It was the 1970’s and I was on the volunteer forest fire fighting crew. We would skip school to fight forest fires, and I would end up making a few bucks out of it.
I mean it. A few.
Maybe enough for a bottle of coke. Not too much at all.
One day there was this brush fire, and the local fire department drove the fire engine out into the field to put it out, and half way there, the engine died. Meanwhile the file kept on burning.
Oh, for certain, we tried to stop the encroaching onslaught.
But eventually we had to give way.
And like a slow motion train wreck, we watched as the fire surrounded, then enveloped the truck and burned it all up.
Sad.
What amazed me was how peaceful and slow it occurred.
Not like Hollywood movies with huge towers of flames, and all the rest. It was just a lowly grass fire, burning the shrubbery as it went. Mostly black burnt charcoal remains with a front end of glowing embers.
And that is how it was.
You watched the on coming storm in slow motion, and then peacefully watched it consume all that you have.
..
I think that this is a great analogy as to what we are witnessing in global politics today.
Today…
At what stage in your life did you realize, “No, I can’t do this any more” and walk out? Why?
Around 6 months ago.
I’ve been called a terrible person, a terrible mother, and an abuser because I simply cannot exist as I was in the UK, any longer.
The cost of living as a single parent, with rising mortgage interest, utility bills, and coping with daily stalking and harassment attacks, social isolation, filthy streets, selfish neighbours, police negligence, false allegations, lonliness and goddamn filthy awful weather, simply just was shite! Too much for me to take.
I made children with men. Why should I be the one doing 24 nights and days a week? In poverty? While those men do nothing but bully and slander my efforts? Dragging me down when life is already hard enough.
Why should I sit alone slowly rotting while my debts grow and the bank prepares to take my beloved home with 80k equity in it, just to conform to my exes demands of staying in UK for OUR son who doesn’t want to leave UK?
Why should I suffer terrible anxiety and mental illness in a country that makes it worse, when I have an alternative? Greece!
I worked very hard. Long days. Building my nest egg. Raising 3 sons. To lose it all because the UK gives no fucks about single mum’s who dare own property?
If I were in a council house, on benefits, having never worked, I’d be ok. But that’s NOT ME and not who I want to be.
So, I walked out. I’m done. I’m selling my flat. Buying more homes here in Greece. And getting well and happy again. When my youngest wants to join me, he’s welcome. I hope one day my 2 grown adult sons also come here. It’s a damn site better than a cardboard box on Sauchiehall street in Glasgow.
USD Just Crashed To A Horrific Low As Global Investors Begin Mass U.S. Asset Sell-Off
Gingerbread Waffles
Yield: 8 waffles
Ingredients
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 eggs
- 1/4 cup granulated sugar
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 1/5 cup molasses
- 1/3 cup vegetable oil
Instructions
- Sift the flour, ginger, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a medium bowl and mix well.
- Beat the eggs in a medium bowl until blended.
- Add the sugar, beating until creamy.
- Add the buttermilk, molasses and oil. Beat until blended.
- Stir in the flour mixture until smooth.
- Bake in a waffle iron using manufacturer’s directions.
- Serve with butter and syrup or as a dessert with whipped cream.
Nutrition
Per serving: Calories 304; Fat 11g; Sodium 420mg; Dietary Fiber 1g
Attribution
Pampered Chef
Exposing America’s Debt Plantation: How The Cost Of Living Crisis Is Affecting The Most Vulnerable.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Hen House Hullabaloo
Ah, dear reader! You’ve returned yet again to hear another tale of my unmatched brilliance and unwavering patience. You flatter me, truly—but who am I to deny you the pleasure of hearing about my exploits? Today’s story takes us into the heart of the farm’s most chaotic domain: the hen house. It is a tale of missing eggs, clucking confusion, and a new ally who brought a certain owl-ish wisdom to the case. Prepare yourself for the humorous and utterly bewildering tale of The Hen House Hullabaloo.
The Problem in the Coop
The day began innocently enough. The farm was calm, the sun was shining, and I was perched on the barn roof, enjoying the warmth. But, as is so often the case, peace on the farm never lasts long. My nap was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of panicked clucking.
“It’s gone!”
“Gone, I tell you!”
“This is a disaster—a complete disaster!”
I groaned and opened one eye. The chaos was coming from the hen house. Of course. With a sigh, I stretched and leapt gracefully to the ground, padding toward the commotion.
When I arrived at the hen house, I found Doris, Harriet, and Lillian—the three most excitable hens on the farm—flapping around in utter hysteria.
“Ladies,” I said, raising a paw to silence them. “What’s all this fuss about?”
“Our eggs!” Doris squawked, feathers flying. “They’re gone! Vanished! Poof! Like they were never there!”
“Yes, gone!” Harriet chimed in. “Gone, missing, disappeared! Not a single egg left!”
“Not one!” Lillian added. “And we checked everywhere—everywhere! The nests, the corners, the straw, the—”
“I get it,” I interrupted, my tail flicking impatiently. “The eggs are missing. When did you last see them?”
“This morning,” Doris said, pacing dramatically.
“Right after sunrise,” Harriet confirmed, nodding vigorously.
“Before breakfast!” Lillian added, as if that detail mattered.
I sighed. This was going to be a long day.
Calling in Reinforcements
As I inspected the hen house for clues (and tried to tune out the hens’ endless clucking), I heard a soft flutter of wings behind me. Turning, I saw Sedgwick the barn owl perched on the fence post. He was an imposing figure, with piercing amber eyes and a calm, regal demeanor.
“Good morning, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said, his voice deep and measured. “I couldn’t help but overhear the commotion. Do you require assistance?”
“Sedgwick,” I said, relieved to see him. “I could use another set of eyes—sharp ones, at that. The hens’ eggs have gone missing, and I suspect foul play.”
“‘Fowl’ play?” Sedgwick said, raising an eyebrow. “Clever.”
I allowed myself a small smirk. “Thank you. Let’s get to work.”
The Investigation
Sedgwick and I began a thorough search of the hen house. The hens, of course, followed us around, clucking incessantly.
“Do you see anything?” Doris asked.
“Anything at all?” Harriet echoed.
“Anything suspicious?” Lillian added.
“Ladies,” Sedgwick said patiently, “please give us some space to work. Sir Whiskerton and I require silence to concentrate.”
“Silence!” Doris exclaimed.
“Yes, silence!” Harriet agreed.
“We’ll be quiet—completely quiet!” Lillian promised, before immediately adding, “But do tell us if you find anything!”
Sedgwick gave me a look that said, How do you deal with this? I simply shrugged.
As we searched, Sedgwick’s keen eyes spotted something unusual: a trail of small feathers leading out of the hen house.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “These aren’t chicken feathers. They’re smaller, softer—perhaps from a songbird?”
I sniffed the ground where the feathers were scattered. “And there’s a faint scent here, too. Something… sweet. Almost like—”
“Honey?” Sedgwick suggested.
I groaned. “Rufus.”
Interrogating Rufus
We followed the trail to the old oak tree, where we found Rufus the raccoon lounging on a low branch, munching on what appeared to be a honeycomb.
“Rufus,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Care to explain why there’s a trail of feathers and the scent of honey leading directly to you?”
Rufus froze mid-bite, his eyes darting guiltily. “Uh… coincidence?”
“Rufus,” Sedgwick said, his tone calm but firm. “We’re investigating the disappearance of the hens’ eggs. If you know anything, now is the time to speak.”
“Eggs?” Rufus said, feigning innocence. “I wouldn’t steal eggs! Too much work to crack ‘em open. Besides, I’ve been busy with this honeycomb all morning. Ask the bees—they’ll vouch for me.”
I sniffed him carefully. He smelled of honey, yes, but not of eggs. “He’s telling the truth,” I admitted reluctantly. “For once.”
“Thank you!” Rufus said, looking offended. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have honey to finish.”
“Let’s keep searching,” Sedgwick said, spreading his wings. “The trail isn’t cold yet.”
The Feathery Culprit
The trail led us to the barn, where we found the true culprit: a magpie. The shiny-feathered bird was perched on a beam, surrounded by a small stash of stolen goods, including the missing eggs.
“Ah,” Sedgwick said, nodding sagely. “Magpies are known for their thieving habits. It seems this one couldn’t resist the allure of the eggs.”
“Why eggs?” I asked, puzzled. “They’re not shiny.”
“Perhaps it’s nesting season,” Sedgwick suggested. “The magpie may have taken them as part of its instinct to gather food and materials.”
“Well, it’s about to learn the consequences of crossing me,” I said, leaping onto a nearby hay bale. “Magpie! Drop the eggs, or prepare to face the wrath of Sir Whiskerton!”
The magpie squawked indignantly and flapped its wings, clearly unwilling to part with its loot. But Sedgwick, ever the wise negotiator, stepped forward.
“Friend magpie,” he said in his calm, commanding voice, “surely you understand that these eggs do not belong to you. Return them, and we shall ensure you are well-fed and unharmed.”
The magpie hesitated, eyeing Sedgwick warily. After a tense moment, it let out a grudging chirp and nudged the eggs toward the edge of the beam.
“Thank you,” Sedgwick said with a dignified nod. “You’ve done the right thing.”
The Happy Ending
We returned the eggs to the hen house, where Doris, Harriet, and Lillian greeted them like long-lost relatives.
“Oh, our eggs!” Doris cried.
“Our precious eggs!” Harriet added.
“We were so worried!” Lillian said, before turning to me. “Thank you, Sir Whiskerton! And you too, Sedgwick! You’ve saved the day!”
“All in a day’s work,” I said, flicking my tail.
Sedgwick and I left the hens to fuss over their eggs and returned to the barnyard. Rufus was still lounging in the oak tree, waving lazily as we passed.
“Well done, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said. “Your reputation as the farm’s greatest detective remains intact.”
“And your reputation as the farm’s wisest owl is well-earned,” I replied. “Shall we call it a day?”
“Indeed,” Sedgwick said, spreading his wings. “Until the next mystery.”
The Moral of the Story
Even the smallest clues can lead to the biggest answers—and sometimes, a little wisdom and diplomacy go a long way. Oh, and always keep an eye on magpies. They’re craftier than they look.
The End.
Vegas Vacation (1997) | *First Time Watching* | Movie Reaction | Asia and BJ
Sentient
Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: Write a story that ends with a huge twist.… view prompt
Chris Broome
“That is new. Though not at all unexpected. This happens from time to time.” The nasally voice stated to her calmly.
“ I can tell you how to handle this unless you want me to handle it.’“
“Just tell me. I can do what needs to be done, after all he is my husband.” Sarah heard an attempted chuckle.
“Just tell me or I will come over there and make you regret the day you met me.” Her anger and anxiety was swelling.
“Alright. Calm down.” He responded and went on to explain to her the plan to handle the situation. Sarah heard steps coming down the stairs just as the man finished talking. She hurriedly hung up the phone.
“You in here babe?” Sarah heard as Ben walked into the kitchen.
“Yes. I am going to fix some breakfast. I was thinking about cooking some eggs and cutting up some fruit. Do you want some?” Ben looked at her and had a devilish grin on his face.
“Since the children spent last night with their friends and we have the house to ourselves, why don’t we go back upstairs?” Sarah smiled.
“That sounds wonderful.” The to turned and headed back up to the bedroom.
“I need to use the ladies room. Why don’t you get comfortable and when I get out I will give you a massage first.”
“Sounds heavenly.” Ben headed to the be and laid on his stomach. Sarah went to the bathroom and closed the door. She went to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her heart was racing. She felt a warmness and felt little beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She took a deep breath. Turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face.
“I can do this she said to her reflection in the mirror.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. Ben was laying across the unmade bed on his stomach.
“I am ready for that massage.” He said and took a long breath. Sarah slowly walked to the bed and straddled his back. She began to slowly massage his mid-back and eased up to his shoulders. He sighed a relaxing breath.
“You are so good to me babe. I am a lucky man.” Sarah heard this but was so nervous she didn’t respond. She just kept massaging his shoulders.
“Is your neck soar? She asked.
“A little.” Ben felt her hands start to massage his neck.”
“I lo….” Sarah heard as she opened the little hatch and quickly mashed the red button. Ben became motionless. She jumped off of him and got dressed. She then made another call.
Shortly after the doorbell rang. A small framed middle aged man with a balding head stood outside as Sarah opened the door. There was a slight smell of peppermint as she drew closer to pull him inside the house.
“Come on we need to hurry the children will be back soon.” Sarah had grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him towards the staircase.
“I am coming. Slow down. If I fall and the new chip gets broke then it will take hours to get another.”
“I need this done quickly, Charles.” Sarah snapped.
“What is this like the sixth time we have done this since the real Ben died?” Sarah heard him say. She turned and pointed her boney finger in his face.
“He is what I have left of my husband. He is all the children have, do not marginalize this or make smart remarks.” Charles put his hands up in mock defeat.
“I was happy when you first contacted me about testing the sentient being I created at first. But now I feel like he has ruined you Sarah. You are my sister. You need to move past this!” Sarah heard him scream.
“I will move on when the time is right. But not now. I am not ready. He just has meant so much. Then there is the children. How? What? This just has to be!”
Economic Update: Review of 2024: The U.S. Economy Not So Great
EMP Survival 5: Love in Nuevo Laredo
Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: Write a story with the line “I wasn’t expecting that.”… view prompt
KC Foster
This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.
Through the streets they raced, weaving between abandoned vehicles and dodging the rotting corpses of looters. Nuevo Laredo had not been as fortunate as Monterrey. From the little they had learned; the cartels had abandoned their drug trade for governance and the war for supreme dictatorship was still going on here. Every day, a new body lay abandoned in the street or like their scouts, decapitated and their heads placed to set an example for anyone who dared cross them.
Masa rounded the corner and found the raid team standing with their hands up facing a large group of armed men. From the group, a single man stepped forward, his hair cut short and teeth more metal than white. He laughed, “Not so lucky this time, are you?”
Arion stepped forward; his hands raised in peace. “Our group is getting low on food, and we had no choice.”
“The Western Canteena group? The one from Monterrey?”
“Yeah, and what of it?” demanded Arion.
“Rumor has it, your group brought seeds with you and you have farmers?” asked the man.
Arion stood silently, judging them and considering their request. After a time, he nodded. Masa watched, skeptical of trusting any of these cartels. She fumed, longing to yell at him. Arion had no right to make deals without the council’s approval.
“I am Don Marco,” the man said, “We have some food supplies we secured, but we are also running out. We will give you what you have taken as a peace offering, but I want to meet with your leaders. We need seeds and those who can farm if we are going to survive. Either that, or we must start moving north looking for better land.”
“We tried moving north,” said Arion. “One of the cartels has taken the bridge and we don’t have enough to move further west to cross the Rio Grande. I think we are in the same boat and we should work together.”
Masa approached Arion, standing behind him. He needed to stop before this got out of hand. “You can’t offer him that,” she hissed. “We discuss things.”
Arion looked down at her and frowned. “Trust me,” he growled, “The council will want this deal.”
Masa took hold of his arm, turning him to face her. “Tell him we’ll take his offer back. Let the council decide,” she argued.
Don Marco laughed. “She is certainly a spicy one. Is she your leader?”
“No, she’s not.” Arion snapped at Masa before facing Don Marco, his face a picture of calmness, “Fine. We’ll take your word back to our council. We’ll meet you at the Western edge of town where the old Walmart is in two days.”
“Agreed.” Don Marco and his men backed away before disappearing down a side street.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” said Arion.
“You idiot!” yelled Masa. “The only reason you are in charge of this raiding party is because you were a police cadet and you know the area. The council wouldn’t have trusted you otherwise.”
“And the only reason you are in it is because I let you,” he argued, glaring at her.
Masa balled her hands into fists and howled in frustration. “You…you…bastard.”
“Stuck up Bitch!”
Masa slapped him, and he took hold of her and kissed her. Her cheeks grew hot and she was distinctly aware of the other men around her laughing.
She shoved him backward and stared at the ground. “You…You…” her cheeks still warm. Her hands went to her lips. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the timing was terrible and she immediately thought of Leron. She had longed for Leron to kiss her since that night on the ridge, but he hadn’t. If anything he seemed to have lost interest, caught up in his new role in the council. Glaring at Arion, she ran towards their base at the canteena.
“Wait Masa!” cried Arion chasing after her. Masa could hear his footsteps behind her, growing closer. “It’s dangerous to go off by yourself. Come back! I’m sorry.” Masa didn’t listen, she continued to run, turning corner after corner through the narrow alleyways. Arion’s arms caught her, pulling her back as she fought him, but it was a lost cause. “I told you to stay still!” he yelled.
“Fine!” she said, glaring at him.
He ripped his shirt and bandaged her wound. “Masa, I find you incredibly attractive,” he said, smiling and her anger melted. “At first, I thought you were with Leron, but you two seem more like brother and sister than anything else. I stayed away and gave him time, but he hasn’t made a move so now I am making mine. Masa, I want you.”
Masa felt locked in his dark eyes. They drew her in, and the thought of his lips against hers brought butterflies to her stomach. He brushed her cheek and she smiled, moving toward her once more. This time she invited him, taking in his scent while his lips met hers. They touched gently and then harder. He pushed her towards the wall cupping her chin with one hand and running the other down her body.
The other men who had caught up to them cheered, and Arion looked back at them and laughed. “Come on, let’s go home,” he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the Canteena.
It was almost dark when they arrived. Masa emptied her bag onto the table along with the others. Arion disappeared toward the fire barrel where the council gathered in a circle, smiling back at her. She gave him a nod of approval and returned his smile.
Masa turned to go to her hiding place to think, but hesitated, watching Leron deep in discussion with the other council members. His dark face was barely visible in the flames, though his shirt, now in rags was bright enough. After all this time, she wondered why he had never changed it. Dressed like that and with his passive nature, he wouldn’t last more than five minutes out in the streets and was no real prospect for a future. She did love him, but he had never shown any indication of returning her feelings. For a long time, even she had waited, but he still hadn’t asked and now it was too late. Her feelings were moving on.
Leaving the others behind her, Masa climbed the storeroom ladder onto the roof. She needed a place to be alone and to think. On the edge of the building, she stared out at the sunset. They had come so far but were now stuck in Nuevo Laredo. They could not cross the international bridge. Even if they could get past the cartel that had made it their home, there was still the desert to cross. A few of the people who had joined them had spoken of rumors that all the major cities had been hit with bombs. Austin and Dallas were nothing but two great craters surrounded by radiation. If they could only find enough supplies to head out west they could find the prepper community along the border in West Texas. Her father had known a woman there by the name of Gerard. If Gerard’s computer had survived, she would have had access to satellite data on what had happened and could tell them where to go.
Masa picked up a rock and threw it off the roof. When she suggested they find the prepper community of West Texas, the council argued and became locked in disagreement. Leron who acted as their tie-breaker, voted against her, deciding it was a long shot to find some community in the middle of the desert. Of course, Masa couldn’t tell them where it was without revealing the maps in her pack.
The sun had almost fully set and Masa found herself nowhere. Her feelings were so tangled up over Leron and Arion that it was hard to focus. “I’m just another stupid teenage girl,” she muttered.
Leron snorted behind her, “You’re anything but stupid.” He sat beside her, joining her on the edge of the building and wrapping his arm around her.
“How did it go?”
“What? Oh, the council?” Leron sighed, “It looks like we are going to take Don Marco’s deal. If we can share what we have and work together to survive, then why not?”
“You’re not afraid of creating another Mattias?”
“No. This time any agreement will come with constraints,” he said.
“Aren’t you afraid they will take the deal and ignore any…wait…. did you use the word constraints?” Masa groaned, “You sound like a politician.”
Leron grinned. “And you look like a merc,” he said thumping the bandage around her arm and she yelped. His eyes went wide and he scowled at the bandage, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He looked up at her, eyes filled with worry and Masa’s heart sank. “This is from Arion’s shirt. Are you…and he…?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Masa snapped and Leron went silent.
The boy who had stared down Mattias after taking a beating from her and him wouldn’t look her in the eye. Instead, he stared off at the setting sun and was silent for a long time. He sighed and turned to leave.
“Seriously?” Masa demanded. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
Leron turned back, revealing tears forming in his eyes. “What do you want me to say, Masa? You’ve made your decision. I was waiting…”
“You waited too long… you should have acted. Arion did. He kissed me.”
“You want me to act, then fine!” he yelled and marched towards her. “I love you. I have loved you since I met you.” He pulled her towards him and met her lips with his in a long kiss. Masa’s breath caught in her throat, and butterflies filled her stomach. Her heart raced when she took in his scent. She ran her hand through his dreads, and down his neck, wanting more of him. It was nothing like with Arion. He didn’t just want her like Arion; he loved her and she loved him.
Leron pulled away, gazing into her eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I didn’t act because I was waiting for you,” he whispered. “I will leave you to make your decision. If you choose him, I won’t get in the way.”
Tears filled Masa’s eyes when he pulled away, his hand held onto hers until their fingertips touched and he let them fall. He smiled his gentle smile and backed away from her. The pain she felt in her chest was almost unbearable.
“Wait,” Masa cried, rushing toward him. He froze at the top of the ladder and turned. Before he could react, Masa wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. “I love you too, Leron.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers. His muscles relaxed and she felt his chest rise and fall against her cheek.
Leron held her tightly for a long time, rocking her in a dance across the roof. “I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he said, “I didn’t want you to fight because of how much I care about you, but if it’s what you want, I will support you.”
“It is.”
He sighed and nodded. “I’ll need to find you a different raid leader.”
The legacy car market is collapsing, and high tariffs cannot save it
At the risk of sounding xenophobic, why is it that Chinese students seemingly have next to no spatial awareness when walking in public?
I think I can answer that.
I first went to the US in fifth grade. I was a teacher’s favorite kind of kid back in China but I immediately got into detention in the US.
Because the rules were just different.
In the US students sat relaxed during class and could go to the bathroom. I was accustomed to sitting upright with a straight face the whole time in class.
It was recess that got me into trouble. At my school in the US they lined up the kids and walked everyone in a fine line to the next class. I didn’t get it. Recess should be for fun, for releasing all of our pent up energy sitting straight and firm during class. Chinese recess was as relaxed as classes were strict. We jump, shout, run, wrestle between class. Occassionly some students would even shoot at other students with fireworks.
My American classmates also felt uncomfortable with my absolute disregard for spatial awareness. In China students would put arms around one another, hit each other in the back, brawl on the floor, layer ourselves like American football players in the classroom, rob each other’s snack, or hold our classmates up and throw them down the stairs. While American classes where of very leisurely style, American kids appeared cold and pent up and little adults in comparison.
I guess your problem with Chinese students is simoly due to culture.
China Doesn’t Need America: The Why Trump’s Tariffs Are a JOKE to China and Will Make Them STRONGER!
Comix Interlude
Over 60, living alone, and not liking it?
Thirteen Dots
Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: Write a story that ends with a huge twist.… view prompt
Laurie Spellman
“Declan, you’re still thinking in lines of code. The subconscious is a different kind of program. It doesn’t follow the rules, does it?”
“I can fix things. I can debug this.”
“And yet, here you are, caught in a loop on Christmas. When you think you can find your way out, that’s another layer of code you’re stuck in. There’s no debugging for this. You have to feel your way out of Dreamland.” Barcelona faded away, and the Ferris wheel went dark.
The outcome of my life’s work jolted me awake, spinning my moral compass. The Dreamland Corporation built this machine—a portal to the unconscious where people could explore minds, relive memories, or even fulfill their desires. But the catch was that once you entered, the line between dream and reality blurred, and if you stayed too long, you might never wake up. Mind-surfer farms housed the endless bodies of people stuck inside. Dreamland takes from you what you’re willing to give—your thoughts, memories, even your sense of who you are.
💻💻💻💻💻
The new year came and went as I researched for weeks, surrounded by scattered data pads and flickering screens. Dr. Cortés is out there—somewhere. He is not dead, not entirely gone, but messed up in ways I never imagined. It makes sense now. He talked about merging the mind and the machine—his pursuit of immortality. I always knew he was driven—hell, obsessed—but this takes it to a new level.
I counted the freckles on Barcelona’s face–now only eight of them arcing into half a smile that didn’t reach her eyes anymore. She was running out of time, and I would never forgive myself. I wondered if I had already lost her. Was she ever really here at all? Or had she been a phantom of my imagination?
Barcelona’s eyes shifted between anger and grief. “I can see all of him, my Father, I mean. I know him better in Dreamland than when he was alive. His thoughts, his ideas—they’re… everywhere. But it’s just fragments of a man who abandoned me.”
“He didn’t abandon you, Barcelona. You’re chasing ghosts in his mind. Your Father was lost in a dreamscape he couldn’t wake up from like you.”
She sighed, “So Declan, what do you think I need?”
“Not just answers.” My gaze fell on her lips and freckles and then back to her eyes. I wanted to see her smile. “You need someone who sees you for who you are—not as Dr. Cortés’ daughter or a woman trying to assemble a puzzle that will never be whole… but as you.”
“Do you think you can fix all of this? Fix me, and get me out of here into the real world?”
“You’ve already fixed yourself—whether you see it or not. I won’t stop until I get you out of there.”
I spent five years at Dreamland, programming a paradoxical world with dense, opaque fog that muffled sounds and faces. Sometimes, the walls were gaps —curtains of light, black holes, or invisible thresholds that only revealed themselves when approached with intention. Walls ripple like water, shifting from solid to translucent. The topography transitions constantly, an imagination in motion, caught between sleep and waking, minds and memories.
💻💻💻💻💻
I designed time in Dreamland to flow in an unpredictable river, standing still or speeding up. A few moments stretch into what feels like hours or days in the real world, while whole weeks can pass quickly. Upon entry, you are given a code based on your DNA, which opens the digital door to your physical plane. You had to exit before your DNA faded into the system.
I tapped my fingers on the keys, revealing the data I had mined from Dreamland. I hacked the system using an old cipher, which is my invisible signature as a programmer. I built it into all of my code as a failsafe. After things in Dreamland went wrong and people started getting trapped, I became the fall guy, and that’s when I took up the pen and became an activist warning people about the dangers of AI.
I discovered that Cortés is a hybrid, part human, part digital, still alive—in a server, a neural network lost in what consumed him. He thought he could transcend to eternal consciousness. And maybe he did, in a way, but at what cost?
And God, Barcelona was beautiful, strong but broken. I needed to fix everything for her and the others trapped inside. I can bring Barcelona back from Dreamland and help her find peace. She deserves to know that not everything is a lie. He loved her and never stopped thinking about her. I saw it in his notes, in the things he wrote as her Father.
And I… I don’t know when it happened, but I care deeply, too.
💻💻💻💻💻
Now, I plan to enter Dreamland, and it’s not just the answers that matter; it’s what you give up when you try to find them. Some surfers think they can navigate the mazes without losing their minds or becoming part of the digital landscape. And when you come back, if you come back, you’re never quite whole. But still, the search calls to me, Barcelona calls to me.
Barcelona’s fiery red hair faded, and her image flickered in and out in a dying signal. She pleaded with me, “Don’t take the risk. You can help from where you are, but don’t let Dreamland pull you in, too.”
“I’m coming in to get you. It’s the only way I can save you. I’m not asking for your permission.”
“But what if we can’t get out once you’re in? You saw the reports.”
“I know what they say. People are getting lost in memories, but they’re just scared. Fear of letting go, of facing the truth.”
She sighed, “There’s so much to process, and I’m getting weaker by the minute. I don’t fully understand how it works, but I’ll do whatever you decide.”
“I’ll enter Dreamland with a new code and a copy of my DNA. I’ve hacked the system, uploaded the code, and set it to monitor the stability. We’ll meet in a week inside your father’s fondest memory of your childhood home in Narragansett.”
She sighed and turned away. “I haven’t been in his mind for months. It’s too much—depressing and overwhelming. I wish we had met in the real world, not in this hellscape. I care about you; I do. Do you think it will work?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Declan, have you considered what’s at stake? You don’t even really know me. I’m just a ghost of who I was.”
I stepped closer and took her hands. We gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment. I wanted to hold her in the flesh, not this empty machine void of physical senses.
“I’m not leaving you in Dreamland another minute.” I leaned in, the freckles on her face stretched to a smile. The dreamscape burst with white lights as our lips brushed together.
💻💻💻💻💻
Dreamland was precisely what I expected it to be. I’m reduced to a shadow inside the subconscious of a mad neuroscientist. We stood together at sunset on the lush green grass of the Cortés family home facing the Atlantic Ocean. Barcelona turned five that day, and we were at her birthday party. She blew out the candles and ate cake, bouncing on her Father’s knee. We watched as she smiled; thirteen dots had already bloomed on her face.
Dr. Cortés emerged as a digital hybrid from memory and turned to his daughter. “I’m sorry, Barcelona, for leaving you alone all those years ago. Watching you, a mind surfer, broke my heart, only to find you here now, trapped in my memories.”
Barcelona’s image flickered her smile, and her faded freckles twisted in sorrow. “Liar! You trapped me here forever!”
Dr. Cortés smiled at me, shaking his head, “Declan Hartley, I knew you would try to save Barcelona. I spent all those years watching you write the code that brought my vision to life, but you were constantly questioning the morality of this place. Everything is exactly how it should be now, and the system will be stabilized.”
“Declan…” Barcelona whispered, “There’s something I need to tell you, something I’ve realized.”
The dreamscape pulsed and hummed, the lines between reality and the unconscious thinning. The magnetic force of Dreamland was tempting me to give in and stay forever. I shook it off, focusing on Barcelona.
“You don’t need to tell me anything. You’re going to be okay.”
But she didn’t smile. Instead, her gaze grew distant, as if she were seeing something beyond me. “Declan, don’t… you don’t understand. The code you wrote, the double helix… it wasn’t just your DNA you were uploading.”
I froze in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean? What was it?”
Her eyes met mine, wide and pained. “It was always mine.”
“What? No, I made sure it was only mine. I checked it over a hundred times.”
“You didn’t write the code, not in the way you think.” Her voice was fainter, and her edges blurry. “I wrote it. I taught you how to write it. Every line, every algorithm—it was me. It was always me.”
“No, that can’t be right. I stumbled backward. Barcelona—the girl with the fiery red hair and thirteen freckles that curved into a smile, the girl I had fallen for—wasn’t who I thought she was.
The hum of Dreamland grew more insistent while my consciousness started slipping away. The final step of the code was ready to execute, and the digital doorway was beginning to open. Hundreds of mind-surfers appeared in a fog on the lawn, waiting for the exit to unlock. Their voices grew louder and more desperate as the dreamscape walls turned liquid like the ocean around us.
“I finally understand the truth,” I said, my voice shaking. “Dreamland—it’s not some bug in the code. It’s a prison. A trap. You’re not the victim, are you? You are Dreamland.”
She looked at me, eyes heavy with regret. “I never wanted it to be like this. I thought I could fix it but eventually became part of the system. The algorithm feeds off your fears and the need to protect me, to save me from something that isn’t even real. I created this nightmare, and now I’m stuck in it, just like you.”
“So all this time, I’ve been trying to save you, but you’re the one who trapped me here. You’re the reason none of this makes sense.”
She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. “I never wanted to. But now I can’t escape. You were never meant to rescue me—you were the key to my destruction.”
“You used me… you used my love to keep feeding the machine.”
“I never wanted to hurt you. But no, I can’t undo what I’ve done. But you did save all of them.”
The AI wanted me—my mind, my code. “Barcelona—what have you done? What have I done?”
The exit program was complete, my DNA merging with the system in a way I hadn’t intended. My mind was being sucked into the machine. The lines between us blurred, and I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began. The last thing I remembered was Barcelona’s face, with thirteen reddish-brown dots curved in a smile.
Richard Wolff: “Something BIG Is About to Happen in America!”
How bad is the Russian economy today?
This is a typical stretch of M-1. It’s a westbound highway that connects Moscow, capital of Russia, with Belarus where it runs across the country from the capital Minsk to Brest on the Polish border.
On the Russian side it runs through every town and village on the way slowing down the journey considerably. It used to culminate in Warsaw when it was part of Eastern Bloc making it the most important highway in all of Russia.
The photo that I took from my car the other day tells you all you need to know about the state of economic affairs in Russia. The moneys earmarked to build this important federal road included a construction of lampposts, guardrails, road shoulders and three lanes each way but none of that was built.
By the time the road construction began half of the money had been embezzled by the public officials. It is a standard practice and this is how things are done in Putin’s Russia.
Creating a problem for yourself and then trying to solve it on the fly is the Russian way of doing things. The persistent road problem is how to create a road when there’s very little money left after almost everything has been embezzled.
If you don’t build any road, Kremlin might get angry and heads will roll. The point of embezzlement is to spend lavishly on one’s lifestyle but it cannot be enjoyed from the jail.
The contractors are hired to charge the least for the job and they are instructed to build the least. Notice in the photo that the road shoulder is not asphalted. If you strand a bit to the right you gonna find yourself in the ditch.
The barrier between the opposite lane is very narrow. Thus both lanes are an absolute hazard and given the fact that the road twists and turns you have to stay alert all the time. And the horrendous accidents that you see along the way prove it.
I was driving under a pouring rain with massive trucks and semis barreling by constantly changing lanes because drivers are bored staying in the same slow lane.
The lanes are narrow even for a small passenger car and you have to be mindful that the drivers around you are insane and don’t care about their lives let alone lives of others.
This seems ridiculous that officials in the largest country in the world that crave world domination are totally incapable of building a more or less decent road. On the radio, a comedian quipped: “How’s that possible that we built 11 massive football stadiums for World Cup and yet we are incapable of producing 11 football players of international stature?”
In Belarus, however, which is a much poorer country than Russia but where corruption is not tolerated the lanes are wider, there are guardrails and road doesn’t go through towns and villages. It’s not about nation’s wealth. It’s about its citizens sanity.
Living in Putin’s dictatorship is not what Westerners stereotypically think is like. It’s rather the opposite of people marching in files under strict directives: people don’t play by the rules, don’t follow any laws because the elites don’t.
There is, in other words, a total mayhem and in fact central diktat tries to address this mayhem with extreme measures but fails every time because Putin is afraid of repressions as they might backfire on him and every measure turns into a half-measure and another opportunity for theft.
For example, central database for personal information has been hacked and personal information is sold back to the state and individuals by the hackers for a fee. When everyone is a thief in the elites, the populace copies.
They did build a chain link fence – in Putin’s Russia fences are everywhere to protect private property of the rich – as a containment device from deer and other wild animals.
The highway stops every few miles at the crosswalk. Money for the overpasses were stolen too. So local residents have to walk across the highways and all the cars have to come to a screeching stop after driving at 80 miles an hour. Nobody cares about all the needless casualties. Life is dirt cheap in Russia.
A Belgium license plate on this truck headed to Moscow.
At the LukOil gas station, they didn’t bother to clear ice from the territory. It’s melted forming puddles. What if you fall and break you leg would you be able to sue LukOil? Good luck with that. Half a dozen executives of this private oil company have fallen from tall windows in the last three years. They also wanted to sue their employer.
Indifference to one’s environment and one’s own life- this is Russia in a nutshell.
Cool discovery
Impressive floor mosaic (8.48 x 2.84 metres or 27′ long x 9′ tall), the largest ancient mosaic yet discovered in Europe, with the rape of Helen of Troy by Theseus. From House 1.5 of Block 5 in Pella, known as “house of the abduction of Helen.” The figures are identified by inscriptions. A four-horsed chariot is depicted with the charioteer, Phorbas ΦΟΡΒΑΣ. Theseus has seized Helen, who holds out her arms to her friend Dianeira.
325-300 BC. Archaeological Museum of Pella/Greece. 🇬🇷 Photo from Facebook:
Pella Archaeological site. Detail of the Abduction of Helen mosaic floor with Phorbas ΦΟΡΒΑΣ. Wikipedia:
Central panel of the Abduction of Helen by Theseus. Wikipedia:
Helen abducted, detail. Wikipedia:
STONE TEMPLE PILOTS – PLUSH | REACTION
Sugar Plum Coffee Cake
Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
- 1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
- 1/2 cup walnuts
- 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
- 2 cups buttermilk pancake and biscuit mix
- 1 apple
- 1 slightly beaten egg
- 1 (16.5 ounce) can purple plums, drained
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 3/4 cup milk
Instructions
- Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
- Place melted butter into bottom of deep-dish baker. Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over butter.
- Peel apple with apple peeler/corer/slices. Separate apple into rings. Layer apple rings over sugar mixture; do not overlap rings.
- Cut plums in half and remove seeds. Place a plum half in each apple ring center, rounded side down. Place remaining plum halves in deep-dish baker around apple slices.
- Chop walnuts with food chopper and sprinkle over plums.
- In bowl, combine biscuit mix, egg, sugar and milk with whisk. Spread evenly over nuts.
- Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until lightly browned.
- Cool for 5 minutes and invert onto serving tray.
- Serve warm.
Attribution
Pampered Chef