Wonder Via Quotes

I wonder briefly if I could somehow broker a deal with God whereby if I put both my arms around Chris, his suffering would be transferred to me via skin-to-skin osmosis at a rate inversely proportionate to how much I love him.

Day leveled Ronowski with a stern glare. “Ronowski, you are gay, man. You’re tightly closeted. But you are indeed gay, ultra-gay. You’re fuckin’ Marvin Gay. You crash landed on Earth when your gay planet exploded.” Day moved away from God and stood in front of an openmouthed Ronowski. “Come out of the closet already. It’s so bright and wonderful out here. Dude, I’ve seen Brokeback Mountain too, don’t believe that bullshit. No one cares who you fuck…ya know…like you tell me every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life,” Day said exaggeratedly.

He meticulously tries to get every hair in place. He tilts his head to look at himself from different angles, like there's some magic perspective in the mirror that could change the dimensions of his face' -Olivia/Via thinking

One may enter the literary parlor via just about any door, be it the prison door, the madhouse door, or the brothel door. There is but one door one may not enter it through, which is the child room door. The critics will never forgive you such. The great Rudyard Kipling is one of a number of people to have suffered from this. I keep wondering to myself what this peculiar contempt towards anything related to childhood is all about.

You are my everything. You understand me, Via? Tu es meu tudo.” I understood her. And I knew why she said it was a secret. Grandmothers aren’t supposed to have favorites. Everyone knows that. But after she died, I held on to that secret and let it cover me like a blanket.

It’s that time of the month again… As we head into those dog days of July, Mike would like to thank those who helped him get the toys he needs to enjoy his summer. Thanks to you, he bought a new bass boat, which we don’t need; a condo in Florida, where we don’t spend any time; and a $2,000 set of golf clubs…which he had been using as an alibi to cover the fact that he has been remorselessly banging his secretary, Beebee, for the last six months. Tragically, I didn’t suspect a thing. Right up until the moment Cherry Glick inadvertently delivered a lovely floral arrangement to our house, apparently intended to celebrate the anniversary of the first time Beebee provided Mike with her special brand of administrative support. Sadly, even after this damning evidence-and seeing Mike ram his tongue down Beebee’s throat-I didn’t quite grasp the depth of his deception. It took reading the contents of his secret e-mail account before I was convinced. I learned that cheap motel rooms have been christened. Office equipment has been sullied. And you should think twice before calling Mike’s work number during his lunch hour, because there’s a good chance that Beebee will be under his desk “assisting” him. I must confess that I was disappointed by Mike’s over-wrought prose, but I now understand why he insisted that I write this newsletter every month. I would say this is a case of those who can write, do; and those who can’t do Taxes. And since seeing is believing, I could have included a Hustler-ready pictorial layout of the photos of Mike’s work wife. However, I believe distributing these photos would be a felony. The camera work isn’t half-bad, though. It’s good to see that Mike has some skill in the bedroom, even if it’s just photography. And what does Beebee have to say for herself? Not Much. In fact, attempts to interview her for this issue were met with spaced-out indifference. I’ve had a hard time not blaming the conniving, store-bought-cleavage-baring Oompa Loompa-skinned adulteress for her part in the destruction of my marriage. But considering what she’s getting, Beebee has my sympathies. I blame Mike. I blame Mike for not honoring the vows he made to me. I blame Mike for not being strong enough to pass up the temptation of readily available extramarital sex. And I blame Mike for not being enough of a man to tell me he was having an affair, instead letting me find out via a misdirected floral delivery. I hope you have enjoyed this new digital version of the Terwilliger and Associates Newsletter. Next month’s newsletter will not be written by me as I will be divorcing Mike’s cheating ass. As soon as I press send on this e-mail, I’m hiring Sammy “the Shark” Shackleton. I don’t know why they call him “the Shark” but I did hear about a case where Sammy got a woman her soon-to-be ex-husband’s house, his car, his boat and his manhood in a mayonnaise jar. And one last thing, believe me when I say I will not be letting Mike off with “irreconcilable differences” in divorce court. Mike Terwilliger will own up to being the faithless, loveless, spineless, useless, dickless wonder he is.

I saw an article a couple days ago, titled: 'new scientific research tells us how long sex should last' - I laughed and then moved on with my day, but it's been on my mind. So, while I am extremely grateful for modern conveniences, technology and the abundance of information that is readily available to me via the web, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe we've taken it all too far. There is a gadget for every job, so much technology that we crowd out all stillness, and information and articles about everything from how to properly brush your teeth to how to raise your kids (btw, all contradicting themselves). But how much better off are we really? We may know how long sex should last and how to brush our teeth, but are we any less confused about what the fuck we are doing on this plane and what our purpose here is? No. I don't think. Actually, I'd venture to say that we are more lost than ever before. We are lazy, mind fucked and completely disconnected from source energy. I think maybe we should spend less time worrying about stupid shit like how long you should really be having sex and more time growing our own food, raising our own kids and repairing the Earth plane that we are destroying with all our modern conveniences, technology and useless information.

Say goodbye to Daisy, kids,” Mom said, tears streaming down her face. “I love you, Daisy,” Via said, kissing Daisy on the nose. “I love you so much.” “Bye, little girlie …,” I whispered

So where did you go, Holly?” Rafiq never tires of this conversation, no matter how often we do it. “Everywhere,” says Lorelei, being brave and selfless. “Colombia, Australia, China, Iceland, Old New York. Didn’t you, Gran?” “I did, yes.” I wonder what life in Cartagena, in Perth, in Shanghai is like now. Ten years ago I could have streetviewed the cities, but the Net’s so torn and ragged now that even when we have reception it runs at prebroadband speed. My tab’s getting old, too, and I only have one more in storage. If any arrive via Ringaskiddy Concession, they never make it out of Cork City. I remember the pictures of seawater flooding Fremantle during the deluge of ’33. Or was it the deluge of ’37? Or am I confusing it with pictures of the sea sluicing into the New York subway, when five thousand people drowned underground? Or was that Athens? Or Mumbai? Footage of catastrophes flowed so thick and fast through the thirties that it was hard to keep track of which coastal region had been devastated this week, or which city had been decimated by Ebola or Ratflu. The news turned into a plotless never-ending disaster movie I could hardly bring myself to watch.

One may enter the literary parlor via just about any door, be it the prison door, the madhouse door, or the brothel door. There is but one door one may not enter it through, which is the nursery door. The critics will never forgive you such. The great Rudyard Kipling is one to have suffered this. I keep wondering to myself what this peculiar contempt towards anything related to childhood is all about.

It takes a heavy commitment to quality education for all to avoid that stratification of society, those needless degrees of separation. But even the present-day United States has lost what commitment it used to have to free education of high quality. Anyone reading the annual surveys of science literacy (another example: fewer than half of Americans know that the earth orbits the sun once a year) has to wonder how badly most people are going to be left behind, further along into the 21st century, whether they too will become "stubborn, apathetic, and perverse" toward a scientific and technological world they must view as magical, beyond their comprehension, accessible only via the right incantations.

He communicated via napkin which was probably a Brechtian alienation device. wonder if it possible for you to sleep on stage because I've got poem where I say things about you while you sleep? I asked to hear the poem first and he wrote: whole point is your not knowing. Hard to believe they fund his PhD.

Via had warned me about lunch in middle school, so I guess I should have known it would be hard.

All through our education we are being taught a kind of reverse mindfulness. A kind of Future Studies where- via the guise of mathematics, or literature, or history, or computer programming, or French- we are being taught to think of a time different to the time we are in. Exam time. Job time. When-we-are-grown-up time. To see the act of learning as something not for its own sake but because of what it will get you reduces the wonder of humanity. We are thinking, feeling, art-making, knowledge-hungry, marvelous animals, who understand ourselves and our world through the act of learning. It is an end in itself. It has far more to offer than the things it lets us write on application forms. It is a way to love living right now.

Thus we can accept the wonderful results of the neuroscientists, accept that the mind, via neural behavior, is classically causal, and refuse the conclusion that the mind is computing an algorithm.

Mom blew a kiss to us and closed the door. We watched the car leave and then Via closed the door. She looked at me a second, and then she hugged me very, very tight while we both cried a million tears.

Pham Nuwen spent years learning to program/explore. Programming went back to the beginning of time. It was a little like the midden out back of his father’s castle. Where the creek had worn that away, ten meters down, there were the crumpled hulks of machines—flying machines, the peasants said—from the great days of Canberra’s original colonial era. But the castle midden was clean and fresh compared to what lay within the Reprise’s local net. There were programs here that had been written five thousand years ago, before Humankind ever left Earth. The wonder of it—the horror of it, Sura said—was that unlike the useless wrecks of Canberra’s past, these programs still worked! And via a million million circuitous threads of inheritance, many of the oldest programs still ran in the bowels of the Qeng Ho system. Take the Traders’ method of timekeeping. The frame corrections were incredibly complex—and down at the very bottom of it was a little program that ran a counter. Second by second, the Qeng Ho counted from the instant that a human had first set foot on Old Earth’s moon. But if you looked at it still more closely. . .the starting instant was actually some hundred million seconds later, the 0-second of one of Humankind’s first computer operating systems. So behind all the top-level interfaces was layer under layer of support. Some of that software had been designed for wildly different situations. Every so often, the inconsistencies caused fatal accidents. Despite the romance of spaceflight, the most common accidents were simply caused by ancient, misused programs finally getting their revenge. “We should rewrite it all,” said Pham. “It’s been done,” said Sura, not looking up. She was preparing to go off-Watch, and had spent the last four days trying to root a problem out of the coldsleep automation. “It’s been tried,” corrected Bret, just back from the freezers. “But even the top levels of fleet system code are enormous. You and a thousand of your friends would have to work for a century or so to reproduce it.” Trinli grinned evilly. “And guess what—even if you did, by the time you finished, you’d have your own set of inconsistencies. And you still wouldn’t be consistent with all the applications that might be needed now and then.” Sura gave up on her debugging for the moment. “The word for all this is ‘mature programming environment.’ Basically, when hardware performance has been pushed to its final limit, and programmers have had several centuries to code, you reach a point where there is far more signicant code than can be rationalized. The best you can do is understand the overall layering, and know how to search for the oddball tool that may come in handy—take the situation I have here.” She waved at the dependency chart she had been working on. “We are low on working fluid for the coffins. Like a million other things, there was none for sale on dear old Canberra. Well, the obvious thing is to move the coffins near the aft hull, and cool by direct radiation. We don’t have the proper equipment to support this—so lately, I’ve been doing my share of archeology. It seems that five hundred years ago, a similar thing happened after an in-system war at Torma. They hacked together a temperature maintenance package that is precisely what we need.” “Almost precisely.

... Feral, from the Latin adjective ferus, wild, via bestia fear, wild animal. Generally held to mean having escaped from domestication, and having devolved back to a natural state. Turner said, "It's like you've been sanded down to nothing but yes and no, and you and them, and black and white, and live or die. It makes me wonder, what does that to a person?" "Life," Reacher said. "Mine, anyway." "You're like a predator. Cold, and hard. Like this whole thing. You have it all mapped out. The four guys in the car, and their bosses. You're swimming toward them, right now, and there's going to be blood in the water. Yours or theirs, but there's going to be blood.

I love Auggie very, very much,” she said softly. I can still remember her Portuguese accent, the way she rolled her r’s. “But he has many angels looking out for him already, Via. And I want you to know that you have me looking out for you. Okay, menina querida? I want you to know that you are number one for me. You are my ...” She looked out at the ocean and spread her hands out, like she was trying to smooth out the waves, “You are my everything. You understand me, Via? Tu es meu tudo.” I understood her. And I knew why she said it was a secret. Grandmothers aren’t supposed to have favorites. Everyone knows that. But after she died, I held on to that secret and let it cover me like a blanket.

Emily walked out. “She looks so different.…” “It’s not Miranda,” I whispered. “It’s Via.” “Oh my God!” said Mom, lurching forward in her seat. “Shh!” said Dad. “It’s Via,” Mom whispered to him. “I know,” whispered Dad, smiling. “Shhh!

For a second, I imagined how cool it would be to be Via and Justin right then, having all these people standing up and cheering for them. I think there should be a rule that everyone in the world should get a standing ovation at least once in their lives.

Noemy says, “I guess it’s just the idea of love I miss. And, well, it was a good kiss.” Her smile turns rueful. “At least I got some practice.” A wonderful idea occurs to Abel. “Do you need more practice?” “Huh?” “We could practice, if you wanted."He smiles as he starts to explain."Remember what I told you on Genesis? I’m programmed with a wide array of techniques for providing physical pleasure, via every activity from kissing to the more arcane positions for sexual intercourse. Although I’ve never performed any of them before, I’m confident I could do so very skillfully.” She stares at him, eyes wide. Since she is swift to voice objections if she has them, Abel takes her silence as an encouraging sign. So he sits up on the bed to explain the further compelling reasons now coming to mind. “Humans need a certain amount of physical release and comfort in order to be psychologicallly healthy. You’ve been away from your family and friends for some time, and have endured considerable trauma, suggesting you are in even greater need than usual. I have all the information and technique necessary to be an excellent partner, my body is designed to be appealing, and of course I can neither carry disease nor impregnate you. We have total privacy and many hours of spare time. Conditions for intercourse would seem to be ideal.

There was something beautiful in someone trying to purchase happiness for a dying woman via a three-dollar box of french fries. I remember hoping that one dally someone would buy me french fries if that's all I wanted, even if he knew they'd be no good in the end. I remember understanding what love really is.It didn't hurt; it didn't ignore your prayers, didn't seem to not care that your mom was dying. It didn't leave you wondering what you did wrong. Love tried to make you happy, even if it was useless. Love would do you anything to make you happy.

Imagine you live on a planet where the dominant species is far more intellectually sophisticated than human beings but often keeps humans as companion animals. They are called the Gorns. They communicate with each other via a complex combination of telepathy, eye movements & high-pitched squeaks, all completely unintelligible & unlearnable by humans, whose brains are prepared for verbal language acquisition only. Humans sometimes learn the meaning of individual sounds by repeated association with things of relevance to them. The Gorns & humans bond strongly but there are many Gorn rules that humans must try to assimilate with limited information & usually high stakes. You are one of the lucky humans who lives with the Gorns in their dwelling. Many other humans are chained to small cabanas in the yard or kept in outdoor pens of varying size. They are so socially starved they cannot control their emotions when a Gorn goes near them. The Gorns agree that they could never be House-Humans. The dwelling you share with your Gorn family is filled with water-filled porcelain bowls.Every time you try to urinate in one,nearby Gorn attack you. You learn to only use the toilet when there are no Gorns present. Sometimes they come home & stuff your head down the toilet for no apparent reason. You hate this & start sucking up to the Gorns when they come home to try & stave this off but they view this as evidence of your guilt. You are also punished for watching videos, reading books, talking to other human beings, eating pizza or cheesecake, & writing letters. These are all considered behavior problems by the Gorns. To avoid going crazy, once again you wait until they are not around to try doing anything you wish to do. While they are around, you sit quietly, staring straight ahead. Because they witness this good behavior you are so obviously capable of, they attribute to “spite” the video watching & other transgressions that occur when you are alone. Obviously you resent being left alone, they figure. You are walked several times a day and left crossword puzzle books to do. You have never used them because you hate crosswords; the Gorns think you’re ignoring them out of revenge. Worst of all, you like them. They are, after all, often nice to you. But when you smile at them, they punish you, likewise for shaking hands. If you apologize they punish you again. You have not seen another human since you were a small child. When you see one you are curious, excited & afraid. You really don’t know how to act. So, the Gorn you live with keeps you away from other humans. Your social skills never develop. Finally, you are brought to “training” school. A large part of the training consists of having your air briefly cut off by a metal chain around your neck. They are sure you understand every squeak & telepathic communication they make because sometimes you get it right. You are guessing & hate the training. You feel pretty stressed out a lot of the time. One day, you see a Gorn approaching with the training collar in hand. You have PMS, a sore neck & you just don’t feel up to the baffling coercion about to ensue. You tell them in your sternest voice to please leave you alone & go away. The Gorns are shocked by this unprovoked aggressive behavior. They thought you had a good temperament. They put you in one of their vehicles & take you for a drive. You watch the attractive planetary landscape going by & wonder where you are going. You are led into a building filled with the smell of human sweat & excrement. Humans are everywhere in small cages. Some are nervous, some depressed, most watch the goings on on from their prisons. Your Gorns, with whom you have lived your entire life, hand you over to strangers who drag you to a small room. You are terrified & yell for your Gorn family to help you. They turn & walk away.You are held down & given a lethal injection. It is, after all, the humane way to do it.

Auggie, Mom’s taken her to the vet like three times in the last two months. She’s been throwing up left and right. Haven’t you noticed?” “But I didn’t know she was sick!” Via didn’t say anything, but she put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her. I started to cry again.

Via. I can’t say I always wanted to go to school because that wouldn’t be exactly true. What I wanted was to go to school, but only if I could be like every other kid going to school. Have lots of friends and hang out after school and stuff like that. I have a few really good friends now. Christopher is my best

Though I loved the wired world, the new-wave librarians, the avatars and activists, I turned into a dinosaur in that library. I couldn’t help it; I was an old-fashioned writer who loved the ancient books summoned via pneumatic tubes, the archives, the quiet. I had found something rare there: an inexhaustible wonder.

Hence one wonders whether Austronesians, instead of taking the easier route to Madagascar via India and East Africa, somehow (incredibly) sailed straight across the Indian Ocean, discovered Madagascar, and only later got plugged into East African trade routes. Thus, some mystery remains about Africa’s most surprising fact of human geography.

All through our education we are being taught a kind of reverse mindfulness. A kind of Future Studies where—via the guise of mathematics, or literature, or history, or computer programming, or French—we are being taught to think of a time different to the time we are in. Exam time. Job time. When-we-are-grown-up time. To see the act of learning as something not for its own sake but because of what it will get you reduces the wonder of humanity. We are thinking, feeling, art-making, knowledge-hungry, marvelous animals, who understand ourselves and our world through the act of learning. It is an end in itself. It has far more to offer than the things it lets us write on application forms. It is a way to love living right now.

When I finally calmed down, I handed her the Ewok. "Can you go back and give it to him" I said. "Oh, honey," she answered. "That's so sweet of you. But Isabel can clean the Lego set. It'll be good as new for Auggie, don't worry." "No, for the other kid," I answered. She looked at me a second, like she didn't know what to say. "Via said he doesn't speak any English," I sai. "It must be really scary for him, being in the hospital." She nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered. "It must be." She closed her eyes and hugged me again. And then she took me over to the security desk, where I waited until she went back up the elevator and, after about five minutes, came back down again. "Did he like it?" I asked. "Honeyboy," she said softly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "You made his day.

There it was then. I would build a scientific religion, a religious science. I would reinvigorate man’s interest in the stars via spirituality. By chapel and telescope I would show reality in its nakedness, and convince the people of the Myriad of Man that we are but universe experiencing itself. At last we would look into the mirror of Being, and see only Universe looking back. “We would find wonder in the imponderable majesty of the little, in all of the cells and molecules and atoms and quarks inside one’s body, the beauty of it, the absurdity. That is where we would apprehend the transcendent. And in finding that transcendent, we would at last realise we are but matter, and finally seek to stop conquering more matter. The way out was not up, to some holy, blazing firmament, but down, into the skin, into the quiet absurdity of being.

It wasn’t until she stopped that I noticed the big white cardboard box they had brought in with them. “What is that?” I said. “Open it,” said Dad, smiling, and he and Mom looked at each other like they knew a secret. “Come on, Auggie!” said Via. I opened the box. Inside was the cutest little puppy I’ve ever seen in my life. It was black and furry, with a pointy little snout and bright black eyes and small ears that flopped down.

Each time scientists have unraveled a new force, it has changed the course of civilization and altered the destiny of humanity. For example, Newton’s discovery of the laws of motion and gravity laid the groundwork for the machine age and the Industrial Revolution. Michael Faraday and James Clerk Maxwell’s explanation of electricity and magnetism paved the way for the illumination of our cities and gave us powerful electric motors and generators as well as instantaneous communication via TV and radio. Einstein’s E = mc2 explained the power of the stars and helped to unravel the nuclear force. When Erwin Schrödinger, Werner Heisenberg, and others unlocked the secrets of the quantum theory, they gave us the high-tech revolution of today, with supercomputers, lasers, the internet, and all the fabulous gadgets in our living rooms. Ultimately, all the wonders of modern technology owe their origin to the scientists who gradually discovered the fundamental forces of the world.

As any good Buddhist will tell you, the only way to find permanent joy is by embracing the fact that nothing is permanent. Chapters 12 through 15 will discuss the “patterned disorder” that organizes the chaos of change, so that even on a road no one has traveled before, you’ll have some idea what dangers you face, and how to conquer them. I’m not going to tell you that all this is going to be painless, but I can assure you that it will be wonderful. Take it from Dan. You may recall that in his case, the way back to la verace via lay directly through Hell. Dante’s journey took him as low as a human being could sink, through his worst fears and most bitter truths, down to the very center of the earth. And then, by continuing straight “downward” through the center and beyond, he was suddenly headed up. Before him he could see “the beautiful things that Heaven bears,” things like purpose, fulfillment, excitement, compassion, and delight. He was still tired and scared, but he wasn’t sleepwalking, and he wasn’t lost. There

Something in every person objects to acknowledging the fact that he is not even "master in his own house". The unconscious is un-conscious, and there's no bargaining on that score. The whole analytic therapy is based on the principle of making the unconscious conscious through an emotional therapeutic process, thus changing the unfavorable inner structure. All the misconceptions current about "self-analysis" via book knowledge are empty talk; self-analysis is a fancy word for arriving at wrong conclusions about one's own wonderful self. A psychiatric guide is needed for the descent into one's "inner hell". Psychoanalysis has always had the distinction of presenting unpalatable ideas. This fact is not based on some peculiar predilection of analysts but is inherent in analytic discoveries. Since our science deals with psychic material typically repressed (expelled from consciousness because too painful and shameful to remain conscious) the reaction of the conscious ego is an indignant "no". Facts, however, do not change by simple denial of them.

Day leveled Ronowski with a stern glare. “Ronowski, you are gay, man. You’re tightly closeted. But you are indeed gay, ultra-gay. You’re fuckin’ Marvin Gay. You crash landed on Earth when your gay planet exploded.” Day moved away from God and stood in front of an openmouthed Ronowski. “Come out of the closet already. It’s so bright and wonderful out here. Dude, I’ve seen Brokeback Mountain too, don’t believe that bullshit. No one cares who you fuck… ya know… like you tell me every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life,” Day said exaggeratedly.

You’re moody and taciturn and secretive.…” “What is so wrong with my not telling you about a stupid play?” Via practically screamed. “I don’t even have a speaking part in it!” “Your boyfriend does! Don’t you want us to see him in it?” “No! Actually, I don’t!” “Stop screaming!” “You screamed first! Just leave me alone, okay? You’ve been really good about leaving me alone my whole life, so why you choose high school to suddenly be interested I have no idea.…” Then I don’t know what Mom answered because it all got very quiet, and even my bionic Lobot ears couldn’t pick up a signal.

Where does that door lead to?” Day pointed at a door which opened out onto the dark alley. “I looked it up. It appears to be a small film studio,” the other officer finally stopped staring at God long enough to add to the conversation. “Porn films.” Day looked up in amusement. “Shut the fuck up.” The two cops nodded. “That’s what we pulled up in the system. We went around to the front. It’s locked and no one’s inside. We called the number registered to the address, but got no answer.” “Who’s the owner of the company?” God asked. The officer flipped a couple pages on his notebook. “Illustra is owned by Johnathan Mack. We also have a list of all the performers and staff.” Day looked at God. “I bet that little vixen we just apprehended has a recurring role here. Wonder what made her so mad that she wanted to kill someone as soon as she finished fucking.” “Maybe she didn’t get to come.” Ronowski chuckled, joined by several of the team members. Syn grimaced. “Yeah, that might make you homicidal alright,” Day added. “But I wouldn’t know.” “Day, shut the fuck up,” God barked at his lover's usual inappropriateness. It seemed Day had never met a boundary he didn't stomp right over.

After cleaning himself, Syn went back in the room and smiled at the quiet snores coming from Furi’s open mouth. He was sprawled across most of the bed on his stomach and his hair was all over the place. He looked fucked-out and Syn wanted to pat himself on the back. He’d put that blissful look on his man’s face. Syn leaned over and began to wipe at Furi’s ass, gently removing the drying come around his stretched hole and in between his thighs. It wasn’t until right at that moment that it finally registered that Syn hadn’t worn a condom. When it was time to enter Furi, a barrier was the furthest thing from his mind. He’d wanted to show Furi how much he meant to him. Fill him up and mark him as his, as the man he loved. Damn. Syn didn’t want to use condoms with Furi anymore, but he still should’ve checked with Furi first. Furi stirred slightly before twisting to look back at Syn. The words that came from Furi’s mouth were all he’d needed to calm him. “If I had wanted you to use a condom, I would’ve made you,” Furi said quietly. “I needed you this way. It’s okay. It’s better than okay. And I’m clean if you were wondering that.” Syn tossed the rag into the corner and settled in next to Furi. “No I wasn’t wondering that, but I’m clean too. I just didn’t want you to think, ya know.” “Com’mere.” Furi held his arm for Syn to nestle in next to him. After

Some of these arrangements involve an exhibitionist Narcissist and a partner who is “in the closet.” The closet Narcissist is an unassuming type who has her feelers out for someone she can idealize. She needs to put the love object on a pedestal in order to hold herself together, because if her partner is wonderful and she can have him, then all the insecurities inside her will go away. In the Narcissist-closet Narcissist couple, it is actually the latter who is in control, feeding the grandiosity of the love object in order to inflate herself via osmosis. These relationships can be quite successful, as long as the idealizations and illusions can be sustained. But when unpleasant reality intrudes, love implodes.

56. There are, however, many stories of women—particularly saints—blinding themselves in order to maintain their chastity, to prove that they “only have eyes” for God or Christ. Consider, for example, the legend of Saint Lucy, patron saint of the blind, whose name means “clear, radiant, understandable. What seems clear enough: in 304 ad Lucy was tortured and put to death by the Roman emperor Diocletian, and thus martyred for her Christianity. What is unclear: why, exactly, she runs around Gothic and Renaissance paintings holding a golden dish with her blue eyes staring weirdly out from it. Some say her eyes were tortured out of her head in her martyrdom; some say she gouged them out herself after being sentenced by the pagan emperor to be defiled in a brothel. Even more unclear are the twinned legends of Saint Medana (of Ireland) and Saint Triduana (of Scotland), two Christian princesses who were pursued by undesirable pagan lovers—lovers who professed to be unable to live without their beloveds’ beautiful blue eyes. To rid herself of the unwanted attention, Medana supposedly plucked her eyes out and threw them at her suitor’s feet; Triduana was slightly more inventive, and tore here out with a thorn, then sent them to her suitor on a skewer. 57. In religious accounts, these women are announcing, via their amputations, their fidelity to God. But other accounts wonder whether they were in fact punishing themselves, as they knew that they had looked upon men with lust, and felt the need to employ extreme measures to avert any further temptation.

Octopuses and their relatives have what Woods Hole researcher Roger Hanlon calls electric skin. For its color palette, the octopus uses three layers of three different types of cells near the skin’s surface—all controlled in different ways. The deepest layer, containing the white leucophores, passively reflects background light. This process appears to involve no muscles or nerves. The middle layer contains the tiny iridophores, each 100 microns across. These also reflect light, including polarized light (which humans can’t see, but a number of octopuses’ predators, including birds, do). The iridophores create an array of glittering greens, blues, golds, and pinks. Some of these little organs seem to be passive, but other iridophores appear to be controlled by the nervous system. They are associated with the neurotransmitter acetylcholine, the first neurotransmitter to be identified in any animal. Acetylcholine helps with contraction of muscles; in humans, it is also important in memory, learning, and REM sleep. In octopuses, more of it “turns on” the greens and blues; less creates pinks and golds. The topmost layer of the octopus’s skin contains chromatophores, tiny sacks of yellow, red, brown, and black pigment, each in an elastic container that can be opened or closed to reveal more or less color. Camouflaging the eye alone—with a variety of patterns including a bar, a bandit’s mask, and a starburst pattern—can involve as many as 5 million chromatophores. Each chromatophore is regulated via an array of nerves and muscles, all under the octopus’s voluntary control.

God came up and kissed Day on his forehead. When Day looked over at Johnson, who was still slowly sipping his soda, the guy did look lonely as hell. Before Day could say something kind, his other headache strolled in. “Oh hell. What the fuck is going on in here? This must be the officer’s gay alliance club meeting.” Day blew an exasperated breath. “And now that you’re here, Ronowski, all members are present and we can begin.” Day smiled as God and Johnson practically spit their drinks out laughing. Ronowski fumed. “Day, you’re going to stop calling me gay! I have never been gay! I will never be gay, and I don’t like anyone that is gay! So stop saying that before people start believing your bullshit!” Day clapped his hands together once. “Okay everyone those are the notes from last week’s meeting, now on to new business.” Day leveled Ronowski with a stern glare. “Ronowski, you are gay, man. You’re tightly closeted. But you are indeed gay, ultra-gay. You’re fuckin’ Marvin Gay. You crash landed on Earth when your gay planet exploded.” Day moved away from God and stood in front of an openmouthed Ronowski. “Come out of the closet already. It’s so bright and wonderful out here. Dude, I’ve seen Brokeback Mountain too, don’t believe that bullshit. No one cares who you fuck…ya know…like you tell me every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life,” Day said exaggeratedly. He stepped in so close to Ronowski that he could smell the body wash he used. “Let a man bang your back out one time.” Day leaned in to the man’s ear and felt Ronowski’s body give a fierce shutter. “I mean pound your ass so hard that you can’t walk straight for a week, and I guarantee you, you’ll want to march in the next gay pride parade, wearing nothing but a glitter jockstrap and a fuckin’ hot-pink feather boa.” Day stepped back and saw the beads of sweat that had popped up on Ronowski’s forehead. Satisfied he’d proven his point he refilled his coffee and left the break room.

I’m not going on!” I said loudly, and the tears came to my eyes fairly easily. “Fine!” he screamed, not looking at me. Then he turned to a kid named David, who was a set decorator. “Go find Olivia in the lighting booth! Tell her she’s filling in for Miranda tonight!” “What?” said David, who wasn’t too swift. “Go!” shouted Davenport in his face. “Now!” The other kids had caught on to what was happening and gathered around. “What’s going on?” said Justin. “Last-minute change of plans,” said Davenport. “Miranda doesn’t feel well.” “I feel sick,” I said, trying to sound sick. “So why are you still here?” Davenport said to me angrily. “Stop talking, take off your costume, and give it to Olivia! Okay? Come on, everybody! Let’s go! Go! Go!” I ran backstage to the dressing room as quickly as I could and started peeling off my costume. Two seconds later there was a knock and Via half opened the door. “What is going on?” she said. “Hurry up, put it on,” I answered, handing her the dress. “You’re sick?

A writer spinning out the manuscript of a book is like a banker generating debts he knows can never be repaid. From one perspective it’s a waste of time, ‘the deliberate pouring of water through a sieve’, in Dostoyevsky’s phrase. The effort will not be repaid. From another, however, it’s an incredibly important process in which cultural charisma – intellectual glamour – is generated via a mechanism of guilt. A bookshelf is a glamorous row of reproaches. We know that there are books we ought to read, and ought to have read, because they are said to be wonderful and capable of making us better people. They sit there on the shelf, seeming to watch us, waiting for our best moment of spiritual preparedness. Yet we fail to read them. As a result we feel guilty. The books seem to say to us: – You are trivial and lazy. Your life could be so much richer and more creative, yet you fritter away your attention on television and Facebook, or idle gossip, or sports, or Olafur Eliasson installations. This guilt is much more wonderful than the contents of the books themselves could ever be, and spiritually much more uplifting. The unreadness of books outstrips their readness in beauty and in utility. It’s tremendously important to believe that there are heights which we’ve failed to attain, mountains we can glimpse in the distance but not climb. It’s almost like believing in heaven. To quote Kafka once more: Theoretically there is a perfect possibility of happiness: believing in the indestructible element in oneself and not striving towards it.

NOTE: The character of Aoleon is deaf. This conversation takes place in the book via sign language... “Feeling a certain kind of way Aoleon?” She snapped-to and quickly became defensive. “What in the name of the Goddess are you on about?” Shades of anger and annoyance. The old Aoleon coming out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t poke at you like that. It’s okay you know. There’s nothing wrong about the way you feel.” As if suddenly caught up in a lie, Aoleon cleared her throat and ran her fingers absentmindedly over her ear and started to fidget with one of the brass accents in her snowy hair. A very common nervous reaction. “No…I mean…well I was…uh...” “Aoleon, I know about you and Arjana.” he admitted outrightly as he pointed at the drawing. She coughed, stuttered, smiled, but could bring herself to fully say nothing. Words escaped her as she looked about the room for answers. “My sight is Dįvįnë, lest we forget. I knew you were growing close.” “Yes. Well…she’s…something else.” “Indeed?” he responded. Images flashed briefly in Aoleon’s head of her father’s old friend. Verging on her fiftieth decade of life. She was a fierce woman by all accounts. One who’d just as soon cut you with words as she would a blade. Yet, she was darling and caring towards those she held close to her. Lovely to a fault; in a wild sort of way. Dark skin, the colour of walnut stained wood. Thick, kinky hair fashioned into black locs that faded into reddish-brown tips that were dyed with Assamian henna; the sides of her head shaved bare in an undercut fashion. Tattoos and gauged ears. Very comfortable with her sexuality. Dwalli by blood, but a native of the Link by birth although she wasn’t a Magi. Magick was her mother’s gift. “I heard her say something very much the same about you once Aoleon.” “Really?” Aoleon perked up right away. “Did she?” “Yes. After she first met you in fact. Nearly exactly.” Aoleon’s smile widened and she beamed happiness. She sat up assertively and gave a curt nod. “Well, of course she did.” “She’s held such a torch for you for so long that I was starting to wonder if anything would actually come of it.” “Yeah. Both you and Prince Asshole.” Aoleon exclaimed with a certainty that was absolute as she once again tightened up with defensiveness. Samahdemn walked his statement back. “Peace daughter. I didn't know your brother had been giving you a row about her. Then again, he is your brother. So anything is possible.” Aoleon sighed and nodded. “Not so much problems as he’s been giving me the silent treatment over it. Na’Kwanza. It’s always Na’ Kwanza.” Samahdemn nodded knowingly and waived a dismissive hand. “He’s just jealous. He always has been.” “So I’ve noticed.” “Why would you hide it? Why not tell me?” “I don’t know.” she said; shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t know how you’d take it I suppose.” “Seriously? You were afraid of rejection? From me? Love, have I ever held your individuality against you? Have I ever not supported you or your siblings?” She shook her head; a bit embarrassed that she hadn't trusted him. "No, I suppose not." -Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

Syn paid the bill and they headed to the door with lust so thick around them, Syn couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else could see it. Furi reached back for Syn’s hand and he gladly offered it. He looked over his shoulder and threw him a seductive wink when Syn crowded in close behind him. As soon as Syn made it out the door, he saw four members of his team walking up the sidewalk. Well fuck me. “Hey, Sarge.” Pendleton, his demolitions expert was the first to speak up. Syn threw down Furi’s hand and quickly put some distance between them. “Yeah, hey fellas.” They’d all stopped and were staring back and forth between him and Furi. Syn couldn’t even look Furious in his eye after what he’d just done. Detective Green cleared his throat and pointed at Furi. “Don’t I know you?” “Hardly,” Furi mumbled. “Um, this is ... uh, uh. He’s my ... uh.” Syn cursed under his breath. Obviously his team already knew who Furious was. They all had detailed lists of Illustra’s entertainers and Furious’ image was not easy to forget. “Sarge, who’s your friend?” Detective Ruxsburg asked, a sly smile playing on his handsome face. “He’s um.” “He’s leaving,” Furi’s deep voice cut in as he eased his way through and walked in the opposite direction of Syn’s truck. “Fuck,” Syn whispered as he watched Furi turn the corner. “You better go after him and be ready to do some serious groveling,” his IT Detective said in his calm, cool voice. Syn didn’t say anything. His guys walked around him and went into the bar, leaving him feeling ashamed. He thought about running after Furi but choose to get in his truck and cut him off at the corner. He sped around the block and pulled into an alley hoping to intercept his angry date. When Syn got out of the truck Furi was turning the corner coming toward him. Oh hell. Furi had his hands crammed into his pockets and if the scowl on his face didn’t indicate how angry Furious was, then his choice of words when he finally reached Syn sure as hell did. “Get the fuck away from me.” “Furious, I know you're upset.” Furi spun around and glared at him with midnight eyes. “Upset! Upset! Look at my face goddamnit! Does this just look upset to you?” Syn put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Alright, you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I reacted badly back there. I was just caught off guard.” Furi was in Syn’s face and people on the street had begun to stop and stare. “Can we please move this off the sidewalk?” Syn tried to usher Furi farther into the alley and away from the nosy fuckers on the street. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” “I’m not gonna touch you! Damn, calm down. I just want to explain,” Syn argued. It seemed every time he was around Furi he was apologizing for something. “I’m sorry, okay. I should have introduced you properly to my team.” “How would the–” “Please, Furious. Let me finish. I should’ve told them your name and introduced you as my friend at a minimum. I’m sorry. I told you I fuckin’ suck at this dating shit, and if you don’t tell me to go fuck myself and give me another–” “Go fuck yourself,” Furi interrupted. He tried to move around Syn but Syn grabbed him around the wrist and backed him against the side of his truck. “No! I will not go fuck myself. I would rather fuck you.” “Well you pretty much shot that chance all to hell,” Furi yelled right back at him. “Have I?” “What do you think?

This isn’t weird for you, Mark? I mean, not even a little bit?” Green questioned. “Why? Is it for you?” Ruxs inquired, slightly nervous. “No. Not at all. I’ve thought of a million sexual things I could do to you and what I wanted you to do to me. But that’s because I’m bi. You on the other hand, have never been with a man. Now you just had your finger in my ass. I’m just wondering. You’re not the slightest bit weirded out.” Ruxs thought for a second. He stared into those smoky eyes and knew exactly why he wasn’t weirded out. Green was his friend, his best friend. The only person he had, his family. Nothing about them coming together was weird for him. Ruxs was a man who always did his own thing. He wasn’t judgmental and he didn’t worry about labels or societal conformity. If it felt good, then it was all good. He’d lived by that motto since college. Ruxs finally shook his head no. “I feel good about this. You and I being together this way is only strange in a good way. It’s wild to be able to finally touch you like I’ve been wanting too. To see you come, to watch you get off. I’m just trying to wrap my head around you wanting me.” Ruxs had a hard time meeting Green’s eyes. He hoped like hell that Green did want him.  Green cupped his jaw and turned him so he was facing him. “I do want you. More than you think. I want you because you’re an amazing man, Mark Ruxsberg. You have to stop thinkin’ otherwise. You’re smart, caring, loyal, a damn good cop, you’re great to Curtis and…” Green tilted his still half-hard cock against Ruxs’ pelvis. “You’re sexy as fuck. Big and beautiful. Muscles all over the fuckin’ place. It’s a huge turn-on for me.” Ruxs blushed. He loved Green telling him this. Most of all he believed him. Green wasn’t a liar and he didn’t do anything that he didn’t want to do… just like him. “So no more of this self-doubting shit. Or else I won’t blow you anymore.” Green winked, rolling off of him and climbed out of the messy bed. “Now get your lazy ass up, and don’t worry about the sheets, the maid comes today. We got to get going. We’re supposed to be doing surveillance on that damn warehouse.” Ruxs

the ten thousand things To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be enlightened by the ten thousand things. – Eihei Dogen If one is very fortunate indeed, one comes upon – or is found by – the teachings that match one’s disposition and the teachers or mentors whose expression strikes to the heart while teasing the knots from the mind. The Miriam Louisa character came with a tendency towards contrariness and scepticism, which is probably why she gravitated to teachers who displayed like qualities. It was always evident to me that the ‘blink’ required in order to meet life in its naked suchness was not something to be gained in time. Rather, it was clear that it was something to do with understanding what sabotages this direct engagement. So my teachers were those who deconstructed the spiritual search – and with it the seeker – inviting one to “see for oneself.” I realised early on that I wouldn’t find any help within traditional spiritual institutions since their version of awakening is usually a project in time. Anyway, I’m not a joiner by nature. I set out on my via negativa at an early age, trying on all kinds of philosophies and practices with enthusiasm and casting them aside –neti neti – equally enthusiastically. Chögyam Trungpa wised me up to “spiritual materialism” in the 70s; Alan Watts followed on, pointing out that whatever is being experienced is none other than ‘IT’ – the unarguable aliveness that one IS. By then I was perfectly primed for the questions put by Jiddu Krishnamurti – “Is there a thinker separate from thought?” “Is there an observer separate from the observed?” “Can consciousness be separated from its content?” It was while teaching at Brockwood Park that I also had the good fortune to engage with David Bohm in formal dialogues as well as private conversations. (About which I have written elsewhere.) Krishnamurti and Bohm were seminal teachers for me; I also loved the unique style of deconstruction offered by Nisargadatta Maharaj. As it happened though, it took just one tiny paragraph from Wei Wu Wei to land in my brain at exactly the right time for the irreversible ‘blink’ to occur. I mention this rather august lineage because it explains why the writing of Robert Saltzman strikes not just a chord but an entire symphonic movement for me. We are peers; we were probably reading the same books by Watts and Krishnamurti at the same time during the 70s and 80s. Reading his book, The Ten Thousand Things, is, for me, like feeling my way across a tapestry exquisitely woven from the threads of my own life. I’m not sure that I can adequately express my wonderment and appreciation… The candor, lucidity and lack of jargon in Robert’s writing are deeply refreshing. I also relish his way with words. He knows how to write. He also knows how to take astonishingly fine photographs, and these are featured throughout the book. It’s been said that this book will become a classic, which is a pretty good achievement for someone who isn’t claiming to be a teacher and has nothing to gain by its sale. (The book sells for the production price.) He is not peddling enlightenment. He is simply sharing how it feels to be free from all the spiritual fantasies that obscure our seamless engagement with this miraculous thing called life, right now.

When I spoke to you here the last time, my old party comrades, I did so fully conscious of victory as hardly a mortal has been able to do before me. In spite of this, a concern weighed heavily on me. It was clear to me that, ultimately, behind this war was that incendiary who has always lived off the quarrels of nations: the international Jew. I would no longer have been a National Socialist had I ever distanced myself from this realization. We followed his traces over many years. In this Reich, probably for the first time, we scientifically resolved this problem for all time, according to plan, and really understood the words of a great Jew who said that the racial question was the key to world history. Therefore, we knew quite well-above all, I knew-that the driving force behind these occurrences was the Jew. And that, as always in history, there were blockheads ready to stand up for him: partly spineless, paid characters, partly people who want to make deals and, at no time, flinch from having blood spilled for these deals. I have come to know these Jews as the incendiaries of the world. After all, in the previous years, you saw how they slowly poisoned the people via the press, radio, film, and theater. You saw how this poisoning continued. You saw how their finances, their money transactions, had to work in this sense. And, in the first days of the war, certain Englishmen-all of them shareholders in the armament industry-said it openly: “The war must last three years at least. It will not and must not end before three years.”-That is what they said. That was only natural, since their capital was tied up and they could not hope to secure an amortization in less than three years. Certainly, my party comrades, for us National Socialists, this almost defies comprehension. But that is how things are in the democratic world. You can be prime minister or minister of war and, at the same time, own portfolios of countless shares in the armament industry. Interests are explained that way. We once came to know this danger as the driving force in our domestic struggle. We had this black-red-golden coalition in front of us; this mixture of hypocrisy and abuse of religion on the one hand, and financial interests on the other; and, finally, their truly Jewish-Marxist goals. We completely finished off this coalition at home in a hard struggle. Now, we stand facing this enemy abroad. He inspired this international coalition against the German Volk and the German Reich. First, he used Poland as a dummy, and later pressed France, Belgium, Holland, and Norway to serve him. From the start, England was a driving force here. Understandably, the power which would one day confront us is most clearly ruled by this Jewish spirit: the Soviet Union. It happens to be the greatest servant of Jewry. Time meanwhile has proved what we National Socialists maintained for many years: it is truly a state in which the whole national intelligentsia has been slaughtered, and where only spiritless, forcibly proletarianized subhumans remain. Above them, there is the gigantic organization of the Jewish commissars, that is, established slaveowners. Frequently people wondered whether, in the long run, nationalist tendencies would not be victorious there. But they completely forgot that the bearers of a conscious nationalist view no longer existed. That, in the end, the man who temporarily became the ruler of this state, is nothing other than an instrument in the hands of this almighty Jewry. If Stalin is on stage and steps in front of the curtain, then Kaganovich and all those Jews stand behind him, Jews who, in ten-thousandfold ramifications, control this mighty empire. Speech in the Löwenbräukeller Munich, November 8, 1941

Love doesn’t have an expiration date, Katie. There is no cookie cutter for it, and there sure as hell aren’t instructions. It just is. Who says you can’t fall in love with someone who’s already broken your heart? Who says you can’t move on and then fall in love all over again from thousands of miles away via letters and emails? That’s the great thing about love … it finds you. And when it’s true love, it doesn’t go away, and you just know. You don’t have to wonder or guess, because it just … is.

I had escaped the snare of certitude that I welcomed so avidly at first and entered, via the name of Jesus, the wide and comprehensive company of Jesus.

This is the point for me now, that when I am reading I am not just being informed and pleasured; I am being made privy to sides and dimensions of God that others have experienced via multifarious adventures, experiences, ideas, and theories. Reading grants us ready and easy (even more so these days with the arrival of smartphones and e-book readers) access to the wild wonder of it all. Reading is nothing to stop, dismiss, or do sparingly, or do just to get up a sermon. Reading is a way to play, to enter the play of God through others, dead and alive, in our world and beyond it.

March 3: Associated Press columnist Bob Thomas reports Joan Crawford’s comments on Monroe’s appearance at a Photoplay awards dinner: “It was like a burlesque show. Someone should make her see the light; she should be told that the public likes provocative personalities but it also likes to know that underneath it all the actresses are ladies.” Marilyn replies via Louella Parsons’s column in the Herald Examiner: “What hurts me more is what Miss Crawford said, is that I have always admired her to be such a wonderful mother—to have adopted 4 children and have given them a family. I’m well-placed to know what it means not to have a house when you’re a child.

How do these online distraction systems work? They start with an external trigger or notification. You may visit a Website or sign up for a service. They will then send you an email, follow you on the Internet with ads, or send you a push notification with very specific language that has been tested to get you to click on it. You click on the link and your attachment or connection to that distraction system gets a little bit stronger. You, unintentionally, provide that system with more information when you read an article, add a friend, or comment on a photo. Without realizing it, and behind the scenes, the machinery of distraction is starting to turn. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being completely attached, you are a 2 at this point. These companies know that you don’t really care about the company itself, but you do care about your friends, family, and co-workers. They leverage these relationships by showing your profile to these contacts. These people are then asked to add you as a contact, friend, or to comment on your photo. Guess what this does? It brings you back to the site and increases the attachment. Think about this just for a second. If a company wants me to come back to their site, then they have a much higher chance of getting me back if they tell me my nephew added me as a friend, or posted a new pic. I care about my nephew. I don’t care about the company. This happens a few times and the attachment goes from a 2 to a 5. Soon, you have more and more connections on the site. Many of these sites have a magic number. Once you cross that threshold they know they really have you. Let’s say it is 10 connections. Once you have 10 connections they know with a level of statistical certainty that they can get you coming back to the site several times a week. Your attachment then goes from a 5 to a 7. All this time they are still pinging you via email, ads or push notifications to get you back to the site. The prompts or triggers to get you back are all external. You may be experiencing uncomfortable emotions like anxiety, sadness, or boredom, but you are not yet feeling these as triggers to go to the site and escape these feelings. Instead, what happens gradually, is that the trigger moves from being external like an email prompt and moves internal. Soon, they do not have to remind you or leverage your relationships to go back to the site. You are now doing it on your own. You are checking it regularly on your own. Your attachment has moved from a 7 to an 8. They’ve got you now, but they don’t completely have you. The tendrils are not yet deep into your brain and that is really where they want to go. They want to get as wrapped around your brain as possible, because the deeper they are - the more unconscious this behavior of checking the site - the more time you spend on the site and the more money they make. When you start living your life, not for what you are actually experiencing at the moment, but instead for how you imagine it will look to other people on these sites, then they really have you. When the experience itself is less meaningful than the image of you on the site and the number of likes it gets, then they are getting really deep. They have moved the center of your self from your actual life and transferred it to the perception of your life on their site. You now mostly live for reactions from other people on these company’s sites. By this time, you are likely refreshing the page, habitually looking at your phone, and wondering why your pic or video has not received more comments or likes. By this time you are fully hooked, as my good friend Nir Eyal would say, and your attachment has gone from an 8 to a full 10. They’ve got you hook, line, and sinker. Scary

The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' 카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. 비맥스판매,비맥스가격,비맥스파는곳,비맥스구입방법,비맥스구매방법,비맥스복용법,비맥스부작용,비맥스지속시간,비맥스구매 The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment' 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 The answer remains elusive in part because love is not one thing. Love for parents, partners, children, country, neighbor, God and so on all have different qualities. Each has its variants – blind, one-sided, tragic, steadfast, fickle, reciprocated, misguided, and unconditional. At its best, however, all love is a kind a passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die. 팔팔정구매방법,구구정구매방법,비아그라구매방법,시알리스구매방법,레비트라구매방법,비닉스구매방법,센트립구매방법,엠빅스구매방법,센돔구매방법,네노마정구매방법 Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me.

Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. 카톡☎ppt33☎ 〓 라인☎pxp32☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 I want to put a ding in the universe. 아드레닌파는곳,아드레닌판매,아드레닌가격,아드레닌구매,아드레닌구입,아드레닌팝니다,아드레닌구입방법,아드레닌구매방법,아드레닌지속시간 Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. 비아그라가격,시알리스가격,레비트라가격,팔팔정가격,구구정가격,엠빅스가격,비닉스가격,센트립가격,센돔가격,네노마정가격,프릴리지가격 When I do well in the exam, I will show my paper to my parents, they are so happy to see me do well in the exam. I want to be happy all the time. But I have put so much pressure on myself. One day, my parents tell me that they don’t care how I do well in the exam, they just want me to be happy. I know I should relax myself and be happy. Almost every child will complain about their parents sometimes. It is natural, because when people stay together for a long time, they will start to have argument. But ignore about the unhappy time, our parents love us all the time. No matter what happen to us, they will stand by our sides. We should be grateful to them and try to understand them. Nowadays, more and more middle-aged people are suffering from insomnia, as life for the middle-aged is stressful indeed. For one thing, as they are the backbones of their companies, they have plenty of things to do at work. And they usually have to work overtime. For another, they have to take great responsibilities at home, for their aged parents need to be supported and their little children need to be brought up. That's why they don't have enough time to have a good rest.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. 카톡►ppt33◄ 〓 라인►pxp32◄ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. 엠빅스판매,엠빅스가격,엠빅스구입,엠빅스구매,엠빅스파는곳,엠빅스팝니다,엠빅스구입방법,엠빅스구매방법,엠빅스판매사이트 We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? 발기부족으로 삽입시 조루증상 그리고 여성분 오르가즘늦기지 못한다 또한 페니션이 작다고 느끼는분들 이쪽으로 보세요 팔팔정,구구정,비닉스,센트립,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스 등 아주 많은 좋은제품들 취급하고 단골님 모시고 있는곳입니다.원하실경우 언제든 연락주세요 The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. I want to put a ding in the universe. Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Just like a boxer, we, too come face to face with many opponents in the arena of life—problems and difficulties. The bad news is, we don’t really know when our bouts with these opponents occur—no posters and promotional TV commercials; no pre-fight Press Conference and weigh in to make sure that we measure up to our opponent; and there is no Pay Per View coverage. Here are several reasons why you should train yourself for success like a champion boxer! You don’t practice in the arena, that’s where your skills and your abilities are evaluated. This also means that you don’t practice solving problems and developing yourself when problems occur, you prepare yourself to face them long before you actually face them. Talent is good but training is even better. Back in college, one of my classmates in Political Science did not bring any textbook or notebook in our classes; he just listened and participated in discussions. What I didn’t understand was how he became a magna cum laude! Apparently, he was gifted with a great memory and analytical skills. In short, he was talented.

What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. 카톡☎ppt33☎ 〓 라인☎pxp32☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 파워이렉트판매,파워이렉트파는곳,파워이렉트가격,파워이렉트구입사이트,파워이렉트구매사이트,파워이렉트판매사이트,파워이렉트지속시간,파워이렉트복용법 천연정력제구입,남성정력제구입,정력제구입,발기제구입,남성발기제구입,강력발기제구입 The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me.

Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. 카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 불개미구입,불개미구매,불개미판매,불개미파는곳,불개미가격,불개미구입방법,불개미구매방법,불개미구입사이트,불개미구매사이트,불개미판매사이트 비아그라팝니다,시알리스팝니다,레비트라팝니다,구구정팝니다,팔팔정팝니다,네노마정팝니다 I want to put a ding in the universe. Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Zombie stories are life lessons for boys who don't mind thinking about bodies, but can't cope with emotions. Vampire stories are in many ways sex for the squeamish. We don't need Raj Persaud to tell us that plunging canines into soft warm necks, or driving stakes between heaving bosoms, are very basic sexual metaphors. There are now even whole sections of bookshops given over to the new genre of "supernatural romance". Maybe it was ever thus. Dr Polidori, who wrote the very first vampire novel, The Vampyr, based his central character very much on his chief patient, Lord Byron, and the Byronic "mad, bad and dangerous to know" archetype has been at the centre of both romantic and blood-sucking fiction ever since. Dracula, Heathcliffe, Rochester, Darcy and not to mention chief vampire Bill in Channel 4's new series True Blood are all cut from the same cloth. Meyer even claims that she based her first Twilight book on Pride and Prejudice, although Robert Pattinson, who plays the lead in the movie version, looks like James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause. Either way, vampire = sexy rebel.

Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. 카톡☎ppt33☎ 〓 라인☎pxp32☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 I want to put a ding in the universe. 비그알엑스구입,비그알엑스구매,비그알엑스판매,비그알엑스파는곳,비그알엑스구입방법,비그알엑스구매방법,비그알엑스약효,비그알엑스지속시간,비그알엑스복용법 Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. When I do well in the exam, I will show my paper to my parents, they are so happy to see me do well in the exam. I want to be happy all the time. But I have put so much pressure on myself. One day, my parents tell me that they don’t care how I do well in the exam, they just want me to be happy. I know I should relax myself and be happy. Your negative emotions can also be controlled and directed. PMA and self-discipline can remove their harmful effects and make them serve constructive purposes. Sometimes fear and anger will inspire intense action. But you must always submit your negative emotions--and you positive ones--to the examination of your reason before releasing them. Emotion without reason is a dreadful enemy. What faculty provides the crucial balance between emotions and reason? It is your willpower, or ego, a subject which will be explored in more detail below. Self-discipline will teach you to throw your willpower behind either reason or emotion and amplify the intensity of their expression.

Superman – Moses in a costume, with his underpants on the outside. Captain America – the poster boy of the mad American patriot. Wonder Woman wore a bathing suit bearing the American flag. She was as beautiful as Aphrodite, as wise as Athena, as strong as Hercules, and as swift and as great a warrior as Diana. Superheroes fought enemy spies at home. They battled reds under the beds. America is a mythological country in the modern world. By surrounding itself with modern myths, it has made itself less and less real. America simulates being a real country via its modern myths, but only succeeds in become phonier.

Please remember that great companies and wonderful lives don’t happen by sudden revolution. Nope. They materialize via incremental evolution. Tiny, daily wins and iterations stack into outcomes of excellence, over the long-term.

I’m not in Seattle. I’m in Canada. On vacation.” Annie palmed her face with her now free hand. “You? Take a vacation?” She huffed out a laugh. “Wonders never cease.” Better Darcy discovered a work-life balance sooner rather than later, but did it have to happen now? Talk about terrible timing. “Ha ha,” Darcy deadpanned before clearing her throat. “I’m in Vancouver. Elle and I are in Vancouver.” Ah, Elle. Suddenly it made sense. Of course it would take Darcy’s new—did it still count as new if they’d been dating over six months?—girlfriend to convince her to step away from her desk and take a much-needed vacation. Annie smiled. After talking to her via numerous texts and phone calls, she was looking forward to finally meeting the girl who had her best friend totally smitten. Or she had been looking forward to it. Annie’s smile wavered, but she mustered up some semi-genuine enthusiasm. “Sounds fun! About time you took a vacation.

Adults, whether anti-trans hate groups, trans exclusionary feminists, conservative activists, parents, so-called interested observers, or even allies and advocates, tarry within the dangerously limiting circumstances of a system that continues to assay the value of trans children’s being in terms not of their humanity and personhood but via questions absurd in their abstraction for how they ask us instead to wonder if trans children “prove something” about the biological basis of sex and gender or how identity politics have so injured a cis, white, heteronormative imaginary that cannot fathom the obvious fragility of its claims to universalism in the face of a defiant no.

카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 #팔팔정구입방법 #팔팔정구매방법 #팔팔정구입 #팔팔정구매 #팔팔정판매 #팔팔정처방 #팔팔정가격 #팔팔정후기 #팔팔정정품구입 #팔팔정정품구매 #팔팔정정품판매 #팔팔정구입하는곳 #팔팔정구매하는곳 #팔팔정판매하는곳 #팔팔정약효 #팔팔정효과 #팔팔정효능 #팔팔정지속시간 What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. 카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. 엠빅스판매,엠빅스파는곳,엠빅스가격,엠빅스구입방법,엠빅스구매방법,엠빅스지속시간,엠빅스효과,엠빅스판매사이트,엠빅스가격 I want to put a ding in the universe. 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 비아그라지속시간,시알리스지속시간,비닉스지속시간,센트립지속시간,비아그라지속시간,시알리스지속시간,레비트라지속시간 Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. When I do well in the exam, I will show my paper to my parents, they are so happy to see me do well in the exam. I want to be happy all the time. But I have put so much pressure on myself. One day, my parents tell me that they don’t care how I do well in the exam, they just want me to be happy. I know I should relax myself and be happy. The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security.

네노마정정품판매 ☎홈피:via3.co.to 네노마정정품구매 #네노마정구입방법 #네노마정가격 ☎카톡:ppt33 ☎ #네노마정구매방법 ☎라인:pxp32 ☎ #네노마정약효 #네노마정추천 Almost every child will complain about their parents sometimes. It is natural, because when people stay together for a long time, they will start to have argument. But ignore about the unhappy time, our parents love us all the time. No matter what happen to us, they will stand by our sides. We should be grateful to them and try to understand them. #네노마정구입 #네노마정구매 #네노마정판매 #네노마정처방 #네노마정가격 #네노마정종류 #네노마정후기 #네노마정지속시간 #네노마정정품구입 #네노마정사용후기 #네노마정사용방법 #네노마정구하는곳 Just like a boxer, we, too come face to face with many opponents in the arena of life—problems and difficulties. The bad news is, we don’t really know when our bouts with these opponents occur—no posters and promotional TV commercials; no pre-fight Press Conference and weigh in to make sure that we measure up to our opponent; and there is no Pay Per View coverage. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. I want to put a ding in the universe. Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles.

What a wonderful concept, to be with a mountain. I do think this is how I’ve come to relate to mountains. I allow them to hold me, to show me. I sit with them and gaze out to valleys with them. The book is a poetic meditation in returning to our senses via the mountain, and “living all the way through” to ourselves. Nan Shepherd in The Living Mountain had scary moments – almost falling down a ravine, almost treading on an adder – that shocked her into a “heightened power” of herself. Fear became something that “enlarged rather than constricted the spirit.” “When walking for many hours on a mountain,” she wrote, “the body deepens into a fulfilled trance, the senses keyed,” and she discovers “most nearly what is it to be. I have walked out of the body and into the mountain.” Oh, yes, the knowingness of the mountain. I know such a knowingness.

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This is why one of the primary techniques that doctors use to treat patients with insomnia is actually sleep restriction, limiting the hours when they are “allowed” to sleep to six, or less. This basically makes them tired enough that they fall asleep more easily at the end of the day, and (hopefully) their normal sleep cycle is restored. Their sleep pressure builds up to the point where it overwhelms whatever is causing their insomnia. But this also helps explain why napping can be counterproductive. Taking a nap during the day, while sometimes tempting, can also relieve too much of that sleep pressure, making it harder to fall back asleep at night. Another way to help cultivate sleep pressure is via exercise, particularly sustained endurance exercise (e.g., zone 2), ideally not within two or three hours of bedtime. My patients often find that a thirty-minute zone 2 session can do wonders for their ability to fall asleep. Even better is exercise that entails some exposure to sunlight (i.e., outdoors). While blue light late in the evening can interfere with sleep, a half-hour dose of strong daylight, during the day, helps keep our circadian cycle on track, setting us up for a good night of sleep.

He almost broke the window of the front door coming in about two minutes later, as if he was running from Gran Via and the Urgell corner. Sweating, soaked, with two bags; a luggage in his hand and a bigger side bag across his chest. As he threw his luggage to the ground and jumped up the stairs, trying to run up to me, he slipped on the dangerous, tiled, and sharp steps, falling and rolling back into the corner in a state of misery. He tried to get up again, but he fell back down to the bottom of the stairs. The side bag's strap slipped off his shoulder and jammed his legs as he jumped up again and tried to run up to me once more. In his desperation, he fell back down to the bottom of the stairs when his foot got caught in the side bag again, until he finally removed it screaming like a jackal and tried again for the fourth time. I was just standing at the top of the stairs, trying to contain my amazement and amusement at the same time, wondering what was wrong with this bizarre, crazy-crazy guy. It was like another Benny Hill episode, or a Mr Bean scene. But he sure did get hurt too. It was amazing. Finally he managed to scramble and run up the stairs, madly yelling at me. The wireless office phone was in my hand and we had just spoken a minute ago or two. He must have been heading towards Gran Via towards the airport, which I highly doubted as he was hiding in Europe; he was probably going to a bus station around Plaza Espanya. I doubt he was taking the train in Spain, trying to hide in Europe. Once he managed to get up and as I stood there in disbelief, almost laughing at him, with my hands in the air as if I didn’t know what was going on, he ripped the office phone from my hand and threw it to the ground, breaking it into many pieces upstairs.

You may be wondering how chronic overstimulation can induce two seemingly opposite effects. First, it can increase dopamine activity (sensitisation via DeltaFosB). Second, it can decrease dopamine activity (desensitisation via CREB124). The answer is that it’s mostly about timing. But it’s also about the neurological differences between wanting and liking.[135] Sensitisation leads to high spikes of dopamine in response to cues and triggers associated with use. The dopamine spikes occur before ingesting the drug or masturbating to porn, and are experienced as cravings to use. However, on exposure to the same old stimuli less dopamine (and less opioids) are released (desensitisation). This dampening of pleasure occurs during drug use or while masturbating to porn. The activity is experienced as less pleasurable, increasing cravings for more. Thus, two mechanisms once beneficial to our animal ancestors have unwanted consequences in the age of porn tube sites and omnipresent junk food. Sensitisation leads to greater wanting or more intense cravings, while desensitisation leads to less liking or a decline in overall pleasure.[136] This disparity acts as a double-edged sword that drives compulsive use: overpowering cravings to use (sensitisation) combined with less fulfilment from both everyday activities and from the problematic behaviours (desensitisation). Brain scan studies confirm that porn addicts have greater reward system activation in the craving phase (wanting), but do not like porn any more than non-addicts.

I didn’t know either that trees trade via a fungal internet that connects them underground, allowing one tree species to store excess nutrients and swap them with nutrients that other tree species have a different superfluity of. No wonder similar species don’t like to grow too near each other. Too incestuous. Too little opportunity for trade in times of hardship.

Goren Ha’atad, you will recall, is where the procession paused to eulogize Jacob before arriving at their ultimate destination. It was there that the Canaanites looked on and expressed their wonder at how great an expression of mourning all this was for Egypt. As it happens, the Torah makes a point of telling us where Goren Ha’atad was: And they came to Goren Ha’atad, which is on the other side of the Jordan River (Genesis 50:10) The text goes out of its way to let us know that Goren Ha’atad was in Ever HaYarden, which is to say, on the east side of the Jordan River. But let’s do a little reality check of the geography, here: what, exactly, was the burial procession doing on the east bank of the Jordan? Their starting point was Egypt; their destination, the tomb of Machpelah in Hebron. Both those points are west of the Jordan River. What were they doing, then, on the east side of the Jordan? The shortest route from Egypt to Hebron is to head northwest in more or less a straight line. If the burial party traveled to Canaan via Goren Ha’atad, it means they went well out of their way. Leaving Egypt, they would have had to swoop down to the south of Canaan, traverse the Sinai desert, swing up and around the Dead Sea, travel due north for the entire length of that sea, and then hook left to cross the Jordan River, probably somewhere near Jericho. That’s really taking the long way.

Once the defenses fall and we let go of faith, we are overcome by a sobering clarity: Of course, a religion that ever failed so miserably must be the product of humans, not divinity. There is no way that a god would sit back and watch for 600 years while his highest priests tortured thousands of innocents via the likes of anal vice until they denounced him. Something truly holy would never have been subjected to such gross misunderstanding and atrocious implementation in the past. It would be timeless, not a work in progress; otherwise it reduces the billions of people who have lived before us to some sort of experiments for our own well-being today, us living in much better times. What a horrifically narcissistic and insensitive attitude this would be, to disregard the past in order to soothe our own existential fears about our own deaths, most of which will be quite pampered relative to theirs. Again, I did it, too. And now I’m ashamed. In fact, it makes me wonder if some of the hostility I have towards people who remain faithful is projected, that is, I’m mad at myself for ever having been in so much denial, too. The truth is that we have come a long way so that religion is more civilized than ever before. But this is not because God cares more about us today than he did those living in the Middle Ages; it’s simply because we’re smarter than we were back then. And, despite how far we’ve come, we’re far from out of the woods. There’s still much more divinely inspired torture and murder in the world today than there ever should have been, and religious-based oppression of a less lethal nature remains quite rampant, even in the progressive and privileged West. Overall, we are still in a state of progress, meaning that we are actually an ongoing experiment for the people of the future who will have even better religious lives than us, one where there is even less murder of heretics and less oppression of slaves, women, and homosexuals.

More where do you see yourself in a few years’ time? More what career path would you like to pursue? More think very carefully about your future. More it will all pay off in the long run. All through our education we are being taught a kind of reverse mindfulness. A kind of Future Studies where—via the guise of mathematics, or literature, or history, or computer programming, or French—we are being taught to think of a time different to the time we are in. Exam time. Job time. When-we-are-grown-up time. To see the act of learning as something not for its own sake but because of what it will get you reduces the wonder of humanity. We are thinking, feeling, art-making, knowledge-hungry, marvelous animals, who understand ourselves and our world through the act of learning. It is an end in itself. It has far more to offer than the things it lets us write on application forms. It is a way to love living right now. I am coming to realize how wrong many of my aspirations have been. How locked out of the present I have found myself. How I have always wanted more of whatever was in front of me. I need to find a way to stay still, in the present, and, as my nan used to say, be happy with what you have.

For two hundred thousand years, the light from the origin of the universe had bathed us, without any awareness on our part, but then, via the power of thought, the entire fourteen billion years of creativity came alive in Hubble. The whole story had always been there, showering down on us, but so much had been required to develop the mental space to allow it in. Now that a pathway had been constructed into our awareness, we would be changed forever. That’s what I needed to get across. Give them one whiff of that and watch them go wild with wonder. I would make this a moment they would not forget.

Catalina: I need your help. I don’t have anyone else I can ask. I was sitting at my desk in my room trying to work on a Numerology assignment but since that message had come through, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Because it came down to this – was I going to help Mommy Acrux with her little problem? I hadn’t even replied yet so I had no idea what she wanted my help with, but I needed to make a decision before I did. Did I trust her? And how far was I willing to go for her? I tapped my pen against my lips as I wondered. Catalina had been messaging me every day since we’d swapped numbers. She gave me information on Lionel and Clara’s comings and goings and revealed anything they’d let slip but there hadn’t been a single, solid thing that she’d told me which would make any real difference to us. I understood that Lionel kept her out of his plans, but still, she hadn’t exactly given me any irrefutable evidence that she was actually on my side. ... I reached out and took a biscuit from the little stand and devoured it in two bites as Catalina watched me. It was fucking delicious. Going hungry in the mortal world had definitely left me with a taste for good food and there was no way I’d be letting those little treats go to waste. “Have you seen much of Darius?” she asked and I stilled. We talked a lot via text, but there was an unspoken rule that we didn’t discuss him, and I would have preferred to stick to it. “Every day,” I admitted. “Meals, classes, the common room. It’s kinda like getting punched in the heart every other hour.” I wasn’t really sure why I’d admitted to that and I looked away from her before she could get a read on the pain it caused me. Because I didn’t have a right to be hurting over it, did I? It had been my choice that put us in this position after all. The door opened before she could push me on the subject and I looked around with a smile as Xavier stepped into the room. He fell still as he spotted me. His dark hair was a mess, he was barefoot and the grey sweatpants he wore had a stain on the leg. He was also shirtless which gave me a look at the lean muscle lining his frame and the defined V which dipped beneath his waistband. “Well shit, Xavier, have you spent the last two months working out or something?” I teased and a faint blush lined his cheeks as he stared between me and his mother. “What…why are you here?” he asked, not seeming to know if he should be pleased to see me or not. She seemed to be waiting for me to make the move though so I beckoned Xavier closer and pointed to the chair beside me. He approached, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he lowered himself into the seat and pushed a hand through his hair self consciously. “Did I interrupt your nap?” I teased. “No. I just…didn’t really expect to see anyone today so I didn’t exactly bother getting dressed.” There was a hollow tone to his voice which made me frown and my heart twisted painfully as I wondered how many days he spent alone like that. (Tory POV)

Our love Many moments, many of them, Sometimes I look at her and often at them, Like these moments of time , everywhere she is, Here she is, there she is, wherever I maybe there she is, She lives in these moments of time, Sometimes walking unto me like the memories of time, No matter where I might be, She always finds me via these moments of time, and that is how she wants it to be, Her beauty lying seeded in moments of time, Until she herself becomes an inseparable part of time, Then she can anywhere be, To be my endless joy, For I shall then only behold her wherever I might see, And what a tragedy for the poor mirror it shall be, Casting my reflection, but in the mirror too only her, just her I see, Then what might become of life as it circles around her, Because by now time too has come to love her, Time is wherever she is, And I am wherever she is, Life waits longingly and for her time has no moments to spare, It has lent all its moments to her, that for life it was meant to spare, So her beauty grows and glows everyday, As time renews her every atom of beauty everyday, And as in this wonder of beauty she grows, My mind in her fondness grows, Today time has spent its entire reserve of moments, Now it has nothing left, no seconds, no minutes, no hours, no days, and no moments, So I hold her hand and bring her to the mirror, And together we stand before this well glazed mirror, And now it is the mirror, both of us in it, and time frozen forever, We continue to live in the mirror but time and everything else have lost their virtues forever, For when time gifted her spare moments, actually meant to renew life and its forms, It created a parallel universe of time, where her beauty and my love are the only life’s forms, And this is how it shall be my love, To love and live in these moments filled with the memories of our love.

Yes, well, this rumor is different.” Colden holds a chilled hand over the rising heat from the fire, a useless effort to chase away the cold that lives in his veins. “There’s only one reason the Prince of the East would break King Regner’s peace agreement with me, and that’s if he’s learned that I’m much more valuable as a weapon against Fia than as an ally.” Fia. I think of the Summerland queen often and wonder if she worries for Colden the way he worries for her. “Everything I’ve ever done has been with Fia and all of Tiressia in mind,” he says. “If the prince knows my secret, they will come for me. You know they will. And they will destroy anyone who stands in their way.” “Our borders are protected,” I tell him for what feels like the hundredth time. “Even without our Witch Walkers, the Iceland Plains and eastern range are impassable this time of year. The Eastlanders never have and never will survive sailing through the White Tides, nor can they make it past the Summerlander fleet to enter via the Western Drifts. The coast is well fortified. You’re safe, Colden.” And Fia is safe. No king—and certainly no nameless prince—has bested her yet. She doesn’t need to deal with the Prince of the East getting his hands on her former lover, but if anyone can take care of themselves, it’s the Fire Queen.

Pilgrims who arrive in Rome on foot or by bike on a “devotionis causa” pilgrimage are welcome to stay at a recently refurbished hostel, the Spedale della Provvidenza in Travestere.  It is operated by the Franciscan Missionary Sisters and the Confraternity of St. James.  The women running the hostel will invite you to share an evening meal with them.  My recommendation: Join them. I did, and it was a wonderfully memorable experience.

INTROSPECTION AND INSANITY: A GODELIAN PROBLEM I think it can have suggestive value to translate Godel's Theorem into other domains, provided one specifies in advance that the translations are metaphorical and are not intended to be taken literally. That having been said, I see two major ways of using analogies to connect Godel's Theorem and human thoughts. One involves the problem of wondering about one's sanity. How can you figure out if you are sane? This is a Strange Loop indeed. Once you begin to question your own sanity, you can get trapped in an ever-tighter vortex of self-fulfilling prophecies, though the process is by no means inevitable. Everyone knows that the insane interpret the world via their own peculiarly consistent logic; how can you tell if your own logic is 'peculiar' or not, given that you have only your own logic to judge itself? I don't see any answer. I am just reminded of Godel's second Theorem, which implies that the only versions of formal number theory which assert their own consistency are inconsistent...

The fear and rejection of doubt as a legitimate part of faith can be seen at its most stark in the twentieth-century Church’s obsession with the area of apologetics (a term which refers to a formal justification or defence of doctrine). Legal terminology is often employed within this apologetic discourse so as to give the impression that Christianity can be proven beyond all reasonable doubt by a cold and objective analysis of the empirical evidence for its claims. Broadly speaking, we can identify two types of apologetic procedure employed by the Church: word and wonder. The first of these builds an apologetic case via the use of reason so as to logically convince the other that Christianity is compelling and must be accepted by anyone who wishes to be rational. The second builds an apologetic case via the use of the miraculous in order to demonstrate to the other that they ought to believe. Because of their compelling nature, these apologetic strategies can be termed ‘power discourses’. Yet it is precisely against these power discourses that the emerging community must take its stand, offering instead a genuinely Christlike and effective alternative.

What’s my big beef with capitalism? That it desacralizes everything, robs the world of wonder, and leaves it as nothing more than a vulgar market. The fastest way to cheapen anything—be it a woman, a favor, or a work of art—is to put a price tag on it. And that’s what capitalism is, a busy greengrocer going through his store with a price-sticker machine—ka-CHUNK! ka-CHUNK!—$4.10 for eggs, $5 for coffee at Sightglass, $5,000 per month for a run-down one-bedroom in the Mission. Think I’m exaggerating? Stop and think for a moment what this whole IPO ritual was about. For the first time, Facebook shares would have a public price. For all the pageantry and cheering, this was Mr. Market coming along with his price-sticker machine and—ka-CHUNK!—putting one on Facebook for $38 per share. And everyone was ecstatic about it. It was one of the highlights of the technology industry, and one of the “once in a lifetime” moments of our age. In pre-postmodern times, only a divine ritual of ancient origin, victory in war, or the direct experience of meaningful culture via shared songs, dances, or art would cause anybody such revelry. Now we’re driven to ecstasies of delirium because we have a price tag, and our life’s labors are validated by the fact it does. That’s the smoldering ambition of every entrepreneur: to one day create an organization that society deems worthy of a price tag. These are the only real values we have left in the twilight of history, the tired dead end of liberal democratic capitalism, at least here in the California fringes of Western civilization. Clap at the clever people getting rich, and hope you’re among them. Is it a wonder that the inhabitants of such a world clamor for contrived rituals of artificial significance like Burning Man, given the utter bankruptcy of meaning in their corporatized culture? Should we be surprised that they cling to identities, clusters of consumption patterns, that seem lifted from the ads-targeting system at Facebook: “hipster millennials,” “urban mommies,” “affluent suburbanites”? Ortega y Gasset wrote: “Men play at tragedy because they do not believe in the reality of the tragedy which is actually being staged in the civilized world.” Tragedy plays like the IPO were bound to pale for those who felt the call of real tragedy, the tragedy that poets once captured in verse, and that fathers once passed on to sons. Would the inevitable descendants of that cheering courtyard crowd one day gather with their forebears, perhaps in front of a fireplace, and ask, “Hey, Grandpa, what was it like to be at the Facebook IPO?” the way previous generations asked about Normandy or the settling of the Western frontier? I doubt it. Even as a participant in this false Mass, the temporary thrill giving way quickly to fatigue and a budding hangover, I wondered what would happen to the culture when it couldn’t even produce spectacles like this anymore.

Steve had tried to reach us after our Father’s Day phone call. There was no way I could have realized that, because I didn’t have any mobile phone reception at the cottage. He was back on Croc One and trying to get hold of us via satellite phone. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t be in range again until the next day. We enjoyed our dinner, built a huge fire, and snuggled down for the night. We didn’t hurry ourselves the next day. We meandered west, stopping at a raspberry farm and at the Honey Factory in Chudleigh. They featured a beehive behind glass, and we loved watching as the bees worked on their honeycomb. They never stopped to say, “I wonder what the meaning of life is.” They just kept building. The Honey Factory also featured a plethora of bee-themed products: bee gum boots, bee back massagers, bee umbrellas, and a bee trolley for the kids to ride on. Bindi sampled every single flavor of honey that they had. She bought a wristwatch with a bee on it. Robert picked out a backpack. “Robert,” I said, “that backpack is great. It has bees on it.” “It has one bee on it,” he said, correcting me. “Oh, okay, one bee,” I said, amused at my son’s seriousness. We spent the last hour of the morning at the Honey Factory. As we walked out the door, Bindi looked at her newly purchased watch and said, “It’s twelve o’clock.” We all stopped for a moment and considered that it was twelve o’clock. Then we got into the car and left.

Best man gets to plan the bachelor party, right?” Furi grinned devilishly. “Wonderful. I got a gay man throwing my bachelor party. I

Free stopped so suddenly, Ruxs had to dodge him to avoid running into his back. Tech turned to look at his friend, wondering about the haunted look in his face. “Who’s that in there?” he whispered harshly, his voice sounding strained as if he had to struggle to say the words. Tech

Yeah I see,” Syn said quietly. Ro’s phone rang and he picked it up, giving Syn a couple of private minutes, which were needed because his heart was beating a mile a minute. The fates can’t be that cruel. To make the only man, no forget that; the only person that Syn had been interested in in over ten years a suspect in a murder case he was overseeing. On top of everything else, the man is married. This isn’t good. Ro disconnected his call and Syn asked him, “How soon before this one arrives?” “He’s already here in room five. You coming?” Ro asked, taking Furious’ file from his hands. “I’ll watch.” Syn walked beside Ro to the interrogation rooms. Then he thought better of it, and decided he needed to be honest with his men. They worked effectively together, but most of all they had each other's backs. Ro was a good man and Syn felt he could trust him. “Ro wait.” “What’s up?” Syn blew out a breath and scratched at the hair on top of his head, which was grown out enough that it was already starting to curl. “Syn what’s going on?” Ro looked genuinely concerned, his vibrant blue eyes staring intently at him. Syn looked back and forth as uniforms brushed passed them in the hall. Ro clasped a firm grip on Syn’s shoulder and ushered him into one of the vacant offices. “Talk to me man. You’re my Sarge but I consider you a friend first. That’s the way we operate. If you have a problem, then I have a fuckin’ problem, and so do twenty-one other men. But between you and me right now, what’s up?” Syn rubbed the back of his neck and tried to ease some of the tension there. “This guy Furious.” Ro shook his head indicating he was listening. “I’m kind of, um … we uh … he’s my,” Syn stuttered not quite finding the right words. “You know him and you like him,” Ro finished for him. Syn looked Ro in the eye. “Yeah, I like him.” Syn took a deep breath. “He’s the first him that I’ve liked in a very long time.” “I see.” Ro rubbed his hand over his cheek again. Syn knew the gesture meant Ro was thinking. “Shit’s all fucked up now. I can’t date a goddamn suspect, a married goddamn suspect.” “Hey whoa. We don’t know the situation with the marriage yet. The reasons I thought he could be a suspect? They might be easily explained away.” “You’re the one said you think he’s hiding something,” Syn argued. “Yes, I did. This guy is married, right? He leaves his husband in a way that makes the man file a missing persons on him, and then Furious changes his name, and not back to his birth name. It looks like he’s hiding from him, I just need to find out why.” Ro pulled a paper from the file. “This shows him making regular deposits to an account in a bank located in Los Angeles. The account is under a different name and has over ninety thousand dollars in it.” “So he stole his husband’s money and hauled ass in the middle of the night. Fuckin’ great.” Syn yanked the door open, ready to charge into interrogation room five and tell Furious he could go to hell. “Geez, hold on a minute, Sarge.” Ro grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside, slamming the door closed. “No wonder Day likes you so much. Both of you go off half-cocked all the fucking time. That money wasn’t stolen. It was life insurance proceeds from when his father died. He might’ve been hiding it from the husband. The contributions he’s been making since then have been small but frequent.” “He’s a porn star, Ronowski! I can’t date a damn porn star! Fucking other women and probably men. What the fuck?” Syn was yelling and pacing now. He knew it wasn’t fair to yell at Ro, but he was the only one there now.

Go where?” Furi looked between them. “I can answer your questions right here.” “You could if we were the ones with the questions,” Metallica spoke up. “Our Sergeant and First Officer will be questioning you down at the precinct.” “So you’re the errand boys.” “And you’re the porn boy,” Metallica quipped back smoothly. “Now that we got job titles out of the way, move it, unless there’s some reason you don’t want to come.” Furi wanted to flip them both off, but he followed them toward the parking lot. He was sort of glad they weren’t the ones questioning him, because he didn’t like their attitudes. Metallica opened the back door to a dark Suburban and told him to get in. Furi climbed in and put his seat belt on, just wanting to get this over with and get back before midnight. Furi found himself wondering what precinct Syn was in and if he should tell him soon about his second job. He didn’t want him finding out through the grapevine or hotline. Whatever.

A light brown eyebrow rose, followed by a deep, easy chuckle. “You like what you see?” “Yes. I’m not blind. But I prefer a stronger jaw, someone a little darker.” Furi smirked right back. Where the hell had he gotten all this bravado from? He usually wasn’t so blunt, but it felt good. He was finally coming into his own. The way his dad had urged him to before he’d passed. “Stronger and darker, huh? No shit.” The man looked behind him into the one-way mirror, smiling broadly, making Furi wonder who was behind it. “I’m Detective Ronowski. I’m the First Officer of a narcotics task force based in this precinct. Thank you for coming down tonight.” “Well it wasn’t by choice. I will say your errand boys could use a refresher course in charm and courtesy,” Furi said with little venom. “Errand boys? Oh, you mean Green and Ruxs.” Ronowski laughed again. It was a melodic sound that had Furi leaning back and enjoying it. “Those errand boys are very skilled men, maybe not in charm, but definitely in hand-to-hand combat. Just in case someone doesn’t want to come willingly. But I’m sure you didn’t give them any trouble.” “No, I didn’t. Anyway, how long is this going to take?” Furi asked, checking his watch again. Damnit. “Got a hot date?” Ronowski smiled, looking at the window again. “Something like that. Who’s behind that glass?” “My boss.” Ronowski shot him that sexy grin again. “Well this is fun, but can we move it along?” “Of course.

Green held him back. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.” “Yeah I do.” Curtis sighed, chewing nervously at his bottom lip. “Is it um. Um. Can I. Can I c-call you Dad?” Green held his chest and chuckled heartily. Curtis looked a little taken aback before Green explained his amusement. “I’m laughing because I was trying to think of a way to ask you to call me Dad.” Curtis looked relieved too. Green cupped the side of Curtis face and brought him in for another hug. They held each other for a long while before a deep voice broke into their bonding. “I wouldn’t mind either… being called Dad. Just in case either of you were wondering,” Ruxs said softly, leaning against Green’s bedroom door watching them. Curtis ran down to Ruxs and tackled him with a playful hug like they usually exchanged. “I wouldn’t mind two dads.” Curtis laughed as Ruxs ruffled his hair. “How

Yeah Dad. I’m in here.” Curtis laughed. He knew Ruxs could be a little blunt and heavy-tempered, but he was sure his dads trusted him. A few seconds later Ruxs came through the door, quickly taking in the scene in front of him. His dad wasn’t stupid – he was a detective – so surely he could put the pieces together. Curtis tried to give his dad a look that said “please for the love of god, don’t embarrass me.” Ruxs looked over at Genesis. “How’s it going, G-Man?” Curtis mouth dropped open. Oh hell. “Pretty good, Ruxs. Long time no see.” “Yeah it has been a while. It’s a big surprise to see you here with my boy,” Ruxs said eyeing him carefully. “Dad,” Curtis hissed. Boy? Really? Ruxs ignored him, maintaining his glaring eye contact with Genesis. “Your team’s off to a damn good start this season. That Florida game was close. Y’all got a tough schedule this year.” Genesis sat forward but didn’t stand. “I’m up for the challenge.” “I bet you are.” “Dad.” Curtis scowled again. “You just here for the weekend, Genesis? I would think the coach would have y’all on a pretty tight curfew.” “I got a weekend pass,” Genesis answered with an easy smile. “So you’ll be leaving soon, right?” “Dad. Genesis was at the funeral. Did you know that?” Ruxs tilted his head in question. “Really. No I didn’t realize. All I saw were a bunch of grown. Ass. Men. I must didn’t distinguish.” Curtis’ eyes bugged out of his head. When he looked at Genesis, he didn’t seem fazed. But he on the other hand was humiliated. “I will be leaving tonight. I just came down to show my support. But I’ll be back next week for Thanksgiving break and I’d like to take Curtis on a date, if it’s alright with —” “Hell no,” Ruxs said, not letting Genesis finish. Green walked in before Curtis could say a word. “There you are, Curtis. I was wondering where you’d disappeared…” Green stopped, noticing Ruxs and Genesis’ stare off. “Oh.” Curtis turned to Genesis. “You want to go out with me? I’d like that.” “You can like it all you want,” Ruxs butted in. Curtis gave his dad his most angry look. “I’m not some sixteen year old debutant. What the heck has gotten into you?” “Curtis your grandma is leaving, she wants to say goodbye to you. Why don’t you go on downstairs,” Green said, stepping aside. “We’re gonna talk to Genesis.” Curtis was reluctant to leave, but he did. This was beyond embarrassing. He was almost eighteen. Almost grown. About to graduate and go off to college. He wasn’t even a virgin. Why were they acting like this? Curtis had been on dates. He’d had a steady boyfriend his whole sophomore and junior year, now here they were behaving like they were protecting his untainted virtue.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. What was Michaels saying? Did he know what he was saying? He sounded almost drunk, his words muffled and slurred as those wonderful sentiments were spoken against his ass. Judge’s eyes rolled behind his closed lids as Michaels relaxed his hole in the best way. That tongue was long and thick but he needed more, he wanted more. For the first time in so very long his ass felt hollow and empty, needing so badly to be filled. A fierce shudder racked his body when Michaels buried in as deep as he could, Judge unconsciously pushed his ass back, seeking out at least one more inch. Michaels slapped his damp ass and squeezed it aggressively, rumbling while he ate the hell out of him. Judge was trying hard not to ride that gorgeous face, but it was difficult. A blunt thumb probed at his ass and pushed in right along with Michaels’ tongue and Judge knew he was about to blow. “Ugh. I’ma’ come. Fuck! I’m ‘bout to come!” Michaels pulled back and gripped Judge’s balls at the same time he clamped his fingers around his cock, fending off his orgasm. Judge shook again as his brain caught up and his orgasm receded back into hiding, waiting to be forced out again. Michaels

Best man gets to plan the bachelor party, right?” Furi grinned devilishly. “Wonderful. I got a gay man throwing my bachelor party. I can’t wait.” Doug shook his head. Furi

There are many advantages to a customer-centric approach, but here’s the big one: customers are always beautifully, wonderfully dissatisfied, even when they report being happy and business is great. Even when they don’t yet know it, customers want something better, and your desire to delight customers will drive you to invent on their behalf. Jeff Bezos From 7 insightful quotes to shareholders via letter. 2017

What we need to consider about the computer has nothing to do with its efficiency as a teaching tool. We need to know in what ways it is altering our conception of learning, and how, in conjunction with television, it undermines the old idea of school. Who cares how many boxes of cereal can be sold via television? We need to know if television changes our conception of reality, the relationship of the rich to the poor, the idea of happiness itself. A preacher who confines himself to considering how a medium can increase his audience will miss the significant question: In what sense do new media alter what is meant by religion, by church, even by God? And if the politician cannot think beyond the next election, then we must wonder about what new media do to the idea of political organization and to the conception of citizenship.

Even angry she was beautiful”. Even tired. Even sick. Even one crazy night later. Even with two broken ribs. Even, even, even. An eye hangs in front of me. Always watching. How silly for me to care about being pretty. But I care about being pretty. Do men feel like this? Even alone sometimes I catch myself fixing, tidying. I cross windows no one can see in and I worry that someone will see in. I lock the bathroom door and have strange, unlikely thoughts about people who will sneak in and rip the curtain off the rod and see me naked. Sometimes, in the worst moments, I wonder: what if there’s a camera and people are seeing this ugliness. My mother taught me to plan underwear in such a way that if they found your body you wouldn’t be embarrassed. It seems insane until you watch six seconds of television; where our dead bodies are almost always mostly naked, even beautiful in death. I worry I will die in an unflattering position. “Who cares what they think?” I ask myself. I don’t even want the attention of men. Dressing for the attention of men on a daily basis is a dangerous thing and isn’t sustainable on the metro system. I want the attention of other women. But I still look in the mirror and adjust things. I do this and don’t think about men. I wear makeup and it’s not for men. I sit pretty in traffic and it’s not for men. This eye, I guess. The “them”. It never blinks. Maybe I am the one who is watching. The woman in the comic book has been kidnapped and tortured. We zoom in on her lips. Beautiful. Even then.

wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone. – Daphne du Maurier

We see this even more in Seven Brides For Seven Brothers (1954), with Mercer again at MGM, collaborating with composer Gene De Paul. This one has a real Broadway score, every number embedded in the characters’ attitudes. Ragged, bearded, buckskinned Howard Keel has come to town to take a wife, and a local belle addresses him as “Backwoodsman”: it’s the film’s central image, of rough men who must learn to be civilized in the company of women. The entire score has that flavor—western again, rustic, primitive, lusty. “Bless Yore Beautiful Hide,” treating Keel’s tour of the Oregon town where he seeks his bride, sounds like something Pecos Bill wrote with Calamity Jane. When the song sheet came out, the tune was marked “Lazily”—but that isn’t how Keel sings it. He’s on the hunt and he wants results, and, right in the middle of the number, he spots Jane Powell chopping wood and realizes that he has found his mate. But he hasn’t, not yet. True, she goes with him, looking forward to love and marriage. But her number, “Wonderful, Wonderful Day,” warns us that she is of a different temperament than he: romantic, vulnerable, poetic. They don’t suit each other, especially when he incites his six brothers to snatch their intended mates. Not court them: kidnap them. “Sobbin’ Women” (a pun on the Sabine Women of the ancient Roman legend, which the film retells, via a story by Stephen Vincent Benét) is the number outlining the plan, in more of Keel’s demanding musical tone. But the six “brides” are horrified. Their number, in Powell’s pacifying tone, is “June Bride,” and the brothers in turn offer “Lament” (usually called “Lonesome Polecat”), which reveals that they, too, have feelings. That—and the promise of good behavior—shows that they at last deserve their partners, whereupon each brother duets with each bride, in “Spring, Spring, Spring.” And we note that this number completes the boys’ surrender, in music that gives rather than takes. Isn’t