PC

Reddit Account: u/TheSacredGroves
Discord Tag: justinkayce
Name and House: Roland, of House Arryn
Age: 28
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: Tall, lean, well-muscled, handsome, fair - Roland is the portrait of a Knight of legend, of the Winged Knight come again. Harsh sky-blue eyes, severe cheekbones, and the familial aquitaine nose give him a cold and distant look - but one frequently broken by his warm and gentle smile. He keeps his pale-blonde hair long and his jaw clean shaven, accentuating the lines of his face. Roland is always neat and clean, his armour burnished and his threads well-tailored and fashionable.
Trait: Blademaster
Skill(s): Swords (e), Andal Knight (e), Essosi Blademaster
Talent(s): Dancing, Hawking, Singing
Negative Trait(s): -
Starting Title(s): Knight of the Gate
Starting Location: King's Landing
Alternate Characters: n/a

Bio-Timeline

• 3 BC: Roland Arryn is born to King Joffrey I Arryn and his wife, Queen Sharra. The third son, Roland's birth firmly secures the succession - fortunately timed considering his father's death later that year.
• 1 BC: The Conquest passes the two year old Roland by, the only impact on him being the squall he raised when Vhagar landed atop the Eyrie.
• 1-4 AC: The post-conquest world is the only one Roland knows, and he grows up in a household dedicated much to it. House Arryn in this period is an odd family, to say the least. Sharra Arryn's attentions are much divided and she has less time than a mother normally would for her third son; Roland is mostly raised by the medley of the Arryn Household and Court and is well-moulded by that as the expectations of maester, septon, courtiers, knights, servants, begin to be shape him into what an Arryn 'should' be in the eyes of their people.
• 5 AC: Roland struggles to find his place as a third son with little direct supervision. It is decided early that he does not have the smarts to become Septon nor Maester... but even as a youth Roland has a keen interest in the training yard, often an annoying shadow to his eldest brother and his squire friends. However, even at eight years old it is clear there is a natural talent to the boy - and when he defeats a squire four years older than him in a training bout in the presence of Lord Corbray, the famed Raven Knight, takes the precocious boy on as a page.
• 6 AC: Roland is by Lord Corbray's side when he tracks down the Root Father. Now a newly minted squire, Roland ignores his knight's orders to remain with the horses and sneaks after them. He kills his first man there, taking a clansman from behind as he in turn tried to attack the Raven Knight from the back. It is not an honourable kill or a clean death, and Roland is badly injured in the scuffle - but he survives. Lord Corbray is furious, and fiercely instils in Roland the importance of fighting with chivalry and honour. He almost abandons Roland, but his tearful begging convinces the Raven Knight that Roland is genuine in his regret.
• 7 AC: Visenya Targaryen's visits to the Eyrie become more frequent, and Roland's wariness of the stern, dragon-riding pagan is overcome by his fascination with said dragon, her skill with the blade... and his mother's growing closeness to the Queen. Visenya becomes something of a second mother to Roland, and her influences war with Lord Corbray's own. From Lord Corbray, Roland learns chivalry, honour, piety, and how a true Andal Knight should act. From Queen Visenya, Roland learns the importance of victory, and an understanding that wars must be won - he learns practicalities and realities. It is a schism within Roland that troubles him, but from both he learns the blade and even at ten it is more and more obvious there is something special about Roland. He quarrels sometimes with his brothers. Jonos, as even at ten, Roland could find little but disdain for his scheming, sneering, brother, and Ronnel as again even at ten, Roland already began to see himself as the better sword (and grows envious that Ronnel gets to adventure and party while Lord Corbray keeps Roland on a much tighter leash).
• 10 AC: Roland learns of his mother's death while at Heart's Home. He returns home swiftly, and his grief is overwhelming. There are few Roland can turn to; Ronnel is concerned with his marriage and rulership, Arwen retreats into the forests, and Jonos is Jonos. Roland relies further on Visenya, who has experienced such grief herself recently and guides Roland through it. Her place as a mother to Roland is confirmed in utterance. To distract himself, Roland throws himself fully into his training and an ensuing victory at a squire's melee at the age of ten and three sparks his reputation as a squire to watch across the Vale.
• 12 AC: Roland, at ten and five, wins the squire's tourney at Maiden’s Bay. He is stopped from sneaking into the higher tourneys by Lord Corbray, much to Roland's chargrin and his demand to be knighted is refused. His calamitously sized ego is rapidly deflated by the Eyrie's Septon and Queen Visenya, who pick him apart and teach him between them the values of humility, and the value of letting ones abilities speak for themselves. Roland does his best to control his pride in the future; ego is rarely ever an issue from him.
• 13 AC: While the honour of the day goes to the Cavaliers, Roland Arryn wins his spurs when the Painted Dogs are crushed under the Moon Gate, killing near as much as the Cavalier Superior herself. That his knighthood was overshadowed by an order of women warriors initially irritated Roland, but recalling his lessons from the last year, he happily shared the honour alongside them and was one of the voices that petitioned his brother to replace the Keeper with the Cavaliers. Knighted, Roland joins the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights and although young, is a key figure in helping rejuvenate the Brotherhood.
• 14 AC: Roland is betrothed to Alayne Waynwood; their romance is one from the storybooks, an instant and deep connection from the moment of meeting.
• 15 AC: Roland and Alayne wed as soon as they turn ten and eight. Part in celebration and part as dignitaries, the pair go to King's Landing together as guests of Lord Orys' great hunt for his son's coming of age. At the Kingswood Catastrophe, Roland saves Orys' life, but Alayne is slain defending other noblewomen. Roland hunts down, duels, and kills the King of the Wood afterwards. He is offered the Whitecloak for his service; on advice from Visenya, he declines, claiming his family needs him and he can defend Laenor and Visenya just as well in the Vale.
• 16 AC: Roland withdraws into mourning for a year, taking up a brutal campaign of bandit hunting in the Vale to cope with his grief.
• 17-18 AC: Roland returns to his brother's side, continuing to help rebuild the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights and slowly coming to terms with Alayne's death. He begins to more keenly ride the tourney track between his duties, earning a reputation as a fine lance alongside his growing reputation as one of the greatest knights in the realm.
• 19 AC: With Roland settling into his knightly role, Ronnel names him Knight of the Gate, with the downside of forcing Roland to have to keep a firm hand on Jonos from time to time when their brother is exiled to the Gate for yet another slight. The relationship between Jonos and Roland sours; where Ronnel threatens Jonos with exile or the Wall, Roland threatens him with death.
• 20 AC: Requested personally by Visenya, Roland tries to take on Prince Laenor as a squire. They are utterly ill-suited to the role, and after many frustrating failed training sessions in the yard, Roland gives up, labelling the Prince untrainable. The relationship between the two almost-siblings sours, but Roland works to repair the rift he created between them with much kinder words.
• 21 AC: Roland develops a relationship with a fellow Knight of the Vale, Colmar Corbray - the son and heir of the aging Raven Knight. Colmar has a fire in him that Roland can't help but seek, and he excuses Colmar's many flaws far too readily. It is a secretive bond, and toxic, but Roland does not believe he deserves better after letting Alayne die.
• 22 AC: The Winged Knights are whipped into fervour as yet another piece of the ancient armour is found. Roland himself dreams of perhaps finding more. Inspired my tales of the armour, the Brotherhood grows even further and in order to keep a firm hand on them, Ronnel makes Roland their Commander.
• 23 AC: Roland and Colmar's relationship deteriorates, ending in a duel that sees Colmar humiliated but, thankfully, alive. The two men hate each other from then on.
• 25 AC: Roland rides by his brother's side to King's Landing.

Family Tree

AC

Name and House: Marla of Gulltown
Age: 34
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: Broad and strong with well-calloused hands, Marla is as obvious a blacksmith as Roland is a knight. She keeps her brown hair tied severely back, framing her dour face with its squinting brown and wide mouth that wears an almost perpetual frown.
Trait: Artisan (Weapons)
Skill(s): Craftsman (e weapons; e armor)
Talent(s): Whittling, singing, maintenance of arms and armour
Negative Trait(s): -
Starting Title(s): King's Landing
Starting Location: Master of the Armoury of the Bloody Gate

Timeline

• 9 BC: Marla of Gulltown is born to a master-armourer in Gulltown
• 1 BC: Marla begs her father to help as his assistant as he tries to deal with the massive increase in orders thanks to the Conquest; he reluctantly agrees. Her older brother dies when Vhagar burns the Vale's fleet.
• 2 AC: Marla secretly goes out to work her father's forge at night, practicing at smithing - and finding herself something of a prodigy.
• 6 AC: Her father dies of a weak heart. Marla and her mother discover his great gambling debts, and no money saved for them. They keep her father's death a secret as Marla works the forge to complete his current orders - what comes after that, no one knows.
• 7 AC: Somehow, the charade is kept up. Marla's father is portrayed as a recluse who has devoted himself to his work and the Smith and will see no one in person. This mystery increases the shop's popularity, and many marvel at how greatly his work has improved since taking up this holy vow of solitude.
• 10 AC: A young merchant attempts to woo Marla and is rebuffed. Spying on her, he discovers her secret, and spreads it through Gulltown. The reputation of the shop collapses, and Marla and her mother flee ahead of those furious at the deception, the Faith angry that they had been used, and the law's punishment for fraud. They flee to Pentos.
• 11 AC: Marla finds work with a Qohorik blacksmith, an old master, now drunk and washed up. He teaches her all he knows. Helping each other back to their feet, the pair set up a proper shop, once more, together.
• 15 AC: The old blacksmith dies; Pentos proves to be unfriendly in its business to a woman by herself without the old master by her side. Despairing, Marla hears about the Cavaliers of the Vale, and reckons that if her home will now accept female knights, surely they'll accept a female blacksmith.
• 16 AC: Marla returns to the Vale with her mother. She avoids Gulltown and instead heads to the Gates of the Moon, seeking to offer her services to the Cavaliers. She is accosted by vengeful Painted Dogs on the way, and saved by the miraculous intervention of Roland. He offers to accompany her to the Gates of the Moon, where Marla is gladly accepted.
• 17 AC: Having forged arms and armour for Roland as well, which Roland raves over, Roland has his brother take her on as the Arryn's personal smith and armourer.
• 19 AC: When Roland is given the Bloody Gate, he begs Marla to come with him, who agrees in part. The smith spends her time between the two Gates and the Eyrie, overseeing the arms and armours of all the Arryn forces. Mostly remaining at the Bloody Gate, Marla becomes an integral part of the Winged Knights.
• 20-24 AC: Marla is regularly persuaded to accompany Roland to yet another tourney to help maintain his arms and armour. She grumbles, but secretly enjoys the competitions. Tales of the Winged Knights armour fascinate the Blacksmith, and with her small amount of Qohorik experience she helps verify the pieces as true Valyrian Steel. Her and Roland worsen each others obsession with tracking down the rest.
• 25 AC: Marla rides to King's Landing with her Lord and Knight, ready to work her magic if Roland breaks his armour yet again.

Supporting Characters

• Septon Gernot, 41 (Medic) - Septon of the Gate
• Maester Guy, 42 (Scholar) - Maester of the Gate
• Ser Martin Donnerly, 36 (General) - Castellan of the Gate

Mine was last night (Saturday), I watched Temple of Doom. I go through cycles with movies I seem to subconsciously have in rotation at a given time, and lately I just keep watching Temple of Doom. If there's nothing else to watch or I don't know what I feel like, I'll watch Temple of Doom. Interestingly, it isn't even my favourite film in the trilogy.

Glass Weeds Sometimes I feel like a writer. Like that was really “it” for me but I got blocked along the way. 20 years ago. 13? Maybe that was when the thought river was dammed up. That’s definitely when the self doubt and esteem issues arose. I know I could(can?) write. I learned the structure of an academic essay (intro, thesis, body, conclusion) and it worked for me, as bland as I found the rules, it served me at that time. I had a “voice” and I was told that by teachers when I was a young child and even when I was an older teen. “I can hear your voice in your writing.” Was that voice me? My “personality”? My “person”? My “self”? “Myself”. “Me”? I have joked for years now about how I’ve had an “x-years writer’s block! Lol—I swear I am a good writer” or communicator, or person even. I swear. I’m just “blocked”. I’m clogged up. I can’t get it out.
Now I’m 33 and just had an “I think I want to end this marriage!” outburst with my husband. It’s the time of the year where I’m lucky to have a constant, stimulating, and distracting, physical outlet in my garden.
My favorite task: weeding the garden. It’s a memorable analogy from AA’s “24 Hours” meditation books. Or maybe it’s from “Daily Reflections”. Either way it’s that sobriety “give it up” stuff.
Weed your emotional garden. Tear that resentful shit out. Plant the good seeds and rip out the bad ones.
I’m a tactical gardener. And learner. And experiencer. And some real gardeners would probably laugh at the way I put on my gloves and tear each and every individual weed by the root. Every. Tiny. Clover. Every single root. All the way. I like to get to the root or it just comes back.
I pull and pull and in this particular garden something else comes with the roots. Broken glass. An inexplicable amount of shards of all sizes. And when I thought I unearthed them all, more is pushed up to the surface weeks later.
This garden is 5 years in (my) making now. I remember in the beginning of my spring time digs, it was a cute, not so disturbing wonder “oh my! Look! There’s a shard of glass. I wonder where it came from? Let’s just get it out now.”
Then in the subsequent years, it became part of the process of the till. Turn the soil, pull out the few glass pieces. Wipe your hands. Have a good summer!”
This year it hit me harder than most. I’m hurting more than before. I’m drawing near the end of my capacity to feel blocked. And I am turning to the soil to dig dig dig with my bare hands and unearth whatever is hiding just beneath the surface.
Because it always is just beneath. My first real soil (lol that autocorrected to “soul”) search this spring was in the perennial bed and an inexcusable amount of glass was right there on the surface. Different colors too.
I always thought I was digging up the soul soil of the original home owner. Whom I at this point assumed was a passionate, garden loving, angry alcoholic. Why would there be so much broken glass in a garden?
But more importantly why does it keep resurfacing, even days, after I thought I’d found the last angry, imposing, threatening shard.
Today in my weeding frenzy which is also a thought frenzy, the biggest pieces I’ve found this year came to me. Green, clear, brown. I used to feel upset by them. Deep concern for the safety of my daughter, who now knows is not allowed to be barefoot in this particular garden. You must watch your step. But as I found each piece of angry glass, I came to a conclusion, or realization, of sorts.
I have a mind garden and I plant beautiful seeds and even plant big, fruitful ideas, but the cost of that is unearthing years of untold, unrecognized, unhonored, very very broken glass. Of all different sizes and colors and degrees of danger. But they are there. They’ve been there for years. Before I lived here. They’re always there. Especially when I thought that I got rid of them all.
That’s when they choose to remind me and scream: “I AM STILL HERE!!!!!!”
The first dig this spring brought a different narrative to the “angry alcoholic” smashing beer bottles. Because I dug up something different, an angled glass rod. Also, a chunk of ceramic,white, glazed, with the classic blue painted inscriptions. China-? Something other than beer bottles?
I used to throw these glass pieces away as fast as I found them, but now I have decided to collect them, as artifacts, of my inherited, 45yr old garden.
I’m learning to not be so angry and jaded toward the signs sent to me regularly. Part of my recovery from whatever this damaged, shattered glass soul, that I guess I’m realizing I am, is to embrace these small angry shards and give them the acknowledgment they truly deserve. I buried them, dug them up and tossed them, but more came.
I don’t even want to eradicate them anymore. I just want to keep collecting them as I find them for the bigger art piece to come. It will be a beautiful mosaic.

Hello everyone.
I am really interested in acquiring knowledge and experience in creating my own covers for popular film scores, most notably Avatar (James Horner), and The Lion King (Hans Zimmer), among others.
Problem is, most tutorials I watch on YouTube on "how to create music in X" just show a person skimming through how to use the DAW and create a very basic trap/rap/hip-hop style beat, which is not what I am looking for. I am looking to create beautiful orchestral music, learn how to mix sounds together and how synthesizers, and what not.
I am not looking to turn this into a career or a side hustle, just as a hobby I engage with from time to time, so I am not looking to invest on hardware whatsoever. My question is, how far can I go creating music with just my laptop's keyboard and my headphones?
I have access to LinkedIn Learning from my college, would I benefit from using this as a resource on learning how to use the DAW (Logic Pro) first, then worry about the VSTs and mastering later? Do I need to learn music theory if all I am looking for is to create covers of some film score tracks?
I appreciate any and all support I get from this post.

A few thoughts about the new event from someone who completed each level without OP teams (but with a deep bench and plenty of mats)
1) Treat it like the Slayers event, look for heroes with long duration effects. Minion/fiend generators work nicely for this
2) Stack your colors. I went 311 most of the way through rare, typically Pixie/Jolly/KvasiDawn/Buster. Epic and Legendary were either mono or 41. Be prepared to alternate teams. I wanted to use Lady of the Lake for mana control, but green reflect makes that a challenge. Overheal can be good, but watch out for the health reducing boss. Pophit was my biggest concern, so I made sure to bring heroes with undispellable defense (Krampus base, Hulda, Devana) to work around that
3) enter the boss stage with full mana on as many heroes as possible. Bring straight damage items (axes, bombs, dragon attacks) and use them early on the bosses. Since they are hit all, you want them to impact all 2/3 of the bosses. You do NOT need to use them when you first enter the stage, especially if you can use a mana control hero to delay them for a time while you dump tiles into the impacted boss(es). Once you're close to breaking mana control, fire away on your saved specials and all of your main damage items.
4) Use the soft skin buff to your advantage when the counterattack level gets too high. The 5% heal is usually not much of an issue compared with the tile damage available
5) Be prepared to fail. Try different team options. It took me 10-12 tries on Legendary 8 before I passed it. I used Seshat/Ludwig/Hulda/Aconia/Frosth and took my time. The 1st 3 were at level 85/20, but the others were just 80
5a) Here are some teams that failed on stage 8. C2 Viv/Anne/Uraeus/Devana/Heimdall - missing mana control, overheal is unreliable. Ekanite/LotL/Heimdall/2 other greens - green... oops. Krampus/Pengi/Lord Loki/M&M/Ariel - too much damage and health reduction to overcome
6) know that it is hard, and likely not worth it for the rewards alone, but if you like the challenge of team building and have the time then it's not too bad

[TOMT] [ANIME MOVIE] [2000s] I need any help I can get with this. I have this vivid memory of my early, and even late, childhood, of me watching a DVD that contained the first ever anime I ever watched. On the very good days of piracy (long gone era of the early 2000), my dad downloaded it from somewhere that has been long lost to time. I still have the DVD somewhere on my parents house, but no more DVD player, and the DVD is one of those plain ones we used to record stuff, so theres no indication of the film name on it. I completely forgot the title, that is if I ever knew it at all (it was in japanese, and if I still don't know japanese now, in my almost 20 years, I very much didn't know it when i was 4), but I just NEED to know the name, just to find it again, get a glimpse, even just a screenshot, of one of my earliest memories. And also it was my first anime ever, and that's a pretty big thing to an anime lover.
Now that i gave context of why I just need this so much (I remembered it today, and I've been looking for it for the past 2 hours, my girlfriend is probably already a bit pissed that i hyperfocused on this instead of giving her attention), I'll give you guys all the things I remember, in hopes I can find it again, or even have tell me they also remember it just so I know I'm not going crazy.
It was probably made in between 1990 and 2005, and i vividly remember a scene where the main character, a boy about 6-8 years old, is playing with penguins in antartica (he was there with his parents, and the start of the film was in a boat, so i always guessed they were kind of scientists going on an expedition?) when the ice starts to crack. He doesn't manage to get back to his parents and they get separated, and he ends up on top of an iceberg, stranded in the ocean. He floats over it across the sea until he reaches warmer waters, where he encounters a paradise bird he freed earlier in the film (the poor thing was locked up in a cage in the boat, i guess he belongued to the captain or something), and the warms makes the ice start to melt and reveals a giant egg. the boy floats over the egg until he gets stranded on a tropical paradisiacal island governed by a mermaid (i guess she had pink hair and a really sad face for some reason?) and inhabited by strange creatures. even the trees and flowers in the forest seem to be concient and they even sing (my mother was absolutely tired of hearing this scene over and over again). The egg cracks when they reach the beach and a pink sea monster is born from it, and the creature becomes the boy's friend, along with the paradise bird that becomes a sort of guide/voice of reason (though not much reason I'm afraid). There's also a profecy referring to the pink sea monster (?) and a pirate is trying to capture it (or maybe the mermaid princess, i dont remember). There's also one scene where some strange little creatures that live on the island are crying so much they almost flood it (?) i dont remember much about it, sorry.

Hey all! So I wanted to give a part two since I'm not high now lol, and also I wanted to clear up some things and add in some other details I left out that I just remembered. If you haven't seen the first part of this post then I suggest going to that, otherwise you'll be very confused. Also, I forgot to add this in my first post but DON'T READ if triggered by certain topics like r*ape, SA, murder, abuse, etc. Another thing is, this post is going to be a lot darker and aside from talking about what happened, I'm also looking for advice on my mental state and how to cope. So please read with caution because I'm going to be talking about what happened with B, but also about my past before him and how what happened is affecting my past trauma.
So, I'm not going to retell the whole story but I am going to be bringing up a lot of parts from it and things I didn't realize until after the incident happened. And some of the things I didn't think of until my friend brought it up. So in my first post, I was talking about how B (26M) was REALLY into Jeffrey Dahmer. Well, in the show we watched with Evan Peters, I noticed a lot of things Jeffrey did as well as already knowing a lot about him before watching it. I noticed that B was doing a lot of things similar to him. Now, I forgot to add in this part last time, but B was really 'straight phobic.' Now I'm a bi transman but I don't hate cis / straight people. In fact, a lot of my friends are cis and in straight relationships. For some reason though, he did, to a weird extent. And even though he was being respectful in the beginning, I'm starting to get a feeling he wasn't actually gay or cared about trans people. Because it seems as though ALL of his former partners were transmen. Which isn't that weird I guess, and he did tell me he tried dating a cis man before but it didn't work. After I met him in person he was telling me that he really liked his trans partners to still have sex vaginally and he liked tits. So, I was kind of confused at that. I think what was really going on was that he isn't gay but wanted to be so he could be like Jeffrey Dahmer. I know it's a bit of a stretch, but you'll see why later. So another thing is, Jeffrey would always ask his potential victims to go back to his place for drinks and to take photos, particularly sexual ones. Jeffrey would then lace the drinks and go on to do weird things to his victims while taking their pictures. And while I was trapped at his place, B kept pushing alcohol on me, A LOT. So much so, that when I kept refusing he started getting angry. However, once I pretended to take a sip it was like his whole attitude changed. He also kept joking it was laced, like EVERYTIME he offered me some. Even though I didn't actually drink any, like I said in the first post, I still got a few drops on my lips and in my mouth. After that I started to get a headache and was a bit dizzy. Also, he had told me before that he liked to take pictures of his partners in sexual poses while they held his guns. Aside from the guns, that's EXACTLY WHAT JEFFREY WOULD DO. For some reason, I didn't piece any of this together until afterwards. I guess I was too shaken up to think clearly. I said this before as well, but when I first entered his house, it was pitch black and he had black out curtains on EVERY WINDOW in his house. His bedroom, living room, kitchen, I mean his whole house made it seem like it was night outside. Another thing that is eerily similar to Jeffrey, is that B told me before I met him in person he always liked dating someone younger. I, at the time, was nineteen and he was twenty five, about to turn twenty six. I honestly don't know what was wrong with me so have not seen the BIG RED FLAGS in the beginning, but he played it off so well I didn't even notice them until after everything happened. And it isn't like me to go for older guys, I usually try to go for someone two years older or younger than me, as I don't like have a huge age gap between me and my partner. Anyway though, Jeffrey always went for younger guys, as well as sometimes KIDS. So, that's another thing similar between them, as well as the fact that B told me he was into little brother play. Where he makes his partners act like a younger brother during sex, etc. He also told me he liked for his partners to SUCK ON BINKIES. BRUHHHH, no thanks bro, I'm good. See, if it was just one of these things that he liked / was into, then I guess it would be normal. Just a guy into a weird ass kink, but all these things combined just did not sit right with me as well as how he was acting. Now, I said in my other post that basically the ENTIRE TIME I was with him, he had a weird ass expression on his face that made me uncomfortable. I wish I could explain better, but it was like constipated / confused look, like Edward from Twilight when he does those weird facial expressions. His brows were always furrowed and he looked like he was uncomfortable / anxious the whole time. He was being super sketchy. His body language was just really off-putting and made me feel weird. And the thing he kept ranting about the most was how Jeffrey Dahmer was misunderstood and just needed someone to be there for him, and then maybe he wouldn't have killed people. The thing that scared me the most was how he said he felt the same way, that he wished he could just have someone not leave him and how he had trust issues after his former partners. Especially the one I mentioned in the last post, about how his ex partner before me snuck out in the middle of the night and got his family to come get him. His family lived across the country, so it had to have been pretty bad for his ex to call his parents and tell them to come get him. Because they drove across multiple different states to come pick him up in the middle of the night so he could sneak away. I have a major feeling that B left out a lot of their fight and why his ex actually left. Not to mention while I was with him, he watched every move I made and wouldn't let me get on my phone without him seeing what I was doing / texting to people. I have a feeling if he thought I was trying to leave him he would've done something bad. Just like Jeffrey. Jeffrey wouldn't always hurt his victims (Not at first anyway) it was always when they said they had to leave that he would get angry and force them to stay. So, idk man, I could've been killed or worse. Also, I know I said I could've been killed or worse, and some of you are probably thinking what's worse than being killed? Well, to me, a lot of things he could've done would have been worse. Especially if he was trying to be like Dahmer, then I could've gotten acid injected into my brain or been r*aped. Which is exactly what I think he was trying to do, with how much alcohol he was trying to push on me. He also kept 'petting' me and touching my thighs while he told me all the ways he'd kill me 'if he was a serial killer.' I genuinely think that something bad would've happened if I didn't have one HELL of an excuse to leave. Because honestly, my mom couldn't have given a better excuse for me to go that also sounded real and not like a lie. Because, like I said before, I had told him before I met him that my mother had health issues and was always in and out of the hospital, so it was perfect that she used that as an excuse. He got really cold and wasn't speaking to me when he heard my phone call and that I had to leave, but I think if I would've tried to leave without that excuse or by giving him an obvious lie, then I might not be here. I'm also super grateful to my best friends who let me come to their place and stay late instead of going home. Me and my best friend, basically my sister, have talked about this a lot since it happened and every time we do, we try to rationalize why someone would act like that, other than being an actual serial killer / r*pist. But we can never think of a reason besides the fact that he simply is what he seems like. A really unhinged person who could've hurt me badly. Also, this was my FIRST TRUE experience in online dating and I honestly think I'm never going to try that again. I've run into so many creeps trying to date online, AND in real life. Most people who aren't trans probably don't realize or know this, but there are a lot of men that want to do really weird and fucked up things to trans people because I guess they think we are some mutant or something, or 'the best of both worlds.' I've run into them a lot, and when I met B, I thought that was over. I thought I had met an actual good person who was educated on trans topics and was respectful of my boundaries and my body. Nope. Now I'm starting to think dating, at least where I live now, is almost impossible and I think I'm going to be alone for awhile. :') Not to mention, I'm now traumatized after what happened with B, and I already had trouble trusting men, and just people in general. Before meeting him I have already been SAed before, multiple times. I guess I'm simply asking for advice on how to move on from something like this. I was trying, and doing kind of ok, moving on from things that had happened before I met B, but now after what happened with him I feel like I'm back sliding and it's making me relive all my past traumas. I basically trust no one, when it comes to sexual things, besides my two best friends I've known since childhood. I tend to over sexualize everything, even things that aren't sexual at all, and get scared around ANYONE, even family members, who I know deep down don't see me like that. I was also abused as a kid and wasn't able to get out of it until I was eighteen, and I've only just turned twenty now, so it wasn't even until two years ago I was still being abused. I feel I've fallen into the dark again and my panic attacks have gotten worse again. I feel depressed and I didn't realize until recently that I'm suicidal again. I didn't realize it until recently, because when I was younger and suicidal, I knew I was. I've tried unaliving myself before so I didn't think about it because I don't feel that way now. It's different this time. Instead of my thoughts directly wanting me to pull out a gun and, ya know, this time it's more subtle and more of a subconscious action. Like closing my eyes for a few seconds while driving. Or intrusive thoughts about ramming head first into the car in the other lane. Or going hiking and thinking of what it would feel like to step off the cliff. I'm honestly just tired. I feel like every person I meet has some kind of ulterior motive, whatever it is. I'm working at a really nice job but it seems like every time I save up money and am doing good for my future, I have to use it on something unexpected that pops into my life. I'm living with my grandparents for now because they said they weren't going to charge me rent, and I'm super grateful for that, but even still I can't keep money and I kind of just don't see my future anymore. Both my parents were drug addicts, my mother to pain pills then xans after that, my father was mainly an alcoholic but also did meth, pills, and other things. It doesn't help because when I was younger, around my early teen years (13-16) I started smoking cigs when I was 12, then I started smoking weed, which I still do, but then it got worse and I've tried xans, snorting pills I didn't even know what they were, drinking, and I've even done shrooms and LSD. I've also had some really bad trips on LSD that made my severe panic disorder worse and after that I now disassociate a lot too and have trouble knowing if I'm in reality while having a panic attack. And after what happened with B, his house and the smell (Cigs and booze) just reminded me what it was like living with my parents in that crack house looking trailer. It's like my brain won't let me let go of the past and move on. It's like I'm constantly stuck there still. And aside from dating, it's also super hard to meet people as friends where I live. I love my two best friends, one of which has been with me since we were basically fetuses and her parents and mine were friends, so her parents were also abusive drug addicts. It's nice to have someone so close and how we can relate to what we went through. We joke that we were traumatized by our parents, but also by each other's parents as well lol. Even though I'm grateful for them, you never know what's going to happen in the future and I don't want to be solely dependent on them and be able to make new friends, but I just can't. I feel so alone, and my friend I grew up with has been moved out a lot longer than me and has had time to heal, and I don't wanna keep dumping my mental problems on her because it's unfair to her. I feel like I'm just bringing her back to our past with me. When I moved out, I completely cut ties with my father, I don't even like calling him that, as he was the first person to SA me and he is, in general, and evil person. I try to think that evil people don't exist, but then I think of him and I realize they do. My mom though, is a good person when she isn't on anything. Recently though, I blocked her and haven't talked to her in over a month because she OD again on xans and amphetamines. I kind of realized recently that she is almost as bad as my father, even though I never wanted to admit that to myself. Because when I was younger, I admitted to her that he had SAed me and she kept pressuring me to tell her what happened, like, IN DETAIL. I told her no because I didn't want to relive it and think about it, even now I have a lot of repressed memories. And because I wouldn't tell her EXACTLY what happened, she doesn't believe. I think she does, deep down, but she doesn't want it to be real. And after her OD last month, she tried telling me she didn't and that it was just her BLOOD PRESSURE. LIKE OH MY GOD BITCH, WHY DO YOU LIE? She must think I'm stupid or something. Before I blocked her, I cussed her out over text and said something like "Who do you think was the first person at the hospital? Not grandma, not your husband, ME. I've always been there for you first. Who do you think told me you had OD? The doctors when I first got there!" And she still denies it, even though when me and my friend got the hospital she was lying there naked (they had to cut her clothes off to save her) with a breathing tube stuck down her throat. I've tried helping her my whole life but apparently she doesn't want help. So now I've gotten tired of her BS and I blocked her and now my grandma is pressuring me to talking to her, luckily though, my grandpa went through something similar as a kid and understands how it is so he isn't guilt tripping me into talking with her. I'm just tired of having to put into traumatic situations. My mental health just keeps getting worse. Somehow, trauma always finds me and nowadays, it seems my only friends are my demons. It used to not be like this, but now even when I'm with my two closest friends, I still feel lonely. Like they are reminding me that when I leave my friends, I'm alone again. Anyway, I know this probably isn't the right subreddit for this, but I kind of just started ranting, sorry for that.
Also, to clear some things up, no I don't use drugs, not anymore. I've never really been an addict at all in my life, somehow. I just did drugs because I wanted to escape when I was younger, and thankfully I never got addicted to any of them. Not like you can get addicted to LSD or shrooms anyway. The only thing I've got addicted to was cigarettes, which rn, is the least of my concerns. And as for weed, I used to be a major stoner but it started making my panic attacks worse so I stopped for a few years, cold turkey, and only recently started smoking it again. So, I'm not worried about weed and if anything, it's been helping now. Especially since I don't smoke it nearly as much as I used to. So, for those worried about me being or getting on drugs, don't worry I'm fine. I have made a clear boundary for myself to never do anything besides smoking my cigs and weed. Cause I've seen how drugs affect my parents and others I've known and I've sworn to myself that I won't become them. It also sucks though because I see psychedelics as something that can help a lot of people with trauma, and the first shrooms trip I ever did changed my life for the better. Now though, after my bad LSD trip, I don't know if I can every do them again. Maybe one day, but not for the foreseeable furture. Again, sorry for going on a rant. I'll probably post this to another subreddit and see if anyone can help. I'm not looking for therapy as I don't have the money or health insurance. Just looking for someone who can relate that has been able to move past similar things and find happiness. If you've read this far, thank you. Like seriously, from the bottom of my heart. It means a lot to me that someone would read about another person's problems and life experience. I hope whoever is reading this is having a great day / night wherever you are, and are living your best life. And for those reading that are going through a similar situation right now and can't get out, I promise you aren't alone. I haven't really gotten better, so I can't say things get better, but I can say it DOES get easier. All I can say is, you aren't alone in it. There are others, like me, who know your pain. Keep living, it'll be worth it. Even though I'm not doing my best and my mental problems are still with me, that doesn't mean it's all been bad. I've made a lot of amazing memories after I moved out. Keep going.

What is your list like for the movies you simply missed that most of the rest of generation X have seen? Any decade.
Top gun.
Don’t down vote! I am right in the middle of middle aged, and I am going to repent by simply watching it tonight.
But I thought I couldn’t be the only one who has missed out on a pivotal film.

Apart from going to see Challengers after my first exam, I haven’t seen a film in a month. I finish on June 4th and plan to make up for my lack of watches over the Summer.
But what specifically should I kick it off with?

Hi, so I bought my first Hasselblad 500c camera and have loaded my film. I have an old ‘12 on back’, I watched all the tutorials I could to not mess this up, but after I pulled the ISO dial open to look through to wind the film to the first slide, everyone said to look for the #1 to appear ( indicating slide 1).
I kept winding and winding and saw some circles and then saw a two 5??
I stopped and took two shots, I’m just going to keep shooting the roll until it’s finished. But my question is did they stop putting the slide numbers on the back of the film?? Or have messed up in some way?? Is it just this specific film that has a different indication for the first slide??

You guys know what an alpine coaster is? They are like a small roller coaster you find in the mountains. They are also called summer toboggans or mountain coasters and I think there’s some long German compound word they are called in parts of Europe. They are like a roller coaster, but with much smaller one or two person sleds you just sit on instead of multi-person cars you ride in, and instead of being built with like a scaffolding or a framework the tracks are just on the ground, using the elevation of the mountain. Basically it’s a coaster track on the side of a mountain where you ride a sled down.
They are pretty fun. Or at least I used to think so. They are more “personal” than roller coasters and although you get nowhere near the speed on them that you do on a good traditional roller coaster and they can’t do corkscrews or loops or anything like that the openness and simplicity of the ride gives an impression of a much greater speed. You’re just sitting there with nothing but a little plastic sled and the track between you and the ground as it goes zooming by. It’s like the difference between how fast a go-cart feels compared to how fast a sports car feels. You know the sports car goes faster but the open, simpleness of a go-cart feels a different kind of fast. There’s plenty of POV Youtube videos if you want to get the basic idea of what they are.
I used to love alpine coasters. Used to.
My family used to go to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge and up and down the Smokey Mountains for vacations when I was a kid and they are common in that area and I’d always rode them every chance I got.
But as with so many things after I grew up and went to college they just became part of my childhood that slipped away. They aren’t exactly common once you get away from the mountains.
Until one cool spring afternoon in 2004. I was in my final year at college and I was driving back to campus in Tennessee after a short visit to my folks in North Carolina. It was only like a 4 or 5 hour drive via the most efficient route and I had no need to be back at campus early so instead of taking the freeway all the way I got off and took part of my trip through the mountains. The scenery was nicer and I admit I liked pushing my Camaro just a little faster than I should through the twisty mountain roads.
Just after lunchtime happened upon one of those little by-the-highway tourist towns deep somewhere in the Smoky Mountains near the Carolina/Tennessee border. Nothing fancy, a gas station/truck stop, a diner, a couple of places selling tourist merch nestled deep in the mountains. I pulled into the gas station. My tank was getting low and I needed to stretch my legs, maybe grab something to eat. It was still early and I only had another couple of hours. I could kill an hour or so and still make it back to campus at a decent hour.
I pulled into the gas station and was filling my tank when I happened to glance across the road and… well I’ll be damned. There it was. “The Blue Ridge Alpine Coaster.” Nestled on the side of the mountain was a building, a mockup of a red barn, where a single railed track that led up into the mountains, where it soon got lost in the greenery. Wooden hand painted standees of cartoon character bears dressed in stereotypical “Hillbilly” getup stood around, some of them holding signs showing the ride hours and ticket costs and other info. I had to admit, as silly as it was, it made me smile.I finished pumping my gas and, well, nostalgia is a helluva thing. I decided then and there I could waste a little time riding an Alpine Coaster again after all these years before getting back on the road.
I parked my car in a corner of the truck stop's parking lot, put my phone in the center console, this being the days before smart phones when people didn’t keep their phones with them 24/7 and I didn’t want my old Nokia brick phone to fall out during the ride, locked my car and walked across the mountain highway to the Alpine Coaster building.
Getting closer, the place was less inviting. The half hearted attempt at a whimsical faux-Americana kitsch was far less effective when it brushed up against the actual decaying, run down wooden building. Hell calling it a building was generous. It was a wood frame holding up a long roof that covered the area where you got on the sleds. The wood boards creaked under my footsteps.
The only real enclosed structure was a shack that held, what I assumed, was a ticket booth. A door on the side had both a single occupancy bathroom with an out of order sign on it. An old Pepsi machine buzzed and glowed next to it.
Still the place looked alive. Ahead of me a bored looking attendant was helping a mother and her young son into one of the sleds while in a bored monotone repeating the safety brief. A few people were waiting in line at the ticket booth. Up in the mountains the playful shouts of people on the ride echoed down. Fond memories of my own childhood rides flooded my mind.10 minutes and 15 dollars later I was settling into the hard plastic seat of a bright red sled sat atop a simple aluminum rail.
I couldn’t help but grin as the sled slowly climbed the track up the mountains, making click-clack ratcheting sounds that hit my nostalgia centers hard. I felt good. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of pine.Higher and higher in the mountains we went. I don’t know if this is my mind trying to make sense of it after the fact but when I remember these moments, the last good moments, I sometimes think I remember a very slight, very subtle pit of fear in my stomach. I honestly don’t know if I felt it at the time or not or it’s just how my mind tries to make sense of it looking back at.
But either way mostly I was enjoying myself. I smiled. I was a kid again. I could hear riders in front of me let out that initial yell of terrified glee you get at the first drop of any good ride.
It peaked. I glanced around. I could see for miles, rolling hills and mountains. I the sled tipped over and zoomed down the mountain and I let out the same happy yell I heard from the other passengers.The ride zoomed down the mountain, catching speed. The mountain forest floor zoomed past, only a few feet under me. Trees zoomed past. I gave out a happy whoop as the ride banked hard around a curve and then looped back under itself.Another dip, another curve. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the G-forces pulling me every which way.
There was no one exact single moment where things started to go “wrong.” The ride kept going. And going. At this point the first creeping thought entered my head.
The ride… was still going.
It just started to hit me… this ride was going on for a really long time. I had taken a dozen rides on various coasters of this type before that day and they topped out at about 5 minutes or so, and that was the long ones. Longer than a traditional roller coaster but not that long. This one had been going on for what felt like 10, maybe even 15 minutes.
I looked back over my shoulder and could only see trees, moving too fast to really get a bearing on where I was at in relation to anything.
I wasn't exactly really worried yet. Okay so I had found a particularly long alpine coaster. At the time I wasn’t 100% wasn't sure they didn’t exist or anything like that. I was a little… unnerved but nothing was happening that was impossible. Yet.
I was trying to talk myself back into just enjoying the ride and stop overthinking it, and halfway succeeded, when out of nowhere I suddenly banked hard, the track jutting out almost over a sheer cliffside. I gripped the sled more tightly as I was whipped around. The ride then dipped hard and picked up speed, barreling down the side of the mountain.
I was pushed back against the seat by the force of the drop. Jesus I didn’t remember them being this rough. I was feeling slightly nauseous. And where had this elevation drop come from I wondered? I was still in the foothills and I didn’t remember seeing anything but gentle rolling hills and light drops from looking at the ride’s route earlier. How the ride had managed such a long, steep drop in this area I didn’t know. . For the first time I hoped that the ride would be over soon. I had no idea then how much I would want that same hope to be true so much more as time went on.
With a whiplash motion I was whipped forward and then back as the ride leveled out on flat ground again, but by this point I was going fast, too fast. My neck hurt from the mild whiplash and I felt sour in my throat and for a moment the contents of my stomach threatened to come back up. For the first, but hardly the last time the ride felt unsafe. Alpine Coasters are tame affairs, much slower and gentler than full on roller coasters but this thing was throwing me around like no thrill ride I had ever been on.
I looked around. I mean I wasn’t that deep into the woods. I should have been able to see a glimpse of something; the highway, the gas station, the tourist shops, the Alpine Coaster office, something, anything. But nothing. Just trees.
I forced back some panic for the first time. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The ride zoomed along. I counted to 60. I counted to 60 again. And again. Okay this was getting uncomfortably harder and harder to explain.
Suddenly I noticed that up ahead the track seemed to just end, for one brief, terrible moment I thought the track just ended but I was wrong. Almost without warning the track dipped in an almost vertical drop. I almost screamed as I plummeted for 20, maybe 30 seconds before flattening out again.
By this point the voice in my head that was telling me something was wrong was louder and I could no longer tell myself it was wrong. This ride could not have been this long. I tried to make sense of it, wondering if somehow I had gotten diverted onto some kind of maintenance track or, hell for one brief irrational moment even entertaining the idea that I had wound up on an actual train track somehow. But that was absurd. The rail below me was not a train track, it was still just the simple, aluminum rail of an alpine coaster and there had been no diversions or junctions in the track. I was still on the ride, as insane as that was starting to feel. Had the ride somehow looped? Again after having the thought I immediately dismissed it as crazy. There’s no way I could have missed the ride building where I got on. And what kind of ride loops over and over?
The sled zoomed through the forest, oddly never seeming to lose speed despite the relatively flat grade of the track. I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car and not wearing a watch. I don’t know exactly how long I had been on the ride at that point but it felt like I had been on the ride for a half hour, maybe more. But time is a funny thing when you’re in a situation you’ve never been in. Could have been more, could have been less, at that point.
My pride finally failed me. I started to scream for help. I screamed out that the ride was broken, to stop it, that I needed help. I did that for about ten minutes or so I think. The ride kept going. Mostly flat, level track with occasional mild dips and turns. But the simple length of the ride grew more and more unnerving and unexplainable.
I thought about just bailing out. But the ride, impossibly, was still not slowing down and chunks of mountain rock and thick tree trunks were all around me. Bailing out without risking smashing into a rock or a tree seemed impossible.
The ride kept going.
Up ahead the forest was clearing out some, I could see the forest brightening, more sunlight making it through the canopy.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The trees stopped and I had just enough time to take in a flat, open area of rock maybe 40, 50 yards at most before another sheer cliff. The tracks twisted and turned and then shot straight down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a moment, a very short moment, I had a clear view for miles and the landscape was, to be blunt, totally impossible. Any possibility that I had just stumbled on some incredibly long ride was blasted out of my head. Barren, volcanic looking rock stretched for miles. Jagged, black rocky outcroppings as far as the eye could see. I was in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. They don’t look like that.
I had a few moments for the terror of that view to settle in before the cart plunged into another horrifying drop. I gripped the handles of the cheap plastic sled until my knuckles turned white. The drop felt completely vertical, like I was falling at terminal velocity. I screamed. My stomach dropped and turned. I imagined the sled coming away from the track and me just plummeting screaming to my death on the rocks below. But somehow the ride still functioned. I closed my eyes tightly and just waited for whatever was going to happen. Eventually after several what felt like a full minute of steep plunging the track again leveled out, and I opened my eyes to see myself moving at breakneck speed over that black, rocky landscape.
Now that I was moving on a more or less flat horizontal track again I took a few deep breaths. I looked over the edge of the track. Nothing but that black, jagged rock, almost looking like obsidian, zooming past. I had no idea how fast the sled was moving now. Fast. Faster than a gravity powered sled should be moving. And the track was higher off the ground now. Alpine slides usually stick pretty close to the ground, but I was 20 feet or so in the air, the track suspended in the air, a simple metal tube tower like a power pylon every few yards.
Without any immediate threat and the sled moving fast but steadily and level I was able to think about my situation again, for all the good that did me. Ahead of me the track just continued to the horizon, nothing but the same rocky landscape as far as I could see. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and looked back behind me and it looked the same. Even the mountains were but distant specs on the horizon behind me.
This was insane. There’s not a giant seemingly endless field of black jagged rock in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. There’s no cliff faces tall and steep enough for a multi-minute vertical drop. And alpine coasters were small affairs, not major engineering projects that span miles with pylons and vertical tracks. It made no sense.
Sadly it wasn’t going to start making any more sense anytime soon.
The ride kept going.
I was on this rocky landscape for several hours. I feel comfortable saying this because I could actually notice the sun getting lower in the sky. And the sled wasn’t slowing down despite the grade of the track being flat. I was getting cramped from sitting and stretched my legs and twisted my back as best I could. Didn’t do much help. My eyes were starting to get irritated from the constant wind in them. Worst of all it was starting to get chilly. I only had on a light jacket, a windbreaker, just something to keep the breeze off me, no real insulation. I was cold, my joints were stiff, I was hungry and thirsty. My eyes watered and my throat was so dry it was sore.
But none of that was as bad as just how little sense this all made. There’s nothing like this place anywhere near the Smoky Mountains. This was like some volcanic rock landscape. The more I thought about it the less sense it made.
The ride kept going.
My mind didn’t even try to process this. Whatever I was experiencing simply couldn’t be possible. I was crazy. I was dreaming. The CIA had kidnapped me and dosed me with some new version of LSD and I was in a straightjacket in a padded room at Area 51.
The sled kept zooming along as the sky turned to dusk. Soon the bridge disappeared from my view and I continued on along the endless, rocky, featureless landscape.
I sat back against the sled, mentally and physically numb. I was exhausted. I was thirsty. I was cramping up. I was hungry. I had to pee. I held it for as long as I could, then had no choice but just wet myself. I cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat there.
The ride kept going.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon my throat felt like sandpaper. I dug around in my jacket pockets hoping to find a stick of gum or piece of candy. Nothing. I checked again, having nothing else to do. Under a crumpled store receipt in the inner pocket of my jacket was a single old, forgotten cough drop. I unwrapped it from the paper and popped it in my mouth. Saliva flooded back into my mouth and I was overwhelmed by the methanol and medicine taste. It was something at least, although I knew it would be a brief and temporary fix at best.
I felt my eyes get heavy. It was getting colder. That mountain cold. That deep cold the mountains have even into the early spring when the sun goes down. That kind that just pulls the heat right out of you. I shivered. A terrible, horrible certainty came to me. I would ride until I passed out from exhaustion or the hypothermia set in. My body would tumble off the sled to fall and skip across the rocky ground like a stone skipping across a lake, my bones breaking as I tumbled until my body finally came to a stop. If I was lucky I would be killed and not have to lie for days, broken and bruised, on the ground until death took me.
The ride kept going. The ride kept going. The fucking ride kept going.
“Fuck you” I said to the ride, my voice a horse whisper. I pulled my jacket closer around me, for all the good it did. The cold wind was slowly but surely pulling my body heat away. My shivering got worse, crossing the line from a simple normal shiver into those deep, almost violent full body ones.. I wasn’t anything you could call an experienced outdoorsman, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t a good sign.
It was getting dark. There was a full moon at least so I wasn’t totally in the dark.
About then I noticed something. The landscape, what little I could see in the fading light, was changing. It was smoothing out, becoming less rocky and craggy. Up ahead an odd, shimmering light was starting to appear on the ground.
I was over it before I even realized what it was. The tracks were going over a smooth surface.
Water. It was a lake. The odd lights I had seen were the moon, reflected in ripples on the lake.
Within minutes I was out of the view of the land. After the nearly endless rocky landscape and everything else I had seen, it scared me how little I was shocked. I didn’t like how mentally numb I was getting. I leaned over. There was enough moonlight to see the water, 15 or 20 feet below the track. The pylons holding up the track went into the water, the light wasn’t good enough to even make a guess at how far they went down or how deep the water was.I leaned back in the sled. My eyes were red and bloodshot from the constant wind. I closed them. This was a mistake.I jerked awake. I don’t know if I dozed off for a split second or an hour. My weight had shifted and I caught myself as my center of gravity was in danger of sending me off the sled and into the water.
I screamed in anger. A deep primal scream. I hurt so bad. My joints felt like they were full of glass. My limbs were full of pins and needles. I glanced over at the water. For the first time on the very edges of my brain a tiny voice started to speak up, telling me that I could be all over if I just jumped. I shut the voice up, but it scared me still.
I sat there as the ride went on. It felt like hours. Eventually the lake ended in a rocky shore line. The damned ride. There was no safe place to bail out. If the ride slowed down, it was high in the air, if it moved toward the ground it sped up. Sharp rocks, big trees, nothing you could safely bail out into.
I kept having to force myself awake. I kept dozing off. Once I felt myself falling asleep and drove a vicious uppercut into my own nose to stave it off.
I seriously started to think about how much longer I could hang on. The voice came back again. This time I didn’t shut it up. I wasn’t admitting it to myself yet, but I was starting to think about the best way to land that would end it quickly if I needed to.
Something was ahead. The track seemed to dip into the ground. I was too tired, too beaten to even get scared. I was just resigned to whatever happened at this point.
With little warning the track took my sled into a tunnel in the ground. Everything went completely pitch black. After several moments even the dim moonlight was gone.
This was the worst part. The creepy forest, the immense rocky landscape, the eerie lake… those were bad. But this was just nothing. Nothing to look at, nothing to hear, nothing for reference or sense of where I was going. The walls of the tunnel felt like they were inches from me in every direction. The air felt thick, like there wasn’t enough oxygen.
With every moment I was in that tunnel I lost a little more hope. After a long, long time I made a decision. When I got out of this tunnel, I would jump. I didn’t care anymore. Hopefully there would be a spot where I could be certain the fall would instantly kill me. I was done. The ride had beaten me. I sat there, waiting for a chance to end this on my terms. That was all I had left.
Eventually up ahead, a tiny speck of light appeared. I gathered my strength, ready to end it. I sat up, getting my legs under me so I could jump as soon as we were clear. The sled burst out of the tunnel. The dim light of the full moon was enough to be momentarily blinding after the pitch black of the tunnel.. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust.
I was back in a normal looking Appalachian forest. Rolling hills, green trees. The air smelled of pine again. I heard an owl hoot off somewhere.
Slowly I lowered myself back into a setting position, in shock. At first I refused to believe it but the ride was slowing down. I held still, making sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, but no, the cheap plastic sled that had been my world for what felt like an eternity was slowing down.
Up ahead, a structure was visible, peeking out from among the trees in the dim lighting as the sled moved down the track.
It was the Alpine Slide building. The crappy fake red barn where I had boarded this cursed ride so long ago. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure it was either my mind or the cursed ride playing tricks with me. But the building stayed there.
It grew closer and closer. The track leveled completely out. The sled slowed down more. Before I had the time to really come to terms with it I arrived back at the building.
The sled slowed to a stop, gently pumping against another sled parked on the track. I sat there for a few moments, gasping in great big gulping fear breaths, trying to assure myself the ride didn’t have one last trick of its sleeve.
I looked around. The place was empty, deserted. The overhead lights were still on and the old Pepsi machine still glowed and buzzed, but the ticket booth was dark and empty, a metal gate pulled down over the ticket window.
Suddenly it hit me that I was free and I practically leapt out of the sled and onto the platform. I immediately collapsed. My legs were jelly and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up again and doubled over, dry heaving. Have you ever been out on a boat for a day and have that weird reverse motion sickness when you’re back on solid land? It was like that times a hundred. My inner ear was literally pounding, all the motion had really done a number on it.
I laid there for a few moments and eventually forced myself to stand up on my two wobbling legs. I looked around, a horrible certainty creeping into my mind that there would be no exit, no way off the platform but to my relief an exit turnstyle, one of those full height ones, was set into the fence that surrounded the ride property.
I went through it and found myself back on the main road. The truckstop was still there, still open but far less busy. My car sat in the same corner of the parking lot I had left it.
I allowed myself one look back, just one quick one. The metal skeleton of the Alpine Slide track sat there, dark and quiet but otherwise normal.
I stumbled-ran back to my car, dug the keys out of my pocket, and collapsed inside. When the door shut I let out a primal scream, the tons of fear and confusion and anger all fusing into a single, raw emotion. I screamed again and again.
After a few moments I felt like I was emotionally at least back to a place where I could act, although I wasn’t sure yet what to do next. Not really knowing what to do I cranked the car. The A/C had been on low when I shut off the car and it came roaring back to life and cold air blowing on me almost sent me back into a full on panic attack. I fumbled with the climate controls until the air stopped blowing directly on me, then calmed down enough to turn the heat on, helping to get the chill out of my bones. There was a half full bottle of water in the center console cup holder and I grabbed it and chugged it. Nothing ever tasted as good before or sense as that few ounces of water.
That was when I noticed the clock on the radio head unit. It was 4:17 in the morning. It had been about one, one thirty or so in the afternoon when I got on the accursed ride.
Over 15 hours. I had been on the goddamn ride for over 15 hours. Over half a day.
I just sat there. Warming up. Calming down. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I can’t even describe how my head felt. I probably had at least a minor case of hypothermia. I thought about going into the gas station and asking for help but what would I even say, and more than anything I just wanted to get away from this place. And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to be nowhere near that damn ride.
I put the Camaro in gear and pulled into the street and in panic I immediately slammed on the brakes. I was lucky there was no traffic on the road at that moment. The feeling of accelerating to just normal surface street speeds made me sick to my stomach. I gathered myself and very slowly accelerated the car I usually treated with a very heavy foot up to 30 miles an hour. Every time I tried to accelerate at a pace faster than “Old Lady Going to Church, Uphill” I would have a panic attack. I was okay once I was up to speed, but accelerating freaked me out after being on that ride.
I drove about 30 minutes, putting some arbitrary amount of distance between myself and the coaster. Eventually I made it back to where the twisty mountain road met back up with a major road that would eventually meet back up with the highway. After a few more minutes of driving I saw the onramp for the highway. There was one of those big truckstop travel plazas and pulled in, parking right up at the door. I smelled like pee and I can only imagine how I looked, but I didn’t care.
I kept a couple of emergency 20s in the back of my wallet and spent it on the biggest bottle of water the store had, an overpriced bottle of eye drops, and a huge travel mug of coffee. The clerk looked at me as if he was expecting me to either drop dead or rob him the entire time.
Back in my car I downed the coffee. I put a few eye drops in each of my eyes and sat there as the caffeine took effect until I felt like I could make it back to my apartment. The sun was just coming up when I finally pulled out of the truck stop and got on the freeway. I slowly, very slowly, accelerated up to highway speed, put the Camaro in cruise control, and let the miles start to drift away. I turned on the radio, I needed to hear human voices. Every time my mind went back to what had just happened I turned the radio up louder, eventually drowning it out with painful levels of rock music. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. Yes looking back I know I was just in denial. I finally made it back to the crappy little apartment I had off campus, a little two story walk up studio. I let myself in and collapsed on the cheap couch. I was asleep before I even had the time to decide whether or not to do anything else. I woke up later that afternoon. I took a shower and ate a meal and didn’t think about the ride. I washed the pee stained filthy clothes I had been wearing and didn’t think about the ride. I went back to class and didn’t think about the ride. Every time I thought about the ride I forced it out of my head. I’m sure this wasn’t the most mentally healthy thing to do but what can you say?
I didn’t forget about it, don’t be silly. This isn’t the kind of thing you forget. One day while looking up something else in the university’s library my curiosity got the better of me and I looked up the Alpine Slide. No website but a few Google Map and Yelp mentions. None of them mentioned anything weird, certainly nothing even remotely like what I experienced. Near as I can tell it closed sometimes in the winter of 2012.
Life went on. I mean, that’s what it does. The next day was a little better. And the day after that a little better. And the day after that a little better still. I met a nice girl. Graduated. Got married. Got a nice house in the suburbs. Got a dog. Had a daughter. Spent a lot of time happy and not thinking about being trapped on an endless alpine coaster.And that was my life for many, many years after that.
Until a few weeks back when as a very different person I found myself driving a boring and safe mid sized family SUV through those same mountains. My wife Carol, 5 months pregnant, sat in the passenger seat, our 6 year old daughter Emily in a booster seat in the back, and Max our mixed breed mutt next to her. It had been a nice pleasant trip, driving back from visiting her folks.
I hadn’t thought about that fucking ride in so long I barely registered that I was in the same general area until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that little mountain tourist trap town was only a few minutes down the road. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel hard. Carol was looking out the window at the scenery and Emily was deep into some kid’s Youtube video on an iPad. I forced myself to keep my breath steady as we rounded the corner.The town was still there, sorta. Time had not been kind to it. The gas station was still there, at some point it had been bought out by Shell. The tourist trap shops were still there. One of them was now a vape shop. The diner was closed, the building looking like it sat unused for a long time.
But of course that’s not what I cared about. A looked over at the site where the Alpine Coaster once stood. It was gone. The kitschy fake barn was gone. The site was just a bare concrete slab with a chainlink fence around it. Faded “no trespassing” and “for sale” signs hung off the fence. A pile of old, decaying lumber that might have once long ago been part of the structure covered part of the old lot. No sign of the track remained outside of some old concrete support posts dotting the side of the mountain.
I exhaled out a breath I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in. Soon the little town disappeared in my rear view mirror.
About a half hour later we stopped for gas. I pulled up to a gas pump across from a massive motorhome. Max stuck his head out the window and started barking at a little white dog, a toy breed of some kind, in the window of the motorhome. Carol and Emily immediately headed into the store to restock on snacks while I fueled up.
I stood there, a half smile on my lips as Max barked and wagged his tail in an attempt to attract the attention of the other dog while I filled up the tank, said dog doing an admirable job of ignoring him.
Right about the time I finished fueling up and cleaning the bugs off the windshield Carol returned from inside the store, Emily in tow, arms filled with two full sized bags of Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and what looked to be a half dozen individually wrapped pickles.
I raised an eyebrow at the collection of food but knew better than to question a pregnant woman's snack choices.
“Should we take Max for a quick walk?” Carol asked. The travel plaza had a nice little gated dog walking area off to the side.
“Yeah probably not a bad idea, he’s been cooped up in the car for a few hours.” I said. Max, upon hearing his name and the word “walk” , forgot about the other dog and upgraded from wagging his tail to wagging his entire body while making whining sounds and staring right at me.
About this time I became half aware that the big motor home next to us was pulling away. I didn’t think much of it, outside of doing a quick automatic mental check to make sure Emily was well clear of the moving vehicle, but she was safely between me and our SUV, well out of the way.
But that was when Emily looked behind me and cheerfully yelled “Daddy look a roller coaster! Can I ride the coaster?”
It’s cliche as fuck I know but my blood went cold.
I turned around slowly, certain in my knowledge that terrible old decrepit Alpine Coaster would be there, having just popped into existence to trap me again.
That.. is not what I saw. Sure enough there was a coaster there, one I hadn’t noticed earlier because it had mostly been blocked by the motor home, but there it was. It was even an Alpine Coaster.
But it was not the same coaster I had encountered those years ago. That was immediately obvious. It was a small but modern and newish looking setup with neon lights and a bunch of people. There was an actual building where you bought tickets and a little snack stand.
“Daddy! Can we go on the coaster!” Emily asked again.
My mouth made motions but no words came out. I glanced over at Carol, hoping she’d say we didn’t have time but to my horror she smiled and said “You know what? That does sound like fun. Daddy will take you while I take Max for a walk.”
My mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of it. But Emily was already dragging me across the parking lot to the entrance.
I patted my pocket, making sure my phone was in it. Every fiber of my being was screaming to run away. I slept walked through the line and the ticket booth while Emily bounced happily.
We got into a two seat plastic sled. This one was actually a lot nicer than the one my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. It had two nice cushioned seats, big grab handles, even a nice rollbar.
The sled started up the track. I fought back the panic. I swerved my head around, keeping the building in my view. I was terrified of losing sight of it. We made it to the top and Emily did a happy squeal as we started down the side of the mountain.
My heart raced. Any second, any second my mind told me we’d lose sight of the building and then the ride would never end. The ride sped down the mountain. My mind tortured me with thoughts of not only going through it again, but seeing Emily go through it. The ride went around a big, banking turn. Emily kept shouting happily. How long before Carol reported us missing I wondered? Could I keep Emily calm? What if it lasted even longer this time? What if this time it never ended?
And then we were back at the start of the ride. The same attendant who had helped us into the sled was helping Emily out. I stepped out. The attendant gave me a brief look but said nothing. I guess I looked a little wild eyed.
I was fine. Emily was fine. It had been a perfectly normal, fun ride.
“That was fun Daddy! Thank you!” Emily said. I forced a smile back. “It was fun.” I responded, hoping like I sounded like I meant it.
I took Emily’s hand and we walked back to the car. Max saw us coming and barked happily. Carol looked up from the pint of Ben and Jerry’s she had somehow acquired and added to her snack collection while we were gone and smiled at us.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“It was so fun Mommy!” Emily said.
Carol smiled down at her, but then looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay?” Carol could read my face a lot better than the attendant could. “You’re pale.”
I smiled and this time the smile felt real. “Ya know what. Yeah, I think I am okay.”
Carol looked a little puzzled, but didn’t press it. We loaded Emily back in her booster seat, stopped Max from trying desperately to eat half a discarded gas station hot dog off the ground and got him back in the car. Carol and her small collection of snack food took her place in the passenger seat and I got in the driver's seat.I smiled. I cranked the car. I put it in gear. I pulled out of the gas station and back on the road, this time accelerating just a little faster than I had in years.

hi there i'm Cris, 27,a nurse from Mexico i'm searching for a white american in the usa,not too young,not too old,who's ready for something serious
i'm not into video games,but I enjoy playing games on facebook my real passion is watching movies,i love comedies and romantic films netflix is my goto for unwinding after a long day
as a nurse i'm all about helping others. making people smile is what I do best,i'd love to relocate to the usa for the right person
i'm not here for casual flings,only serious connections if you're ready for something meaningful,let's chat,drop me a message,and let's see where things go

Hi all! I just posted a video on 5 movies I watched at the Atlanta Film Festival. It was my first time going, and I watched films like I Saw the TV Glow, and Sing Sing early.
As well as a few older ones as well, that I experienced for the first time.
https://youtu.be/NskwqFCmXTs?si=9YyuopQgKtqs__iv

I'm a big horror fan and the only "classic" I've held off on for a long time now was Friday the 13th, partly due to the reputation is has as not being very good, especially compared to the other incredible films over the years like Texas Chainsaw, Elm Street and Child's Play. I also grew up camping where it was filmed. I was pretty upset to not just find out, but watch a live snake get killed on screen, and further upset to find out that during the production, it's handler had not been told it was going to be killed. So they invited an innocent animal and its owner on and killed it for a mediocre film. He had to be held back and was upset to watch his pet get murdered in front of him out of the blue. I hope the sequels are better, because this has really put me off from finishing the film, and that's never really happened to me watching anything. At least during Milo and Otis they didn't graphically slice any animals on screen.

Hi everyone,
I wanted to share with you my response to the introduction found in the only edition of Use of the Self currently in print. I believe it's a rather misleading intro to FM Alexander's work, so I'm sharing this in the hope that I can help clear up misconceptions people may have about the Alexander Technique, not derived only from Anthony Kingsley, but many bland blog posts one tends to encounter when researching the Alexander Technique. That said, this is not intended to be an introduction of its own, but rather something experienced students, teachers, and anyone enthusiastically learning the Technique may find useful. In the tradition of Alexander himself, I've included extensive footnotes, some painfully long. I'm happy to answer any questions or otherwise discuss what I've written. Understand these are my own interpretations and opinions about what some call "the work," so take them as you will. I've taken lessons for a number of years and currently am training as a teacher, so my view of the Technique is based on these experiences, as well as my interpretations of Alexander's writings. Some of these interpretations you may object to, but I hope you find my arguments reasonable.
Response to Anthony Kingsley's Introduction to The Use of the Self
The Use of the Self may be FM Alexander's most important work, since it contains his own account of how he developed what is now called the Alexander Technique. While Alexander's other volumes are available from Mouritz, the only edition of The Use of the Self currently in print is published by Orion Spring. This edition replaces the philosopher John Dewey's introduction—which praises the technique's "genuinely scientific character"—with one by the contemporary teacher Anthony Kingsley, who is heralded on the book's front cover as a "leading Alexander Technique teacher." Therefore it is probable that many readers' first impressions of the Alexander Technique will be framed by Mr. Kingsley's opinions. I submit this is problematic, since his introduction is in my view contradictory to fundamental principles of the Alexander Technique. I write this response to address the introduction's two most dire faults: Kingsley's misrepresentation of the concepts inhibition and direction, and his dismissal of the concept of the primary control. I'll begin with the second, since it is a more straightforward error.
Primary Control
Kingsley opens his paragraphs on the primary control with the opinion that the concept should be "recast," then describes Alexander's definition of the primary control as a "particular relationship of his head, neck and back [that] acted as a master reflex that conditioned his whole organism." Then he discards this definition, claiming the head-neck-back relativity should instead be "regarded as an indicator[sic] of overall health rather than an area considered in isolation." He concedes the "region of the neck and back is a [...] barometer of our state of being," but concludes that "no single element is actually primary," since our eyes, breath, digestive system, and all other psychophysical elements are "simultaneous and interdependent" and also like barometers. Finally, he reveals his "recast" of the primary control, defining it as "the unknown and unseen self-righting and self-healing mechanism that can be restored and vitalized."
In sum, Mr. Kingsley has presented the primary control—which Alexander wrote extensively about and considered central to his technique—with an ill-defined mystical force which, accordingly, Alexander must have unwittingly stumbled upon and mistaken for a certain relativity of the head, neck and back.
Ironically, it is in The Use of the Self where Alexander wrote of discovering the necessity to first free his neck in seeking a better condition for his vocal apparatus, since that was the sine qua non of taking his head forward and up, of widening the back, and so forth, which are in turn the necessary conditions of freedom and stability in the limbs. This is the genesis of Alexander's use of the word "primary" in describing the head-neck-back relationship, and in my experience, as in Alexander's, it holds true: the sequence of directions given to oneself matters greatly, since tense feet, for example, can hardly flatten on the floor if the head is taken back and down, whereas the head can be taken "forward and up"1 to a fine degree even if there is tension in the lower extremities, particularly while sitting. Further, and maybe most significantly, the relativity of the head-neck-back rarely need change during any manner of activity, whereas the arms and legs are constantly bending, rising, stretching, and so on. Small wonder Alexander considered this relativity primary.
Of course, Kingsley is not wrong to point out the interdependence of all processes in the body. It is certainly true that undue tension in the feet creates a downward pull on the head, neck and back. Yet what is crucial to understand here is that in the context of learning and teaching the Alexander Technique, the primary control is an indispensable concept. It instructs the pupil to guide his or her attention through the body in the sequence most fit to facilitate proper relativity of all the parts, and it names succinctly that natural, visible, dynamic yet enduring relativity of the head, neck and back observable in little children and animals as well as many great musicians and athletes. Thus Kingsley discards a practical concept in favor of a truism about "interdependence;" and so we come to his second, graver error.
Direction
Here it begins to seem that what Kingsley writes of in his introduction is not the Alexander Technique at all, but in fact the Kingsley Technique, since he has redefined not only the primary control, but two other conceptual pillars of the technique: inhibition and direction.
First, he takes aim at direction, neglecting to elucidate Alexander's own definition of the concept before setting out the axiom that "aiming for postural improvements using postural directions leads to a bodymind[sic] attitude of effort and trying, which simply reinforces the problem." Dismissing as superfluous all "ideas and images about heads, necks and backs," he declares that "the trying[sic] self is the obstacle, and the shift towards a non-trying[sic] self is the solution." Finally, he offers his own definition of the directions as "the natural flow of energy and vibrancy that exists within the organism," directions which are interfered with "when we are in a condition of stress and reactivity."
Here, again, Kingsley takes a practical concept which Alexander developed based on careful observation of his own muscular action, and replaces it with a kind of mystical or spiritual phenomenon which, implicitly, only the initiated can perceive.2 Thus the famous directions are not, as Alexander described repeatedly, a series of mental orders or intentions projected to oneself before and during muscular activity along lines one has reasoned out in advance, but a "natural flow of energy and vibrancy"—just as the primary control is not, as Alexander saw it, a concrete, observable relativity of the head, neck and back, but an "unknown and unseen self-righting and self-healing mechanism." These pseudo-spiritual definitions do a massive disservice to neophyte readers, and reveal Kingsley's muddled seeing in relation to the central problem addressed by the Alexander Technique: how to shed habit and coordinate the bodymind through reasoned conception and conscious awareness.
But for a moment let us leave aside direction, since a subtler and more misleading error still lurks in Kingsley's presentation: his dismissal of conception itself. He explicitly warns that "ideas, concepts and cognitive efforts reinforce the very mental instrument that is the problem in the first place," he advises us to simply trust that "the prevention or inhibition[sic] of reaction, maintains or liberates this stream of energy [or direction] in the body."
To understand Kingsley's error, we must return to Alexander. In Man's Supreme Inheritance, Alexander sets out four stages to the "performance of any muscular action by conscious guidance and control:"

1. The conception of the movement required;
2. The inhibition of erroneous preconceived ideas which subconsciously suggest the manner in which the movement or series of movements should be performed;
3. The new and conscious mental orders which will set in motion the muscular mechanism essential to the correct performance of the action;
4. The movements (contractions and expansions) of the muscles which carry out the mental orders.

Alexander considered "conception of the movement required" the very first stage in his technique, to precede even inhibition. Thus he made clear, if indirectly, that in the context of his technique, clear conception is essential to achieving a desired end. Incidentally, this is a fact any competent artist can attest to; if a composition is not unambiguously understood and organized within one's memory, it cannot be brought to fruition. Even the most simple act, such as extending one's arm to grasp a nearby object, requires a detailed conception of distance, weight, strength, and so forth; if the object turns out to be heavier than expected, the conception of these variables and their relation to one another, and hence the muscular action, must change. This is direction in action, albeit subconscious.
Yet Kingsley belittles conception, instead leaning on concepts like "ease," "letting go" "acceptance," and the like. He is not alone in this among teachers, but in my opinion, they overlook the influence of what Alexander termed "erroneous beliefs," a concept closely related to that of "unreliable sensory appreciation." Both could be read in the spiritual lexicon alongside "letting go," etc.; but that would place their referent outside the realm of what words and concepts can describe. On the contrary, Alexander was pointing to something concrete and empirically observable: to errors of spatio-motor perception able to be observed phenomenologically and in other people's behavior; not to transcendent truths about observation itself. Thus the classic example of an Alexandrian "erroneous belief" is a person who raises their arm and believes their shoulder has remained still when it has not. The key for the pupil in this instance is to gain an accurate conception5 of their own muscular action, in reference to bodily sensations; not to simply "let go" or "do nothing."3 And this conception must come about through active tutelage—e.g. Alexander Technique lessons—or, dare I say, the way Alexander himself did it: by reasoned experimentation, conceiving hypotheses based on careful register and analysis of his own sensations, and also by watching the behavior of others. John Dewey called the technique scientific for a reason.
All of this is not to understate the importance of concepts like "release" and "effortlessness," including in the context of the Alexander Technique. Seeing more or less what is meant by them is doubtless the key to mastery of all activities, all practices, all techniques. Yet those spiritual concepts should not blot out the very concrete technique Alexander developed for improving what he called "the use of the self:" that coordination of the muscular system, achieved through conscious reason, which influences for better or worse the functioning of the whole organism.4
Inhibition
So much for direction. What about inhibition? Under the heading "Inhibition and Non-Doing," Kingsley describes Alexander's understanding of inhibition as "an artificial pause between stimulus and reaction," after which he could "give directions to himself." Then he lays down the gauntlet, stating that in the "real world […] life does not offer us the choice to inhibit:" since according to neuroscience research, "neural reactions take milliseconds and are faster than conscious thought processes." In other words, "we either react to the stimulus, or not." So, with inhibition proven impossible, Kingsley is left with no choice but to "reformulate" another of Alexander's concepts, offering us a supposedly scientifically enlightened6 view that inhibition is really "a quality of non-doing[sic] that needs to be already available in the organism before the receipt of a stimulus." This is "a way of being[sic] rather than a way of doing[sic]."
This Kingsleyan inhibition turns out to be the essence of the technique, since it is this very "condition of non-doing[sic]" the teacher is supposed to transmit, through a touch Kingsley describes as "a dance of poetry and a symphony of silence." With it, the teacher imparts a "deep sense of acceptance" by which "change emerges in the pupil."7 He goes on to compare the Alexander Technique to "Zen Buddhism, mindfulness and the philosophy of non-duality," identifying the uniqueness of the Alexander Technique in "the transmission of immediate experience." In fact, there is no Alexander Technique as such, but only inhibition:
The Chinese Tao has a concept of Wu Wei[sic], which translates as surrendering to the effortless flow of life[sic], or non-doing[sic] action. Ultimately, the Alexander Technique needs to reinvent itself and relinquish the Technique. The Alexander Teacher really teaches nothing[sic!]. But this nothing or emptiness is in fact the deepest essence of being and the fullness of life. Like grace, it drops onto us and into us when the conditions are ripe.
The problem is that Alexander's own writings indicate that inhibition is not a "quality," a "condition," or a "surrendering to the effortless flow of life." On the contrary, according to Universal Constant in Living, it is "the act of refusing to respond to the primary desire to gain an end, [which] becomes the act of responding (volitionary act) to the conscious reasoned desire to employ the means whereby that end may be gained." As clear as day: inhibition is an action in response to the stimulus of conscious desire: a conscious, continuing refusal to do a thing the way one normally does it. Alexander saw that this inhibitory act had to precede in every instance any attempt to change his habits. Everyone is well familiar with the inhibitory act. The act of not indulging an immediate desire, however small, is it. So, inhibition is not an "artificial pause," but a phenomenologically observable process within the organism, a process that can be made habitual through practice. It is no more abstract and transcendent than blinking or moving one's finger.7
Here Kingsley again takes something ordinary and concrete and makes it mystical, going so far as to "relinquish the Technique." The trouble is that there is a good reason the Alexander Technique came to be known as such. A technique is a skillful way of doing something; a mental tool; a procedure. Ways of doing can be found everywhere: techniques for dance, for romance, for healing, even for attaining nirvana or enlightenment. Each has a goal in mind and is based on what worked in the past; each resorts to concepts to explain itself; each prescribes action, or doing something a certain way. Yet Kingsley dismisses the idea of doing anything at all. Equating the Alexander Technique with "nothing," he tosses out the concepts Alexander spent decades refining, when Alexander's genius was precisely to conceive a useful, coherent way of doing things through patient observation of the phenomena he termed inhibition, direction, primary control, and the rest.
So, the technique may encompass all the acts of living, but it is still a technique. Alexander often used the term "procedure" to describe it, and I think procedure is as apt a word as any to describe the application of his technique to the acts of living. He constantly stressed the technique's sequential, stepwise nature and recorded countless practical examples of it in action, both in hypotheticals and accounts of lessons. The technique is not a metaphysics or a philosophy like non-duality; it is a practical procedure with a clear purpose: restoring
advantageous, natural relativity of the head, neck and back.
Conclusion
The technique is blindingly simple but surprisingly subtle and difficult to master; and, as far as I am aware, it is unique. Unfortunately, Kingsley is not alone in overlooking the uniqueness and subtleties of the technique in favor of spiritual truisms and platitudes. I suspect there are two main reasons for this.
The first is the tendency of serious pupils of the technique to become more open to "spirituality," both philosophically (e.g. non-duality) and in terms of sadhana (e.g. meditation, yoga, self-inquiry). Many are enthusiastic about the similarities between the Alexander Technique and, for example, mindfulness practice. It is certainly true that the technique requires the pupil to have some degree of "mindfulness," or the ability to realize when the mind has wandered; and it is also true that a few people who devote themselves to the technique come upon some of the same insights one might find in spiritual practice. Yet spiritual insight is not the purpose of the technique. In my opinion, the Alexander Technique is a relative of energy practices such as Hatha yoga, qigong, and TRE (trauma release exercises). Such techniques are often used in tandem with spiritual practices meant for the cultivation of insight, but their purpose has traditionally been preparatory and salutary, not "spiritual." One need not stray too esoteric to encounter the idea that the real goal of spirituality has nothing to do with "ways of doing." On the other hand, Qigong explicitly aims to regulate qi in the body; kundalini yoga is concerned with the flow of prana; the Alexander Technique seeks to restore the good use of the primary control. More practically, the technique teaches mental discipline, and ultimately the ability of the nervous system to regulate itself. Such a practice may lay the groundwork for spiritual realization, but it is by no means indistinguishable from it.
While there is no point speculating about Alexander's private insights, one thing can be certain: he left us a definite procedure with a practical, concrete purpose—not a transcendental one. Yet Kingsley's introduction continually implies the Alexander Technique is an essentially spiritual practice with heavenly fruit. Disparaging the core concepts that constitute the Alexander Technique, he invites us instead to simply "surrender," "let go in faith," and blindly trust that its real essence—nothing less than Wu Wei—will be transmitted through the "rare, "unconditional" touch of the teacher.
The second, more obvious reason Alexander has been so misunderstood is that he rarely wrote concisely, and in any case, recognition and conception of the primary control can never be refined through words, but only through unfamiliar sensory experiences—either reasoned out, as Alexander did, or in the hands of a good teacher. Hence there is more than a kernel of truth to Kingsley's view of the "supreme value of guidance with the hands;" yet I differ from him in that I insist the Alexander Technique cannot be divorced from intellectual understanding and, indeed, conception.
The Use of the Self and Alexander's other works certainly were not without their flaws, but at their best they illuminate concepts which are nuanced, rich, and useful when applied. Primary control, direction and inhibition are three such concepts. Whatever their flaws, Alexander's books point the way to a wonderful technique, and they deserve thoughtful, probing introductions like Dewey's—not dismissals.
1 Like many other Alexandrian terms, the concrete meaning of "forward and up" seems incredibly controversial among Alexander Technique teachers. While I conceive it roughly as freedom of the atlanto-occipital joint, the term cannot be understood in isolation from the rest of the parts—namely, from one's conception of the primary control. It seems to experience it, one must discover it, as Alexander did, or be shown it by a teacher.
2 This is not to say there are not phenomena only some people perceive.
3An overemphasis on "letting go" and the like obscures the fact that Alexander always described the technique as consisting of stages or sequential steps, which in my opinion constitute the "means whereby" he wrote of.
4 "Use of the self" is another problematic term. Related to the concept of "good form" and "good technique" among athletes and musicians, it refers essentially to coordination of the musculature along reasoned lines, which is not separate from conception of the primary control. Equal and opposite is the term "misuse," since one's idea of misuse depends on one's idea of good use. Different teachers understand the term differently. Kingsley states that "bodily tensions and distortions become fixed and reinforced as we react to the general stimuli of living." True enough. Yet he goes on to imply it is associated only with fear, anxiety and distress. Again he couples this concept to the language of contemporary spirituality, trumpeting that it "alienates us from our own true nature." This is to completely ignore the point Alexander returned to again and again in his own writing: that the use of the self is inextricably linked with conception. No doubt, tension and imbalance are very often inextricable from fear. But there may be another class of misuse: one based on misconceptions about the body, unexamined movement patterns from childhood which have little or nothing to do with manifestations of stress or emotions in the body. I suspect one may experience profound psychophysical quietude yet still tend to throw their head back and down in relation to their neck and back, especially in movement.
5Kingsley writes that the teacher's touch indicates the "negation of trying and doing within the pupil." Even a token mention of guidance viz. the relativity of the body parts is nowhere to be found. Yet in my opinion this discussion of touch is misleading, since nothing like it can be found at all in Alexander's writings. On the contrary, Alexander stressed that the teacher's role was to demonstrate manually the proper relativity of the pupil's parts, with the means whereby of the technique; not to transmit "a way of being," nor indeed enlightenment or gnosis.
6 Neuroscientific findings relating to will and volition have proliferated in recent years. They may raise fundamental questions about the nature of self and will, but in my opinion they have little to do with the Alexander Technique, no more than they do with dancing or playing an instrument. If there are really recognizable activities Alexander termed "inhibition" and "direction," then his writings are timeless, since they speak from direct observation and experiment, not philosophy about "free will" and the like.
7 In spiritual literature one encounters, almost universally, the idea that there is no "doer" of action, or no "doer" but God. Hence Kingsley is implying that Alexandrian inhibition is somehow related to this concept, which Buddha famously summarized: "Events happen, deeds are done, but there is no doer thereof." In my opinion, the Alexander Technique has nothing more to do with this than does reading, writing, or playing a game. There may be "procedures followed, but no follower thereof."

Boy oh boy where do I even begin. Quinton Reviews...Honey, my pookie bear, I have loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you. The way you plant the spike in Reviews and strike fear into your enemies eyes. Your silky smooth touch around the Beard, and that gorgeous Glasses. I would do anything for you. I wish it were possible to freeze time so I would never have to watch you end stream. You’ve had some tough hate, but you never gave up hope. You are even more amazing off YouTube, you're a great cat father, and sometimes I even call you Daddy. I forever dread and weep, thinking of the day you will one day retire. I would sacrifice my own life if it were the only thing that could put a smile on your beautiful face. You have given me so much joy, and heartbreak over the years. I remember when you first took a break from uploading and it's like my heart got broken into a million pieces. But a tear still fell from my right eye when I watched you on your first iCarly review back in 2022, because deep down, my glorious king deserved it. I just wanted you to return home. Then allas, you did, my sweet baby boy came home, and I rejoiced. 2023 was a hard year for us, baby, but you made history happen. You made reviews, and I couldn't watch them all. I was crying, bawling even, until I heard my glorious king exclaim these words, “I fucking hate Trump" Not only have you changed the reviews of reviews and the world forever, but you've eternally changed my world. And now you're video getting longer, but still the goat, my goat. I love you pookie bear, my glorious king, QuintonReviews. ☺️❤️🫶🏽

i went to the movies to see the Fall Guy film with ryan gosling and emily blunt, honestly i like them both a lot even though it looks kinda wack and i actually don’t think she’s a great actress but i admire her simple face. and i walked to the theater early sat in the back. thought of course i had the theater to myself and it was awesome i was watching youtube out loud asian skincare . then people came trickling in. and a man (also by himself) sat in the back row too. and suddenly my whole internal and external world felt different and i had to sit up straight, twiddle my hair, look cute and charming, i could feel my heart rate going up. does that feeling go away ? as a woman ?? new minion movie coming up, despicable me was funny af!!

Information upfront, this is my first story and it's not even finished yet, I have a couple ideas on how to finish it. I have not received any help from a person however I used "creative helper" from character.ai
For context: the story is about a woman being kidnapped by a man, she has no recolecction of the past. She is supposed to fall in love with him later on, how I end it, I'll have multiple ideas about it.
Now to the story, or at least the beginning of it:
I woke up in a room, it's cold, my vision is blurry. I lay on a metal bed covered in a thin white blanket. I stand up and notice the lack of natural light in the room, just a neon tube emitting sterile light. My head aches and as I walk to the heavy metal door I feel a pain radiating into my lower abdomen from below. I am shocked from the cold of the metal door, as I open it.
While I struggle through the door I look down on my body, I see that I wear a tight White crop-top, without sleeves and a white brief, both are revealing. I stumbled into a floor which feels surprisingly warm. This floor seems to be in the basement, I also notice that I am at the opposite end of the stairs. As I walk to the flight of stairs, I hold myself against the white walls, wondering about the anchors placed in the walls. I sigh a breath of relief as I look up, a window is at the upper end.
I stumble up the stair, even tripping a few times. I noticed I scratched myself while I look out the window. I see a deep forest. I then turn around seeing I must be in the main entrance. it's cozy, I can even hear a fireplace happily crackeling away. Then I notice the front door, I struggle my way towards it, hoping I could get out, but it was locked. As I tried to open the brown wooden front door I heard a voice, a deep voice of a man.
I immedeatly stopped, I felt my hard pounding, my breaths become frequent and heavy, my blurry vision went sharp, I might have even jumped and shrieked a Little. As I slowly turn around the man says "hey hun, you awoke. You've been sick lately I was worried." Scared to death I answered silently "I...I don't remember… anything." I finally turned around and saw two crystal blue eyes piercing me, they almost hurt.
And if you ask why I started writing, I told a close friend I started world building and thinking about stories and she encouraged me to write one, however this is not the genre I'm used to in terms of reading/watching. She also read, what I copied here, she loved it. I want feedback from anyone, be it positive or negative I also want tips on how to improve myself.
Edit: Spelling errors, at least those I've found

I can't be the only one that has this problem... Yet i never found anyone with the same problem.
https://preview.redd.it/a2s2zgzmq91d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=f50517692a47a7d53a20207eef394467e558b457
My nigga, i platinum'd this game and now all of a sudden they strictly won't let me play ever again? who thought this was a good idea? let me play with whatever i can.
Ryzen 3 3200G 2x8gb RAM SSD 225gb