Hello coffee (and tea) lovers!
Me and my wife are developing a game called Coffee Caravan and we are very excited that the game is coming out tomorrow!
What is it about?
As a cafe manager, brew, experiment with delicious recipes, and build your dream coffee business on wheels. Serve customers, unlock new flavors, purchase appliances, and explore the roguelite map.
If you like games like PlateUp and Overcooked, Coffee Caravan is for you.
Interested?
Steam (demo available): https://store.steampowered.com/app/2649080/Coffee_Caravan/
Gameplay trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XayPc8SxceM
More info:
The game features a cute and charming 3D environment with a pastel-colored aesthetic. Throughout your adventure, you'll discover and unlock new coffee recipes, purchase cutting-edge coffee-making appliances, and focus on providing an efficient and enjoyable experience for your customers.

• Strategically choose the coffee recipes you want to serve each day, catering to customer preferences and experimenting with new flavors.
• Manage your finances wisely, allocating earnings to buy new recipes and upgrade equipment.
• Explore an extensive tree of coffee recipes, each with its own unique combination of ingredients and brewing techniques.
• Master the art of efficient brewing, balancing speed, and quality to serve a growing line of customers and maximize your profits.
• Encounter special events and challenges along the way, from rewards to unexpected circumstances, to add excitement to your road trip adventure (not included in the demo).

Currently singleplayer only
Genre: management, roguelite, strategy, cozy
Planned release: May 20th (tomorrow)
Thank you for your attention! If you like what you've seen, please consider adding it to your wishlist on Steam and checking out the demo!

Alright, buckle up because we're diving into why Vancouver's food scene is straight-up legendary. Forget the regular city vibes; Vancouver is a melting pot of flavors, a culinary carnival that beats anything else in North America. Join me on this personal quest to unravel why the combo of Asian influence, Pacific Northwest goodness, and chill dining vibes makes Vancouver the top pick for foodies.
Asian Culinary Delights: Tradition and Creativity Unleashed
Vancouver's streets resonate with the aromas of traditional Asian dishes, prepared with a touch of authenticity that transports you across borders. Picture slurping savory ramen in Chinatown or savoring hand-pulled noodles in a cozy corner of East Van. But what makes Vancouver's Asian food scene truly exceptional is its fusion of tradition with modern creativity.
In this city, innovation meets tradition on a plate. Take, for instance, squid ink brioche with sea urchin pâté – a daring yet harmonious blend of flavors that pushes the boundaries of culinary expectations. Vancouver's chefs are culinary artists, creating dishes that not only pay homage to traditional recipes but also elevate them into extraordinary, palate-pleasing experiences.
And let's not forget the matcha mochi croissants that have taken the city by storm. A fusion of Japanese mochi and French croissants, these delectable pastries are a testament to Vancouver's culinary diversity. Each bite is a dance of textures and tastes, showcasing the city's flair for seamlessly blending cultures and cuisines.
Pacific Northwest's Grocery List: Seafood Galore and More
Living next to the Pacific Ocean is like having a seafood aisle in your backyard. Fresh salmon, sweet Dungeness crab, and chubby spot prawns – Vancouver's seafood game is on point. And let's not forget the local veggies and meats, straight from the region's green landscapes. It's like nature’s way of saying, "Hey, enjoy the good stuff!"
Nature Vibes: Dining with a View
Vancouver's layout is like a dating app for food and nature; they're a match made in heaven. Whether you're brunching in a leafy neighborhood or devouring seafood with an ocean panorama, the city serves up an Instagrammable backdrop for every meal. Picture this: a patio, a breeze, and the scent of fir trees – eating out just got a whole lot cooler.
Neighborhood Chronicles: Culinary Adventures Off the Beaten Path
Downtown is cool, but venture out, and you'll hit foodie gold. Commercial Drive's eclectic spots or Richmond's legit Asian flavors – Vancouver's neighborhoods are like culinary treasure maps. Each area has its own flavor story, tempting you to be the food explorer you were born to be.
Conclusion
Vancouver isn't just a city with good food; it's a food fiesta waiting to happen. The Asian vibes, the Pacific Northwest's goodies, and the city's chill connection with nature make dining here a full-blown experience. Vancouver isn't just North America's food champion; it's a vibe, a journey through flavors, and a big, fat stamp on your foodie passport. So, next time you're craving a culinary adventure, Vancouver's got your back, fork, and knife.
​
**If you found any of this helpful, consider checking out a referral link. You get additional sign up and welcome bonuses. Signing up and using Rakuten for cash back is free!*\*

• Rakuten is a reputable website/app with millions of users that gives you up 20% cash back on popular stores like Nike, Target, and Petsmart
  • www.rakuten.com/QIANTE3?eeid=44971
• Banking/Investment
  • SoFi is a great online checking/savings bank that offers up to 4.9% interest on accounts(currently).
  • https://www.sofi.com/invite/money?gcp=d8903675-1661-40fb-8ff6-f87843aa727e&isAliasGcp=false
• Credit Cards
  • Amex: Gold: https://americanexpress.com/en-us/referral/PARRYC8P8N?XLINK=MYCP
  • Amex Plat: https://americanexpress.com/en-us/referral/HUIQITJbcu?XLINK=MYCP
  • Capital One Venture X: https://i.capitalone.com/J8Jn8yE0u
• Here I explain my favorite side hustle, step by step.
  • https://www.reddit.com/sidehustlemoney/comments/17jswev/how_i_basically_travel_for_free/

🎤 Public Speaking 🎤
🔹 Do you ever feel your heart race and palms sweat at the thought of public speaking? You're not alone. But what if I told you that mastering the art of public speaking can open doors to endless opportunities and personal growth?
🔹 Public speaking isn't just about delivering a speech; it's about connecting with your audience on a deeper level, inspiring change, and leaving a lasting impact. Here are a few key insights to help you navigate the world of public speaking:
🔹 Harnessing the Power of Preparation: The more prepared you are, the more confident you'll feel when speaking in front of an audience. Research your topic, outline your key points, and practice, practice, practice.
🔹 Embracing Vulnerability: Authenticity resonates with audiences. Don't be afraid to show your vulnerability and share personal anecdotes that make your message relatable and memorable.
🔹 Mastering Nonverbal Communication: Remember, it's not just about what you say but also how you say it. Pay attention to your body language, tone of voice, and eye contact to convey confidence and credibility.
🔹 Fostering Connection: Building rapport with your audience can make or break your speech. Engage with your listeners, ask questions, and involve them in your storytelling to create a sense of shared experience.
🔹 Embracing Feedback: Constructive criticism is your best friend when it comes to honing your public speaking skills. Embrace feedback, learn from it, and continually strive to improve.
🔹 Public speaking is a journey of self-discovery and growth. It's a skill that can propel you towards your personal and professional aspirations. So, step onto that stage with confidence, speak your truth, and watch the magic unfold. 🌟 #PublicSpeaking #MasterTheArt #SpeakWithImpact

Zhidaole!

Mui is the right-hand woman to Shen Xian and a vital member of the Union. While she doesn't have a Negation like the rest of them, she chooses to fight using extreme proficiency in martial arts and her plethora of artefacts. She's also a close friend to Fuuko Izumo and Andy.

Key

Scaling

• Andy / Undead
• Feng Kowloon / Unfade
• Fuuko Izumo / Unluck
• God / UMAs
• Nico Vorgeil / Unforgettable
• Shen Xian / Untruth

Notes

• Feats are listed in order of appearance. Hover over a link to see the chapter(s) of origin.
• Feats from chapters up to 132 are from the 100th Loop.
• Feats from 133 on are from the 101st Loop, with this RT leaving off at 206.
• Character profile.

Strength

Striking

• Smacks away a junior of UMA Summer using nunchucks
• With Shen, sends the Nyoi-Kinko staff into Spring
• With Shen, sends the Nyoi-Kinko staff into God
• Stronger than Shen
• Kicks Shen into the sky, the area around her hand on the ground having broken from the force
• Axe-kicks Shen down into the Tenraisai block, pulverizing it
• Counters UMA Color's projectiles
• KO's UMA Platinum with Shen

Other

• Throws several nails into a sheet of metal at once
• Pumps iron
• Cuts an UMA Summer junior in half with a sword artifact
• Stabs through Shen's chest

Durability

Blunt

• Fuuko's Unluck causes a brick to fall on her hand and break in half, briefly KOing her
• KOed by a kick from Feng
• Beaten by Nico
• Uses Shen's palm strike to the chin as force for her chin kick on Shen
• Sent flying after taking the full brunt of Shen's Tetsuzanko without being able to block

Other

• Union member suits are bulletproof, stab-proof, and generally incredibly durable
• Her mind handles using eight different artifacts

Speed

• Makes manga really fast
• Clocks in at faster than Shen

Skill

• Is noted in her character profile to be very skilled due to training with Shen
• Knows kung-fu as a result of daily training
• Engaged in combat with Shen against Creed and Yusai offscreen
• After all the world's languages were unified into English and she lost the ability to speak Chinese, she starts teaching herself how to speak it using only a book written by Nico
• Trounced Luo in kung fu
• Trades furious blows with Shen

Gear

Weapons

• Nunchucks
• Sword artifact
  • Dual wields two of them
• A different sword

Utility

• The neckties of Union suits grants the wearer access to a number of public services and organizations and it also functions as a universal translator which even works with writing
• Healing pill artifacts, made from her own life force
• Uses the Game of Death artifact to turn Shen into a jiangshi, a reanimated corpse that automatically protects her when she's in danger and can't act on his own unless she orders him
  • Information page
  • Shen's RT
• A hand fan artifact that dispels a large cloud of dust when used

Negation: Untruth

Type: External-Targeting, Compulsory Activation
Tragedy: The death of Shen right in front of her.
Untruth is an ability that originally belonged to Shen, which allows the user to make any target in their vision do the exact opposite of what they wanted, so long as the user is fond of the target.

• Unconsciously makes Shen and Andy come to a dead stop mid-attack
• Prevents Feng from avoiding a combo attack from Shen and Andy
• Forces Feng to walk into Shen's attacks after he starts trying to back down
• Makes Apocalypse reveal why the Union has never been able to defeat UMA Summer's second phase in any previous loop, despite it not wanting to

You're on!

Platform(s): PC
Genre: First person, semi-roguelite?
Estimated year of release: 202X
Graphics/art style: 3D somewhat cartoony but realistic human models
Notable characters: There's a man in camper who can tell you about his life over multiple playthroughs (I believe)
Notable gameplay mechanics: Choices matter, character stories progress between playthroughs
Other details:
I never played this game, but it somehow left quite an impression on me after watching a random YouTube video on it.
The premise of the game is somewhat simple: each "run" you're some random citizen in a country that is turning into a dictatorship (I believe) and you need to escape by crossing the border. If you fail to escape, you start over as a new character, though the state of the world remains the same between "runs".
On your way to the border, you meet various characters, many of whom also wish to escape. You can interact with, and help them achieve this goal, through various choices made. The fate of these characters persists between runs, and you may meet them multiple times across multiple runs.

Platform(s): PC-only, as far as I can recall. I remember playing this on a Windows XP machine, specifically.
Genre: 2D arcade shoot-em-up with a non-scrolling screen (think Space Invaders, enemies appearing mostly from the top edge)
Estimated year of release: I can only guess, but it must have been 2000-2005 or thereabouts.
Graphics/art style: I can't remember for sure, but I believe the visuals were shaded, polygonal graphics rendered from a flat perspective (so, what we usually call 2.5D graphics nowadays). In any case, the art style was quite cute-looking, bordering on cartoonish. Very saturated colors and a fun vibe to everything. Most of the screen was taken up by the sea near the bottom and the sky fills out almost 2/3 of the frame, so there's a ton of space for enemies to appear and your own base was actually very small on-screen.
Notable characters: I don't remember any real characters being in this game - not even a voiceover during gameplay as far as I recall. If you consider it a character, well...the palm tree was definitely very memorable. The 'character' you control during gameplay is a small, red cannon. Your 'base' itself was just a tiny little sandy island in the middle of the ocean. Apart from your cannon and the palm tree, there was literally nothing. Think of the Bikini Bottom island, stick a cannon on it, and you're pretty much there.
Notable gameplay mechanics: It's a base defense shooter (again, not too much unlike Space Invaders), with the big twist that your own player character is actually invincible, and it's the palm tree that all the enemies (planes, airships, helicopters, ships) are after, usually bombarding your whole island from above. The idea is to shoot them down before they can get a chance to burn the poor little thing. Apart from the standard arcade gameplay (which is just surviving ever-increasing waves of enemies coming at your and your island), there was also a two-player local multiplayer mode, where you played against a friend in split-screen, trying to take out each other's palm trees. Lots of fun.
Other details: I believe there was actually a short intro upon starting the game which tried to explain why these guys are so bloodthirsty about that tree, but I forgot how it went. In terms of the art style, the overall humorous tone, and the very arcade-style gameplay, it reminded me a lot of PopCap Games (Heavy Weapon especially), but I could not find anything that they have made that seems in any way similar to this.

Day 5 part 2 challenge link (same settings as daily challenge) part 2 because my score on part 1 was garbo
much much better score with 24057
r1 4999: shouldve been 5k 😭easy kyrg, car meta shows not in the southern half of the country, and thats clearly not the big northern lake so pretty easy to line up
r2 4537: wouldve been 5k had i known mahamba was a country border town, not a county border. should be easy 5k for people who arent me lol
r3: 4801: lots of signs with czech language plus city names. couldnt find them tho, i guessed wrong side of prague basically
r4: 4889: belgium plates and language, plus city names and highway number. couldnt find the place names or highway in time. not bad tho
r5 4831: clearly arg with the street signs, but the roads and trees were tricky at first. you can get to the highway tho and easily find the place name. I guessed the wrong side of the city since i couldnt find a highway number sign fast enough

This is a sample resume that I made. I copy pasted my details from original resume. I am a journalism student looking for job opportunities in the field of social media management, content creator,anchor, reporter and writer.

Record temperatures, record migration, record emissions, record displacement, record PFAS……start building an ark.
Last Week in Collapse: May 12-18, 2024
This is Last Week in Collapse, a weekly newsletter compiling some of the most important, timely, useful, soul-crushing, ironic, stunning, exhausting, or otherwise must-see/can’t-look-away moments in Collapse.
This is the 125th newsletter! You can find the May 5-11 edition here if you missed it last week. You can also receive these posts (with images) every Sunday in your email inbox with Substack.
——————————
Flash flooding in northern Afghanistan killed 300+ people and destroyed 1,000+ homes. Hundreds of thousands of others have been affected. Last month, similar floods in the region killed 70+. Four died in Texas storms last week as well.
Venezuela is suffering from record wildfires, which so far this year have burned about 5M acres—almost the size of Sardinia. Some experts think indigenous people started the blaze as an attempt at forest clearance, which quickly got out of hand. “Institutional failures” compounded the disaster when the ailing government responded with an inadequate number of poorly equipped firefighters. Another study from last week examined the impact of wildfires on soil health.
Flooding and “cold lava” killed 50+ in Indonesia, injuring dozens and displacing several thousand. Cold lava is a mixture of water and rocks tumbling down the side of a volcano. Meanwhile, an actual volcano erupted in Indonesia, sending smoke & ash 5000m high; further eruptions are possible soon.
The Swiss Re Institute published a 37-page report last week about natural disasters in 2023—and how much damage, in USD, they caused. The largest catastrophe was the February 7.8 earthquake in Türkiye & Syria, which killed 59,000+ people and caused $163B+ in damage. The report is full of interesting graphics & data about natural disasters.

“Last year, economic losses from natural catastrophes reached USD 280 billion, meaning that 62% of the global losses were uninsured….the insured losses surpassed USD 100 billion for the fourth consecutive year….annual insured losses will grow by 5–7% over the long term…today’s insured losses could double in 10 years….There were 142 insured-loss inducing catastrophes in 2023, a new record. Most were of medium severity, which we define as events resulting in losses of USD 1–5 billion….Over the last 30 years, we estimate that natural catastrophe insured losses have grown by 3 percentage points more annually than the global economy (in inflation adjusted terms)...”

Flooding and heat waves are impacting Brazil’s oranges, responsible for about 70% of the world’s supply. One food analysts declared that the “era of cheap food is over”—in the UK, at least. That may be one reason why UK residents took record food bank packages last year. Madagascar is struggling to adapt to a future with far less rainfall.
France is growing more concerned about a dam on Lake Geneva, controlled exclusively by Switzerland. The Rhône River, which begins in Switzerland and flows south through France, is shrinking in summers as climate change melts Switzerland’s remaining glaciers.
The Tonlé San River has been dammed in Vietnam, lowering the level in Cambodia and sometimes drying the river downstream entirely. Meanwhile, China’s lychee harvest is getting blasted by rain, impacting the world’s largest source of lychee. And, once again, Saudi Arabia is suffering flooding in its inland regions. 7 dead in historic flooding in Iran.
The eminent climate scientist James Hansen posted that, since “human-made aerosols and their cooling effect are in decline,” the cooling effect of La Niña will be counterbalanced by these rising temperatures. He also identifies a “large anomaly of increased absorbed solar radiation at midlatitudes in the Northern Hemisphere” responsible for rising temperatures there. CO2 levels are rising faster today than they have at any point in the previous 50,000 years…and a study of millennia-old trees determined last summer was the hottest worldwide in 2,000+ years…
Record nighttime May temperatures were tied in the Philippines and Vietnam. A couple Indonesian cities broke records for May temperatures. And a number of southern African states saw more records drop. And Toronto saw a record tied for the number of days reaching 14 °C (57 °F). A heat wave has returned to Bangladesh. Flooding in Cali (pop: 2.9M), Colombia.
The University of Washington was ordered to stop a geoengineering project that scientists sere conducting from the deck of a decommissioned aircraft carrier. The experiment ejected aerosolized saltwater in an attempt to reflect solar radiation. A comparative study in Nature Communications of a number of carbon pricing found that, yes, carbon pricing does work to reduce the total CO2 emitted.
It’s that time of the year again. Wildfires in Canada grow, some of which are moving towards the tar sands—forcing thousands to evacuate. 39 of the total nation’s blazes are “out of control,” resulting in air quality alerts in the United States. Meanwhile, across the Caribbean, water shortages have become the new normal, and residents (and tourists) are finding their old consumption habits hard to change. St. Lucia has declared a water emergency. In Myanmar, water shortages worsen, particularly as related to the spiraling conflict.
At least ⅛ of Europeans live in a place at risk of extreme flooding—so says a 175-page report from the European Environment Agency posted on Wednesday. The number of people living in flood-risk coastal areas in the EU & UK is expected to jump 24% by 2050. The graphics-packed report also considers how flooding will impact healthcare facilities, mental health, wastewater treatment plants, the spread of disease, cyanobacteria, permafrost thaw, and much else.

“Europe has seen devastating floods following record rainfall, droughts of magnitudes not experienced in hundreds of years, continuing sea level rise, and increasing lake and sea temperatures….permanent water stress already affects 30% of people in southern Europe….since 2018, more than half of Europe has been impacted by extreme drought conditions….Climate change is expected to increase mercury bioaccumulation in the marine food chain due to rising ocean temperatures, ocean acidification and permafrost thawing….Depression, anxiety and PTSD may persist for years after a flooding event….Under the changing climate, northern Europe is becoming wetter in general, but drier in summer. Southern Europe is becoming drier, especially in winter. For central-eastern and western Europe, the trend is less clear…” -selections from the report

Milan suffered flooding last week, the worst May flooding in 170 years. Early spring in the UK has disrupted migratory bird species and their usual patterns.
A 74-page working paper which is not yet peer-reviewed claims that earlier estimates for how much GDP would be impacted by another 1 °C temperature rise is way less than it would be in actuality. The paper claims the real cost (in USD) is about 6x greater. They claim “global temperature has much more pronounced impacts on economic activity than local temperature” and that extreme weather is mostly behind the projected decline in productivity.
——————————
Epidemiologists are worried about how climate change in Africa may extend the life of disease-bearers like ticks and mosquitoes. Other epidemiologists are worried about how cattle may become a permanent reservoir for H5N1. Growing traced of bird flu have been found in wastewater testing in the U.S., but investigators think it may be runoff from infected dairy farms.
Obesity, high blood sugar, and high blood pressure rates today globally are 50% higher than in 2000—though researchers claim that air pollution still poses a larger threat. Of a study participants in Hawai’i, 75% had respiratory issues, probably from the Maui wildfires last year.
The 2024 World Migration Report is out, and its 384 pages are not as apocalyptic as one might think. However, internally displaced people are at their all-time highest. India, Mexico, Russia, China, and Syria lead the world in emigrants; another document contains the definitions for who exactly constitutes a migrant. Unfortunately much of the data relied upon ends in 2022. Data from this year, not included in the above report, indicates a 40% jump in traffic through the Darien Gap compared to the same time period in 2023.

“The last two years saw major migration and displacement events that have caused great hardship and trauma, as well as loss of life….There have also been large-scale displacements triggered by climate- and weather-related disasters in many parts of the world in 2022 and 2023, including in Pakistan, the Philippines, China, India, Bangladesh, Brazil and Colombia….disinformation tactics are increasingly being used by nefarious actors with negative impacts on public, political and social media discourse on migration….Forced displacement is the highest on record in the modern era…overconsumption and overproduction linked to unsustainable economic growth, resource depletion and biodiversity collapse, as well as ongoing climate change (including global heating) are continuing to grip the world….the risk of further conflict has not been higher in decades, as military spending reached a new record high of USD 2,240 billion in 2022…” -excerpts from the introduction

Another report, focusing on internal displacement, came out last week; its 69 pages show a cross-section of about 47M people displaced by natural disasters (56%) or armed conflict (44%). Most of the disasters were storms & flooding, and most of the conflicts were civil wars of some form. This report also provides detailed region-by-region analyses—with sub-Saharan Africa accounting for 46% of global IDPs.

“Conflict and violence triggered 13.5 million movements, the highest figure for the past 15 years….Disasters and conflict are presented as different triggers, but their impacts can overlap, often leading to repeated and/ or protracted displacement….Drought triggered 331,000 displacements in Somalia….Floods triggered 550,000 displacements in Ethiopia….Conflict and violence triggered 3.8 million displacements in DRC in 2023, a slight fall from the record four million in 2022, but still the second-highest figure globally after Sudan….nearly two-thirds of the internal displacements recorded in 2023 originated from Khartoum state. More than 39 per cent of the state's inhabitants were forced to flee, leaving entire neighbourhoods empty….Criminal and communal violence triggered nearly three-quarters of Nigeria's 291,000 conflict displacements….” -selections from the spotlight on sub-Saharan Africa

Experts are concerned about the mental health impacts that climate change has on our minds. Hotter temperatures reportedly increase depression & aggression. Wildfires and storms can cause PTSD. Workers feel stress and desperation as their usual industries are impacted. And air pollution influences ordinary brain processes in many ways.
Some analysts believe “Peak China” may be over, signaling a period of economic tapering-off, as well as a growing militancy. Increasing U.S. tariffs on Chinese goods are continuing to separate the two economies. The Netherlands finally formed a provisional government, though its proposed immigration & farming policies have set it at odds with the EU.
The Federal Reserve, the U.S. central bank, released a 46-page report on potential climate risks to the banking system’s resilience. As far as I understood, most of the risk lies in extreme weather events and the risk to insurance agencies.
Part of southeast England experienced an outbreak of Cryptosporidium, a diarrhea & vomiting illness, highly contagious, which can last weeks. At least 22 cases have been reported. Meanwhile, the CDC is issuing warnings about the more dangerous strain of monkeypox circulating in the DRC, although cases are currently limited to Africa.
North Carolina’s Senate voted to ban mask-wearing last week, under the reasoning that it would make police identification of protestors difficult. An fMRI study found lasting neurological changes in COVID survivors; they “had significantly higher cognitive complaints of mental fatigue and cognitive failure….even two years after recovering.” Experts say a summer rise in COVID cases is coming to the United States.
A study on The Canadian/American Great Lakes found that PFAS levels are increasing in the 3 largest lakes (Superior, Huron, and Michigan), while decreasing in the other two (Erie, Ontario). The study also found that precipitation is the primary means by which the Lakes are accumulating PFAS, since the chemicals are small & stable enough to move through the water cycle. Meanwhile, in England’s Lake District, a telecom failure resulted in raw sewage being pumped into England’s largest and most famous lake, Windermere, on-and-off for 10 hours; and a major British water CEO took a $4M USD pay package last year. And a look into the Chicago River’s health found that microplastics & trash are endangering health & biodiversity.
——————————
An assassination attempt by a lone wolf on Slovakia’s PM left him in critical condition, but likely to survive. 11 civilians were slain by cartel fighters in a few battles in Mexico. Violence continues to spiral out of control in Goma, DRC.
In Haiti, everything worsens indefinitely. Guns have reportedly entered from Florida, a phenomenon which officials call an “iron river.” Police have been put on the defensive against the growing might of the gang warlords.
A brawl broke out in Taiwan’s parliament. An Iranian plot was allegedly foiled to smuggle weapons into Jordan to destabilize the pro-U.S. regime.
Dozens more died in Sudan from escalating violence around Darfur. People are warning about “a disaster on top of a disaster” and the possibility of Sudan splitting apart. Others have called it “hell on earth” as 1,000+ refugees cross the Chad border every day. Disease and malnutrition are growing, while famine encroaches upon 9M helpless victims of the conflict—but the world’s attention is elsewhere.
The U.S. Army Engineers completed constructing the pier in Gaza to deliver humanitarian aid. Some 600,000 Gazans have been displaced from Rafah already, and fighting has escalated against Hamas militants in northern Gaza.
Taliban forces skirmished with Pakistani soldiers for about 90 minutes last week. Taliban attacks in Pakistan, and counterattacks have resulted in a kind of ambient disruption for the rocky border zone.
Violent protests—and counteroperations—are continuing in New Caledonia (pop: 270,000), a Pacific island part of overseas France. The riots, which have killed 6 people so far, began after metropolitan France proposed a plan to expand voting rights beyond indigenous residents. A state of emergency has been declared amid worries about a spiral of violence taking hold.
As the Sahel dries out, experts are concerned about the links to rising terrorism in the region. The Sahel accounts for over 40% of global terrorism deaths—according to the analysts’ understanding of “terrorism.” Mali in particular has reportedly become home to 41 new, different non-state armed groups (NSAGs) since 2007. A contested election in Chad resulted in the consolidation of the interim leader’s power.

“If governments are continually unable to solve regional issues, the people will be at the whim of any terror group that has a basic organization. It serves these groups’ interests to promote insecurity where they can and create security where they want. A “hearts and minds” campaign in the Sahel could lead to long-term and locally supported insurgencies in a land that is currently rife with civil strife.” -from the article

Some wargamers concluded that a Trump victory in 2020 would spell the end of NATO, or at least the end of its utility. Vladimir Putin replaced his minister of defense with a top economic advisor, just before going to Beijing to reaffirm their friendship with “no limits.” Some say Putin is planning on a forever war. Some say NATO is gearing up for one, too.
Russia made several gains in the suburbs of Kharkiv, seizing several settlements which some analysts doubt they will hold. Putin claims they aren’t really trying to take Kharkiv anyway… Russia also made small progress in the Donbas—although they suffered their largest one-day casualties since the start of the war. The U.S. allocated another $2B to hasten the delivery of weapons to the front lines. The next weeks will be crucial on the front. Switzerland has invited 160+ nations to send delegates to a peace summit intended to design a path to making peace in this War.
——————————
Select comments/threads from the subreddit last week suggest:
-Brazil’s flooding was really, really bad, judging from this post and its accompanying images. Across just one of Brazil’s 26 states, 600,000+ people have been made homeless, 100+ have died, and the storm season isn’t over yet. Some of the flooding isn’t expected to subside for another month.
-How specifically might climate change make humanity extinct? This thread crowdsources a number of plausible ways, from ordinary famines to nuclear war and even a massive deoxygenation process. I tend to think it will be a consequence of an eventual nuclear exchange, followed by extended famine and disease.
Got any feedback, questions, comments, complaints, upvotes, doom prophets to follow, hugelkultur guides, directions to off-grid bunkers, ark schematics, etc.? Check out the Last Week in Collapse SubStack if you don’t want to check collapse every Sunday, you can receive this newsletter sent to your (or someone else’s) email inbox every weekend. What did I forget this week?

Ik heb altijd uhm, een bepaalde gereserveerdheid gekend niet wetende wat de sociale norm is of wellicht beter geformuleerd, ik, in persoonlijke omstandigheden vind het vaak moeilijk in een groep aangezien ik uhm, in één op één situatieschetsen me beter kan toeleggen of de aandacht vestigen richting één persoon, een totaal genuanceerd beeld probeer te bewerkstelligen vooraleer eens ik een besluit zou nemen er een wereldreis mee te kunnen maken. Want iemand waar je zo'n reis mee maakt daar wil je je leven voor wagen en wil je op kunnen bouwen. Daar kunnen inspringen waar diegene iets nodig heeft ongeacht of je het er mee eens bent of niet. Andersom is het ook prettig als je iemand kent waar je ongeacht, een mening, 24/24 bij aan mag kloppen. Waar je ongevraagd op de bank kunt gaan liggen en in slaap mag vallen al ben je net binnengekomen. Fred is wat dat betreft een briljant, een gentleman bovendien. Én, zoals ik met hem besprak, ook een Autist. Vandaar waarschijnlijk ook, het momentum dat ik hem voor het eerst zag. Ergens in 2005. Ik ging naar mijn werk en nog voordat ik kantoor binnenstapte zag ik door het raam een meneer staan met grijze haren, een beetje verfromfraaid, een niet al te duur zwart kostuum zoals dat in de taxiwereld wel gewoontjes is, een rood brilletje. Ik moest direct denken aan het fenomeen van een verstrooide professor zoals je ze in de films wel eens tegen bent gekomen of zoals ze op televisie of op YouTube te vinden zijn bij een programma als De universiteit van Nederland. Een programma die hij een ik altijd interessant vinden omdat, niet alleen om de kennis die gebracht wordt maar waarschijnlijk ook een beetje van de bevlogenheid die ermee gepaard gaat. De andere gedachte die destijds volgde op die eerste waarneming toen ik Fred zag staan was: dat word mijn vriend en zo werd hij een eerste vriendschap die ik over heb gehouden aan mijn lange schoolcarrière en versnipperde werk c.v. We hebben het er regelmatig over gehad en ook hij herkend wel iets in de argumentatie van er ook één zijn.
De andere reden dat ik niet zo gedei in te drukke groepen. Ik ben niet zo heel snel en soms moet ik me ook erg inspannen om te horen wat iemand zegt, begrijp ik het nu goed? In call center achtige omgeving in het diepe staren me af te sluiten van het geroezemoes de klant willen schatten op waarde liefst dan ook drie hoog bij een raam te staan naast de rustgevende bomen ernaast vredig en ongedurig erin te kunnen turen. In eerste instantie de duurbetaalde ergonomische tafels in hoogte te kunnen verstrekken de rug te ontlasten mij werd het verboden kwam van hogerhand, mijn argumenten de tafels te bekrachtigen waarvoor ze waren ontworpen ingetogen omvergeworpen. In gods naam wat was de achterliggende gedachte? Een assessment of verkeerde zuinigheid? Zoals ik eerder al had geschreven ben ik gaandeweg wel te bespeuren ervoor geboren in het kistje van kristal de ogen dichtgeplakt met dientengevolge mijn hele leven een volgorde te begrijpen in achterstand.
Ik liep dankzij de vroeggeboorte altijd broos achter het spel aan, letterlijk niet van voren. Zoveel indrukken met een dynamiek die er altijd aanwezig is. Vaak speelt op de achtergrond ook nog het één en ander gegeven mee waarvan ik zo mijn vermoedens tezamen met mijn zijn heel erg kenmerkend een teruggetrokken observerende ergonomische midwinter overleven beweging in gang zet. Vertrouwen winnen bij jezelf de juiste determinatie te kunnen maken door het uitsluiten van de verkeerde beheerder waar je die wereldreis in een houten bootje niet mee zou kunnen wagen.
Op de LOM school hadden we een voetbalwedstrijd als afscheidsfeest activiteit tegen de leraren. Ik kan me nog herinneren dat, zoals dat bij ongetrainde omstandigheden plaatsvindt, chaos om bal. Ik stond rechtshalf en terwijl echt alles en iedereen zich in een agglomeratie om de val heen bevond stond ik letterlijk aan de rechterkant van het veld rond de middenlijn. Volgens mij was het Bert Bovens die buiten het veld stond en tegen mij zei: ga mee doen wijzend op de schootsvelden in de loopgraven droge grachten kazematten met zienderogen een slagveld rond het doelgebied in schenen schop termen gesproken . Mijn reactie was dat ik rechtshalf stond. Dit specifieke voorbeeld is eigenlijk wel kenmerkend voor degeen die ik ben.
Alleen in een kistje liggen, zijn, wachten op een volgende voedingskanaal moment. Liggen zonder de ogen de kost te kunnen geven richting horende deur klapperende stijlen, op betere tijden in het ongewisse berusten op wat onaangeroerd wellicht nooit komen gaat, maar wist ik toen veel beter? Mals als een gewond dier dat rust, angstig is, doch ook de hoop heeft die elk leven kenmerkt je zuurstof niet de adem een mogelijkheid kan geven tot ingehouden dood veinzen.
Doodgaan is een uniek fenomeen, onnatuurlijk genomen, zoals ik er tegenaan kijk, het overkomt je maar één keer. Je wordt maar éénmaal geboren echter met dien verstande dat elke seconde die voor je ligt mogelijkerwijs kan betekenen, een mooie nieuwe toekomst in het verschiet, een nieuwe kans het beter te willen doen of de traumatische ervaringen overzichtelijk bovengehaald, de copingstrategieën uitgevlakt en omgebogen naar gezindte toepassingen. Of je daarmee het stukje autisme aangemerkt weg kunt sturen betwijfel ik ten zeerste. Ik kan de overlevingsstrategie nuanceren een diskwalificatie meegeven als niet werkend in de meeste gevallen waarbij de maatschappij van jou verwacht dat huisje boompje, boh, beestje, een eenzame onaangename plechtigheid.
Een zijstraat ingelopen komt men bij een doodlopende weg die zegt: Dood ga je eigenlijk nooit althans de meesten van ons. Tenzij je met de defibrillator terug wordt gehaald. Die zijn ergens wel dood geweest. Hen die weten dat ze doodgaan ongeveer 99,99 procent van de bevolking, weten wel dat ze doodgaan maar zijn in de meeste gevallen nog nooit dood geweest. De 0,01 procent overigen hebben waarschijnlijk geen zicht op een eigen zijn besef dus of voor hen doodgaan bestaat? Dan de rest, het gros, het merendeel gaat maar één keer dood. Maar voordat ze doodgaan leven ze nog dus is de dood er nooit ingetreden op bezoek geweest. Eenmaal die laatste adem uitgeblazen weet men niet meer dat men niet meer leeft en is doodgaan aan hen voorbij gegaan want dat kunnen ze niet meer navertellen. Dus zou daar doodgaan niet bestaan. Zie daar een beetje onbeholpen misschien maar doodgaan is absoluut een absurdistisch en onnatuurlijk fenomeen. Terwijl leven ligt in elke seconde ademloos uitgeblazen gestrekt de warme adem hees kunnen voelen het leven in elke seconde meegegeven. Blaas maar tegen de palm van je hand! Voel je dat je leeft?
De specifieke kenmerken waardoor ik gedij in bepaalde rollen en daarbij horende taken en verwachtingspatronen of andere modules van onafgewerkte dictaten bevragen overzicht geven voor de klas te staan een prettig gegeven. Want aldaar wist ik het zo te regelen omdat ik precies wist wat ik nodig had, gaandeweg het eerste half jaar overleefd de review bekeken en toegegeven het volgende docenten jaar in kaart gebracht het consequent kon beargumenteren naar de leerlingen, zo en zo wil ik het hebben samen met jullie te werken ervoor te zorgen dat jullie voldoende kunnen schitteren in de overgang naar het volgende jaar. Het grote verschil met zelf in de klas zitten was dat ik mijn klasgenoten op het mbo en HBO niet kon beïnvloeden stil te zijn mijn aandacht nodig had naar de directe lijn die ik nodig heb, zonder interferentie, met degene die iets vertelt. Op de LTS en LOM school was er in de regel geen stoorzender aangezien daar de docenten ook heel consequent waren in hun benadering, ervoor zorgden dat het stil was een chaos voorkomende. Iets waar mbo en HBO docenten de studenten wat meer laten vieren de discussies een levendiger kleurenpalet mee voerende. Voor de klas geen last van die ene collega waardoor ik erg kon zakken in stress en dientengevolge slapeloze nachten ervaarde. Kinderen, pubers in het bijzonder, zijn mijn specialisme. Door de eigenheid van mijn zijn aldaar de breedste opname kon bewerkstelligen als het een rustige omgeving betrof. Kenmerkend is de anekdote op de mbo waarbij ik een volledige module subliem had gekozen om niet naar de twee uur durende les te gaan, de rest van de dag vrij. Efficiënter was dat semester ervoor te kiezen die dag te slippen te onderstrepen met werken mijn schooljaar een beetje op te kunnen fleuren wat geld binnen te harken. Meestal door bij de Ridder brouwerij de flessen te dirigeren voorlangs de lichtbak te laten passeren de bekende knaller te behoeden voor scheve ogen als die uit elkaar knalde tijdens het afvuren van de Wieckse Witte. Op het einde van de dag gebeurde dat dan wel een paar keer niet onverwachts 's nachts drinkende in mijn dromen van één van de weinige lekkere biersoorten die ik ken ipv ze voor mijn ogen te zien kansrekenen een gemist papiertje in het flesje op de transportband verloren ze 2 meter verder te horen springen mij wakker te laten schrikken. Het was dat semester dat ik het beste resultaat haalde. Tot ongenoegen van de docente die dacht dat ik daar niet meer op school zat. En zo ken ik er nog wel een paar opnemen waarbij het overeenkomstige is de rust die ik nodig heb zonder afleiding me ook weer kan beoordelen er graag innig mee verbonden zijn. De klok rondom een onderwerp belopen er in te zitten vast te willen houden. De dag en nachtopvang kan openen met twee woorden starten om drie uur 's nachts de klok rond geschreven het mij geen moment kan schelen dat het dan dat ambacht is die ik de aandacht schenk erbij kan denken wat een pracht de pijn verzacht niet mee te kunnen doen in een energie slurpende onderkende oorzakelijk verbanddoos waarbij onderweg het nietige argumentatieve gerief van een Indiase feestavond de federale politie al defragmenteren de derdegraads kasten mens per definitie als schuldige ziet. Iets wat in onder andere de westerse wereld ook gebeurt. De onduidelijke informele structuren stichten geld verdienende modellen ten koste van de belasting betalende putjesscheppers. Iets wat makkelijk te zien is op een callcenter vloer. Maar ook in het ambtelijke apparaat met doorgeschoven gelden of tunnelvisie rand wegen zorg gelden wel erg makkelijk overgeheveld. Werkprotocollen die onaangeroerd een blogger neer laten vallen. Dood is de influencer die de verantwoordelijkheid niet kende hoe zijn brein zou reageren uitgeschakeld te worden door opgenomen stoffen die voor het eerst in zijn lichaam zorgden voor monologen op straat hem met de juiste methodiek geschapen op onderzoek gebaseerde voorschriften die jongen onder controle was gekregen met een powernet of rubberen kogels afgevuurd het gevaar te laten passeren de onjuiste informatie niet te verpachten aan de slagvaardig te boven gekomen gunning. Kort gezegd het zijn vaak niet de juiste besluiten die worden genomen. Geboren in een sociale stratificatie laag zul je geen kans maken met de koningin te trouwen. Of je moet dan toevallig weer in Thailand verkeren.
Als iets maar één keer in je leven voorkomt waar je in de regel niet eens voor kiest dan kan men niet spreken over "natuurlijk" gedrag vandaar dat ik zeg: doodgaan daar kunnen we ons vooralsnog niet van distantiëren,nog nooit meegemaakt en of het dan bestaat is maar zeer de vraag reist richting eeuwig leven.
Zo overdacht zou ik het liefst willen leven tot in oneindigheid met elke dag iets van leren, iets willen geven aan hen die het weten te appreciëren. Lezen, luisteren, kijken, kennis vergaren, vergaderen in eigendom daar boven in die kamer de stofjes haar werk laten dienen. Soms een beetje opgevoerd, mijn op science gebaseerde blikken kunnen bedenken. Met de dromen van Star Wars achtige fratsen, far beyond imagination, leven kunnen we maken en dus ook een eeuwigheid meegeven. Als o.a. Google zegt dat de verwachting is dat we met de quantum computer techniek die aan de deur staat te kloppen er ergens in de jaren veertig die voor ons ligt in deze eeuw een volledig brein kunnen downloaden inclusief, alles! Dan kunnen we wachten op het moment dat we dit ook weer kunnen uploaden in een nieuw hoofdstuk toegevoegde waarde leveren aan de mens 2.0 wellicht in een bionische opstelling. De mens is voortdurend in ontwikkeling wanneer de tijd ons de kans verschaft die babystapjes te maken, al blijvende kunnen laten beklijven. Honderd, duizend, of om het even zovele jaar geleden waren wij niet die mens die we tegenwoordig zijn. De filosofische benaderingswijze meegegeven het E.V.R.M. niet weggelegd zij wellicht geen rekening hielden met een mens 2.0 in bionische vorm die wel eens van ondergeschikt belang op een rode lijst geplaatst zou kunnen worden omdat artificiële intelligentie gefokt ervoor kiest dat het gekissebis van die soort oorspronkelijk ervoor geboren te hoppen naar andere planeten het leven te brengen maar de spuigaten niet kan beheersen zichzelf de kans ontneemt elders een aarde 2.0 te bevolken en dus een oplossing bedenkt de mens te decimeren tot hanteerbare begrippen door ze bijvoorbeeld stiekem te steriliseren is niet dood gemaakt en voldoen daarmee aan laten leven zoals beschreven in het EVRM. Appeltje eitje toch? De mens verzaakt zijn eigen gesofisticeerde gedrag te omzeilen te hoogdravende als een zichzelf op de borst spellende goddelijke macht. Artificiële intelligentie dat hadden we niet verdacht verwacht verdraaid nog aan toe. Damn foutje bedankt. Dood aan de mens! Lang leve de biodiversiteit! Van harte gefeliciteerd Moeder Aarde! Een waar jongensverhaal waar Darwins evolutie ging aan de haal de toppredator verslagen! De arrogantie een exclusief homo sapiens vocabulair prachtig woord om zeep geholpen. Over je eigen graf gelegd…
Ik moest me met opvallende observaties door hen, de ander, al op vroege leeftijd zelf bedruipen. Dat zou de vraag op kunnen roepen of het een copingstrategie is geweest omdat moeder stress had maar als het haar en anderen opviel dat ik me al op jonge leeftijd, 2-3 jaar, uren zelf bezig kon houden op een kamertje alleen zonder aandachtspunten bijgevallen listig te bevragen hoe andere kinderen van die leeftijd dat wel huilerig al doen leren en krijgen. Moeder viel het ook op dat ze mij niet de fles/borstvoeding kon geven als ze naar me keek, één van de kenmerken in het autisme spectrum. De charmeur wonderen zijn niet aan mij besteed. Ze heeft me hoe moeders dat doen wel vaker dan eens die verhalen vertelt van observaties die anders waren, opvielen door vergelijking met de anderen. In het boek van "ikke" staat beschreven dat ik werd geboren op 06 december 1974 er geel tevoorschijn kwam en derhalve tot 14 februari verbleef beleefd zonder gaten of fratsen de ogen dicht onder een eveneens gele ((((Lannoo groep uitgeverij Tielt Zoekt)))) lamp. 14 februari was toen nog geen Valentijnsdag. En of ik een liefdesbaby was geef ik om mij moverende redenen geen antwoord op, als het mag.
Ik ben in de eerste klas van de LTS 14 jaar geworden. Op dat traject liep ik ook achter de klasgenoten aan. Zo was dat ook met de voetbal, in een rondo zie je de kwieke jongens naar de bal toe bewegingen maken terwijl ik zeker die eerste 4 jaar dat ik in teamverband speelde een van de bal weg beweging makende. Me distantiëren van het spel haar kern omdat dat "pas op de plaats maken" een oorzaak kende die zich over verschillende lijnen in mijn leven lieten zien. Op velerlei gebieden. Dat ik niet zo heel snel ben komt ook in de grapjes terug die ik vaak niet begrijp of er de humor niet van inzie. Als iemand een grapje vertelt in een groep dan weet ik me meer dan eens even geen houding te geven het te rationaliseren proberen te begrijpen. De modussen waarover ik vaker heb gesproken is een veilige toestand waarbij het woord veilig wellicht een betere omstandigheid meekrijgt het te omschrijven als een situatie in te schatten overziene chaos. Duidelijkheid is ook niet helemaal tot de kern gerekend omdat duidelijkheid niet ligt in klein of groot doch in te verwisselen omstandigheden die in een te overziene situatie alle ruimte geeft om door te kunnen vragen zonder de groep op te houden in een gesprek bijvoorbeeld met meerdere mensen gaat er zoveel heen en weer dat ik het niet gehandelt krijg. Discussies op school waren mij altijd te dynamisch en daar stond ik dan tussen mensen met een havo vwo atheneum achtergrond langzaam te wezen de zeurpieten kaart geobserveerd bemachtigd. Het bijzondere is dat de kinderen/mensen die ik gedurende mijn leven tegenkwam met een A.S.S. ik me daarbij ingegeven meer dan eens kon vereenzelvigen met hen toen nog niet wist dat ik er ook een zou zijn. Althans in mijn voorzichtige veronderstelling uiteengezette these. En ik ben niet de enige die nog van een era stamt waarbij autisme eerder werd weggeschreven als de stille kinderen die langzaam waren of enigszins houterig in fysieke bewegingen aandeden kijken. Maar eenmaal vertrouwd in lichaam en mentaal gesterkt door de opgedane kennis in kleine bij elkaar gesprokkelde succeservarinkjes vlogen de tienen me om de oren zowel figuurlijk in het schrift als letterlijk door de lucht gevlogen.
Op de lTS was ik geen zonderling maar ik had ook niet echt één groepje waar ik bij stond of bij hoorde. Ik liep overal tussendoor had met niemand problemen en doordat ik me ook niet profileerde als een stoere jongen iets te prediken dat ik niet was of wilde zijn zag men mij ook niet als een gevaar denk ik. Vorige week zei ik nog tegen een arts dat zolang je stapjes maakt, ook in mijn stuk van van bogaert begeleiding heb ik dat babystapjes genoemd, zolang je die kunt maken is er voortgang en kun je niet spreken van een klassieke verslaving. Het uitlaatsysteem met haar raffinaderij is ook niet op een ingenieur bedachte wetenschappelijke manier tot stand gekomen. Daar zat zeker een idee achter de motor haar uitstoot. Het is pas in de laatste vier decennia dat er een katalysator bij is gekomen terwijl de doorontwikkeling van de motor en de kijk, de filosofie aangereikt door andere wetenschappelijke inzichten en dus een "cultuuromslag plaats heeft gevonden en men dus richting een Dyson Ball achtige structuur wil gaan ontwikkelen en beseft dat men de warmte van een uitlaatsysteem kan hergebruiken om de hybride motor te voorzien van efficiënte systemen.
De autist zit vol met vragen of denkbeelden die samen voort zijn gekomen uit angst of ongerief, niet weten hoe de signalen te interpreteren moeten zijn of soms omdat men juist een letterlijk andere plek inneemt daardoor juist een andere kijk heeft kunnen ontwikkelen. Als ik naar hen kijk dan zie ik dat ook bij mezelf terug. Externaliserend en internaliserend zijn daarbij treffende kenmerken in het uitsluiten van. Het uit kunnen sluiten dat men naar binnen keert zichzelf af te vragen wat de andere weg een onfaire benadering teweegbrengt aangezien, heel simpel, je kunt niet voor iemand anders denken en of iemand anders verantwoordelijk houden voor iemands verkeerde denkwijze. Echter als je bewust gaat traineren om iemand te frustreren dan ben je gewoon een beetje omslachtig. Je kunt zoals de geschiedenis leert een hele generatie de dood en verdoemenis mee in trekken met verkeerd geïnterpreteerde visies oftewel een Dunning-Kruger houding denken slim te zijn niet beseffen dat als de ander zo zou denken ze jouw de kop zouden kunnen oogsten.
Daar ben ik niet van gediend. Iemand de afgrond heen wijzen omdat het Juulke betrof of de vrouw die in de Grote Staat met haar vinger bekkens dag in dag uit stond of zat de mensen aan te kijken met een gerinkel dat geluid voortbracht de toehoorders het kaft van de koren deed doen scheiden. Want je hebt mensen die erover praten zich geen houding weten te geven of mensen die er gewoon een gesprek mee aangingen. Juulke Sprak met zijn ogen en zijn gehele gelaat en zo kon je met iemand die voor anderen afwezig lijkt te zijn zich geen houding weten te geven of zelfs een driewieler afpakken en vernielen zich een held denken te vinden. Joris Linssen had Juulke overigens in de Taxi en op Maasveld was Juulke ook een warme persoonlijkheid op zichzelf staande. Een ware Held in mijn boekdelen sprekende gelaat hem een knipoog naar boven gericht heengezonden nog altijd een levende herinnering! Juulke een echte Maat!
Mensen op voorhand in het voorbijgaan, of zoals de "buurman" in waar was het, Heythuysen (?) die zijn buren tot waanzin draaide door constant iets te bedenken. Dat je als mannelijke pubers op een andere manier met elkaar omgaat dan dat de meiden dat tussen hen doen mag in het licht van de leeftijdsfase de evolutie technische verhalen bekrachtigende wel. Maar als volwassen mensen dit gedrag gaan vertonen… Seksespecifieke hulpverlening is wel degelijk een factor die men niet kan uitvlakken in sociale structuren. Op de basisschool met een 80 procent aan vrouwelijke docenten die in de regel de jongens de jongens niet laten zijn is wel degelijk van invloed op de remming en of het frustreren van een ontwikkelingsfase. Wil niet zeggen dat je dan maar alles dient te accepteren maar bewustwording en context is vaak breder dan het monetaire dagelijks wezen. Je kunt eenzaam zijn in een groep terwijl je je de hemel te rijk kan voelen in een isolement. Mijn modus operandi receptuur uit de laatjes getrokken worden verfijnder naarmate het uur U naderende is. Inzichtelijk en klaring geven aan mijn eigen zijn op 46 jarige leeftijd een ongelooflijk bizar etablissement, nu nog zien te weten te komen hoe ik aan tafel kan nuttigen.
Ik weet nog steeds niet welk scenario er duiding durft te geven aan interferentie ruimtelijke inzichten en waar die gestart zijn en of door wie doch de ogenschijnlijke bedrieglijk heden ten dagen ingegeven signalen met een massaliteit in de diversheid bedacht. Als zelfs de memorie kaarten haar foto's zijn aangepast. Waar is het ooit begonnen heen te gaan.
Ik weet het niet scenario's die een altijd nieuwe vraag oproepende in de klassieke uitleg momenten. Ik was altijd degene die die die laatste vraag had soms tot ergernissen toe van de anderen hun gelach. Echter als de hele groep naar links wil, wil dat nog niet zeggen dat rechts efficiënter is bedacht, de erkenning te krijgen zich te conformeren aan het groter gehaald massaslachtingen vertaald gelach. Ik ben blij dat ik in mijn traject wat structuur ga krijgen mijn grote valkuil kan samenwerken doen gaan samenwerken weer wat rust te krijgen me veilig durf te voelen mezelf te exposerende durf te laten zien. Ook weer wat verbindingen durf te bevaren. Maui hoe het nu zit… Die kinderen altijd onschuldig nooit kwalijk te nemen een gezamenlijke grote zielen prachtige HELDEN zijn het in de regel altijd een lach weten te vereenzelvigen juist omdat ze vaak al een overleverings strijdmakkers gein wisten te bedenken.
Kinderen aan de macht is dat niet een liedje van Herbert ook zo'n ziener aan de kant wist bij te bezingen woord en verhaal een visuele universele taal. Daarom vind ik zo'n Jort Kelder, Henk Westbroek, Midas Dekkers de Boudewijn Büchs, Benoit Wesly of Prem Radhakishun zo'n prettige mensen om te horen. Niet in de massa grootgebracht hun eigen levensweg engelen vluchtig zonder verfijnde massaliteit gedachten een andere mening ongezouten gepeperd kunnen presenteren de een met geraffineerde suiker zoetigheden humor de ander met de botte bijl de verkeerde argumentatie van de ander omver gehakt beide zijden ballen doen mij wel laten glunderen of schaterlachen.
Geboren worden in verschillende werelden eens daar gearriveerd een plaatsje moeten willen geven is een popie jopie Chriet Titulaer wondere wereld je aldaar staande te kunnen houden als het niet al eerder is gecapituleerd mag je in Jr's handjes wrijven.
We zullen zien ... Martin Keerssemeeckers exposedFaggotCumBucket

So as of recent game updates and into the light content, I have been looking at it with curiosity as it's featured quite often and all we've had of it was concept arts and attacks. So I cannot help but want to share my view on what I think it's inspired from.
First I want to address the disciples' root burst and tech packs as I don't think it's really tree roots so much as something akin to dendrites or filaments that burst out from damage as I feel it's like how Eramis "died" at the end of beyond light's campaign where darkness surges out and basically consumes or encases it's wielder.
Now then I would like to say that I think the black fleet was built purely paracausally as it fits the structures and general rendition.
As for what I think it is in nature I'd say blackbody radiation, gravity, and fractal geometry with the obvious connection of quantum physics.
Now where does rhulk's line on universal strings lie even though it clearly isn't addressing Strand? I'd put it within the Cosmic Web and Energy Filaments wheelhouse.
Now as defined In cosmology, galaxy filaments are the largest known structures in the universe, consisting of walls of galactic superclusters. These massive, thread-like formations can commonly reach 50/h to 80/h Megaparsecs (160 to 260 megalight-years)—with the largest found to date being the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall at around 3 gigaparsecs (9.8 Gly) in length—and form the boundaries between voids. Due to the accelerating expansion of the universe, the individual clusters of gravitationally bound galaxies are what make up galaxy filaments
Now as to where that establishes rhulk's clone, umbral suffocation, and the taken's blighting by sterile neutrinos I wouldn't know.
--‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am open to discussion and further points on the topic and find great inspiration from u/LettuceDifferent5104's posts and wanted to share my thoughts on the nature of destiny's lore and physics especially as to resonance (Sorry if I have some grammatical errors and run-ons or somewhat incomplete points as this would be my first time posting for a topic like this.)

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

I love the palm tree aesthetics going on with her clothes.