I've been working on a poem about my experience as a pollytherian, here's what I've come up with so far.
I dream at night that I'm three different beasts. An otter, a raven and a thylacine. I remember running through the bush, teaching my cub to hunt. Until a farmer came out with a gun. Suddenly a gunshot rings. And the spot between my eyes starts to sting. Everything faded to black. And now I'm back. Smaller and more pale. Missing my sandy brown paws, and long striped tail. ... Suddenly I'm up in the air. Spiraling and diving fast as a hare. After a while I see a lovely meal. Look around and think to myself "that'll be easy to steal" What I didn't notice was the pane of glass Which I quickly hit, broke my neck and passed. ... Then I'm somewhere much warmer. Floating on my back in the quiet blue water. Suddenly mother signalled danger. But before I had time to react. I was in a sharks digestive tract. ... I sit up and stretch. Feeling something twitch past where my wrist bends. I go outside and quietly play. When a stranger walks past and yells "you're not an animal, stop acting that way" I quickly wander off. After a second, hearing them scoff. "What in tarnation" "The hell is wrong with this generation"

t’s amazing how the sun is a soft structure a suiter how the light returns the next day how systems flourish the end of a world is a continuance of another how mice digest owls is a reversal of expectations how cells gossip withselves how microbes tangle tiny dramashow for the bat a white nose is a mile-a-minute how a princess tree is a wind spinner a leaf is a limb a bad metaphor how floranauts demand labourfrom horse flies hummingbirds a possum is a friendly neighbour is a kind of bee a kind bomb a time bomb a realtor a mob how one colony is much like anotherhow the wasp trades with the flower how this meadow is pink or green lichens queue fists of wheat how repetition is a system how a stem is a neck craning with seasonal indifference how the flowerhead is a vagrant an intruder a network of dirthow a system is a verb a noun and something gross in between

Hello! This is a compilation of most of the resources I'm using for my search for wisdom.
My goal is simple: to share what I’ve learned/am learning regarding self awareness, self knowledge, self understanding, self love/compassion, and applying these to practical use.
If you are interested in the specific books that has personally helped me in my studies, I would recommend the works of Carl Jung and Manly P. Hall (MPH), as I found their works easy to read and comprehend. Due to this, much of my resources would be mainly from them. They have already done the research on topics that I am currently undertaking, and so it’s like reading their notes instead of having to read the actual “textbooks”, which can be more difficult to read, and so their works are useful to try to understand, while using the actual "textbooks" to check their references for further investigation.
I personally trust their interpretation of wisdom and truth, after having done my investigation and cross-references myself for the most part, so this is a matter of personal resonance. What could work for me, may not work for everyone else. So take everything with a grain of salt, take note of what resonates and investigate these further, discard the rest. Still, I have included what I can of the “textbooks” to use for cross-reference.
This list is still under construction!

Manly P. Hall

“Mr. Hall was a seeker and lover of wisdom, and the very definition of a philosopher. He lived a unique and profound life that centered on his search for meaning in the world’s wisdom traditions. An autodidact and polymath, Hall amassed an extraordinary collection of rare books and artifacts from his extensive travels and devoted himself to the study of these works and their application to the positive development of the individual and society as a whole. He was a consummate teacher who took his deep learning and translated it into an accessible and compelling presentation to readers and listeners for seventy years. Hall attained an amazing degree of scholarship in those branches of learning that bear upon the beliefs, ideals, and convictions of humanity.” - The Philosophical Research Society
Secret Teachings of All Ages ”If you read this book in its entirety you will be in a good position to dive into subjects such as the Qabbala, Alchemy, Tarot, Ceremonial Magic, Neo-Platonic Philosophy, Mystery Religions, and the theory of Rosicrucianism and Freemasonry. Although there are some questionable and controversial parts of the book, such as the outdated material on Islam, the portion on the Bacon-Shakespeare hypothesis, and Hall's conspiracy theory of history as driven by an elite cabal of roving immortals, they are far out-weighed by the comprehensive information here on other subjects.”
Self-Unfoldment by Disciplines of Realization Practical Instruction in the Philosophy of Disciplined Thinking and Feeling ”This book aims to develop on the part of a student the skills of awareness and thoughtfulness. Disciplines not to be practiced as rituals, but rather as inherent qualities—as natural as eating and digestion.”
Healing, the Divine Art ”The first part is historical, the second technical, with both parts relating to beliefs held at the present time. This includes practices of Witch Doctors and Native American medicine priests; dream diagnosis as practiced by followers of Asclepius, god of medicine; early clinics of Hippocrates; mystical healing by early Christian priests; esoteric physiology and anatomy; the pineal gland; faith therapy; mental healing and others; and the psychological factors contributing to illness.”
The Occult Anatomy of Man ”Hall begins by reminding us that the holy writings of most "enlightened people" include some version of the concept that God made man in His own image. From this beginning, The Occult Anatomy of Man explores the idea that as a microcosm of the infinite, the human body contains the answers to the secrets of the universe. Hall states, " The priests of the ancient world believed that every star in the heavens, every element in the earth, and every function in Nature was represented by a corresponding center, pole or activity within the human body."
The Initiates of the Flame ”Written in 1922, when Manly P. Hall was just 21 years old, "The Initiates of the Flame" illustrates the great thread, the spiritual thread, of living fire that winds in and out through all the religions and binds them together with a mutual ideal and mutual needs: there is but one religion in all the world, and that is the worship of God, the spiritual Flame of the universe. Initiates is a book dealing with the seven great branches of occult philosophy as they have been perpetuated through the Fire Schools of the Ancients.”
Man: Grand Symbol of the Mysteries Thoughts in Occult Anatomy “The book delves into the ancient mysteries and symbols of various cultures, examining how they relate to the human experience and our quest for spiritual enlightenment. Hall draws on a wide range of sources, including mythology, religion, and philosophy, to present a comprehensive and thought-provoking perspective on the nature of human existence. Topics covered in the book include the symbolism of the human body, the role of consciousness in spiritual evolution, and the importance of myth and ritual in connecting with the divine.”

Carl Jung

”Carl Jung was a Swiss psychologist and psychiatrist who founded analytic psychology, in some aspects a response to Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis. Jung proposed and developed the concepts of the extraverted and the introverted personality, archetypes, and the collective unconscious. His work has been influential in psychiatry and in the study of religion, literature, and related fields.” - Britannica
Man and his Symbols “Full of fascinating case studies and examples pulled from philosophy, history, myth, fairy tales, and more, this groundbreaking work—profusely illustrated with hundreds of visual examples—offers invaluable insight into the symbols we dream that demand understanding, why we seek meaning at all, and how these very symbols affect our lives. By illuminating the means to examine our prejudices, interpret psychological meanings, break free of our influences, and recenter our individuality, Man and His Symbols proves to be—decades after its conception—a revelatory, absorbing, and relevant experience.”
Liber Novus: The Red Book of C. G. Jung “The most influential unpublished work in the history of psychology. When Carl Jung embarked on an extended self-exploration he called his “confrontation with the unconscious,” the heart of it was The Red Book, a large, illuminated volume he created between 1914 and 1930. Here he developed his principle theories—of the archetypes, the collective unconscious, and the process of individuation—that transformed psychotherapy from a practice concerned with treatment of the sick into a means for higher development of the personality.”
Jung's Seven Sermons to the Dead (video) I recommend watching the whole series by Humble-U as a supplement for when reading Jung’s Red Book as it pertains to his 7 sermons. These reflect more of Jung’s esoteric/gnostic side.
Aion - Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self “The central theme of the volume is the symbolical representation of the psychic totality through the concept of the Self, whose traditional historical equivalent is the figure of Christ. Professor Jung demonstrates his thesis by an investigation of the Allegorice Christi, especially the fish symbol, but also of Gnostic and alchemical symbolism, which he treats as phenomena of cultural assimilation. The astrological aspect of the fish symbol and, in particular, the foretelling of the Antichrist are discussed in detail. The first four chapters, on the ego, the shadow, and the anima and animus, compose a valuable summation of these key concepts in Jung's system of psychology.”
Psychology and Alchemy “In his groundbreaking work, "Psychology and Alchemy," acclaimed psychologist C.G. Jung delves into the intricate connection between the ancient mystical practice of alchemy and the human psyche. Through a fascinating exploration of symbols, dreams, and the collective unconscious, Jung reveals how alchemy serves as a metaphor for the transformative journey of self-discovery and personal growth. As we embark on this captivating journey with Jung, we are invited to unlock the hidden depths of our own minds, to unravel the mysteries of our desires and fears, and to embrace the potential for profound inner transformation. Join Jung in this illuminating exploration that intertwines the realms of science, spirituality, and the human psyche, and discover a key to unlocking the secrets of our own soul.”

On Hermeticism

Hermeticism: Background Information Way of Hermes
Initiation into Hermetics Franz Bardon
Emerald Tablets of Thoth "Thoth the Atlantean"
Corpus Hermeticum Translation by G. R. S. Mead
The Kybalion "Three Initiates"
The Light of Egypt Vol. 1 Thomas H. Burgoyne
The Light of Egypt Vol. 2 Thomas H. Burgoyne
Discourse of Hermes Trismegistus: Poimandres

Alchemy/Philosopher Stone

The Philosopher's Stone A comprehensive background on alchemy, and the Philosopher’s Stone.
The Azoth Ritual Dennis William Haucke, based on Basil Valentine's Azoth of the Philosophers.
Azoth; or, the Star in the East Arthur Edward Waite, on Mystical Philosophy.
Monas Hieroglyphica John Dee
Esoteric Alchemy Manly P. Hall
Mental and Spiritual Alchemy Manly P. Hall
The Hermetic and Alchemical Writings of Paracelsus Arthur Edward Waite

Ancient Philosophy

Plato's Symposium Translated by R. E. Allen
Plato's Timaeus Translated by David Horan
The Complete Pythagoras ”for the generalist & specialist” Edited by Patrick Rousell for the World Wide Web.
The Pythagorean Sourcebook and Library Translated by Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie
The Golden Verses of Pythagoras By Pythagoras
Iamblichus' Life of Pythagoras By Iamblichus, Translated by Thomas Taylor
Iamblichus on the Mysteries of the Egyptians, Chaldeans, and Assyrians By Iamblichus, Translated by Thomas Taylor
Apollonius of Tyana By G. R. S. Mead
The Life of Apollonius of Tyana By Philostratus
Plotinos Complete Works By Plotinus, Translated by Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie
The Enneads By Plotinus, Porphyry
Select Works of Porphyry ”containing his four books: On abstinence from animal food; his treatise On the Homeric cave of the nymphs; and his Auxiliaries to the perception of intelligible natures”. By Porphyry, Translated by Thomas Taylor
Moralia Vol. 5 - Isis and Osiris By Plutarch, Translated by Frank Cole Babbittt
The Stoic Handbook By Erik Wiegardt – with Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius
Discourses by Epictetus By Epictetus, Translated by Elizabeth Carter
The Beginning of Greek Philosophy Part 1 Manly P. Hall
The Beginning of Greek Philosophy Part 2 Manly P. Hall
Definitions in Philosophy Manly P. Hall

Esoteric: Gnosticism, Kabbalah, Sufism, Zoroastrianism, etc.

Pistis Sophia Translation by G. R. S. Mead
Apocryphon of John The Secret Book According to John
Gospel of Mary The Gospel of Mary Magdalene
Hypostasis of the Archons An exegesis of Genesis 1-6.
Gospel of Thomas "These are the hidden words that the living Jesus spoke and Didymos Judas Thomas wrote them down."
The Book of Enoch By Enoch
The Chaldean Chronicles - Attributed to Zoroaster By Zoroaster
The Gnostic Bible: Gnostic Texts of Mystical Wisdom from the Ancient and Medieval Worlds - Pagan, Jewish, Christian, Mandaean, Islamic & Cathar Willis Barnstone and Marvin Meyer
The Hymn of the Pearl Gnostic poem
Epistles of the Brethren of Purity: On Magic Brethren of Purity
Esoteric Interpretation of Gospel of Thomas

Theosophy

The Seven Rays Ernest Wood
The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion, and Philosophy Helena P. Blavatsky
Isis Unveiled Helena P. Blavatsky
Dreams Helena P. Blavatsky
The Akashic Records: Origins and Relation to Western Concepts Alex Nash (Central European Journal of Contemporary Religion 2)
Law of Correspondences Robert Crosbie

Eastern Philosophy

Raja Yoga Swami Vivekananda
Yoga Sutras Patanjali
Pancha Klesha - Five Klesha Information The Five Kleshas - Sanskrit for 'five obstacles,' pancha klesha are afflictions in the mind which form the root causes of all suffering.
Transforming the Emotions Regarding Kleshas
Secret of the Golden Flower Lu Dongbin?
Three Hun Seven Po: 1 2 Three Ethereal Souls and the Seven Corporeal Souls
Antahkarana: 1 2 Antahkarana is a concept in Hindu philosophy, referring to the totality of the mind, including the thinking faculty, the sense of I-ness, and the discriminating faculty. Antaḥ means 'inner' and karaṇa means 'instrument', or, 'function'. Therefore, the word Antaḥkaraṇa can be understood as 'inner organ', 'inner functions', or, 'inner instrument'.
Pangu Chinese Creation Myth
Fuxi and Nuwa: 1 2 Chinese Creation Myth as it relates to Alchemy

On Religion, Metaphysics, Mysticism, Ethics, Morality, Mortality, etc

The Origin of Evil Robert Crosbie
Recognition of Law Robert Crosbie
The Foundation of Religion Robert Crosbie
Marriage: The Mystic Rite Manly P. Hall
The Urantia Book (aka Urantia Papers)
Epistles of the Brethren of Purity: The Case of the Animals versus Man Before the King of the Jinn Brethren of Purity
The Animal’s Place in the Universal Plan - (audio) Manly P. Hall
Is there a Guardian Angel? - (video) Manly P. Hall
The Human Soul: Its Nature and Functions - (audio) Manly P. Hall
The Masters of Deception Paul Levy

On Health, Medicine, Sciences

Basic Problems of Diet and Nutrition (audio) Manly P. Hall
Autism through the Lens of Theosophy (video)

Astrology, and other Occult Topics

Occult Knowledge Robert Crosbie
Astrology 101 - translate to English
Mental Healing and Hypnosis Robert Crosbie
Dispelling Wetiko: Breaking the Curse of Evil Paul Levy
Three Books of Occult Philosophy or Magic Henry Cornelius Agrippa
Encyclopedia of Occultism Lewis Spence
Becoming Supernatural Joe Dispenza

Psychology Self-Help: MPH (Audio Lectures)

These lectures have been so informative and helpful for me personally. View these at 1.25x playback speed. He disseminated information from memory; it was said he did not need notes whenever he held lectures. He is able to express sound wisdom that is palatable and relevant to the modern man.
The Power to Change Your Mind: A Study in Attitude Fixation
The Habit of Thinking Constructively: Cultivating a Positive Outlook
Psychic Self-Destruction: Release the Mind from Regrets
Be Your Own Psychotherapist
From Anxiety to Serenity
The Challenge of Self Expression: The Gateway to Contentment
Analyzing the Anxiety Complex

Death and Destruction aspects
“Four directions: in front, behind, above, below.
Death awaits in all directions.
Fourfold is the nature of Death:
Death dissolves, is decay and dissolution.
Death interrupts, and is the final interruption - the ending.
Death is infinite. Life is exhausted, Death is exhaustion. Life is extinguished, Death is extinguishment. Life ends, Death is the end.
Death is mercy. Death ends suffering. And though much is lost, much abides. The dead are the foundation of life and civilization. A cycle never ends. Death leaves behind remnants, and feeds the living.
Three natures hath Destruction:
It unmaketh, it unmaketh, and at last, it unmaketh.”
~a poem attributed to Ozmanthus Arelius
A Path with physical, spiritual and esoteric attacks. Though not the Arelius Patriarch's own Path, it is nonetheless suspected to be a contemporary, inspired by it.
Madra appears the deepest shade of black, like a hole in reality. Cycling it causes the Sacred Artist to feel an unnatural peace.
Remnants of Journey's End are very difficult to gaze upon directly, appearing like discontinuity in existence. Not darkness, but rather... absence. Open your eyes, what do you see beyond the edges of your vision? Not darkness, nothing.
Goldsign of cracks in the very air, spreading like lightning but slowly and without light. These faultlines in reality trace themselves in the wake of any movement made by the Sacred Artist, fade away a foot or so away from them, linger in the air when they stop and stay still. Despite their appearance, they are not spatial anomalies and are not directly dangerous by themselves.
Techniques
Salt Rain: Widespread StrikeForger technique in the form of an acidic miasma. Meant more for damage over time and area denial than direct offense. At Underlord, instead of a toxic vapour, the technique can be condensed into liquid form to create a more potent acid, for direct offense and area denial. The liquid can cause flesh to slough off bones, like ice melting in noonday heat.
Quietening: The artist surrounds themselves in a whirling storm of Forged black skulls. These skulls can attack madra techniques to disrupt, destabilize, dismantle or outright destroy them, depending on their relative power. Even if they can't annihilate the opposing technique, they can weaken it, cause it go off earlier / later, or slightly divert it.
Entomb: RuleForger elements, their corpse preservation technique. They are no gravekeepers, they don't preserve the body for sentimental reasons but preventing degradation of the corpse prolongs not only its existence but also its service as a source of aura. Skeletons, bone ash and even fossils give off Death aura, but intact cadavers are a richer source.
Separation: Striker technique that attacks the connections between the body and spirit, causing immense pain and spiritual disruption, can untether sections of madra channels, and at its most terrifying, tear out your Remnant. Requires madra control, Living Soulsmithing knowledge and willpower.
Mercy: Striker technique, with four stages of development. Takes the form of a lance of Journey's End madra that directly attacks the Lifeline. At the first stage, it merely shaves off the target's lifespan. At the second stage, it destroys the Lifeline, a successful hit means death, guaranteed; requires power and strength of will. With willpower, esoteric knowledge and skill, the attack strikes deeper than the Lifeline, as though a strike directly on their consciousness, this is the third stage. And finally with Authority, the technique can attack one's very Origin, the connection that tethers them to the way.
Jade Cycling Technique
There have been various methods devised by Sacred Artists to Cycle dangerous madra types. Do note that most of these methods also dilute the power of these madra mixtures. Which is a problem because the point of having dangerous madra types is often making a deadly weapon, and how long that "weapon" lives is of little concern. Indeed, it's better that the "weapon" is destroyed before it turns on its wielder. There are even artificial Paths whose mixes are impossible for living beings to survive, but powerful Remnants with the help of Scripts and other instruments can, they are then harvested to create literal weapons - Sacred Instruments.
In other cases, established powers have various means which are otherwise inaccessible to the common Sacred Artist that allows them to safely practice their Path of Death and Destruction, Fire and Destruction, Death and Poison, Blood and Destruction, Poison and Life, Fire and Poison or other commonly dangerous mix of aspects. Death and Destruction do tend to top these charts, though do note Death and Hunger are the only aspects that are directly dangerous by themselves; Destruction, Poison, Fire etc generally aren't that dangerous by themselves... well, not usually, at any rate, unless your source of aura itself is particularly dangerous.
The Cycling Technique itself doesn't have to be the solution, of course, and typically, it isn't. Most instead rely on external resources, such as Divine Treasures, bonded spirits or a continuous source of Natural Treasures. Others rely on specialized Iron Bodies, which are often rather... difficult to acquire. These measures often aren't permanent, but something to mitigate the harm caused by their extremely caustic madra, until they reach a high enough level of advancement that they can handle the power or have access to better resources.
There are a few broad methodologies employed by Sacred Artists in designing a Cycling Technique for madra types that can hurt themselves: A) use another aspect to counter it, either by mixing them or by splitting your core. The latter is considerably rarer, and typically the secondary core is used to Cycle Life or Blood to heal oneself from the damage caused by the primary madra. In the former case, you can, for eg mix Death with Earth to make it safer to Cycle, which is the safest known mixture of Death, sometimes known as Fertility madra, or rather erroneously as Bone madra - which is actually a separate aspect that's more related to Life. B) Dilute it, either by using Pure madra, or, in the case of subaspects like Death, Cycling the main aspect, Life. This results in Life madra that's more suited for Death madra applications. Similar to Force madra veering towards sharpness to such a degree that it's almost Sword madra. Technically, such a madra type would more accurately be called Rot or Digestion madra. C) By far the rarest method, is to employ powerful and esoteric Cycling Techniques that employ high level concepts to make Cycling safer, such as the concept of "death feeding life". These methods are highly prized, and jealously guarded, to the point that many have been lost to the relentless march of time. D) a Cycling Technique that makes their madra even more dangerous to Cycle, and rely on their Iron Body and resources to survive, hoping for timely advancement.
Iron Body
Most commonly employed Iron Bodies in this type of situation are typically focused on resistance to specific damage types (myotoxic - muscular paralysis, only affects skeletal muscle with little to no effect on cardiac or involuntary muscle; neurotoxic - damages the nervous system; hemotoxic - disrupts blood clotting and causes internal bleeding, degeneration of the cardiovascular system and other internal organs, massive tissue damage; cardiotoxic - affects cardiac muscle, cause cardiac arrest; cytotoxic - edema, severe blistering, cell death and necrosis, attacking cells on a molecular level). These were created for and are most commonly used by Poison / Venom artists, but other madra mixtures can have similar damage, and the Iron Bodies can serve in those cases as well. These Iron Bodies are fairly complex and require the venoms of specific Sacred Beasts or inorganic toxic substances, and as such are hard to acquire outside of the specific areas where they were developed.
Other Iron Bodies include ones focused more generally on physical durability or regeneration. Also, Iron Bodies which provide resistance to specific madra types, these are generally fairly expensive to acquire, requiring rare resources and skilled Soulsmiths & elixir Refiners. More rarely, there are Iron Bodies focused on general spiritual resistance - which are rare by themselves, ones that are also effective for internal resistance are even rarer still.
Weapons/items
Yomi Permission Slip: looks like a strange Scripted token, actually a Divine Treasure. Rarely, very rarely, people are born with enough of an affinity for Death madra that they can Cycle it without immediately dying / shortening their lifespan / severely corrupting their body's Life aura. There are rare Iron Bodies and Cycling Techniques that make it easier for the body and spirit to tolerate the presence of Death. But no matter what, it's always an ongoing struggle, there's always some damage, and your physiology / Iron Body / Cycling Technique is just mitigating it, keeping it manageable. It's resource intensive, and your Path gets more and more expensive as you advance. Once upon a time, ancient Soulsmiths had allegedly learned how to integrate Death madra without harming a living thing, no additional resources needed, but those secrets are lost now, assuming the legends are even true. But throwing scales and chasing legends isn't the only way, there is another fix, an actual solution. This is the last thing you'll ever need to permanently handle Death madra. Cycle it in, and you can Cycle Death madra completely safely, it would not harm your body or spirit. Extremely rare and expensive.

The first few comments relate to this, supposedly from the Commonwealth Games in Auckland 1990 (or maybe after Great Britain won the gold medal in the 4x400m relay at the World Championships in Tokyo in 1991):

This reminds me of a television interview I saw many years ago. A reporter from one of the major US television networks (I forget which one) was interviewing black British athlete Kriss Akabusi after being a member of the 400 metres relay team that took the gold medal at the 1991 Athletics World Championships. The interviewer started off with:
"So, Kriss, what does this mean to you as an African-American?"
"I'm not American, I'm British"
"Yes, but as a British African-American ..."
"I'm not African. I'm not American. I'm British."
This went on for some time before the reporter got so flustered that she gave up and went to interview someone else. I guess more than anything else it demonstrates the potential absurdity of political correctness -- this reporter was so tied-up with the idea that the "correct" term for someone of afro-caribbean ancestry was African-American and not Black that she couldn't cope with the fact that many black people are neither African nor American.

Hello all,
I was interested in this story and the lack of Primary Sources. So much so that I emailed Kriss via his website and got confirmation that the story is indeed true and actually took place during the Commonwealth Games in 1990:
Hi Ted, Thank you for your interest. The said interview was during the Common wealth games in Auckland 1990. Hope this helps? Kind regards,
:)
Awooga!

The Akabusi thing absolutely happened, I saw the vid on tv on a couple of occasions, and distinctly remember his face and also the insistance and utter non-comprehension of the interviewer. It is a classic. I have looked for it online to answer similar questions in the past and I cannot find it. It is from a long time ago, but has been on uk tv in the last few years, maybe 3. I find it VERY remarkable that it is not available to be found online anywhere. At least not with my google foo. And I really really tried.

I definitely saw this video online, but I can't seem to find it? Strange.

In the sub chapter "conspiracy from large organizations" it seems easy to me to think that the large tv company in question probably had it [the footage of the Kriss Akabusi interview] nuked. i have no basis for this, except that things don't disappear that way from the internet. It is becoming a legend on the web, but was on a funny tv prog in uk less than 36 months ago ...

I saw this EXACT exchange, but it was Seal, being interviewed on MTV in 1994, when his "Kiss from a Rose" went multi-mega-platinum or whatever it did to make a kajillion dollars.
It was a short interview, and I don't remember who the MTV kid interviewer was; I remember it was a young lady. It may have been Kennedy.
I have no proof of this; can't find any video, and Kennedy doesn't mention it in her new book. I just remember it happened to be on the TV late at night, and I was thinking, "WOW that's awkward - this American kid has no idea how to discuss race, and is trying to discuss race."
The question was something like, "what's it like being such a prominent African-American artist?" and Seal was very gently trying to tell her that he's not American, nor is he African. "I'm British," he kept saying. "No, I'm black, and I'm British.."
I was frankly in awe of his patience.

OK, now the rest ...

I remember watching the 2006 world cup during my senior year in math class. France was playing one of their bracket matches and my girlfriend at the time watches about 45 seconds of the game and says "Wow! France has a lot of African Americans on their team!" I didn't even say anything. I was hoping the silence would give her time to let that comment sink in. It never did.

I've heard fellow Americans refer to Nelson Mandela as an African-American.
Shit's insane.

... the principal of my prestigious high school referred to Nelson Mandela as African-American.

I think a lot of Americans genuinely haven't contextualized the two words "African" and "American" in African-American. For them it's simply a nicer way of saying "black". Ergo, all black people worldwide are African-Americans as well.
It's bizarre but apparently true.

I witnessed a similar situation in London. I was studying abroad and heading back to the dorm on a nightbus with my other classmates, all of us being from Florida. One girl in our group sits next to a black guy and being that she's drunk she gets chatty. She asks the guy "what is it like to be African-American in England?" his response was "I'm not African-American" "oh right, yeah, I mean African" "I'm not African!" "Then what are you???" "I'm British!"

African american is a fucking stupid and unnecessary euphemism. I used to have a coworker that was from South Africa. This is in Argentina, which, as much as the US likes to call themselves "America" and pretend the rest of the continent is not there, is "America" (that is, everyone in Argentina and other south american countries identify themselves as American, living in America, the continent). So, I always talked about him as "Afroamericano" (African-American). Then they met him, and realized the guy was whiter than cocaine. Technically correct is the best kind of correct.

This is just like when Chiwetel Ejiofor, at the Academy Awards, someone asked him what it feels like to be the first ever African American to be nominated as best actor.

This reminds me of when we read Athol Fugard's play "Master Harold...and the boys" in high school. To summarise, it is about race and class relations in apartheid era South Africa. My teacher lost his shit because everyone kept calling them African-Americans. An abiding memory is him nearly yelling, "they are ALL just AFRICAN."

Back in the eighties when we started using the term "African American" I had a friend in college who was from Kenya. He came up in conversation one day and someone asked me who I was talking about. I said: "you know so-and-so, the African guy." A very politically correct friend told me my language was very incorrect and I should refer to him as African American. I said that he wasn't American at all, he was from Kenya, Africa. Silence ensued while they digested this tidbit.

Me sister told me recently that she had a discussion about why black people in England are not called African Americans. It was with my seven year old niece...

This also happened to a Black Canadian hockey player. Can't remember who though...

I remember reading a financial news article. The article talked about second quarter earnings being in the red for a company while 3rd quarter earnings were expected to be in the African-American. It was a a professional news source with proper journalists and everything. Pretty fucking sad. I know I facepalmed reading that.

My favorite was when I heard a white lady on the news refer to Nelson Mandela as ‘African-American’. No, honey, he’s just African.

one of my history teachers in high school once talked about "European African Americans"

My history teacher said Hitler discriminated against Jewish people, LGBTQ people, disabled people, and instead of black people she said African Americans... in Germany and countries around it, so many African Americans.

In my 9th grade French class one of my classmates saw a black person in our textbook and exclaimed, "They have African Americans in France??" 🤦🏻‍♀️

I'm constantly called african American even though I've never stepped a foot in America.

My fourth grade students were reading a book set in Botswana. They kept referring to the characters as African American. I spent way too much time that day explaining that people from Africa are just African, and that it’s okay to say the word black.

I told a Columbian friend I was going to ask out a Spanish girl and he was like "oh nice, Latin American"...

I recall a TV announcer during the Olympics refer to the European black people as African Americans.

Unrelated, but during one of the Summer Olympics a few years back, one of the American announcers breathlessly declared that this was the first African American from X (where X is an African country) that has ever won this event.
I think they just universally substitute "African American" for "Black" in their mental dictionary and go from there. It's actually quite racist in itself, when you think about it.

When Lewis Hamilton won the F1 championship a few years back the American press services replaced him being the first black world champion as being the first African-American world champion. They issued an apology the next day

I remember several years ago, before the Atlanta Thrashers had moved to Winnipeg, CNN kept referring to all the Black players on Atlanta as African-Americans even though only one was American. One was Swedish and the rest Canadian. Yet for whatever reason CNN insisted on referring to them as African-American.

Who is the richest African American? Elon Musk

Technically Charlise Theron is African American

Another "funny" point. White Americans originating from Africa also get chastised if they identify themselves as "African Americans".
Read this: http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=7567291&page=1#.TyvhtONHhU0

Had a boss once that was born and raised in Morocco.
He became a US citizen in his 40 and would tell everyone he was an African American. He looked like he was from Spain.
He loved correcting his employees who used the term wrong.

'African American' is a term that has been divorced from its linguistic underpinnings in the United States almost entirely as a result of the culture of political correctness that has, in some ways, muddled racial dialogue in popular culture.
'African American' was ushered into favor in popular culture on the belief that it lacked any of the negative, racist, and/or superficial characteristics of terms used in the past. It was widely adopted for these very reasons. But the term's broad adoption is problematic because It designation as an appropriate term also had the effect of de-legitimizing other, more broad terms, rendering them implicitly racist or, at the very least, inappropriate. As a result of our society's desire to overcome racism and to be racially sensitive and politically correct, the term has become a favored blanket term to describe anyone that is Black, regardless of nationality, which leads people who are trying to be racially sensitive and politically correct to make minor gaffs like this all the time.
Ideally, culture should, in part, look to the speaker's intention when discerning whether a statement is racially offensive, rather than the word itself. This is not to say that the listener has no say in what is offensive - they certainly do, but a listener-centric system can have negative consequences on how we communicate. We allow for interpretive nuance in almost every other aspect of communication, but we are apprehensive to do the same when it comes to race. This is completely understandable given the history of race in the United States, but I can't help but feel that this apprehension, while having a positive impact early on, has limited constructive dialogue. This stymieing effect is, in part, illustrated by Mr. Elba's point.

I studied in London for a semester in college, and two of my (also American) flatmates once had a long conversation about differences between American African-Americans and English African-Americans. They were totally unaware they were describing English people as "-American"; It was clear that "African-American" was simply a word that meant "black" to them.

I've noticed Americans call all black people regardless of whether they're not American or African or either an African American, and it really ruffles my feathers. I remember seeing someone refer to a British Jamaican as an African American a while ago, and it's been playing on my mind ever since.

Blacks in America need to be called something.
The things they have been called have typically originated with those who are not black.
"African American" was popularized by Jesse Jackson during a period in which he was the leading black political figure in the US.
The term was picked up by the press, and there you go.
The term originated in this poem, which is based on word play involving the ends of both words, "ican", which is re-styled as "I can".
Whenever I hear the term I think of Jesse Jackson, who seems the type to discard a single syllable term in favor of a seven-syllable jaw-breaker.
Prevalence of the term has the amusing side-effect of causing Americans to become fearful of sounding racist when they have to refer to blacks who are not American, because there is a (mistaken) perception that "black" was discarded as racist. It just went out of style for political reasons.

I worked with a woman who was black and originally from England. I asked her if she would be considered 'African British'. She said, "we just say black".

Seppo exceptionlism. There was a KFC ad promoting an Australian cricket tour of the West Indies.
The white Australian guy wins over the locals, sharing his bucket of chicken. Americans got hold of it, and it's all African American this African American that.
Lost on them that the only American thing was the chicken brand. No comprehension that their stereotypes are not followed worldwide.

Didn't interviewers call John Boyega a "British African American"?

Not ethnicity related, but an example of the same /ImTheMainCharacter syndrome that exists a lot across the pond...
John Lennon was being questioned by a reporter in an interview who said something like, "There are people here in America that haven't taken to the way you look, some people have said that your haircuts are very unamerican."
John replied, "Well, that's very observant of them, because we aren't American".

One of the funniest things I've ever seen was a news anchor in the US talking about the riots in France and the French African Americans.

That's because in the US we are told not to apply critical and independent thinking but just use the label that we were most recently was told was correct or we are racist.

When Star Trek: Voyager was released, the Vulcan character Tuvok, played by Tim Russ, was described as an "African-American Vulcan".

Tuvok was a full blooded vulcan on both sides iirc, which means this makes even less sense than say, a half Vulcan character. Neither side of him is African OR American, never mind a combination of the two.
Still a great character tho.

Vanity Fair once published an article that said “Idris Elba would be the first African American James Bond if selected for the role.”

My mates parents are from Jamaica, but he was born in England, see himself as English but has a affinity to Jamaica. Ask him and he will say he’s English.
PC manager at work called him African American, pissed him right off, was calm and tried to explain he’s neither American nor African and not to call him that, he’s English, or if he wants to refer to race he’s black.
PC manager complained to HR, and my mate had to take nearly a hour to explain to four grown adults how Jamaica isn’t African and he’s fucking English.
It’s just horrible ignorance from people sometimes.

There's something really fucked up about someone trying to be politically correct and effectively telling your mate that his ideas about who he is are wrong.

Yup, was fuming afterwards. Talked about taking it further but he felt he finally got through to them and hoped it would never be repeated. We both fucked off not long after.

I would have reported to HR about the incident. Oh wait

I once met a girl from a country in Africa who told a similar story. She got called an African American at the airport (why this happened so casually is a terrible and dumb faux pas and I still can’t figure out how it was appropriate). Well, she completely confused the lady by responding with “No, I’m African African.”

Imagine how easy it must be applying for residency or citizenship when you already have American on your form.

I had a black friend at uni from south London. It was a while ago but I think his parents were Ghanaian. He would refer to himself as Anglo Blaxon.

When I was in the US I lived with a Jamaican guy who was offended every time he was called African American.

If I do a Google search for 'first black person in space', Google tells me that Guion Bluford, Jr. was the first African American in space.
He was indeed the first "African American" in space. However, he was not the first black person in space. That was Arnaldo Tamayo Méndez, an Afro-Cuban man who participated in Soviet space missions.

I worked in Afghanistan on a NATO base. One day the gate guards saw a black civilian contractor walk out of the gate and get snatched up by the Afghan Security Forces. The (American) security forces put out a call to everyone on base “Check your people, an African American man just got swept up and we need to know who it is”. Four hours pass with no response and then the British unit on base reported that one of their contractors hasn’t come back from lunch. The Americans said “why didn’t you respond to our urgent call???” To which the Brits obviously said “….. you said it was an African American.”

Yeah they are like that.. I have a friend he is black. He was being called african-argentinian by an american we know.
We tried to told them that here in argentina we don’t use the xxx-american like they do. Here you are either argentino or not, if you are white, black, yellow, pink is not a factor.
He said that it was racism, that we were trying to erase his roots….

I have a friend who is half Carribbean, half Swiss, but born and raised in the UK. She went to the US and got referred to as African American, and when she corrected them that she was neither African nor American they apparently got very angry at her and told her she was "denying her heritage". Smh.

The most uncomfortable meeting I ever attended was a global one, we went around the room introducing ourselves, great mix of cultures and experience, until it came to an american dude.
American Dude: I am an African American blah blah blah
Nigerian Dude: Excuse me Can you stop using that term please its offensive to me, your American
American Dude: WTF NO I have traced my heritage back to a tribe in central africa, I am a proud african american whose ancestors were sold into the slave trade by evil white colonists
Nigerian Dude: (big Nigerian belly laugh) Your ancestors were either to dumb or too slow to escape my tribe, we sold you to the white man. (more laughter)
and on it went. I was so glad that meeting ended.

I, as a american black person, hate those labels. I was born in America 42 years ago. Why can’t I just be an American? White people aren’t called European Americans. I’ve never even been to Africa and can’t tell you what region my ancestors from Africa come from. My family history, as far as I can trace, are all American born citizens. Doesn’t that just makes me American? I’ve never heard British American, Spanish American, or anything like that. I even hate the term Native American because I’m sure American wasn’t a thing when they first arrived there. If you’re born in America, just be American!

I had an American get angry at me when I described a friend as 'African' because he was from Nigeria.
"It's AFRICAN-AMERICAN you racist."

My coworker is from Haiti. Works 3 Jobs. He always wants to punch someone in the face if he is called African American.

I once argued with an American that Australian people of African descent were not in fact 'African American australians'. Its BIZARRE.

I corrected my boss for calling a woman African American when she was clearly English, but a black woman. He said that it was racist to call someone black… I can’t speak on behalf of the black community, but surely it’s more offensive to call an English person African American just because they’re black rather than calling them black???

I took an African American Studies course in college; for our final project I did a presentation on Dr. Daniel Hale Williams, an American surgeon. One of my classmates chose to do a presentation on Usain Bolt, who is Jamaican

This happened to Stephen K Amos:
"So you're African American?"
"No, I'm British."
"But you're black?"
"Y... Yes?"

Being called American is a slur tbh

Lenny Henry (English comedian) was once doing a gig in America and the announcer wanted to introduce him as African American. He pointed out that he is neither of those things and asked to be referred to as black instead. Announcer refused because it would be offensive.

YouTube Chris James - Black British accent (stand up comedy)

Gina Yashere Stopping the Police - Live at the Apollo - BBC One

Americans have a weird fetish about their roots and lineage

My first wife (who was American), once referred to a black squirrel as an 'African American Squirrel'. I still think about this.

 
The comments are from ...
AskReddit Black People of the U.K., what are your views on culture and black people in the U.S.A.?
self Stop calling me African American. I’m not fucking African American
tipofmytongue Looking for that youtube video that a reporter calls a Black British guy "African American" and he replies I'm not African or American, I'm British
tipofmytongue [VIDEO] An American reporter calls a foreign guy (european?) African-American, and he is dumbfounded
tipofmytongue [Video] Black, British Olympian corrects American reporter
worldbeyondyourown Idris Elba frequently points out this difference when Americans call him an African American
questionTimeELIF Why use the term African-American?
britishproblems Being called 'African American' when you're from Sheffield [in England] and have never been to the States
DoYouTrustToothpaste "African American male with an Australian accent ..."

Shame, a heavy weight upon my chest; All her love, my heart cannot digest.
Am I too distant, too cold to care? Or is there still warmth, buried somewhere?
How can I even repay the debts I owe, When my heart is infertile, and love won’t grow? I’ve longed to hold her hands– and at her eyes, say: “For you, I feel, I care, in every way.”
In her look, I see my reflection, A wandering hollow, where love should find affection.
Through the struggle we find our way, A mother’s love, a daughter’s stray. No matter how bad, we make amends, In her arms, a love that mends.
With each sunrise, a new beginning, A new chance to heal, a new living.
In her solace, I find my guide, A unique love, yet never denied. Shame may weigh upon my chest, But in the end, in her love I find my rest.
I wrote this poem and it is about the shame for struggling to express feelings to your loving mother. I’m just a freshman still learning how to write poems so pls be nice 😅🥲

Don't be discouraged!

I recently saw some posts that appear to discourage translating the Zen text, and I think that is a mistake. There have been some fair points made, and some I think are unfair.
One of the first points I'd like to bring up is the fact that there is so many text which haven't been translated to English. The academics and scholars who are interested in these text haven't gotten to them, and there doesn't appear to be many interested to start with.
So do not be discouraged from examining text by studying the Chinese and bringing to light any insights you find there. In doing so I have found a richer cultural understanding connected with these texts that previous translated versions haven't included in their works.
With that said the question about qualification was brought up. I think it is an interesting question with some interesting considerations. In my view what I do is not all that different from a guy reading a book, and studying it in various ways using the tools at my disposal.

When I started working with text

Though my work with the Chinese text has been far more vast and extensive than anything I've done before, this isn't the first time I studied other languages to better understand a text. When I was a teen it was all physical work; sprawled out with various versions of the text, multiple physical concordances, pages of notations, quotes from various reference materials, and so on. All purely out of a personal interest in understanding the text and what was being talked about.

Modern translating

It used to be stacks of books, phone calls, and trips to libraries and book stores, to physically hunt down resources. Today, I can visit a couple of sites that host most of those resources in a matter of seconds and be deep into the text in minutes.
The resources available to you today, is lightyears beyond what was available to the guys in China over a thousand years ago, and certainly a significant improvement upon the resources available to the guys in the 60s through the 90s depending on the translator. Some of them had a high level of academic standard which could be achieved today online in a year or more. I do want to give them props, I know back then it was a massive undertaking.
You can see, for those who put notation or translator descriptions in their text, what their resources looked like. In some cases the resources we have with the internet dwarfs what they had access to.

How academics go about it

They go about it differently depending on their area of study. There are those who got degrees in religious studies, and the way they go about it differs from someone specifically studying the history of the Chinese language in the specific area and time one of these text existed.
Most will use all the resources available to them to produce a very high standard of precision and quality with their work. Though many of us may not have access to academic level resources, tools, and connections, we should encourage the highest level of standard we can produce if we choose to do the work. We may not achieve anything like modern academia can achieve, but if the text was translated long ago, or hasn't been translated at all, I see no problem in us trying to translate a text. If an academic, scholar or anyone more knowledgeable comes along and offers advice or becomes a resource, that would be awesome and we can improve upon where we started. One key working for us, is practice tends to improve the more you do it.

How I go about it

I do it as something I enjoy. I'm not trying to sell anything, not trying to present it as some high quality academic fixture. It's just something I enjoy doing and while I wait for some scholar to take up the challenge, I'm going to see what the untranslated text says, and may even check various English translations out of curiosity. Not only does it help me better understand how other qualified translators produced, but in doing so I have seen mistakes, mistranslations, misquoted names, and nuance that was clearly lost in the translation but is readily available information online today.
GPT AI it's a language model, that's what it does.
What that means is that the AI is suited to simulate an understanding of language based on its training. Using machine learning to simulate active talking and language comprehension. That fact makes it helpful for understanding what is being said in another language.
Current AI isn't remotely perfect at this. It makes errors, hallucinates, breaks, and has a poor level of consistency with its tone, style, and voice, as well as memory problems forgetting prompts. It gets confused a lot and is like working with someone who kind of knows Chinese, but has issues. Until I meet someone who is better at rendering the Chinese, I'll be using the AI to get a starting point in translating. There is a lot of nuance with how to work with it, but I'll give a few insights I have.
Create a small set of prompts and put it somewhere you can easily copy and paste. Keeping the prompt identical helps keep it going, whereas changing the wording around tends to confuse it more often.
A simple example of a prompt is: "We are translating a classical Chinese text into English renders. Make no additions to the text and keep the index tags in place."
Another helpful key is to limit how much you get it to translate in one instance. After you've translated a few thousand characters, open a new instance and start the prompt over.
One last note on AI assisted translating, after it has rendered a few lines of text, go back and post block by block prompting the AI: "Give me a break down of the characters including any character combinations you find." In doing this I have found quite a few cultural elements, names, or historical references that appear to have been unknown to a few English translators.

Beyond AI

Before I translate a text I try to research its history. Sometimes there is a wealth of knowledge on it, other times there isn't a lot out there. For example, finding the source for Cleary's translation of Foyen's poem "Sitting Meditation" took a lot of exploring before I tracked it down. I like to get an overview of what all is said about the text, and the internet sometimes offers rich insights into it.
After I look for English sources talking about the text, I do the same research using Chinese sources on the text. I use Chinese search engines to find Chinese resources about the various text, meanings of characters going back to the oracle bone script when possible, and the like. Depending on what I am doing, sometimes it involves copying simplified Chinese on the matter, and dropping that into the AI. It seems to handle simplified Chinese a lot better than it does old Chinese.
One last note on how I go about it, is that I also use Chinese search engines to find resources like encyclopedias, dictionaries, and Chinese to English translators. The site might be in Chinese and a little tricky to navigate, and the translators haven't been super useful, but it puts the idea out there for others to use in new ways.

Open source translation work. Transparency

I think it is highly possible for us to be a part of a new phenomena of our modern technology. For the average person 50 years ago or more, exposure to any of this took physically going to these resources. In our modern times, following the information age, we have entered the information overload age. Where there is so much information available to the individual that a child could spend every day doing research, and not nearly study it all before they die of old age.
Working together as a community is a way of socially digesting all this information by taking bite size tasks, collaborating with others, and improving the work by updating it as more information becomes available to us. An open source type project which opens up the text to a deeper understanding of its Chinese roots. Bringing all these resources together for community exposure, where this information may have only been available to academics a decade or more ago.
One final point is stay transparent. I'm no expert, but I explained a little about how I have gone about it. The result is presented as such. If anyone more knowledgeable about this wants to come along and take it up, give out advice, or point us in helpful directions as a community, add to it!
I welcome any feedback others would like to give on translating, as well as questions.
As always, much love.

sobrang sama siguro tingin sakin ng lahat, btw if hindi kayo aware ito post niya> https://www.reddit.com/AkoBaYungGago/comments/1cme6fp/abyg_if_hiniwalayan_ko_gf_ko_because_of_kpop/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
im thankful sa iba na nakakaintindi sa side ko, too bad hindi ko to mapost sa mismong sub att nadedelete agad. Ill just put it off here. Para mawala na bigat sa dibdib ko.
Imagine my friend for decades ended up talking shit about me in reddit, tama sabi nung few matitino sa sub na to, gago ka talaga.
You think na hindi ko malalaman? Naging well known yung post mo eh, habang binabasa ko hindi ko alam na about sa akin, pero nung nakita ko replies at update. I knew it. I made a new account sa reddit to reply dito and clear things up
I am very into u, pero insted of "am", "was" na. Mayabang ka kaya feel mo the world revolves around u noh? Everyone treats u good kaya u never touched the ground. Pero buti aware ka sa narcissism mo
Cringe ako? Dahil nakikipag-away ako online? Wala namang masama makipag-away for ur idols lalo na kung mali ang paratang sa kanila. Its very depressing at mahirap na trabaho. This is my way of protecting them. Protecting them from this ugly world.
pilit mong sinasabi sakin na wag maginvolve kasi, coming from youre own mouth "shallow" kaya wag kong patulan, see how high do u think of ur self? Edi Ikaw na deep lmfao
I spend my time writing poem. Noong nadulas ako na may RPW account ako, nahihiya ako talaga. And hindi naman violent reaction mo eh, you told me pa nga na ipractice ko grammar ko and itry ko gumawa ng ibang topic at isend sa reader's digest (too bad nagclose na) Pero in the end? Korni pala sayo..
dami ko nakikita na baka daw immature pa ako and teenage phase, i dont think its a phase. Im not a teenager anymore and Im even older than him, Kpop saved my life, more than anyone thinks. im in college and im doing great. Masakit masabihan ng tanga dahil lanh sa likes mo.
Unlike what you said na you communicated, Puro ka lang sabi na its better to buy what i need, or minsan nagjjoke ka lang na nawiwirduhan ka. Hindi ka mukhang seryoso everytime u said kasi u always said it in a teasinh way. Never mo pinakita sakin na ayaw mo ng ginagawa ko, dapat pinadelete mo sakin fan account ko diba? Wala ka ginawa eh
Yung pagsasalita ko na may korean, im just trying to be cute and silly. youre friends are assholes to the core if yun pala initial reaction nila, laki sila sa west kaya lumaki sa racist values na ang korean culture ay nakakatawa. They dont even know the difference ng annyeong at arigatou
they wont bring u any good. And u know it urself. Masyadong americanized, may divorce nga dun kasi yung mga tao hindi marunong makicooperate. Konting difference lang, hiwalay agad. Never magtatagal relationship mo if ganun ang mindset mo at ginagaya mo. Kaya nga di rin nagtagal parents mo at ang daming problema sa household niyo kasi di kayang magtiis sa maliit na difference.
Sa totoo lang, ever since were kids i looked up to you, tinuruan mo ako magskateboard, magbike, magvideogames, maglangoy. Ang patient mo palagi sakin
May mga lalaki na gusto kasama ka pero ako sinasamahan mo, ako kinakampihan mo nung bata tayo kasi yung iba ayaw akong kakampi dahil mahina ako sa physical games. Palagi kang talo pag ako kasama mo pero never kita nakitang nainis sakin
Pag nag-aaway kaming magkakapatid, ikaw una kong sinusumbungan kesa sa parents ko, never ka nainis sakin. Kpop lang pala magiging dahilan in the end
Feel ko dahil sayo para akong nasa kdrama, na childhood friends na magkakadevelopan ang plot natin. pero delusyon ko yun. Naiiyak ako HAHAHAHAHHAH
I can literally only list good things about u, and yet nakalist ka ng bagay na ginagawa ko na naiirita ka. That hurts man
Nakakahiya na pineflex pa kita sa friends ko before, not just in real life but online kahit nung hindi pa tayo. Inaayos ko pa pictures mo para ipakita sa kanila, sayang effort ko. Proud ako sayo tas ang tingin mo pala sakin all this time tanga. Cringe, weirdo. Ang daming eme mo pa na busy ka kaya mahihirapan ka sa course mo, and iba yung lifestyle natin at interests.
ikaw ang first boyfriend ko and you broke up with me after just 2 months. Anong iisipin ng iba diba? desperada ako kasi ako una naginitiate ng relationship and in the end lalaki pa ang nakipag-hiwalay sakin? Anong problema sakin? Hindi mo man naisip yun.
Ano yun napilitan ka lang? Sana sinabi mo na lang ako yung nakipabreak para di na gumulo, delikadesa ba
Oo, i also feel bad kasi alam kong madami asar sa'yo for the wrong reason and yun talaga kinakabwisit mo. Pero tbh (ik masama ako dito but) dasurv. You hurted me so much especially now
ikaw din naman gumawa ng problema mo. In the end kasi alam mong petty yung reason kaya hindi mo maexplain. mababaw talaga yun kahit anong sugarcoat mo.
Jusko, grow up. Kpop? We are not kids angmore, gusto mo lang validation online about hate mo sa kpop community. Ate mo rin naman kpoppies, siya nalang kontrolin mo.
Sabi ko pa naman hawig mo si mingyu, wala ka pa sa kuko niya. Girl bye di ka kawalan

I didn’t take AP Lang, but I’ve taken two honors english classes. I’ve figured out that I love analysis and annotation, and I’m able to maintain an A very easily even if I don’t put in much work. I’m thinking that if I’d push myself I might do well in AP Lit.
My issue is that I hate reading. I don’t think I’ve actually read a book for english or for fun since the beginning of freshman year. I don’t mind short stories or poems since they’re more digestible, but actual books are frustrating to get through.
Should I try it anyway or stick to regular english?

Hello, try lang! Mga students out there, I am offering Academic comms; specifically in writing (eng & fil), mga essays, case digests, and etc hehehe.
Not offering for poems, news writing and the likes. (May accept or not, rlly not confident with these eh)
Dm me for my sample works and rates, can do rush pero huwag naman sana yung 2 hours na lang ganon 😭
Abt me: I am in an academic org, under writing. Hindi mag cchat gpt!
Pls help pang aircon ko lang char

Hello everyone. I need guidance on advice on what I should do in my case
A couple of days ago while youtube surfing I came across a video about commonplace books, what they are and how they are used.
After that, I thought it was a neat idea to start one since I enjoy the idea of keeping poems, excerpts from books (interesting passages) and funny quotes, and anecdotes from life.
Doing a bit more digging, I came across Scott P. Scheper video “How to connect a Zettlekasten to a commonplace notebook” I really enjoyed the idea of how I can have a place to store texts I find interesting and connect them to an analog database.
The problem I am having is I’m not sure to how to go about capturing what I want to put in my common place note book, and how to digest the text so that I can understand the text on a deeper level.
I guess my main questions are how do I capture comedic jokes I have heard to where when I read them I’ve gotten the essence of what it was written out? And how do I connect my jokes and things I have learned from what I’ve kept in my commonplace book in an a connected system that is a Zettelkasten?

Hello everyone. I need guidance on advice on what I should do in my case
A couple of days ago while youtube surfing I came across a video about commonplace books, what they are and how they are used.
After that, I thought it was a neat idea to start one since I enjoy the idea of keeping poems, excerpts from books (interesting passages) and funny quotes, and anecdotes from life.
Doing a bit more digging, I came across Scott P. Scheper video “How to connect a Zettlekasten to a commonplace notebook” I really enjoyed the idea of how I can have a place to store texts I find interesting and connect them to an analog database.
The problem I am having is I’m not sure to how to go about capturing what I want to put in my common place note book, and how to digest the text so that I can understand the text on a deeper level.
I guess my main questions are how do I capture comedic jokes I have heard to where when I read them I’ve gotten the essence of what it was written out? And how do I connect my jokes and things I have learned from what I’ve kept in my commonplace book in an a connected system that is a Zettelkasten?

Hello everyone. I need guidance on advice on what I should do in my case
A couple of days ago while youtube surfing I came across a video about commonplace books, what they are and how they are used.
After that, I thought it was a neat idea to start one since I enjoy the idea of keeping poems, excerpts from books (interesting passages) and funny quotes, and anecdotes from life.
Doing a bit more digging, I came across Scott P. Scheper video “How to connect a Zettlekasten to a commonplace notebook” I really enjoyed the idea of how I can have a place to store texts I find interesting and connect them to an analog database.
The problem I am having is I’m not sure to how to go about capturing what I want to put in my common place note book, and how to digest the text so that I can understand the text on a deeper level.
I guess my main questions are how do I capture comedic jokes I have heard to where when I read them I’ve gotten the essence of what it was written out? And how do I connect my jokes and things I have learned from what I’ve kept in my commonplace book in an a connected system that is a Zettelkasten?

CHAPTER 1
A gloomy rain fell down from the steely grey clouds above England, creating puddles in pot holes and mud pits in mounds of dirt. The small english town of Derry had been flooded before, and the townspeoples fears of another had put everyone on edge. Nobody dared utter the word though, their superstitions wouldn't allow that. People in Derry were well known for their superstitious and cagey behavior, but this was not entirely unwarranted. It wasn't just a flood here and there once in a while in Derry, they had a long and colorful past with all types of disasters, some man made, others acts of god.
There was the great black spot fire of 1979, in which a white supremacist group burnt down a local disco predominantly visited by Derry's small black and latino community, accidentally torching half the town down in the process. In 1952 there was the expansive national ASDF league shoot out, which lasted a total nine hours in the Derry town square before the police finally got the upper hand and killed every gang member on sight. But the most horrific of all was in 1925, when the Derry ironworks exploded, killing all it's workers as well as everyone participating in the annual Derry christmas parade nearby, most of which were children.
These were just a few of the horrific events Derry township had gone through, and bizzarely, no matter how gruesome each event was, none were ever on the news or remembered too well. That was just how Derry worked, despite it's reputation as a sleepy, dreary town where nothing much ever happened, tragedies were rampant. So you couldn't quite blame the people for being superstitious and scared, especially in autumn when the weather was at it's absolute worst. It was late autumn now though, there was only about four more days till winter, and the worries of floods would soon turn into worries for blizzards, and people were certain the worst of the worst had already came and went.
On this fine rainy saturday in a white two story house, Tom Denbrough was sitting upstairs, doing what he did everyday, writing songs. He'd been wrestling with an awful case of influenza the past few days, hocking up phlegm and wiping snot from his nose every few minutes 'til it was rubbed raw. He had not much energy for anything else because of it, all he could muster the strength to do now was lay in his checkered, tissue covered bed sheets, and wait for his mother to bring him chicken noodle soup and sprite to ease his churning tummy.
It wasn't too bad though, a lot of people can't stand being alone, but Tom often thrived in solitude. Ever since he was a kid he'd taken a liking to it, he was "introverted" as some one would like to say, but back then introverts were seen as more of a problem than just a thing you could be. It felt odd for him to say "ever since he was a kid" as if he wasn't still a kid now, but he technically wasn't. He'd bid farewell to such a label by september, and swapped out the childish number twelve to the unlucky number thirteen, and Tom still wasn't so sure if he was happy with that.
He didn't quite feel like an adult, and people still had yet to treat him as such, but Tom had his own suspicions about that. He knew there was more reason than just him still being a minor, because the truth of the matter was that everyone enjoyed babying him because of his condition.
He was disabled, dis-abled, the word making him feel weird even now. Before Tom was called such a thing he had considered the word disabled to exclusively mean people in wheelchairs, missing legs, or some of the really out there stuff like conjoined twins. He never pictured disabled meaning some on like him, a boy with a bad stutter but a healthy body and brain. Perhaps that was closed minded of him, but alas, Tom was only thirteen, and his scope of reference for the world was much smaller than he pretended it to be.
Even the doctors in Derry didn't treat him all that compassionately, insisting to both him and his mother that he must have been "slow" in some way, but just hiding it, no matter what he or his parents said. It took Tom fighting tooth and nail just to get out of special Ed. which was basically just four kids in a classroom asked to do elementary level shit because the teacher did not believe they were capable of more. He still had to go to regular speech therapy though, which Tom loathed since in all his years of going it seemed to have done him no favors.
He still stuttered, barely getting through sentences without stumbling over at least one word, and getting even worse whenever he felt nervous or scared. That was probably the worst part about it, Tom had never liked being emotional or letting people know he was affected by things, especially when kids at school enjoyed getting a rise out of him. His panicked little drawn out "bu-bu-bu-bu-" sounding like sweet music to his tormentors ears. It was nearly possible for him to hide his feelings or keep his cool whenever he was scared, because that stupid god damn stutter was like a built in lie detector.
He didn't know where the stutter had came from, there were theories here and there, but none of them ever made him feel better. The most likely one involved a car rear ending him when he was only a toddler, knocking him into a coma but miraculously not killing him. He was in it for only a few weeks, but emerged with his stutter, which of course young and niave Tom didn't understand would cause him so much trouble later down the line.
Because Tom didn't like to talk much, he spent a lot of time writing music in his room, his lyrics were all very hamfisted and schlocky, but for a thirteen year old boy they were quite good, and would only get better the more with age. He loved music, lived and breathed it, specifically the sounds of motown records, funk, rap, rock and roll, all the sorts. He had to keep that all a secret from his mother though, she was a musical elitist of sorts. She went to a fancy schamncy music school and had been teaching piano to students for years, so she had a hard time enjoying anything that wasn't classical or something their grandma would listen to.
When Tom went out to buy a bass he had to mow a crap ton of lawns and convince his dad to keep it a secret from mom, but it was well worth all the effort. He only got to play it when she was away at work, never daring to smuggle it out of the house and go busk unless some one decided to be an asshole and tell her. But he loved his bass more than anything, he even gave her a name, since Tom figured all rock stars named their instruments. He chose Susan, after the families first and only dog they had when he was little, and it seemed to stick. Ever since then Tom had remained adamant that you couldn't play an intrument with out giving it a name first.
Even though he enjoyed writing music, and it was the thing that made him the most happy, there was still a slight underlying sadness to it whenever he'd play. He'd lwanted to be a rock star ever since he first heard Van Halen and fell in love with the sound, but with that dream also came the knowledge it'd never happen. Afterall, who the hell would wanna hear him on a record? Stuttering all over the place, stumbling over words, heck, people would send in complaints that how their brand new records were scratched and skipping. There was nobody like him on the radio, and that painful truth kept him from ever singing to anybody but a very small and select audience. And by audience, he meant his stuffed teddy bear and little brother, absolutely no one else.
Speaking of which, his very small audience was on his way up stairs, stomping like a clydesdale despite their mothers constant reprimands about it. Jon knocked on Tom's bedroom door, then immediately pushed it open without being invited in. He was only six, so things like boundries and personal space were not so ingrained him. Neither was self conciousness, maliciousness, or the ability to not be incredibly annoying, but Tom tried very hard to not hold that last one against him. He scanned the room with wide and curious eyes, like he had just stumbled upon a new and foreign world despite being in here many times before.
He loved Tom's room, he loved it more than his own. He thought it was so cool and groen up how he had band posters on his walls. There was a ton of other cool stuff too like a nintendo 64 he'd sometimes let him play, a drawing desk, and a heap of awesome clothes he said he could have when he got bigger! It was a lot cooler than his own bedroom, which was fairytale prince themed and had his half finished lego projects strewn all about, but he still liked his room well enough.
Tom looked up from the note book he was currently writing on and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. "Whuh-what d-do you want?" Asked Tom, a little curt. He was good at being polite and caring to Jon most of the time, he was only six afterall, he couldn't go around screaming at him, but it was harder to be patient with him when he was working on something.
Jon ran up to Tom, as if right on cue and looked up to him with needy adoring eyes that seemed to soften his attitude. "Toooom, I'm very sad..." Jon complained, and Tom rolled his eyes. He forced a smile and put the pencil he was writing with down "Oh yeah? are you actu-u-ually sad or just buh-bored?". Jon giggled at how blunt he was being "I'm sad and boreeeed.". Tom leaned closer to Jon's face, but not too close since he was still sick and didn't want him to catch it. "Sad peop-puh-puh-ple don't giggle, moron." He said, booping Jon on the nose with his index finger, causing him to erupt into another giggle.
If their mother was here in the room with them she'd no doubt say "Thomas! Stop calling your brother a moron!" Then lightly smack him on the back of the head, not enough to actually hurt but enough to knock some sense into him. Jon didn't mind it at all though, he saw it as just his brother being silly with him, and he'd always call Tom names right back. "You're a cheesehead." Jon said, biting down on his tongue and smiling. "You're a buh-buttbrain." Tom retorted. "You're a cakesniffer!" Jon exclaimed. "You're an A-ho-hole." Jon went silent at that. That was a no no word, well, not quite, but almost. Mom and dad were very strict about no no words, although he heard Tom say them all the time over the phone when he wasn't supposed to be listening.
Suddenly, another wave of laughter came from him, so loud and hearty he had to hold his belly like santa while he laughed. "You're an A-hole!" Jon said, still laughing. The two boys then launched into a big silly argument of who was the bigger A-hole, eventually ending with Tom proclaiming Jon's A-hole was bigger than the entire continent and both the boys giggling like mad. "Now guh-go away puke stuh-stain, i'm sick and I don't want you to catch it." Tom said, smiling and gently shooing his brother away. "Waiiiit! Peas Tommy, play me a song!" Jon begged, putting his hands together like he was praying.
"It's p-puh-please, not peas, Jon. B-besides, I can't sing, my voice is too hoarse and my stuh-stuh-stuh-" Tom closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. "I'm terrible singer." He continued. "No you're nawt! you're an amazing singer! Peas, just one song?" Jon pleaded. "Play me the one about the kid who grows up to be a superhero! Peas peas peas peaaaasss?". Tom shook his head "No can do, kid. Go b-buh-bug some one else before you catch my-" he sneezed into his elbow, grossing his little brother out. "Eugh... cold." Tom grumbled.
"There's nothing to do thoooouuugh." Jon complained, crossing his arms in a huff. "Why don't you go bug mom or dad?" "Mommy's practicing piano and daddy's trying to get the electricity back on..." he mumbled, a little sad. The constant rain and thunder had knocked out a lot of the houses in their neighborhood's power and still had yet to kick back on. The Denbrough boys were quite lucky to have their father with them, he was amazing when it came to things that involved a screwdriver or a wrench, and you'd never guess it by looking at him.
He'd hardly wear anything but Hawaiian pineapple shirts and socks with sandals, but he was still a very smart man none the less. He worked for their town's electrical company, and Tom could still remember the look of pride he had during career day in primary school when he told everyone his dad was responsible for keeping the town's power in check. It was quickly dashed when some asshole decided to ruin it by asking if his dad slept on the job and zapped him on accident and that's why he "Couldn't talk right.". The worst part of it was that Tom was pretty sure he didn't mean for it to be an insult, and was just genuinely asking it out of ignorance. He deeply hoped wherever that kid was now, he was in great pain.
Their mothers piano playing should have been obvious to Tom, it was loud and carried it's way all through out the house, even up the stairs, but it seemed to be just background noise at this point. He hadn't noticed it until now, but his mother was playing much faster than usual, she was in the "zone" so to speak, and wanted to hold onto that for as long as she could, so both Jon and Tom were shit out of luck. Tom sighed "Jeez." He leaned back into his pillows and thought for a moment, shoving all the gross snot filled tissues and crumpled up rejected lyrics from his first few failed attemps at writing a new song.
Jon awkwardly shifted around on his feet, swinging his arms side to side as if waiting for further instruction on what to do. "It's a damn sh-shuh-shame that it's raining so bad or else you could play outside." Jon nodded, and sighed, genuinely disappointed by the amount of rain. Suddenly, Tom snapped his fingers and rose up from his bed "H-hold on- I just remembered s-omething.". He quickly grabbed a folded up newspaper that his mom had left on his night stand for him to read, then ripped out one of the pages.
"What are you doing Tom?" Innocently asked Jon. He straightended it out and folded it into a triangle shape, sticking his tongue out like he was hard at work. "I'm muh-makin you a p-puh-puh-aper boat, just like dad taught me how to do when I was s-six." He explained. Jon's face lit up "Wow, really!?" he waddled over to the bed and smiled. "Yep, dad and I used to sail these all the time. Do me f-f-fuh-fav-or and go in the basement and bring back some puh-puh-puh-puh-" Tom paused again and forced another smile. "Paraffin. It's in a little b-box that says gulf." he finished.
"You mean... in the basement?" Jon mumbled, suddenly a little intimidated. "Yes, you're not scared are you?" His brother asked, half amused and half concerned. On one hand, it was very cute that Jon felt the need to impress him and pretend to be tough, on the other, he was barely not a toddler anymore, and Tom didn't wanna scare him on purpose. Jon shook his head "No i'm not scared, being scareds for babies. I can do it.". "O-o-okay, but j-just in case... here." He handed him a walkie-talkie, the kind they'd usually use to communicate whenever they'd pretend to be soldiers on the battlefield together during summer.
"C-cuh-call me if you need me." he instructed, and Jon nodded again. He skipped happily to the door, only stopping whe Tom called out "And remember Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-". "Paraffin, I know!" Jon cheerfully replied, figuring if he didn't say it Tom would be stuck on the p's forever. He shut the door and hopped down the stairs, leaving Tom to his very important task of sitting in bed and sneezing. He only waited 'til after Jon was gone to let his smile drop and chastise himself for not actually saying the word. He'd never show Jon just how much he loathed his stutter, especially since Jon found it cool and Tom didn't wanna ruin the magic of it.
When he first learned how to talk he'd constantly immitate it, which naturally caused their parents some fear that the stutter was genetic or could be "caught" so to speak. Jon had no idea how much Tom hated his stutter, how it made people see him, how it actively dashed his dreams. Sometimes at school he'd get so flustered he'd have to clutch his desk and try so very hard to form a sentence and it still wasn't cohesive.
He was not and never would be just Tom Denbrough to his classmates, or even his teachers, although they'd never admit that. He was Stuttering Tom, Tuh-Tuh-Tuh-Tom to the particularly cruel ones, and Tom hated it. The absolute worst part of being in a situation like Tom's was no doubt the inability to open up about how much you dislike yourself. After all, preteen boys are already closed off, especially so in a small rural town like Derry where the homophobes outnumbered the gay community ten to two, but Tom had it the worst.
Nobody wants to be the guy to come out and say you think stuttering makes you a freak, all you'd really do is bring other disabled people down and raise up the dickheads who instilled that self hatred in him to begin with, but that's how he felt ans he couldn't help that. He was sure that's how his parents felt too, they did love him dearly and saw to almost all his needs 24/7, but they were still eagerly waiting for him to stop the stutter, and had so for a long time.
The doctors told him it'd only stick around for a few years after he got over the shock of the coma, but that date came and went, and still, Tom's stutter remained. You could tell they were both disappointed, and he truly could not blame them, because he was disappointed too. He didn't know what was wrong with him, or why he never got better despite countless visits to the speech therapist, but he began to wonder if there was something incredibly wrong with him. Everyone felt that way, even if they pretended like they didn't, everyone except for Jon that is. Jon adored him with or without the stutter, and Tom was supremely thankful for that.
While Tom continued to chastise himself, Jon hopped down the stairs joyfully. So joyfully, he nearly forgot that he'd be going down to the cellar, where dreams and little boys would surely go to die. He dashed through the house, past his mom's prized women's bowling league trophy's, past the grand piano, and past their big fancy living room he and Tom would solve puzzles in.
He threw open the cellar door and stared down at the abyss in front of him, fianlly letting the fear and anxiety settle in. Rickety, paint chipped stairs with large empty gaps of space between them disappeared off into the darkness of the room, the power still not back on despite their fathers best efforts. The bottom of the basement had been flooded at some point during one of the worse storms of the season, and the smell of soaked moldy wood and muddy water grossed Jon out quite a bit.
He stood there for a moment, a creeping sense of dread tugging at his chest like a dog on your pant leg. He was waiting for something, a large claw or alien tentecale to reach out from the dark and rip him to bits, but there was nothing. He must have been standing there for a while too because suddenly the walkie-talkie blared to life with Tom's voice, and he jumped back in shock.
"What's t-taking so long?" Asked Tom, and Jon nervously swallowed. "I stopped in the kitchen for a snack." He lied, he knew you weren't supposed to do that, lying was probably the worst thing you could do to your family. Well, that's what Jon thought was the worst at least, He was a little bit too young to know about some of the truly awful stuff some people do to their own kin. Familicide, Sexual abuse, beating, his parents and Tom had been working hard to keep his innocence. Derry was a hard place to do that in, it seemed like every couple of years some one went crazy and killed a lot of people. Jon had even heard bits and pieces of such things being whispered by his mom to his uncle over the phone, but for the most part, his childhood had stayed in tact.
"You know if muh-mom sees you snacking before din-din-er she'll have a cow." said Tom. "I know, i'm sorry." Jon mumbled. "It's whatever dude, just hu-hurry, and do-don't forget to grab to some muh-muh-muh-matches and one of those wax burner thingies.". "Okay, i'm doing it now." He said, then stuffed the walkie-talkie back into his pants pocket, but he was not, in fact, doing it now.
He still stood at the top of the stairs, terrified by the prospect of going down below, and still waiting for the inevitable mutated bat creature to emerge and drag him down into the depths of their flooded basement. Then, just as he was thinking about turning back, his own thoughts began to taunt him. "Come oooon Jon, you're not a baby are you? Only babies get scared by stuff like monsters and the dark. Do you want a boat or not?" He thought. "No." He replied and clenched his fists, grumbling into the darkness "I'm not a baby. I can do this.".
He took one step down the creaky stairs, frightening himself by the surprisingly loud noise they made, but calmed himself. He reiterated "I am not a baby." under his breath over and over again, as if it was a powerful spell that could keep all of the monsters away. It reminded him of how, whenever Tom's stutter would get particularly bad, his mom would have him recite these poems that were meant to help him focus and form sentences again. Sometimes they'd help him alot, but they could never make the stutter go away completely.
That was kind of what was happening now to Jon, he was still very much scared, so scared that if something popped out at him right now he may very well wet his pants, but the words coddled him and made him feel like he could press on. He hopped off the last step and into the flood, the water so low it could not even reach the six year old childs ankles. He turned his attention to a large rickety shelf under the cellar stairs and inspected the contents.
There were many items on it, shoepolish, old dish rags, wrenches, flashlights with no batteries, a can of turtle wax. For some reason, out of all those objects the turtle wax was what caught his attention, even more than the Paraffin and matches he came down here to get. The company's logo on the front was what really seemed to draw his eye, it was nothing special really, hardly as interesting of a mascot as a Tony the tiger or even a Ronald Mcdonald, just a tiny albino turtled posing proudly above the words turtle and wax. But Jon just couldn't stop staring at it for some reason. A spontaneous pang of familiarity hit him in the chest, as he racked his brain to try and remember where he had seen a turtle like that before.
Was it a dream? It felt too real to be jusr a dream, but much too distant to be a memory. He'd have to think about that later when he had the time, right now he had a mission to do. He snatched up the box, matches, and wax burner then bolted for the steps as fast as he could. Now that he had gotten what he came for he wasn't gonna waste any time down there. He ran as fast as his little legs could, begging god or whatever diety was listening to please not let anything grab his ankles as he ran back up the stairs.
The damp darkness of the cellar was suffocating and opressive, and Jon feared once he got back to the candle lit parlor room, that would be when the creature laid his slimy hands on him and pulled him back. He had made it though, despite all odds he was alive and still had yet to be digested by some hungry beast living under the stairs. He slammed the door and pressed his back against it, panting from how fast he was running as the fear of the dark slowly disappeared until the next time he had to confront it.
His mother suddenly stopped her piano playing to look up at him from across the room, somewhat worried, but highly annoyed by her son's slamming of the door. "Johnathan Bowley Denbrough, what have I told you about slamming that door?" She scolded, but not too harshly as her son was clearly frightened. He swept his bangs out of his face and panted a little more "Sorry mum." he muttered. She shook her head dismissively and went right back to playing Für Elise, which actually helped ease his anxiety.
He headed back up stairs and quickly placed all the stuff on Tom's night stand, eagerly watching as he melted the wax with such hypnotic glee he couldn't help but bounce a little. Tom dipped his finger in the wax and spread it over the paper boat, turning the boat from a nice white to an odd yellowy brown color. Jon got a little too close for comfort, putting his head over his brother's shoulder and breathing quite heavily on him, and yet, Tom still didn't seem to get annoyed.
The only time he'd really ever get annoyed with Jon's behavior was when he'd repeat stuff and ask incessant questions, which he had slowly learned over the years not to do for his brother's sake. They were seeing to each other needs, and it wasn't wasn't just because Tom didn't wanna get in trouble or Jon didn't wanna get yelled at, but a genuine shared affection for one another.
Jon dipped a finger into the wax and began to spread some on it's side with him, smiling and perfectly content. "C-careful you little cootie, you'll make it too heh-heavy and it'll flop on it's side." Tom gently reprimanded. "Oops.." he said, taking his hand away and letting the rest on his finger dry until he could peel it off. "It's oh-kuh-kuh-kay, just take it easy." He said, giving his brother a reassuring headpat to show there was no hard feelings.
Once the wax was spread, Tom took a sharpie from a Disneyland branded cup he used to store his pens and markers and then uncapped it with his mouth. He wrote "S.S. Jon" on the side in cursive font, and even drew a little stick figure captain waving on top of the boat, which Jon found very silly. He handed it to him, gingerly and carefully like it was a one of a kind art piece that belonged in a museum. "She's all ready Captain." he said, raising his hand to his forehead and doing a two finger salute. Jon giggled, but tilted his head in confusion "She?" he wondered.
"You always call boats a sh-she Jon." He explained, and Jon's mouth fell open like he just learned some amazing untold truth about the universe. He clutched the boat in his hands and grinned, looking up with pure adoration and love for the thirteen year old sitting on the bed. Then, quite randomly, Jon lunged right at him for a big hug, startling Tom.
"Agh! What the heck are you doing?! You're gonna g-geh-get sick!" He shouted. Jon laughed then kissed Tom on the cheek, something he hadn't done since he was three. "Eugh, now you're d-d-definetly gonna get sick. Get off me." He lightly scooched him off and Jon looked back to him, still smiling, and still very thankful. "Thanks Tom Tom, thanks alot." He said, and Tom shrugged.
"It's fine, just don't come crying to me when you get the flu and start vu-vomiting your g-guh-guh-uts out.". Tom paused to loudly cough, momentarily drawing some concern from his brother. "And p-p-put on a rain coat when you go out, I d-don't want you getting soaked." He wheezed, huddling under the covers. "Okay!" Jon cheerfully replied, closing the door and heading to the down stairs closet where they kept all the coats.
He put the small baby blue rain slicker on over the baggy sweater he was wearing and finangled with the buttons for a while, still not all that good at hand eye coordination dude to his young age. When he finally managed to get most of them through the holes, he pumped his fist in celebration, and even did a spin. On his way out the door he stopped to grab a pair of black galoshes that still had some mud left on them. He and Tom had went outside together a week ago and simply neglected to clean them since, then, as if in an act of karma for being so lazy, Tom caught a very bad cold the following day.
Jon waddled out the front door into the cool autumn air, making squeaky squishing noises with each step from the rubber soles of his boots. He took a few steps off the porch, only to be greeted by a sudden but gentle breeze hitting the side of his face and pushing his hair around. The now weaning rain fell down from the sky and onto poor little Jon's head, tapping politely on his hood as if to say "Hello Jon! It's your buddy, the rain! Let me in!". He walked a little bit further until he was at the edge of the driveway, then turned around to look back up at his house. It was a moderately above average two story home, nothing special, but to Jon it might as well had heen a castle. His bedroom was right across from Tom's on the second floor, although his over looked the back yard and Tom's overlooked the drive way.
He was peeking through the bay window his bed was by now, standing up on his knees and peeling back the curtains to watch him walk away. Since the house was still dark from the power outage, Tom was barely visible to him. He looked like a floating disembodied head, something Jon found both silly and a little spooky. He jumped in place and waved wildly at him, as if he thought Tom might possibly be able to miss the toddler dressed in a bright blue rain slicker and boots. Tom smiled then lifted up the walkie-talkir in his hand to his mouth "B-be careful. There's alot of w-weirdos out there.". Jon rolled his eyes, still smiling, but a tiny bit annoyed.
He took out his own walkie-talkie from his back pocket and pressed the button to respond. "You sound like mum." he joked. "C-can it." Tom said, a little flustered, especially since he knew it was true. Depite their differences, Tom had always been more like his mother than his father, and the opposite had been true for Jon. He giggled at his embarrassment, "I'll stay safe, don't be such a cry baby, Tom.". "Hey, I resent that label, I'm a cry man." And now they were both snickering over the radios.
"I'm serious though, stay safe." Tom reiterated. "Ok ok- I will- I love you." Jon said, and Tom went silent for a moment as he did not know how to respond. Jon was lucky enough to still be at the age where you could tell another guy you loved them and no one cared, and Tom desperately wished for him to stay like that and never get to old for saying I love you. Lord knows he was forced to out of it a long time ago, and he'd all but forgotten how to do it.
"I- uh- uhm-" Tom hesitated for a second, even with out all the macho man bullshit he had to go through at school, Tom had a hard time letting others know how he felt. Trying to hock out the words was like trying to hock out a pill you didn't mean to take. He swallowed "I lo-love you too." He spat out, and Jon seemed content with that.
He cheerily skipped down the street with his walkie-talkie in one hand and Paper boat in the other, splashing in rain water with each stomp. Tom fell back down onto his bed and sighed, totally exhausted. He wanted to take a long nap now, and he seemed quite over due for one judging by his throbbing head ache. His mothers constant repitition of Für Elise didn't really help that at all, if anything it made it worse. God, if he could have just a single moment of silence he would be happy as a clam.
What Tom didn't know though was that this song's meaning was about to be forever changed for him, from just an annoyingly pompous piano tune to a song that even twenty seven years later could still send him into a trance. From that day forward, anytime he heard those first few notes he'd always have the exact same haunting thought. "That's it, that's the song. That's the song mom was playing the day Jon passed away.". And as it turned out, that rainy view of Jon from his bedside window would be the last time he'd ever see his brother again.

Can we discuss the Easter eggs surrounding references to Texas throughout TTPD? And the correlation between Texas and Florida?
Starting with Stevie’s Introductory Poem to the album — noting that it was written in Austin, TX in August 2023. Then setting the scene of the poem with the date September 13th 2023.
There’s then a number of references, including musically. With southwestern influence in the beginning of songs like Fresh Out The Slammer and I Can Fix Him (No I Really Can). Lyrically, there’s mention of Florida in both Fortnight then Florida!!! obviously. Then Florida!!! makes mention of Texas.
I know there’s other Texas references throughout (specifically in the first half of the anthology?). With 31 tracks to digest, there’s a lot to unpack and search through. But while I’m enjoying deep diving into this incredible album, I would love to hear everyone’s thoughts!

A Recap of AskHistorians 2023-04-05 to 2024-04-11

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Popular This Week: You might have clicked too early, so here are the responses to some of the most upvoted questions from the past week:

• "Why did 58k casualties in the Vietnam war cause a ‘cultural shock’ in the USA when just a few decades ago, America lost nearly half a million men in WW2?" by Kochevnik81
  
• "What was Putin's response to 9/11?" by vinylemulator
  
• "How accurate was 3 Body Problem's depiction of Mao era?" by restricteddata (plus links to older answers upon which restricteddata builds, one by restricteddata and one by theshadowdawn. Links were found by Accidental_Ouroboros)
  
• "I was reading a purported list of why people were hanged in Edinburgh later 1500s early 1600s. The stated reasons seem incomprehensible. were these valid reasons that the law executed people? was there some sort of legal justification that isn't obvious from the list itself." by Rockguy21
  
• "Was “world famous detective” ever a real category of celebrity?" by gerardmenfin
  

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Things You Probably Missed: Great stuff flies under the radar every week! Here is a selection of responses the Mod Team enjoyed, but didn't get the attention they deserved:

• "Did the ancient Chinese use fingerprints for executing contracts?", by thestoryteller69
  
• "How would invisible disabilities and chronic conditions have been viewed/treated prior to our more modern understandings of medicine and science?", by rbaltimore
  
• Do we know of any written epic poems or stories before the Epic of Gilgamesh? Were any of them cited in recovered archives?", by dub-sar-
  
• "How were witch trials finally refuted?", by DougMcCrae (this one has a literal table of contents!!)
  
• "Does using guns require far more strength and stamina than people assume? Were they really the revolutionary tools that allow less fit soldiers to fight en mass as equals (esp non-professionals such as militia and reservists) unlike prior weapons like pikes and shield-sword combo?", by ​​wilymaker
  

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Still Looking for an Answer: Sometimes great questions don't get answered. Yet. Maybe you have the chops to give these the answer they deserve though?

• “Why was Richard Feynman able to get away with so much while working on the Manhattan Project?”
  
• "What would daily life be like for a woman that was "kept as a mistress" by a noble or rich person in Europe?"
  
• "Frederick the Great of Prussia was known to be a homosexual. He was also admired by Napoleon and Adolf Hitler. Did either know of this aspect of his life and if they did how did they reconcile that with their beliefs?”
  
• And if you have only a few minutes to kill, be sure to check this week's "Short Answers to Simple Questions" thread, as you might see something you can help with!
  

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Flair Profile of the Week: Looking for some old classics to read? This week the randomly selected flair profile is that of CoeurdeLionne, flaired for 'Chivalry and the Angevin Empire.'
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Fun Things You Might Have Missed:

• Tuesday Trivia: last week was Museums & Libraries! Check out the thread for a great answer from YourlocalTitanicguy!
• This week’s theme is Christianity
• We had another amazing April Fools event! This year people from the past could ask Dear Historians for advice. Check out the complete list in the wiki!
  
• There’s still time to say "Hi" in today's Friday Free-for-All
  

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Features Coming Up::

• 2023-03-12: The coming week’s theme, and the Tuesday Trivia casual thread, will be about Music. So bring all your best questions and get your write ups ready for the TT thread!

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Pets of the Past
When I visit museums I sometimes like to take close up pictures of pets featured in paintings. If you can guess what painting this puppy is in, you will get mad props from me because I’ve forgotten. Drop your guesses in the comments of this newsletter’s post on /BestOfAskHistorians!
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Plenty more you might have missed though, so as always, don't forget to check out the most recent Sunday Digest! For a complete archive of past newsletters, check out /BestOfAskHistorians.
If at any time you would like to unsubscribe from the AskHistorians Newsletter, please reply with !unsubscribe.

I wrote two versions of a poem about communion last night. One, an insane rambling overtly religious mystic poem, the other, a more secular yearning love poem. Here's the more mystic one. (Note: I wrote it so it could "pass" in a Christian space, but hopefully it comes across that it's fundamentally Dionysian)
If you like what I write, I recently started an official poet Facebook page. Feel free to follow me for more! https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557446447465
I love communion, But not how they do it in church.
I like to imagine God, Trying to reach us Every way He can.
Leaving messages scrawled in clouds, Or belched from a burning bush,
Sending prophets visions And singers songs, Just to try to reach us, Just to try to reach me,
Desperately Trying to reach me, More than anything, The essence of desire,
Desperate To feel my flesh And hold my heart And soothe my bloody bangs,
Knowing the weight And passion I bear.
But nothing works. Our ears always fix on another noise, And messages go unread,
Every method fails, And man remains alone.
So finally, Fuck it, Here,
Take my flesh And eat it, Take my blood, And savor, Just fucking eat me.
Because I need to reach you, To feel you, Flesh to flesh And blood to blood.
So eat me, Digest me, Imbibe me, Be with me.
Drink me, And be drunk, Let sober fall away Like the fading dark, And be drunk.
Just please, Feel me, Be with me, And be happy.
Amen.