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rappsjournal · 5 years

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THE FATE OF US. (CHAPTER 1)

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

Word Count: 3,161

Warnings: Violence, terror attacks, character death, slight swearing

A/N: Hello tumblr so i am here to ruin your lives with this idea that i’ve had for a series. I wanted to start off with a shorter and slower chapter to see if anyone would like this concept or not, so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback or to send requests for future stuff!

Summary: The reader has just started to build up a life for herself after losing her parents to a horrible terror attack. Years after her loss she works as a teacher in Istanbul when an unexpected tragedy leads her to Mitch Rapp himself.

The truth about the great outcomes in life is that it all lies in how the world decides to move that particular moment. If you’re lucky, you might be led into the best possible future you could imagine. Call it fate or base it on science, –––it doesn’t really matter. In the end it’s all beyond you. And if you’re like me, you may have passed by the love of your life without knowing it, and it probably didn’t hurt.

The loss doesn’t tingle through your bones like you’d expect it to. Even worse, you may even think that you’ve got it all figured out. You may have looked at the wrong person and thought that they’re the one.

I probably made all the wrong moves there is. Yet, somehow the universe gave me a wormhole. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe i dug my way through one.

I’m half awake when the rain hits the windows in gentle taps, causing me to slowly shift my body to the side on the bed with a small hum. As i turn, the presence of a warm body pulls me in. He’s laying on his chest beside me, peacefully asleep when my lips curl to a light smile, and i take in the sight of every detail on his face in the comfortable silence. His dark, messy bed hair. His tan skin and the morning stubble.

This is it. This is the man that changed my life.

The images flash by when my eyes close moments later. The sounds, the scents, all coming back to me. I’m taken back to that day ––––––the very beginning of the chaos.

The chair beneath me creaks slightly as i look through the paper in my hand, finally peeking up to the nervous student standing before me. Pursing my lips in an attempt to dampen my smile, i notice the excitement growing on the young girl’s face when i finally scribble down her grade on the paper and hand it back to her.

“ Keep up the great work, Elma. ”

I finally give up my weak attempt to stop my smile when the nine year old student hugs the paper to her chest and squeals happily. She is definitely one of the most dedicated students i’ve had the pleasure of meeting during the two years of working in this primary school.

“ Thank you so much, ms Y/L/N! My mom’s gonna be so proud! ”

Giving her a gentle nod, the girl rushes back to her seat in the empty classroom and stuffs the paper inside her backpack, clearly in a big rush to run home. The orange rays from the sunset outside shines through the windows, and i sigh in relaxation, ready to call it a day.

By the time i gather my belongings, Elma has properly gathered her own and is now waiting for me with a big, bright smile on her lips. We both walk out of the classroom, heading down the empty hall while she talks about her plans for tomorrow night. My heels click against the floor, and i take a moment to appreciate the clean, empty hall that is usually crowded with students during the day.

“ Since tomorrow’s friday and i passed my test, my mom promised me that i could have a sleepover, ” she pauses, looking up at me with her bright eyes.

“ Ms Y/L/N, do you have any plans for tomorrow night? ”

Before i can answer, we are both taken off guard by the voice calling my name. Elma and i both turn to find one of the teachers, Aram, catching up to us. I tuck my hair behind my ear and re-adjust my bag-strap on my shoulder, feeling a little self-conscious.

“ Aram, ” I greet, trying to calm the hurricane spiraling within my chest. Elma peers up, shifting her gaze between us both in curiosity.

“ I see our dedicated teacher finally decided to head home, ” He smiles, and i can swear that i can feel the heat on my cheeks radiate into the air. Aram then shifts his gaze to Elma and bows in a prince-like gesture, making the girl smile.

“ And hello to you, princess. ”

“ Hi Mr Kocak. ” Elma giggles when Aram ruffles her hair, bringing his attention to me again.

“ I didn’t know you were still here, ” I admit, smirking a little as i fold my arms over my chest.

“ Well, you can’t be the only one staying late. I gotta impress the boss too. ” He teases, and shoots back with a smirk of his own. I scoff slightly, shaking my head and walking towards the exit again when Elma runs to catch up to me, holding my hand.

“ See you tomorrow, ” I call over my shoulder, and he smirks, wiggling his fingers in a light wave.

“ Sure hope so, ”

That’s the funny thing about life. You think you have it all figured out. You’d think that Aram would be a chance, a face to wake up to in the future –––––– but the world has a different plan for you.

The streets of Istanbul tend to be crowded at this time. With people heading back home from work or simply going out to enjoy the cool evening air, it tends to be quite a journey until you finally get home. I moved here about four years ago in an attempt to start fresh. My mother and father were two of the several nationalities taking up one of the cities in northern Iraq. Since my father was a turkmenian, it was easier to adjust to the language here once i moved. We didn’t have a lot of relatives apart from my aunt back in Iraq, so there wasn’t much to leave behind apart from horrid, haunting memories. The system, the government, the constant battles between parties that stitched religion into a mask, an excuse for a selfish agenda. It was all a mess. The American troops soon invaded the country, and it only took one more battle before i, among others, lost my parents in an attack.

It was hard to process, to say the least. I remember the countless days spent on tears, on anger and pain. I remember agony and grief to a measure that a huge, black hole punched through my chest. It left me empty.

I had to get out of there.

So i moved to Istanbul, the bridge between the middle east and Europe. Not too far from the culture i was used to, but not too similar to remind me of the tragedy i called home. I finished college and started working as a teacher in a primary school in the less fancy side of the city. The people here are relatively poor, but there are some that could be considered middle class. With the group of dealers trying to make a living, the easy way out can be tempting. However, if you focus on your goal, beyond the crowd, you could manage. I’ve managed to put together a decent life, and while it tends to get lonely sometimes, there is no denying that i’m content with what i’ve got. Even though, at times i find myself picturing what it would feel like to finally settle down, get married, have kids and get old. The classic life, the one my family never were able to enjoy.

I close the door behind me as i enter the silent apartment. The scent of familiar wood and clean sheets fill my nose, making the smile forming on my lips inevitably effortless. The first thing i’m dying to get rid of are those painfully uncomfortable heels, which i gladly kick aside. A heavy bag drops from my shoulder as i head for the bathroom, ready to wash away the exhaustion from the day.

An hour later on my way to buy a few groceries, i walk past Mitch Rapp. Not a glance, not a touch. Just two people walking past each other on a thursday evening in a busy city. What we don’t know, however, is that we have the same black holes punched through our chests. The pain that loss brought upon us, and how we’re trying to fill it with something. Anything.

My choice was life.

And Mitch ?

Mitch had chosen revenge.

The CIA agent had recently arrived in Istanbul, on his way towards a secret location which Stan Hurley and Irene Kennedy had instructed him to go to. That night he prepares for the execution of Hamdi Sharif, reading over his files when he lays in bed. And i? I’m back in my apartment, grading the papers scattered across a messy desk. Both of us so focused, but so different.

A wrinkle forms between my brows as my eyes scan over next week’s schedule, hand reaching to grab my coffee. ---- All while Mitch drags his eyes over the files in his hands again, and again. Just as lost into what he’s so devoted to. It’s the only way to fill that hole. The only way to neglect its existence.

And then it comes, the sound of the mosque outside. I breathe out, relaxing my body and closing my eyes.

Breathe.

Early that morning, Mitch has successfully killed Hamdi Sharif. Despite the fact that his instructions were clear and his instructors explicitly told him to wait for Hurley’s arrival in a couple of days, the assassin takes the initiative and finishes the job. He is on his way back from a ‘jog’ when his eyes capture a bigger issue. Where it leads him next is the beginning of my destruction. My school.

A bad feeling.

It bubbles through my stomach all morning when i look out of the windows inside the classroom. The sound of students in the background is damped when i chew on my bottom lip, eyes trained on the yard outside. Something doesn’t feel right.

“ Ms Y/L/N? ”

I snap out of my thoughts and turn to the student before me, who stands with a paper in his hand that he extends to me. I blink, clear my voice and take the paper, giving the student a nod accompanied by a smile.

“ Thank––”

The words don’t make it past my lips before the roof crashes down with a loud noise, the sound of screams and a loud explosion thundering through the air around me in no time. I quickly duck under my desk, pulling the student with me while i yell at the others to take shelter. Another explosion rips through the air, and this time i can hear the roof crumbling down, resulting several screams and cries.

I panic, my heart wrenching at the thought of how many of those kids must be hurt or wounded from the attack. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my pulse drumming in my ears when i freeze around the scared student in my arms. I turn the crying boy so he can face me, hold him firmly by the shoulders and tell him not to move a muscle. Once he nods, i crawl out beneath the desk and check the catastrophe that is the classroom. Everything is destroyed, and i lose my breath when i notice how few of them actually made it.

“ Everybody stay down! Everything’s going to be o-––”

The wall crashes in with brutal force, sending glass shattering over everything coming its way. I’m sent flying into the nearest wall by the force, a sharp pain biting into my shoulder and back before i’m knocked out.

The rest is a blur. I recall small glimpses of students running for their lives, others crushed by yet another force of wall or broken parts of the roof falling down. My ears are ringing sharply, head pulsating with pain while my body feels numb.

I can’t move. I can’t even think.

It’s hard to pinpoint just how long it is, but at some point, i feel a pair of strong arms pick me up. Everything begins to spin around me and i try to observe the blurry figure above me. The features i can’t quite make out aren’t familiar, which sends a bolt of panic through me. Who is this person? Is he responsible for the attack?

My lips move, but i cannot hear a word forming. Moving my vision to the side, i see Elma. Her body is crushed under a massive pile of broken rocks and pieces, and her breathing is quick and uneven. I jerk at the sight, lips moving to mumble her name ----but i cannot hear my voice. The warmth of a tear tickles the side of my cheek, and when i close my eyes, i cannot open them again.

It’s too late.

It’s happening all over again.

When i open my eyes i am met with an unfamiliar ceiling. For a few seconds i simply stare at it, allowing my head to register my limbs, the ache in them. The previous events flash by my eyes in a horrid blur, and i’m not prepared for any of it. I instantly sit up, panic filling me once again as i recall the stranger, and the heart-wrenching sight Elma as life was drained out of her.

A sharp pain thunders from my shoulder and back and i flinch out a small groan. My eyes catch the sight of myself as i bow my head. I’m wearing a T-shirt that is too big and a pair of boy shorts. I mumble a low, panicked ‘what the fuck’ under my breath, looking up and around me. The room doesn’t have any windows, and i’m starting to wonder if i’m held captive. My head still aches when i slowly get up on my feet, starting to inspect my surroundings. A small, open kitchen, a wardrobe, a few drawers and a door which i assume leads to a bathroom. I walk up to it and open the door to reassure myself, and it turns out to be just that. Closing the door with a deep, quivering sigh, i finally collect the courage to tip-toe towards the next door.

My fingers shake when i unlock it and reach out to grab the handle. Just when i begin to twist it, the door is pulled open–––––and i’m met by a man’s face staring back at me.

I’m completely in shock, fear bolting through me when i stare at him.

“ I see you’re up. ” his voice doesn’t sound as deep as i expected it to be, but what really catches my attention is that he’s not speaking turkish, but arabic. And yet, before i can respond, he slips inside, holding a bag.

“ How’s your head? ” I watch as he closes the door behind him and makes his way towards the small kitchen, emptying the bag which consists of a bread loaf, a few vegetables and what looks like cheese and butter. When i don’t respond, the man looks over his shoulder at me, and the shocked expression on my face begins to fade into a frown.

“ Who are you? ” My voice, despite the weakness in my limbs, comes out steady and somewhat stern. Living in Istanbul for so many years didn’t seem to affect my arabic too much, i could still speak it fluently.

The man turns his attention back to his task again, starting to slice the bread with a knife.

“ The one who saved you, ”

“ I don’t believe that. ”

“ You’re alive, aren’t you? ”

I don’t respond for a long moment, gripping the edge of the overly sized T-shirt and pressing my lips together. This fear is unreal.

“ Who are you? ” I ask again, this time sterner.

“ Mike. ” he says simply once a long moment passes.

I almost scoff.

“ Mike. ” I repeat, the tone of my voice revealing just how little i trusted him with that answer.

“ Why have you brought me here ? ”

“ There was an attack at the school. I saw you wounded. I brought you here. ”

Everything about this felt like a lie. Like he was keeping something dangerous and dark from me. I take the opportunity to look him over when he speaks. His dark, long locks, the tan skin, the light stubble and the black shirt hugging his athletic body. Who was this guy, really? He was definitely not a parent or a familiar face that i had seen at the school.

“ Why bring me here? Why not take me to a hospital? ” i question, frown deepening.

“ You ask a lot of questions. ”

“ You don’t give me enough answers. ” I bite back, stepping closer to him.

The man finally turns around, his expression a clear display of annoyance despite how blank and controlled it is. He looks down at me; towering over me.

“ You’re not turkish, ” I murmur, narrowing my eyes as i study his features. “ –––but you’re not arab either. ”

His expression remains just as blank and solid, but i notice a slight flex to his jaw.

“ American, aren’t you? ” i speak in english, slight bitterness in my voice. Of course, another american jumps in to play the hero, only to make things so much worse than they are.

“ I would be a little more careful if i were you. ” he speaks lower, a clear warning in his tone and the look in his eyes. It all falls into place. He’s speaking english now, and it’s clear to notice that it is in fact his native language. “ I could’ve easily left you for dead. ”

“ Why didn’t you? ” I question.

“ That’s classified information. ” I scoff, folding my arms over my chest, and he walks past me towards the wardrobe.

“ I don’t know how things work for you people in America, but here this is called kidnapping. ”

He doesn’t react as strongly as he should, only searches through the wardrobe with a slight scoff.

“ Trust me, lady. I’d love nothing more than to get rid of you. ”

Before i can answer, there is a loud knock on the door, which instantly captures Mike’s attention. He rushes over to me, grabbing my arm and yanking me towards the bed. I try to break free, opening my mouth to protest but he places a hand over my mouth, hushing me.

“ Listen, and listen carefully. If you want to walk out of here alive, you need to keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. Understood? ” something about the look his eyes tells me i would regret not listening to him, so i nod my head with wide eyes, allowing him to push me down on the mattress. Who is this guy, and who is he with?

My heart is pounding inside my chest, and i try to control my rapid breaths while i sit and listen for any noise outside.

Mike curses under his breath, looking quite upset and nervous as he heads for the door. The fear of what’s coming is eating at me, but i try to stay calm where i sit. Mike twists the handle, and Stan Hurley walks inside ---- his eyes set on me like daggers.

He’s not happy.

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp imagine #mitch rapp smut #american assassin #american assassin imagine #american assassin smut #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien smut #dob #dob smut #rappsjournal

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warrensb · 5 years

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Prologue - My Saviour Arrives

Two and a half hours later, just as I am beginning to think that I might be spending the night at the border, my saviour arrives.

A battered yellow Syrian taxicab draws in, flashes its headlights and drives towards me.

Beaming, the driver rolls down the widow and asks if I am looking for a ride. Without even asking how much he wants, I grab my case, dump it into the trunk and hop into the front set before he can get away.

“I’m Warren,” I say, sticking out my hand, and pumping his with the excited relief of someone who has just been told he’s going to live. “I need to get to Beirut. Going all the way?”

As we coast towards the Lebanese border post at Masna’a, I ask the driver, whose name is Mahmoud, why he’s still making the trip. Isn’t he worried about the missile strikes?

“Of course,” he replies. “But there’s too much money to be made to worry. Anyway, our lives are in God’s hands. If it’s my time, there’s nothing I can do about it. Right now, I’m going to pick up a guy who called an hour ago. He’s promised $1500, if I’ll take him and his family from Beirut to Damascus.”

That’s quite a sum. Momentarily, I blanche. Mahmoud laughs.

“Don’t worry, khaweja. You are a bonus. I thought maybe I would not have any passengers. People aren’t really travelling to Beirut these days, so you get a good price.” It’s the second time that day I’ve heard someone refer to me using the polite term for term for ‘foreigner’. I suppose I should ask what that ‘good price’ might be but as I’m already in the car and I really don’t have any other choice, I figure it’s best to leave any potential disagreements until we arrive.

It may be old truism, but there’s definitely profit in war. Three days into this one, Mahmoud is making money hand over fist. A journey that cost $15 a head a few days ago now runs to a minimum of $100.

“Yesterday when it got bad, one Kuwaiti guy offered me $2000 to take him, his wife and daughter to Damascus. I told him he had to pay up front and then I picked up four more people on the way.” Mahmoud’s eyes crinkle. “He started to shout and threaten but when I told him I’d be happy to return his money and leave him by the road to go with someone else, he quickly stopped yelling. That was a really good trip.”

Not that the others have been bad, either. By cramming seven or eight passengers into the cab, he’s been making upwards of $1000 a run. Multiply that by the three or four runs he’s been making a day and it’s little wonder Mahmoud hasn’t had time to bathe. He’s making more in a day than he normally makes in a month, probably longer.

“That,” he says, nodding at his feet with a cheeky grin, “is the smell of money.”

On the edge of Masna’a, we pass the still smoking remains of the cars hit earlier that day, and the unshakable resolve I’ve felt since Thursday, wavers. Suddenly, I find myself to wondering why the hell I am going back to Beirut. I am a journalist, but I rarely write about politics or war. I’ve made my living from the lighter stuff; features on architecture, art, design, travel and the odd social issue from time to time. I have reported from conflict zones, southern Lebanon during the Israeli occupation, the West Bank and briefly, Iraq, but by no stretch of the imagination am I a war journalist. I’m not even sure whether I will cover this one, once I get back. Truth be told, I’m not really sure why I’m going back at all. I just know that watching the city I love being destroyed on television makes me feel like I am dying.

Mahmoud starts cracking jokes. They aren’t particularly funny but they keep me from thinking about what I’m doing. Him too, I imagine. My intestines, locked in stony constipation from the moment I’d seen those missiles slam into Beirut International on Thursday morning, begin to roil and my stomach feels like it’s trying to digest itself.

By way of distraction, I run through the route home in my head. The Beirut-Damascus highway, which cuts straight across the Beka’a Valley and up over the mountains is closed because the new bridge at Mdeirej, the highest in the Middle East, was bombed earlier in the day. That leaves the old road, which zigzags across the valley, through the vineyards of Zahle and then up and over the mountains to the Mediterranean, a narrow, twisting ribbon of poorly-lit, pot-holed tarmac best navigated by day.

The Lebanese border post is similarly deserted. I get out and walk towards Immigration. It’s so dark and so quiet that from the car park, I can hear the sound of some nearby television broadcasting details of the latest airstrikes. As if to underscore the news, the dull thud of explosions echoes across the Beka’a.

On normal days, Masna’a is a circus of honking horns and people clamouring to get in or out but once again, I’m alone. There’s no one at Immigration, so I call out for assistance. A few seconds later, a trio of rather bemused border police pop their heads around a door. Adjusting his belt and smoothing his hair back into place, as though he’s just woken from a nap, one of them ambles over and takes my passport.

“Where did you fly from today? Dubai? Journalist? Ah, yes. Bien sûr. Hamdillah as-salemeh. Welcome home.”

With a flourish, he stamps me in and hands my passport back. He doesn’t even bother asking for my residency permit.

“You know there’s a war, right? Yes? Well, OK then. Allah ma’ak.”

Passport in hand, I get back into the cab. Mahmoud slaps the steering wheel.

“Ready?” he says, starting the engine.

I’m not, really. I peer out the window and up at the night sky. It’s cloudless, a carpet of gently twinkling lights. I check to see if any of them are moving. Or flashing. The way I imagine fighter planes would probably look from the ground at night. Thankfully, the heavens appear to be stationary. My head, however, feels like it is spinning. So, no bombers. Well, none I can see, anyway.

We roll slowly towards the exit. Mahmoud turns off the headlights “so the planes won’t see us”. For a minute, I’m really impressed. Then I remember that modern missiles are heat-seeking. Even with the lights off, the car’s engine will probably be hot enough to home in on, especially if, as now seems likely, there is no other traffic on the road.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hope the Israeli air force won’t notice us. Or that if they do, they’ll leave us alone. Or that if they don’t, at least we don’t see the missiles coming.

I think of Joseph, a sweet, generous and kind-hearted man, my Lebanese brother, who is waiting anxiously (and angrily) for me in Beirut. He has packed his family off to his brother-in-law’s house in the mountains in the north of Lebanon and was preparing to leave himself, when I called him that morning to say I was on my way back.

“What? Why in God’s name would you do that? ” Joseph had shouted after a moment of stunned silence, his voice rising by several decibels in the process. “Anyway, you can’t. There’s no airport. It’s blown up. How are you going to get in?”

I told him that I was about to get on a plane to Damascus, take a taxi across the Beka’a and that I’d be home by the evening. Even before I finished explaining, he’d begun swearing.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The Israelis are bombing everywhere. The Beka’a too. Do you want to die? Stay there. You don’t need to come back. I can’t believe it! Stay in stupid Dubai. It’s safe there. Do you hear me? Do not come back to Beirut! Ya Allah, is this boy stupid, or just crazy?”

We get cut off. I try to redial but I can’t get through. The lines are busy. Or down. Or blown-up. I wish I could have told Joseph that I am coming back because Beirut is my home, that it is the place where some of the people that matter the most to me live, that it is part of my heart and that I can’t bear to be away while the place and the people I care about are in danger, but his anger, born of concern, makes such rationalisation seem flimsy. Why was I going back to a country that hundreds of thousands of people were busy trying to flee? What the hell was I doing? Maybe I was mad.

The car stops. I must look a bit green because Mahmoud reaches over and taps me on the chest.

“Don’t worry, English. No planes,” he says, looking up and out of the window and then tapping himself on the chest. “Heart of iron, my friend, heart of iron.”

As the gate opens, I flash my passport at the guard. He couldn’t possibly be less interested. Abdicating any and all responsibility, he waves us through wearily. Mahmoud guns the engine. And then, at 160 kilometres an hour, we shoot across the border into darkness, straight into a war.

#2006 War #Taxi #Hiking

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calamitouscynic · 5 years

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so I figure since it’s Veteran’s Day I should talk about my family that’s served mostly just to. type it out. give it that I put it on paper now lets not touch this ever again kind of thing but with more of a “I should care more but for some reason I’m nearly completely indifferent” feel than normal

my dad retired from the marine corps and... well he’s a jarhead alright, he once drank a jar of oil spit and other mystery fluids for like, 20 bucks. he was drunk in hong kong when he found out my mom was pregnant with me (accident number 2, speaking how may I help you?), he’s got ptsd from Iraq and Afghanistan and I think he was in Kuwait for awhile but not 100% on that.

I know one of my great uncle’s (louie, maybe?) told him he’d kill him if my dad joined the marines (and his own son who ended up in the Navy, I think) so my dad did it anyway. My mom talks about dad enlisting like a change, like an evolution into someone she liked and loved and ended up marrying - she said before he enlisted he didn’t have any direction, no drive, but afterwards? afterwards he was someone she could see herself marrying and they did. six or so months later my sister was born premature and luckily she inherited both our parents stubborn asshole-ness and survived and talked and walked until it hurt too much (after high school graduation - she walked across the stage and got a standing ovation). but my dad.

my dad’s a guy and he’s scary when he shouts, and I think I’ve only made him cry a max of three times - and only one time where I know for sure he cried. He;s never threatened me against joining the military he just wants to know if I am, why and it had better be a damn good reason. I don’t think I’ve ever said it, and I don’t know if I ever will, but my dad’s the only reason I’ve ever wanted to join the military, that’s it. that’s the whole of it. my dad’s my biggest reason not because I think he’s the good guy who saved lives but because he was directionless and gained direction, gained friends, gained family, he doesn’t give a shit what you think of him, he doesn’t give a shit who you are and. I want to not care about other people that much, I want to gain direction and the only example I have to follow is his.

maybe someday I’ll earn my own direction and feel like it’s an actual tangible thing and not the directionless path I’m on now.

one of my dad’s friends from the Marine’s killed himself a little bit ago. I don’t know why, I don’t know much of anything - I know my dad loved him. I know he had a wake and I could have gone and I didn’t because I didn’t feel like it would be right when I don’t feel like I knew him enough even though he came to my graduation party and my dad loved him. I don’t know, I just know my dad misses him and I wish I had gotten to know him better that I did.

my grandfather served in vietnam in the Air Force and he doesn’t talk about it. He has Alzheimer’s, Parkinsons, dementia, and he was exposed to agent orange. he’s a set in his ways, christian old man, kind of an asshole, stubborn beyond all reason and in the hospital after surgery still as far as I know.

I don’t always like him, but I do love him, and he’s. he’s himself.

and he’s dying, though my mom is doing everything she can to help him live up to and including telling my grandmother and aunt and cousins to stop enabling him he’s doing fine, to shut up he’s doing what he’s supposed, to no he can’t have cereal or he’ll choke and. I don’t know. he’s lived this far, he’s gotten here to today and I don’t know what I’ll do when he does die. I don’t know what I’ll do when either of them die.

I don’t know. I just. who are we - who am I but a combination of all the people I’ve known and loved and lived with, around, by. who am I but the effects of the people I know. What does what I know about them say about what they could be going through without me knowing,

my dad can’t work - he’s too fucked up, he has ptsd and so many health issues that don’t look like they exist even though he has to get (marrow?) transfusions every so often because he has brittle bones like his mom, like my sister. I know he feels a little useless, I know he loves hearing from me, I know he loves me and my sister and my mom but

what next

#mine #text #kieran talks #kieran.veterans day #Do Not Reblog This///#delete later #dont even look at it #(or do I don't care just dont come talking to me about it)

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ohpapiseo · 6 years

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This is written as a part of the F/F Valentine’s Day Gift Exchange hosted by @ffexchange This is written for @akiko-natsuko

Hello, my dear! You asked for a touch angst and hurt comfort… I might have gone slightly overboard with it and I AM SO SORRY. I am going to put a trigger for slight gore just because idk how sensitive you are but it will only be one small but it’s still there.

If it’s too angsty, I’m more than willing to write you another oneshot... one that is more romantic and ‘valentine’s day worthy’ and I am so sorry that this is slightly overdue. I hope that you will like it anyway... T^T

pairing: Fareeha Amari (Pharah) x Angela Ziegler (Mercy) genre: angst, hurt comfort, slight trigger warning for gore, a supporting medic girlfriend, happy ending!!

It was not a common occurrence for Fareeha to have nightmares. So whenever she did, it was not a pleasant experience, to say the least. But most times, she was alone and that was fine. Fareeha would much rather suffer alone than anyone see her at her weakest.

Since the death of her mother, Fareeha had built a wall around herself, insisting that she was fine, that she was strong and would only grow stronger. It seemed that she was lying not only to her friends and to the rest of Overwatch, her family, but she was lying to herself too.

Fareeha was strong; she went on to join the army, and was more than capable to join Overwatch, something she had wanted to do since she was a young girl. However, the disbanding of the organisation had shattered that dream.

Or had it…

“Fareeha, what are you thinking about?”

The young woman glanced over her shoulder, noticing Angela standing right behind her. She gave Fareeha a smile, one that filled the latter with warmth.

“Oh, sorry… Just got lost in thought.”

Angela gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, before ushering her to bed. Sometimes, it was hard for her to put behind that Fareeha was no longer that little girl that Angela used to run into whenever she came to the Watchpoint as a student, and old habits really did die hard.

“I’m not a baby, Angela.” Fareeha chuckled, but allowed the shorter woman to lead her to bed. Angela simply put on what everyone called her ‘doctor face’ and shook her head at her.

“No, but you do need to sleep properly if you’re going to train all day like you said you would.”

Fareeha smiled as she sat down on the bed. There were some good things that had happened in the last few months. Running into Angela in Iraq after being relieved of her services to Helix, she learned that Overwatch had initiated a recall, which meant it called back all living agents to the watchpoint to come together once again. This was obviously illegal, meaning it had to be done in the utmost secrecy.

But knowing she could be trusted, Angela allowed Fareeha to come back with her. The younger woman had nothing else now, and she was glad that her services would perhaps prove useful to Overwatch. Also, her and Angela were now in some sort of relationship, but that was a story for another time.

The horrors of Anubis, of all the soldiers Fareeha had lost, the ghost of her mother, it all still haunted her. And she needed to keep herself busy to not think about it.

However, nothing could stop Fareeha from dreaming.

Fareeha remembers it so well, like it had happened only yesterday.

When the strike team had come back, and her mother was not there. She looked at Jack, and he simply looked away, and that’s when she knew. Her mother was dead.

She remembers how she had run off and hidden somewhere only Jesse could find her, but even then she had not cried. And even when everyone got together for the funeral, Fareeha had not shed a single tear. All she could feel was…

Nothing. She felt numb.

After Fareeha joined the army, her officers worked her to the bone. She remembers the way everyone screamed at her and her fellow soldiers whenever there was something amiss. But still, she was numb.

“It’s just a dream.” Fareeha told herself as the memory of her time in the army dematerialised. She was now surrounded by black, her path unclear.

She found herself wearing her Raptora suit, reliving the death of captain Khalil. She knew the mission to contain Anubis once more had been a success, but this time, everyone around her was dying. The mission was failing and she needed to get to the firewall somehow.

It wasn’t real, there was no way that it was real.

Saleh first, and finally Tariq. As the last soldier fell to the ground, and all the omnic started to surround the young lieutenant, she could do nothing but try to fly. Her boosters weren’t working. Shit.

So she started to run. Fareeha could only run, she couldn’t fight them alone. She was all alone. Nowhere to hide.

As she ran out of that memory, her clothes changed back to normal. She poked her arm, trying to wake up, but it wasn’t working. Was this really a dream?

The omnics were chasing her, and one of them finally grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Fareeha-” “Don’t- leave me alone!”

They turned her around, and she was face to face with a large dog-like robot, its red eyes glowing at her brightly. Fareeha was held in place by two other omnics, and she looked at the large dog in front of her with fear as she struggled to get out of their grip.

“Fareeha, wake up, please-”

The omnic brought up a large drill, a whirring noise echoing in her ears and she noticed rotating silver come straight for her eyes, and Fareeha moved about more violently, trying to loosen their hold.

The weapon was coming closer, closer, closer-

And then nothing.

Fareeha woke up screaming, immediately finding herself in someone’s arms and she held onto the person tightly, sobbing in their chest, beside herself. Every bit of her was consumed by fear, every single time this dream came back, she was alone, forced to remain strong and pretend like this didn’t affect her.

But the truth was it did, and to find someone by her side to hold her, to maybe comfort her, the endless recurring nightmare and the stress it brought her, all of it was too much for Fareeha to bear, and she couldn’t stop the tears as she hid her face in Angela’s shoulder, holding on tight as she could because finally, someone was here to hold her, and they wouldn’t let go.

“Fareeha, you’re okay.” Angela’s soothing voice filled Fareeha’s ears and tried to bring her out of her panic. “It was just a nightmare. It isn’t real.”

All Fareeha could do was nod, still unable to tear herself away from Angela’s embrace. It felt so safe, and so warm from what was otherwise a cold and unforgettable nightmare.

And Angela was still hugging her tightly, making sure that Fareeha was completely calm. It felt like endless hours before Angela finally pulled away and looked at her.

“Do you want to talk about it, Fareeha?” Angela asked as she reached over for a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and holding it to her lips. “Drink up. Crying makes you dehydrated, so you’ll feel better.” “I doubt it.” Fareeha murmured, but allowed Angela to do her thing. She had also pulled out a handkerchief from her drawer (was this woman always prepared for everything?) to wipe the sweat away from her face.

“You don’t always have to be strong, Fareeha.” Angela said suddenly, making the younger woman look to her. “I know you love to tell us that ‘Everything is fine’, but sometimes it isn’t, and that’s okay.” “But… My Mom’s always said that you need to be strong for the people that you love.”

Angela sighed, pushing the hair out of her face. “Yes. You are strong. But that doesn't mean forcing yourself to believe everything is fine when sometimes it isn't.”

Angela held Fareeha close to her again, hugging her as tight as she could. “Admitting to your troubles doesn't make you weak, my love.”

Fareeha sighed into Angela’s chest, nodding at her words. She was right, of course she was right. Why was Fareeha hiding away from this? Pretending that it would all be okay when that only made it worse?

“I’m sorry. It’s always been easier to ignore this.”

Angela gently kissed the top of her head, and slowly whispered, “Please don’t hide it from me, Fareeha. I know it’s always easier to ignore it, but it’s not healthy, and it’ll break you down more. Please. Talk to me whenever you feel like this or if you have nightmares again.”

Fareeha’s heart was breaking at hearing the pain in Angela’s voice, and she pulled away slowly, looking at her.

“I… can’t say I won’t ignore it, but I’ll do my best to talk more about it, and how I feel.”

Angela gave her a small smile. This wasn’t the answer, but at least it was a start. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against Fareeha’s. The taste of salty tears and lip balm lingered, but that wasn’t a worry for either of them right now.

“Let’s go out tomorrow. Away from the watchpoint.” Angela whispered as they laid back down against their pillows, their bodies tangled under the sheets. “Away from this mess, from Overwatch. Just for a day.” “Well…” Fareeha pursed her lips in thought, before glancing to Angela with a playful grin. “It is Valentine’s, after all.”

Angela’s cheeks turned pink, obviously having forgotten about it, and she slowly nodded. “Y-Yes, it is the fourteenth, you’re right.” “Okay. We can go out tomorrow, and…” “We’ll figure it out.” Angela completed the sentence, planting a kiss on Fareeha’s cheek. “For now, we should probably try and sleep.”

The look on the medic’s face turned stern, and Fareeha frowned as she closed her eyes slowly.

“Yes, Doctor.”

#pharah #mercy #fareeha amari #angela ziegler #pharmercy #pharah x mercy #pharah fanfiction #mercy fanfiction #pharmercy fanfiction #overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #angst #hurt comfort #happy ending

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mattmurdocksgirl · 6 years

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Stop the Cavalry

Summary: Frank Castle has business on Christmas Eve in Central Park, but when a little girl offers him a candy cane, and Captain America offers him advice, will Frank change his mind?

Based on the song, Stop the Cavalry, by Jona Lewie.

Note: Bad Language Words and mentions of violence.

Other Christmas Stories:

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day - Matt Murdock/OFC

Hey, Mr. Churchill comes over here To say we're doing splendidly. But it's very cold out here in the snow Marching to and from the enemy. Oh I say it's tough, I have had enough Can you stop the cavalry?

I have had to fight almost every night Down throughout these centuries. That is when I say, oh yes yet again Can you stop the cavalry?

“Excuse me, Sir.”

Frank Castle opened his eyes to find a small brown-haired girl in a colorful Holiday Sweater standing in front of him. His quick assessment put her at about eight or nine years old. A man in a matching Holiday sweater stood a few yards away. “Yeah?”

The little girl held out a candy cane that had been decorated to resemble a Reindeer. A brown pipe cleaner was twisted at the top for antlers, little eyes were glued on the wrapper, and a there was a small red ball for the nose.

“My friends and I are in the park today to pass out these candy canes that we made, to spread holiday cheer, and to let people know about the Christmas feast that Stark Industries is sponsoring tomorrow at the shelter on 71st Street.” She pushed the candy cane toward him, along with a little card that had the address of the shelter on it. Frank took it, glancing down at his oversized hoodie and jacket. Both had certainly seen better days.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not actually homeless,” he chuckled. “I just have terrible fashion sense.”

The little girl giggled. “Well, I don’t think you actually have to be homeless to come. I think you just have to not have anyone to spend Christmas with. Anyway, you can still keep the candy cane!”

“Well thank you. I do love candy canes. Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes! Well, maybe not this exact one, and I didn’t glue any of the eyes or noses on, because my daddy says I’m still too young to use a hot glue gun. I put a lot of antlers on, so maybe I did these.”

“You did a great job. It’s almost too nice to eat.”

“Hey Cass,” the dark-haired man who’d stayed close by while she talked to Frank, yelled over to her. “Do you have any more candy canes? Lila and her dad ran out.”

“I do! I’ll be right there, Daddy.” The little girl turned back to Frank. “I’d better go. Merry Christmas, Mister!”

“You too, sweetheart. Thanks again for the candy cane.” She ran off toward her father, and grabbed his hand, as they headed down the path toward the others.

She wasn’t gone very long before he was approached again. Frank had spotted the man coming up the path, while he was talking to the little girl. He was dressed in a Christmas sweater as well, with a brown bomber jacket over it. His height, build and blond hair made it easy for Frank to identify him.

“You with those guys?” Frank gestured toward the two little girls, who were now splitting up the remaining candy canes.

“I am. We’ve been all over Central Park, and I’m exhausted. Mind if I sit down for a minute? They look like they’ve got it under control for now.”

“Far be it from me to deny one of the oldest living veterans a seat.” Frank motioned to the empty spot next to him. “So, this is how Captain America spends his time when he’s not fighting bad guys? Passing out candy canes in Central Park?”

“It can’t all be aliens and evil intentions,” he grinned. “I spent half a day helping to make those candy canes, and the worst injuries I got were glue gun burns on my fingers. It’s a nice change of pace.” He held out his hands for him to see, but Frank couldn’t see a single burn. “So, you apparently know who I am, but what should I call you?”

“Pete. My name is Pete.”

Steve Rogers nodded. “Nice to meet you Pete. Iraq or Afghanistan?”

“Both. How’d you know?”

“You have the look of a man sitting on a park bench, with the world on his shoulders. I see that look on a lot of Vets these days. I saw it back in my day as well, but somehow it seems to be a lot more common now.”

“Well, I think the difference is that more of us survive and come home.”

“Good point,” Steve agreed. “We lost more people during the Battle of the Bulge than we’ve lost in the entire Middle East conflict.”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing, but now guys are coming home all kinds of fucked up instead of dying, and nobody seems to know what to do with them.” He looked over at Steve and shrugged. “Sorry about my language.”

“Right, because no one ever said a bad word in World War 2,” he grinned. “Anyway, it’s terrible that these guys are out here not getting the help they need.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty messed up. The holidays just seem to make everything worse.”

“That’s one of the reasons we are in the park today, and doing the dinner tomorrow. A lot of the homeless in the park are Vets. We just want them to know that someone cares.”

“That’s good. It’s a good thing to do,” Frank nodded. “It’s hard being deployed during the Holidays. Even harder to be home and alone. I never minded being deployed, except at Christmas. It can be a lonely time when you’re away from your family.”

“What? The USO shows didn’t cheer you up?” Steve replied with mock offense. “I was in a lot of those shows before they finally let me fight, you know.”

“Yeah? Well, they were a good distraction, but not the same as seeing your kid’s excitement on Christmas Eve. My son’s favorite thing was to go see those ridiculous giant red ornaments on Sixth Avenue. When he was little, he called them New York’s big balls. My wife and I would giggle like middle schoolers.”

“Those things are huge,” Steve agreed. “I didn’t have any family waiting for me at home, so it wasn’t so bad for me. Just about everyone I cared about was over there with me, anyway.”

“The Howling Commandos. They were legendary. I had a buddy over in Afghanistan who was the biggest fanboy. I swear, he knew everything about you all. He’d shit himself if he knew I was sitting with you right now.”

“They were a great group of guys. We did what we could to make Christmas seem special, just like I’m sure you all did.”

“We did. But I think what you’re doing here is nice. These guys need it.”

“I know. Too many people are out here alone, when they don’t have to be. Some guys seem to think that they are still at war.”

“Maybe some of them are.” Frank looked over at Steve curiously. “There’s a lot of bad stuff that goes on in this city.”

“True, but it isn’t their job anymore.”

“War is war, Cap,” Frank shrugged. You find the bad guys, and you kill them before they kill you, or someone you love.”

“Yeah, but back here, the enemy doesn’t really wear a uniform to identify themselves. That’s why we have police and the legal system to sort out the guilty from the innocent.”

“Yeah? You think that’s what they do?” Frank shook his head in disbelief. “Prison is like a vacation for some of these guys, and half the time, if they have enough money, they never even see the inside of a cell. Wilson Fisk is a prime example of that. I don’t know how many times that bastard’s been arrested, but thanks to a corrupt system, he’s back out on the streets, every time. Arresting him doesn’t do shit. Double tap to the head? Problem solved.”

“It’s not up to us to be judge, jury and executioner.”

“Well, somebody has to do it. The police can’t. You ever heard about a gang called the Kitchen Irish? What about the Dogs of Hell? Both used to run different parts of Hell’s Kitchen. They terrorized good people, sold drugs to kids, and murdered without a second thought. It was all about power, territory, and money for them.”

“I’m sure the police did what they could to…”

Frank interrupted him by laughing. “Nothing ever stuck to the guys in charge, and the low-level guys were in and out of prison, or easily replaced. The police couldn’t do shit. One day, they decided to take a little trip uptown to this very park. Had themselves a nice little gang war over where the carousel was. By a fucking carousel where families were spending the day together. Killed a woman and her two kids.”

“I remember the story. I think Tony donated money to refurbish the carousel.”

“Stark’s real good with throwing money at shit like that, but doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, now does he?”

“That’s not fair. Tony Stark has risked his life many times for this city and the people in it.”

“I suppose you’re right about that, but the Avengers sure as hell aren’t down here cleaning this park out. Somebody’s gotta do it, yeah?”

“Somebody did, didn’t they? Wiped out both gangs in a matter of days. Without due process, how can anyone be sure that everyone he killed was guilty of those murders?”

“They’re all guilty, Cap. That’s the point. From the shot callers to the guy’s selling dope on the street corner. It’s not that easy to get rid of them, either. Sure, both of those gangs were gone for a while, but guess what? Someone else stepped up and took over, and their back. Out here selling drugs like nothing ever happened. They’ve even made their way back to this park, and do you think Christmas Eve is gonna stop them?”

Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I understand that they are wrong. That doesn’t make killing them right.”

“You all have no problem taking out aliens who fall out of the sky, or HYDRA members where you find them. Hell, it wasn’t too long ago that you all were trying to take each other out.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Steve sighed. “We aren’t perfect. We do, however, give people a chance to surrender. When they don’t? Then we do what we have to do. It’s true that the Avengers focus more on the big picture than the small details, but we can’t have vigilantes deciding who gets to live or die in the streets. Eventually, we will come after someone like that.”

“But that’s exactly what the gangs do, isn’t it? They don’t care who they hurt, or who they kill. Seems to me that they get what they deserve. War is hell, Cap.”

Frank was positive that Captain America had a lot more to say on the subject, but he seemed to decide to let it go.

“Well, I should probably head out and catch up with the others.”

“I bet you have a big fancy party at Stark Tower or something tonight, yeah? Well, while you’re celebrating the holidays, I sure hope that none of these gangs decide to hurt anyone else’s family.”

Steve nodded, a little guiltily. “I hope that you decide to do the right thing, Frank, especially on Christmas Eve. Someone like you, following the rules, could be a huge asset to this city.”

He wasn’t surprised in the least by the use of his real name. “I believe I am doing the right thing. Merry Christmas, Cap and thank you for your service in the past and the present.”

Steve nodded. “Same to you. I am very sorry about what happened to your family, and I really do hope that, in the future, we don’t have to ever meet as anything other than friends and fellow soldiers.” He walked off, leaving Frank by himself with his reindeer candy cane.

Later that night, the party at Stark Tower was in full swing, when Tony found Steve and Sam shooting pool. He was holding a tablet, and grinning from ear to ear. “Hey Cap, you have a fan.”

Steve took the tablet and looked at the screen. A photo was posted on the New York Times website, of four men, tied together with a big red ribbon that Steve was pretty sure came from one of the trees in the park. They were all unconscious, and had taken one hell of a beating, but Steve was relieved to read that they were alive. The caption explained that the police found them that way, with enough drugs to put them away for a long time.

Another photo showed a close up of a note tied to one of them.

Merry Christmas, Captain. I’ll get’em next time.

It wasn’t signed. There was just a small skull drawn at the bottom.

#frank castle #steve rogers #captain america #the punisher #frank castle fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #Marvel Fanfic #Marvel Fan Fiction #Two soldiers chatting #christmas 2017 #Maybe not quite that Christmasy #Cassie Lang has a small part

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lovemesomesurveys · 7 years

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5,000 Question Survey--part twenty-nine

2701. What does 'equal' mean? Being identical or equivalent. Being the same. 2702. Do you believe in the phrase 'all men are created equal'? Well, I mean we’re not “created” equal. There are physical differences that are unique to each person. Our personalities differ. Our genetics differ. However, we all bleed the same. We need oxygen to breathe. We want to be treated fairly, and loved. Everyone should have access to the same to the same opportunities and resources. However, we know that is not always the case.

What about woman? Same as I said above. No one should be treated differently or denied something based on their gender, sexuality, or race. 2703. Have all persons been specifically 'created'? Yes? 2704. Are all persons exactly equal? No. Some people are taller than others, some are stronger, some are smarter, more or less athletic, faster, etc you get the idea. We are not all identical or the same. I don’t think you’d want to be exactly like someone else. But again, there are things that most people want and are alike. The point again is that we have the access to the same opportunities and resources. That we are treated the same regardless of race, sexuality, and gender. 2705. Or do they just have equal rights (in theory)? Well, we should. That isn’t always the case, though. 2706. Does art reflect society or does society reflect art? Uhh. Both? 2707. Are you living under a little black raincloud or a ray of sunshine? I have a little black rain cloud hovering over me. 2708. What do you wonder about? I wonder about a lot of things. 2709. What is better..being single and free or being in love and responsible to another person? What’s “better” is unique to each individual. You can’t really say which one is better than the other, it just depends. To me, I know that single life all too well. I would like to experience a real relationship and love.

2710. What vitamins do you take? I’m supposed to take B12, vitamin D, and iron, but I’m not too good at doing so everyday. 2711. In checkers..red or black? Whichever. 2712. Is The Crow a great movie? I haven’t seen it. 2713. Do you wear all black frequently? Not all black, but I have black clothing. Actually, most of my jackets are black now that I think of it. It just goes well with everything. And my socks. 2714. Do you ever call yourself a poet, artist, or musician? No because I’m not any of those things.

Has your writing been published, your art been hung in a gallery or your band been signed? No. The most that has happened is I’ve had teachers use my essays as an example sometimes. Does it matter? Not to me, but to a writer, poet, or artist it might. But some don’t do it for that. Some do it because they genuinely love to do it regardless of if others see it or not. To each their own. 2715. When insects get into your house, do you kill them or catch them and take them ouside or leave them alone and let them live with you? I, personally, don’t do anything with them because I am a scardy cat. I get someone else to deal with it. 2716. Name at least one person who's birthday is in: Jan.- Our family friend. Feb.- My younger brother. Mar.- My dad. Apr.- My cousin. May- My aunt. June- Another cousin. July- Me. Aug.- Hmm... I don’t know. Sept- My mom. Oct- Another cousin. Nov- My older brother. Dec- Ty. 2717. Which would you consider to be a worse criminal: a pedophile or a necrphile? A pedophile, HANDS DOWN. Having sex with a corpse is not okay to me, but someone who is sexually attracted to children... there just isn’t a word good enough for a sick person like that. Especially if they act on their urges. There’s a special place in hell for people like that.

What if it was between a pedophile, a necrophile and a murderer? Murder, but murder and pedophilia are all sick and horrible. 2718. Do we start to die the day we are born or start to live the day we die? I don’t know how you start to live the day you die. If you die, you’re dead. I’ve heard of “live like you are dying”, but the way you worded it isn’t the same. Or maybe I’m just not understanding.

2719. Have you ever called your mom or dad a four letter word? I call my mom “mama” sometimes. Ha. I’m guessing you mean a curse word or something in which case, no, I have not. 2720. Do you believe america should go to war with iraq? That happened. 2721. Agree or disagree? “There is too much concern in courts for the rights of criminals.” Uhh I don’t know if there’s too much concern. “Abortion should be legal.” You just jump right into the controversial stuff. “The death penalty should be abolished.” I’m on the fence. “Marijuana should be legalized.” Yes. “It is important to have laws prohibiting homosexual relationships.” No. “The federal government should do more to control the sale of handguns.” Such as? “Racial discrimination is no longer a major problem in America.” It still exists. “Wealthy people should pay a larger share of taxes than they do now.” They do pay more. “Colleges should prohibit racist/sexist speech on campus.” That cuts into free speech. It’s shitty for someone to spew such hate, and they as a person should prohibit themselves from saying such things, but. That doesn’t mean something can’t be said about it. We should discourage such speech. Educate people like that. “Same-sex couples should have the right to legal marital status.” Yes.

“The activities of married women are best confined to the home and family.” No. If that’s what they choose to do that’s one thing, but they have the right to work and do other things if they wish. “People should not obey laws which violate their personal values.” Uhh. “Realistically, an individual can do little to bring about changes in our society.” I wouldn’t say that at all. Why did you agree or disagree to that last statement? Because I think a person can bring change. 2722. Let's say that after you die you become a spirit and you join all the other spirits. Not all of them have lived. You are talking to some who have never lived about how you HAVE lived. One of the spirits who has never lived says they think they will travel to earth in a human body soon and live. They ask you what three things on Earth should I be sure not to miss? You say... 1. Traveling and see the beauty out there that exists. 2. Experience love. 3. Discover something you are passionate about. 2723. What kind of ass is the sexiest (flat, round, tight, hard, meaty, juicy, small, big, stacked, packed, petite, barely there, curvey, muscular, etc.)? Describing an ass as “meaty” and “juicy”, though. lol. 2724. Is there something beautiful and special about everyone? Not everyone. In good people, yes. I have a hard time seeing something beautiful or special in a murder, rapist, abuser, and child molester. If yes is there something beautiful and special about Hitler? How about Bin Laden? What is it? My point exactly. I can’t see that in people like them.

2725. Have you ever moshed? Nope.

If yes to what bands? If no then would you ever? I couldn’t be surrounded by so many people like that. Especially people who are jumping up and down and moving about their arms. People get trampled sometimes. I’d be afraid of getting hurt. Especially being in a wheelchair and all, I’m right at the level to get punched in the face. 2726. Do you like sushi? Nope. I sometimes feel like the only person who doesn’t. 2727. What mood are you in? Man, my patience has been extra thin lately and I don’t know why. Like I’ve been extra super irritable. It doesn’t take much to annoy me. I just want to be left alone. Gah, I’m really not pleasant to be around. I’m sorry to my family. :X

What does your mood depend on? Sometimes nothing. I’m just a moody person. My mood will fluctuate all day. I never reach that happy level, though. I just will feel okay. Food and lack of coffee can play a role, though. Don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee. Or if I’m hungry. Also, if I’m not feeling especially well.

What depends on your mood? Uhhh. 2728. wHAT IS faith? Believing in something or someone. Believing wholeheartedly. Not needing proof, it’s just something you believe in your heart to be true based on anecdotal evidence.

what is common sense? Something you either have or you don’t. It can’t be taught. It’s like...something you kind of just think goes without saying. Like... you wouldn’t jump in the tiger den at the zoo. You just should know that. But there are people who still do stuff like that, it just happened recently.

Do you have either or both of them? I’ve explained this before in surveys, but I’ll talk about it again cause why not.

So, religion didn’t play a role throughout most of my life. I believe that stems from having both sets of grandparents with different religious beliefs both telling me what to believe and what is true. They both would share their beliefs with me, and would take me to church/meeting with them. How could I know what to believe if they both are telling me different things? I decided that I didn’t believe in any of it. I didn’t believe in a God at all, and wasn’t open to any of it.

Then, three years ago I took an ethics class, and one of the sections was on different religions. We learned about several different ones and what their beliefs and teachings were. It was also a seminar class, so it was mostly discussion based. I sat and listened with an open mind to people who had different religious beliefs and from someone who didn’t believe at all. Two classmates got into a pretty interesting debate. What was being said really was getting to me. I was open to it, and I was really listening. It made me start to question everything, and really think. I then decided that I should reevaluate some things, and go on a bit of a spiritual journey. From that point on, I was more open to it than I ever was.

About a year after that Ty came into my life. He is devoted Christian, and his faith is prominent in his life. He would share things with me if I was open to hearing it, and at that point I was. I hadn’t really gone on that spiritual journey I had wanted to go on the year before, but I was still open and curious. This then sparked something in me as well. I still wasn’t doing a whole lot on my own; though, until around this past November. I started to pray. Ty also had bought me this book that has daily meditations with God. It has a morning and evening passage to read each day, and mid January or so I started to read it. The day I decided to start had a passage that really related to things that I was feeling. I kept reading, and found that I was really identifying with it. They were reassuring and comforting. Things I needed to hear and be reminded of, and I believe it. I look forward to reading both passages now; it has become apart of my morning and nightly routine. I also started to read the Bible. It is something I do everyday now, as well as pray. I have completely opened my heart to God, and I believe in Him. To anyone who knows me, this would be quite unexpected. It took a long time to get to this point, but I believe it happened for a reason. Despite what happened between me and Ty, I think he was put into my life for a reason. It was through him that started something in me. Maybe he was to lead me to that path.

And as for common sense, I believe it is something I have.

2729. Is perfection or imperfection more beautiful? It’s like the saying goes, “perfectly imperfect.” 2730. Would you think a person doing the following things has a healthy or unhealthy level of insanity?: gives the finger while driving?

tells their life story to people they just met?

walks up to people and tried to convert them to a religion? says blah? 2731. Do you think this is a great line of poetry: "Journey with me into the mind of a maniac. Doomed to be a killer since I came out the nutsac" Why or why not? Ha. I mean they rhymed something with nut sack... 2732. Do you think that song lyrics are poems with music? Yes. 2733. In cases of rape which do you think is more of a crime: a stranger rapes a girl OR a girl's boyfriend rapes her? Okay rape is just an absolutely horrible, sick, cruel thing to do to someone--period.

2734. Did you know that in the USA it is considered to be LESS of a crime if a rapist knows the victim (because it is 'less of a crime' the rapist gets a less severe punishment)? I haven’t heard that, but wow I don’t agree with that at all. Like I said, rape is rape. How is it any less of a crime just because the person knows their attacker? If someone doesn’t consent then it’s rape. Period. End of story. Not up for debate. Do you agree or disagree and why? ^^^ 2735. In the USA aa few eeks ago a guy had beaten up and raped his girlfriend, for which he got 70 days of community service. He had been found guilty, got a year and a half of jail, BUT can you guess why his sentence was reduced to mere community service? I’m guessing because of what you just said? Ugh. . . . . . . . . He had a steady job. That's right. He was found less guilty, because he had a long-term steady job. What???? What in the heck does that have to do with anything at all? How does that affect what he did and make it less of a crime somehow? Wowwwwwwww.

How does this make you feel? It makes me angry. 2736. Does the character limit of notes or entries annoy you more? I use Tumblr for posts/entries, and haven’t had a character limit issue. 2737. wHO'S YOUR FAVORITE WRESTLER? None. 2738. Have you ever been trapped in an elevator? Nooooo. Thank goodness. 2739. What is more important, tact or honesty? Honesty. 2740. Do you have a mentor? Who? No. 2741. If you like guys: would you rather have a 'bad' guy (motorcycles, smokes, drinks, etc) or a 'good' guy (family, domesticated, nice guy)? I want a good, wholesome, nice, caring, understanding, patient, kind, family kind of guy. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t be into motorcycles or have a drink now and then. I’d prefer he didn’t smoke cigarettes.

Would you rather have a virgin or a more experianced guy? Well, I’m a virgin. If I was with another virgin, maybe it would be less awkward? I wouldn’t feel so... inexperienced. But then who would know what to do? Ha. If you like girls: Would you rather have a virgin or a more experianced girl? would you rather have a 'bad' girl (motorcycles, smokes, drinks, etc) or a 'good' girl (family, domesticated, nice girl)? 2742. Do you feel nervous in crowds? Yes. I get very anxious in crowds. 2743. Did you write a real entry today? Just surveys.

What about? Was it your best writing? 2744. If you were making a 'best of' entry about your BEST entries ever what would be your top 5 best entries? The closest I have to that are these surveys. This is where I do my rambling, venting, etc. I really don’t do personal posts. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve done one, actually. 2745. Do you like to play the lottery? I’ve only played once. 2746. Guess what? What? 2747. Why did you choose to live one more day? I don’t want to die. I just want to start living. 2748. What is the most beautiful myth you have ever read/heard? *shrug* 2749. Have you ever been stood up? Yes. It’s one of my pet peeves. I get if you have to cancel, but please give me more of a notice. Or a notice at all. I hate when it’s canceled at the last minute, after I mustered up the energy and got ready and have it all be for nothing.

2750. Finish the following senatances any way you want. I really don’t care much for questions like this in this survey series. I tend to skip it most of the time.

It's always darkest before.. Never underestimate the power of.. Don't bite the hand that.. A miss is as good as a.. If you lie down with dogs, you.. Love all, trust.. The pen is mightier than.. An idle mind is.. Where there is smoke, there's.. Happy is the bride who.. Two is company, three's.. None are so blind as.. You get out of something what you.. When the blind lead the blind.. Laugh and the whole world laughs with you. Cry and.. 2751. What's the most interesting assignment you ever had in school? Well, that’s tough. I’ve had a lot, actually. 2752. What's the most interesting thing you ever had to do for work? I’ve never had a job. 2753. Do you feel: insignifigant? Insignificant? Yes.

unable to evoke change? I do feel that way. I’m just not motivated or driven enough, and I wouldn’t know how or where to begin. I struggle with making changes in my own life. But it’s funny because I would tell someone else they could evoke change, and I believe it when I say it. Just not about myself.

like one person can't change the world? No, I think they could. Again, not me, but someone could.

like one life and one person's suffering doesn't mean very much? I wouldn’t say that at all. If you answered yes to any of those can you describe why in detail? I already did. 2754. Do you feel like you could contribute as much to society as ____ has? Albert Einstein: Ha, no. I’m not that intelligent.

Abe Lincoln: No.

Franz Kafka: I’m not sure who that is, but probably not.

Jesus Christ: Absolutely not. 2755. Are you aware that your brain is the same size as Albert Einstein's brain? Brain size doesn’t equate to intelligence, but that was the belief at one time.

Do you realize that you have the same number of hours in a day as Abraham Lincoln? Well, yes.

Did you know that Franz Kafka wrote all of his amazing litterature during his lunchbreaks at work? Ah, he’s a writer. Anyway, nope.

Did you know that we are all made of matter and that you are made of the Same Thing that Jesus was made of? Yes.

Do you still believe that you couldn't contribute as much to society as they did? Yes.

If yes than WHY? Because. 2756. Is your mind in the gutter? No. 2757. What do you have to complain about? Health related things. 2758. Do you remember rock n' roll radio? No. 2759. Is there such a thing as a food that you burn more calories from digesting than you actually absorb from it? Uhh. 2760. Hey, if you've gotten this far than you and me go way back. We've been hanging out for a while now and I gotta know..do you like me? I still don’t know you. Your questions are interesting for the most part. Some are a bit out there, and others are just more than I want to get into or think that hard about. 2761. What are you doing, Dave? My name is Stephanie. 2762. As far as love goes do you feel it is better to become complete before looking for someone or find someone who completes you? You should be complete on your own. 2763. What attracts you about the opposite sex (or same sex, or both sexes)? It’s difficult to say what one thing attracts me the most to the opposite sex. 2764. Do you need people or do you not need anyone? I need my family. 2765. Is selfishness always bad? Not always. Sometimes you have to put yourself first and focus on you.

Is selflessness always good? Again, I think it’s good to put yourself first sometimes. 2766. Do you feel like your life is being controlled by a power structure? I feel like my life is being controlled by my health. 2767. Can you name three things in society that send the message that being completely yourself and that looking inside yourself and contemplating what's within is a good thing? -- 2768. Can you name three things in society that send the message that materialism and the accumulation of stuff is a good thing? -- 2769. What is more important, a picture or it's frame? A picture.

What is more important, spirituality or religion? I think that depends on the individual and what they believe. 2770. How many definitions can you come up with for the wword 'fuck'? Having sex, used as apart of an insult, and to not care about something. 2771. Is it less offensive when a black person says Nigger than when a white person says it? Why or why not? 2772. Do you rationalize often? I don’t often feel like I have to. 2773. Do you believe that america is an imperialist nation? I don’t think so. 2774. Would you agree that: hot topic is the new abercrombie? No.

pink is the new black: No.

you are the new you? Yes, but not in a good way. 2775. Do you have more internet or real life friends? I don’t even feel like I have any friends anymore. 2776. What IS the feeding of 5000? I have no idea. 2777. What's an easy way to make money? Sell some items of yours. 2778. What's your favorite slang word and what does it mean? *shrug* 2779. Are you uncomfortable? Yes. My back hurts. 2780. Is anything definate besides death and taxes? Hmm. 2781. Would you rather live fast and die young or live slow and die old? I don’t know. I’d just like to live. 2782. Can you name 4 people who have committed crimes against humanity? How do you think they live with themselves? 2783. If you could imagine, pure fantasy, any God you could concieve, how would you want God to be? 2784. do you think the smashing pumpkins have a strong christian theme? I wasn’t aware of that. 2785. Do you think this survey has a strong christian theme? I hadn’t noticed that. 2786. Fill in the blank for yourself

"Give me ____ or give me death!

Liberty. 2787. Have you ever heard of the USA patriotism act? Yes.

Apparently they have passed laws making torture legal. Also the FBI can sneak and peek into ANYONE'S home. They don't have to ask or even tell you they were there. This is already the law. So, whaddaya think? I don’t approve. 2788. The people in power step all over the average citizen, trying to secure all the power and money for themselves and leave us with no rights and under their control. They have the audacity to do this because they know that we will not lift a finger to stop them. Are they right? No. I think we’re seeing evidence of that. 2789. The Free State Project is a plan in which 20,000 or more liberty-oriented people will move to a single state of the U.S. to secure there a free society. They will accomplish this by first reforming state law, opting out of federal mandates, and finally negotiating directly with the federal government for appropriate political autonomy. They want to be a community of freedom-loving individuals and families, and want to create a shining example of liberty for the rest of the nation and the world. What's your opinion? Could this work? Why or why not? I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not so sure it would be that easy, though. I don’t know what impact it would have on the rest of the US. It wouldn’t be perfect, but maybe it would make some kind of change. 2790. Have you ever seent e Neverending Stroy? Nope.

Remember when Bastian has to prove his worth by looking in that mirror where you see yourself the way you really are with no pretenses, rationalizations or mental lying? Could you stand yourself if you looked into that mirror? 2791. What is soilent green? I have no idea. 2792. What are you proud that you have never done? Hmm. 2793. What things are hopeless? I feel that way about a lot of things regarding my life. 2794. What Are People For? To figure out what their purpose in life is? 2795. What book do you feel could change someone's life? I’m not sure. 2796. Didja ever want to just walk up to the Bush administration and ask them, 'What the fuck?' 2797. How do you take your coffeee? With flavored creamer or with half and half and sugar. 2798. Have you ever plaied: This is supposed to be played, right?

paintball? No.

lazer tage? No.

which is better? 2799. In what ways are you lucky? I am blessed to have my family, a roof over my head, clothes to wear, and food to eat. 2800. If Jesse Jackson wants reparations to be given to black people because he thinks that black people don't have equal opportunities in this country than why does he drive a Jaguar? I don’t know.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #5000 question survey

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nightcoremoon · 4 years

Text

2016 was meh. 2017 was garbage. 2018 was shit. 2019 was hell. 2020 has a plague.

and you morons would rather this get worse for four more years than have a democrat president. it's time to face the sad reality that the american government is always gonna be evil, it's always gonna fuck up, it's always gonna bomb people for oil, no matter what happens or who runs it or how things happen. but we can mitigate at least some of it.

from your cushy seats protected by whatever privileges have shielded you from complete and total collapse you criticize the left. ambivalent and complacent with concentration camps, with nazis roaming the streets, with mass antiblack murder perpetuated by cops, with rape and sexual assault so normalized it's a literal joke, with dead black/gay/jewish/etc people in the obituaries every day, with the president alternating between shaking hands with commies and having dick measuring contests with the most violent and unstable dictators in recent history on a day to day basis, with the puppet media behaving exactly as dystopian video games portrayed corrupt newscasts in the first half of the decade, with the firing of the pandemic response team and the massive downplaying of the seriousness of covid-19 and the hundreds of thousands of dead people, with corporate bailouts up the ass, with amazon's sheer lack of humanity and compassion towards its workers while bezos becomes the world's first trillionaire, with all of our privacy being stolen, with all of your taxes paying for dirty churches and guns, with all of your neighbors sitting slack-jawed in front of the tv and facebook pumping their veins full of federally funded propaganda, with the prison industrial complex continuing its campaign, with a cavalier attitude about climate change that will kill millions of island nation citizens, with letting children from other countries fight your battles for you, with more and more land re-stolen from those who walked here first.

if you do not vote democrat this year and remove the fascist menace by any means necessary

you are complacent.

you are the problem.

you are the enemy.

and your anarchist revolution means nothing.

you don't think.

you feel.

and what you feel is wrong. because the liberal agenda may be trash, but trash can be cleaned up over time. pruned. altered. fixed. whole. but fascism will salt the earth, line the streets with the bodies of dissent, and burn all that you love to the ground. fascism will slay all who stand in the way of mass genocide. it will kill you, your friends, your family, your dog, your cat, your very freedom. and this time? there won't be a world war three liberating you from oppression. nobody will remember your righteousness or your moral superiority. every accomplishment you ever made will evaporate. vanish. cease to exist entirely. the world will be reshaped in their image, and not even god himself can prevent it. he can only wipe the slate clean and start fresh and hope we won't fuck it up this time.

look how far we've fallen culturally in just one term. we felt safe under obama because we were safe. maybe not iraq and syria but they are doomed regardless because the president doesn't control the fucking military you inbred brainless fucknuggets. but we the people, we who have control over our own livelihood and well-being, we can save ourselves, establish a foothold to make meaningful change from the inside out, and then you can have your fucking revolution.

now isn't the goddamn time.

people are dying.

maybe not you; but important people

people whose lives matter

people who already fight horrible odds

people who have faced oppression for years

decades. centuries. millenia.

people erased from history

people stripped of their culture

people executed for what they were born as

people whose anger cannot be put into words and so turn to vandalism and burglary because even they know that hurting people is wrong and so take their anger out on things that don't fucking matter outside of what value humanity have artificially placed upon them

people whose sadness cannot even be felt by human psychology because of its severity

people ripped from their families before their brains have even developed enough to form a concept of skin color and national origin

people whose childhoods are being spent behind bars covered in snot and shit and wearing rags and being studied like zoo animals by the pale angry men holding guns

people grabbed off the streets and thrown into a van with a gun to their head and never seen again by their families

people sentenced to a lifetime in prison because of a pinch of a plant

people who can't breathe

people trapped in a prison of their own body

people trapped in a prison of their own mind

people who see a hopeless situation and the barrel of a gun and the daydream of a better life on the other side

...

we could easily limit the number of countless senseless undeserved deaths

but no

you want a shadow of perfect idealism because you don't know how to think for yourself because you rip your opinions straight from the popular blogs but lack the spine to support it.

fuck the center. fuck the commies. fuck the libertarians. fuck you if you disagree with me. clearly none of you are intelligent, empathic, compassionate, or sane enough to recognize just how dire this situation really is. if you have difficulty telling the difference between pure fascism and the mildest of liberalism, not even neoliberalism, you deserve to fade with the rest and pass out of history. that's what will happen to you, to me, to all of us, if things continue.

argue, you're blocked. debate, you're blocked. mock, you're blocked. question, you'll be given the benefit of the doubt because I'm not a dick and recognize that maybe my brain moved a bit faster than my fingers because I know how to think about other people's perceptions of me

UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE.

I don't post this because I give a shit about anyone else's opinion. I don't post this because I think anyone knows better than me. I post this so whoever has the intellectual capacity to see the meaning in the words can read it. I post this so the words exist somewhere in some cache on some server in some bank somewhere, and rest easy knowing that when the words are all ignored and the nuclear winter settles, passes, and segues this world into the next phase of evolution and eventual rise of civilization, that the next batch can find the fossized remains, the dessicated shell, the dilapidated cave, the tomb, and learn from the mistakes. I do this knowing fully well most people won't read it because it's too long, or they'll skim for key words and anon me their fart-smelling bullshit to make themselves feel better, or best case scenario they'll nod and scroll, maybe even giving the post a like in silent support, but in the most likely scenario just be ignored fully. that's fine. if I'm the only person to read this that's all fine and dandy, because ultimately what I do isn't going to matter in a hundred years. all that will matter is how I treat people in the real world, how they treat other people, and all the threads stretching out of paying things forward caused by me in hopefully improving their lives. all society has to do is make sure people live long enough to have a life that gets improved.

...

(cont'd)

0 notes

larryportera · 4 years

Text

Life and Death in the ‘Hot Zone’

By Nicholas Kristof

“If people saw this, they would stay home.” What the war against the coronavirus looks like inside two Bronx hospitals.

April 11, 2020

Heartache in the Hot Zone: The Front Line Against Covid-19

Stretchers, row after row, comatose patients in isolation rooms. Every surface is dangerous and so is the air, especially during an intubation. “Every day, you’re thinking, am I going to get really sick? Am I going to recover? Am I going to be one of those young people that, for whatever reason, dies from this?” The history of this pandemic will be remembered not for briefings at the White House. But for the heartache in the hot zone. We journalists haven’t been able to cover coronavirus the way we normally cover wars from the front lines. “Good morning.” “Good morning.” But I was able to spend two days inside two hard-hit hospitals in the Bronx. To witness the toll on frontline workers trying to keep Americans alive. “So we’re entering a Covid area. And so everybody who goes in wears these protective gowns. And this gentleman is helping me get it on correctly.” Because I don’t know what I’m doing. “I’m the P.P.E. monitor.” “They’re pulling out another one.” “Find that patient now.” “We need the patient to go upstairs please.” Dr. Deborah White reminds me of a general commanding a battlefield. “I mean, this is what we train for. This is the moment in our career because it’s a once in a lifetime thing.” She’s trying to save lives, “Yeah, for upstairs, for upstairs.” while also keeping up morale. On this day almost 800 New Yorkers died. “Many of the people here are clearly in their 70s or 80s, but they’re also, I’m struck that there are a lot of young and middle aged adults here.” “Yeah, absolutely.” “We range from 26 all the way up to 59.” She’s constantly counting beds keeping track of every patient. “We’re just rounding want to know how you’re feeling.” “Sometimes, you know, that human interaction helps them. So the bus is here? Oh so let’s go upstairs quickly because the M.E.T.U. bus is here. Let’s walk rapidly.” Dr. White has a problem. Too many patients, not enough beds. Unless they make room, more people will die. “This is a medical evacuation bus to take people from this hospital to make some space here. The bus is unlike any bus you’ve ever seen. It has oxygen. It has E.M.T. people there to support the patients as they make that ride.” But as this bus frantically shuttles overflow to a nearby hospital, new patients continue to pour in. The red phone rings constantly signaling the arrival of yet another critical patient. So many that there is a traffic jam of stretchers leading to a small army of doctors and nurses. They are about to attempt a last desperate step. An intubation. “I need a vent. I need a vent.” “I need a ventilator.” “So what we’re going to do is intubate her right now to support her oxygen level so that we can improve the oxygen exchange.” This procedure spews virus into the air leaving staff at enormous risk as they try to save the patient’s life. “Take some deep breaths. You’re okay.” “She’s attached to the vent.” While intubated patients can’t speak and what everybody knows is that they probably will never speak again. Ventilators may be lifesaving but most patients still die. Death here has no dignity. Patients can’t have visitors. They’re scared. They can’t even see their nurse’s eyes. I’ve reported on lots of deaths in my career. And this feels particularly brutal. “Someone codes, someones dies. You go onto the next patient. Someone codes, someone dies, you got onto the next patient. And you don’t have time to process those emotions before you go home. I like, I have cried just, at home thinking about it all. Or just, when you get home, you finally take a breather and that’s when you let it all out. Because you don’t have time to process those emotions here.” These doctors and nurses are risking their lives and we’re failing them. Some told me of their deep frustration with the government’s response. We catastrophically bungled testing. The president dithered. Americans kept on partying. The result, thousands of needless deaths. “I was in the Intensive Care Unit, the second patient who came in was tested positive, was a 27-year-old. I’m 29 right now. I’m just as healthy as this patient. It just often times feels like a roll of the dice.” “I spent twelve hours by his bedside with all my P.P.E. on. He would grab my hand and I just kept telling him everything is going to be okay, that we’re doing the best we could, but I could see the fear in his eyes. It was heartbreaking. Because this is still so new to us that we’re just doing what we can and we don’t know what’s going to happen.” As I see it, the triumph here lies in the courage and humanity of the health workers. This may not be enough to defeat the virus, but it’s magnificent to witness.

This is not a time to die.

Terror, pain and loneliness mingle in the air with the coronavirus in the “hot zone” of the emergency department at Jack D. Weiler Hospital in the Bronx. The room is jammed with patients whose frightened eyes peer above their oxygen masks as they struggle to breathe, feel that they are drowning, wonder if they will ever again see loved ones.

No family members are allowed here, yet the space is more than twice as crowded as normal. About 80 coronavirus patients, ranging in age from 31 to 97, are squeezed into the room, bed-to-bed, some near death. A group of newly arrived patients sit in chairs in a corner to await stretchers, and they look around in alarm. Doctors and nurses hurry about so sheathed in protective garb — some of it makeshift, such as welding helmets over ski goggles — that even co-workers cannot recognize them.

The truth is that the doctors too are frightened and exhausted, overwhelmed by death and their own helplessness. Dr. Nicole Del Valle, 29, told me that what shattered her was treating a 30-year-old woman with Covid-19 whose 23-year-old sister had just died of it; Dr. Del Valle called her own younger sister and ordered her not to leave her home.

All day in the hospital, Dr. Del Valle maintains her reassuring manner as she intubates patients, holds their hands, fights for their lives — and then, she acknowledged, she goes home and cries.

To spend time in New York City hospitals today is to see how wrenching the practice of medicine becomes in a time of plague. Two hard-hit Bronx hospitals, Weiler and Montefiore Medical Center Moses Division, each allowed me and a video journalist into their emergency departments for a day, into the hot zones where contagious patients are treated. We also produced the short video above: The hope is that the more Americans understand Covid-19, the more committed they will be to maintain social distancing, thus saving doctors’ lives and their own as well.

Journalists have rarely been allowed into hospitals in this crisis; reporters and photographers found it much easier to be embedded in Army units in Iraq or Afghanistan than to embed with doctors fighting Covid-19. Hospitals worry about HIPAA privacy rules, the dangers of infection and the possibility of embarrassing stories. Unfortunately, the shortage of gritty on-the-ground coverage means that to many Americans, the coronavirus remains distant and unreal — so they plan a large Easter dinner or gather friends for a game in the park.

The best way to understand the coronavirus is not by tuning into White House briefings but by tuning into the distress on the front line. The Bronx is one of the most diverse places in the country, and the patients I saw this past week were of all races and backgrounds but tended disproportionately to be black and brown. They were mostly feverish, drained — too sick to be interviewed. But there was no mistaking their anguish.

“I hate it,” said Chelsea Gifford, 29, a physician assistant at Montefiore Moses. “You have this horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach when patients say they’re scared and you don’t have any treatment.”

Ms. Gifford recalled a patient who had come from an assisted-living center. “I’m really scared,” he told her. “I don’t want to have Covid. I’m in a facility and there are people dying there.”

She looked into his eyes and held his hands. “We’re going to do our best to make you comfortable,” she told him. “We understand it’s scary. But we’re here with you. We’re going to help you.”

Ms. Gifford struggles to sleep at night and has nightmares — not of catching the coronavirus herself, but of infecting her parents. She lives with them but stays in her room and uses her own plate and silverware; she talks to them only through a closed door. She washes her hands so much that angry red sores have broken out on her palms and wrists.

Then she drives to work and sees New Yorkers mingling in the parks, treating the pandemic lightly — and she seethes. “If people saw this,” she said, gesturing to the frightened people gasping for breath around us, “they would stay home.”

II.

The emblematic procedure of this pandemic is intubation, a last-ditch effort to connect a patient who cannot breathe to a ventilator. It is both lifesaving and terrifying — and unfortunately, for most Covid-19 patients, it doesn’t succeed. There’s no large-scale data, but in New York City as many as four out of five Covid-19 patients who are intubated may not survive.

For that reason, doctors and nurses try to give Covid-19 patients a chance to telephone loved ones before intubation, knowing that this may be their last chance to speak. But sometimes there isn’t time. At Weiler hospital, I saw a 68-year-old woman deteriorate rapidly, her oxygen level plummeting. A team of a doctor, a nurse-anesthetist, an emergency nurse and a respiratory therapist urgently gathered in full protective gear.

For health workers, intubation is nerve-racking because it causes the virus to spray out from the lungs into the air. In this case, the procedure was performed in a room on the edge of the hot zone with negative air pressure, so that the virus would remain in the room. A plastic box was placed over the patient’s head, and the nurse-anesthetist put her arms through holes in the box to perform the intubation.

The patient was put to sleep and paralyzed, and a device was inserted into her mouth to lift the epiglottis and make way for a tube that was passed through her vocal cords about 10 inches down to her lungs. The outside end was then connected to a ventilator, which pumped oxygen in.

Because it would be ghastly to wake up unable to speak with a tube down one’s throat, patients are sedated so that they do not rip out the tube; doctors say that for some reason, Covid-19 patients seem to require more sedation than other patients. To be safe, their hands are also tied down.

Next to the woman was an elderly man who had been intubated earlier in the day, and he was declining quickly. For Covid-19 patients, ventilators are sometimes the only hope — but they aren’t much hope.

Neither, perhaps, is hydroxychloroquine, the anti-malaria medication that President Trump has hailed as a possible “game changer.” Most patients at both hospitals I visited have been receiving hydroxychloroquine, sometimes combined with the drug azithromycin, but people are still dying in large numbers. Some doctors think that these drugs help if administered early, but I spoke to no one on the front lines who believed they were a game changer.

III.

What is most impressive in the hospitals is not the ventilators, CT scanners or other high-tech wizardry. It’s the compassion and courage of health workers, and the intervention that struck me the most was decidedly low-tech — the hand-holding.

Katherine Chavez, a nurse at Montefiore Moses, recalled a man in his early 40s with no medical history. He was intubated, and she spent 12 hours by his bedside as he struggled for life. “He would grab my hand, and I just kept telling him that everything is going to be OK,” she said.

Dr. Michael P. Jones, who runs the physician resident program for the emergency departments at both hospitals I visited, sent his young doctors an email last month asking them to go out of their way to comfort the Covid-19 patients:

Take a few moments if you can to talk about patient’s families, their lives, their dreams. Ask if there is a loved one you can call. And lastly, two very difficult things: Hold your patient’s hand for a minute as they near death or pass, and ask your entire team to stop for five or 10 seconds, bow your heads, state the patient’s name, and ask for silence.

This helps us retain our humanity in times of such crisis and gives our patients’ families some solace that they were treated with dignity.

Doctors and nurses are supposed to have a confident bedside manner, but that’s hard to maintain when they themselves are afraid.

“I could see the fear in his eyes,” Ms. Chavez told me about the patient whose hand she held. But there was also fear in her own eyes. “I don’t know whether the virus is airborne, and I was in the room 12 hours straight,” she said. “What did it do to me?”

Health workers are particularly at risk of infection and death, perhaps because they absorb such large quantities of the virus. Several of the young physicians at the hospitals I visited have Covid-19, and one is in the intensive-care unit.

Dr. Michael Tarr, 29, was particularly shaken after he treated a 27-year-old woman who came in severely ill with Covid-19. “We ran every test on her,” he said. “There had to be something underlying that would make her so vulnerable. And we found nothing.” The patient is still alive on a ventilator in the I.C.U., he said, but doing poorly.

“It oftentimes feels like a roll of the dice,” he said. “Every day you’re thinking, ‘Am I going to get really sick? Am I going to be able to recover? Am I going to be one of those young people that, for whatever reason, dies?’”

Dr. Tarr said he has nightmares because of the coronavirus. His fiancée, Dr. Sara Rezai, who is also doing intubations, told me that she understands entirely because she has similar nightmares.

Courage is not fearlessness; courage is what soldiers exhibit when they charge into battle despite their fears. And it’s what apprehensive physicians like Dr. Tarr, or worried nurses like Ms. Chavez, display when they walk into the hot zone each day. The same is true of physician assistants, technicians, respiratory therapists and cleaners (who face similar peril but get less credit and pay). These front-line workers take great risk, yet we’ve let them down.

“There’s a lot of frustration,” Dr. Tarr acknowledged. “You’d like a country as advanced as the U.S. to act like a first-world country. But you see the U.S. struggling to have enough ventilators, running out of supplies we never thought we could run out of.”

President Trump squandered two months that could have been spent assembling personal protective equipment, or P.P.E., rolling out mass testing and manufacturing ventilators. Many states and cities (including New York) were also too lackadaisical at first. That’s one reason the death rate from Covid-19 has been more than 50 per million inhabitants in the United States, versus four per million in South Korea, one in Singapore and 0.2 in Taiwan. Doctors and patients have died unnecessarily.

“Washington failed us, and now patients and health care workers alike are getting ill and dying,” Dr. Jones said. “We could have avoided this whole situation if we had listened to the doctors and scientists and not worried about politics and ratings.”

P.P.E. is short at most hospitals, but those I visited seemed for now to be getting by and also to have enough ventilators. But while I was at Weiler, staff members suddenly realized that they were almost out of bag valve masks, which are needed for intubations, and that they would not be available from a supplier for weeks. A frantic search turned up enough for the time being, and they are now locked up and doled out only as needed.

Weiler and Montefiore Moses hospitals, unlike some others, allow staff members to bring their own P.P.E. Dr. Tarr bought a welding mask on Amazon to put over his donated ski goggles. Some 23,000 ski goggles have been given to hospitals by skiers through a group called Goggles for Docs and are hugely appreciated because they are both very comfortable and very protective.

Everyone I spoke to was grateful for the public’s donations of P.P.E., food and other assistance — but also acknowledged that the emotional toll is almost unbearable.

“I listen to the residents,” Dr. Jones said, speaking of the 84 physician residents he supervises. “They’re fatigued, they’re emotionally drained, they’re frustrated that facts aren’t being listened to, that there’s misinformation.”

“Can we keep going for another two weeks?” he asked. “Yes. Then can we go for another two more weeks? Maybe. Can we do two more after that? I don’t know.”

IV.

Hospital emergency departments are transformed in the age of Covid-19. The eeriest change is that bedside alarms chime constantly: In just one wing of the emergency department at Montefiore Moses, 20 alarms were howling simultaneously.

Doctors explained that most are false alarms, and patient vital signs can be monitored through displays at the nurses’ station. To turn the alarms off requires someone putting on P.P.E. and walking to the patient’s bed.

“You want to use P.P.E. wisely,” noted Dr. David Esses, the head of the emergency department. “You can’t burn a gown every time an alarm goes off.”

So they let them ring.

CPR has sometimes become more perfunctory. In the past, doctors might have spent 30 minutes trying to revive an elderly patient, but today each chest compression can unleash a toxic brew of virus that could kill someone else. So when it’s unlikely to succeed, CPR may now stop after a few minutes.

There is also today a greater willingness to have blunt conversations about death, something that medical systems have never been good at. With resources scarce, health workers are thinking through what happens if they must ration ventilators: Who will get one, and who will be left to die?

Dr. Jones recalled an older patient with long-term dementia who was fading from Covid-19. Normally, the team would have intubated her, but in this case he telephoned her family members: Did they really want to proceed? In the end, the family decided not to intubate, and the woman died peacefully that day.

An enormous change is that emergency departments are almost empty of non-coronavirus cases. People don’t seem to be breaking their legs, having strokes or shooting one another as often as normal. That’s partly because fewer people are outdoors, but it also appears that some families prefer to have an aging parent die quietly at home rather than go to a hospital at this time.

Some patients’ hospital beds are marked “D.N.R.” and “D.N.I.” — “do not resuscitate” and “do not intubate.” If you haven’t already, this is a good time to prepare those medical instructions for yourself and those you love.

With the symphony of alarms, the harried staff and the overhead announcements summoning medical teams to one emergency after another, the atmosphere is already taut. And then the red telephone rings.

It’s the phone that gets calls from ambulances, announcing that a severely ill patient is on the way.

Weiler Hospital tries to make space by transporting patients regularly to Montefiore Moses, but the ambulances bring new patients faster than others can be moved out. There are triage tents outside, but still there are sometimes traffic jams of stretchers at the entrance to the hot zone.

From the emergency department, many patients eventually migrate to the I.C.U. Weiler’s I.C.U. has more than doubled in size since the pandemic hit, and it was calm and still, so different from the emergency department. Most patients lie sedated in beds in negative-pressure rooms; the only motion was in the squiggly lines on the electronic monitors. One patient recovering after 10 days on a ventilator waved to me happily, but she was the exception; many coronavirus patients in the I.C.U. never make it home.

New Yorkers have been dying of Covid-19 at a rate of almost 800 per day, and that’s probably a significant undercount. Upon a death, doctors fill out paperwork for the death certificate, and nurses and technicians prepare the body and attach a toe tag. In the old days, the body would be covered with a sheet and rolled to the morgue; now it is encased first in one body bag and then in a second, and a team takes the body to the hospital morgue, and then because there is no space, to a refrigerated truck outside that is replaced every couple of days.

“We are working with the funeral homes” to claim the bodies, said Linda Berger Spivack, the clinical director of nursing at Weiler. “However, the funeral homes are also extremely overwhelmed.”

Death is often an undignified and wrenching transition, but it’s particularly brutal now. We humans evolved to support one another, but viruses evolved to take advantage of our bonds — and so in a time of plague, people often die alone.

The Covid-19 wave may now be passing over New York — which means it will soon hit other places that were too relaxed about social distancing. “They should learn from New York,” Dr. Esses said. “Because if they don’t learn, then the same thing will happen there. And by the time they realize this, it’s too late.”

Let me give the last word to Nicole Del Valle, the young doctor who bravely reassures patients all day and then goes home to cry. I asked her what message she has for those who live in places not yet battered by the virus, who doubt the calls for masks and social distancing.

“The hospitals are still very overwhelmed,” she said. “It’s really hard as an emergency physician to see people suffer without their families at the bedside. It’s been a very hard time for everyone here.

“We are telling people to please stay home.”

#coronav #covid19 #coronavirus

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automatismoateo · 4 years

Text

Praying isn't gonna stop wars. It never has. More people have been killed in the name of God than have been saved by him or because of him. via /r/atheism

Submitted January 08, 2020 at 02:53AM by saman65 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/37N7Owa) Praying isn't gonna stop wars. It never has. More people have been killed in the name of God than have been saved by him or because of him.

Wasn't sure where to post this. But I had to get it out. I just saw #Prayforpeace trending on twitter and thought shit, every f ing time. I picked this sub because I think the topic is related to religion just as it is political and I needed a forum where people are more ciritical thinkers than politicially biased.

This is a long one. Read if you care enough. I’m not promising to say something outrageous. Just what I think, have seen and know.

Iran is a complex country, as I’m sure most countries are. There is this great video I recommend you all to watch it from this Amazing American dude who travels all around the world! Give it a chance!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5TWNXneUrMY&t=1s

I can go into how we were happily living under a secular democratic system for a short period of time after centuries of having a Kingdom and a dictator to rule us. I always wonder what could we achieve if we didn’t have oil, if Musaddegh wasn’t as hounrable as he was and would have become a friend to the west, negotiating on a deal that would have worked for both sides, even more for the US. I have pride but I would have wanted a good relation with the west even if that meant selling out your assets/resources to a foreign nation for cheaper because the alternative has been misery for the majority of Iranians, especially in the last 15 years.

What I know is that we had a secular system, with laws based on humanity and ethics not some guy from 1400 years ago who wasn’t even a Persian. Musaddegh didn’t sell out, he was toppled, Shah was installed. Shah did great things economically which in itself is a whole story but there were still many people living in poverty who didn’t like Shah living lavishly like a KING when they could barely afford a roof over their head.

He also oppressed religious minorities to some extent, banned headscarfs and persecuted activists. Anyhow he fucked up and people believed fell for right wing promise of a religious (and secular at the same time!) Mulla revolution that will bring oil money to everyone’s table, people, not only the ones in charge!

People believed in him, Khomeini, and it turned out his promise was a lie. The opposite happened. Almost no one except the people in charge has seen any of that oil money in the past 4 decades

I come from a small town where all schools, hospital, roads, pipeline, and basically every bit of infrastructure are built by donations from a few wealthy and generous people we have.

Some facts that are barely discussed in English speaking forums. Like how 80-90% of people working for the regime and more important politicians have dual nationalities along with their spouses and kids. MANY from the US and Europe.

Ali Larijani who is the speaker of the Parliment, very anti American(politics)and also happens to also be the Leader Khamenei’s son in Law, has a daughter who lives on Ohio and has finished her medical school there. So you see in the case of a war, almost none of them are gonna get hurt. Their families will be out of Iran in matter of days.

On the recent news and incident.

I have not seen many people, in anyone in the west describing the situation in Iran correctly. Why? Well one because they are right to not believe the MSM and government’s narrative but none are talking to actual Iranians directly, neither pro Trump nor anti war people in the west.

Don't take me and my stats for my word. What I have said or am saying could be asked from any Iranian. You can find hundreds of us on social media and more than a few of them know how to communicate basic messages in English. Just talk to them. I would suggest visiting our country to get the truth but at this time I don’t recommend it at all( unless you are an activist ) but it is still risky because you can’t really report the whole truth from there. The government would only allow half of it( the part people being angry at the west, not the entire reality and the majority being angry toward the government)

Pro government people are mourning his death and anti government people ( the majority) are not. I can't say what percentages of Iranians are unhappy with the government but I know for a fact that we are in the majority, well over 70% if you ask me. Among the younger generation, which are the majority of Iranians that number is well above 90%.

If these numbers seem irrational and unrealistic, well ask yourself or look up and read the US's congress and Senate's approval rating. It isn't any better.

The anti government portion is more worry of the possibility of a war because they don't wanna die for a system they despise while pro government people are expecting demand a retaliation.

98% of people in the west are looking at this as it is a black or white situation while this couldn't be any more gray.

Soleimani was fighting isis in Iraq( in itself a good thing ) in a war that again, the majority of Iranians don't support. Iran’s alliance in Syria is of a diplomatic nature not based on humanity or saving people from isis or whatever.

Soleimani was also the guy in charge of repressing anti government protest in Iran for decades, including 2008 uprising over a rigged election ( it was actually funny how rigged it was but they still got away with it). Thousands of protesters were gunned down under his command. The protests about three months ago also resulted in over 500 death . The sad part is both the left, right nor independent channels I watch and follow really reported on this topic.

If a war breaks out, the true victims of this situation are without a doubt the majority of Iranins, getting screwed by both the Iranian regime and US government, just as we are now.

The sanctions don’t hurt the rich or the government. It hurts the middle class and poor which consist the majority of Iranians.

Living expense has increased 3,4 folds, while waging the same or doubling at max. Property value/rent has risen almost anywhere from 5-10 times ( in response to our currency tanking over sanctions Hence the poor has become extremely poor and the middle class has become poor while the wealthy which owns property and materials like cars have become millionaires and extra wealthy even wealthier!

The cheapest (one of the shittiest available) car made in Iran, Kia Pride, (a newer version an old Kia Pride model) goes for 70 M toman brand new. The same car was 6 million a decade ago. I remember it being 6 million since I was a kid and …. That’s where we are after 10 years of sanctions.

Ok I will end this rant now

Neither pro war nor anti war people in the US are right on their report of the situation.

pro war people:

Soleimani is bad (true but not for the reason they say.)

Iran government bad(true, but is US government doing anyone any good?)

95% want government gone( not really that high. Unfortunately US's response and actions has given government more support no matter how much they suck. Trump killing Soleimani this way pushes people who are in the middle to the government’s side. So will a war. Saddam’s invasion with West’s “go ahead and blessing” only made the recently won revolution more popular, so will a war waged against a despised regime and forcing people to fight for a system that has oppressed them all their life, taking away the basic freedom and choices a human deserves.

I’d like to believe the regime doesn’t have more than 20% support but I don’t have a number on that. It is hard to conduct independent surveys with the limited freedoms of speech and press we have. if you live among Iranians, it won’t take you more than a week to realize the majority want a total reform.

-90% would love us to bomb them!(false). Like I said, the Iranian civilians will pay the highest cost for that war. Looking at our neighbors, they don’t seem to be better off than they were before US’s invasion.

Anti war people:

-Soleimani was good(false. Fighting isis doesn't make him a good guy! He wasn't fighting them to defend his people, for a good cause even though he believed that. Iran’s fight against ISIS has nothing to do with what the majority of Iranians wanted).

-Iran government good: (false) Not all of them are pushing this narrative. Secular talk and Kim Iverson on youtube have both correctly reported that Iranians are very unhappy with their government. Yet 95% of the left, anti war voices on the right and independents who are calling out Trump on this ignore this part. I know why they are doing it though. One you agree with the CIA’s talking point that X is a bad guy, then they say “well we have to do something about it don’t we?” and many people with good intentions would think that’s the right thing to do! Manufacturing conset I suppose it is called. Or maybe I’m wrong. But in this case, the bad guy is really bad! I’m upset they don’t say it but what I care more is me, my relatives and my compatriots not getting bombed. So I’m thankful to every anti war voice on the left, right and independent, even if they are reporting what goes on inside Iran not accurately.

-The majority don't want a war(true!) I don’t think this needs an explanation.

I'm personally not saddened even for a bit over Soleimani’s death news, but the possibility of a war has made me quit worry. I’ve always been afraid of war. Not dying in it but surviving it while many of the people I know and care for don't.

My number are my opinions and what I perceive. I encourage everyone to their own research on the things they can find online and talk to Iranians, the one who live in Iran, if you want to know how they feel about this situation! You will find many people angry at the government who would love anything, including a war, as oppose to the current situation but the majority don't want a war.

I’d like to leave it with a positive note which is a fact. Americans are probably the most liked(more like adored!) nationality for Iranians. Again I encourage all you to watch Peters video on Iran. Take his word for it not mine

For me personally, the most welcoming and warm people I have met in my life have been Americans and I have lived a few countries.

This war isn’t between us, the people, but sadly it is us who have to fight the wars. Praying and asking God to help isn't gonna do shit. Speaking to each other, believing in ourseleves, it can make a difference.

Forgive my grammar,spelling and poor writing skills.

Peace.

#reddit

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gringocaliente · 7 years

Text

5 September 2017, The Rise of Totalitarianism

I was going to put this in chronological order, but decided to put my response to it all up front. The readers, if there are any, can decide for themselves to read what prompted my response on The Rise of Totalitarianism.

“Dear [name deleted],

“We share your love of the environment and in our own way we do our part. However, we see an even greater near term threat, and that is the rise of totalitarianism from the left. Absolute insanity is gaining traction; for example, some California legislators want to make it a criminal offense, with jail time, for using the “wrong" gender pronoun. The violence and hatred coming from the left, the “mainstream” left, is, in our opinion an immediate threat — much more immediate than the environment.

“Not to mention that apologist, spineless Obama who did all he could to encourage rogue nations like Iran and North Korea, the latter of which now has a hydrogen bomb and has no reservations about selling nukes to the highest bidder. The threat of an EMP device launched from North Korea and detonated over the USA is something Obama should have “fixed” during his 8 years of playing golf. There are very few options left; diplomacy has proven not to work with N Korea and a military option may be all that is left. An EMP device that succeeds in taking out the electronics in everything from the electrical grid to your cell phone will result in about 90% of the population of this country dying, and probably billions globally after the USA becomes a 4th world country.

“Even without the threat of 300 million deaths in the USA alone, the totalitarianism that is inherent in the attitudes and actions of the progressives, liberals, or whatever you want to call them, is an absolute evil, just as bad in its own way as Hitler was.

“When freedom and democracy are once again secure in this country, which today they are not, then we will have time to do more for the environment. In the meantime, we are ready to defend freedom, democracy and the Constitution against the totalitarianism of the left.

. . .

“I must say that I cannot understand your passion or your single minded focus when the 'father' of 'climate change' (Al Gore) is demonstrably one of the biggest hypocrites alive today, with an electric consumption perhaps a hundred times greater than the average American family. What an absolute jerk he is. Maybe 10% of your time should be spent exposing him, and only devote 90% to exposing Exxon.

“Frankly, we think the country may be irreparably damaged (reached its political tipping point) and its survival as a nation is in question. It is even possible there will be civil war, and if that happens it will be a much worse blood bath than the first civil war. So you can go “nail” Exxon if that’s the most productive way you can think of to spend your time. We plan to do what we can, while battling my cancer and my wife’s depression, to preserve freedom and democracy so that when you’ve solved the climate problem this will be a free country where people can live in relative peace and harmony, and Christian bakers won’t be driven out of business by the totalitarian left.

“When you have personal news you want to share, please write, email, or phone. When you have anything else to share, please share with someone else.

Still a friend”.

==================================

This is what led up to my essay.

My wife forwarded this to a friend who is particularly concerned about climate change, or global warming if you prefer. He reacted from his single issue perspective which colors everything he does. But first the item my wife forwarded. I wish I knew the author, as I’d like to shake his or her hand. It was written in response to events of the recent horrific flooding in Houston.

----------------------------------------

AUTHOR UNKNOWN (to me):

“We are still a great people. The rescuers remind us of that. But we lack the culture or the politics to reflect that greatness. The noble impulses that lead men to risk their lives in flooding are there. But our society no longer has the vessels to hold and sustain those impulses. The media doesn't quite know what to make of the rescuers. You can see the itching to return to the stories that it knows and likes. Russia. Trump hit pieces. People punching each other in the street over politics. It swerves at the first sight of a Confederate flag on a rescue boat or Ted Cruz's Sandy vote. It doesn't want to dwell on the best of us. Behavior like that doesn't make sense anymore. Generations have grown up with leftist protesters as their definition of heroes. Look in a history book and the last 70 years consisted of "heroes" who marched around waving signs until they got everything they wanted. And everyday in the news there are more "heroes" marching for illegal aliens, transgender bathrooms, the supremacy of black lives and any other identity politics cause. But waving a placard to the adulation of the media isn't heroism. Saving lives is. Our culture has quickly forgotten that less than two decades ago, men carrying half their weight climbed to the top of the World Trade Center to save lives. They died there. The America of a hundred or even fifty years ago, would have immortalized them. Ours drowned them out in tantrums, in whines, in anger and outrage, in malicious noise. They were a dangerous reminder that we were a great people. And our destroyers desperately wanted us to forget. They wanted us to sink to the bottom. Not to rise to the moment. The secret of so much of our greatness was simply that we tried. We took our best and we made it the cultural norm. Every people tell themselves that they are wonderful and destined to rule the world. The Germans and the Russians believed it and it led them to ruin. But we told each other that we were decent and we became decent. We told our children that the moon could be theirs. And it was. We told them that we could cure diseases. And we did. That we would prevail over the atom bomb. And we did. That we would change the world. And we did. But more importantly, we told them about sportsmanship. We told them to stand up for principles. To take pride in hard work. To believe in the future. To tell the truth. To help old ladies across the street. To tie knots well. To sacrifice for family. To see themselves as heroes, however unlikely. We made all of those things into a culture. That was the secret. Anyone could have done it. You just had to believe. And that culture has been slowly dying. Some days it looks almost dead. Our culture and politics exist to give us permission to lie in the mud. That has become their unhidden purpose. Decency is a dead language. Shock value is our entertainment. Contempt and outrage are our national discourse. The Chinese build cities and islands. We yell at each other over the Internet. It's hard to remember a time when writing the Great American Novel was an ambition. The American novel is dead. Literature, like art, has become segmented into high brow garbage and low brow garbage. The aspirational middle brow culture is dead. The movie theater is filled with billion dollar adaptations of comic books, Disney rides and cartoons. The handful of teens who can be pried away from their phones long enough to watch something they'll forget five minutes later aren't even the target audience. America is a stopover territory on the way to the real markets in the teeming cities of China. How does a culture like that deal with heroism? It can't. It doesn't have the vocabulary for it.”

----------------------------------------

In response to this, our very liberal, single issue friend wrote back:

“Don’t know who wrote this. Not smart. Here’s what I’m writing. Researched climate science since I retired [in] 2009. Its about the Earth math. Like any system, Earth’s environment responds to a pulse of input like carbon. How long does it take to respond to reach a steady but higher temp? 30 years. Here’s the test. If you apply a reverse pulse, how long does it take to get relief? 30 years, because the physical dynamics are the same. This happened in the 1970s when Exxon discovered they were already destroying the place. Rather than man up, they voted to hire experts that knew how to confuse the public (mocking libtards) and discredit the same sciences that made them rich. If they decide to research how to apply a reverse pulse and then go do it (fat chance), to save their lifetime customers who were only ever given one kind of energy, your kids will see not climate relief in their lifetime (or yours). The Gulf of Mexico is a roulette wheel of grief and death. Houston will cost $180B. The bill should go to Exxon, but Sec State Exxon has a better idea: you can pay it. Exxon paid-Republicans: “No problem, and climate is normal, its just nature, goes to the Dems deficit anyway.” During the 30 year reverse response period, tipping points can be exceeded. Run past a couple or three of those and climate is out of control, goodby humans. Bugs will be OK. Unfortunately for the planet, during the debate about atmospheric testing of nucs, nuclear winter was modeled and found to be a high risk threatening the common planetary good. So, we are served by a treaty that everybody adheres to, even the N. Koreans. Unfortunately, because Sec State Exxon is going to fix climate damage, which is "not happening," with nuclear winter, a sudden climate solution after crazy N. Korea (and hapless S. Korea, Japan) get vaporized. “Hey we didn’t know this would happen, but look, Exxon fixed 2 problems.” End of democracy and life as we knew it. They are going to dig up every last fossil molecule and meter out nuc bandaids for eons, because they can’t be stopped. And they LOVE THEIR VOLUNTEER HEROES CLEANING UP AFTER THEIR GRIEF: IRAQ, SYRIA, LIBIA, AFGHANISTAN, PAKISTAN, RITA, KATRINA, HARVEY, and this list will double and triple.

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