MM ongoing discussion on the nature of reality with an AI Bot

I’m a single mom…and not the super model flavor of mom. One of my sons decided he preferred to be unclothed (just tighty whities) in our house and yard. He was around 16yo. I didn’t really give a crap since 1) I get it, I hate clothes too and 2) I am not easily embarrassed (crucial later). However, the daughters still at home were uncomfortable with it.

I tried…

Please wear at least shorts or sweatpants outside your room. No thanks, mom.

Please wear at least shorts or sweatpants outside the house. No thanks, mom.

Look, your sister’s are uncomfortable. Wear more clothes please. That sounds like a them problem, mom.

Finally, I lost patience with him. You HAVE to wear more clothing until you are supporting yourself…just do it. Totally ignored.

By now I am totally frustrated with the boy. Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Enter my own dislike of clothing and my lack of embarrassment.

Saturday morning…dear boy is in the backyard with several friends. I bring out a bowl of snacks, as usual, and chatt with them all for maybe 5 minutes, again as usual. Most were shocked at the sight of my underwear and nothing else.

I go back in the house and boy follows me in. Dear God, Mom, what is wrong with you?? Son, I hate clothing just as much as you but I wear clothes for your convenience…never again.

He NEVER walked outside his bedroom inappropriately clothed again. FWIW, this was about 12 years ago and his friends still give him crap about it.

FYI…there was no indecent exposure. My bra and panties cover more than my swimsuit.

China Just Pulled Out Of Europe’s EV Market – What’s Going On?

China is playing hard-ball.

The US has one objective and one objective only, to stop or slow down China’s ascendency, as a rich and powerful nation but a peaceful and responsible nation with a rich history and respectable civilisation. This is the only reason for their obnoxious and despicable action on 20% of humanity.

China must never let it go easy and never let it be unpunished or the US will do it again to China or any country it wanted. China and the world must jointly and severally reciprocate what the US did and will continue to do.

China must shut its 1.4 million people with 800 million middle income people market from the US all together! China did not start this war but it must not allow the US to not suffer for being evil and shamefully barbaric yet hypocritical! Let the US sell its product only to its slave and dog nations and let the US do shit on its friends instead. Stop buying even an apple from them! Pardon my pun!

What are the reasons why China has not been able to build a stealth aircraft like the F-35 or Su-57? Is it due to a lack of technology or financial resources?

Pyotr Ufimtsev

Every Stealth Technology today is a derivation of the Ufimtsev Finite Element Analysis and Reduction of a Radar Signature

The Soviets had his paper before the Americans
Did you know a Soviet physicist is behind all of America’s stealth technology?
Pyotr Ufimtsev didn’t know it, but his work would put him at the forefront of a new American industry: stealth technology and engineering.
https://www.wearethemighty.com/popular/soviet-stealth-scientist-ufimtsev-history/

Yet it was a Mathematician called Sydney Voss in Lockheed who came up with the first working application of Ufimtsev’s analysis by designing a working model of an aircraft designed based on Radar than the normal aerospace design

The Prototype was called HAVE BLUE and this design model was definied as FACETED RADAR BASED DESIGN Or FDRB

This design model is a basic building block for all stealth aircraft in the planet today

This became what we call the F-117

It’s why all of them look similar

They are designed based on the radar cross section and the primary purpose is to avoid detection long enough to achieve operational goals over faster speeds and maneuverability

Guess where this FDRB Design papers were available?

By the Mid 1990s – they were declassified -G which means you could technically walk into the Library of Archives and pick them up and walk out

I repeat walk into the Library of Archives, pick them up and walk out

Reason?

The Cold war was over

The Soviets were gone

The Have Blue FDRB design was since then improved upon multiple times and it was deemed FORD MODEL T technology

The Chinese decided the Model T still ran as a car so why not pick it up?

So in 1995 or so the Chinese walked into the Library of Archives, asked for all papers related to the Blue Haven HDRB in 1972/73 declassified in 1992/93 , thanked the staff and walked out,put the papers in their suitcase and went home to Beijing

Seven years later the J-XX program officially began where the Chinese built their own working model application of the Blue Haven HDRB along with information on the Chemical structure of Radar coated materials obtained from the F-117 crashed (This part is conjecture not established)

Since then the Chinese modified the radar cross section design several times compromising the stealth features for more maneuverability and other strengths

That is the J-20, a fifth generation stealth aircraft

They didn’t steal IP

They merely walked in, downloaded (in 1990s style) from a Google equivalent of 1995 and worked with it and developed their own Stealth Technology

They absolutely didn’t steal any IP from the F-35 designs Or F-22 designs because those ARE still classified technology

The minute the US saw the J-20 , they presumed it was stolen from the F-35 or F-22 program

It was just engineered from the same basic stealth technology

Mathematics & Engineering & Access to Materials & Modelling

That’s all that is needed for achieving Stealth Technology beyond that

Once you have a design model , it takes half the time to develop a radar based design with lower signature

The Chinese have the best mathematicians in the planet in number

The Chinese have the best engineers in the planet in number

The Chinese have a $ 2 1/2 Billion Surplus a day in their Financial account

The Chinese have the best applied materials production technology in the planet for profitable refining & production of advanced materials including Radar Coated Materials

So why is it so hard to believe that the Chinese can’t get their own Stealth?

It’s not as if you need a bifrost and get the technology from Asgard

It’s human

It’s Science and Engineering

It’s Modelling

It’s Materials Science

Other nations don’t the entire package

Most of them lack MONEY

Can’t shell out $ 30 Billion for a working prototype and a further $ 150 Billion for five more with varied parameters

Some have money like Saudi or Qatar

Yet they lack the Engineers and Mathematicians

Others like Iran have Engineers and Mathematicians but Money is restricted due to sanctions and they lack the knowledge of Advanced Materials

So they can’t yet develop a stealth model

However they are rengineering Radar now to be able to detect stealth signatures , that’s cheaper and needs fewer advanced materials and is basically a combo of Optics, Electronics, Physics and Maths

Anyone, I repeat Anyone can make a stealth aircraft

It ain’t exactly the Millenium Falcon

Yes it’s incredible engineering

However Chinese have the Math, Physics, Materials Engineering, Modelling & of course Manufacturing abilities

They have Stealth Aircraft and it’s getting better and better by the day because unlike the US and the MIC that take 8 years to get a improved design commercially, the Chinese take half the time of 3 1/2 years

And only a Moron would underestimate the Chinese

Zhuhai Airshow 2024 is Madness: China’s Battle Dogs, Microwave Cannon & Mega Drones

We examine robot armies, anti-drone weapons, microwave cannons and massive drones at China’s 2024 Zhuhai Airshow.

As the gateway between South America and Asia, Peru’s Chancay port is setting the stage for a transformative impact on Pacific trade dynamics.

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main qimg cafc4f5324b85b53bc6379ea6b1d6a50

Stepping into a future where the waters of the Pacific bring continents closer, this expansive project emerges not just as infrastructure development but as a strategic economic catalyst, drawing Asia and South America into tighter economic collaboration.

Peru’s Chancay port is strategically positioned to become a pivotal hub in the global trade network, particularly enhancing trade corridors between the bustling markets of Asia and the resource-rich lands of South America. Backed substantially by Chinese investment, this port is set to redefine what efficient maritime trade looks like. We’re talking about modernized docks capable of accommodating some of the largest vessels in the world, promising to streamline the flow of goods like never before.

This isn’t just about moving goods faster; it’s about transforming them into engines of economic growth. With lower transportation costs and quicker shipping times, Peruvian products—be it silver, copper, or avocados—will find smoother and swifter passages to Asian markets, putting Peru more prominently on the global trade map. Essentially, Chancay is poised to turn into a dynamic convergence point for exporters and importers, catalyzing growth and possibly stirring regional economic integration.

But the port’s role extends beyond economics into the realm of geopolitics. Chancay’s development is a strategic maneuver within China’s Belt and Road Initiative—aiming to weave a closer relationship not only between China and Peru but also with the broader Latin American region. This alignment stands to heighten Peru’s geopolitical stature, potentially elevating it to a central player in international trade negotiations and agendas.

As Chancay fortifies its presence as an infrastructural behemoth, the ripple effects could redefine trade patterns across the Pacific. Enhanced port facilities mean greater cargo volumes, fostering an environment ripe for increased trade engagements. Latin American economies stand to greatly benefit as goods traverse more efficiently through this new logistical heart that beats at Chancay.

In reflecting on the transformation of the Chancay port, we’re not just witnessing a change in how goods move; we’re seeing a strategic orchestration of economic chance. This development is a potential game-changer for Peru and a model of how strategic infrastructure can bridge distant markets, bringing them into a closer cooperative economic fold. Chancay port is not merely a point on the map but a bustling herald of global connectivity and economic innovation. As this port stretches its arms across the Pacific, it draws continents together, crafting a new narrative for international commerce and collaboration.

BREAKING: U.S. Army Officers Made a Desperate Attempt To Break Out of The Encirclement in KURSK

Let’s take Marco Rubio

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main qimg 55acb71f82ef0c1b1c4c6ba9eb15260b

He has Zero knowledge of China

He has Zero knowledge of Russia

He has Zero Knowledge of Latin America

So it’s obvious his appointment is more to do with

A. Making a Lot of Noise

B. Loyalty to Trump


Rubio also has Zero experience of Industry Or Trade Or Economics

He is a Football Player cum Political Science student cum Lawyer

Plus he hasn’t really worked as a lawyer

He directly went into working for Lobbyists and Politicians

His entire life has been in Politics in Washington

So he knows Squat about handling any Nation


Same as Tony Blinken

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main qimg 47a9dc5a822563ba4257b316d9a8515c

Social Science Student and a Lawyer who went directly into Think Tanks and Political Groups

We saw how he fared against the likes of Veterans like Lavrov or Jaishankar or Wang Yi who had a combined 90 years of experience between them in world affairs and foreign affairs

He came like a clown and went like a clown everywhere and even MBS mocked him


So Marco will as usual threaten China and make a lot of noise

Unfortunately Bullies make everyone nervous

Countries like incentives and efficient solutions

Marco or Trump are bullies

Everyone in US is a bully these days

So US and it’s influence is reducing by the minute


China already has a white paper on the worst case scenario called ‘Zainian’

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main qimg 57f9e57ed32bcee11073d371f5ea658d

They are preparing and preparing since 2018 for a scenario where they totally decouple from US and Europe and UK and Australia and where Malacca is blocked

  • A. They have so much Gold that the unofficial count is close to 4200 Tonnes now
  • B. They have at least $ 2 Trillion in secret reserves based on their Trade Surplus records to ensure they can survive asset freezes
  • C. They have 54% Transactions in RMB in Total and they transact 64% in Local Currencies with ASEAN & 93% with Russia, Belarus, Iran and Africa and South America
  • D. They have 3 Payment systems outside Swift that can handle upto 60 Billion RMB a day of trade ($ 9 Billion) which is around half their total trade
  • E. They have a massive massive stockpile of Iron Ore, Bauxite, Gas and Oil and Foodgrains and Pork and Beef that they have been stockpiling for six years now. It’s why their LOW INFLATION

If Malacca is cut off, they can still have Gasoline for the next 4 years if Russian Supplies hold good

Likewise they can get enough Gas for the next 3 years or 4 years if Bohai holds good

Foodgrains for 3/4 years

Iron ore for 4 years

  • G. They have at least 280 Nuclear Warheads that are undeclared. This is estimated based on their accelerated nuclear reactors and spent fuel calculations. The experts say they could make 35 warheads a year and started in 2016

So that’s 280 Extra Warheads

In a Nuclear war, they can get off at least 55 Nukes (of which at least 6 should strike the US) before getting vaporized

Enough to finish the US and convert it into a radioactive desert


Little Marco will be treated with absolute contempt by the Chinese

Now that they know the worst case, they frankly don’t care too much

They know they can survive in the worst case and even flourish after 3 bad years

So anything else is always a better scenario

China’s WHITE EMPEROR: 6th Gen Jet SHOCKS the World!

6th generation fighter-bomber in China.

The US has one objective and one objective only, to stop or slow down China’s ascendency, as a rich and powerful nation but a peaceful and responsible nation with a rich history and respectable civilisation. This is the only reason for their obnoxious and despicable action on 20% of humanity.

China must never let it go easy and never let it be unpunished or the US will do it again to China or any country it wanted. China and the world must jointly and severally reciprocate what the US did and will continue to do.

China must shut its 1.4 million people with 800 million middle income people market from the US all together! China did not start this war but it must not allow the US to not suffer for being evil and shamefully barbaric yet hypocritical! Let the US sell its product only to its slave and dog nations and let the US do shit on its friends instead. Stop buying even an apple from them! Pardon my pun!

Greek Turnovers (Skaltsounia)

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d46a952cbec5f650f3e8aee83723042e

Ingredients

Dough

  • 1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 3 egg yolks
  • 1/2 cup butter

Filling

  • 1/2 pound feta
  • 3 ounces mascarpone
  • 2 eggs, beaten
  • 1/4 cup walnuts, toasted and crushed
  • 1 tablespoon orange zest
  • 1 tablespoon fresh mint leaves, crushed
  • 1/2 cup butter, softened
  • 1/4 cup powdered sugar

Instructions

  1. Whip the butter until it is light. Whip in the sugar and egg yolks and blend well. Gradually add in the flour until it is smooth and soft. Add more flour if needed.
  2. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  3. In a bowl cream together the feta, mascarpone and eggs. Add the walnuts, orange zest, mint and butter and blend well. Set aside.
  4. Roll out dough on a floured board and cut dough into 3 inch rounds. Take 1 tablespoon of the mixture and place it in the center of the circle. Moisten the edges and fold over into a half moon. Seal well. Transfer to a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
  5. Bake until golden brown, about 20 minutes.
  6. When cool, sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve.

Old Fishermen Never Die

Submitted into Contest #154 in response to: Write a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism. view prompt

Katy B

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

Cold salt water laps the beach, baptizing the goose tongue and goldenrod with spray. It stings my hands in places that have met with sharp rock and lobster claws: a good clean sting like ointment. The motorboat I moor onshore sputters to life. I am soaked with sea and fog before I have even reached the Pemaquid, tied further out so as not to run its keel aground. The lobster traps clank as I push past them to the engine. I wince at the high-pitched squeal, a testament to its manufacture date. The orange rubber overalls transform me into a beacon in the hour just before dawn.Then I see the blue light.The engine stalls. My eyes dart between the arms of the temperature gauge and the RPM, spinning independently of anything the small fishing boat does or, indeed, has ever been capable of doing. I’ve seen the blue light a handful of times, but not this close. Never this close. It pulses softly across the surface of the water, as if bioluminescent plankton are on holiday off the coast of Bristol. A tinge of lighter, greyer blue floats in the fog. The fine hairs creep along my neck and scalp as my fingers fumble with the radio. “Matt,” I hiss into the tube. “Matt, it’s the light. It’s back– the blue light–”But my voice is greeted only by static. The Pemaquid’s antenna bobs as sudden waves beat against her sides like airplane turbulence. A ship has entered, hidden somewhere in the harbor.I scour my mind to recall whether there have been any scheduled arrivals, any clearances for a ship big enough to tilt the deck so that I stumble forward, lobster traps crashing around my head. Swearing, I support myself against the bulkhead, more angry now than spooked. What chowderhead from Town Hall decided to keep its fishermen in the dark like this?A shadow thickens against the fog. I have time only to duck into the shelter before the prow of a wooden ship emerges directly ahead of me, piercing the horizon like a swordfish. The ship groans and blinds me with rays of blue light splayed between wooden sides, originating somewhere within the vessel’s heart. The Pemaquid sloshes in its wake. I screw my eyes against the light, gritting my teeth to see the name painted on the stern. “ANGEL GABRIEL” is splashed in bloody letters on the side of a triple-masted sailboat.Great. Another tourist attraction. Just what New Harbor needs.The light dims and the silhouette of a full beard appears far above me. In the first rosy fingers of sunrise, I can just discern two glittering eyes like pinpricks before the man gives a shout and disappears again. “Hey!” I yell back. “Help me out here, will you?” There is silence. I thump my hand on the side of the shelter in frustration.Suddenly a rowboat splashes around the hull of the Angel Gabriel, approaching the Pemaquid. There are two passengers, but only one rows. The other faces away from me, straight-backed and motionless. They are both wearing costumes. I paste a smile over my grimace and wave.“What’s up, fellas?” I use a Barney-the-purple-dinosaur voice, instead of the Batman voice I want to use.The rowboat scratches the Pemaquid’s paint and the two men board, still without speaking. The rower is dressed like an old-fashioned Chinese farmer, complete with rice-picker hat and long queue. His garments are torn and stained, covered in burns. The other is pale and cropped beneath a blunt, peaked cap. He wears a brass-buttoned coat in much better repair than his companion’s with two swords, a broadsword and a saber, sheathed at his sides. I can feel my smile in my temples.“Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I like to know who my guests are before I invite them onto my boat,” I protest, forcing a chuckle.“Fai Yu Ming, your worship,” the rower murmurs. Before I can stop him, he kneels and touches his forehead to the platform, still swimming in sea water. “I serve my captain honorably on the Angel Gabriel.”“Nice to meet you, uh, Yu Ming.” I cannot tell whether the name and accent are part of the act. I notice that the “captain” seems significantly younger than I am. Not quite old enough to pay his own health insurance, I guess, but too old to dress up as a pirate with dignity. Of that much I am positive.I take off my glove and shake his hand. “Daniel Curtis. And yourself?”I feel his grip turn to steel. His eyes bore into mine. “Is that so,” he says in a low voice. His face is oddly expressionless. “Daniel Curtis. Well, Daniel Curtis, I suppose you should know that my name is Dixey Bull.” 

Courtesy quickly turns to annoyance. “Yeah, I figured,” I mutter, jabbing my thumb toward the name of the ship. “Hey, listen, there must’ve been some sort of mix-up because we don’t know anything about your venue here. You’re gonna want to get a special permit with the county and the local administration before you put up any kind of entertainment or attraction. Especially on this scale. Looks cool and all,” I offer, my last attempt at civility.

 

I hope the men will leave my boat, maybe even apologize. But instead, the self-styled Dixey Bull curls his lip into a sneer, glancing up and down my rubber overalls. “Daniel Curtis, I believe you are confused.”

 

“Get off my boat. Get off now or I’ll call the police.”

 

Dixey Bull laughs, catching me off guard. “And where are we, Daniel Curtis? What police will come for you?”

 

“What d’you mean, where are we? We’re in New Harbor, town of Bristol,” I say angrily. “You’re the one with the whole Dixey Bull thing going on and that godawful British accent. I swear, my little brother Matt’s a Maine State Trooper. I can call him up right now.”

 

“Can you really? Show me.”

 

I remember the static from earlier and flush. Still, I try the radio again. No response. I realize that I am stranded on a boat with a stranger carrying a sword. A plastic sword, I tell myself. It’s starting to feel awfully real.

 

Dixey Bull laughs a quiet little laugh like dry leaves skittering over pavement. “Daniel Curtis. I have been waiting for you.”

 

“Alrighty, Dixey Bull,” I say, turning on him and acting braver than I am. “You tell me where we are. If we’re not in New Harbor, then where?”

 

“Have you not guessed? We are floating only a few hundred fathoms from the shores of Pemaquid.”

 

“You’re wrong,” I say mechanically. “Bristol hasn’t been called Pemaquid for hundreds of years.”

 

“You are beginning to understand.” The corners of his cold cruel snarl twitched. “It is nearly morning. The fog is lifting. Look, and you will see I speak the truth.”

 

“Hold on,” I stall. “You might be the real-deal Dixey Bull but I tell you I’m the wrong Daniel Curtis. I catch lobsters in a 1975 Robert Rich, not cod in whatever the hell little rowboats they had in the seventeenth century. I’ve never held a sword in my life, and more important I have no interest in asking you to a duel.”

 

“But you must have heard the ballad.” Hell. My whole life, and maybe some time before that, too. You have to wonder what my parents thought, naming me after the one hero of Bristol.

 

“Well, sure. It’s a common enough song.” The red dawn hangs like a blood orange behind the Angel Gabriel. A chill spreads in my bones and I shiver.

 

The captain nods at the farmer. “Dixey Bull was a pirate bold, He swept our coast in search of gold,” Fai Yu Ming intones. “He flaunted his flag and shot his lead, Which kept the people out of bed.”

 

But Daniel Curtis, a fisherman, Feared not the flag from which they ran,” I add impatiently. “But that’s just a legend. Daniel Curtis didn’t really kill Dixey Bull. The ballad’s not even too well-written.”

 

“Because Daniel Curtis has not yet killed Dixey Bull, you claim he did not,” the young captain says. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time. “Daniel Curtis, you are a fool if you cannot understand that while times change, time… time does not. It is the eternal present, Curtis. That is the secret. It is the truth that has set me free.”

 

The absurdity of his words and of my situation finally offends me. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe I’m giving you the time of day. Take your little advertising stunt somewhere else before you’re arrested by harbor patrol.”

 

Look,” he whispers.

 

I turn, and gasp. There are still wisps of fog straggling from the surface of the water, but in the pale rays of sun I can see the shoreline fairly well. New Harbor is gone. In its place are a few wharves, the moorings of wooden rowboats, and trees– so many more trees. Women in petticoats and linen caps stand with men in breeches and coats. In the distance rises the thin smoke trail of a chimney. I study the Angel Gabriel more closely. The blue light still branches along the wood like lightning. I notice there are black crab-like bugs swarming over the hull. Trilobites, I realize with horror. I sink to my knees in disbelief.

 

“The last time a trilobite roamed this earth was the Paleozoic Era,” Dixey Bull says, amused. “And Fai Yu Ming? I captured him from the Pearl River during the Second Opium War.”

 

I lick my lips. “Alright,” I croak. “I believe you. You’re Dixey Bull. I believe you can time travel, or whatever it is. But please, take me home. I’m from Bristol, not Pemaquid, and I’ve got nothing against you. What do you want from me?”

 

“I want you to fight.” He tosses me the hilt-end of the saber, which I drop.

 

“I refuse to fight,” I yell. “What are we fighting over?”

 

“The village’s gold,” he says strangely. “Blood or your gold is what I want.”

 

“I won’t! I can’t! Take the gold and leave the villagers alone!”

 

“Can it be you still don’t understand?” Dixey Bull roars, seeming to grow taller than his slight build. “There is no gold. There was never any gold. I am going to kill you, Daniel Curtis, because you have saved Pemaquid and you have saved her gold. I am going to kill you because you are going to kill me.”

 

Our boats have drifted nearer the rocks and sands of Pemaquid. For the first time, I can hear the people on shore. They are shouting, screaming themselves hoarse, red in the face. “He our gold is going to save,” they chant, apparently oblivious to my motor boat and orange rubbers. Dixey Bull unsheathes his broadsword and levels it at my throat.

 

“You are their only champion. Fight me, or I swear,” he says, eyes flashing, “I will destroy each board, brick, and human being I see until time forgets there ever was a Pemaquid.”

 

My hands shake as I lift the saber. The hilt-guard slides easily to my fist. The pink-and-blue streaked sky reflects in the curved blade, smudged by salty sea. He’s right; I don’t understand. But as impossible as it seems, somehow Bristol– Pemaquid– is in real danger. I am Daniel Curtis, the champion. “If he kills me they’re his by right, If I kill him we win the fight,” I whisper. Somehow, I don’t feel ridiculous at all. I stagger to my feet, breathing heavily.

 

“And so we begin.” Dixey Bull touches the end of my saber with the broadsword.

 

“Can’t we fight on shore?” My boots slip on the platform and I struggle to avoid the lobster traps.

 

“We will end on Beaver Isle,” he says. He pushes the blade upward, as if to test my strength, then drops it and cuts my forearm straight across.

 

I feel heat before I feel any pain. The dark drops spatter and blossom like red algae at our feet. I blink at them for a moment, but don’t have time to process before Dixey Bull lunges again, this time at my face. I step back impulsively and shield myself with the flat of the saber, obstructing his blow. He pushes back. Steel grinds against steel, creating sparks that bounce off my overalls and land with a sizzle on the deck. Dixey Bull gnashes his short yellow teeth.

 

“Defense, defense, all defense,” he hisses. “You will die like a slave at my feet.” I sneak a look at Yu Ming, huddled in the shelter. His complexion is ashen, eyes dull.

 

Without warning, Dixey Bull pulls back the blade and slices at my thigh. This time I am too quick for him, leaping backward onto the traps and out of his reach. The position is awkward, but my head is now a foot or two above his. I sweep low and swift, leaving a gash in the back of his neck. He shudders a little but stands his ground.

 

The chanting continues. “Curtis fought for cause that’s right, Bull, because he liked to fight.

 

The current knocks both the rowboat and the Pemaquid against the shrubby rocks of Beaver Isle, projecting slightly from the mainland. I jump over the side and onto the island. I roll to my feet and dance away from Dixey Bull almost in fear, although I’m too afraid even to feel that. Then I see the rivers streaming under his collar, staining the whole of his shirt and coat a dirty brown. He turns on me, eyes yellow with rage.

 

My new strategy is to run.

 

Dixey Bull hunts after me. The island is not much bigger than a backyard, just big enough to scamper from conifer to conifer, avoiding direct confrontation.

 

“Coward,” Dixey Bull rasps. “Even now do I threaten you, even now?”

 

“I don’t want to kill you,” I call from the shade of a pine. “You’re hurt worse than I am.”

 

“Coward,” he repeats stupidly. He lurches toward me. “Fight… fight me, Curtis…”

 

I take pity on his sorry state and emerge. “Is there anyone on board who can dress wounds? A barber?” I try to remember whether barbers were also surgeons in the 1600s, or if surgeons were also barbers. “Come here, I’ll help–”

 

Dixey Bull sheds the drunken reel and pounces, ripping a hole in my overalls that reaches to my ribs. I wince and fall sideways, floundering on a steep decline leading to the sea.

 

He stands over me, dripping water and blood onto my head. “Here ends the lobster fisherman,” he says grimly, lifting his broadsword above his head. My mind races. As Dixey’s sword was falling down, Curtis sprang up from the ground– but I can’t. My blood has congealed in my veins. I brace for the final blow.

 

Instead, I hear a nasty squelching sound coupled with a low moan, a sound that reminds me of a wolf dying in the last nature documentary I watched. I peek upward through the crook in my elbow. Dixey Bull’s face is pasty white, and clammy with sweat. He clutches high up on his left side as his fingers turn scarlet. His mouth moves wordlessly and the yellow sun reflects in his eyes, staring without sight. He fumbles forward, groping with the sword in his left hand as though he sees an apparition in the east. “Daniel Curtis,” he pants. “Can you see it? Can you see the blue light?” He keels over. His bloody chest falls close to mine. “The eternal present,” he chokes, hot breath rankling in my nose. “E– e–” He mouths the word “eternity” before resting his head at its final angle. His eyes go smooth and glassy.

 

Yu Ming stands above us. He holds a jade dagger in his left hand and does not speak, simply watches as I close Dixey Bull’s eyes and jaw. I can’t tell where the blood on my palms came from. The three of us sit in silence for several minutes. There are cheers from the shore, and more chanting. “That’s how Curtis won the day, And killed his man in Bristol Bay.”

 

“It’s funny, but I don’t remember a whole lot about the Chinese farmer in the ballad,” I joke. It tastes bad and Yu Ming doesn’t seem to listen. He casts down the dagger and sits beside me, covering his face with his hands.

 

The harbor is calm like Dixey Bull’s eyes. It looks like it usually does, except with fewer pleasure boats. Only the rowboat, the Pemaquid, and the Angel Gabriel still float like untethered islands in a lonely sea. I look at the Chinese man’s shoulders. How many years has he been away from Hong Kong? If the pirate was right, it doesn’t matter– it might as well have been a thousand years. Does he have a wife, I wonder, one that he loves? A younger brother with a family he treats like his own?

 

“Pearl River, did he say?”

 

Yu Ming looks up.

 

“Come on, Fai Yu Ming.” I rise unsteadily. Sharp pains stab once more at my side. I hope there is a barber onboard. “I’ll take you home.”

 

Dixey Bull said this was the end of the lobster fisherman. I figure he was right.

Asian massage parlors bust in Florida lands 21 women in jail

Shorpy

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Make Your Own Gyro Meat

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I have lived and worked in Greece for a few years, and worked as a butcher in the U.S. for quite some time, so let me shed a bit of light:

Donair (doner or Donar), Gyros, and Schwarma are all pretty much the same thing. The Doner Kebab (probably the closest original ethnic food to the American invention, the Gyro) is originally from Turkey. The gyro is an American invention which is basically a cheap version of a traditional Greek Kebab (the main difference is that the Greek one would use large pieces of boned lamb, pressed together using its own fat as a binder, and marinated, whereas Gyro uses ground meat.) The Schwarma is a version from the Middle East that is much larger, uses a similar meat to the Greek kebab, but less meat and more vegetables in the kebab itself.

A traditional gyro should be made with at least 50% ground lamb and the rest beef. The best ground to use is one with a high fat content (this is so that during the remixing it binds and keeps it shape well!). The main flavouring ingredients should always be: garlic, onion, marjoram, rosemary, salt and black pepper. Marjoram and Rosemary are similar to oregano and thyme in flavour (respectively), and are common ingredients in Greek cooking. True Greek food rarely uses oregano. The mass-produced Gyros use oregano, not to mention garlic and onion powder, but we used fresh minced garlic and onions. Here is the recipe we used where I used to work (compliments of Feller’s Meat in Clearfield, Utah!)

Ingredients

  • 1 pound ground lamb
  • 1/2 cup very finely chopped (or shredded) onion
  • 2 teaspoons fresh minced garlic
  • 3/4 teaspoon salt (preferably sea salt)
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried ground marjoram
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried ground rosemary
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

  1. Mix everything together and let sit in the refrigerator for 1 to 2 hours.
  2. Blend in a food processor for about 1 minute. (When cooked, this will help give it a more traditional gyro feel on your palate. Otherwise, it just takes like cooked minced meat.)
  3. Form into an oblong around a spit, and slow cook over a grill for around 30 to 45 minutes, cooking far from the coals, and rotating slowly. Alternatively, bake in the oven in a meatloaf shape for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, at 325 degrees F. It should be a bit dry.

Notes

Tzatziki is made with 500 ml plain natural or Greek yogurt, 1 cucumber which has been peeled and descended and grated and drained of extra liquid, and 2 to 4 cloves of fresh minced garlic. Mix together, and let sit in refrigerator until ready to use. This is an extremely traditional, and might be a bit sharp for the average American palate, so you might want to halve the garlic amount.

Is Brazil’s influence and authority respected by other nations at G20 meetings compared to China’s?

At the G20 stage, comparing Brazil and China reveals a stark contrast in their levels of influence and the respect they command from other nations. Brazil, with its rich cultural heritage and strong regional leadership, brings valuable perspectives to the table. However, when placed side by side with China, the scale and impact of influence seem markedly different. China, as the world’s second-largest economy and a global financial powerhouse, commands a level of attention and respect that Brazil, despite its contributions, has yet to achieve.

China’s predominant role in global economics and trade makes it a pivotal figure at these international summits. With an economy deeply intertwined with global markets, any policy shifts or economic measures China undertakes resonate far beyond its borders, influencing global economic trends and decisions. This extensive influence not only garners a high degree of scrutiny but also a considerable amount of respect from other G20 nations, positioning China at the forefront of many critical global economic discussions.

In contrast, Brazil’s influence, while significant within Latin America, does not extend with the same force on the global stage. Brazil’s economic size and potency are impressive, but its global economic integration and influence are not as pronounced as China’s. At G20 meetings, Brazil advocates for important issues like sustainable development and trade equity, championing the cause of emerging economies and providing a crucial voice for less represented nations. This role is essential and respected, but it doesn’t quite thrust Brazil into the spotlight as China’s position does.

China’s participation in G20 meetings demonstrates its readiness to engage actively on a range of global issues, from trade to environmental policies. This involvement contributes positively to its standing and influence on the international stage. It’s not just about economic size; it’s about the strategic direction and proactive measures China takes in global governance, which commands a broad international audience.

Brazil continues to strengthen its position, pushing forward agendas that reflect its growth and dynamic economy. As it amplifies its voice and fortifies its role in international affairs, Brazil could see a gradual increase in its influence. However, as things stand, at gatherings like the G20, where economic clout translates directly into political power, China distinctly overshadows Brazil due to its colossal global economic integrations and the critical role it plays in the international financial system.

These dynamics at the G20 meetings encapsulate the broader trends in global leadership and economic influence—where Brazil is undoubtedly a key player on the rise, yet China remains a central figure with commanding authority, shaping major global economic policies and decisions.

Andrew vs Feminist Who Thinks Asking For A PATERNITY Test Is BAD?

In 1992 I took a trip with a group of about 50 to Egypt, Jordan, Israel, and Paris. After several days in Egypt and Jordan we arrived in Jerusalem, checked into our hotel, and a small group of us took off to explore as we had some free time. We were walking down a side street near Old Jerusalem and came to a sandwich board on the sidewalk advertising American style malts and milkshakes. After being in the desert where their idea of a cold can of soda was one that had been sitting in the shade instead of out in the sun, so the idea of something really cold appealed to us. I stuck my head in the door to inquire about the milkshakes and was greeted by the sight of a 50’s style American diner playing 50’s & 60’s music and an affirmative to my question about the shakes. We were invited it right then but having just had lunch told them we’d be back later.

Several hours later we came back, ordered our shakes and malts and were enjoying them when I noticed the music playing was Johnny Cash singing “I Fell In To A Ring If Burning Fire”. Astonished I called the fellow (about my age) over that appeared to be the manager and asked him where in the world he came to be listening to old hard core Johnny Cash country & western music.

He told me he was Palestinian and had gone to college in the USA. First to a Junior College in Kansas he was sure I’d never heard of in Hutchinson then finishing up at the University of Kansas, graduating in 1977, and that was where he became acquainted with C&W music and l began to like it. The music we were listening to in the cafe was playing on a small jam box cassette player.

I stopped him and told him I was very familiar with Hutchison Juco as I had grown up 60 miles from there and attended the National Junior College Basketball Championships held there for many years. I told him I had gone to Fort Hays State University in Hays, Kansas, about 130 miles away and had a classmate from Saudi Arabia there that had attended Hutchinson Juco before coming to Fort Hays.

He asked what my Saudi friends name was and it turned out that they had been friends at Hutchinson Juco! We shared some memories of our friend Naseem and wondered at what a small world it was. We had a pleasant conversation about the trials of being Palestinian and not really being a citizen of any country.

All in all it was a nice break in our trip and a huge surprise that I always look back on in awe at the odds against it happening.

Deep Intel on INDOPACOM’s Plan to Defeat China

Pretty much anybody and everybody.

DS9 again.

You may recall this episode. Worf is forced to fight to the death agains Jem’Hdar super soldiers. He fights and fights over days getting more and more injured.

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Eventually he’s knocked out and the death camp commander says he is defeated!

The Jem’Hdar fighting him says he cannot defeat this man, he can only kill him.

That’s pretty much the long and short of it.

The USA can kill a lot of people, but they are unable to actually defeat them.

Check out this tweet from 10 months ago.

And yet, the USN can’t unblock the Red Sea…

Years ago I had a very nice patient who was a metallurgist. He was 10 years into the age of retirement and still worked part-time simply because his knowledge was in demand and he was paid highly for consulting. He lived modestly and never carried about himself the pride some accomplished people do. We went through some difficult times including the death of his spouse, who was my patient.

One day he presented with a symptom that required a workup and in short order I discovered that he had widespread metastatic lung cancer. That a person is dying of cancer is always the most difficult thing a doctor has to tell the patient. It was growing quickly and he was losing weight and strength and we both knew he was dying. He said he felt like he was falling apart.

We had several visits after that as he rapidly deteriorated while seeing the oncologists. There was no hope for treatment because the tumor was growing too fast. In a case like this it’s hard to know how to help the patient, but a good policy is to listen, and on one day he felt compelled to tell me this story which I will never forget.

It was a tale about a teapot told in a way that a metallurgist might tell it. He described the construction of a teapot. A lot of parts have to be fabricated and then welded together. There’s the main body where the tea is brewed and below that are the feet which elevate the body off the table to prevent damage from the heat of the tea. The handle is welded to the body as is the spout. As he spoke I thought of the nursery rhyme, “I’m a little teapot short and stout; this is my handle and this is my spout.” Then there’s the lid with a knob at the top. Sometimes there’s a filter built into the spout to keep the tea leaves from going into the cup: yet another part that can break.

My patient explained that anytime a weld is created it can break over time. The more welds, the greater the odds that one will fail. If the spout fails the teapot’s life is over and if the handle fails the same. In fact if any of the many welds fail, the teapot is no longer of use.

My patient told me that hundreds of years ago a craftsman built a marvelous teapot. It was so excellently made that it lasted and lasted. All the welds held. It was passed down from generation to generation until it was 1000 years old at least and still in use every day by each family that inherited it.

But God knows that nothing can last forever, even a perfectly made teapot. Tears welled up in my patient’s eyes as he told me. So one day the owner opened the door of the cabinet to get out the teapot and there was nothing to be seen but a pile of metal scraps. All the welds had failed at the same time.

By this time my patient was smiling but his voice breaking and I must confess my eyes were filling with moisture too. I knew exactly what he meant by the story. He felt blessed by his life; and he felt that he was like the perfect teapot that could not last forever. It was natural to simply fall apart seemingly all at once. He had found a way to cope with the end of his life, the metastatic cancer, and the quick deterioration. He accepted it. He was thankful for being “well-made,” for having had a good life, and he thought that this way of dying was actually fitting.

Trump Ally with Russia Against China?

“The people in Washington are stupid”.

A fun video.

Kanika G

This story contains themes or mentions of suicide or self harm.

“Dude, are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my room? You’re pretty wasted,” I asked Jai over the loud metal music blasting from the speakers in my hostel room.Three of my other friends were seated in my room — two on the single bed and one on the floor with glasses of whiskey and cigarettes in their hands — now tired of headbanging to the music and watching porn on mute for the past two hours. On the corner stove, instant noodles were simmering in a steel pan, the delicious aroma of Maggi displacing some of the cigarette fog.Jai scoffed, letting out a guttural laugh. “Dude, your room is a dump and it stinks.”“And yet you never fail to show up whenever we have a party here,” I retorted, somewhat offended by his comment. “What do you understand what it’s like to live in a hostel? You live at home and your parents have a housekeeper. I bet you don’t even make your bed.”“You bet I don’t!” he bragged. “And that is why I need to sleep in my own comfortable bed with the room’s air conditioner turned down to 21 degrees Celsius.”He waved goodbye to the rest of our friends, promising to meet the next day in the Physics class, our first period on Monday mornings. Even though he spent at least one night a week partying in the boys’ hostel, Jai was poor at directions and had a difficult time finding his way to the parking, especially when he was drunk. And when he left the boys’ hostel at 1 o’clock in the mornings, he was usually pissed drunk. Luckily for him, his house was a stone’s throw away from the main gate of our engineering college and he usually reached home in five minutes and drunk texted me and his girlfriend — sometimes accidentally swapping the messages, sending me a kissing emoji and her an unmentionable word he used only for me — before collapsing on his bed.As we passed by the security guard dozing on his chair below the hostel building, Jai threw a small pebble at his leg, but he continued to snore steadily. We often joked that even if terrorists attacked the hostel or an earthquake shook the ground, the security guard — nicknamed Kumbhakaran, the powerful demon from the Hindu epic Ramayana, who slept straight for six months at a time — would continue sleeping through the whole episode.In the parking, I handed over his helmet to Jai as he mounted his bike and kickstarted it.“Are you sure you won’t fall into a ditch somewhere?” I asked. “You finished the bottle today, dude.”“Dude, I can drive with my eyes closed. You know I’ve been driving since I was like thirteen,” he boasted.“Okay, but be careful. Text me when you reach home.”“Okay, Dad,” he said, laughing as he drove his bike towards the hostel gate.I was about to turn back towards block B when I noticed a man standing on the road right outside the hostel, staring directly at me. The nearest streetlight was a hundred metres away, so it was hard to see the man’s face. As soon as Jai reached the road outside the hostel, the man suddenly jumped in front of his bike, blocking his path. Jai braked hard, his bike skidding to a halt barely half a metre away from the man.“Are you crazy, old man?” Jai yelled. “Do you want to die?”I dashed to the spot, trying to figure out what just happened. Who was this man? What was he doing on our campus? There was security at the main gate. Who had allowed him in at night and why?“What’s wrong?” I asked, panting as I reached them.“Ask the crazy man,” Jai shouted, shaking with adrenaline.I looked at the man and realized he was old, much older than my parents, probably in his sixties. His eyes seemed to have sunken into their sockets, giving him a wizened, other-worldly look. He was wearing a cap with a twisted infinity sign on it, one I’d never seen before.“You are Jai Mishra. Listen very carefully for what I say will save your life,” he said in a deep voice.“What?” Jai snapped. “Move out of my way.”“There is another drunk driver nearby. Unlike you, he’s driving a powerful SUV. When you drive out your college gate and turn right, he will hit you head-on and you will die instantly. And no, this flimsy cricket helmet won’t save you.”I was still gaping at the old man, my alcohol-impaired brain slowly comprehending his words, when Jai swung his arm and punched the old man squarely on his jaw. The man fell to the ground as something — blood maybe, it was hard to see clearly in the dark — flew out of his mouth.“Get the fuck away from me, you moron!”Emitting his typical guttural laughter, Jai gave me a high-five, kickstarted his bike and zoomed away from me, towards the college gate.When I turned around to where the old man had collapsed on the road, he was not there anymore. I studied my surroundings, staring at the deserted roads and the grounds around me, the nearby Computer Science department and the library in the distance, but there was no movement anywhere. The old man had vanished without a trace. I turned on my phone’s torch and inspected the road below; sure enough, something yellowish-white caught my eye. I crouched on the road and examined the tooth that had fallen out of the old man’s mouth when Jai punched him, the only evidence that what we had witnessed wasn’t an apparition but an actual person.

***

The world slowed down as the door of the Operation Theatre opened and the doctor walked towards me, her face covered with the double surgical mask, making it impossible for me to read her expression. Her brown eyes gave away nothing. As she delivered the news to me, I could only stare at her scrubs, my gaze riveted to the two tiny drops of blood on her right sleeve.

“Your wife will be okay. I’m really sorry we couldn’t save the baby.”

Dazedly, I stared ahead as she explained the complications that had resulted in my wife going into labour at only 24 weeks and the reasons the baby could not be saved.

With a gentle squeeze of my arm, she disappeared into the OT, leaving me stranded in the middle of the hospital corridor. At some point of time, somebody — probably a nurse —led me to the chairs lining the corridor and helped me settle into one while I waited. I waited for her parents to arrive from Delhi — my parents were also on their way but she would need hers more than mine. I waited for the light to go off in the OT so that I would be allowed to meet her and together, we could grieve the loss of another baby. I waited for this feeling of helplessness to pass, this feeling of utter impotency and despair that paralyzed me. I waited for a surge of courage that would be needed if she decided after a few months that we should try again. How she found the courage to persevere after so many losses I have no idea. The losses that came before occurred much earlier in the pregnancy — at a time when, after the first loss, we had not dared to get our hopes up early on. This time though, it was nearly the end of the second trimester. We were halfway through decorating the nursery and had already shortlisted potential baby names.

I felt the gentle pressure of somebody’s hand on my arm and turned around, hoping it was my mother, having just arrived from the railway station. A strange old man was seated next to me, looking at me intently. Even though I had not seen this man before, he looked familiar somehow.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said in a deep voice. “I know this seems like the end of the world, but it isn’t. Over the next few months, you will go through a very difficult time. There’s more to come that you don’t know of.”

I stare at him. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

“That is a very good question. Do you know me?” he said, chuckling. “I’d say no. You don’t know me yet.”

I pulled my arm from his grasp, wondering if there was a psych ward somewhere in the hospital where this man belonged. His cap with a twisted infinity sign on it looked vaguely familiar.

“Look, I only came to say that things will get better. Hang in there. And the thing that you’ve been contemplating doing, don’t do it. Just don’t do it. Your family needs you.”

I looked in the other direction, hoping the man would leave. Unease gripped me, making my palms sweaty and my heartbeat faster. He couldn’t know, could he? I’d never talked to anyone about my depression, not even my wife. So how could he, a stranger, know anything unless he was a mind reader? Besides even though I’d thought about it, I could never actually do it — not to my parents and especially not to my wife.

“There will be one more loss — there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. After that, you’ll have two healthy children. You’ll also lose your job and be unemployed for a while, but then you’ll go into the line of work you’ve always wanted to do but lacked the courage to do. Hang in there.”

Gently tapping my arm, the old man rose from the chair and walked away, limping slightly.

I realized that everything I’d thought about this old man was wrong — he wasn’t a mind reader. Nor could he read faces. He was just a sick man who had eavesdropped on my conversation with the doctor and decided to twist the knife by playing this sadistic joke.  Shaking with indignation, I sprang from the chair and dashed down the corridor, turning the corner where the old man had disappeared. I spent a lot of time that day running up and down the hospital corridors, checking the security cameras and looking everywhere, but couldn’t find him. The old man had vanished into thin air.

***

The soft dewy grass felt wonderful under my bare feet. The air was fresh and smelled faintly of the spring flowers blossoming all around me. My wife and I used to visit this park for a walk each morning — a little antidote to my heart problems and her high blood pressure — but ever since she passed away three months ago, I could not summon the courage to visit this park again. If only she’d listened to me that morning and postponed her plan to visit our daughter in Mumbai, there would have been one passenger less who died on that fateful flight that crashed after take-off, killing everyone on board.

“Please sweetheart,” I had begged. “Take another flight today, any other flight. Just not this one.”

“I’m not going to postpone my plan because — what? You had a dream?” she’d laughed. “Listen Ajay, our daughter needs me. She’s going to have a baby.”

No amount of pleading or emotional blackmailing on my part convinced her to postpone her travel plans and within thirty minutes, she had boarded the airport taxi and was gone, waving at me cheerfully as the car drove off.

It was just a silly dream, I’d convinced myself then. Nobody could know the future, no matter how credible they sounded. The man with sunken eyes, who had appeared in my dream and begged me to stop my wife from boarding the flight, had terrified me and I’d woken up with my face wet with tears. Just a dream, just a dream, I’d kept repeating to myself until the moment I heard the devastating news.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No,” I said without looking at the man standing beside the bench.

As he settled heavily on the bench next to me, I could smell his cologne, a woody, spicy scent, the exact same one as mine. My wife’s favourite, one she gifted me on every occasion. Even now, I had a drawer full of new cologne bottles.

I turned to look at this man, friendly words of introduction dying on my lips. The man looked a lot like me, only older — by a decade or so. His hair was thinner and greyer, his body was lighter and the skin on his face was grooved with more wrinkles, but other than that, he looked a lot like me.

“Are you surprised to see me, Ajay?” he said in a deep voice I recognized.

“I’ve seen you before, many times I think.”

“Yes, you have. The last you saw me was…”

“In my dream,” I said. “Why didn’t you warn me properly — appear in person like right now?”

His eyes softened. “There’s nothing you could have done to save her. She was stubborn — you knew that when you married her.”

I sat in silence for a while, absorbing this piece of information. “Was it you, that night outside the boys’ hostel?”

He sighed deeply. “Yes. I was new to this back then. I thought I could save Jai’s life. I was wrong, obviously.”

“That night in the hospital…” I said.

“Yes, it was me. I had to see you at that time because I knew what was coming and I wasn’t sure you could handle it without some support. And a ray of hope — I had to give you that.”

Thoughts are rattling around in my head, making it impossible to draw a logical conclusion. “Just so I’m clear — you are me, right? From the future?”

He chuckled. “You’ve finally figured it out.”

I noticed then that he was missing a tooth. Maybe from the time Jai punched him.

“So you knew all along what was going to happen and…”

“I knew.”

“… and you didn’t warn me when my Mom was about to die? You didn’t tell me the doctors were going to find a tumour in my Dad’s brain?”

“How could I deprive you of those life experiences?” he said.

My instinct was to punch him in the face and loosen some more of his teeth.

“Let me explain,” he said patiently. “During the first few times, I tried to warn you and save lives. I warned you about the flight crash. I tried saving Jai.”

“What? The flight crash was just three months ago.”

“For you, yes. Not for me. When I appeared in your dream, it was one of the initial times I time-travelled. That’s why I couldn’t warn you properly. I was still figuring things out.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, exasperated.

“I thought I could try a more direct way of warning people, by appearing in person as I did with Jai. Dude broke my tooth,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“Served you right,” I said bitterly. “Well, why didn’t you warn me again about the flight crash — after you figured things out? Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you tell me about this time travel thing? I might have believed you.”

He took a deep inhale then, and an even longer exhale. “See that was the thing. I couldn’t time travel to the same period again. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t. And then I realized something.”

“What?”

“I realized that I could not change the past. I couldn’t prevent people from dying or bad things from happening.”

“It’s a pretty useless skill then, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I can still visit the past to a time when we were young, the summer I met Neha, the time our kids were little and adorable and looked at me like I was their hero. I can go back to my childhood and see Mom serving me besan chillas in the kitchen, Dad smiling — actually smiling — when I proudly presented him my fifth class report card. It was just a fluke, the third rank.”

“Wait a minute. So you were the creepy old man who was seen around our neighbourhood, peeping through our window? I remember you showed up only once a year or so.”

He smiled then, a smile that reached his bleary eyes. “I couldn’t go back to the exact same time, so I chose different periods of time. Plus I didn’t want to scar our childhood.”

I thought about this for a minute. “So when do I get this time-travelling superpower?”

“I’m not sure since when you’ve had it. But you’ll be able to use it for the first time on your sixtieth birthday. And don’t ask how – you’ll obviously figure it out.”

“So, why are you here, now? I’m all alone. Our wife is gone. Our kids live far away — they have their own families. Why are you here?”

He rubbed his knees thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. Each time I time travel, it takes a toll on my health. So I just wanted to say something to you.”

I stared at him silently.

“You are on this unique, beautiful life journey. Don’t compare it with anyone else’s. Many times in life, you’ll feel like it all sucks and it’s not worth it, but I promise everything is exactly as it was meant to be. You have some beautiful and some not-so-good times ahead of you, just like everyone else. Life isn’t bitchier to you specifically. It doesn’t single you out. Everyone has their share of suffering. Be kind to yourself and everyone else.”

“Okay. Anything else?” I said sceptically.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Enjoy life before it’s over. Treasure every moment. Because believe me, it will be over before you know it.”

It was me. December 2022. Visited the ER for a small boil on my buttock. It was lanced, I was given a script for antibiotics, was told to take baths and to return in 24hrs. I explained to the PA that Ive had a boil before but this felt different: it hurt a lot, i felt like i had a fever and was sick to my stomach. I dont think he thought that was important.

When I returned the PA that told me to return was not there and a different PA asked if I was taking the baths and without an answer told me to keep taking them and that they would really help. I was not checked in nor was I actually seen at this visit. I also was sporting a fever and was slightly delirious and in pain.

I declined rapidly and within a few days my husband took me to a different hospitals ER. I have little pieces of memory from that night forward.

I had surgery that night at the small local hospital & put into a medically induced coma. My family was told I had a 1% chance of living. The morning after that surgery I was life flighted 70 miles south to a larger hospital & airport where I was then flown across the state to another hospital and immediately had another surgery. My family was told IF i survived, i would probably lose some major parts to my body including stomach, uterus, intestines, bowel etc…and to pray. This was Necrotizing Fasciitis.

I woke up a few days before New Years in a lot of pain and extremely confused. I couldn’t sit up, forget standing or walking, and had no clue where I was or what happened! I looked around my head and room for a phone or nurse call button. Nothing. Finally a couple nurses came in and explained where I was and why. Dressing changes were 3x day and agony. Hospital lost my phone until day of discharge so I couldn’t contact anyone. I was given a phone in my room finally and reached my mom. She helped fill in the blanks of memory as best she could. The nurses did as well, they were all wonderful!

Finally on New Years Day I was discharged to home. What a fun ride that was. Recovery was very slow and difficult. Took a year.

I wouldn’t wish that on anyone! Even hearing what i had said out loud is enough to raise my anxiety 100%. But I’m still alive thanks to quick action by medical staff and divine intervention.

Note: I still have everything that i was born with 😊

Thank you to;

St. Luke Hospital

St. Vincent Hospital

And all the great staff and my family for being there and making sure I didn’t die.

The puppet armies trained by the United States are all very weak.

Among the puppet armies trained by the United States, Chiang Kai-shek’s army represented the highest combat effectiveness, and Syngman Rhee’s army (South Korea) and Ngo Dinh Diem’s army (South Vietnam) came next.

The Philippine Armed Forces are so weak that they cannot even defeat the Maoist militants in that country and are on the same level as Ashraf Ghani’s army (Afghanistan) who flee or surrender at the sight of the Taliban.

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The Increasing Reality of War in Space