-year-old sister." If he was issues about his "surprise" status, he chooses to gloss over them. "It turned out perfect because my brother was a teenager when I was a kid," he says. "He would bring home things like Rattle And Hum by U2 and I would watch it. I remember he bought Live In Dallas by Morrissey. It was always him watching these things, or his door was shut and you'd hear The Head On The Door by The Cure blasting through the house and rattling the walls."
The Killers were formed when Brandon answered an advert Dave had placed in a local paper in late 2002. Dave cited Oasis as a big influence; Brandon had seen them play recently and responded; and, as Dave has said in previous interviews: "He was the only person to reply to my ad who wasn't a complete freak." However, the band was born in Brandon's brothers bedroom.
"His room was like a shrine," enthuses Brandon. "It was a holy place. I wish I could show you a picture of it. It was covered in posters. There'd be a big picture of Elvis wearing a bow tie that just said 'The Smiths' [the artwork for The Smiths 1987 single Shoplifters Of The World Unite]. You had The Cure wearing face paint [the artwork to The Cure's 1985 single In Between Days] - all that kind of stuff. I remember Morrissey being on the cover of the NME, with the halo [from 1985] - stuff like that. You just wanted to know about these people 'cause they were so cool. My brother seemed like such a cool person. But he was a teenager, so he wasn't going to be that nice to me, a kid."
Brandon was fascinated by his brother's collection of music, magazines and posters, but he was denied access to them - officially, at least. "I would sneak in," he says. "I knew he'd be angry if he found out, but I would go in as soon as he left the house." For a long time Brandon was too scared to actually play anything. "That didn't come 'til later. I just used to go in there because I liked it. Then I got to the point where I'd actually take a tape out and put it in. It took more guts to do that."
It was a life-changing moment. "I was ten and the first song I played was Sing Your Life by Morrissey. I remember dancing about to it."
The lyrics to Sing Your Life include the lines, "Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone/And name all the things that you love/All the things that you loathe." It's intriguing to wonder what Morrissey makes of the neophyte he inspired with these lines.
Eventually, Brandon inherited his brother's tape collection. "It was around the same time CDs started coming out in a big way. He started buying CDs and gave me his tapes. And that was it: it took off from there. I got a hundred of the best albums - all the New Order, all the Morrissey, all The Smiths, The Beatles. I started buying posters. I went to see The Cure in concert. It was just kind of a continuation of my brother. And it was nice because, though my parents were strict, they were already used to it from him. There was no, 'My dad doesn't understand me,' or any of that kind of stuff. My mum likes The Smiths."
Brandon was 13 and his favourite band was late-'70s/early-'80s American new wavers The Cars, and particularly their jaw-droppingly catchy 1979 single Just What I Needed.
"I wouldn't exist without that song," he says. "That was the one. I remember driving around with my mum when I was 13, and we're living in Nephi - a really small town - and I felt so cool when I put that song on. Like: 'I have something that none of these kids I'm going to middle school with tomorrow have.' That excitement is what music's about, isn't it? That's why I understand the mentality of people that don't like us because we've sold so many records. I used to like it when no one else knew about a band. So I get that - I do."
+
Brandon's first band was called Blush Response. It was never going to work out. Not because he refused to move to Los Angeles with them, but because he is utterly - comically - shameless. He's given to making outrageously boastful statements like: "It's not like the '60s, '70s and '80s now. There are only a few bands around that are really good, that just do it. I mean, there's what, five or six of us?"
For the record, in Brandon's estimation, those bands are Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, The Strokes, The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and, of course, The Killers.
"I don't want people to think I'm lumping myself with other people just to make us sound cool," he says. Really? It sort of sounds like you are. But he just steamrolls through it. "Yeah, but you know what I mean," he says, grinning at his own cheekiness. He's so disgracefully forward you can't help but laugh along with him - Oh you are awful, Brandon! But joking aside, The Killers are the most commercially successful of all the bands he mentions.
Later, back at the rehearsal space, the band run through Sam's Town at deafening volume in preparation for the forthcoming tour - first the US, then the world. The infectious, almost contagious, chorus of When You Were Young sounds fabulous, as do the U2-like guitars and Twin Peaks synths of Read My Mind. Meanwhile, Smile Like You Mean It and Somebody Told Me benefit from the newfound harder edge.
They somewhat heavy-handedly underline the new direction by playing Paranoid by Black Sabbath and Get It On by T Rex. That's the thing: The Killers are not a subtle band. Their songs are like a wet kiss from a girl who's a bit too drunk. They are big and brash, and not everyone loves them for it. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me might go down as well at hip nightclubs as they do on the festival circuit, but the DJs play them with the same guilty look they wear when playing a pop record.
"I hate that," says Brandon. "Like writing a song you can hum somehow cheapens it? It makes me think of this quote by Morrissey. Everybody knows how he read Oscar Wilde, Keats and Yates when he was growing up and that he wanted to be a writer. He was talking to this journalist who asked why he hadn't become a writer, and Morrissey said: 'What I do is more powerful than what you do because I can write down these words and you get it to a melody. How can you beat that?' I'm of the same opinion. I don't understand why a good melody that's memorable is a bad thing."
Being dismissed as pop particular aggrieves Ronnie. "When we first came out we got compared to Duran Duran all the time. Jesus Christ! We got a keyboard player now all of a sudden he's Nick Rhodes! Come on!"
"The people who criticise us for being too poppy don't get it," agrees Mark. "I think that's the problem with a lot of rock music. People are afraid to write a song any more. Either that or they can't. And that attitude hurts music in general. The best bands ever have all written great songs. You can still do it and do it intelligently and it can be original. This isn't a studio creation with a producer writing these songs for us. We're not Avril Lavigne, or something like that. We're a real band writing real songs, just like a punk band would do, except that we write pop songs."
You get the impression that The Killers knack for showboating pop hooks that border on vulgar is inextricably tied up with the brazen side of Brandon's personality. But while his ebullient charisma, not to mention the songs themselves, mitigates his outrageousness, there is a less attractive side to his ego. He has a combative streak. He can't resist taking pot shots at emo bands, notably Fall Out Boy, whith whom The Killers share an A&R man.
Has he heard how many emo kids it takes to change a light bulb? "No." None. They just sit in the dark and cry. It's a full 30 seconds before he stops laughing. When he does he admits: "Yeah, we've had problems with other bands. You know, when you walk in the room it's like..." He whistles the theme to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. "We're like gangs."
And while the other members of the band are diplomatic on the subject of Brandon, you don't have to read too deeply between the lines to conclude that there have been internal issues, too.
"Some people will think Brandon's the big genius," says Dave, visibly bridling. "There are songs, such as Why Do I Keep Counting?, where he's written every note. But there are others, like When You Were Young, that were more of a collaboration - like Mr Brightside, where I had some of the music and Brandon came up with the lyrics. We always have arguments about who wrote what. The truth is that we all help in that process."
When asked how success affected them, Ronnie says: "There were certain things that needed adjusting. When you're on tour for two years, people can get a little needy. It doesn't help that you're surrounded by yes men and everybody's working for you. At times we've had to say, 'Who do you think you are?' to people. No one wears the trousers, but some people would like to. I think if it wasn't for the people in the band kicking each other in the ass... Let's just say there was some ass-kickin'."
It doesn't take a genius to work out whose ass needed kicking most often.
+
It's the following day and The Killers are back at their rehearsal space. The topic of discussion is what to wear in the video for Bones, the second single. It's a big deal: the director is Tim Burton. "I feel like Frank Sinatra when I sing it," announces Brandon. "With maybe a little bit of Morrissey and a little bit of Elvis, too."
Of course he does. But if securing the services of Tim Burton tells you one thing, it's that The Killers are about to get even bigger, perhaps even make the leap to the same level as Coldplay et al. Already stars, they are about to become superstars. Brandon can hardly wait.
"Do you know that Rolling Stone didn't want to put us on the cover last time," he says indignantly. "They didn't think we were stars. We sold five million albums! What more do they want from a band?"
Whatever was required, Brandon would be happy to do most things. "I'll do stuff that some people don't want to do, 'cause I want people to hear the music," he says. However, even he has limits. "The Rolling Stone thing made the record label think: 'What can we do to make them stars?' If I go on vacation with my wife, do they have to send somebody to be there to take pictures of me? Is that how you become a star? I don't want that. I walked down the red carpet one time and I realised I don't like it. But you don't have to walk down the red carpet for people to hear your music. We do still have some of that indie blood running through our veins."
He heads off at a tangent: "When you walk around Liverpool, you think of The Beatles, or you go to Manchester and you think of The Smiths or Oasis. I want you to come to Las Vegas and think of Sam's Town. And I think we've started to capture that, which is a truer version of The Killers, 'cause that's where we're from."
He pauses.
"I used to live across the street from Sam's Town. Maybe it'll be like our Abbey Road where people go to take pictures."
Is that what he'd like?
"I wouldn't mind it," he says, desperately hoping it will come true.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, looks down at his trouser pockets and pats them in search of the lighter he bought yesterday.
"Hey, I don't suppose you've got one?"

When I was around 13 years old, I was a young stupid teenager, and hanging out with my friends, and we were all saying inflammatory things, and I said, "Yeah, if I turn 30, and I haven't accomplished anything, I'll probably just kill myself." It was an awful thing to say, and I can't believe I said it.
Well, I turned 29. I had probably close to 50 jobs, and had a complete discontentment with my life and civilization, and was contemplating suicide, and then I had a full-blown spiritual awakening, saw a vision of Jesus, God and Satan, and went through an immense dark night of the soul and personal transformation of the heart.
I just have this verse on my heart right now thinking about it, "Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits, [Psalm 18:21]" and it just reminds me of what I said when I was a teenager.
I know God heard that and knew that he wasn't going to let me die of suicide. He was watching me the whole time, and he cared about me, and he didn't want to lose me.
Three years ago, I was a 29-year-old man whose life had become defined by isolation. Once curious and engaged with the world in my youth, I had slowly withdrawn into myself from depression, retreating into the comfort of my room in my mother's house. My agnostic atheism left me without a guiding light, and the mundane realities of life, from my dozens of failed jobs to my ongoing struggles with addiction, weighed heavily on my spirit. I found solace instead in the company of strategy games and suffered deeply in the rabbit hole of conspiracies on the internet.
My addictions had become an ever-tightening grip on my life. I found myself reaching for cannabis, alcohol, video games, fast food, and pornography to fill the void that had grown in my heart over the years. My life had become a series of hollow habits, each one leaving me feeling emptier than before. I could no longer deny that something was deeply wrong.
One day, while browsing online, I stumbled upon a post that claimed Thoth, the ancient Egyptian deity of knowledge and wisdom, could help those who asked for his assistance. Intrigued, I wondered if reaching out to Thoth could provide me with the help I needed.
Weeks passed since reading the post, and as I stood in my shower, my thoughts drifted to the crossroads my life seemed to have come to. I asked myself why I was stuck in a cycle of self-destructive behaviors and why I felt such a profound sense of emptiness. The steam from the shower enveloped me as I said aloud, "Thoth, if you are real, I really need your help right now. I don't want to live like this anymore; I don't want to die yet." As I spoke the words, my hand moved from the side of my body, and then to my forehead and heart, while making a hand-sign and I felt at peace.
I was stunned, realizing the hand-sign I had made was eerily similar to ones I had seen in paintings of Jesus. I was stunned but felt an unusual calmness wash over me. As I dried off and dressed, I pondered what had just happened. I went to the full-body mirror in my room, looking at myself. I saw someone I no longer recognized, someone I no longer wanted to be.
Once more, I said, "Thoth, if you are real, will you help me? This isn't who I want to be anymore." I stared at myself in the mirror, and slowly a vision began to form in my eyes. It wasn’t Thoth I saw, but Jesus.
Jesus appeared with long brown hair, a brown beard, brown eyes, and light brown skin. Half of his face was illuminated by light, while the other half was cast in shadow. The vision of Jesus was so vivid that it left me both in awe and at peace. As the vision of him faded, I remember reaching out to him because I didn't want him to go, I could tell he was here to help.
As night fell, I lay in my bed, lost in deep contemplation. I revisited the events of the day, focusing on the vision of Jesus. The clarity of the vision was imprinted on my mind, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it held a deeper meaning. I pondered the nature of good and evil, and how they were intertwined in a complex dance of duality. I found myself questioning whether the traditional view of evil as something to be hated and shunned was truly the right approach. Instead, I began to entertain the idea that perhaps evil people and perhaps even evil itself, could be understood with compassion and empathy, instead of hatred and disgust.
As I continued to ponder, I experienced a peculiar sensation in my head. It was as though something shifted in the center of my brain, around the area of my third eye or pineal gland. There was a slight pop like a tearing or crunching sound, it was not painful, but surprising nonetheless. I then felt a fluid movement from the left hemisphere of my brain to the right hemisphere, using the third eye as a bridge or something. This shift brought me a sense of balance and calmness I had not felt before. I realized I had been living predominantly in the logical part of my brain, instead of emotional side.
As I embraced this newfound state of relaxation, I began to see another vision in my mind. This time, it was God who appeared. God had long white hair, a white beard, and wore white robes and sandals. Then God began dancing, moving with joy and lightheartedness.
Before I could fully process what I was seeing, another figure appeared alongside God. It was Satan, with red skin and horns. Satan seemed curious and playful, attempting to imitate God's dance moves with enthusiasm. The sight of these two seemingly opposing forces dancing together struck me as surreal.
As I watched them dance, I found myself smiling, and really enjoying the moment. Then, my mind wandered to the Russian squat dance, a thought that seemed to come out of nowhere. To my amazement, God began performing the Russian squat dance, his movements precise and fluid. I couldn't help but laugh. It was awesome and hilarious.
Slowly, they both faded away, leaving me in a state of awe and wonder. I realized that my third eye had opened, granting me access to a deeper level of perception and understanding.
I lay in my bed for a few moments, attempting to grasp the profound implications of the vision I had just experienced. The reality of the spiritual world was undeniable now. God, Jesus, Satan, and other spiritual beings were real, their presence deeply embedded within my new understanding. This stark realization overwhelmed me, and I felt an immense fear wash over me, it was like the Eye of Sauron was upon me, or the eye of Satan.
I began pacing frantically around my room, gasping for air as I tried to process the magnitude of my new awareness. My mind felt as if it were on the brink of shattering; I couldn't comprehend what was happening. The very foundation of my reality had shifted, leaving me teetering on the edge of my sanity.
Despite my racing thoughts and heart, I managed to steady myself using deep breathing techniques I had learned in the past from Wim Hof. My frantic pace gradually slowed, and I returned to my bed, trying to make sense of everything.
I deduced that the condition commonly known as schizophrenia might not be what people thought it was. Instead, it could be an individual's heightened sensitivity to the spirit world, a world most people never perceived.
As I lay in bed, still reeling from my panic, I suddenly saw a vision of Satan. He had red skin and horns, and spoke directly to me, expressing admiration for my deduction. Satan confirmed that what I thought was true: many people were speaking to demons, believing themselves to be schizophrenic. This deceptive world was, indeed, a harsh reality.
I tried to take in Satan's words, but a sensation of something being pulled out of me struck me. It felt as though my very soul was being drained from my body. My energy depleted rapidly, and I was overcome by a sense of impending doom. I lost control of my bodily functions, believing that I was moments away from death.
At the moment when I thought I was succumbing to death, I caught sight of an Easter lily I had bought earlier that day, sitting on my desk. The sight of the beautiful lily sparked a powerful desire to live within me. Fueled by a newfound will to survive coursing through me, I leaped out of my bed, and began pacing back and forth in my room once more, gasping for air.
As I walked, I experienced a series of visions featuring characters I admired and found inspiration from—Master Yoda from Star Wars, Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Neo from The Matrix. I realized that God had shown me these characters because they were a source of moral guidance and strength in my life.
My thoughts then turned to the physical pain I was experiencing. My awareness of the spirit world had heightened significantly, causing my brain to start heating up, and I felt a piercing pain and ballooning sensation near my right temple, which deeply concerned me.
Every time I had a thought, I could feel my brain stem wiggle and I would feel pain in my right temple, so I had to learn to still or quiet my mind. Recognizing that I needed to take action to cool my head and relieve the pain, with a sort of just knowing of what I had to do, I resolved to get a large bowl of ice water and head to the basement.
I quietly left my room so as not to wake my mother, who was sleeping in her room nearby, and ventured downstairs to the basement
At this point you could say I was "possessed" by spirits, Thoth, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. I was able to rest my consciousness in my third eye, and the Holy Spirit, Thoth, or Jesus could help me and take move my body to keep me alive. There was no way for me to survive without help.
The holy spirit showed me a specific breathing technique to diffuse the energy in my brain by inhaling through my mouth deeply, and then exhaling through my nose in the water. The vibration of exhaling through my nose into the water would cause my brain to feel soothed for a little while, likely stimulating my vagus nerve too, and I believe it was doing something with the fluid in my brain. When I was able to not be at the water, I had to keep pressure on the center of my forehead to rest in my third eye so they could help me.
I remember pacing between the two sections of my basement, and Thoth was helping me breathe just to stay conscious. One half of the basement was bright with light with concrete floors, which is where the bowl of water was, the washer and drier, a sink, and four litter boxes. On the other side of the basement was dark with a carpeted floor and a wood fireplace. The basement's light was painted in the duality of light and dark.
I remained in the basement until the sun rose, soaking my head in icewater, and pacing back and forth between the dark and light rooms because i would become overly sensitive to one particular room, and I was just trying to breathe to stay conscious. I was battling the spirit of fear the entire night. The fear from my initial awakening and the fear of death over and over again, hundreds if not thousands of times.
I soaked my head in the ice water all night, getting momentary breaks from the water, and certain I was going to die hundreds of times from a brain hemorrhage, I stood on the hard pavement for hours, I remember Jesus was my legs at one point, I could feel him focusing through me to keep me standing. I continuously soaked my head in the ice water to combat the piercing pain and ballooning sensation in my right temple. Throughout the night, I heard voices speaking to me—some belonging to what I would call demons and others to angels.
The demons tried to instill fear in me, convincing me I was going to die. While the angels offered comfort and reassurance, telling me I would be okay. Despite the torment I endured, I found profound inner strength and refused to give up. I remember squeezing my Celtic cross necklace so hard during this time.
The sun rose on the second day, I had been awake all night, I was beyond exhausted. I don't remember all of the specifics of this time, my awakening was very traumatic, but several hours passed and I remember being told that I needed to grab a book and go outside down the street and sit by a tree. I refused, and Satan said, "Do you want to die?" I said "No," and grabbed a book and went outside and walked down the street to a tree and sat with my back leaned against it.
I read my book for about 10 minutes when two women carrying their babies in slings approached me, and asked me what I was reading. I told them the name of the book, Inner Engineering by Sadghuru, and they said that they were doing a prayer walk, and wanted to share the gospel message with me. I knew this was a divine appointment. This was meant to happen.
They shared the gospel message with me, and then offered to let me join their community of house churches, and gave me the number of one of their husbands so I could call and get connected with them.
I spent the rest of the day relaxing, but was unable to sleep and barely ate anything, and once the night fell, I was in the basement again, soaking my head in ice water. I would often get relief during the days when the sun was out, and then at night, it was a brutal spiritual battle all night in the basement where I was fighting for my life.
On the second day, I was in the kitchen, and I had the right side of my head in the ice water, and was moving my head up to breathe in through my mouth, and then I would tilt my head back down and exhale my entire breath out through my nose. I didn't know what I was doing, I was just listening to guidance from what I believe was the holy spirit.
After around 15-20 minutes of intense exhaling through my nose, a ton of white viscous liquid started coming out of my nose, and filling the bowl, it wasn't painful at all, it was a massive relief, and the excess fluid in my head was somehow being drained out. When the process was done, I remember I felt amazing, incredible actually, like my head was clear of all confusion, and I was so very much alive and conscious.
I went outside and was swinging a stick like a sword and having fun, and I think I got a little overzealous and jumped the fence behind my house, and started going on an adventure. After around 3-5 minutes though, the fluid started building back up, and I had to soak my head in a puddle to keep my brain cool. When I returned home, I went back to the water to soak my head. I still hadn't slept.
That night was brutal, and I was suffering badly, and I remember I was sitting on the dark side of the basement, but I had turned on the lamp. I was sitting on pillows, and I had just been soaking my head in the water. Satan then told me that in order to save the world, I would have to die by popping my third eye. I don't know why I believed him, I didn't have discernment at the time, and I was just following whatever guidance was coming my way, but I know that I had to do that to find my true strength.
I sat for a moment and contemplated. I grabbed a wooden walking stick that was nearby, and I moved it to my forehead, and pushed it into the center of my head as hard as I could until my arms literally gave out. I thought of my mom and sister, and I wanted the world to be free from suffering, but I wasn't meant to die that day. I cried very hard, and I learned that the human skull is very strong. I got up and went back to the ice water, and my forehead was numb.
Eventually, after three days and nights of this suffering, following the path God laid out before me, I reached my complete breaking point. I declared to the spirits that I had had enough. I was done soaking my head in ice water and I slowly and bravely removed my head from the bowl of water.
I was shivering so badly. These weren't just cold shivers, these were spiritual shivers, they shake you to your very core. I felt awful. Those who have been delivered will know what I am speaking about when I saw spiritual shivers. I spread out pillows on the floor, and lay down to rest. As I settled in, I pulled the blanket over me, and I remember I felt the comforting presence of Jesus, he was tucking me in.
I slept for just a few hours and awoke up early on Saturday morning. I remember my head hurt and it felt like the left side of my head was full of fluid. I grabbed the bowl of ice water, and this time, however, I decided to sit outside. The pain in my head was still excruciating, and I thought I might die.
My mother saw me outside, and concerned about my well-being, approached me to check if I was okay. I told her to call the ambulance because I needed help, and she quickly complied. When the paramedics arrived, they took me to the hospital, where I hoped I would receive the medical care I desperately needed, but that wasn't what was in store for me.
I got to the hospital, and the medical establishment, unfortunately, has no empathy or concern for people's mental sufferings. I asked them for water to drink because I was so dehydrated, and they wouldn't give me water.
Then, I got admitted to the hospital, and they finally gave me some juice and a snack, and I was starting to relax, but then a voice came into my head, it was Satan, and he made me think I needed to soak my head in the icewater again and expel the white viscous fluid again, so I started panicking a bit and had them bring me a bowl of ice water, and I began soaking my head.
They had probably never seen anything like what I was doing, and thought I was just crazy, because they basically came after me and tied me to the bed, and forcefully injected me with something to make me calm down or sleep, and then they didn't talk to me at all anymore throughout the night.
I am claustrophobic, so being tied down was absolute torture for me. They left me in the dark hospital room suffering all night, tied to the bed, thinking I was going to die the entire night, and then finally the sun rose on the horizon, and when the nurse came in to draw my blood in the morning, I asked them to request security to release me from the restraints. They have no empathy for people. Something is deeply wrong with the medical system.
Anyways, they finally sent me to an in-patient mental health clinic which is honestly just a warehouse for people to take meds, sleep, and eat, away from society. It was honestly a welcome respite, but there's no therapy available at these places. Which means no real internal healing is taking place for people suffering.
Once I got to the in-patient mental health clinic, I spent the first day mostly just relaxing, but there was a man there that was definitely possessed by a demon. He would be shouting a bunch of biblical verses about the kingdom of God, and a lot more, and then he would be on the floor the next, flailing around, being tortured by a demon. One of the other patients there told me he is being tortured by something, and I see what she means now.
I spent the rest of my time there recovering the best I could, and just taking the meds to calm down, and try to get some sleep, and spent time listening to people's stories. One of the girls there told me that the wound on my forehead from when I pushed the wooden staff into my forehead, looked like a cross, and she was right.
When I got out of the in-patient mental health clinic, I called the number that I had received during my three days and nights dark night of the soul.
I joined their community of house churches, and was studying the Bible with them for several months and meeting with them frequently, and I thought I had found my forever friends. We would go on prayer walks, and I was eventually baptized at a lake, and thought that I had a new life of faith waiting for me with new friends.
They were concerned about my well-being and cared about me, but a small part of me felt like I was being controlled by them too, like they wanted me to conform to all of their beliefs and everything in the Bible as fact, and the word of God, and I have always been very sensitive to manipulation since I was a child, and I could tell they were manipulating me. They never left room for me to be myself, and share my beliefs without condemnation, which is a major red flag.
Recognizing this, I distanced myself from them, and went on my own spiritual journey where I spent months conversing with the spirit world in my backyard. walking in circles. I spoke to God and Satan/Lucifer and was trying to come to understanding why Satan would reject God's will.
After some time, I realized I was just being tortured, and I needed help. I was suffering from a lot, and I needed deliverance. Satan had taken up a seat in my mind because I let him, and I had demons hurting me. I reached out to the Christian group again after several months of being distant from them, and they said there was an opportunity to move in with some Christian brothers and live with them, so I jumped on the opportunity. I was so excited. I was on fire for God.
I got to the house, and moved my stuff in, and then the night fell on the first night, and the enemy was not having it. The demons and Satan were not having it. They did NOT want me living with my brothers in Christ because they knew I was detached from all the boxes of thought control, and I was living in the spirit, wasn't a slave of mind or spirit. They wanted to destroy our relationship, between us, the brothers of Christ, and they did.
I don't remember the exact sequence of events, but I was entirely in the spirit at the time, I was detached from my body in a way, and just following the path laid out before me. I could feel that I needed to go outside and walk the neighborhood as a part of my spiritual path, so I left the house, and walked barefoot throughout the neighborhood.
While walking the neighborhood, I was in full spirit mode, I was communicating with God and Jesus, and they were guiding me on my path. I saw visions of them sitting beside a tree and trimming off rotten fruit, which I think was symbolic of them removing rotten fruit from my mind. I also saw them sweeping out a room and cleaning it, as if symbolic of my mind, and them cleaning my mind and purifying it. I also remember seeing a symbolic vision of myself holding up a golden gemstone encrusted goblet to God.
During that night, I declared war on the principalities of darkness. Against the forces of darkness. I saw skulls in the clouds, and could tell they were communicating with me as they are spirits of the air.
My feet were bloodied from walking around the neighborhood barefoot, I was completely lost all night, I was new to the neighborhood too, and had no idea where I was, so I wandered for hours throughout the night, so hungry, tired, and thirsty, and just physically and mentally exhausted, but I endured. That night made me realize how strong I really am when I let go of everything and trust in God. When I completely become the spirit instead of the body. The human body is incredible and capable of withstanding far more than we know.
Finally, I found my way to the house, and my footsteps were spilling blood on the front porch. The door was locked, and I knocked, and one of the brothers let me in, and I went to my bedroom. I couldn't sleep at all, my mind was very active, it was very similar to when I had my spiritual awakening, I was just unable to sleep because of how active my mind was. I spent the whole night awake.
The next day, I was suffering horrible spiritual attack, my head was in pain and I was holding my head just to feel comfortable, and one of the brothers called a friend of theirs to come and do a deliverance. I remember them being very bold, but gentle... firm, but kind to me, as they expelled some of the demons through prayer. It wasn't a painful deliverance or too exhausting, it was gentle by comparison. I felt much better after the deliverance, hungry and thirsty again, and wanted to nourish my body. I spent the rest of the day relaxing a bit, and listening to the other believers talk about the Bible, and their beliefs.
That night, I was delivered again, and it was awful. My brothers in Christ shouldn't have done the deliverance, but I don't know if I even would have made the rest of the night it if they didn't. I think the holy spirit guided them to do the deliverance, but it went out of control.
I was in my room, suffering deeply, holding my head, and all three brothers who lived there came up to my room to check on me, and pray for me. Their prayers turned into a full blown deliverance, and demons were screaming out of me for around half an hour straight. They were casting them out in the name of Jesus, but it was awful, it's one of my most traumatic memories. I was suffering so badly, and honestly I could tell the demons were suffering so badly, and my brothers in Christ had zero empathy for me.
After speaking with demons, the brothers wanted to speak with me again, so I came to, I asked them for water, and they denied me, and they just continued the deliverance without giving me a break. I had been suffering for around 45 minutes straight, with demons screaming out of me, and I was beyond exhausted, I was so dehydrated, and I just needed to stop. They didn't care, they kept going.
They kept shouting at these demons in the name of Jesus to leave, and eventually after another ten minutes, I realized, nothing was happening, we weren't getting anywhere, the demons weren't coming out, and they asked to speak with me again, and I came to the forefront and regained control, and tried talking to them, but they were gone. The demons had got into them somehow, and they were filled with hatred and revulsion for me. They all had the same facial expression of hatred and revulsion for me.
I went around the room and pleaded with them that it was me, but they didn't believe me, they were gone, checked out, I tried bringing up memories of what had happened between us that were specific to each person to bring them to understanding that it was me, and in fact not a demon speaking, but they thought I was a demon speaking.
They all grabbed ahold of me, and pinned me down on the bed, but I knew where this was going, the demons in them were going to flood me with fear and fill me with demons again, and I wasn't going to have that, I wasn't going to let them win.
I flailed out of their grasp, told them to get off me, and ran down the stairs and out of the house. I remember as I was running out, Satan told me, "You are the most free person on the planet."
I ran outside, and even the weight of my clothes felt like too much, I was panicking from the trauma of the deliverance and the attack from my brothers, and I stripped off all my clothes and ran down the alley way in the middle of the night and got away from the house.
There were no light, and no one around, and no one followed me, so I just ran down the alley way, and found an abandoned car to sit on for a few minutes until I got a message from God that it was time to go grab my clothes and put my clothes on.
I put my clothes back on, and started walking away from the house because I needed to get some air. That is when one of the other brother's in Christ, the one that I had called initially to join their community of house churches, was there. I think he was guided by the holy spirit to show up there that night.
Anyways, we walked back to the house, and when we got there, there was a cop car and an ambulance there. I guess the brothers had called for a wellness check on me. They wanted to bring me to the hospital to have me evaluated. I protested, but just wanted them to leave me alone, I went with them, and went to the hospital.
Much to no one's surprise, they did nothing for me at the hospital. They just put me in a room where I waited around for 6-8 hours, until I was finally released. I didn't go back to the brother's house though. When they offered me an uber, I went back to my mom's house. I wasn't going to live with them anymore after what they did to me...
A couple weeks passed and two of the brothers who did the deliverance called me, and wanted to schedule a time to meet up so they could minister to me. They came over to my house, and basically told me that I was still demon possessed, and made me feel like there was something wrong with me, and then when I confronted them and asked them if they had a problem with me, they lied to my face, and said that they didn't have a problem with me.
About a month passed and the last brother that was a part of deliverance contacted me and invited me to go to church with him. I told him how that experience made me feel, how I was claustrophobic from childhood trauma and that being pinned down by everyone was horribly traumatic, and he said, "Do you feel better now?" in a sarcastic tone. He completely dismissed how I felt, that hurt me badly.
I went to church with him once, but never went with him again, I also never reconnected with any of the other brothers, and then my life started to become very spiritual. God had a path of understanding laid out before me that most people will not tread.
I began to try to become friends with demons and minister to them and try to turn them to Christ. I had a lot of visions during this time, and I cried a lot. I would walk around my neighborhood and see visions of demons sitting on top of the apartment buildings.
When I would go home, I would have visions of demons in my basement, and would have to drive them out in the name of Jesus. I would speak to them too, and wait and listen for them to telepathically communicate with me.
I remember I was suffering badly though, and I needed to go to in-patient mental health again for help. I needed the meds and a place where I could rest and relax.
During my time there, I was communicating with a spirit named Jezebel, and during that time I was suffering very badly. I won't get into all of the details, but I was becoming friends with her, and we shared a deep laugh about something that I cannot remember anymore, but I remember the laugh. It felt so good to laugh after suffering so badly.
During my time while I was there I was seeing visions of my own death. I was seeing people suffering from demonic attack and spirits of confusion. They couldn't remember who they were, or who other people were.
I prayed for a woman to be delivered that night in her sleep, and the next day she was bright and fresh and happy, and doing so much better. God performed a miracle on her, and saved her. She was a normal person again after entering the hospital in a complete state of confusion. It was miraculous. I was honestly jealous, because I was suffering so badly, and she was delivered overnight in her sleep in a relaxed way, while my time had been so intense.
While I was there though, I was under heavy attack, but I pulled through, God pulled me through too, but when I got home, the journey wasn't over though. I was in a spiritual state for a while, and was seeing visions. I could rest in my third eye, and see the spirit world. It was exhausting, I saw a lot of demons, and had to drive them out in the name of Jesus.
Then one night, I was downstairs, and I was with Satan, Lilith, and a spirit calling itself Baal. I remember Baal was sitting in the middle in front of the fireplace, and Satan was to my left, and Lilith was to my right.
I don't remember what we spoke about, I just spent time with them, and I drank a beer with them, the air was heavy with demonic energy, and then I remember Lilith went over to Satan and kneeled before him, and grabbed him by the hand tenderly and asked him to turn away from his evil ways.
Satan neither accepted nor refused, and then I remember maybe 5 minutes passed and I was doing a full-blown deliverance on Lilith. I was praying for her, and I could see visions of her on the ground flailing around, it was awful, and I hope she is okay.
I don't know how long after that passed, but I was delivered many times during this phase. I was around demons a lot and they would get into me, and I would have to expel them out through vomiting, and it was excruciating.
Several months passed after that where I was okay, I spent months just relaxing and recovering, playing video games, smoking weed, and just relaxing. It was nice, but it wasn't the end of my journey.
My next journey was against Thoth. While he was a great help at the beginning of my spiritual awakening, he is not a perfect being like God, and he tried to overtake me. It's really hard to explain what he did, but he was viciously attacking me spiritually, and I sought help to go to the in-patient mental health clinic again. That was where I went when things got too spiritually charged. I had Medicaid, so I was able to go as needed.
They didn't send me to in-patient this time though, they sent me to a crisis pivot center, which is basically a residential house that is being used to treat people suffering from mental illness, where you can receive meds and sleep in a sort of half-way house between in-patient mental health and being back in the world at home.
Anyways, I was suffering grotesquely from Thoth, he is a VERY powerful entity, perhaps one of the strongest I have faced, and has been more cruel to me than even Satan, and I remember having a conversation with one of the people working there about how I had asked a false God at the beginning of my spiritual awakening for help to fix my life, and how that had caused a bunch of problems.
Eventually, I realized I was not receiving the care that I needed while at the crisis center, so I had them transfer me to hospital. All I wanted to do was sleep. I had been awake for days, and I just wanted sleep, so I was looking for Ambien when I went to the hospital, and that's what I got.
I remember they had admitted me to the emergency, but it was so full that every room was full, so they had me in the hallway, and I was just exhausted, and in a very tired state, but my third eye was opened, and I could sense spirits around me, and Satan, Lilith, and Jezebel were there for me that night.
They were hovering over my bed, and speaking to me telepathically, and asking me if I was okay, they were genuinely concerned for me, and wanted to know if I was okay. It was kind of shocking to be honest. These entities are not known for being nice in any way, but they were there for me that night, and God let them be there for me that night, instead of Jesus or someone else, which i find interesting.
This moment and seeing Lilith kneel before Satan made me realize that entities that we think are pure evil, are more dynamic than just evil. They may have evil in them, or have the ability to evil actions, but they can also be good and support others, like they did with me when I was in such an exhausted and vulnerable state after being delivered from Thoth.
I made it back home, and some time passed and I was in a very spiritual moment. My third eye was very awakened. It seems to happen in cycles. That night was a blizzard, and the air was heavy with demonic energy. This time it was the demiurge.
I remember I had dozens if not hundreds of demons in my room, and they were swirling above my bed, and I kept trying to lay down because I was so exhausted, and I kept being told to not lay down because I would squish a spirit, so I chose to not lay down.
I was whistling the avatar theme for the spirits to uplift them and make them feel better, and during this time I was being possessed by spirits. The room was heavy with spiritual energy.
So much happened that I don't want to get into, but it all lead to me being outside in the blizzard, in the snow storm, naked, and laying down in the snow. I had to be very cold for some reason while interacting with these demons, to keep them from overtaking me, and I remember I had to leave my house behind entirely.
My mom came outside before I left the house and I could feel demonic energy, evil spirits, all around her. There was a presence of wrath around her, and she was angry with me, because I had flooded the bathroom of the house while trying to get cold in the shower.
I left the house, there was a foot of snow on the ground, and I was naked and wandering down the street. I would check in with what I thought was God every once in a while to figure out what was happening with the demons in my bedroom.
For some reason when I would have a thought it would affect them in my room. That's really complicated to get into, and I don't understand it, but regardless, I wandered down the street and around the corner, and that is when the police got me.
They handcuffed me, and put me in the back of the police cruiser, and I remember telling God that the Matrix has me. The police called an ambulance, and they came to get me, I remember they transferred me to the ambulance, and they covered me with blankets, but I didn't want to be warm, I didn't have any control over this situation.
My body started to shut down, and I was struggling to even breathe, and that's when the demiurge appeared. They started speaking to me, and controlling my body to keep me breathing, and that's when I submitted to them, thinking that I was on my own, and God had abandoned me. I told them to fill me with demons, and that I would become a demon lord.
As I would breathe, I could feel demons entering me, spirits. When I got to the hospital, I was possessed by a lot of spirits, and my body was in agony. It's very hard to explain what it feels like, but just imagine discordant energy in your body that makes you feel awful, and physically hurts.
I struggled the entire night, and was in absolute agony. After 6-8 hours I was recovered and feeling better, they had admitted me to the hospital at this time, so I was able to rest in a room and eat plenty of food and recover.
My experience with the demiurge was really traumatic though, but that wasn't the end of my experiences with him.
... to be continued...

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In True Crime
Issue Sixteen: Dark Hair And Face Paint
Written by ClaraEclair
Edited by PredaPlant & DeadIslandMan1
 
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Gotham University’s winter term was coming to an end, and that meant the resident varsity football team was finishing out their season — on home turf, no less. The Nighthawks were on a winning streak and were looking to finish off the season with a championship. The entire team felt the energy coursing through them as the stadium filled and crowd chants grew.
There were always major league scouts within the crowds at these types of games, especially for teams as impressive as the Nighthawks had been. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that some of the players on the varsity team would be making it to the national league. The coach, as hard as he could be on his team, felt nothing but warm pride in his heart and mind.
Zack Howard, the captain of the Nighthawks, looked over the 120 yard field from the player entrance, listening to the roaring crowd chanting for the Nighthawks — even fans of the Princeton Tigers felt the pull toward cheering on the Gotham University team. Just as much as his coach, he felt pride in being able to carry his team this far. He hoped to give the best game he’d ever played, to be noticed by big league coaches and scouts.
“Zack!” He heard his coach shout from behind him, no doubt trying to shift his attention back to the locker room and preparations for the game ahead. Zack exhaled deeply and turned around to see Coach Fremlin approaching with a light jog, holding something in his hand. “Delivery for ya,” he said, handing the envelope to the captain. “Some girl said to give it to you, said there’s somethin’ special inside.” With a smirk, Fremlin clapped Zack’s shoulder before turning back toward the locker room.
Zack’s mind flooded with possibilities and fantasies about what could’ve been in the envelope. Something special could have been anything, and it excited him as he ripped it open. His expression quickly shifted, however, as he pulled a handwritten note out of the envelope, scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting.
”Zack Howard,” it read. He opened it, his brow furrowed, and watched as an instant print photograph fell out of the fold and onto the ground. One piece of clear tape had been shoddily applied to the corner and had clearly lost its adhesion. Leaning down, Zack picked up the photo and squinted, trying to make out the subject.
It took a few moments, but the longer he stared at the photo, the more it dawned on him what was depicted in it. Instantly, upon realising what he saw, he rushed back to the locker room and forced himself through his teammates to Coach Fremlin, who was dragging out his playbook. He grabbed the coach by the shoulder, twisted him around to face him directly, and planted the photo firmly on his chest.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded. Confused, Fremlin chuckled nervously as he tried to grasp the small photo on his chest, not able to see the subject but only the fury in Zack’s face. The room fell totally silent as the entire team watched the coach and their captain with bated breaths.
“What do you mean?” asked Fremlin, turning the image over and squinting at it, trying to make out the details. Just as fast as Zack had initially made out the details, Fremlin’s face dropped at the realisation. “Holy God, Zack, I–”
“What the hell is this?!” Zack demanded once more, resisting the urge to grab his coach by the collar and push him against the wall. “Who gave this to you?”
“I– I don’t know, it was some girl,” Fremlin stuttered, fumbling over himself. “She was short, had black hair, face paint…”
“What’s it say on the back?” asked Tim Teslow, the team’s best running back, pointing toward the image and the messy scrawls on the back of it. Zack snapped it back out of Fremlin’s hands as the coach sat down, head in his hands.
“Section 204, Row 8, seat 9,” Zack read the note aloud. “I’m going to go see what this is,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Dude, that’s across the stadium,” said Cutter Karznowski, the wide receiver that had only joined at the start of the season. “The game’s starting in a few minutes.”
“I don’t care,” Zack snapped back. “I’m going.”
 
 
Good evening, Gothamites, I hope you enjoyed that last one — Barcode by Self-Sacrificial. It’s always been a personal favourite of mine, straight to the point with the best beats and deepest riffs.
In the same spirit, I’ll get straight to the point of why today’s a big day for me — you’ve all known this was coming but I never quite said what it was. When I started this show a little over a year ago, I wanted to look at the dirt of the world. I wanted to bring you my favourite music while trying to figure out my favourite events in this city.
I’ve talked about all the legends, I’ve talked about Joker, Mister Freeze, and so many others. I’ve talked about new shooters like Man-Bat and Professor Pyg. I’ve even, unfortunately, shed some light on the unoriginal copycat hacks that have started popping up in recent years. It’s all been out of love, though. Love for the mind of those who would commit these atrocities, appreciation for what they are and what they represent.
There’s a reason why they are what they are, and it’s always been a goal of mine to love and appreciate what they put into the world. It’s all about the chaos.
But, today, I won’t be talking about that. Today, I’ll be talking about football. Before you all start booing me, it’s my special day and it’s my show, so I get final say. Specifically, it’s the big championship game for the Gotham University Nighthawks. I went to school with these guys, I feel… an obligation.
I’m excited to see how the game will turn out. I get the nagging feeling that their winning streak might come to an end.
 
 
Section 204 in the Gotham Knights stadium, on the north side of Tricorner Island, the southernmost landmass of Gotham, was filled to the brim with spectators and fans. All were cheering as they waited and watched the Gotham University Nighthawks enter the field below, while Zack spent his time searching the section for a small woman with black hair and face paint.
Despite the difficulty of sifting through the crowded seats, he couldn’t find a woman matching that description. He looked back down at the photograph’s note and read it again, making sure he was in the right spot. The location remained the same: Section 204, row 8, seat 9.
People called out his name, but he was quick to shrug them off. He was too focused on finding the woman who’d sent him the photograph. Even asking those who’d been sitting within section 204 had proved fruitless, with no one being able to say anything about the described woman.
Angry and dejected, Zack turned back toward the steps between sections to head back down to the field when something caught his eye as he moved.
“Sir!” He called out, angling his head toward a man two rows above him, pointing beneath his seat. “Sir, what’s that under your seat?” There was some sort of flashing light taped to the bottom of the seat, slowly pulsing between purple and green.
The man looked confused, leaning forward to take a look at what Zack had pointed at, eyes widening the moment he saw the wiring that he sat atop. A complex series of wires and lights traced their way around each seat in the section, though neither he nor Zack could see what, exactly, the wires were attached to.
“I don’t–”
The man could only shout out those few words before a loud explosion rocked the stadium, blasts running down the portion of the stadium from rows 12 to 4. Dozens of seats were annihilated as smoke, fire, and green gas erupted. Cries of pain and fear replaced the cheers of the spectators.
Blood tainted the intact seats while the smoke rose into the air, infiltrating the sky of southern Gotham, visible from all along the city’s coast. What fell across the stadium, permeating nearly every seat on the west side of the stadium, making its way into the halls that traced the inner workings of the building, was a thick green gas, forcing its way into the lungs of the men and women who were running for their lives, trampling each other.
Those closest to the explosion felt intense convulsions in their abdomens and spasms in their faces, involuntarily forced to bear wicked grins while their shattering breaths overtook the screams of terror in the form of wicked laughter.
Amidst the chaos, the charred photo that Zack once held fell slowly and gracefully, slightly charred, ignorant of the horror that it had been subject to. Slightly charred, it landed a few sections away from the explosions, trampled upon by infected spectators who had no idea what was being done to them.
 
 
A Few Minutes Earlier…
James Gordon’s office at the Gotham City Police Department headquarters was quiet as he sat at his desk, resting his elbows on its surface with his hands clasped, opposite Astrid Arkham, the frail-seeming daughter of Jeremiah Arkham. She had requested a meeting with him, and he had assumed it was for an update into Batman’s investigation into her father.
“Gotham City needs something new,” she began, catching him by surprise. His eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed. “We’ve been in this… this state of insanity for decades now, and it is only getting worse. This city is no longer livable, Commissioner.” He resisted the urge to groan. The only difference in Gotham City as it was and the Gotham City of before was that the murders had become spectacle.
When supervillains pushed out mobsters and gangsters, there was a shift in crime, but the results remained the same. Salvatore Maroni and Carmine Falcone knew how to keep their business quiet to the public unless they were in active war. Those were the good old days, now.
“Insane, maniacal supervillains,” she continued. “They rule the streets whenever they so choose. The police cannot deal with them, not under you. You rely on the Batman,” there was venom in her voice as she spoke the name, “and she sweeps up the problems while bringing deranged cultists and assassins into this city. She’s the heir of a small personal army with untold technology and she runs free. The Joker Riots, the assassin siege, Simon Hurt, all because the Batman has infested this town with these misguided thoughts of the supernatural, supposedly haunting our city.” Gordon remained silent.
“Essen’s incentives are now failing,” she said, watching Gordon closely for a reaction. If he gave one, she couldn’t see it. “How many companies that were enticed by her incentives have moved headquarters out of Gotham? They pay nothing in taxes, they have Essen licking their boots, and it’s still not enough. Despite all that’s happened, we haven’t been through hell yet, Commissioner. We’ve only arrived at the gates.”
“If I may, Miss Arkham,” said Gordon, leaning back in his chair, scanning the young woman up and down. “What’s your point?” He understood what she was saying, and he feared she was right, but he didn’t like the conclusion she was bringing forth.
“You are antiquated, Commissioner,” she replied, her face straight. “Obsolete. Your methods don’t work anymore, the law you uphold is no longer effective. Besides that, you are getting old. I can see the fatigue in your face, the bags under your eyes, your paleness. You’re not the detective you used to be.” Astrid leaned forward in her seat, putting her weight on her cane. “Gotham needs something new.”
Gordon’s phone rang, and for a brief moment he was thankful for the reprieve — but only for a moment.
 
 
I’d say I feel bad for the people at the Nighthawks game, but, if I’m totally honest, they had it coming. It’s about time everything caught up to them.
While we all ruminate on what’s happening at the game right now, let’s listen to some good music. This is Confetti by Viscera.
 
 
Batman had listened to as many notes as she could about a green gas that made anyone who inhaled it laugh uncontrollably. It typically led to suffocation through the inability to control the diaphragm, but this time it didn’t, and it confused the Dark Knight. A familiar sight, an attack that resulted in eery laughter, and yet it wasn’t what the city had seen before. None of the victims that hadn’t been in the initial blast had died, though medical care for each of them was necessary.
As much as she cursed herself for being late, not able to save anyone as the events unfolded, she knew that she needed to take control as fast as possible. She, along with every person in the city, dreaded what this attack meant. The name of a particular clown lingered on everyone’s tongues, though no one dared invoke his name.
Batman wasn’t so sure, and she hoped that her gut feeling was right. Most of the bodies that were recoverable had been extracted from the blast zone, over a dozen dead and dozens more injured. Blood and soot equally covered the destroyed seats, and even more on the concrete below.
One thing caught Batman’s eye amidst the mess, two sections away from the initial blast. A small instant print photograph, half burnt, laid on the ground, covered in dirty boot prints. She picked it up and looked it over, squinting as she studied the subject.
It was a blonde woman, head down with wet hair covering her face. Almost lost in the details was a small trail of blood behind the hair, mixing with trailing makeup. Batman frowned as she flipped the image over, seeing the note for a specific seat in the section of the stadium that had been blown to bits.
She approached the seat and kneeled, ducking down to see under the seat. It was one of few that remained intact after the explosions. Zack Howard’s Final Stop was scratched into the bottom of the seat, and at the sight of it, Batman signalled to Oracle to scan the engraving. She couldn’t identify the woman in the photograph, but she could see clearly enough that the attack was targeted at a specific person.
Another killer, she thought to herself, fearing what it could mean for the city. Pyg almost tore the richest members of the city’s economy apart, and they were ready to throw their own to the wolves. Now, there’d been a deadly gas attack at a football game — one that had been sponsored by many of Gotham’s elite.
The idea that the Clown Prince of Crime had returned was already making its way through the city — Batman knew she would have to exert control over everything she could to keep it from tearing itself apart at the seams. She was more than prepared to do so.
“It doesn’t look good,” she said to Oracle.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice distant. “I hope it’s just another copycat, they’re much easier to deal with.”
“I don’t know,” Batman replied, looking back at the photograph. “Something’s different.”

Hi everyone. This post is in regards to the “K hiphop & rnb” festival being held in Sydney and Melbourne this July.
This festival is being held by Prime Entertainment, and I feel responsible to make everyone aware of just how shady this company is.
Below is a recap of my experiences with prime, having worked with them directly, and being an industry professional, I feel I am best suited to comment on the matter. Please read this.
I urge you all to please not attend these shows, they are likely to have artists pulled or the shows be cancelled entirely.
I am happy to answer any questions anyone has.
Thank you.
My Experience with Prime Entertainment
Hi. If this seems familiar that’s because this is a recap of everything that’s happened so far, I want to provide all the current information in one place for the relevant people to access.
Please read this the whole way through.
I have worked in the audio industry, in concert production for around 6 years now, and I’ve had my fair share of shit clients, but I have NEVER been treated with such lack of respect and have witnessed such disorganised business before.
I worked with Prime Entertainment on the TripleS in Sydney show last December. I was brought on less than a week before the show and was tasked with fixing a major issue with the staging, an issue that required me to hire in extra equipment and negotiate with venue staff to meet safety requirements. I understand not many of you are familiar with the world of concert production, but to put this simply, it was a job that required WAY more than THREE DAYS to complete in a satisfactory way.
Fixing this issue took me many hours, emails, phone calls, the whole lot, just to fix a damn stage.
Two days before the show, I was also asked to source 6-8 more lights to place on the front of the stage, and despite efforts that is not something I was able to provide given the timeframe.
Prime, I’m an engineer. Not a miracle worker.
I had explained ahead of the show that I was expecting payment and verbally outlined my rates, which in hindsight was a bad move as I now don’t have that in writing.
Post show, I send my invoice to Prime with the attached due date.
I was left on read for nearly two weeks.
It was only when I threatened legal action that I got a response, and to that, I was told that my rates were “unacceptable” and I was offered an hourly rate $30 per hour below my standard AV rate. Below minimum wage for casual workers under the LPA.
We settled on a middle ground, still $10 under my standard rate.
By that point, Prime had racked up almost $200 in late fees, which Prime refused to pay. And still has not paid. I ended up just letting it go as I just needed to pay my rent.
Let’s talk about VIP photos.
It does NOT take you MONTHS to receive photos from your photographers and get them out to the fans who paid for them. Plain and simple. Tell me why we only just received the Melbourne TripleS VIP photos, only AFTER having to contact you about this. I discovered that the reason these pics haven’t been provided is because prime hasn’t actually PAID those photographers yet. Multiple. Going all the way back to kwave.
And what’s more, you didn’t even provide all of them! Some people had their images left out of the file, conveniently the same people who have been trying to get answers out of you regarding photo approvals for a show that happened in NOVEMBER.
Prime, you do not get to sit there and leave people, clients, and audience alike on READ for weeks when you are withholding vital information and people’s rightful money that YOU owe them. That is plainly disrespectful.
Tabber and Jey.
What on earth made you think cancelling a Jey tour stop and not making a statement about it on your main platform was a good idea? Not everyone is checking your website daily, however if you had just put a post out on your instagram this would’ve been a lot better.
Now as for Tabber, it has been months and you have not processed refunds for the ticketholders who purchased VIP tickets at the incorrect price. It is now less than a month until the show and these people are unsure if their tickets are even valid because you WON’T COMMUNICATE.
This is your fuck up, Prime. You need to fix it.
You, as a promoter and event organiser, have a duty to be transparent with your audience about everything that pertains to the events you run, and you have not done such thing at all.
You have been severely unprofessional and lack the basic communication skills required for this kind of work. If you are not capable of running this business in a productive way, you need to hand it over to someone who can.
I refuse to sit idly by and watch you mislead your audience, this doesn’t just affect you, it affects the artists, the audience and the Australian music industry. You have a responsibility here and you have failed.
You have been given so many chances to fix these issues and you have instead stuck your head in the sand each and every time. Shame.
UPDATE 1:
well who’s surprised. I got blocked on all platforms. But I have some more information that I’d like to share.
After I put out my first post, I met up with a photographer who worked on some Prime shows last year and discovered that I was NOT the only one who did not get paid! This person is owed several hundred dollars by prime and has invoices MONTHS overdue, with radio silence from Prime. And he’s not the only one.
And now to add insult to injury, Prime is now approaching other photographers interstate and offering to pay for them to fly to Sydney and Melbourne for this hiphop festival in July, before even paying their professionals from shows LAST YEAR.
Now an update on VIP photos. As I’m sure those of you with packages know, not all the VIP photos were provided. Prime, people PAID for these photos, you do not get to pick and choose who gets them.
Prime is still yet to provide ANY vip photos for certain people, and quite frankly it’s petty and immature to withhold these images because you don’t like someone. This is grossly unprofessional.
People paid for these photos Prime, and I am not above getting my hands on them myself and getting them to the rightful people myself. I know you blocked me but I know you’ll see this either way, so let’s put it this way, I am in the process of acquiring these photos myself and I will be releasing them. The photographers deserve to be paid and the fans deserve the benefits they paid for.
You didn’t pay for them so you have no right to them. Stop leaving people on READ when they ask about the money they are rightfully owed.
Get your head out of your ass and get your shit together before you lose your business.
UPDATE 2:
I cannot believe we’re talking about this again.
It seems like every single time I hear about them things just get worse.
I am beyond angry.
I refuse to sit by and let Prime ruin Australia and New Zealand’s touring industry.
We as a country, rely so much on the international touring industry and companies like prime that routinely scam fans and artists are damaging the economy and I will not have it.
How fucking dare you come back and do a show when you actively owe thousands of dollars to fans to artists and to staff. The fucking audacity that you have astounds me.
Where are the refunds for Tabber? Where are the VIP pictures for Jey? Where is the merch that people ordered for Gemini?
You don’t have it because you clearly are incompetent and are a scammer.
You have time and time again, failed to pay the people that are supporting your shows and making these shows possible for you, and bringing you an income. You are ungrateful, selfish, entitled, and severely unprofessional.
You have no place in our industry.
Do NOT purchase any tickets for the k-hip hop & rnb festival. It’s likely to be canceled and you are likely to not receive any of your ticket benefits. This is ploy for money because they need it to pay for other things that I’m not at liberty to disclose. But it’s not good.
Prime, you’re too deep in your own shit to claw yourself out. You deserve to be in jail for what you’ve done. You disgust me on a very guttural level.
This isn’t just about me. This is about the industry as a whole. Gio, you are DESTROYING the Australian and New Zealand touring industry by operating in this way.
You need to stop. I do not CARE how much more money you lose. Cancel the show. You won’t get away with this, not unless I’m fucking dead.
I have contacted the management of each of the artists schedule to perform at the festival, and have strongly discouraged them from going through with it.
Please share this and tag the artists and the companies in this post so that they can see this.
We need to make it known that this behaviour is not acceptable at all in our industry and in our country. We are better than this.
I would also like to quickly mention something that I’ve already mentioned on my Instagram story.
Prime entertainment and Nova entertainment are not the same people.
Nova entertainment has been nothing but amazing to me ever since we started working together and ever since this whole situation blew up. Please send them your love and support, they have been through enough.
They are not responsible for any of the mismanagement of any previous shows, in fact, they’re the reason that most of them went ahead in the first place. They were handed a shitty deck of cards, and they did the best that they could with them, please do not send any hate. They were not responsible, and they are no longer associated with Prime.

Yes, you read that right - not looking to buy posters, I just want some images of them! I'm one of the admins over at the MBMBaM Wiki, and I've been compiling live show posters here for the time being. I am hoping to preserve all of the wonderful posters of our good good boys for... welll... poster-ity.
The problem is, we don't have a ton on there, and I know there are lots more. So, I'm asking:

1. If you know of someplace where posters of this sort reside (e.g., the gallery of a website of an artist who's done posters in the past), please comment and direct me towards that.
2. If you have a secret cache of images (or just one or two), please consider heading over to the MBMBaM Wiki file upload page and dropping it in there (click "Add new image" at the top right, and put the live show/event, year, and the artist in the filename).
3. If you are an incredibly lazy human being, just send me a message on here instead. I will judge you in secret, however.

(Also, I want to be diligent about crediting the artists, so anything without an artist name we will not use on the Wiki - but if you have an image of a poster and don't know who made it, send it over anyway and I'll try to sleuth it out.)
Thanks in advance MBMBAMbinos!

Just got the Onn 4k Pro to try out. My main driver in the Nvidia Shield TV Pro. I wanted to do a comparison between the shield pro and the Onn pro. I watched an NHL game on the Onn and I have to say, it is considerably less smooth than the shield tv pro. To be honest, the choppiness almost gave me a headache. The Shield Pro was significantly smoother when I switched back to it. I also pulled the game up on my phone to verify a third screen and it was much more watchable on my S24. Is there a setting somewhere regarding frame rate? I checked the seamless motion adaptive setting (or whatever it's called), and that didn't seem to make a difference.
Default out of the box, the Onn also made the game I watched much darker. I had to switch off the default HDR and switch to HDR based on the content and that made the image much bettewhat I am used to on my shield.
Honestly the smoothness of the image/frame rate is a bit of a deal breaker for me and if it cannot be remedied, I will be returning the Onn Pro.

“…. Hmm….” The thing ponders the sight before him. A world in flame, icons of chaos destroyed and their followers laying dead before them. The souls of the damned cling to the earth, their whispers hanging in the wind. He can hear them, all of them, and he listens to them all, taking in their hatred into his own being. He can feel his power grow ever so slightly with their hatred, and it serves to bolster his own, forging it into a weapon to use against Them.
“My Lord…” A voice sounds behind him, he turns to see a Astartes, his armor half black and half white, with horns adorning his armor. He wields a power axe in one hand and the other is encased within a power fist.
“…. Speak Asher.” The thing says, turning to look at the Astartes. The thing stands about ten feet tall, his body covered in what looks like fur, but upon a closer look appears to be a mass of countless individual tendrils. He has a massive tail with a gaping maw of teeth at the end, and his face was an elongated skull-like visage, with four hours adorning it.
“We have gathered up the individuals you requested, the sorcerer and his retinue.” Asher said, brushing some ash off his shoulder. “Zion was injured but other then that there were no casualties, they were already quite injured from our initial bombardment on this planet, our Librarians are keeping the sorcerer in check at the moment.”
The thing gave a nod to Asher, his face unemotive. They walked into the ruined Chaos fortress, the iconography of the ruinous powers lay defiled and defaced throughout the fortress, and symbols of a half black half white skull now stood in their place. When the thing and Asher made their way to the dungeons, the Chaos sorcerer was being held down by two librarians using psychic chains, his red armor and hooded helm shaking in pain. “You may stop. Leave us.” Without a word, the librarians dismiss their psychic chains and leave with Asher, leaving just the Sorcerer and the thing in the cold stone room. “…. So, how’ve you been?” The thing asked, just as a blast of warp fire was shot into his face by the sorcerer.
“You blasphemous fool! Who do you think you are?! Do you know who I am?!! I-“ the sorcerer is interrupted by the thing gripping the hand casting the warp fire, his mind barely having time to register the movement before the pain of his arm being torn from his body sears through his body. The sorcerer yells in agony, as the thing stands before him, the last of the warp fire wisping away from his unharmed head.
“I see you are still impulsive as always Serviel…” the sorcerer almost froze at the mention of his name, and in the voice of the thing before him he felt a twinge of familiarity. “It’s why you lost your arm that one time, you told me it was from a duel with an ork, but every knew you got hit by a rocket. Looks like you got that arm thing fixed though…” The thing dangles the arm he just tore off, tendrils sticking out from the stub and wiggling around, trying to find its host. He tosses the arm onto the ground and snaps his finger, igniting the arm in black flames, burning the thing into ash as it slowly dies. “… Now, I have a question for you Serviel…”
“Y-You… who are-“ the tail of the thing slams into Serviel, collapsing one of his three lungs and making him cough up blood.
“You’ll get your chance to speak, for now, shut up and answer me…” the Thing’s tail opens it’s maw and picks up Serviel, sitting him upright as the Thing gets up close to Serviel’s face, looking him in the eyes. “Where is Vashtorr heading?”
Serviel looked surprised, like he expected maybe something else to be asked, but he grit his teeth through the pain and answered, “Ghh! I… I don’t know… we were sent here to gather resources for the Wyrmwood… we… we weren’t told anything else….”
The Thing lets out a growl of frustration, another dead end. Either he isn’t acting on leads fast enough or Vashtorr is actively messing with him. As he thinks about his next steps, Serviel looks at him questioningly. The Thing notices and looks at him. “… Well? Out with it.”
“… So you’re alive…” Serviel says, and the Thing just shrugs.
“Sort of.” He says, putting a hand around the nape of Serviel’s neck. He has had this conversation many times, this is the part where they insult him and belittle him. He used to pull them apart slowly and painfully before but he just wanted to kill him quickly and be done with it.
“You… you know she’s still looking for you…” Those words make the Thing stop for a moment, his hands loosening slightly around Serviel’s neck. The memories of her are still bright in his mind, her voice was that of an angel’s, her beauty was nothing but serine, and her kindness knew no bounds…. That’s how it was long ago, the woman she was is now long gone….
“… Yea… I know she is…” the Thing breaks Serviel’s neck with a flick of his wrist, too fast for Serviel to have felt it. He drinks in his soul, absorbing it into his being, where the ruinous powers will have hold of him no more… The Thing leaves the dungeon and makes it to the command room of the fortress, where Asher and his second in command wait for him. “Asher. Argal.” The Thing says, addressing them both. “This planet is ours now, I can assume you’ve already pacified the local populace?”
Argal Tal steps up to the Thing, he is more mutated than most of his brothers but other than that he wears untainted armor custom made to fit his bulkier form, and he stands almost eight feet tall, with every bit of the nobility he had during the great crusade. “It is done my lord, we have successfully convinced them we are servants of the emperor, the indoctrination plans are already in place, we suspect within a few generations this planet will be devoted entirely to you.”
“On top of all that…” Asher says, “We have collected any and all equipment usable to us. Our ammo stockpiles are at maximum capacity, as are most of our other requirements.”
The Thing looks at Asher, nodding in approval. “Good. Even if we aren’t any closer to Vashtorr, we are at least better off now than before.”
“No luck with the sorcerer then, eh my lord?” Asher ask, his voice unsurprised.
“Nope.” The Thing says flatly, slightly annoyed by Asher’s tone but knows he’s just being the sarcastic individual that he is. “Now, leave me. Take care of what needs taking care of out there…” He orders as he steps out onto the balcony of the command room, the sound of ceremite armor clinking and then stomping off soon growing distant and leaving only silence. A few minutes of this pass by, the Thing thinking back too a time before all this madness. A time when humanity was on the upswing, when things like daemons and the gods were the furthest things from the people’s mind, a time when… when he had her.“….. Still here Argal?” He says, aware that Argal Tal hasn’t left the room.
“…. Your thinking about Mother again, aren’t you?” Argal ask, and the twitch from the Thing’s shoulders tells him he’s right. “…. We will save her Little Light, we will free her from the forces that have broken her.” Argal says, walking up next to the Thing he called Little Light, a title of endearment that his Gene-Mother gave to him. “And you are the key to that, you are the reason why I am here and able to aid you in this mission… all of us, we are your sons now, and we stand with you.”
“… I know… I know…” Little Light says, appreciating Argal Tal’s faith in him and his goals. “… We have much to do, and I fear time may be running out… make sure your brothers are ready for when the time comes for us to move…”
Argal Tal bows, “It will be done… Lord Malal….”

Background
Demographic: White, male, age 30, 5' 5", 175 +/- 5lbs.
Lifestyle: Active (workout 3-4x per week), Desk/Physical work split of 90/10%.
Complaint: Abdominal injury and pain (1 year and 8 months since injury), presently inconsistent pains levels between 3-5/10 and consistent lingering discomfort (1-2/10).
Medication: No consistent medications, no allergies.
Drug use: alcohol (1-3x per month), non-smoker.
History of the Injury
Late August of 2022, I hurt myself doing a kip on horizontal bar outdoors. Right after raising my feet to the bar and kicking my legs out I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. (I've done this and similar moves many times before through my 20s, while exercising)
Bar kip example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRPFWdelsDY
I couldn't stop slouching and crunching my abdomen. Stretching backwards and straightening my posture was very discomforting. The severe pain subsided in a day but in the following months I couldn't stretch my stomach and had to sleep on my back with pillows under my knees to keep a flexed/crunched posture. Sleeping on the side was discomforting, because the stomach would hang to the side, bringing up the pain.
In 3 months, I felt better. However, there were always some flare-ups of pain.
Pain Description: The pain always feels along "horizontal lines", on 1-3 locations at a time, around the belly button level, below, or above it, with varying intensity of pain. Through my personal touch/observation, these horizontal lines of pain are always along tendinous inscriptions of the ab structures. Sometimes I feel lower 1 or two lines in pain. Other times it’s one of the upper line(s).
Tendinous inscriptions image: https://test.usabcd.org/courses/lk-native-ld2-basic-ugra/lessons/lknative-rectus-sheath-block/topic/3-anatomy-the-rectus-abdominis-muscle/
Causes of Pain from Movement: Pain flare-ups happen when moving heavy objects rapidly (without prior prep), pulling something heavy from ground, rapidly stretching the abdominal area, or a day after the occasional exercise. Jumping and landing on ground from 1 ft. or above can make me brace my abdomen, leading to some pain as well. Twisting my torso side to side could also make pain worse, stretching one side of the abdomen, especially if twisting in my full range. Slight turns are okay.
Causes of Pain from Food: Flare-ups also happen immediately after eating specific foods, like sunflower seeds, nutty bars, and when a bit bloated from eating. Trigger of this pain doesn't need to be a substantial amount of food either. Sometimes just a bite or two gets the sensation going.
Pain Relief: Often immediately after having bowel movement there is some pain relief. If pain is not too intense, and more of a discomfort, bowel movement can sometimes end the discomfort
Medical History and Pain Progress Timeline

• September 2022, within a week of the injury, ruled out hernia at a clinic.
  
• 3+ months of slow pain relief, with flare ups. Mostly sedentary life and very little physical activity.
  
• Late December 2022 through early February 2023: Doctors visit, abdominal ultrasound, and physical exam. No specific conclusions on either physical injury or gastric issues. No diagnosis.
  
• February to June 2023:
  

Slow increase in physical activity and exercise. Some running. With a good warm up, stretching the abdominal area isn't too painful (though I did not stretch the area at this time)
Rare ab exercises can feel discomforting, and some pain returns the day after.
Jumping high or landing from high jumps/drops can bring about the pain or worsen it.
Bloated stomach, or consumption of some foods (as mentioned above) can feel discomforting or even painful along 1 or more " horizontal lines". Bowel movement often relieves discomfort and even pain.

• July 1st, 2023, MRI of abdomen. No diagnosis or findings. Quote from the report: "IMPRESSION: Normal noncontrast MRI of the abdomen. There is no abnormality to explain the patient's pain."
  
• August 2023, start of physical therapy. Therapist's hypothesis - myofascial layer causes pain. Prescribed exercises to do at home with light stretch and some balance/strengthening of abdomen.
  
• August 2023, start of journaling of my pain in 1-10 scale on daily basis, as I do the PT.
  
• September 26, 2023, endoscopy was done, no notable results. Results were normal
  
• August 2023 - March 2024, pain fluctuates with steady 2/10 (pain discomfort) with multiple flare ups of pain, one reaching up to 5/10 and lasting and others staying at 3/10 or higher for 2-3 days in a row.
  
• April 2024, colonoscopy revealed no remarkable results. 1 week post colonoscopy pain levels increased to an all time high or close to it (5-6/10). Mostly pain along tendinous intersections, in 3 locations, with some lower right and left abdomen pains, burning sensation around or above bladder, and other discomforts. No issues with bowel movements or peeing.
  

Post colonoscopy I did not return to physical activities and PT as the pain lingers on and is too consistent and limiting to do much in terms of consistent exercise.
Self-medication: On a few occasions, I tried to apply heat or cold, which didn’t help with pain much. But the cold helped numb things down. Heat helped to warm the abdomen and make some movements easier for a short time.
Rare/inconsistent instances of ibuprofen use (around 400-600 mg). Can't remember how effective pain relief is.
Massage/poking: Generally, I do it when I feel pain or discomfort along the horizontal lines. Massage, poking, deep massage does NOT reduce the pain for me. Sometimes even makes me feel the pain more. But mentally feels good to do and feel out where I feel it.
Present day condition (May 2024)
Some pain flare-ups with physical activities, infrequent feeling of discomfort after food (for both, often relieved through bowel movement).
Concern: While pain level has overall gone down since 1.5 years ago, I am not certain what I should and should not do, given there is no diagnosis or clear understanding of cause of pain. The occasional pain increases made me curious if someone had an experience with pain like this. Doctor's appointment all have lead to little to no improvement.
Additionally, I sense a lot of dismissiveness in all the doctors and specialist for this entire timeline described above, where with no results to show on diagnostic tests, I am sent home to "rest" without any hypothesis or brainstorming, and telling me "come back if pain gets worse". It gets worse and I run another round of catching doctors for, what feels like, waste of time with more tests, same questions and same story being told over and over to each new referred specialist I see.
Note: I asked the doctors on multiple occasions to review the MRI images or query a radiologist to do so as there are 100s of frames. I genuinely don't believe that initial look at it was done properly, with only 1 page report showing "unremarkable" for all metrics they looked at. I don't sense that my pain patterns (which I described extensively to every doctor and the radiologist) were accounted for when looking through any of the tests done.
Thanks in advance for any feedback!!!
[Previously posted on with no luck so far.]

"The family matter and the truth of the matter it was god's plan to show y'all the liar" (Family Matters) plus his third verse in Not Like Us is a whole ass rebuttal of "rapping like youre trying to get the slaves freed" "homie still doubled down by calling us some slaves". Do you guys even read lyrics. At least the whole third verse was recorded after he heard Family Matters.
And depending on whether you believe Kendrick had/has a mole, it's possible he heard Aubrey's tracks in advance. I mean he was moving stupidly pronounced by playing Push Ups to Rory and Mal, telling Kai Cenat and Ak that he was about to drop, etc. Both euphoria and 6:16 In LA indicate he had some notion of what Drake was up to "Fabricatin' stories on the family front cause you heard Mr. Morale" + "I see somebody lyin', i smell somebody lyin' I don't see no fire" He doesen't have a tight circle. Hell his first diss was a leak with an old reference track beat and bars he scrapped. We never did talk about wtf happened there. The Weeknd also mentioned "Leaks in their operation" so it wouldn't shock me if that was the case.
MTG has several rebuttals:
.Fuck what Ozempic did (Drake talked about Rick Ross being on ozempic)
.He called Adonis a black man to call bluff on Drake's "oh you hate lightskins but your wife is mixed" narrative. "Never code-switch whether right or wrong you a black man even if it don't benefit your goals" he clarifies that he attacks Drake for "code switching" and not for his skin-color
."Its only big D and there is videoproof" to "they be leaking videos of themselves to further push they agendas"
. "He rather destroy families than taking care of his own"
.You lied about the only artist that can offer you some help
Unless Kendrick has insane levels of foresight (which i'm not sure he is Nostradamus like that) to rebuke these things before they come his way (if that's what you think you're basically saying he's a genius, and if so it doesen't matter that he didn't directly address certain bars) he most definitely heard Family Matters.
Another thing. Spending a whole track in rebuttals comes off as defensive, which was Drake's grave mistake. It's aways better to be on the offence, gives the impression of dominance.
Also Drake just saying "If i was fucking young girls I promise i'd been arrested" was not helpful, just saying "nuh huh" is not a move that's better than mostly attacking like Kendrick did. The only new angle Drake provided was a fairly misguided attack to flip Mother I Sober On Kendrick and it just made him look stupid and kinda weird.
Also if you believe Kendrick didn't address certain things, Drake hasn't addressed the following laundry list of insults:
. He has sex offenders on payroll (amongst them Baka, to whom Drake gave several celebratory bars about being released from prison. Baka was arrested for a sexual assault charge, originally a sex trafficking charge that was dropped due to the victim not testifying, this can mean several things)
. He has substantial help from ghost-writers
. He's addicted to popping percocets
. He's addicted to visiting whore-houses
. He's a degenerate gambler
. He sculpted his abs and does ozempic (the medication which he supposedly planted but then was confirmed to belong to whomever the fuck EbonyPrince2k24 is supposed to be, is hard nosed evidence he's on several pills, ozempic included)
. T.I's friend pissed on his leg and he did nothing about it
. He's unmasculine and even next to Sexy Redd he presents himself this way
. He's a mysoginist
. He's a body-shamer
. He hates black women
. He uses his father to validate his image and in return his father squeezes money out of him
. He's not a present father
. He's a narcissist
. He keeps bringing family into rap beef and it backfires on him
. He harrases good, uninvolved people like Anthony Saleh, Dave Free, Whitney; to appear tough and in control "Ain't no brownie points for beating your chest harrasing Ant. Fucking with good people make good people go to bat"
. He payed 500 thou to settle a sex assault case he had years ago
. He belittled Kendrick for his contract splits but he's also signed to a multitude of people despite getting a massive record deal
. He attaches himself to people like J. Prince or Birdman for streed cred and then washes his image by making gun violence consciousness ads for the city of Toronto
. He violated Pac's name by using him in a diss track
. He dissed Pharell for no fucking reason and is scared to go against an actual threat like Pusha T.
. He code-switches depending of racial/cultural context
. He attaches himself to younger people like Lil Yachty to stay relevant
. He exploits twitter bots and is posted up with people like Ak, Zack Bia and XqC to control internet narratives
. He's a culture vulture (according to Kendrick, a colonizer) profiting off of black men that come from more perilous circumstances to construct an image of street life he's not familiar with

III. Changing Modes of Making It: From Horatio Alger to the Happy Hooker
…
From “Self-Culture” to Self-Promotion through “Winning Images”
In the nineteenth century, the ideal of self-improvement degenerated into a cult of compulsive industry. P.T. Barnum, who made a fortune in a calling the very nature of which the Puritans would have condemned (“Every calling, whereby God will be Dishonored; every Calling whereby none but the Lusts of men are Nourished: …every such Calling is to be Rejected”), delivered many times a lecture frankly entitled “The Art of Money-Getting,” which epitomized the nineteenth-century conception of worldly success. Barnum quoted freely from Franklin but without Franklin’s concern for the attainment of wisdom or the promotion of useful knowledge. “Information” interested Barnum merely as a means of mastering the market. Thus he condemned the “false economy” of the farm wife who douses her candle at dusk rather than lighting another for reading, not realizing that the “information” gained through reading is worth far more than the price of the candles. “Always take a trustworthy newspaper,” Barnum advised young men on the make, “and thus keep thoroughly posted in regard to the transactions of the world. He who is without a newspaper is cut off from his species.”
Barnum valued the good opinion of others not as a sign of one’s usefulness but as a means of getting credit. “Uncompromising integrity of character is invaluable.” The nineteenth century attempted to express all values in monetary terms. Everything had its price. Charity was a moral duty because “the liberal man will command patronage, which the sordid, uncharitable miser will be avoided.” The sin of pride was not that it offended God but that it led to extravagant expenditures. “A spirit of pride and vanity, when permitted to have full sway, is the undying cankerworm which gnaws the very vitals of a man’s worldly possessions.”
The eighteenth century made a virtue of temperance but did not condemn moderate indulgence in the service of sociability. “Rational conversation,” on the contrary, appeared to Franklin and his contemporaries to represent an important value in its own right. The nineteenth century condemned sociability itself, on the grounds that it might interfere with business. “How many good opportunities have passed, never to return, while a man was sipping a ‘social glass’ with his friends!” Preachments on self-help now breathed the spirit of compulsive enterprise. Henry Ward Beecher defined “the beau ideal of happiness” as a state of mind in which “a man [is] so busy that he does not know whether he is or is not happy.” Russell Sage remarked that “work has been the chied, and you might say, the only source of pleasure in my life.”
Even at the height of the Gilded Age, however, the Protestant ethic did not completely lose its original meaning. In the success manuals, the McGuffey readers, the Peter Parley Books, and the hortatory writings of the great capitalists themselves, the Protestant virtues - industry, thrift, temperance - still appeared not merely as stepping-stones to success but as their own reward.
The spirit of self-improvement lived on, in debased form, in the cult of “self-culture” - proper care and training of mind and body, nurture of the mind through “great books,” development of “character.” The social contribution of individual accumulation still survived as an undercurrent in the celebration of success, and the social conditions of early industrial capitalism, in which the pursuit of wealth undeniably increased the supply of useful objects, gave some substance to the claim that “accumulated capital means progress.” In condemning speculation and extravagance, in upholding the importance of patient industry, in urging young men to start at the bottom and submit to “the discipline of daily life,” even the most unabashed exponents of self-enrichment clung to the notion that wealth derives its value from its contribution to the general good and to the happiness of future generations.
The nineteenth-century cult of success placed surprisingly little emphasis on competition. It measured achievement not against the achievements of others but against an abstract ideal of discipline and self-denial. At the turn of the century, however, preachments on success began to stress the will to win. The bureaucratization of the corporate career changed the conditions of self-advancement; ambitious young men now had to compete with their peers for the attention and approval of their superiors. The struggle to surpass the previous generation and to provide for the next gave way to a form of sibling rivalry, in which men of approximately equal abilities jostled against each other in competition for a limited number of places. Advancement now depended on “will-power, self-confidence, energy, and initiative” - the qualities celebrated in such exemplary writings as George Lorimer’s Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son. ” By the end of the nineteenth century,” writes John Cawelti in his study of the success myth, “self-help books were dominated by the ethos of sales-manship and boosterism. Personal magnetism, a quality which supposedly enabled a man to influence and dominate others, became one of the major keys to success.” In 1907, both Lorimer’s Saturday Evening Post and Orison Swett Marden’s Success magazine inaugurated departments of instruction in the “art of conversation,” fashion, and “culture.” The management of interpersonal relations came to be seen as the essence of self-advancement. The captain of industry gave way to the confidence man, the master of impressions. Young men were told that they had to sell themselves in order to succeed.
At first, self-testing through competition remained almost in-distinguishable from moral self-discipline and self-culture, but the difference became unmistakable when Dale Carnegie and then Norman Vincent Peale restated and transformed the tradition of Mather, Franklin, Barnum, and Lorimer. As a formula for success, winning friends and influencing people had little in common with industry and thrift. The prophets of positive thinking disparaged “the old adage that hard work alone is the magic key that will unlock the door to our desires.” They praised the love of money, officially condemned even by the crudest of Gilded Age materialists, as a useful incentive. “You can never have riches in great quantities,” wrote Napoleon Hill in this Think and Grow Rich,” unless you can work yourself into a white heat of desire for money.” The pursuit of wealth lost the few shreds of moral meaning that still clung to it. Formerly the Protestant virtues appeared to have an independent value of their own. Even when they became purely instrumental, in the second half of the nineteenth century, success itself retained moral and social overtones, by virtue of its contribution to the sum of human comfort and progress. Now success appeared as an end in its own right, the victory over your competitors that alone retained the capacity to instill a sense of self-approval. The latest success manuals differ from earlier ones - even surpassing the cynicism of Dale Carnegie and Peale - in their frank acceptance of the need to exploit and intimidate others, in their lack of interest in the substance of success, and in the candor with which they insist that appearances - “winning images - count for more than performance, ascription for more than achievement. One author seems to imply that the self consists of little more than its “image” reflected in others’ eyes. “Although I’m not being original when I say it, I’m sure you’ll agree that the way you see yourself will reflect the image you portray to others.” Nothing succeeds like the appearance of success.
<The American Religion by Harold Bloom (California Orphism)>
The Apotheosis of Individualism
The fear that haunted the social critics and theorists of the fifties - that rugged individualism had succumbed to conformity and “love-pressure sociability” - appears in retrospect to have been premature. In 1960, David Riesman complained that young people no longer had much social “presence,” their education having provided them not with “a polished personality but [with] an affable, casual, adaptable one, suitable to the losing organizations of an affluent society.” It is true that “a present-oriented hedonism,” as Riseman went on the argue, has replaced the work ethic “among the very classes which in the earlier stages of industrialization were oriented toward the future, toward distant goals and delayed gratification.” But this hedonism is a fraud; the pursuit of pleasure disguises a struggle for power. Americans have not really become more sociable and cooperative, as the theorists of other-direction and conformity would like us to believe; they have merely become more adept at exploiting the conventions of interpersonal relations for their own benefit. Activities ostensibly undertaken purely for enjoyment often have the real object of doing others in. It is symptomatic of the underlying tenor of American life that vulgar terms for sexual intercourse also convey the sense of getting the better of someone, working him over, taking him in, imposing your will through guile, deception, or superior force. Verbs associated with sexual pleasure have acquired more than the usual overtones of violence and psychic exploitation. In the violent world of the ghetto, the language of which now pervades American society as a whole, the violence associated with sexual intercourse is directed with special intensity by men against women, specifically against their mothers. The language of ritualized aggression and abuse reminds those who use it that exploitation is the general rule and some form of dependence the common fate, that “the individual,” in Lee Rainwater’s words, “is not strong enough or adult enough to achieve his goal in a legitimate way, but is rather like a child, dependent on others who tolerate his childish maneuvers”; accordingly males, even adult males, often depend on women for support and nurture. Many of them have to pimp for a living, ingratiating themselves with a woman in order to pry money from her; sexual relations thus become manipulative and predatory. Satisfaction depends on taking what you want instead of waiting for what is rightfully yours to receive. All this enters everyday speech in language that connects sex with aggression and sexual aggression with highly ambivalent feelings about mothers.
In some ways middle-class society has become a pale copy of the black ghetto, as the appropriation of its language would lead us to believe. We do not need to minimize the poverty of the ghetto or the suffering inflicted by whites on blacks in order to see that the increasingly dangerous and unpredictable conditions of middle-class life have given rise to similar strategies for survival. Indeed the attraction of black culture for disaffected whites suggests that black culture now speaks to a general condition, the most important feature of which is a widespread loss of confidence in the future. The poor have always had to live for the present, but now a desperate concern for personal survival, sometimes disguised as hedonism, engulfs the middle class as well. Today almost everyone lives in a dangerous world from which there is little escape. International terrorism and blackmail, bombings, and hijackings arbitrarily affect the rich and poor alike. Crime, violence, and gang wars make cities unsafe and threaten to spread to the suburbs. Racial violence on the streets and in the schools creates an atmosphere of chronic tension and threatens to erupt at any time into full-scale racial conflict. Unemployment spreads from the poor the white-collar class, while inflation eats away the savings of those who hoped to retire in comfort. Much of what is euphemistically known as the middle class, merely because it dresses up to go to work, is now reduced to proletarian conditions of existence. Many white-collar jobs require no more skill and pay even less than blue-collar jobs, conferring little status or security. The propaganda of death and destruction, emanating ceaselessly from the mass media, adds to the prevailing atmosphere of insecurity. Far-flung famines, earthquakes in remote regions, distant wars and uprisings attract the same attention as events closer to home. The impression of arbitrariness in the reporting of disaster reinforces the arbitrary quality of experience itself, and the absence of continuity in the coverage of events, as today’s crisis yields to a new and unrelated crisis tomorrow, adds to the sense of historical discontinuity - the sense of living in a world in which the past holds out no guidance to the present and the future has become completely unpredictable.
Older conceptions of success presupposed a world in rapid motion, in which fortunes were rapidly won and lost and new opportunities unfolded every day. Yet they also presupposed a certain stability, a future that bore some recognizable resemblance to the present and the past. The growth of bureaucracy, the cult of consumption with its immediate gratifications, but above all the severance of the sense of historical continuity have transformed the Protestant ethic while carrying the underlying principles of capitalist society to their logical conclusion . The pursuit of self-interest, formerly identified with the rational pursuit of gain and the accumulation of wealth, has become a search for pleasure and psychic survival. Social conditions now approximate the vision of republican society conceived by the Marquis de Sade at the very outset of the republican epoch. In many ways the most farsighted and certainly the most disturbing of the prophets of revolutionary individualism, Sade defended unlimited self-indulgence as the logical culmination of the revolution in property relations - the only way to attain revolutionary brotherhood in its purest form. By regressing in his writings to the most primitive level of fantasy, Sade uncannily glimpsed the whole subsequent development of personal life under capitalism, ending not in revolutionary brotherhood but in a society of siblings that has outlived and repudiated its revolutionary origins.
Sade imagined a sexual utopia in which everyone has the right to everyone else, where human beings, reduced to their sexual organs, become absolutely anonymous and interchangeable. His ideal society thus reaffirmed the capitalist principle that human beings are ultimately reducible to interchangeable objects. It also incorporated and carried to a surprising new conclusion Hobbes’s discovery that the destruction of paternalism and the subordination of all social relations to the market had stripped away the remaining restraints and the mitigating illusions from the war of all against all. In the resulting state of organized anarchy, as Sade was the first to realize, pleasure becomes life’s only business - pleasure, however, that is indistinguishable from rape, murder, unbridled aggression. In a society that has reduced reason to mere calculation, reason can impose no limits on the pursuit of pleasure - on the immediate gratification of every desire no matter how perverse, insane, criminal, or merely immoral. For the standards that would condemn crime or cruelty derive from religion, compassion, or the kind of reason that rejects purely instrumental applications; and none of these outmoded forms of thought or feeling has any logical place in a society based on commodity production. In his misogyny, Sade perceived that bourgeois enlightenment, carried to its logical conclusions, condemned even the sentimental cult of womanhood and the family, which the bourgeoisie itself had carried to unprecedented extremes.
At the same time, he saw that condemnation of “woman-worship” had to go hand in hand with a defense of woman’s sexual rights - their right to dispose of their own bodies, as feminists would put it today. If the exercise of that right in Sade’s utopia boils down to the duty to become an instrument of someone else’s pleasure, it was not so much because Sade hated women as because he hated humanity. He perceived, more clearly than the feminists, that all freedoms under capitalism come in the end to the same thing, the same universal obligation to enjoy and be enjoyed. In the same breath, and without violating his own logic, Sade demanded for women the right “fully to satisfy all their desires” and “all parts of their bodies” and categorically stated that “all women must submit to our pleasure.” Pure individualism thus issued in the most radical repudiation of individuality. “All men, all women resemble each other,” according to Sade; and to those of his countrymen who would become republicans he adds this ominous warning: “Do not think you can make good republicans so long as you isolated in their families the children who should belong to the republic alone.” The bourgeois defense of privacy culminates - not just in Sade’s thought but in the history to come, so accurately foreshadowed in the very excess, madness, infantilism of his ideas - in the most thoroughgoing attack on privacy; the glorification of the individual, in his annihilation.
<…>
Standing-Reserve.
Note a lack of the “Greek” in Lasch.
Visions of Excess: Selected Writings, 1927-1939 by Georges Bataille, Edited by A. Stoekl, Translated by A. Stoekl, C.R. Lovitt, and D.M. Leslie Jr.
<…>

Images - https://imgur.com/a/5ctTiJb
Price - 1250 shipped with hard case
Schecter C-1 FR-S Blackjack with Floyd Rose and Sustainiac pickup.
I have lots of confirmed transactions on VinylCollectors
Bought new from Musician's Friend with hard case and played about 10 hours. It's never left my home and has either been on a stand or in its case, which is included.
Condition is great but there are some pick swirls. Plastic is still on the cavity covers on the back. There is a small imperfection with the binding/finish on the headstock. I couldn't care less about this, so if you do, please know that it's there. I couldn't find any other imperfections with the guitar.
All hardware is included which is an extra spring for the Floyd Rose bridge, allen wrenches to tighten the FR tremolo arm, loosen the nut, etc. One key for the case is included.
Please take a look at all of the pictures and let me know if you have any questions. The included video is of the exact guitar you're purchasing.
Guitar will be shipped in the case with hardware and packed safely in a box for traveling. Below is some copied information about the guitar. Thanks for looking!
The Schecter Blackjack C-1 FR-S is a powerful arched top electric built for modern day shredders. A quick look at the specs will reveal that it's an exceptional value, too.
The mahogany body is finished in sleek gloss black and outlined with crème binding. The 3-piece mahogany neck is set-in for maximum sustain and reinforced with carbon fiber rods for complete stability. The thin C-shape and compound radius ebony fretboard make for a particularly speedy feel. The extra jumbo frets will never wear out—they're stainless steel.
The Blackjack is loaded with a Swedish-made Lundgren M6 humbucker in the bridge. It's nuanced and aggressive while retaining superb clarity. The real treat is the Sustainiac loaded in the neck position. With infinite sustain, it allows you to sculpt feedback into a new form of expression. Toggle the effect off and on, or shape the sustain with the 3-way Fundamental/Mix/Harmonic mode switch.
All of the hardware is blacked out, including the Grover tuners and Floyd Rose 1500 series floating tremolo with locking nut.

• Mahogany body
• Mahogany neck with thin C-shape, ebony fretboard with compound radius
• Lundrgren M6 humbucker (bridge), Sustainiac (neck), 3-way selector, 3-way mode switch, sustain off/on toggle
• Grover tuners, Floyd Rose 1500 series floating tremolo and locking nut

Body

• Body Type: Double Cutaway Solid Body
• Body wood: Mahogany
• Body finish: Gloss

Neck

• Neck shape: Thin C
• Neck wood: 3-piece Mahogany
• Joint: Set-in
• Scale length: 25.5"
• Truss rod: Dual-action
• Neck finish: Satin

Fingerboard

• Material: Ebony
• Radius: Compound
• Fret size: Extra-jumbo
• Number of frets: 24
• Nut width/material: 1.62 in. (41.3 mm)

Electronics

• Configuration: HH
• Neck: Proprietary Humbucker
• Bridge: Proprietary Humbucker
• Control layout: Master volume Master tone
• Pickup switch: 3-Way
• Special electronics:

Hardware

• Bridge type: Tremolo/Vibrato
• Bridge design: Locking Floating
• Tuning machines: Sealed
• Color: Black

Other

• Number of strings: 6 String
• Orientation: Right Handed
• Country of Origin: South Korea

II. The Narcissistic Personality of Our Time
...
Social Influences on Narcissism
Every age develops its own peculiar forms of pathology, which express in exaggerated form its underlying character structure. In Freud’s time, hysteria and obsessional neurosis carried to extremes the personality traits associated with the capitalist order at an earlier stage in its development - acquisitiveness, fanatical devotion to work, and a fierce repression of sexuality. In our time, the preschizophrenic, borderline, or personality disorders have attracted increasing attention, along with schizophrenia itself. This “change in the form of neuroses has been observed and described since World War II by an ever-increasing number of psychiatrists.” According to Peter L. Giovacchini, “Clinicians are constantly faced with the seemingly increasing number of patients who do not fit current diagnostic categories” and who suffer not from “definitive symptoms” but from “vague, ill-defined complaints.” “When I refer to ‘this type of patient,’” he writes, “practically everyone knows to whom I am referring.” The growing prominence of “character disorders” seems to signify an underlying change in the organization of personality, from what has been called inner-direction to narcissism.
Allen Wheelis argued in 1958 that the change in the “patterns of neuroses” fell “within the personal experience of older psychoanalysts,” while younger ones “become aware of it from the discrepancy between the older descriptions of neuroses and the problems presented by the patients who come daily to their offices. The change is from symptom neuroses to character disorders.” Heinz Lichtenstein, who questioned the additional assertion that it reflected a change in personality structure, nevertheless wrote in 1963 that the “change in neurotic patterns” already constituted a “well-known fact.” In the seventies, such reports have become increasingly common. “It is not accident,” Herbert Hendin notes, “that at the present time the dominant events in psychoanalysis are the rediscovery of narcissism and the new emphasis on the psychological significance of death.” “What hysteria and the obsessive neuroses were to Freud and his early colleagues…at the beginning of this century,” writes Michael Beldoch, “the narcissistic disorders are to the workaday analyst in these last few decades before the next millennium. Today’s patients by and large do not suffer from hysterical paralyses of the legs or hand-washing compulsions; instead it is their very psychic selves that have gone numb or that they must scrub and rescrub in an exhausting and unending effort to come clean.” These patients suffer from “pervasive feelings of emptiness and a deep disturbance of self-esteem.” Burness E. Moore notes that narcissistic disorders have become more and more common. According to Sheldon Bach, “You used to see people coming in with hand-washing compulsions, phobias, and familiar neuroses. Now you see mostly narcissists.” Gilbert J. Rose maintains that the psychoanalytic outlook, “inappropriately transplanted from analytic practice” to everyday life, has contributed to “global permissiveness” and the “over-domestication of instinct,” which in turn contributes to the proliferation of “narcissistic identity disorders.” According to Joel Kovel, the stimulation of infantile cravings by advertising, the usurpation of parental authority by the media and the school, and the rationalization of inner life accompanied by the false promise of personal fulfillment, have created a new type of “social individual.” “The result is not the classical neuroses where an infantile impulse is suppressed by patriarchal authority, but a modern version in which impulse is stimulated, perverted and given neither an adequate object upon which to satisfy itself nor coherent forms of control…. The entire complex, played out in a setting of alienation rather than direct control, loses the classical form of symptom - and the classical therapeutic opportunity of simply restoring an impulse to consciousness.”
The reported increase in the number of narcissistic patients does not necessarily indicate that narcissistic disorders are more common than they used to be, in the population as a whole, or that they have become more common than the classical conversion neurosis. Perhaps they simply come more quickly to psychiatric attention. Ilza Veith contends that “with the increasing awareness of conversion reactions and the popularization of psychiatric literature, the ‘old-fashioned’ somatic expressions of hysteria have become suspect among the more sophisticated classes, and hence most physicians observe that obvious conversion symptoms are now rarely encountered and, if at all, only among the uneducated.” The attention given to character disorders in recent clinical literature probably makes psychiatrists more alert to their presence. But this possibility by no means diminishes the importance of psychiatric testimony about the prevalence of narcissism, especially when this testimony appears at the same time that journalists begin to speculate about the new narcissism and the unhealthy trend toward self-absorption. The narcissist comes to the attention of psychiatrists for some of the same reasons that he rises to positions of prominence not only in awareness movements and other cults but in business corporations, political organizations, and government bureaucracies. For all his inner suffering, the narcissist has many traits that make for success in bureaucratic institutions, which put a premium on the manipulation of interpersonal relations, discourage the formation of deep personal attachments, and at the same time provide the narcissist with the approval he needs in order to validate his self-esteem. Although he may resort to therapies that promise to give meaning to life and to overcome his sense of emptiness, in his professional career the narcissist often enjoys considerable success. The management of personal impressions comes naturally to him, and his mastery of its intricacies serves him well in political and business organizations where performance now counts for less than “visibility,” “momentum,” and a winning record. As the “organization man” gives way to the bureaucratic “gamesman” - the “loyalty era” of American business to the age of the “executive success game” - the narcissist comes into his own.
In a study of 250 managers from twelve major companies, Michael Maccoby describes the new corporate leader, not altogether unsympathetically, as a person who works with people rather than with materials and who seeks not to build an empire or accumulate wealth but to experience “the exhilaration of running his team and of gaining victories.” He wants to “be known as a winner, and his deepest fear is to be labeled a loser.” Instead of pitting himself against a material task or a problem demanding solution, he puts himself against others, out of a “need to be in control.” As a recent textbook for managers puts it, success today means “not simply getting ahead” but “getting ahead of others.” The new executive, boyish, playful, and “seductive,” wants in Maccoby’s words “to maintain an illusion of limitless options.” He has little capacity for “personal intimacy and social commitment.” He feels little loyalty even to the company for which he works. One executive says he experiences power “as not being pushed around by the company.” In his upward climb, this man cultivates powerful customers and attempts to use them against his own company. “You need a very big customer,” according to his calculations, “who is always in trouble and demands changes from the company. That way you automatically have power in the company, and with the customer too. I like to keep my options open.” A professor of management endorses this strategy. “Overidentification” with the company, in his view, “produces a corporation with enormous power over the careers and destinies of its true believers.” The bigger the company, the more important he thinks it is for executes “to manage their careers in terms of their own…free choices” and to “maintain the widest set of options possible.”
According to Maccoby, the gamesman “is open to new ideas, but he lacks convictions.” He will do business with any regime, even if he disapproves of its principles. More independent and resourceful than the company man, he tries to use the company for his own ends, fearing that otherwise he will be “totally emasculated by the corporation.” He avoids intimacy as a trap, preferring the “exciting, sexy atmosphere” with which the modern executive surrounds himself at work, “where adoring, mini-skirted secretaries constantly flirt with him.” In all his personal relations, the gamesman depends on the admiration or fear he inspires in others to certify his credentials as a “winner.” As he gets older, he finds it more and more difficult to command the kind of attention on which he thrives. He reaches a plateau beyond which he does not advance in his job, perhaps because the very highest positions, as Maccoby notes, still go to “those able to renounce adolescent rebelliousness and become at least to some extent believers in the organization.” The job begins to lose its savor. Having little interest in craftsmanship, the new-style executive takes no pleasure in his achievements once he begins to lose the adolescent charm on which they rest. Middle age hits him with the force of a disaster: “Once his youth, vigor, and even the thrill in winning are lost, he becomes depressed and goalless, questioning the purpose of his life. No longer energized by the team struggle and unable to dedicate himself to something he believes in beyond himself, … he finds himself starkly alone.” It is not surprising, given the prevalence of this career pattern, that popular psychology returns so often to the “midlife crisis” and to ways of combating it.
In Wilfrid Sheed’s novel Office Politics, a wife asks, “There are real issues, aren’t there, between Mr. Fine and Mr. Tyler?” Her husband answers that the issues are trivial; “the jockeying of ego is the real story.” Eugene Emerson Jennings’s study of management, which celebrates the demise of the organization man and the advent of the new “era of mobility,” insists that corporate “mobility is more than mere job performance.” What counts is “style…panache…the ability to say and do almost anything without antagonizing others.” The upwardly mobile executive, according to Jennings, knows how to handle the people around him - the “shelf-sitter” who suffers from “arrested mobility” and envies success; the “fast learner”; the “mobile superior.” The “mobility-bright executive” has learned to “read” the power relations in his office and “to see the less visible and less audible side of his superiors, chiefly their standing with their peers and superiors.” He “Can infer from a minimum of cues who are the centers of power, and he seeks to have high visibility and exposure with them. He will assiduously cultivate his standing and opportunities with them and seize every opportunity to learn from them. He will utilize his opportunities in social world to size up the men who are centers of sponsorship in the corporate world.”
Constantly comparing the “executive success game” to an athletic contest or a game of chess, Jennings treats the substance of executive life as if it were just as arbitrarily and irrelevant to success as the task of kicking a ball through a net or of moving pieces over a chessboard. He never mentions the social and economic repercussions of managerial decisions or the power that managers exercise over society as a whole. For the corporate manager on the make, power consists not of money and influence but of “momentum,” a “winning image,” a reputation as a winner . Power lies in the eye of the beholder and thus has no objective reference at all.
The manager’s view of the world, as described by Jennings, Maccoby, and by the managers themselves, is that of the narcissist, who sees the world as a mirror of himself and has no interest in external events except as they throw back a reflection of his own image. The dense interpersonal environment of modern bureaucracy, in which work assumes an abstract quality almost wholly divorced from performance, by its very nature elicits and often rewards a narcissistic response. Bureaucracy, however, is only one of a number of social influences that are bringing a narcissistic type of personality organization into greater and greater prominence. Another such influence is the mechanical reproduction of culture, the proliferation of visual and audial images in the “society of the spectacle.” We live in a swirl of images and echoes that arrest experience and play it back in slow motion. Cameras and recording machines not only transcribe experience but alter its quality, giving to much of modern life that character of an enormous echo chamber, a hall of mirrors. Life presents itself as a succession of images of electronic signals, of impressions recorded and reproduced by means of photography, motion pictures, television, and sophisticated recording devices. Modern life is thoroughly mediated by electronic images that we cannot help responding to others as if their actions - and our own - were being recorded and simultaneously transmitted to an unseen audience or stored up for close scrutiny at some later time. “Smile, you’re on candid camera!” The intrusion into everyday life of this all-seeing eye no longer takes us by surprise or catches us with our defenses down. We need no reminder to smile. A smile is permanently graven on our features, and we already known from which of several angles its photographs to best advantage.
The proliferation of recorded images undermines our sense of reality. As Susan Sontag observes in her study of photography, “Reality has come to seem more and more like what we are shown by cameras.” We distrust our perceptions until the camera verifies them. Photographic images provide us with the proof of our existence, without which we would find it difficult even to reconstruct a personal history. Bourgeois families in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Sontag points out, posed for portraits in order to proclaim the family’s status, whereas today the family album of photographs verifies the individual’s existence: its documentary record of his development from infancy onward provides him with the only evidence of his life that he recognizes as altogether valid. Among the “many narcissistic uses” that Sontag attributes to the camera, “self-surveillance” ranks among the most important, not only because it provides the technical means of ceaseless self-scrutiny but because it renders the sense of selfhood dependent on the consumption of images of the self, at the same time calling into question the reality of the external world.
By preserving images of the self at various stages of development, the camera helps to weaken the older idea of development as moral education and to promote a more passive idea according to which development consists of passing through the stages of life at the right time and in the right order. Current fascination with the life cycle embodies an awareness that success in politics or business depends on reaching certain goals on schedule; but it also reflects the ease with which developments can be electronically recorded. This brings us to another cultural change that elicits a widespread narcissistic response and, in this case, gives it a philosophical sanction: the emergence of a therapeutic ideology that upholds a normative schedule of psychosocial development and thus gives further encouragement to anxious self-scrutiny. The idea of normative development creates the fear that any deviation from the norm has a pathological source. Doctors have made a cult of periodic checkup - an investigation carried out once again by means of cameras and other recording instruments - and have implanted in their clients the notion that health depends on eternal watchfulness and the early detection of symptoms, as verified by medical technology. The client no longer feels physically or psychologically secure until his X-rays confirm a “clean bill of health.”
Medicine and psychiatry - more generally, the therapeutic outlook and sensibility that pervade modern society - reinforce the pattern created by other cultural influences, in which the individual endlessly examines himself for signs of aging and ill health, for tell-tale symptoms of psychic stress, for blemishes and flaws that might diminish his attractiveness, or on the other hand for reassuring indications that his life is proceeding according to schedule. Modern medicine has conquered the plagues and epidemics that once made life so precarious, only to create new forms of insecurity. In the same way, bureaucracy has made life predictable and even boring while reviving, in a new form, the war of all against all. Our overorganized society, in which large-scale organizations predominate but have lost the capacity to command allegiance, in some respects more nearly approximates a condition of universal animosity than did the primitive capitalism on which Hobbes managed his state of nature. Social conditions today encourage a survival mentality, expressed in its crudest form in disaster movies or in fantasies of space travel, which allow vicarious escape from a doomed planet. People no longer dream of overcoming difficulties but merely of surviving them. In business, according to Jennings, “The struggle is to survive emotionally” -to “preserve or enhance one’s identity or ego.” The normative concept of developmental stages promotes a view of life as an obstacle course: the aim is simply to get through the course with a minimum of trouble and pain. The ability to manipulate what Gail Sheehy refers to, using a medical metaphor, as “life-support systems” now appears to represent the highest form of wisdom: the knowledge that gets us through, as she puts it, without panic. Those who master Sheehy’s “no-panic approach to aging” and to the traumas of the life cycle will be able to say, in the words of one of her subjects, “I know I can survive… I don’t panic any more.” This is hardly an exalted form of satisfaction, however. “The current ideology,” Sheehy writes, “seems a mix of personal survivalism, revivalism, and cynicism”; yet her enormously popular guide to the “predictable crises of adult life,” with its superficially optimistic hymn to growth, development, and “self-actualization,” does not challenge this ideology, merely restates it in more “humanistic” form. “Growth” has become a euphemism for survival.
The World View of the Resigned
New social forms require new forms of personality, new modes of socialization, new ways of organizing experience. The concept of narcissism provides us not with a ready-made psychological determinism but with a way of understanding the psychological impact of recent social changes - assuming that we bear in mind not only its clinical origins but the continuum between pathology and normality. It provides us, in other words, with a tolerably accurate portrait of the “liberated” personality of our time, with his charm, his pseudo-awareness of his own condition, his promiscuous pansexuality, his fascination with oral sex, his fear of the castrating mother (Mrs. Portnoy), his hypochondria, his protective shallowness, his avoidance of dependence, his inability to mourn, his dread of old age and death.
Narcissism appears realistically to represent the best way of coping with the tensions and anxieties of modern life, and the prevailing social conditions therefore tend to bring out narcissistic traits that are present, in varying degrees, in everyone. These condition have also transformed the family, which in turn shapes the underlying structure of personality. A society that dears it has no future is not likely to give much attention to the needs of the next generation, and the ever-present sense of historical discontinuity - the blight of our society - falls with particularly devastating effect on the family. The modern parent’s attempt to make children feel loved and wanted does not conceal an underlying coolness - the remoteness of those who have little to pass on the next generation and who in any case give priority to their own right to self-fulfillment. The combination of emotional detachment with attempts to convince a child of his favored position in the family is a good prescription for a narcissistic personality structure.
Through the intermediary of the family, social patterns reproduce themselves in personality. Social arrangements live on in the individual, buried in the mind below the level of consciousness, even after they have become objectively undesirable and unnecessary - as many of our present arrangements are now widely acknowledged to have become. The perception of the world as a dangerous and forbidding place, though it originates in a realistic awareness of the insecurity of contemporary social life, receives reinforcement from the narcissistic projection of aggressive impulses outward. The belief that society has no future, while it rests on a certain realism about the dangers ahead, also incorporates a narcissistic inability to identify with posterity or to feel one self part of a historical stream.
The weakening of social ties, which originates in the prevailing state of social warfare, at the same time reflects a narcissistic defense against dependence. A warlike society tends to produce men and women who are at heart antisocial. It should therefore not surprise us to find that although the narcissist conforms to social norms for fear of external retribution, he often thinks of himself as an outlaw and sees others in the same way, “as basically dishonest and unreliable, or only reliable because of external pressures.” “The value systems of narcissistic personalities are generally corruptible,” writes Kernberg, “in contrast to the rigid morality of the obsessive personality.”
The ethic of self-preservation and psychic survival is rooted, then, not merely in objective conditions of economic warfare, rising rates of crime, and social chaos but in the subjective experience of emptiness and isolation. It reflects the conviction - as much a projection of inner anxieties as a perception of the way things are - that envy and exploitation dominate even the most intimate relations. The cult of personal relations, which becomes increasingly intense as the hope of political solutions recedes, conceals a thoroughgoing disenchantment with personal relations, just as the cult of sensuality implies a repudiation of sensuality in all but its most primitive forms. The ideology of personal growth, superficially optimistic, radiates a profound despair and resignation. It is the faith of those without faith.

I 17f have been working at a company for over 2 years. Recently I have been really busy and I have a lot of stuff going on in my life. From high school graduation to injuries to sickness, you name it, it happened this past month. Some context: I am on antidepressants that make my immune system a little bit weaker than normal so I’m more prone to sicknesses and the only reason I stay on it is because it works like a charm my grandmother who is my legal guardian has been extremely busy for the past year because we adopted two little girls, her step-grandchildren. one of whom had gotten sexually assaulted. So she’s busy with court and therapy and everything for them. I lived with my grandmother and grandfather since I was 2 months old, all the way up until June of last year. this has been extremely hard on me as I have nowhere to direct my anger. I don’t wanna sound like a stuck up little brat, but I’ve always been an only child. This happened out of nowhere, and we was also told that they would only be there for five months max, it’s been over two years. I cannot direct my anger at those little girls because I’m not that kind of person and it is NOT their fault that they got sexually assaulted, I also cannot direct my anger at my grandmother or grandfather bc They were just trying to do a good thing and help these girls. However, I no longer get to go out on Saturday girls dates with my grandmother and my my grandfather never gets to take me fishing anymore. They are old and they will not be here much longer, I would love to spend my time with them, but I can’t because they are so busy. They didn’t even come to my senior prom Pictures.. i’ve been struggling on where to put my anger. Which has left me tremendously depressed and always angry and anxious. So excuse me if I don’t wanna work my shift a day. because I have no motivation. I literally feel like I lost my family. They were like my mother and father and it’s almost like they are just gone. Out of nowhere. As I mentioned, I’m also a senior in high school so I’m dealing with things from class night,senior sunrise, class night practice, graduation practice, baccalaureate, graduation, prom, and my birthday is May 27 but we are doing me a combined graduation party and birthday party on the 25th. I’m a busy girl these days. My grandmother as I mentioned is always busy so I don’t direct my anger towards her at all and I don’t want to sound like I’m being mean but I told her in December 2023 that my Therapy Place had appointments for me, one of which was my one year therapy assessment, my one year medicine assessment, and a nursing assessment, all of my Therapy Place would not let me schedule as I’m not 18 yet. I don’t know if she simply just forgot or just didn’t care, however I have slowly been running out of medicine and I am now taking 25 mg of a medicine that I’m supposed to be taking 150 mg of. This is the same medicine that causes me to be sick occasionally. it really happens whenever I take one and then forget to take one the next day so this drastic change of 150mg to 25mg in the span of 2 months has not been ideal. It’s making me sick and angry and sad and crazy. All of this has also been causing a lot of issues in my relationship with my boyfriend 18m. We’re arguing all the time and it’s not helping anything. So I have a lot going on. And yes, I have been calling out a lot, however, everything with graduation I told my ex boss about a MONTH ago. This is not new information. Out of NOWHERE he scheduled me to work around 40 hours (my normal hours are about 15-20 a week as I’m working on school and applying to colleges and focused on graduation ) However, today he feels the need to call me and explain to me in passive aggressive words how I am making his and everyone else’s life harder and saying a few other things which all equaled up to “your a big inconvenience for everyone” This alone really hurt as my boss and I always got along ok. He knew what I was going through but assumed I was a liar despite me being a manager for 2 years now and still felt the need to call me and tell me how much of a problem I am. I was honestly going to let this slide and work my last shift and then tell him not to put me on the schedule anymore. But this is when I called my best friend for advice! Then she proceeds to tell me, my boss and another female coworker were stalking my social media accounts to see if I was really hurt. ( I had an ankle injury caused by tripping over my dress walking out of prom.) And I’m not going to lie to you. I really really really hurt my ankle. I was wearing a boot. I have been cooped up in the house for about a week and a half and I was sick and tired of it. My sister and her boyfriend and my boyfriend were all over and we decided we want to go to topgolf. I figured I had rested enough and I was really eager to get out of the house. I got all dressed up and was wearing my boot as we went into Topgolf! Only to find out that we had to be 21 or older to go past the certain time. We tried to get our older siblings to come, but they were busy! I had gotten all dressed up for the first time in a while and I wanted to take some Instagram pictures. That way it didn’t feel like I got dressed up for nothing. I took my boot off and slipped a regular shoe on as I didn’t want to wear a big ass boot in my instagram photos. The girls that get it get it! In all of these pictures, I either have my hurt foot up off of the ground or I am holding it up equal to my knee. Because as I said it really hurt. So I posted my pictures and all was fine. I also made a few tick-tock‘s. Well apparently both of these actions were illegal. As my boss and his suck up of a coworker felt the need to stalk my social media to see if I was lying I guess. You can check the images yourself on instagram at @molleigh_1 After I found this out, I texted my boss as follows:
Ok, I was gonna let the whole “ passive aggressively calling me an inconvenience” thing slide, however i just don’t understand why you and Alana feel the need to search up my social media accounts and see what I’m doing but if you must know my instagram pictures were taken while my boot was off because I didn’t want to wear a big boot in my pictures. My boot was still in the car. If you look closely in the pictures you can see that I am leaning my weight on my good foot and have my bad foot either up in the air or I am not fully stepping on it. I also didn’t know it was illegal to post videos of myself on tiktok when I’m sick, that’s New info to me. I also just talked to my best friend who did not know about my foot injury, just told her about it. You can come ask my entire family if you’d like. They have seen me walking around the house in a boot. It’s not fair to assume I’m a liar as you weren’t there. You can’t tell if I’m in pain from a picture or video. it’s weird that you guys are looking up my accounts. That’s honestly creepy. Now that my parents and I know this creepy, unsettling information I will not be working that last shift, (I’m not allowed) you all can go stalk other people! If you feel the need to reply or have anything to say, you can contact (My dads number) Have the day you deserve, and goodbye.
Here’s the reasoning behind why he’s a creep: - 40 yr old man who only hires teen girls. -Would always show up 5 mins after my shift started claiming he had work to do but then would sit in the office with me just to try and chat. - anytime he would arrive I would simply move my things out of the office and set out by the serving area to which he would say “ I didn’t kick you out you can come sit back here with me” - gave me sexual looks more than one time. - places security cameras in odd places such as facing the backs of his workers so he can look at their asses I’m guessing ( it’s not just one camera it’s all of them) - there’s been claims of him sexually assaulting his workers in the past (just found this out) from a previous coworker who was told this by someone who worked at a different location of the company -multiple workers have quit because they felt uncomfortable around him.
Am I the a hole? Did I do the right thing? Am I just being dramatic and overcomplicating this? Help!

i had a wireless keyboard and mouse for 2-3 years and it suddenly stopped working.. i left it out of use for a year, and it has a lithium battery.. after a patch one day on windows it stopped working.. then research showed that others online had a similar experience, blaming it on a patch.. others still calling the hardware defective.
now i bought a new keyboard / mouse for about $25 marked down from about $50 and already a handful of days into use i'm seeing issues like the double click speed is weird and when playing a computer game, i notice sometimes random key strokes occur -- almost identical issues as with last keyboard..
another thing i'm thinking is that the USB ports have gone bad like my motherboard is on its last limb. tried plugging in usb-c to hdmi/usb-b/usb-c and it made my webcam in usb-b go haywire.
this computer has been very solid but i seem to go through laptops every 2 years. what gives?
is hardware getting worse? is microsoft intro'ing degradation into its patches of external keyboards and mice like apple did? is this just a case of one dud keyboard off amazon (people reported it going bad suddenly after a year or two) and a shitty developing world keyboard gone bad? am i just abusive to my computers?