Hi, I'm a guy.
If you're a gal, and you're looking for a guy, then that's a great start, keep reading.
A little about me; I have hobbies, lots of hobbies.
I have a pretty extensive workshop where I dabble in everything from blacksmithing to bookbinding.
I have a thing for interesting historical objects and clothing. I make most of my own props and outfits for the work that I do at various festivals around the country.
I love hiking, kayaking, cycling, reading, martial arts, music, good food, and deep conversations about the mysteries of the universe. I'm far from being a health nut, but definitely trying to take better care of myself these days. I have a slowly growing tattoo collection as well.
I'm an entertainer by trade. I perform at Renaissance fairs, music festivals, and on the fringes of society. I'm known for eating fire, juggling crystal balls like David Bowie, and twisting balloon animals, but primarily I am an illusionist. A conjurer, prestidigitator. A Magician.
Yes, that's my real job, and it rocks.
I'm also teaching myself to shoot and edit video because I've always wanted to make movies. I have a few small projects out there, and just started a podcast as well, but there's still a long way to go.
What I'm looking for in a partner:
I'm a long-term relationship kinda guy. Not into hookups. Maybe that's strange, but it's just how I am. I've been single for a few years, and I'm ready to find something serious and meaningful.
I have lots to give and I'm searching for someone else who does as well.
I can appreciate different types of women, but my ideal match would be Caucasian, medium to fit build, 25-38 years old, with no children (I don't have any) but might want them someday with the right person.
She should be self-motivated and ambitious, but not too busy to spend time together. Sorry gamers, life is too short so spend it in front of a screen.
I'm not into hard partying, anymore, for the most part. Social drinking and 420 are still cool, but I've outgrown my wild phase so I'm hoping you can jive with that.
If you are kind, adventurous, loyal, unvaccinated, and at least semi-traditional then you should definitely consider getting to know an awesome person like me.
My goals for the next 3-5 years include learning more about natural/herbal medicines and horticulture. I have a green thumb and I would like to find a place to settle down and start a homestead with a special lady and grow most of our food and medicine in the garden.
I have a few business projects in the works that will supplement my sometimes-seasonal income from performing, and my hopes are that I can do much of my work from home in the future. I travel quite a bit, and I love it, but it gets old sometimes when you HAVE TO do it.
So, I guess that's a start anyway. If you want to know more, you'll just have to reach out and start the conversation.
Maybe attach a pic as well, so at least I know you're an actual human and not an assassin android from the future. I learned my lesson there.
My name is Jesse. Have a great day!

Chat +447593882116 (Telegram/Whatsapp) to get Todd V - Verbal Game Academy.
Todd Valentine's Verbal Game Academy Course will teach you his top strategies for effective communication.
Todd V is known for the extreme high quality of his content. In Todd V - Verbal Game Academy you will learn how to:
Be the guy that speaks to her emotions
How to walk up with absolute confidence
Make conversation FUN and PLAYFUL
How to ignite her sex drive
GET HER on a deep emotional level
To get Todd V - Verbal Game Academy contact me on:
Reddit Direct Message to u/RequestCourseAccess
Email: silverlakestore/@/yandex.com (remove the brackets)
WhatsApp/Telegram: +447593882116 (Telegram: multistorecourses)

Hey, I haven't used Bumble in awhile, but think I may have gotten catfished by a match if someone can help me out...
My match and I had been talking for the last three days, and she was very responsive and engaged in messaging. At the moment, she claims to be traveling and we said we'd either do a video call or meet when she returned, and she would send pictures from her travels along the way. Pictures all looked real -- mostly selfies of her at the beach wearing a hat and nothing too suspicious. Last night, she inexplicably exited the conversation and when we had last spoke the night earlier, she said she looked forward to talking soon.
But then it hit me: If someone is traveling, then they would need to be using travel mode to show up in the location they typically live in to match with me locally, so doesn't it display that on their profile in blue textv with a luggage icon? Her profile's radius stayed within the same city and radius despite her travels, and it did not say travel mode. According to Bumble, it says "Your location will show as being in the center of the city you've chosen (at this time you will not be able to select an exact location) and an indicator will display so other users know you're using Travel." Out of curiosity, I Googled her first name, the job title listed in her Bumble profile, and the location of her Bumble location, and I was surprised that it very easily brought me her professional profile on LinkedIn and various professional contact sites since she works in the healthcare industry. Still, if she was using travel mode to keep her local matches in tact while away, then her profile would have stated that she was in Florida yesterday and today and then a travel mode distance of the city within our state she otherwise lives, and it did not. There's no work around on Bumble to cover that up that I know of.
I'm wondering if the person was catfishing, but nothing from the conversation felt particularly "off" at the same time. Is there a way to display a location you are not actually in without using travel mode?

Hello! If you’re a female and would like chat , please message me anytime. It’s just the beginning of my weekend for me and I’m already feeling lonely. Mostly because my dog does not know how to hold a conversation. Sorry guys but I’ve just always gotten along better with ladies.
Just message me and we can talk about anything.

Chat +447593882116 (Telegram/Whatsapp) to get Todd V - Verbal Game Academy.
Todd Valentine's Verbal Game Academy Course will teach you his top strategies for effective communication.
Todd V is known for the extreme high quality of his content. In Todd V - Verbal Game Academy you will learn how to:
Be the guy that speaks to her emotions
How to walk up with absolute confidence
Make conversation FUN and PLAYFUL
How to ignite her sex drive
GET HER on a deep emotional level
To get Todd V - Verbal Game Academy contact me on:
Reddit Direct Message to u/RequestCourseAccess
Email: silverlakestore/@/yandex.com (remove the brackets)
WhatsApp/Telegram: +447593882116 (Telegram: multistorecourses)

I was recently laid off with no notice and realized I have a metamask plugin on my chrome that was never disabled. With the address in question being on my ledger, is there any way these tokens can move without my approval?
Would moving to a new address on my ledger be worth it? Or would that just be a bunch of unnecessary gas fees?

Hello!
I'm looking for a friendly, non-toxic and respectful people or group around my age to play some games with. I work a late schedule, so I'm usually online when most people are asleep. I'm also pretty shy, so I probably won't strike up a conversation, but feel free to DM me if you ever want to talk/play. I tend to stick with cooperative/casual style games. Some games I play are:
Rocket League Killing Floor 2 Overwatch Survival/Crafting Games Stardew Valley Dying Light 2 Dead Island 2
I play for laughs and a good time, please no bad vibes. Bonus points if you're 420 friendly!
Discord: Sophia#7309

PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1572-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-vale-chapter-112/
PROMPTS: George does not care about you, whatsoever.
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
Borde could not enlighten him on that point, and I suggested that he should make application to the publisher of his Prayer-Book and get his money back. There is nobody. I said, like him. He is more wonderful than anything in literature. I prefer him to Sancho who was untroubled with a conscience and never thought of running to the Bishop of Toledo. All the same he is not without the shrewdness of his ancestors, and got the better of Archbishop Walsh, and for the last five years Vincent O'Brien has been beating time, and will beat it till the end of his life; and he will be succeeded by others, for Edward has, by deed, saved the Italian contrapuntalists till time everlasting from competition with modern composers. He certainly has gotten the better of Walsh. And I thought of a picture-gallery in Dublin with nothing in it but Botticelli and his school, and myself declaring that all painting that had been done since had no interest for me.... A smile began to spread over my face, for the story that was coming into my mind seemed oh! so humorous, so like Ireland, so like Edward, that I began to tell myself again the delightful story of the unrefined ears that, weary of erudite music, had left the cathedral and sought instinctively modern tunes and women's voices, and as these were to be found in Westland Row the church was soon overflowing with a happy congregation. But in a little while the collections grew scantier. This time it couldn't be Palestrina, and all kinds of reasons were adduced. At last the truth could no longer be denied—the professional Catholics of Merrion Square had been driven out of Westland Row by the searching smells of dirty clothes, and had gone away to the University Church in Stephen's Green. So if it weren't Palestrina directly it was Palestrina indirectly, and the brows of the priests began to knit when Edward Martyn's name was mentioned. Them fal-de-dals is well enough on the Continent, in Paris, where there is no faith, was the opinion of an important ecclesiastic. But we don't want them here, murmured a second ecclesiastic. All this counterpoint may make a very pretty background for Mr Martyn's prayers, but what about the poor people's? Good composer or bad composer, there is no congregation in him, said a third. There's too much congregation, put in the first, but not the kind we want! The second ecclesiastic took snuff, and the group were of opinion that steps should be taken to persuade dear Edward to make good their losses. The priests in Marlborough Street sympathised with the priests of Westland Row, and told them that they were so heavily out of pocket that Mr Martyn had agreed to do something for them. It seemed to the Westland Row priests that if Mr Martyn were making good the losses of the priests of the pro-Cathedral, he should make good their losses. It was natural that they should think so, and to acquit himself of all responsibility Edward no doubt consulted the best theologians on the subject, and I think that they assured him that he is not responsible for indirect losses. If he were, his whole fortune would not suffice. He was, of course, very sorry if a sudden influx of poor people had caused a falling-off in the collections of Westland Row, for he knew that the priests needed the money very much to pay for the new decorations, and to help them he wrote an article in the Independent praising the new blue ceiling, which seemed, so he wrote, a worthy canopy for the soaring strains of Palestrina.
Unfortunately rubbing salt into the wound, I said. A story that will amuse Dujardin and it will be great fun telling him in the shady garden at Fontainebleau how Edward, anxious to do something for his church, had succeeded in emptying two. All the way down the alleys he will wonder how Edward could have ever looked upon Palestrina's masses as religious music. The only music he will say, in which religious emotion transpires is plain-chant. Huysmans says that the Tantum Ergo or the Dies Irae, one or the other, reminds him of a soul being dragged out of purgatory, and it is possible that it does; but a plain-chant tune arranged in eight-part counterpoint cannot remind one of anything very terrible. Dujardin knows that Palestrina was a priest, and he will say: That fact deceived your friend, just as the fact of finding the Adeste Fideles among the plain-chant tunes deceived him. For of course I shall tell Dujardin that story too. It is too good to be missed. He is wonderful, Dujardin! I shall cry out in one of the sinuous alleys. There never was anybody like him! And I will tell him more soul-revealing anecdotes. I will say: Dujardin, listen. One evening he contended that the great duet at the end of Siegfried reminded him of mass by Palestrina. Dujardin will laugh, and, excited by his laughter, I will try to explain to him that what Edward sees is that Palestrina took a plain chant tune and gave fragments of it to the different voices, and in his mind these become confused with the motives of The Ring. You see, Dujardin, the essential always escapes him—the intention of the writer is hidden from him. I am beginning to understand your friend. He has, let us suppose, a musical ear that allows him to take pleasure in the music; but a musical ear will not help him to follow Wagner's idea—how, in a transport of sexual emotion, a young man and a young woman on a mountain-side awaken to the beauty of the life of the world. Dujardin's appreciations will provoke me, and I will say: Dujardin, you shouldn't be so appreciative. If I were telling you of a play I had written, it would be delightful to watch my idea dawning upon your consciousness; but I am telling you of a real man, and one that I shall never to able to get into literature. He will answer: We invent nothing; we can but perceive. And then, exhilarated, carried beyond myself, I will say: Dujardin, I will tell you something still more wonderful than the last gaffe. II gaffe dans les Quat'z Arts. He admires Ibsen, but you'd never guess the reason why—because he is very like Racine; both of them, he says, are classical writers. And do you know how he arrived at that point? Because nobody is killed on the stage in Racine or in Ibsen. He does not see that the intention of Racine is to represent men and women out of time and out of space, unconditioned by environment, and that the very first principle of Ibsen's art is the relation of his characters to their environment. In many passages he merely dramatises Darwin. There never was anybody so interesting as dear Edward, and there never will be anybody like him in literature ... I will explain why presently, but I must first tell you another anecdote. I went to see him one night, and he told me that the theme of the play he was writing was a man who had married a woman because he had lost faith in himself; the man did not know, however, that the woman had married him for the same reason, and the two of them were thinking—I have forgotten what they were thinking, but I remember Edward saying: I should like to suggest hopelessness. I urged many phrases, but he said: It isn't a phrase I want, but an actual thing. I was thinking of a broken anchor—that surely is a symbol of hopelessness. Yes, I said, no doubt, but how are you going to get a broken anchor into a drawing-room? I don't write about drawing-rooms. Well, living-rooms. It isn't likely that they would buy a broken anchor and put it up by the coal-scuttle.
There's that against it, he answered. If you could suggest anything better—What do you think of a library in which there is nothing but unacted plays? The characters could say, when there was nothing for them to do on the stage, that they were going to the library to read, and the library would have the advantage of reminding everybody of the garret in the Wild Duck. A very cruel answer, my friend, Dujardin will say, and I will tell him that I can't help seeing in Edward something beyond Shakespeare or Balzac. Now, tell me, which of these anecdotes I have told you is the most humorous? He will not answer my question, but a certain thoughtfulness will begin to settle in his face, and he will say: Everything with him is accidental, and when his memory fails him he falls into another mistake, and he amuses you because it is impossible for you to anticipate his next mistake. You know there is going to be one; there must be one, for he sees things separately rather than relatively. I am beginning to understand your friend.
You are, you are; you are doing splendidly. But you haven't told me, Dujardin, which anecdote you prefer. Stay, there is another one. Perhaps this one will help you to a still better understanding. When he brought The Heather Field and Yeats's play The Countess Cathleen to Dublin for performance, a great trouble of conscience awakened suddenly in him, and a few days before the performance he went to a theologian to ask him if The Countess Cathleen were a heretical work, and, if it were would Almighty God hold him responsible for the performance? But he couldn't withdraw Yeats's play without withdrawing his own, and it appears that he breathed a sigh of relief when a common friend referred the whole matter to two other theologians, and as these gave their consent Edward allowed the plays to go on; but Cardinal Logue intervened, and wrote a letter to the papers to say that the play seemed to him unfit for Catholic ears, and Edward would have withdrawn the plays if the Cardinal hadn't admitted in his letter that he had judged the play by certain extracts only.
He wishes to act rightly, but has little faith in himself; and what makes him so amusing is that he needs advice in aesthetics as well as in morals. We are, I said, Dujardin, at the roots of conscience. And I began to ponder the question what would happen to Edward if we lived in a world in which aesthetics ruled: I should be where Bishop Healy is, and he would be a thin, small voice crying in the wilderness—an amusing subject of meditation, from which I awoke suddenly.
I wonder how Dujardin is getting on with his Biblical studies? Last year he was calling into question the authorship of the Romans—a most eccentric view; and, remembering how weakly I had answered him, I took the Bible from the table and began to read the Epistle with a view to furnishing myself with arguments wherewith to confute him. My Bible opened at the ninth chapter, and I said: Why, here is the authority for the Countess Cathleen's sacrifice which Edward's theologian deemed untheological. It will be great fun to poke Edward up with St Paul, and on my way to Lincoln Place I thought how I might lead the conversation to The Countess Cathleen.
📷
A few minutes afterwards a light appeared on the staircase and the door slowly opened.
Come in, Siegfried, though you were off the key.
Well, my dear friend, it is a difficult matter to whistle above two trams passing simultaneously and six people jabbering round a public-house, to say nothing of a jarvey or two, and you perhaps dozing in your armchair, as your habit often is. You won't open to anything else except a motive from The Ring; and I stumbled up the stairs in front of Edward, who followed with a candle.
Wait a moment; let me go first and I'll turn up the gas.
You aren't sitting in the dark, are you?
No, but I read better by candle-light, and he blew out the candles in the tin candelabrum that he had made for himself. He is original even in his candelabrum; no one before him had ever thought of a caridelabrum in tin, and I fell to admiring his appearance more carefully than perhaps I had ever done before, so monumental did he seem lying on the little sofa sheltered from daughts by a screen, a shawl about his shoulders. His churchwarden was drawing famously, and I noticed his great square hands with strong fingers and square nails pared closely away, and as heretofore I admired the curve of the great belly, the thickness of the thighs, the length and breadth and the width of his foot hanging over the edge of the sofa, the apoplectic neck falling into great rolls of flesh, the humid eyes, the skull covered with short stubbly hair. I looked round the rooms and they seemed part of himself: the old green wallpaper on which he pins reproductions of the Italian masters. And I longed to peep once more into the bare bedroom into which he goes to fetch bottles of Apollinaris. Always original! Is there another man in this world whose income is two thousand a year, and who sleeps in a bare bedroom, without dressing-room, or bathroom, or servant in the house to brush his clothes, and who has to go to the baker's for his breakfast?
We had been talking for some time of the Gaelic League, and from Hyde it was easy to pass to Yeats and his plays.
His best play is The Countess Cathleen.
The Countess Cathleen is only a sketch.
But what I never could understand, Edward, was why you and the Cardinal could have had any doubts as to the orthodoxy of The Countess Cathleen.
What, a woman that sells her own soul in order to save the souls of others!
I suppose your theologian objected—
Of course he objected.
He cannot have read St Paul.
What do you mean?
He can't have read St Paul, or else he is prepared to throw over St Paul.
Mon ami Moore, mon ami Moore.
The supernatural idealism of a man who would sell his soul to save the souls of others fills me with awe.
But it wasn't a man; it was the Countess Cathleen, and women are never idealists.
Not the saints?
His face grew solemn at once.
If you give me the Epistles I will read the passage to you. And it was great fun to go to the bookshelves and read: I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh.
Edward's face grew more and more solemn, and I wondered of what he was thinking.
Paul is a very difficult and a very obscure writer, and I think the Church is quite right not to encourage the reading of the Epistles, especially without comments.
Then you do think there is something in the passage I have read?
After looking down his dignified nose for a long time, he said:
Of course, the Church has an explanation. All the same, it's very odd that St Paul should have said such a thing—very odd.
There is no doubt that I owe a great deal of my happiness to Edward; all my life long he has been exquisite entertainment. And I fell to thinking that Nature was very cruel to have led me, like Moses, within sight of the Promised Land. A story would be necessary to bring Edward into literature, and it would be impossible to devise an action of which he should be a part. The sex of a woman is odious to him, and a man with two thousand a year does not rob nor steal, and he is so uninterested in his fellow-men that he has never an ill word to say about anybody. John Eglinton is a little thing; AE is a soul that few will understand; but Edward is universal—more universal than Yeats, than myself, than any of us, but for lack of a story I shall not be able to give him the immortality in literature which he seeks in sacraments. Shakespeare always took his stories from some other people. Turgenev's portrait of him would be thin, poor, and evasive, and Balzac would give us the portrait of a mere fool. And Edward is not a fool. As I understand him he is a temperament without a rudder; all he has to rely upon is his memory, which isn't a very good one, and so he tumbles from one mistake into another. My God! it is a terrible thing to happen to one, to understand a man better than he understands himself, and to be powerless to help him. If I had been able to undo his faith I should have raised him to the level of Sir Horace Plunkett, but he resisted me; and perhaps he did well, for he came into the world seeing things separately rather than relatively, and had to be a Catholic. He is a born Catholic, and I remembered one of his confessions—a partial confession, but a confession: If you had been brought up as strictly as I have been—I don't think he ever finished the sentence; he often leaves sentences unfinished, as if he fears to think things out. The end of the sentence should run: You would not dare to think independently. He thinks that his severe bringing-up has robbed him of something. But the prisoner ends by liking his prison-house, and on another occasion he said: If it hadn't been for the Church, I don't know what would have happened to me.
My thoughts stopped, and when I awoke I was thinking of Hughes. Perhaps the link between Hughes and Edward was Loughrea Cathedral. He had shown me a photograph of some saints modelled by Hughes. Hughes is away in Paris, I said, modelling saints for Loughrea Cathedral. The last time I saw him was at Walter Osborne's funeral, and Walter's death set me thinking of the woman I had lost, and little by little all she had told me about herself floated up in my mind like something that I had read. I had never seen her father nor the Putney villa in which she had been brought up, but she had made me familiar with both through her pleasant mode of conversation, which was never to describe anything, but just to talk about things, dropping phrases here and there, and the phrases she dropped were so well chosen that the comfort of the villa, its pompous meals and numerous servants, its gardens and greenhouses, with stables and coach-house just behind, are as well known to me as the house that I am living in, better known in a way, for I see it through the eyes of the imagination ... clearer eyes than the physical eyes.
It does not seem to me that any one was ever more conscious of whence she had come and of what she had been; she seemed to be able to see herself as a child again, and to describe her childhood with her brother (they were nearly the same age) in the villa and in the villa's garden. I seemed to see them always as two rather staid children who were being constantly dressed by diligent nurses and taken out for long drives in the family carriage. They did not like these drives and used to hide in the garden; but their governess was sent to fetch them, and they were brought back. Her father did not like to have the horses kept waiting, and one day as Stella stood with him in the passage, she saw her mother come out of her bedroom beautifully dressed. Her father whispered something in his wife's ear, and he followed her into her bedroom. Stella remembered how the door closed behind them. In my telling, the incident seems to lose some of its point, but in Stella's relation it seemed to put her father and his wife before me and so clearly that I could not help asking her what answer her father would make were she to tell him that she had a lover. A smile hovered in her grave face. He would look embarrassed, she said, and wonder why I should have told him such a thing, and then I think he would go to the greenhouse, and when he returned he would talk to me about something quite different. I don't think that Stella ever told me about the people that came to their house, but people must have come to it, and as an example of how a few words can convey an environment I will quote her: I always wanted to talk about Rossetti, she said, and these seven words seem to me to tell better than any description the life of a girl living with a formal father in a Putney villa, longing for something, not knowing exactly what, and anxious to get away from home.... I think she told me she was eighteen or nineteen and had started painting before she met Florence at the house of one of her father's friends; a somewhat sore point this meeting was, for Florence was looked upon by Stella's father as something of a Bohemian. She was a painter, and knew all the Art classes and the fees that had to be paid, and led Stella into the world of studios and models and girl friends. She knew how to find studios and could plan out a journey abroad. Stella's imagination was captured, and even if her father had tried to offer opposition to her leaving home he could not have prevented her, for she was an heiress (her mother was dead and had left her a considerable income); but he did not try, and the two girls set up house together in Chelsea; they travelled in Italy and Spain; they had a cottage in the country; they painted pictures and exhibited their pictures in the same exhibitions; they gave dances in their studios and were attracted by this young man and the other; but Stella did not give herself to any one, because, as she admitted to me, she was afraid that a lover would interrupt the devotion which she intended to give to Art. But life is forever casting itself into new shapes and forms, and no sooner had she begun to express herself in Art than she met me. I was about to go to Ireland to preach a new gospel, and must have seemed a very impulsive and fantastic person to her, but were not impulsiveness and fantasy just the qualities that would appeal to her? And were not gravity and good sense the qualities that would appeal to me, determined as I was then to indulge myself in a little madness?
I could not have chosen a saner companion than Stella; my instinct had led me to her; but because one man's instinct is a little more clear than another's, it does not follow that he has called reason to his aid. It must be remembered always that the art of painting is as inveterate in me as the art of writing, and that I am never altogether myself when far away from the smell of oil paint. Stella could talk to one about painting, and all through that wonderful summer described in Salve our talk flowed on as delightfully as a breeze in Maytime, and as irresponsible, flashing thoughts going by and avowals perfumed with memories. Only in her garden did conversation fail us, for in her garden Stella could think only of her flowers, and it seemed an indiscretion to follow her as she went through the twilight gathering dead blooms or freeing plants from noxious insects. But she would have had me follow her, and I think was always a little grieved that I wasn't as interested in her garden as I was in her painting; and my absent-mindedness when I followed her often vexed her and my mistakes distressed her.
You are interested, she said, only in what I say about flowers and not in the flowers themselves. You like to hear me tell about Miss —— whose business in life is to grow carnations, because you already see her, dimly, perhaps, but still you see her in a story. Forget her and look at this Miss Shifner!
Yes, it is beautiful, but we can only admire the flowers that we notice when we are children, I answered. Dahlias, china roses, red and yellow tulips, tawny wallflowers, purple pansies, are never long out of my thoughts, and all the wonderful varieties of the iris, the beautiful blue satin and the cream, some shining like porcelain, even the common iris that grows about the moat.
But there were carnations in your mother's garden?
Yes, and I remember seeing them being tied with bass. But what did you say yesterday about carnations? That they were the—
She laughed and would not tell me, and when the twilight stooped over the high trees and the bats flitted and the garden was silent except when a fish leaped, I begged her to come away to the wild growths that I loved better than the flowers.
But the mallow and willow-weed are the only two that you recognise. How many times have I told you the difference between self-heal and tufted vetch?
I like cow parsley and wild hyacinths and—
You have forgotten the name. As well speak of a woman that you loved but whose name you had forgotten.
Well, if I have, I love trees better than you do, Stella. You pass under a fir unstirred by the mystery of its branches, and I wonder at you, for I am a tree worshipper, even as my ancestors, and am moved as they were by the dizzy height of a great silver fir. You like to paint trees, and I should like to paint flowers if I could paint; there we are set forth, you and I.
I have told in Salve that in Rathfarnham she found many motives for painting; the shape of the land and the spire above the straggling village appealed to me, but she was not altogether herself in these pictures. She would have liked the village away, for man and his dwellings did not form part of her conception of a landscape; large trees and a flight of clouds above the trees were her selection, and the almost unconscious life of kine wandering or sheep seeking the shelter of a tree.
Stella was a good walker, and we followed the long road leading from Rathfarnham up the hills, stopping to admire the long plain which we could see through the comely trees shooting out of the shelving hillside.
If I have beguiled you into a country where there are no artists and few men of letters, you can't say that I have not shown you comely trees. And now if you can walk two miles farther up this steep road I will show you a lovely prospect.
And I enjoyed her grave admiration of the old Queen Anne dwelling-house, its rough masonry, the yew hedges, the path along the hillside leading to the Druid altar and the coast-line sweeping in beautiful curves, but she did not like to hear me say that the drawing of the shore reminded her of Corot.
It is a sad affectation, she said, to speak of Nature reminding one of pictures.
Well, the outlines of Howth are beautiful, I answered, and the haze is incomparable. I should like to have spoken about a piece of sculpture, but for your sake, Stella, I refrain.
She was interested in things rather than ideas, and I remember her saying to me that things interest us only because we know that they are always slipping from us. A strange thing for a woman to say to her lover. She noticed all the changes of the seasons and loved them, and taught me to love them. She brought a lamb back from Rathfarnham, a poor forlorn thing that had run bleating so pitifully across the windy field that she had asked the shepherd where the ewe was, and he had answered that she had been killed overnight by a golf-ball. The lamb will be dead before morning, he added. And it was that March that the donkey produced a foal, a poor ragged thing that did not look as if it ever could be larger than a goat, but the donkey loved her foal.
Do you know the names of those two birds flying up and down the river?
They look to me like two large wrens with white waistcoats.
They are water-ouzels, she said.
The birds flew with rapid strokes of the wings, like kingfishers, alighting constantly on the river, on large mossy stones, and though we saw them plunge into the water, it was not to swim, but to run along the bottom in search of worms.
But do worms live under water?
The rooks were building, and a little while after a great scuffling was heard in one of the chimneys and a young jackdaw came down and soon became tamer than any bird I had ever seen, tamer than a parrot, and at the end of May the corncrake called from the meadow that summer had come again, and the kine wandered in deeper and deeper and deeper herbage. The days seemed never to end, and looking through the branches of the chestnut in which the fruit had not begun to show, we caught sight of a strange spectacle. Stella said, A lunar rainbow, and I wondered, never having heard of or seen such a thing before.
I shall never forget that rainbow, Stella, and am glad that we saw it together.
In every love story lovers reprove each other for lack of affection, and Stella had often sent me angry letters which caused me many heart-burnings and brought me out to her; in the garden there were reconciliations, we picked up the thread again, and the summer had passed before the reason of these quarrels became clear to me. One September evening Stella said she would accompany me to the gate, and we had not gone very far before I began to notice that she was quarrelling with me. She spoke of the loneliness of the Moat House, and I had answered that she had not been alone two evenings that week. She admitted my devotion. And if you admit that there has been no neglect—
She would not tell me, but there was something she was not satisfied with, and before we reached the end of the avenue she said, I don't think I can tell you. But on being pressed she said:
Well, you don't make love to me often enough.
And full of apologies I answered, Let me go back.
No, I can't have you back now, not after having spoken like that.
But she yielded to my invitation, and we returned to the house, and next morning I went back to Dublin a little dazed, a little shaken.
A few days after she went away to Italy to spend the winter and wrote me long letters, interesting me in herself, in the villagers, in the walks and the things that she saw in her walks, setting me sighing that she was away from me, or that I was not with her. And going to the window I would stand for a long time watching the hawthorns in their bleak wintry discontent, thinking how the sunlight fell into the Italian gardens, and caught the corner of the ruin she was sketching; and I let my fancy stray for a time unchecked. It would be wonderful to be in Italy with her, but—
I turned from the window suspicious, for there was a feeling at the back of my mind that with her return an anxiety would come into my life that I would willingly be without. She had told me she had refrained from a lover because she wished to keep all herself for her painting, and now she had taken to herself a lover. She was twenty years younger than I was, and at forty-six or thereabouts one begins to feel that one's time for love is over; one is consultant rather than practitioner. But it was impossible to dismiss the subject with a jest, and I found myself face to face with the question—If these twenty years were removed, would things be different? It seemed to me that the difficulty that had arisen would have been the same earlier in my life as it was now, and returning to the window I watched the hawthorns blowing under the cold grey Dublin sky.
The problem is set, I said, for the married, and every couple has to solve it in one way or another, but they have to solve it; they have to come to terms with love, especially the man, for whom it is a question of life and death. But how do they come to terms? And I thought of the different married people I knew. Which would be most likely to advise me—the man or the woman? It would be no use to seek advice; every case is different, I said. If anybody were to advise me it would be the man, for the problem is not so difficult for a woman. She can escape from love more easily than her lover or her husband; she can plead, and her many pleadings were considered, one by one, and how in married life the solution that seems to lovers so difficult is solved by marriage itself, by propinquity. But not always, not always. The question is one of extraordinary interest and importance; more marriages come to shipwreck, I am convinced, on this very question than upon any other. In the divorce cases published we read of incompatibility of temper and lack of mutual tastes, mere euphemisms that deceive nobody. The image of a shipwreck rose up in me naturally. She will return, and like a ship our love for each other will be beaten on these rocks and broken. We shall not be able to get out to sea. She will return, and when she returns her temperament will have to be adjusted to mine, else she will lose me altogether, for men have died of love, though Shakespeare says they haven't. Manet and Daudet—both died of love; and the somewhat absurd spectacle of a lover waiting for his mistress to return, and yet dreading her returning, was constantly before me.
It often seemed to me that it was my own weakness that created our embarrassment. A stronger man would have been able to find a way out, but I am not one that can shape and mould another according to my desire; and when she returned from Italy I found myself more helpless than ever, and I remember, and with shame, how, to avoid being alone with her, I would run down the entire length of a train, avoiding the empty carriages, crying Not here, not here! at last opening the door of one occupied by three or four people, who all looked as if they were bound for a long journey. I remember, too, how about this time I came with friends to see Stella, whether by accident or design, frankly I know not; I only know that I brought many friends to see her, thinking they would interest her.
If you don't care to come to see me without a chaperon, I would rather you didn't come at all, she said, humiliating me very deeply.
It seemed to me, I answered, blushing, that you would like to see ——, and I mentioned the name of the man who had accompanied me.
If I am cross sometimes it is because I don't see enough of you.
It seems to me that it was then that the resolve hardened in my heart to become her friend ... if she would allow me to become her friend. But in what words should I frame my request and my apology? All the time our life was becoming less amiable, until one evening I nipped the quarrel that was beginning, stopping suddenly at the end of the avenue.
It is better that we should understand each other. The plain truth is that I must cease to be your lover unless my life is to be sacrificed.
Cease to be my lover!
That is impossible, but a change comes into every love story.
The explanation stuttered on. I remember her saying: I don't wish you to sacrifice your life. I have forgotten the end of her sentence. She drew her hand suddenly across her eyes. I will conquer this obsession.
A man would have whined and cried and besought and worried his mistress out of her wits. Women behave better than we; only once did her feelings overcome her. She spoke to me of the deception that life is. Again we were standing by the gate at the end of the chestnut avenue, and I remembered her telling me how a few years ago life had seemed to hold out its hands to her; her painting and her youth created her enjoyment.
But now life seems to have shrivelled up, she said; only a little dust is left.
Nothing is changed, so far as you and I are concerned. We see each other just the same.
I am no more to you than any other woman.
She went away again to Italy to paint and returned to Ireland, and one day she came to see me, and remained talking for an hour. I have no memory of what we said to each other, but a very clear memory of our walk through Dublin over Carlisle Bridge and along the quays. I had accompanied her as far as the Phoenix Park gates, and at the corner of the Conyngham Road, just as I was bidding her goodbye, she said:
I want to ask your advice on a matter of importance to me.
And to me, for what is important to you is equally important to me.
I am thinking, she said, of being married.
At the news it seems to me that I was unduly elated and tried to assume the interest that a friend should.

Part 2 of “The Exterminators RELOADED!”
A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The nature of Predators” Thank you for the story!
IMPORTANT NOTICE. I AM WRITING ABOUT 247 EPISODES OF THE EXTERMINATORS. ANY IDEAS WOULD BE GREATLY WELCOMED! AS DETAILED OR NOT AS YOU WANT, I WILL CREDIT YOU FOR ANY HELP GIVEN!
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Memory transcription subject: Henry, Venlil Primary School Student
Sylvan’s dad gestured for us to get the show set up while he walked into the kitchen. I couldn’t bring myself to sit still as the sound of popcorn in the microwave bounced through the house. Sylvan threw himself next to me as the annoyingly long series of logos started to parade through the screen.
“C’mon Dad! It’s starting!” We both held our arms up and caught a bag of popcorn as Mr. Smith copied Sylvan and threw himself on the couch. As Sylvan started to juggle the burning hot bag I started to mockingly mimic him. “Oh shut up! You and your built-in oven mitts!”
I batted Sylvan in the face who didn’t hesitate to try and hold off my attacks by smooshing me down into the chair. We both stopped when the Deep heavy beat of the Exterminators RELOADED started to play. This time though the beat didn’t stop as the opening sequence ended. Instead it played dully in the background like we were hearing it through a wall.
Friotetzali stepped into the scene and sauntered his way through an alley. He stopped and looked at a poster hanging on the wall. It showed a picture of a carrot and tomato with forward facing eyes and silly little stick arms cowering in fear of a ravenous looking Venlil. Plastered above it was the episode's title! “THE HERBIVOROUS BEASTS FROM BEYOND THE STARS!!!”
Frio let out a light chuckle as his tail curled in delight. “Oh that looks hilarious. Gotta remember to go see that.” He gently shook his head as he continued to walk and drop into an indifferent attitude as he approached a lone Mazic by a door. The two stared at each other for a moment before the Mazic slowly turned and opened the door.
With a slow and droning voice he addressed our head investigator. “He’s waiting for you by the dance floor. Doubt you’ll miss him. Welcome back Frio. Try not to burn the place down.” As the door opened the tune picked back up and was almost deafening. Frio walked down the dark staircase and eventually into a room filled with neon signs decorating the walls, strobe lights, lasers, and dozens of people dancing everywhere.
Our Harchen Hero cut through the crowd and haze like a fish through water before finally sitting down at a table with a rather… sleazy looking Gojid. “FRIO! MY OLD PAL! Have a seat! Let me get ya a drink!” The greased back fur of the Gojid just looked out of place as he waved for the servers to bring colorful beverages with little umbrellas over.
I honestly couldn’t make out any words that came out of the Gojid’s mouth after that. The dude just seemed to talk and not say any words. But eventually Frio took a slow sip from his drink and turned his head to stare down the greasy porcupine who’s quills extended in a little bit of fear.
“Cut the crap Genseng. I want to know why by Inatala’s tits you’d think it's a good idea to smuggle terran animals here!” He slammed a pawfull of photos on the table. Each one showed the greasy Gojid buying and selling small animals like rabbits and chickens.
Genseng sputtered and pouted “COME ON! I haven’t done anything that puts anyone at risk! I just sell human’s xeno-safe pets! A bunny never ate a Dossur! Don’t you want humans to take care of the petting addiction on things that want to be pet?” Despite my body telling me this guy was bad news, I couldn’t help but agree. I’ve been ‘pet’ more times than I would like by strange humans… and a few Venlil… and one Kolshian… and I ran away from the Mazic.
Frio sat back in his chair and huffed. “Then WHY have I found NO civilians with one of your pets?” This time he slapped down a paper list of names and places that clearly documented each and every business he sold animals to.
The scumbag sat there with a look of shock on his face and started to sputter out several noncommittal and contradictory statements. ALl the while Frio stared at his “friend” with more and more disgust. Eventually Genseng just sighed, stood up, and shouted. "GUN! HES GOT A GUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” and bolted for the back door as screaming began to fill the room
Frio just casually stood up and watched that douchebag flee! He pulled out his badge and announced to the crowd. “FALSE ALARM! FALSE ALARM! OFFICER FRIOTETZALI, HERE ON OFFICIAL BUSINESS OF THE AVALON CITY POLICE! REMAIN CALM YOU ARE IN NO DANGER!”
I couldn’t understand why he was just standing there as the bad guy ran away! The camera cut to Genseng who was sprinting full force down a narrow hall dodging all manner of obstacles like it was an action movie only for it to cut back to Frio slowly taking a sip of his drink!
Again it cut back Genseng huffing and wheezing as he sprinted through his own shipping operation. The only pauses he took were to open up cages causing a small whirlwind of feathers and bunnies to start in the warehouse. Yet Frio started to casually talk to the people in the room. He just slowly went around reassuring everyone that everything was fine and why he was here.
As I sat there in disbelief that he’d just let the bastard run away Genseng rounded a corner to see his getaway truck. Only to step around the corner and get punched squarely in the gut by Iloralia who was hiding there.
“Come on Genseng? Couldn’t you do something original? This is starting to get boring!” Ilo extended a cattle prod and let the end buzz with electricity as an Extermination Officer van pulled up behind her.
The Gojid let out raspy breaths. “Should have- … figured- … he’d send his- … BITCH! To wait in the alley!” The sleazy man sucked that insult back in when Ilo pressed the business end of her cattle prod to his throat.
“Shut the fuck up. You have the right to remain silent, but for your sake… I hope you’re smart enough to use it!” Ilo’s tail waved behind her with delight as Sephon climbed out of the van with a Gojid arrestor vest to cover Genseng’s quills and bind his arms.
I jumped as the video smash-cut to Sephon slamming down piece after piece of evidence on an interrogation room table in front of a nervous Gojid and his exhausted human lawyer. The angelic Tasamine sat on her perch gently drinking some tea as our perturbed Venlil explained each and every paper and photo that he threw on the table.
“Finally we have you on felony tax evasion. You do know you have to declare ALL sources of income right?” Genseng sheepishly looked to his lawyer, who just sat there with a defeated look on his face. “You are looking at forty years behind bars for this Genseng! FORTY!”
Tasamine let her voice coo out over her cup of tea. “We aren’t going to do you any favours over the tax stuff. The IRS is over our jurisdiction on that, BUT we are prepared to drop the rest of the charges.”
Genseng’s lawyer appeared to wake up in an instant and elbowed his client before he could open his filthy mouth. “So what do you want from my client in return for dropping the charges you have against him?”
Tas let out a little smile that set butterflies to flight in my stomach. “We want everyone that Tas sold animals to. And we do mean EVERYONE.”
Sephon started to pace back and forth as the Gojid and lawyer talked amongst themselves. Eventually Genseng relented and turned to our heroes. “Ok… SO I technically never really sold to a person per say… BUT I kept really good papers on all the businesses I did sell to!”
The conversation started to dull out as the camera began to pan back and into the observation room with Frio, Ilo, and a rather small Mazic. Frio stood stoically silent, his paw held gently under his jaw, lost in thought. Ilo was typing away on the computer crosschecking every business Genseng sold out.
The Mazic took a step forward. His badge now clearly showing that he was the Chief of the Avalon City Police. “I know those businesses… Why would he be selling pets to…” The Chief huffed and stormed out of the observation room leaving Frio and Ilo slightly confused only to watch with an ounce of shock as the Police Chief walked into the interrogation room.
“YOU FUCKING IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?” Genseng recoiled away from the angry Chief as his lawyer was trying to figure out what was happening. “YOU HAVE BEEN SELLING HUMAN PETS AS FOOD TO HUMANS! YOU KNOW LESS THAN ONE PERCENT OF HUMANS EVEN EAT ONCE-LIVE MEAT! EVERYONE KNOWS THAT! MOST HUMANS GET VIOLENTLY ILL AT THE THOUGHT OF IT AND STRAIGHT VIOLENT IF TRICKED INTO IT! IF THIS GETS OUT THERE WILL BE RIOTS!”
Genseng’s lawyer slowly looked to his client with a look of anger and despair plastered on his face. The sleazy man just kinda shrugged. “I didn’t make them buy it!”
“BUT YOU DIDN’T TELL THEM WHERE YOU GOT THE MEAT FROM DID YOU?”
“no?”
“OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T ‘CAUSE, HOW THEN, WOULD YOU GET RID OF YOUR UNWANTED ANIMALS?”
“HEY! I’VE GOT A GUY WHO TAKES THEM IN! I MAKE SURE EVERYTHING IS HUMANE AND SAFE FOR CONSUMPTION AND ANYTHING UNWANTED GO TO THAT GUY! OK? NO MONEY TRANSACTION! … I think he ships them back to Earth or something. No unethical stuff… except maybe selling Once-live as Cloned… but that isn’t that bad! Humans only just considered Rabbits to be on par with dogs!”
The Chief of Police just stood there menacingly as the ever beautiful Tas asked a question. “Who is this man you give the animals to?”
Genseng slowly walked back to his seat. “I don’t have a name. Just some dude wearing the old face hiding masks and a Pleather trench coat. Kinda creepy and usually lets the fat Venlil do the talking, but they scratch my back I scratch thier’s.”
The screen faded to black before coming back to their conference room and joined by the Chief of Police. “So you think this individual is the same one behind the Sheep Operation?”
Ilo sat up in her chair. “It seems to meet up with his M.O. of undermining food production.”
Tas brought a pair of population maps up on their projector. “Just looking at the before and after, the invasive rabbit population was miniscule at best. We had been doing a great job of catching them faster than they could repopulate. At least until their population unpredictably exploded into the hundreds of thousands.”
She swapped out the maps for a single one that showed several areas circled in red. “DNA testing on the rabbits has shown that they aren’t spreading naturally. One population has no genetic relation to the others even though their areas overlap. It has to be someone introducing rabbits in waves to different locals.”
The Chief slowly shook his head. “Do we have any clues as to where the masked man is?”
Frio’s tail curled in delight. “Why yes! Yes we do! He has a meetup with my good buddy Genseng who desperately doesn’t want to spend the next forty years in jail.”
The small Mazic let out a low and insidious laugh “OH! I think I know where you are going with this. You have my support. Let's get this sting operation set up!”
In an instant the day flew by and night rose over the docks of Avalon City. Genseng drove down the roads and pulled around the corner of a large warehouse situated nearby. The sleazy man looked oddly calm. I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t his first time ratting.
Overlooking the docks from the warehouse was our team of heroes. Tas had set up a network of monitors and was observing the operation. Several disguised vans were parked nearby filled with Extermination Officers all biting to get a hold of their quarry.
Frio walked over and placed a paw on Tasamine’s wing, before speaking into a recorder. “Looking good Gen. Looks like I misplaced the paperwork on those charges. Get through this and I won’t have time to go looking for it!”
Gen let out a small chuckle. “Hey Frio… Do you miss when we were kids? Getting into trouble. Scraping enough money together to buy lunch when our parents couldn’t afford to feed us?”
Frio took a step back from the monitors. “You said that in a really weird way… but yeah. Just the two of us. Sometimes we were delinquents scamming someone out of five credits and sometimes we were the heroes helping people out. Guess we took different paths…”
The greasy Gojid leaned back in the driver seat of his van. “I- … I am kinda tired of living Frio… It’s just… One deal after another with barely enough money to get from one job to the next… Do- … Do you think I could get a job working with you guys?”
It almost looked like Frio was going to cry as his eyes watered up. “Well… we are a man down at the moment, but my team only hires experienced individuals. It would be hard work, but if you joined as an apprentice and applied yourself… I think you could make it.”
Genseng sat and fiddled with his paws for a few moments. “Even with my arrest record?”
“We are the Exterminators not the City Police. I doubt there isn’t a single one of us that hasn't done something that would get us blacklisted by them!”
Gen let out a light laugh. “Ah good point! They hired you! Well I’d- Wait. He's here.”
A long black limousine pulled up around the corner. Slowly and silently stopping beside them. Frio took a step back. “Alright everyone. It's go time. Gen, get ready to duck down if they open fire.”
With almost perfect unison every unmarked van and cruiser lit up with Yellow and Orange lights and started to race towards the Limo. But with a heart stopping ‘BWOOOOOM’ the Limo exploded into an inferno, sending metal flying through the docks at high speeds.
Gen’s voice screamed over the radio for a brief moment before falling silent.
The next sounds we heard were of a heart monitor. Frio sat at the bedside of what I assumed to be Genseng. His body was covered entirely in bandages, with tubes running into his head and arms. Wires tracked his vital signs and, while steady, didn’t look like they broadcasted good news.
Frio looked up to see Ilo leaning in the doorway. “The limo was automated. No one on board. Mask either knew it was a setup or intended to end Genseng one way or the other.” She slowly walked over to Frio and nuzzled the side of his head. “I talked with the Doctors. They think he’ll make it. Might be a few years, and he will have to learn how to do most things, but he will live.”
Ilo forced her way into awkwardly cuddling Frio. After a small moment of resisting he accepted the embrace and leaned back. “How are we on tracking down the leads?”
She somehow managed to wrap herself around Frio as she quietly responded. “The limo was a dead end. Everything was bought from scrap and assembled off-grid. Camera networks were wiped clean enough that even Tas couldn’t scrape something off of the hard drives. DNA results on the rabbits gave us enough to work with Earth and track down the suppliers on that side, but they were using Genseng as a scapegoat and intermediary for all of it. I don’t think he even realized that the man he was ‘giving’ rabbits to was the man that arranged for him to be able to buy them in the first place.”
Frio wrapped his arms around her. “So this whole operation was basically a money laundering scam with rabbits. They scarred him for life just to- to-” Tears ran down his cheeks as the pair embraced each other. The credits started to roll over the sounds of a heart monitor slowly pinging on. Gentle sobbing slowly faded away as the sound of claws on tile echoed through the speakers.
A rather portly Venlil was flanked on both sides by massive looking dogs. Sylvan’s Dad pointed out those where Karelian Bear Dogs. Bred to actually hunt one of Earth’s apex predators. The Fat Venlil, or Chublil as Sylvan said, walked into an immaculate office, where a man with a silvered mask and brown trench coat sat.
“Sir? Operation Clean House is over. The results are one Gojid launderer hospitalized. He is expected to recover in a few years. When the exterminators watching him clear out an agent will enter with an air-filled syringe and fake death by heart-attack. As you expected the last meetup was a sting operation. Police remain slightly aware of your presence.”
A robotic voice came from the man. “Good work Gavreg. Did you enjoy your trip to Earth?”
“Yessir. You were right. Bear meat is simply divine when prepared correctly.”
WHAT THE FUCK. WHY WOULD HE KNOW WHAT THAT TASTES LIKE?!?
“Glad to hear it. As for the Gojid, I think he’s gotten the message on what happens to people who cross us. Send him a normal fruit basket when he regains consciousness. Have it say… Sorry you got fired! Take a siesta!”
“Very well sir. Just to be clear, hold off on permanently silencing him?”
“Hrm… Yes. He was always amusing to work with.”
“Very well sir. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave.”
The Fat Venlil turned and walked out of the room. Ending the episode and leaving the three of us sitting on the couch.
“You know Loural is going to throw a fit if she finds out we let both Sylvan and Henry watch this!”
I wasn’t proud but at least the humans screamed louder than I did.
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Special thanks to u/Dinomannick for the prompt
"I got a few ideas for the show. How about a few episodes have them dealing with invasive earth species on alien worlds, brought there for zoos, rich blokes pet, criminals, whatever. They have either catch or kill all of them before their establishing breeding populations and have the cane toad/rabbit problem like down-under. Think it might be interesting enough for future space TV?"
I hope this lived up to your expectations, and the bunny boom won't be relegated to just this episode either.
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Links are still broken cause reddit is more like brokeit... Will get around to fixing them soon, real life has been kinda hectic
​
Previous!

Once upon a time in the vibrant era of the 1960s, two brilliant minds, biochemist Alexander Shulgin and psychologist Timothy Leary, forged an unexpected alliance that would forever change the landscape of the medical field. This is the story of their remarkable partnership, as they ventured into uncharted territories and reshaped the boundaries of human consciousness. Alexander Shulgin, a maverick biochemist, possessed an insatiable curiosity about the human mind and its connection to chemistry. His groundbreaking work in the field of psychopharmacology led him to explore the potential therapeutic applications of psychoactive substances. Meanwhile, Timothy Leary, a charismatic psychologist, was advocating for the exploration of altered states of consciousness and the transformative power of psychedelics. Their paths converged at a scientific conference, where their shared enthusiasm and audacious ideas ignited an instant connection. Recognizing their complementary expertise, they resolved to combine their knowledge and embark on a collaborative journey to unlock the mysteries of the human psyche. Leary’s charisma and eloquence captivated audiences, drawing attention to their revolutionary work. Shulgin, on the other hand, provided the scientific rigor and precision required to navigate the intricate chemistry behind their experiments. Together, they designed a research program that aimed to explore the potential therapeutic benefits of psychedelic substances, envisioning a future where these compounds could alleviate mental suffering and open new pathways for personal growth. Their laboratory became a sanctuary for exploration, a haven where the boundaries of perception were pushed to their limits. Through rigorous experimentation and meticulous documentation, Shulgin and Leary sought to understand the effects of various substances on the human mind. They delved into the realms of LSD, psilocybin, and mescaline, charting the uncharted territories of altered consciousness. Their groundbreaking research drew both admiration and scrutiny from the academic community and society at large. Traditional medical establishments viewed their work with skepticism and fear, branding it as reckless and dangerous. But Shulgin and Leary remained undeterred, believing that the potential benefits of their research far outweighed the risks. As their reputation grew, so did the obstacles they faced. Legal and ethical dilemmas plagued their path, with government agencies scrutinizing their every move. Undeterred by the mounting pressures, Shulgin and Leary used their platform to advocate for responsible exploration and education regarding psychedelic substances. They engaged in public debates, wrote influential books, and tirelessly championed the importance of responsible research and the potential of psychedelics to enhance mental well-being. Their unwavering dedication began to bear fruit. Shulgin’s innovative chemistry led to the discovery of novel psychoactive compounds, expanding the scope of their research even further. Leary’s charismatic presence and persuasive arguments sparked a cultural revolution, igniting a global conversation about the nature of consciousness and personal transformation. Their work eventually caught the attention of influential figures within the medical community, leading to the establishment of research centers dedicated to the study of psychedelics. This breakthrough marked a pivotal moment in history, as the medical field recognized the potential of these substances in treating mental health disorders and facilitating personal growth. In the end, Shulgin and Leary’s collaborative efforts revolutionized the medical field, transcending the boundaries of traditional science and ushering in a new era of exploration and understanding. Their legacy persists to this day, as their vision and audacity continue to inspire scientists, researchers, and enthusiasts alike to explore the intricate tapestry of the human mind and its unexplored horizons. And so, the tale of Alexander Shulgin and Timothy Leary stands as a testament to the power of collaboration, innovation, and the relentless pursuit of knowledge—a story that forever altered the trajectory of medicine and expanded the frontiers of human consciousness.

heyy, sooo uhh yeah I've just been so lost in life recently, not knowing wtf is going on anymore but still pushing thru lmfao. A bit about me, I usually respond pretty fast and can keep up a conversation but I'm actually very introverted and quiet irl which always surprises ppl lmaooo.
About my interests, I'm really into photography, playing video games, football (not the American one), going to the gym, listening to a shit ton of music and playing the bass guitar.
I'd prefer talking with people that are closer to my age but I don't mind talking with anyone as long as you're chill and we can both vibe. I'm a pretty open-minded person so even if we don't have a lot of common interests we can still talk about about anything, so don't hesitate to send a DM if you feel like talking with me :)
And also please put some effort when sending me a msg, I wont be responding if you just send me a "hi" or "what's up", introduce yourself to me a bit.

While the internet is filled with scholarly documents aimed at progressing civilization to new heights, social media allows for the least intellectually ambitious among us to guide cultural norms.
We can no longer have real conversations about things that matter because one side flattens the arguments so that the other side is handcuffed in response. Meanwhile, people with reasonable, well thought out/ researched ideas are drowned out in this abyss of intellectual mediocrity.

Anyone wanna cuddle and chill tonight? Planning to get a room in Poblacion Makati. I’m not down for anything sexual muna, again I’m not into anything sexual. 😉
About me: -Trans/Femboy -170 cm -From Makati -Not a DDS/Apologist -Top
About you: -Someone who can carry a conversation -Be vaccinated
I’m not really into looks, I prefer guys with substance.
Anyone wanna cuddle and chill tonight? Planning to get a room in Poblacion Makati. I’m not down for anything sexual muna, again I’m not into anything sexual. 😉
About me: -Trans/Femboy -170 cm -From Makati -Not a DDS/Apologist -Top
About you: -Someone who can carry a conversation -Be vaccinated
I’m not really into looks, I prefer guys with substance.

So for context, its a Saturday night and we have a lot of new staff so there were a lot of people scheduled. I work as a host and a runner so i was just minding my own business helping out where i could until it came time to close.
When it was closing time, some coworkers did do there part in closing but others did not, one thing i did not like is when it came to clearing the garbage, they assumed i was doing nothing so they asked me to do it. But mind you at this point ive already done all that was required of me so i was just putting away some dirty dishes. so it looked like i was standing around.
I was also really tired from working the entire day previously and having to work the entire day the next day (and my coworkers know that) and I usually stay later than everyone to roll utensils and place them on the table aswell since most of the hostess are in high school and get sent home early (which i understand).
So I said to them, you need to change the garbage its your job, im busy at the moment, but then they rudely asked me to do it even though they litterly could of done it themselves since it didnt seem like they were doing anything either.
I did rant to my manager a bit afterwards especially about the new girl since in that conversation she gave me attitude by saying “its so easy, why don’t you do it?” and i replied by saying “if its so easy you can do it to” since in my opinion i think she needs to do it to because its part of her training. (and i had to do it to during my training)
so aita for telling my manager? i dont really like her since she’s doesnt really do anything unless i ask her, but she is new (like two weeks new) so im not sure if i should give her more time. But i did end up clearing the garbage for them but i reminded them that they have to do it next time.
Thanks for listening to my half rant and half story! and really wanna get some feedback so i dont end up lashing out at her since she is young. (like gr 10)
tdlr: new coworker & friend gives me attitude for not helping them clear the garbage by saying “iTs So eAsY” after i refused to it once since i was tired and did all my closing duties already (i did do it after though)

[possible fandoms: Transformers, Totally Spies, Disney, TMNT, Street Sharks, Pixar, Star Wars, G. I. Joe, Nintendo, Marvel, DC, possibly more!]
I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+.
Hey there! Most people call me Desi. I am a role player, obviously! I usually spend my time indoors every day with a mild excursion here and there to the store, movies, or beach. I adore writing, but that's obvious.
I am very versatile on genre, I have major preference for romance, drama, slice of life, mysteries, action and adventure, Hallmark-esque plots, and anything else we might conjure up! I do have tons of canons and OCs! I’m sure you can find one you like. I can write from a paragraph to novella.
I am looking for any gender of partner and character, I have so many unique characters and ideas for each one! I can also slide my OCs into any fandom.
Ideas:
your character replaces Sam/Charlie in the Transformers franchise while fixing various mistakes made by Michael Bay. I have the characters set up on my server, with alternate designs for Jazz, Sideswipe, and Hot Rod.
I also have a ton of Disney characters, I’ve been dying to play out a ripple in the space time continuum where one or a group of them get sent to the real world.
I also am hunting for a Totally Spies role play.
My character is a Spanish heiress, who lives a life of luxury, only her father is murdered, and the people who did it, are now after her. She runs away in search of a bodyguard to help her get back what was stolen from her.
The next idea I have is for a relationship that is on the rocks, and the two are left trying to navigate their lives past the honeymoon phase and learn how to adapt to living together.
This is specific to my character but she was a championship surfer, and she got injured at the top of her game. I really want to play out her becoming a mentor, teaching someone how to become the next champion.
One of my characters goes undercover to try and expose a illegal ring, this would play out like a suspense or thriller, could play male or female.
An emotionally damaged stripper who is abused by staff spends her days trying to get by, until the day comes where she meets someone who could help her pursue her true dreams of running her own operation.
A Russian woman who was stolen from her family as a little girl and tormented into becoming a living weapon is hired to bring your character to them. On the way, she finds out that the people who hired her are working for the militia that made her the way she is, and so, she decides to take a stand, and wipe them out.
This is only a third of my ideas, not even that, a fraction! Come check out my characters, let’s discuss something!
I have men, women, young and mature, thieves, business owners, single mothers, wayward young adults, college students and staff, bounty hunters, detectives, police officers, victims, patients, crooked therapists, strippers, so many unique stories to tell! I guarantee one of them will strike your fancy!
I am looking for a romantic role play as one of my many OC characters, drama or major events will happen depending on the character you select, and I have 300+ so far.
I also have many canon characters I would love to play as, such as Legolas, Transformers, Marvel and DC , Avatar and Disney.
I have many ideas depending on who you choose!
I am a very affectionate person, I love to make people happy, so I am always open to adjusting characters or role plays.
I don't like role plays with action asterisks, Sorry! I also don't like to role play without proper punctuation and grammar. I usually write at least one paragraph. 25 being my record.
I am a firm believer in conversation so I most likely will text you OOC for any reason, I also prefer to keep things adult, meaning I don't take part in petty or childish arguments.
I don't ghost either, so Ill probably rip the bandage off and tell you why I don't want to role play anymore.
I also love having friends! I used to get bullied quite a lot for many, many reasons, so I haven't had many friends in my 20 years of living. Lets chat, get to know one another!, I've been role playing for a long time, about 6-8 years give or take? I typically enjoy modern role plays with real life basing.
I enjoy stories of the romantic genre as well as action and adventure. My characters are original with face claims, some are canon characters from Marvel and DC. Characters like Barney, Captain America, Superman, just really selfless characters have always been my inspiration.
I always try to write my characters with loving aspects if I can. Life is broken and many people suffer, life isnt perfect so I usually write some darkness for a character if I feel it.
I don't use random face claims, I use actors or media icons I feel fit the character, I mentally put myself in the position of director, my role play is a movie, and I am casting the character, that is how I usually go about it, and if you don’t like it I am not the partner for you.
I definitely want a partner who can be a friend, who can be detailed yet tame, someone who can give me something to reply to, I am not very picky. I don't like people who are judgmental though, I prefer good vibes only.
Replies from me are vary. Sometimes I cant write as much as Id like because I get a writers block.
Sometimes I can reply 5 times a day, but sometimes I cant reply for a day maybe even two or three. But usually I update OOC. I look for people who aren't looking for perfection, I don't like role players who are too arrogant about their skill. I wouldn't say I'm the best role player out there, so if we don't mesh I completely understand.
I keep my characters location/job vague so that I can work them into a plot better. They are pieces to the puzzle, and I keep them so they can fit better into any story we choose!
I will only be role playing on discord partly just to be able to show you my original character portfolio server, which has channels with their backgrounds, age, and their galleries.
Simply DM me for my tag and we can get things started.
Sexuality wise all my characters are adjustable.
Reply wise, this will be fairly advanced. I strive to keep things above a paragraph but I can go lower depending on the plot. I write a maximum of 10 paragraphs but my usual is 3-4.
my character portfolio will be the main key to our discussion, so you will be viewing it upon your interest. I have 100+ characters. I can also role play over email or reddit chat, that way I can just copy the bios and send the photos.
That being said our characters will have romance, and adult content will be ahead If desired. All my characters are adults.I am looking for action, adventure, romance of course is my favorite, mystery, drama, anything is up for debate!
I am looking for both male or female characters to partner my own with, as well as trans or non binary as well, all are welcome.
I hope we can have a fun role play together!

Introduction

Celephaïs is a Narrative Side-Scroller developed and published by OllieFearn, released on July 04 2021. Celephaïs is available on Itch.

Presentation

Celephaïs is a recreation of Lovecraft’s Celephaïs. The story follows Kuranes, a man seeking the mythical city of Celephaïs in his dreams.
Travel to Celephaïs
Narratively, it follows Lovecraft’s tale to a tee, with… some abnormalities. The game begins in the third to the fourth paragraph, catching Kuranes’ ancestral home of thirteen generations and the old village along the white road of the sleep or dead with the spears of long grass in the foreground. Kuranes presses onto the cliffs—floating down amidst faintly glowing spheres and finally approaching a rift in the darkness. The dream ends just as Kuranes enter it, catching a glimpse of Celephaïs. OllieFearn does a fine job of illustrating this dreamy tale so far.
On Kuranes’ second attempt, Kuranes finds himself in an emptiness—then transition to a beach (assuming it’s the golden sands) with trees above the water. If you stay around a while, a flickering creature appears and follows Kuranes. Harmless. Afterwards, towards a cave. The dream morphs into a nightmare of liminal space—exiting and falling into the same room with varying lighting and an endless hallway with flickering and strobing lights injecting Horror elements, leaving a jolt that isn’t a necessity to have. OllieFearn’s reimagining of Celephaïs doesn’t end there.
The story flips to the ninth paragraph, nearing the end. Kuranes turn to drugs—Hasheesh (Cannabis) in desperation to reach Celephïs. It worked so well that he materialised in another dimension. He was greeted by the [Violet-Coloured] Pink Gas, an ethereal being—describing the Place as Infinity. Proposes Kuranes a way back to Celephaïs whenever he is ready. I would define OllieFearn’s Infinity as a children’s playground with building blocks (especially for a place where form doesn’t exist). Not to sound entirely out of humour, I did play with the shapes. Smile once or twice.
The Strange and Stranger.
Kuranes returns to his ancestral home and the village and finds them abandoned. This part is the third paragraph edited. Onwards, the dialogue isn’t the same as Lovecraft’s Celephaïs and should be treated as an addition. Kuranes, as the only name is given, said he is from London (likely in England, as Lovecraft is an anglophile). Or, in OllieFearn’s version—Cornwall (located on England’s southwestern tip). Progression is the same, jumping over downed-tree and towards the cliffs—past the village.
Readers of Celephaïs know how the story ends. Kuranes govern over Celephaïs while his physical body falls off a cliff in Innsmouth.
OllieFearn omits portions of the story if left entire; it is an easy fifteen to thirty-minute game with some puzzles and such. Possibly, too laborious to detail the scenes.
The dreamlike soundtrack works wonderfully with the story and tragic end.

Collapsing Cosmoses

OllieFearn did an admirable job of reimagining Celepaïs, however. Some decisions cause unnecessary conflict in the story. Being said, I recommend giving Celephaïs a shot.
Extinct Nobility

Analysis of Search Incidents and Lost Person Behavior in Yosemite National Park
Referenced from Lost Person Behavior by Jared Doke.
Yosemite National Park is an American national park in the state of California.
Crampton (1988) described a continuum of being lost with two distinct degrees of lostness.
The 1st, and arguably the most serious, is defined as “unknown lost”.
This occurs when a person believed that they knew where they were, when in fact they didn't.
This could happen to a hiker if they arrived at a diverging trail and took one path, but misidentified the one they should have otherwise taken.
The hiker may continue on in a denial process, fitting the terrain to their expectations, rejecting any discrepancies.
Eventually, they will have realized the mistake they had made, and only then can they take action to correct their errors.
Lost people generally have two goals: to try to find their way or to try to be found (Cornell and Heth 1999).
Yosemite National Park is unlike any other place on earth. It has its own distinct geology,
One must first understand the environment, hazards, and underlying processes that influence a lost hikers' decisions.
The geology, geomorphology, climate, weather, hydrology, vegetation, fauna, history, park visitation, and potential hazards are all relevent here.
The data indicates that people don't get lost at random locations, rather they get lost after they arrive at pre-known locations.
In Yosemite Valley these “hot spot” areas exist at the Yosemite Valley rim, Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, the Badger Pass Ski area as well as a few trailheads.
Conversely, lost hikers are also found at pre-known locations as well.
The same significant “hot spot” areas.
On the Pianista trail, River 1/508 would be an example of a well known location.
Where a diverging trail exists, is after crossing river 2, there is an open paddock.

• The prevalance of hikers becoming lost -

In Yosemite Valley, 45% of hikers, whilst present on the trail, had identified themselves as being lost or agreed that they didn't know where they were.
This figure should probably be higher, but hikers are often too embarrased to admit to being lost.

• Contributing factors that caused hikers to become lost -

Main Contributing Factor n %
Lost Trail Accidentally 16.9%
Failed to research the trail and identify a planned route 11.7%
Miscalculation of time or distance of trail 9.4%
Darkness 7.0%
Left Trail Intentionally 5.6%
Insufficient Information/Error in Judgment 5.6%
Snow on Ground 5.2%
Wrong Trail Taken 4.7%
Fatigue/Physical Condition 4.2%
Steep Terrain 2.8%
Emotionally Upset 2.4%
Ground Level Fall 1.9%

• Successfulness of lost mitigation strategies -

For the most part, the lost incidents had a favorable outcome.
Of the 213 incidents, 68% resulted in the lost person/group being found uninjured and 23% were resolved by self-rescue.
10 incidents concluded with the subject being found injured, 9 subjects were found deceased, and 2 were found with medical problems.
Types of lost mitigation strategies used
In Yosemite, lost hikers who were in an active state of lostness typically attempted to follow a linear feature, in order to reorient themselves, or to become found.
Route Traveling 41.9%
Staying Put 25.7%
Backtracking 16.2%
Random Traveling 5.4%
View Enhancing 4.1%
Route Sampling 2.7%
Direction Traveling 2.7%
Doing Nothing 1.4%
The goal of Yosemite's PSAR program is to “help visitors avoid the need to be rescued by providing education about the hazards of hiking, and the time and equipment necessary to complete a planned hike
One of the most promising aspects of this report was the realization that watersheds may be used to predict the found locations for lost subjects.
A watershed is an area of land that drains all the streams and rainfall to a common outlet such as the outflow of a reservoir, mouth of a bay, or any point along a stream channel.
Watersheds are often used to draw search segments because ridges and streams provide natural borders for searchers in the field.
Kris and Lisanne very much underestimated their hike. It wasn't a pleasant afternoon trip, it was described as a walk in the park.
Alot of people posted to forums after this incident, and it's interesting to read the most revevent statements from 2014 that were the most accurate and well thought out:
"I've studied this case a great deal, and I think it's very possible that Kris and Lisanne didn't know that once you reach the summit, you're supposed to turn around and go down the way you came up. The El Pianista trail does not end at the summit"
"I believe they thought you're supposed to follow the trail down the other side of the mountain, and they probably also thought that it would take about as long to get down that side as it took them to get up the other side - about three hours."
"They might not have even been truly lost when they made their first 9-11 calls; they may have gotten lost only later in the evening, by travelling desperately in low light and darkness in an attempt to avoid spending the night in the jungle, perhaps leaving the trail to take "shortcuts."?"
"It is important to note that there are many paths made by the indigenous Ngobe tribes people, leading away from the official path, even locals and tour guides get regularly lost there and there are no signs that are indicating which path is the right one."
"These paths are well known for being incredibly dangerous (narrow, steep ascents/descents, slippy mud track and dangerous rope bridges) and are even avoided by the indigenous tribe at all costs."
"At this point it was already unlikely that they would meet another person there, since every local knows that they are otherwise risking their lives, by deviating onto these less traveled pathways."
"Oh, it's VERY possible to get lost on the El Pianista, and I'm speaking from experience! I hiked this same trail and got lost just 3 weeks ago while on vacation - signs at the base next to the restaurant even say it's prohibited to hike unless for scientific purposes. You have to cross two streams, and halfway up the trail it becomes practically nonexistent - once I got to the top, about a 3 hour hike without seeing one person, I lost track of the trail and lost my mind within seconds, and began running downhill completely lost - All the vegetation made it impossible to walk at times, I had to climb, crawl and scoot downhill for Two hours before I eventually wandered into someone's property and yelled for help."
"People do get lost. Sometimes fog can blanket the area and there's no visibility. A heavy rain can wash out trails. There can be confusion with game trails, because they are pathways that give the hiker the false impression that they are navicable."
Off The Beaten Path – Cerro de la Muerta
Consisting of steep, narrow curves and countless potholes, the mountain roads would be somewhat less hazardous if not fully submersed in fog. Due to its altitude, Cerro de la Muerte temperatures rise and fall to both day and night extremes.
Before Costa Rica had a lot of roads, people braved the treacherous mountain trails barefoot, on treks lasting three or four days, to secure supplies for their homes and livestock.
For many, Cerro de la Muerte was the worst part of a journey, many people didn't survive it.
With temperatures often below freezing, many travelers died of hypothermia along the trail or got sick and died of pneumonia later on, assuming they survived the frequent landslides and didn’t fall off any of the cliffs etc.
Sunburn danger here is higher than normal, owing to the thin clear air.
The road is usually open all year round, but flash floods, landslides, narrow curves, and steep cliffs make the pass extremely dangerous. There’s a reason this place is called the Mountain of Death.
Higher mountain peaks extend along the Cordillera de Talamanca, the region that the Pianista trail leads into.
Montane streams in the tropics are among the most extreme fluvial environments in the world. A combination of steep slopes, high mean annual rainfall, and intense tropical storms generate an energetic and powerful flow regime.
Much of the range and the area around it is included in La Amistad International Park, which also is shared between the two countries.
The highest peaks are present within Costa Rica and Panama.
Much of the Caribbean areas of this range are still unexplored.
Rapid runoff production generates flashy, frequent, short-duration floods and occasional high-magnitude floods associated with hurricanes and other tropical disturbances.
During the peak wet season, strong hydraulic forces are present within the stream channels.
The Changuinola is a river network with well-developed downstream hydraulic geometry.
Many alluvial rivers develop systematic changes in slope, channel geometry, and grain size, from their headwaters to the coast, in response to changes in discharge and sediment yield.

Hello!
I am requesting this amount to cover my living expenses for the next few months. I have a loan that is due on May 31st which I have the money to pay for in time, however per the rules I am able to request a new loan before repayment of this one. I have a good record of repayment of loans both smaller and larger than this one.
The reason for this is that I would like to have a confirmed amount of money arriving before I send the remaining balance of that loan to the lender (I can send the amount now but I wouldn’t be left with enough to pay expenses and living costs and so would like to agree to new amount first), we have had a conversation about this and they have provided their consent and a new lender is of course free to PM this previous lender to confirm the arrangement.
As soon as this request has been fulfilled, the current loan will be paid in full and on time which means my priorities will not be split and I can focus fully on repaying the lender for this loan. Interest is negotiable by an amount of up to +500GBP on the amount stated above. Proof of ID, residence and funds arriving in time for the due date are as always available.
Please feel free to PM with any questions!

If there's a woman you're suspicious about or are jealous of that your boyfriend has in his life, most likely you have a legit reason to feel that way. There is a difference between being jealous and insecure about your man thinking he'll cheat or flirt with other women, which comes from a place of insecurity and abandonment issues to legit feeling insecure about a girl in particular. In my 29 years of life, never have I been wrong about a woman I was suspicious about. Last guy I was seeing, agreed to be exclusive with me but went and got a tattoo with a woman I suspected he had slept with before we became exclusive. I always felt like he had a mild crush on her as well. He even would tell me about her and talk about her in front of me or share things on his social media about her tattoo brand etc. I thought it was cool however, the fact that he agreed to be exclusive with me it would mean he had cut her off. Turns out he was in touch with her the whole time we were together. I never asked about her because we hadn't been together long enough but I would've eventually. A few things were strange, like the day he went and got a tattoo with her and later on the same week he told me I couldn't spend the night at his (leading me to think he slept with her and didn't want to risk maybe giving me an STD given we had both been tested and not using a condom). Or how he wouldn't show me their conversation on his phone but would be open about conversations with other people (not that he owed me that, but he would purposely HIDE the conversation with her). I know this might seem over the top, but the way he acted was super strange given how he was with me previously. I'll never forget how anxious I felt the night before he went to get the tattoo with her. The lump on my throat I had. The feeling of just wanting to tell him to go to hell. But I kept my cool. We ended on the same week and one week later, she's at his house (found out via Insta as well). Honestly from now on, any guy who has a female friend who I feel off about and I ask him to cut her off and he doesn't, I'm gone. I'm no longer putting up with the "she's just a friend" BS. Unless you're completely unattracted to her (and I can tell) and she's more like a guy than a girl to you, it's a massive NO for me. At this point if a guy even brings up another female or is hanging out one-on-one with her is just a masssiiiivvveee turn off and I run away. This is just one story of many others where I felt something was going on and ignored my intuition only to later find out that anxiety wasn't there for no reason at all. Ladies, don't be afraid to speak up. Don't be afraid to ask about a certain woman, don't be afraid to set boundaries. It's our time being wasted and our lives at stake and we don't want to waste away with some man-child who wants to have his cake and eat it too.