#flatus made
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Earl Sweatshirt: A Geography of Grief and Growth
I made myself the poet of the world. The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.
—Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)
I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments.
—bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994)
Breakin’ ’em down to micro-fragments.
—Saafir, “Battle Drill” (1994)
What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.
—Robert Bly (1990)
1.
Earl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him—we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze [HOW COULD IT NOT BE?]). We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. An array of scatological options were ignored. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit (shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen—an odd facade. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. That’s his philosophy. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude.
2. DID AN ANGEL SPEAK?
The sonics of “tooted” and “student” are twee, giggle-inducing. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes [somebody | student | commons | rang | went | home | then | in | comments]. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. Maybe it was him—the subject, Earl, Thebe—seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. Embrace the Age of Immaturity. Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Place it beside the disorderly lyrics that Bobbito spits: “I write my own shit from finish to start, / Diminish the heart, / I eat a knish and then I fart.” Like the Cenobites, Earl kicks a dope verse, and only that. “I keep my sentences short,” he says on “EAST.” Beauty is brevity, brevity beauty. A “brevity pack,” as Earl has referred to the Feet of Clay songs. He strives to be live ’cause he got no choice. He runs his own business like James Joyce. In A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, a similar flatus incident unravels. At Clongowes Wood College (Stephen Dedalus’s Coral Reef Academy), a “stout student who stood below…on the steps” by the name of Goggins “farted briefly.” Sonically, the sentence shares much with Earl’s opening line. Dixon asks, in a “soft voice,” “Did an angel speak?” But the others react with bellicosity and name-calling (stinkpot; flamingest dirty devil). Goggins doesn’t retreat home; he simply asks, “It did no one any harm, did it?” You still bet that you can harm me, but you don’t alarm me, Goggins might say another way, reprising Del the Funky Homosapien, echoplexing Masta Ace.
3.
Earl “watched the doppler move,” the wavelength shift—the siren song of the “toot,” something insidious—or maybe it’s just the tremors we’re feeling. Woop, woop: that’s the sound of the beast, KRS would say. The frequency shivers. The shift, the movéd doppler, means Earl is immediately older, he’s the child who “get[s] introduced to violence,” even if he acknowledges the line was inspired by his nephew on a playground in South Africa, experiencing apartheid reincarnate as a whiteboy cuts him in line for the slide. Cranly, bullying Goggins, “shove[s] him violently down the steps.” The doppler moves. It slides into violence—like the violence visited upon the MOVE compound located at 6221 Osage Avenue in Philly in 1985. Gradations of black/white. ELUCID mentions the “gray on [his] face showing age” on his Osage (2016) project. Isn’t it strange—how the youngins can turn cold, hoarfrosty, in an instant? The grayscale cover to ELUCID’s tape is graced by a photograph of Birdie Africa, the sole child survivor of the siege. The bone fragments of the MOVE children have since been used in anthropology courses at UPenn and Princeton—case studies. It’s a good trope. Fascinating stuff.
4. TRYIN’ TO TRANSFORM YOU BOYS TO MEN LIKE DAYCARE
When JuJu of the Beatnuts asked, You want pain?, he wasn’t referencing the dramatical-traumatical pain Earl negotiates—JuJu’s question posed a ruffneck and ruffian pain on “Watch Out Now.” Somewhere closer to Marcy, where Jay-Z’s streets was watching. Earl clocks minutes, anaphoric with what he watches (I watched the doppler… / I watched a child…), much like Dylan’s portentous hard rain in which he saw endless racialized visions: “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”; “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’”; “I saw a white ladder all covered with water.” For Earl, the ladder is a slide. The saw is watched. Witnesses all.
5.
In “Theory as Liberatory Practice,” bell hooks writes that she “came to theory because [she] was hurting”: “I wanted to make the hurt go away. I saw in theory then a location for healing.” hooks says that she “came to theory young, when [she] was still a child,” citing Terry Eagleton who argues that “[c]hildren make the best theorists.” Children, Eagleton insists, possess “a wondering estrangement.” No wonder, then, that “since a jit” Earl has found no use in “giving up.” He rather make it make sense.
6.
I beat you to the point. Having gained experience, there’s nothing you can tell Earl that he doesn’t already know, that he hasn’t already seen. He’s seen enough, had enough. He doesn’t await the mob’s pursuit; he places the noose on himself, he RE: DEFines it within his own lexicon. His noose, therefore, “is golden.” He’s a young youth, rockin’ the gold [noose], DEATHWORLD goose. He speaks with criminal slang, with a split tongue like ELUCID. Where ELUCID was “true and living, actual—no dull axes, owner of all heads,” Earl is “true and living, lonesome,” with no skulls to keep him company. He has to square up with the “pugilistic moments” on his own.
7. I AM OLDER THAN I ONCE WAS AND YOUNGER THAN I’LL BE
I’m thinking of “The Pugilist at Rest” (1991) by Thom Jones, whose epileptic protag describes a “grainy black-and-white photograph” of the bronze statue called The Pugilist at Rest. The pugilist, with a pocketful of mumbles, has “slanted, drooping brows that bespeak torn nerves” and a forehead “piled with scar tissue.” Torn nerves and scar tissue—sounds like the physical manifestations of grief. And, yes, Earl has grieved, and he continues to grieve—as listeners, we’re accustomed to his grief pedigree, as per Ka. In the past, Earl was “panicking a lot”—he just “want[ed] [his] time and [his] mind intact.” That’s a cold fact.
The narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” readies himself for a cingulotomy—a psychosurgical procedure that will “cauterize a small spot in a nerve bundle in [his] brain.” In other words, he wants to keep his mind intact. The neurosurgeon promises the operation will lift “the heaviness of a heart blackened by sin,” which is what convinces the narrator to agree to it. Good grief, he thinks, he’s been reaping what he sowed. He “can’t go on like this,” barely living “with a deadening sense of languor,” a phrase which calls to mind Earl’s lethargic, slugabed flow. Feeling insane in the membrane, like he’s a Soul Assassinated, exploring the depths beneath his whooligan behaviors. 376 was a brothel. “Good and evil are only illusions,” Jones writes. In anticipation of the surgery, the protag considers the worst-case [so what, so what] scenario: “If they fuck up the operation, I hope I get to keep my dogs somehow.”
8. MOURNING & MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLIA
Grief carries its own antidote along with it.
—Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland (1798)
“Grief is the door to feeling,” Robert Bly says. But Earl, on “Grief,” told us he “ain’t been outside in a minute”—and that minute, whether we’re speaking with criminal slang like Nas on “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” or not, is an eternity. Earl hadn’t crossed that threshold, hadn’t kicked in that door. MIKE would realize it much later on “No Curse Lifted (rivers of love),” how you “had to walk through the grief,” even if it “was the worst feeling.” In 2015, though, Earl found these passageways distorted. Like the undulating photograph on the cover of his first mixtape. Like the blur-obscured selfie on the cover of Some Rap Songs. Like the static-scrambled cover of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Earl’s dealt in fragmentary confuzzled noise for a full career. He’s been standing on the corner, red burnt, moving down alien lanes paved by GBV, greenthinking to himself. It ain’t hard to tell that Earl “don’t act hard” and yet is a “hard act to follow.” The density or opacity of his exterior notwithstanding, grief don’t come easy. “As men,” Bly says, “we’re taught not to feel pain and grief as children.” So Earl spits somnolent, numb-tongued and slack-jawed. Like he said on “Cold Summers”: muffle my pain and muzzle my brain up.
“I’ve been alone in my shit for the longest,” he spit on “Grief,” and in work as recent as “Vin Skully,” he’s still figuring out “how to stay afloat in a bottomless pit.” Bly says that “we receive something from our father by standing close to him—something moves over that can’t be described in material terms.” Bly speaks of being in a “conspiracy with his mother” from early on. Earl finds himself “thinking ’bout [his] grandmama” while he wallows and lies in a bottle. “Grief” catalogs all the things his mama taught him. Earl’s work, of late, is autodestructive. He peels away and pastes back haphazardly. He vibes with this Bly shit: “If you can deny something so fundamental as grief in the whole family, you can deny anything. And then how can you write poetry if you’re involved in that much denial?”
Bly goes on to quote Alice Miller, the psychoanalyst who gave us The Drama of the Gifted Child (1979): “When you were young, you needed something you did not receive, and you will never receive it. And the proper attitude is mourning.” Mourning is the proper attitude, not blame—mourning. Mourning makes its way through moaning and mumbling—Earl’s current intonation. On “Grief,” he “cut the grass off the surface [and] pray[s] the lawnmower blade catch the back of a serpent.” Philip Larkin’s poem “The Mower” (1979) leans more literal: “The mower stalled, twice; I found / A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, / Killed. It had been in the long grass.” Larkin’s speaker genuflects before the innocent critter, recalling how he “fed it, once.” Now, he mourns how he has “mauled its unobtrusive world, / Unmendably. Burial was no help.” Earl, of course, is less forgiving of the serpents in the grass. They’re threats, not friends. Still, a void opens up when the mower—(and let’s not forget the lawnmower is a modernized scythe)—does its mowing. Grief is the door to feeling, and on the other side:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
9. NOBODY KNOW WHO MADE THIS WELL, FOR IT WAS HERE WHEN I WAS BORN
“Come get to know me at my innermost…”
Riveting, Earl raps. Earl raps are riveting. We fix to the flow—riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s. We’re invited to know Earl, to become familiar, and his “innermost” is a constant vacillation between optimism and [afro]pessimism. The sudden switches—these switches on bitches like fixed with hydraulics—establish what Danny Schwartz, writing for Rolling Stone, called an “uneven terrain.”
Earl’s “family business [is] anguished,” and that’s recognizable. We’ve known Earl (on “Chum”) with the “pendulum swinging slow” and low. He holed up, hostage-like, in his “heart’s bottomless pit.” Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842) brand of captivity. “I was sick,” that narrator says, “—sick unto death with that long agony.” Something tells me there should be an exclamation point there (SICK!). Earl Sweatshirt was down, down, down. “I was in the fucking pits for like 10 months post my pops dying,” he said in an interview. The Spanish Inquisition ain’t shit.
But for these countless downs, “OD” tracks the ups like naloxone in the nasal membrane. “Now I need atonement,” Earl notes—he makes a case for reparations. He “sets the goal[s]” like some motivational speaker. If “half [his] wings is broken,” he can “spread the other for [his] brodie OD.” Somewhat circumspect as he’s “tiptoeing,” yet the approach is laden with “too much love.” Even when his “sister showed in a rut,” he’s joining arms with her and “getting over, sending up.” That rut she walks—like Eudora Welty’s worn path (1941)—is a path through the pinewoods, and she’s suddenly Phoenix Jackson. “She was very old and small,” Welty writes, and she moves “with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.” Even with her pentium processing and pendulum low, she swings back up—the rise of her namesake. She screams phoenix, her feathers and flames are one skin. “Living in the moment,” Earl raps, and his craft is bars. “You been corrupt”—and, sure, who hasn’t?—but you recover with “some ginabot.” Welty’s Old Phoenix surveys a spring “silently flowing through a hollow log.” She bends and drinks and says, “Sweet gum makes the water sweet.” It’s the equivalent to Earl putting “shilajit in his sippy cup,” which is “healing cuts revealingly.” And, yes, from a “sippy cup,” so we’re back to toddling around again (“Since a jit,” he says). “I can’t give enough,” Earl raps, his last winding-sheet made of nard and myrrh.
10.
We crouch and teeter, caterwauling along the ledges, for we’ve got these clumsy feet of clay. This is the intended effect[/defect]; this is the rubble of what Earl calls the “crumbling empire.” This is us feeling the violent vibes of the “death throes” he speaks of. Why would we expect anything to resemble traditional song or rhyme structure when the earth quakes, civilization trembles, and Earl’s dungeon shakes? His chains have fallen off. The tenor is tremors. He’s living the trife life—hell on earth—but still living. Earl’s done trying to not look down—he embraces an outer appearance which scans dour; he deliberately gazes into the pit, inviting the vertigo, for it “haunts the whole of existence,” as Fanon says. But Frank B. Wilderson III promises a “vengeance of vertigo.”
11.
Gallons of rubbing alcohol flow through the strip, and Earl’s lips. He’s “refilling the pump”—his heart, yeah—but with a sawed-off shotgun, hand-on-the-pump posture. There’s “no concealing it,” not even with a concealed carry permit. He brandishes right back at “the enemy up in arms bearing snubs.” The mood swings; been down so long it looks like up to him. The turns require tourniquets. This is some Battle of Dak To torture—somewhere between Retaliation and the Heavenly Divine. Emotional turmoil seems violent by design, and Earl’s “memory [is] really leaking blood.” Fear not, the blood is “congealing, stuck.” Like Havoc says, “The Mobb rollin’ thicker.” Prodigy cites it, too: “This ain’t rap—it’s bloodsport.” But Earl has known that all along—he’s been “mobbin’ deep as ’96 Havoc and Prodigy did” since 2013.
12.
HipHopDX’s Kevin Cortez referred to listeners having to “sift through the muddle” in order to appreciate the bars, but where muddle suggests a disorderly conduct, a kaos network, Earl’s style, more appropriately, models. The woozy, wavy, and inner-conflict-war-torn vocals model an abstraction that anticipates the listener’s loyalty. This is what I’ve got, brief and cryptic as the gesture may be, the model says. Writing for NME, Dhruva Balram described Earl’s lyrics as “slurred,” but slurry is the form.
13.
If the empire can deploy Orwellian technologies of repression, its outcasts have the gods of chaos on their side…
—Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (2005)
So if we’re giving ourselves over to the woozes and waves, we’ll just as well find ourselves lost. Let’s go—like those tourist books run by students—and let’s wander eastward. Follow our napkin-scrawled directions and disorientations to a somewhere elsewhere. Let’s go east for a second, for a spell, on a lark, in the dark (word to AKAI SOLO). Earl’s bloodwork contains “pieces of slums”—or more aptly, [sLUms]. He’s hand-to-hand with that Jungle Boy MIKE, but also the god Mike Davis. “[T]he cities of the future,” Davis wrote, would be “constructed out of crude brick, straw, recycled plastic, cement blocks, and scrap wood.” Just the same as an Earl Sweatshirt verse is built—under the tutelage and overstanding-sharing, symbiotically, with MIKE. Davis says our cities aren’t “cities of light soaring toward heaven,” but a world that “squats in squalor, surrounded by pollution, excrement, and decay.” Smells like somebody tooted in the student commons. Smells like a slum village, something we’ve smelled before—possibly coming straight from the slums of Shaolin.
14. ACID EASTERNS
Earl trekked to the East and squinted into “one beacon in the dust weaving”—like Clint Eastwood arriving out of the hazy horizon ether of High Plains Drifter (1973). But Earl is heading to the East, blackwards. And though Brother J claimed you can’t define what’s direct from the East, Jeru told us on The Sun Rises in the East that you can’t stop the prophet either. So on “EAST,” Earl traverses a tricky terrain—it’s tricky, tricky, tricky because it’s an acid western landscape: an acid eastern.
The path isn’t direct or linear—it zigs and zags like rolling papers, and stimulates the same. “Double back when you got it made,” Earl says at the start of his journey “EAST.” The objective is to talk sense condensed into the form of a poem like Special Ed once did on “I Got It Made.” Instead, Earl’s poems—his L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poems—skew [non]sense, go form[less], and vaporize rather than condense. Lyn Hejinian in cinnamon Timbs: “constant change figures / the time we sense.” The narrative is hallucinogenic (note: “how the story careen against the bars”). Earl’s bindle contains “thirty racks and weed [with] no fat in the collard greens.” That’s how he gets funky on the mic like an old batch. That’s how he gets sincerity on the mic: “Off top it’s me—no cap, / I don’t bottle things.” That buck that bought a bottle could’ve struck the lotto, maybe. But Earl’s “canteen was full of the poison [he] need[s].” He gets where he’s going like El Topo, bereft. The “trip was long and steep”—that being an acid trip—so let me see you try to ride a horse into the chasms of the canyon.
“EAST” is a death meditation, a grand duel between Dantean and Donneian lyric voices [he damn-near well should’ve double-tracked the vocals]. In a 2015 interview with SPIN, Earl is asked about the worst thing he did that year, to which he replies: “Umm…acid?” He elaborates: “I took it at a time when I really didn’t need to be taking acid. I had like a fucking existential crisis at, like, four in the morning. But it was tight. We reeled it back.” Jodorowsky called El Topo (1970) an “eastern” in that it “incorporat[ed] ancient eastern wisdom in the materiality of American cowboys.” For Earl, it’s more a rhinestone cowboy—he holds the cold one like he holds an old gun (as evidenced in the “EAST” music video). DOOM was no stranger to grief, of course, and the rumors persist regarding the bad acid that precipitated Subroc’s early demise (“Bad Acid” also being the original title for “December 24”).
Estranged Earl, alienated—a high plains drifter (not Clint Eastwood, though) who rechristens a town “Hell” through a baptism of blood. Like the Beastie Boys’ version, Earl pulls out a pair of pliers and pulls a bullet out of his chest. He pulls through, true and living. “I’m long distance from my girl,” Mike D raps, so he’s “talking on the cellular,” but Earl is more alienated than that—beyond racking up roaming charges, immersed in dead zones. He “lost [his] phone and consequently all the feelings [he] caught for [his] GF.” Relationships can’t be sustained in these bleak and barren locations. All the blood has been drained from the ruddy faces—sanguine scenery. In his essay “On the Acid Western,” Jonathan Rosenbaum discusses how the subgenre “refuses to respect or valorize bloodshed.” Memory really leaking blood. Congealing. Stuck. To paraphrase Rosenbaum, Earl’s acid eastern “formulat[es] a chilling, savage frontier poetry to justify [his] hallucinated agenda—a view at once clear-eyed and visionary, exalted and laconic, moral and unsentimental, witty and beautiful, frightening and placid.” Earl’s “innocence was lost in the East,” and obsessives speculate whether this refers to Samoa or New York City—how far east we going? Countless spirit-questers pit-stopping at ashrams, searching for that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal guide.
“I wait a beat,” Earl says. His canteen stays filled, auto-replenishes. His “cognitive dissonance shattered” and the “necessary venom restored.” Jodorowsky reportedly once taped snakes to his chest for an experimental theater performance. As if it matters if you think it matters anymore. Or, as ELUCID says, “Words mean things but don’t have to.” Acids and bases. Occident and Orient. Western and Eastern. Up is down.
15. NOTHING LIKE US EVER WAS
Earl’s “EAST” accordion beat—or whatever Orkes Gambus Al Fata instrumentation is at work—is more madcap than madvillainous. In my head is Erick Sermon, though, speaking about how “the flow slow…like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion” on “Knick Knack Patty Wack.” But I’m less concerned with the flow of air through bellows—compressing and expanding—than I am with Earl’s rendering of wind. (Somebody tooted.)
“Let the dead be dead,” Carl Sandburg says at stanza’s end in “Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind” (1920). Later, he reports, “The only singers now are crows crying.” And so Earl, a lonesome crow, reminds us—and himself—that “the wind get the ashes in the end” on “December 24.” The whining, wheezing consonance of /-nd/ in “wind” and “end” manages to evoke both the wind itself and the circularity of life. The bar whooshes and whips until we’re at our end, the terminus. That circularity, that full circle: ashes to ashes. “We are the greatest city,” Sandburg repeats, “the greatest nation: / nothing like us ever was.”
Global winds be blowin’—[Of the Soul]—and so billy woods cites that same line on “Haarlem”: “Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv.” Check the configuration of the rhime:
The wind | gets | the ashes | in | the end
{birth} {life} {death}
Even that get does work—whether it’s the violence of Death Grips’ “get got”; Too $hort threatening you to “get in where you fit in”; or the satirical sadism of Keenen Ivory Wayans’ I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. The wind wins out—it gets what it wants. On “EAST,” the wind—infinitely personified—“whispered to [Earl], ‘Ain’t it hard?’” It ain’t hard to tell that it is. How about some hardcore? Yeah, we like it raw like M.O.P. But those burns yield ashes. In Adrienne Rich’s poem “The Burning of Paper Instead of Children” (1989), she struggles with the words she uses, knowing “[t]his is the oppressor’s language / yet [she] needs to talk to you.” I know it hurts to burn, she writes, but writing is no less ardent. “The typewriter is overheated, my mouth is burning.”
Let me bring it back to Robert Bly. “In the ancient times,” Bly says, “the movement for the men was downward—a descent into grief. It’s referred to in the fairytale as ‘the time of ashes.’” Ashes, he explains, is the “code word for the ‘out of it’ time.”
We know what it is like to take ashes in our hands. How light they are! The fingertips experience them as a kind of powder… Ashes, we note, find their way into the whorls of our fingertips, cling there, make the whorls more noticeable, more visible, more clear to us. We can take our own fingerprints with ashes.
Ashes, then, aren’t simply for the wind’s taking—ashes are for us, are necessary for us to transcend the grief the boys, the men, and the man-child experience. Bly points to the various cultures that have used ashes in initiation rites: “Ashes Time is a time set aside for the death of that ego-bound boy.” Ready to give up, so you seek the Old Earth. The elders cover your face—even your whole body—with ashes “to make [you] the color of dead people and to remind [you] of the inner death about to come.” Consider Earl’s ashen white face produced in the negative imagery of the “Grief” music video.” “The word ashes contains in it a dark feeling for death,” Bly says. “Ashes when put on the face whiten as death does.”
Earl Sweatshirt is a far cry from knocking blunt ashes into caskets.
16.
Feet of clay, hands of light…
—Moor Mother and billy woods, “Furies” (2020)
For Cheryl I. Harris, Earl’s mother, the feet of clay refer to a vulnerability we all possess no matter how formidable we may appear to become. Earl invokes the King of Babylon’s dream, a dream of an idol “meant to represent all the empires of the world,” echoing Sandburg’s imperious “greatest nation.” Earl believes “we at the feet of clay right now…We posted up live from burning Rome.” Imagine the ash pile. So Earl is here, ostensibly, to turn the disco into something dismal—how Mtume becomes “MTOMB” with its entombed sonics, as if he’s rapping from within a wall, the victim of some Poe immurement.
17.
“I remember woods,” Earl raps on “OD.” “I remember Endom when he wasn’t remembering much, / I remember love healing the ruptures.” I remember is also the refrain and title of Joe Brainard’s poem-memoir, a term which aptly describes much of Earl’s recent output. Brainard’s memories bum-rush into the present:
I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass.
I remember painting “I HATE TED BERRIGAN” in big black letters all over my white wall.
I remember liver.
If Earl recalls love “healing the ruptures,” then he also likely recalls Fanon: It is essential to convey to the black man that an attitude of rupture has never saved anyone. But Fanon also speaks of young Black men “maintain[ing] their alterity. Alterity of rupture, of conflict, of battle.” Earl, “feeling rushed, grew up quick.” He echoes Biggie, who “grew up a fucking screw-up,” and Raekwon, who “grew up on the crime side” (though Earl’s mama taught him, as we know from “Grief,” how to avoid the pigs, persecution, and prosecution). Eyes on the clock, Earl acknowledges this “trip around the sun” is his “25th,” so “give it up”—his survival alone deserving of a standing [on the corner] ovation. He celebrates life with “gin and rum.” Again, notably not gin and juice—murder was never the case. The only death is the inner death, the death of the ego-bound boy, that Bly describes. Earl’s gin is the drink of be[gin]ning, of genesis (“Light them Phillies up then…”), of Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis, when I was dead-broke, man… “We wasn’t supposed to be alive,” Earl says, yet here he stands.
18. RUMINANT
Stare at the Feet of Clay album cover—an evocation of folkloric imagery: a Grimm forest with gnarled tree branches—and the enchanted, diabolic goat lying in wait. Earl’s parasocial following speculate G.O.A.T., of course, but I’m more inclined to mythopoeic possibilities. The Feet of Clay goat glares like Baphomet but frolics like a faun over fractured beats. “OD,” Earl has stated, “brought [him] up out of [his] little wreck”—a wreck of wracked nerves. Adrienne Rich encourages “diving into the wreck” (1973).
I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power.
Earl’s right there with her, submerged and blacking out, but still surviving: Really leaking blood, but refilling the pump.
In her essay “Teaching New Worlds/New Words,” bell hooks invokes Rich’s struggle to navigate the “oppressor’s language.” For hooks, as a Black writer, managing that is even more difficult and historical. “I think now of the grief of displaced ‘homeless’ Africans, forced to inhabit a world where they saw folks like themselves, inhabiting the same skin, the same condition, but who had no shared language to talk with one another, who needed ‘the oppressor’s language.’” hooks explains how Black folks have “remade that language so that it would speak beyond the boundaries of conquest and domination.”
Earl Sweatshirt, especially in his later work, has “altered [and] transformed” English, just as “enslaved Black people took broken bits of English and made of them a counter-language.” The emotional wreckage is also a linguistic heap of fragments—micro-fragments, if we’ve learned anything from Saafir. Earl, in the tradition of his ancestors, “put[s] together [his] words in such a way that the colonizer ha[s] to rethink the meaning of the English language.” “The grammatical construction of sentences in these songs” by Earl, just as by the spirituals of hundreds of years prior, “reflect[s] the broken, ruptured world of the slave.” That crumbling empire Earl mentions was faulted by feet of clay.
At the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2019, sharing a dais with his mother, Cherly I. Harris, Earl spoke to this lineage directly: “Rap music is slave music—the modern-day iteration of it. Slave communication had to be encrypted. You got a code.” He shifted: “If I know what I’m saying…I can teach it to you.” On Feet of Clay, Earl is teaching to transgress. “I’m cracking my own code,” he says to an audience member during the Q&A, “how it comes out garbled…,” and then he trails off, as if making a deliberate effort to keep his answer cryptic.
hooks always saw language as “a site of resistance.” This included the incorrect usage and placement of words—she called such practices a “rebellion.” Weaponizing syntax. hooks recognized rap music as a continuation of this fight—the latest [sound]clash, hip-hop artists as rebels without a pause—while still acknowledging the collateral damage it might cause.
Rap music has become one of the spaces where black vernacular speech is used in a manner that invites dominant mainstream culture to listen—to hear—and, to some extent, be transformed. However, one of the risks of this attempt at cultural translation is that it will trivialize black vernacular speech. When young white kids imitate this speech in ways that suggest it is the speech of those who are stupid or who are only interested in entertaining or being funny, then the subversive power of this speech is undermined.
Or, as Earl once said on “Chum,” “Too Black for the white kids and too white for the Blacks,” an axiom he’s come to loathe. Perhaps Fanon had the better bar on this subject: “The white man had the anguished feeling that I was escaping from him and that I was taking something with me. He went through my pockets. He thrust probes into the least circumvolution of my brain. Everywhere he found only the obvious. So it was obvious that I had a secret.”
Despite the pitfalls (and, yeah, the pit is bottomless), Earl’s words play [wordplay] a part in retraining minds, all while exorcizing his own demons through a steady diet of ashes and fractures. hooks promises us that “in the patient act of listening to another tongue we may subvert that culture of capitalist frenzy and consumption that demands all desire must be satisfied immediately.” Through his embrace of a language that indulges in passion and cerebral coding, Earl “heal[s] the splitting of mind and body” so common within Western metaphysical thought. Earl Sweatshirt speaks “words that do more than simply mirror or address the dominant reality”; he builds blips into a reality that is worth the rewind.
Images:
Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot) | Teen at 1990s computer photograph, Unknown (c. 1996) | James Joyce, Age 2, Unknown | ELUCID, Osage album cover (2016), photo by Michael Mally, Philadelphia Inquirer | The Boxer at Rest, bronze statue, Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, Italy (330-50 BC) | Alphonse Legros, The Pit and the Pendulum, second Plate (1861) | High Plains Drifter, dir. Clint Eastwood, 1973 (screenshot) | Subroc on an Apple IIc, Unknown (c. 1987) | Earl Sweatshirt, “Grief” music video, 2015 (screenshot) | Arthur Rackham, The Water of Life, Grimms Fairy Tales (1916) | Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot)
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Today's Holiday 1
July 18: World Listening Day
A male flatus fiction
18+
I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. I was warm and comfortable with the entire down comforter wrapped around me.
Michael stirred next to me. He was my entire world. We were only six weeks into our relationship, but it felt like I had always known him.
I opened my eyes if only to see my favorite view. Michael ran hot, and he never covered up with even a sheet. His tan, toned torso was sprawled across his two pillows, every inch of him close to perfect.
A pair of tight, white briefs were stretched over his bubble butt, leading to thick legs ending with attractive, big feet. But the ass...it was my favorite part of him. Well, it was one of my favorite parts.
Michael grabbed his phone from his nightstand and brought it to his face. His brown eyes blinked in the phone light, and a smile broke through his black beard. "Oh, fun! You know what is?"
"July eighteenth?" I rolled over and left a kiss on his shoulder.
"No! Remember I downloaded that app? 'Every day is a holiday'?"
I yawned. "Oh yeah. What's today?"
"World listening day." Michael's eyes developed a mischievous spark with his smirk. "So listen..."
I smelled it before I heard it. Michael made eye contact as his silent fart rose to a whisper. It got louder and picked up speed as it went on. Michael pushed his ass further and further into the air, and the fart crescendoed in a great boom.
It smelled like it always did, like hot, decomposing death. Michael produced some of the smelliest, most epic farts ever, aided by his digestive issues with bread, dairy, red meat, and anything green.
"Damn, baby." I coughed twice and laughed. "That smells so bad."
"You love it." Michael slid out of the bed, his great booty jiggling as he stepped to the mirror by his dresser.
"You have a boner from your own fart," I laughed, noticing the growing lump under the white fabric. I traipsed to the mirror behind him.
"You don't?" Michael's head turned, and I couldn't tell if he was serious or not.
I had managed to hide my fart fetish from him so far. His gassiness and willingness to rip had caught me off guard, but eventually I came to learn he got off on doing it as much as I did hearing it, smelling it.
But nothing made me more nervous than revealing that secret.
I reached around him to collect the bump in my right hand. He closed his eyes and exhaled. "Stay there."
Michael ripped a deep, loud fart and pushed his ass into my crotch. He farted again, a smaller one. The thick smell drifted straight up to my face. I blinked at its intensity. It was the perfect time to say something.
I backed down. "Damn, baby! That's so freaking bad! It's Listening Day, not Smelling Day."
Michael chuckled as he walked away from me, grabbing his phone again. He read the screen, and his gaze lifted to meet my worried expression. "What is it?"
"National Daquiri Day." Michael shrugged. An anti-climax. He looked back to the screen and then back up, falling into hysterical laughter. He held up the phone to me.
I leaned close: Stick Your Tongue Out Day. I shook my head with a laugh, and I couldn't help blushing. "You better not."
"I'll let it be a surprise." Michael grinned and kissed me, amused and so proud of himself.
His farts still hung in the air. I couldn't keep lying much longer, especially if he had nefarious plans.
#eproctophilia#farts#eprocto#fart kink#flatulence#gay fart fiction#gay fart stories#fart story#holiday
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tell us about abt old people chengqing!! :)
anon I am SO SORRY I saw this ask millennia ago and it was late so I was like ah! I'll reply tomorrow AND THEN I DIDN'T
anyway with old people chengqing I imagine a modern au they meet when they're already old. I think I should probably consider whether they'd have their spouses or grandchildren in this one but alas: I can't be arsed. so I'll just say that they meet in something like... hm. maybe it's a library or a culture center. maybe they live in the same neighbourhood and meet during a meeting about, idk, whether to build or not to build a new playground. who knows.
anyway, the thing is: they're similar. wq has never stopped saying what's on her mind, if anything, age has only made her care less about what people might say, because look. she's old. she's a retired doctor. can you prove she didn't assist your mother birthing you? you can't. are you gonna argue with someone who helped haul your ass into this world? no. sit down and shut up AND we're putting the money into the heating fund, flower beds can wait. (her speciality was cardiology and she didn't have That much experience with midwifery, but do people need to know that? also no.)
meanwhile jc learned to give less of a fuck what people, for example wei wuxians*, think about him, and this is also thanks to his age because you're gonna tell an old fart what to do? (at some point wwx told him that "old fart" does not suit such a fancy schmancy man as him. look at him. he's dressed way too neatly for a "fart". venerable flatus, perhaps. you're appropriating old fartery, a-cheng.) he often comes ready to Argue for his case, but then it turns out that either his suggestions are quite reasonable and everyone agrees, OR that wq has already given the people assembled a single Look and they suddenly found it in themselves to agree with her, oh, wholeheartedly.
*although whether wwx is a person or a nuisance sent to this green bitch of an earth specifically to torment jc, well that's a separate argument
so. they are being Shipped.
obviously -- one might say -- being old and bitchy at the same time and place does not mean you would make a good couple. tell that to the youths, though. you try and tell them. you accidentally bark at the kids to quiet down or watch out for their little sibling roughly at the same time and suddenly everyone's like ooh, isn't that cute! they catch you bitching about people who value looks over practicality and want the balconies to be renovated in a way that'll need further renovation in five years, utter idiocy, ONCE, and suddenly everyone's giggling, throwing you Looks, and asking if you've seen the flyers for dancing nights for the elderly.
of course you've seen them! you helped organise the whole thing. s o m e people need that, for interaction or something, and it needs to be done well, simple as that. no, they can't go. they've been there last month, the snacks were alright But this month they cannot. she has a book signing and he goes fishing with a-ling's youngest, you know how it is. maybe you kids should try other hobbies too, since you clearly have nothing else to do!
(the kids in question are like. 40-50.)
but. while it's annoying and bothersome, it's not like wq and jc actually hate each other. in fact, yeah, they like each other quite a lot, at least as much as you can like someone while like... coexisting. but this whole Thing with people making jokes like they were a bunch of schoolkids and not Old People does actually make them entertain, even just in their heads, the possibility of Getting To Know Each Other Better.
and while jc is, actually, interested -- she's a very intelligent, responsible woman, and physically she's quite excellent too -- he does get a bit shy in matters like these, so he just... doesn't really plan on doing anything, since he's quite pleased with how they are already. wq, however, does not like not knowing where she stands, so one day she just comes up to him -- when they're alone, mind you, she doesn't want to make a show for everyone out of this -- and goes, well, would you be interested in taking me dancing? and he. is glad he's put the book away, because his fingers twitch and he'd surely tear the paper. no, he says, i can organize this shit, but i don't like dancing at all. (there's a pause.) but if you were interested in going somewhere together, or getting something to eat...
(she is. and they go, like, right away, because a new cafe opened nearby and she wanted to try it, and then they go for a walk in the park and she tells him about her family, and he tells her about his, and they find another thing they have in common -- being surrounded by reckless fools, and also children -- and by the time a natural pause in their conversation arrives, one that happens because many topics have been exhausted, it's already dinner time, so now they go to a place jc likes... and by the time wgxn notice them it's too late to run away because they're in the middle of the soup, but jc suffers only a little because, see, the soup is good and so is this date, so really,)
#THIS IS KIND OF NOTHING because i don't actually know what the elderly can do in their free time. aside from like. everything#due to having their free time but yget me. i also have no idea how like. libraries and Local Social Circles work. i don't know why i'm#doing this to myself but eh! old grumpy hets = good i think#oh and also. jc doesn't like dancing in public but he does gather the courage and ask wq for a dance when they're over at her place#and she's playing her favourite CDs. her smile almost knocks him off his feet. they just like. rock awkwardly and do a bit of#twirling but it's So Fun for both of them i think#answered asks#anonymous
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Mario and Luigi: OvenBreak Adventure
Chapter 5: Ambushed!
Mario, GingerBrave, and Wizard Cookie came out of a green pipe into a dark forest.
“This is it, boys.” said Wizard Cookie. “We’re here.”
“Here?” asked Mario. “Where’s here?”
“I… don’t really know.” Wizard Cookie said.
“This must be the Tainted Forest...” GingerBrave observed. “It’s darker than it’s ever been...”
“Oh, Luigi... I hope you’re okay...” Mario muttered.
“Who’s Luigi?” Wizard Cookie asked.
“Oh... uh, nothing.” Mario fibbed.
“MARIOOOOOO!”
Suddenly, a loud scream was heard from a corner in the forest. It didn’t sound familiar to GingerBrave or Wizard Cookie, but it sounded very familiar to Mario.
“Wait a minute. Is that...?” Mario said.
“MARIOOOOOO!”
“Sounds like someone’s in trouble!” GingerBrave said.
“I’ll go check!” Mario ran towards the noise, and when he got there, he was in immediate shock! His brother, Luigi, was all tied up, and was being carried away by a bunch of dog-like creatures that looked like cakes.
“MARIO! HELP!” Luigi cried. “Don’t just stand there!”
“Stand back, Mario!” Wizard Cookie said. “Those are CakeHounds, they’re extremely feral and dangerous!”
“We’ll take care of them!” GingerBrave said.
Mario stood back, while GingerBrave and Wizard Cookie stood their ground. The Cakehounds put Luigi down and started growling at them.
“Ready, GingerBrave?” Wizard Cookie said.
“Yeah.” GingerBrave replied. “It’ll be like old times.”
One Cakehound made the first attack, aimed at GingerBrave. But GingerBrave, being strong and courageous, countercharged at it.
“Here I come!” charged GingerBrave, his words beeped up and amped up. STRIKE! The mousse mutt was knocked out. Unfortunately, more came for them, even feral than ever. But GingerBrave didn’t get scared—in fact, he wasn’t afraid at all.
“There’s more where that came from!” GingerBrave taunted. This signaled Wizard Cookie to cast a spell on the hounds.
“Sonus flatus!” he called out, and with a wave of his staff, fired a sound blast that pushed back the feral Cakehounds by mere yards.
“Whoa...” Mario was amazed. “I’m... I’m at a loss for words.”
“It’s the usual.” Wizard Cookie assured. The Cakehounds retreated and went away from them. “That’s what Prophet Cookie told me to do with them.”
GingerBrave came to Luigi, who was traumatized by the ambush.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “That was some ambush!”
“What the heck was that?” Luigi said frailly.
“You got ambushed by some monsters in the forest, but we took care of them.” Wizard Cookie said. “You’re safe now.”
“Phew... thanks!” Luigi said.
“Luigi?” Mario ran to him.
“Mario?!” Luigi called. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”
“Thanks, bro! Now let’s go home!” Mario said.
“WAIT!” Wizard Cookie said. “You guys can’t leave yet!”
“Wha-why?” Mario asked.
“Follow me...” Wizard Cookie said. He led them out of the forest, and into a bright, jovial village. Toads were there getting settled in and were welcomed.
“Whoa…” Mario was amazed.
“Mind BLOWN!” Luigi said.
“Nice, huh? This is the Cookie Kingdom!” Wizard Cookie welcomed them.
“Wow...” Luigi observed.
“Come in here. We need to talk.” Wizard Cookie said, guiding them to a nearby tent
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Meanwhile, at a small-time chili palace over lunch
RICOCHET RABBIT, perhaps well into his third bowl of chili: You have to wonder how no less than Sheriff--bhling! bhling! bhling!--Ricochet Rabbit can manage to go through so much chili in one sitting! Is it, perhaps, the press of work, or the ennui of not having so much?
DROOP-ALONG COYOTE, myopic as usual: And meanwhile, I wonder why chili forever seems to disagree with me, no matter how much I manage to eat!
[Whereupon Ricochet Rabbit reveals his "secret answer" to being able to pack away so much chili without discomfort: Kümmel, a traditional German digestive liqueur made of caraway seeds, said to be a reliable carminative.]
DROOP-ALONG COYOTE, bemused: So that's how it's possible for Ricochet Rabbit to enjoy chili without so much discomfort and flatus!
#hanna barbera#vignette#ricochet rabbit and droop-along coyote#chili#bowl of red#kummel#carminatives#digestive liqueur#hannabarberaforever
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Minimally Invasive Surgery Market to advance at a CAGR of 3.2% from 2022 to 2031
Minimally Invasive Surgery Market Outlook 2031
The global minimally invasive surgery market was valued at US$ 231.1 Bn in 2021
The global market is projected to advance at a CAGR of 3.2% from 2022 to 2031
The global minimally invasive surgery market is anticipated to cross US$ 324.9 Bn by the end of 2031
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Overview of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
Minimally invasive procedures enable a surgeon to use techniques that limit the size and number of cuts, or incisions, that need to be made. Advancements in minimally invasive surgery devices have revolutionized these procedures. Using minimally invasive technology has improved patient outcomes and recovery all over the world. Minimally invasive and robotic procedures allow the surgeons to advance in video imaging by virtue of voice control over the networked operating room.
Robotic procedures represent the latest development in minimally invasive procedures, providing surgeons with precision devices that employ the same small incisions as conventional laparoscopy. A key difference is that the robotic system can offer broader visualization of the operative field and precision control of minimally invasive surgery devices.
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AI-enabled services, 3D printing, and new imaging methods are increasingly being utilized in surgery. These are some of the key factors that are boosting the minimally invasive surgery market.
Faster Recovery and Shorter Hospital Stay Propelling Demand for Minimally Invasive Surgeries
Less wound pain, faster functional recovery, and shorter hospital stay are the key advantages of minimally invasive surgery (MIS) over open surgery. Minimally invasive procedures are also linked to significantly less blood loss, lower analgesic consumption, a faster time to first flatus and a soft diet, and a shorter postoperative hospital stay as compared to open surgery. Awareness about the benefits of minimally invasive surgeries is increasing among patients. This is compelling healthcare companies to increase the manufacturing of minimally invasive surgery equipment.
According to Transparency Market Research (TMR) Healthcare Research findings, based on our pilot population study, we observed that most patients with renal calculi, prefer endoscopic procedures to manage the removal of kidney stones. They prefer a minimally invasive procedure instead of open surgery, owing to the high degree of awareness. Demand analysis of minimally invasive surgery suggests that endoscope technology and instrumentation have made it possible to convert many procedures in many surgical specialties from open surgeries to endoscopic ones.
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Surgical Robots Performing Complex Procedures Likely to Boost Market Growth
Robotic surgery is a modern technique that offers significant results in various types of surgical procedures. A rapid increase in the adoption of robotic surgery for minimally invasive procedures is attributed to a blend of technological improvements such as the use of more efficient motors, compact & light materials, power backup, sophisticated controls, and safety mechanisms, along with more cost-effective versions. The high precision of robot-assisted surgery helps in accurate implant positioning and reduces the risk of injury to adjacent tissues. Patients also benefit from less bleeding and post-operative pain, and fewer hospital readmissions.
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Growth prospects for minimally invasive surgery market lie in innovations in surgical robotic systems. Robots are also becoming increasingly important in the field of minimally invasive surgery due to the growing complexity of procedures in order to treat difficult diseases. In 2020, more than 900,000 procedures were performed in the U.S., and about 5,000 robotic platforms were equipped in hospitals across the country.
According to a key opinion of Cleveland Clinic, on an average, around 35% of all colorectal surgery in the Atlanta area of the U.S. is being performed robotically for the last 2 to 3 years.
Increasing Adoption of Laparoscopic Surgery Creating Revenue Opportunities for Stakeholders
In terms of procedure, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been classified into laparoscopic surgery, robotic surgery, endoscopic mucosal resection, endoscopic submucosal dissection, and transcatheter.
The laparoscopic surgery segment led the market in 2020, and the trend is expected to continue during the forecast period due to the high rate of adoption of laparoscopy procedures to help diagnose different medical conditions that arise within the abdomen or pelvis.
Additionally, advanced laparoscopy devices are used to perform surgical procedures such as the removal of a diseased or damaged organ or a tissue sample for further testing (biopsy). Substantially low maintenance costs of laparoscopic handheld minimally invasive surgery devices and a rise in technological innovations in handheld instruments are likely to augment the laparoscopic surgery segment during the forecast period.
The market value of the minimally invasive surgery market is expected to grow since the transcatheter segment is likely to expand at a high CAGR from 2022 to 2031 due to a rise in transcatheter aortic valve implantation procedures. Demand for this procedure is predicted to increase exponentially owing to an aging population worldwide.
High Prevalence of Orthopedic Disorders Driving Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
The orthopedic segment held a significant share of the global market, in terms of revenue, in 2020. The trend is likely to continue during the forecast period since this segment is one of the fastest growing market for minimally invasive surgery.
An estimated 22 million orthopedic procedures were performed worldwide in 2017, and this number is only expected to grow. Therefore, a high number of cases of orthopedic disorders, such as the fracture of bones, bone cancer, etc., propels the demand for minimally invasive surgery across the globe.
Favorable Reimbursement Policies Increasing Hospitals Visits of Patients, Contributing to Market Growth
In terms of end-user, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been divided into hospitals, clinics, ambulatory surgical centers, and others.
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A rise in the number of operating rooms in developing countries in hospitals, an increase in the number of patient’s preference to visit hospitals due to medical reimbursement, availability of advanced minimally invasive surgery devices, and the surgeons’ capabilities to perform different types of minimally invasive surgery are expected to drive the segment during the forecast period. As of February 2019, there were a total of 33,000 hospitals in China, an increase of 1,866 in the same period of 2018.
Regional Outlook of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
In terms of region, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been segmented into North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. The regions have been divided into major countries and sub-regions.
Europe accounted for a prominent share of the global minimally invasive surgery market in 2020. The trend is projected to continue during the forecast period due to an increase in the geriatric population in the region. According to the Eurostat, in 2017, around 19%, or one-fifth, of the European Union (EU) population was aged 65 and above.
The minimally invasive surgery market in Latin America is anticipated to grow at a prominent CAGR from 2022 to 2031. This is attributed to an increase in the popularity of minimally invasive procedures over traditional surgeries, a surge in the incidence of lifestyle-related and chronic illnesses, and technical developments in countries in Latin America.
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Competitive Landscape of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
The global minimally invasive surgery market is fragmented due to the presence of a large number of players. Key players operating in the global market include Abbott Laboratories, B. Braun Melsungen AG, Becton, Dickinson and Company, Boston Scientific Corporation, CONMED Corporation, Johnson & Johnson Services, Inc., Medtronic plc, Smith & Nephew plc, Stryker Corporation, and Zimmer Biomet.
Key hospitals that have been also profiled in the report include Apollo Hospitals Enterprise Limited, Huntington Hospital, Johns Hopkins Hospital, Massachusetts General Hospital, Rutland Medical Center, Saint Michael's Hospital, Singapore General Hospital, The Ottawa Hospital, and University of Pittsburgh Medical Center Washington Hospital Healthcare System.
Key players are adopting growth strategies such as new product development, product launches, product approval, agreement, partnerships, and mergers.
Each of these players has been profiled in the minimally invasive surgery market report based on parameters such as company overview, financial overview, business strategies, product portfolio, business segments, and recent developments.
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Philosopher william of ockham
The fundamental principles of his system are that "Essentia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem" ("Occam's Razor") - that nouns, like algebraical symbols, are merely denotative terms whose meaning is conventionally agreed upon ( suppositio), and that the destructive effect of these principles in theological matters does not in any way destroy faith (see the Centilogium Theologicum, Lyons, 1495, and Tractatus de Sacramento Altaris). He linked the doctrines of nominalism on to the principles of the logic of Psellus, which had been introduced into the West in the Summulae of Peter of Spain, and made them intelligible to common understandings. He revived nominalism by collecting and uniting isolated opinions upon the meaning of universals into a compact system, and popularized his views by associating them with the logical principles which were in his day commonly taught in the universities. The expression is nowhere found in his writings. The common account of his philosophical position, that he reintroduced nominalism, which had been in decadence since the days of Roscellinus and Peter Abelard, by teaching that universals were only flatus vocis, is scarcely correct. William of Occam was the most prominent intellectual leader in an age which witnessed the disintegration of the old scholastic realism, the rise of the theological skepticism of the later middle ages, the great contest between pope and emperor which laid the foundations of modern theories of government, and the quarrel between the Roman curia and the Franciscans which showed the long-concealed antagonism between the theories of Hildebrand and Francis of Assisi and he shared in all these movements. The date of his death and the place of his burial are both uncertain. Michael of Cesena died in 1342, and Occam, who had received from him the official seal of the order, was recognized as general by his party. It was for Occam's share in this controversy that he was best known in his lifetime. He and his companions - Michael of Cesena, general of the order, and Bonagratia - managed to escape, and found their way to Munich, where they aided Louis IV or V of Bavaria in his long contest with the papal curia. His share in this revolt resulted in his imprisonment, on the charge of heresy, for seventeen weeks in the dungeons of the papal palace at Avignon. Probably, however, Occam was present at the assembly. It has generally been held that in 1322 he appeared as the provincial of England at the celebrated assembly of the Franciscan order at Perugia, and that there he headed the revolt of the Franciscans against Pope John XXII but, according to Little ( English Historical Review, VI, 747), the provincial minister on this occasion was William of Nottingham. He probably left France about 1314, and there are obscure traces of his presence in Germany, in Italy, and in England during the following seven years. Unattested tradition says that the Franciscans persuaded him while yet a boy to enter their order, sent him to Merton College, Oxford, and to Paris, where he was first the pupil, afterwards the successful rival, of John Duns Scotus. William of Ockham (or Occam), English schoolman, known as Doctor invincibilis and Venerabilis inceptor, was born in the village of Ockham, Surrey, towards the end of the 13th century.
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Alexios’ Home Birth (+18)
The sky over Kephallonia was covered in a dreary blanket of clouds. So much so that the morning sun struggled to breach the grey ceiling. Alexios and the island breathed almost synchronously; after all, it raised him when no one else would. With every cool gust, he sensed a torrent of rain on the horizon, but he also sensed him - Lykaon. He’d awaited his lover’s return for weeks now and prayed for strong winds to fill his sails and hasten his journey. To feel the warmth of his skin against his own once again; to run his fingers through the forest of hair on his chest; to see Lykaon crack a sly grin as he slowly reached behind and slipped his hand in between his glutes, and when he finally leaned in for a kiss - the prickle of his beard nestled within the crook of his neck.
A storm lurking along the peninsula was ominous at best. Though all he could do now was hope that the sky’s temperament would calm swiftly, and that, at least today, the howling winds would bestow upon travelers kindness instead of tempest. After all, he had other things growing on his mind, and something even greater growing within him. His hands rested on the peak of his firm, bloated abdomen as he paced from one window to the next. The past eight or so months defied his knowledge of the masculine architecture. Of course, this wasn’t the first time the world revealed its hidden secrets to him. Quite frankly, he would rather forget the mythological misadventures of the past couple of years. But somehow, he knew he wouldn’t want to forget this for anything.
The Staff of Hermes Trismegistus passed a golden glint at him from a dark corner in the room. He could never fully understand its ways, but the pregnancy was surely its work… From the first nauseating stirrings just weeks after Lykaon fucked him delicately on the terrace, to the way his nipples then gained in both sensitivity and flesh as they rested upon slightly more plump pecs over the next few months. Nonetheless, his body still felt like the hairy, athletic paragon befitting that of a swashbuckling Misthios, except for some extra flesh padding his waist, backside, and thighs. An easy trade-off for the gift of bearing a child of his own.
Muted thunder growled in the distance as Alexios opened a basket of fruit delivered to him by Markos earlier that morning. A few steps back toward the windowpane and he abruptly felt a weighted pressure from deep within his hips. Followed by a brief gurgling sound, he felt the space above his anus fill rapidly, till what felt like all the way up to his lower back. Instinctively, he bucked his hips slightly, downwards, and outwards, as he held a shallow breath and bore down gently. A small, sharp spray of fluid escaped his opening before he quickly clenched it along with his buttocks. That was definitely not flatus. A trickle of clear fluid made its way down his right thigh, soaking a slim strip of leg hair, and his undergarment was now damp with a slightly yellow-orange hue. Judging by the incessance of the pressure, and what just felt like a dull cramp along his abdomen - Alexios knew very well what he’d just started.
Preparation was key, and thankfully Alexios was under no illusion of his partner’s early arrival. Placing an elbow on the windowpane as support, he slowly peeled his clothes off, save for a light cloak which he threw over his shoulders, covering his chest. He slowly waddled his way to a cozier part of the room where he took the cover off a dusty ceramic pot hidden on the ground. With his back against the wall, he slowly lowered himself into a squat over the vessel. Cupping his flaccid crotch firmly in place, he let the pressure do its will. The room echoed with the hollow sound of fluid gushing into the pot, interrupted by the occasional plop of solid matter. A few seconds later and Alexios almost felt a sense of relief. He rested his palm over his navel and another on his clammy forehead, as he hovered on his haunches, taking a moment to breathe. This was short lived, however, as his abdomen contracted, and the ‘pressure’ returned – minus the fluid. He couldn’t help but release a grunt as the wave receded. Forever an optimist, at least his baby now had a clean birth canal, he thought in comfort.
Alexios found his feet again, and the next few hours was a difficult, gradual crescendo of pain and discomfort. The cramps became aching spasms, which then turned into what he swore was a cloaked bandit twisting a rusty knife into his abdomen. Grunts became groans, and groans morphed into brief, gritty shouts. Upon each wave his pacing was brought to a standstill as he widened his stance slightly, bent over and dug his wrists into his knees as he quivered on the spot. The wind outside had since picked up, and Alexio’s wet hair dangled freely with each gust. This wasn’t going all that well after all. The Staff of Hermes still stood proudly in the corner of the room, beckoning, almost out of pity. He had sworn that he wouldn’t use the staff any more than needed. That if his child was to emerge from him, it would be on his terms, and his alone – a man, a Misthios. But after another contraction threatened to rip his midline apart, he fell onto one knee, threw his head back and let out an agonised screech. Perhaps a change of plans was a more apt approach. A few minutes passed before he gathered himself and limped towards the golden artifact. Just as another wave gripped his body, his hand quickly reached out and found its way onto the smooth shaft of the staff. And just like that, pain dissipated, and all that was left was tightness along his abdomen as the contraction passed.
Another hour had gone by, and much to his delight Kephallonia was once again drenched in evening sunlight. The winds had calmed, a gentle breeze entered the windows, and warm ochre light illuminated much of his room. But each contraction worked in closer intervals now, and what he relieved in pain he now endured through sheer exhaustion. Until suddenly, a rogue contraction yielded a new sensation – the urge to buckle down and push all his insides out. Standing was no longer an option, and Alexios found a thick, rather colorful mat on the ground to be quite enticing. His left hand firmly gripped the staff as he planted himself onto it, laying on his left side. His right leg formed a right angle to the ground as he straightened the left and took a moment for a few measured deep breaths. The contractions were persistent, and the urge and effort to expel what at that point felt like absolutely nothing was draining, and frustrating. Feeling hot blood pool in his head and neck with each straining push left him in dizzy spells. Then, during another difficult push, Alexios heard something escape from his opening, almost like the faint crackle of a bonfire at night. His view was obscured by his large abdomen, so his right hand quickly traced the curve of his spine to his backside. He could feel the firm lining of his sphincter bulge outwards with his push, but then also felt a widening space in its centre. Two fingers breeched it reactively, as he reached in to feel something, anything, beyond the small gape. All his fingers found was soft, warm, lubricated flesh. The push ended, and as he pulled out, the only evidence of his search was an amber strand of mucous connecting his fingers.
After three, or four more daunting pushes something changed… shifted. The pressure in his pelvis compounded, and his right foot lifted itself off the ground. In fact, he couldn’t bring his legs together anymore even if he tried. What felt like a solid iron ball lodged deep within him now engaged his birth canal and pushing only seemed to be inching it forward. Alexios was happy to spur his child’s journey, and he bore down with renewed enthusiasm. His head reeling from the last push, he now felt something awfully familiar - a ‘fullness’ within his rectum. He’d only felt this way when laying with Lykaon, and the next contraction confirmed why. An almost melodic moan filled the room as the space within his lower rectum was filled by the descending head. His eyes rolled back, and his flaccid penis stiffened and throbbed against his belly’s underside as the wave ensued. The cost of this negligence was an almost fruitless push; the head still lodged firmly in place. This was simply not the time, and Alexios knew it very well. His vision began to blur, and with the next contraction he forced himself to dip his chin into his chest and hold things together as his glutes slowly separated from one another, and his sphincter bulged outwards more than usual – it was finally happening…
With his leg now suspended in the air, twitching in anticipation, he hastily reached behind him as the child’s head slowly emerged from his stretched anus. The scalp, forehead, the delicate features of its face – they all took their time and made their way into the space between his thighs, and with a small burst of fluid the head popped into place as Alexios quickly cradled it within his palm. It took a few sharp breaths to clear his mind and realize what exactly he held. The consummate beauty of his own young one. Patience ran thin, and all he wanted now was to hold it in his arms. He swung his elbow into the back of his floating knee and pulled it as close to his face as it would come. One, long push and a shoulder dislodged. Once more, and then the other. Then finally, Alexios manufactured his longest push to date. The veins on his neck dilated intensely as the rest of the child slowly slid its way onto his thigh and its feet released themselves from the opening. His left hand promptly loosened his grip on the staff as he swooped in to collect his wailing little boy. He rolled onto his back, lowered his leg, and placed the child firmly against his hairy chest. The moment was perfect. Alexios’ happiest main-quest, now complete, and a new chapter in his saga, rewritten.
As the baby suckled away at his nipple, covered by his cloak, he straightened his body and lied in content within a ray of sun. Until a small cramp over his abdomen caught his attention, and his body softly urged him to bear down once again. He reached below his scrotum and felt the wet walls of his anus shut tightly around the pulsatile, slippery grey cord. Nothing happened. Confused, he held his breath and went on to push with a bit more intention when he finally noticed the cord move along his fingers. Soon, a warm, gelatinous mass emerged between his buttocks. After a couple more efforts, Alexios arched his back slightly, lifting himself off the ground until the rest of the veiny red sac fell out of his body. It was now complete.
Alexios hummed a familiar tune as his babe breathed quietly on his chest. Ikaros’ giant shadow flickered across the room as he took off from where he perched himself on the window, and the ground below began to rumble gently. The sound of clicking hooves grew closer, and closer. Alexios rested his eyelids. It seems something good was on the horizon after all.
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Flatu-Lent
I can’t believe it. No farting until Easter. My mum’s a monster.
It’s not that I especially love farting as an experience; it’s just fun to gross people out. But I do especially love beans, and eggs, and onions, and even cabbage, believe it or not. Kids aren’t meant to like cabbage, but my dad makes a mean slaw. My name’s Fatima, but my brother reckons it should be Fartima. I reckon his should be Moron.
So anyway, mum thinks I’m disgusting and she’s making me give up farting for Lent. We’re not even Catholic; this has to count as cruel and unusual punishment.
I’m three hours into my farting ban, and my stomach is already starting to hurt. I think I’m going to have to pull a left cheek sneak. Mum’s got her headphones on, she’ll never know.
Uh-oh, it’s an SBD (that’s silent but deadly, if you don’t know; it means it’s a stinker). She’s frowning at me. You know, the mum-frown. It’s also silent but deadly. This stinks in more ways than one.
Dad’s made his slaw to serve with dinner. And mum’s done chops. I’m sure I read somewhere that meat makes you fart too. What are they trying to do to me? I’m going to die. I’m starving, I have to eat some of this, at least. One lamb chop. And one scoop of slaw.
My stomach’s making funny noises. Even Moron is looking at me weirdly. This time I manage to make it a burp, not a fart. But there are still some pretty disturbing gurgles happening down there.
This is no good. I can’t do it. I can’t hold it in.
It’s a loud one. It’s a long one. It’s a stinky one. It feels so good. I don’t even care that I’m grounded now, as long as I can fart again. I love farting as an experience.
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If you had a band au, what instrument would you put Rayla and Callum on and why? For some reason, I can kind of see her playing an acoustic guitar. Also, what are some domestic headcanons you have for Rayllum?
drums bc she wants to be loud and angsty and get her anger out. i also played the drums so i can pull in some knowledge there too! as for callum i’d put him on bass or guitar or something like that. artistic precision but on strings, y’know?
as for domestic headcanons:
neither of them are great cooks but each can do a lil, so trying out new recipes is a couple activity (with varying levels of success). definitely more than one impromptu food fight breaks out
callum also tries to stealthily learn some moonshadow recipes from ethari so he can surprise rayla with food from home even when she’s not expecting it
bickering over anniversary dates, ie. is it when they met, became friends, or became a couple? and it’s also all so close to their birthdays. (jokes on them all of june becomes anniversary Month lmao and they accept it)
sharing sketchbooks and rayla eventually becoming more interested / comfortable with more artistic endeavours and adding to callum’s main sketchbook.
callum knows how to knit (sarai made his scarf) so on the rare occasion rayla tears her clothes in training or something like that he’ll stitch it back up for her.
one day rayla gets callum an actual bouquet of flowers to ‘make up’ for the flatu-lilies prank and he has such a fun time drawing them all down and is delighted.
had also just definitely pranked her back, too. the spire doesn’t know peace while the prank war is going on between them (even ibis gets involved) until zubeia pranks them all once and for all - i mean, shuts it down in an orderly, queenly fashion, of course.
both of them can have problems with their wrists (callum bc of excess drawing / rune casting, rayla bc of her old binding) so just keeping an eye on that for each other and light massages becomes a typical, nightly ritual.
rayla also gets in the habit of wearing socks over her horns to bed to help pad the ends, just in case - and subsequently gets revenge by putting her cold toes on callum’s leg
hair braiding. yes
date night every friday is something they do their best to stick to. it’s not like that’s the only time they hang out or relax together (far from it) but making sure to really carve out time to be together when life gets busier, or to put plans into action / more thought into their plans is something they wanna work on, especially now that they can actually date.
callum is both an early riser and a night owl and rayla doesn’t know when he sleeps. in all seriousness, though, she’s often the one bugging him to get to bed and asking for him to stay in bed longer in the mornings. she’s very snuggly and convincing
forehead kisses. also yes. callum likes to kiss her cheek markings, too, and once rayla sees his freckles come out more in the summer she loves them too
there’s a solid three months of back and forth growth spurts with superiority demonstrated by continually putting things on a higher shelf in their room. they take no survivors
rayla still really likes picnics and it’s one of her favourite date activities (esp in the adoraburr meadow)
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Can you remember your first time "experiencing" the Flatu-lillies? Any funny story regarding them?
Flatu-lilies are definitely an experience, little shadow. When I was around five, my archenemy tripped me into a patch of them and laughed at me. I challenged him to a duel, and fart flowers were our weapons of choice.
I walloped him soundly and made him beg for mercy. And then I didn’t give it, because I was furious about my hair stinking. I made him eat the lily I was holding. *long sigh* I was just as intense as an elfling as I am now, but with less sense.
His breath was so horrible that I relented on the way back to the village and picked him a chrysanthemint. By the time we got home, he felt bad about pushing me in the first place so he brought me some glowberries to wash my hair with.
He pushed me into the flowers again the next week, though and the week after that. I made it my life’s work to become too swift and agile for him to attack me anymore, and to learn to strike back with every skill I could learn. By the time we were teenagers, we were the best up-and-coming assassins in the Silvergrove. We knew each other’s planned moves at a single glance, and I felt safest with him at my back.
Still do.
Five-year-old me saw Lain as a tyrant and an enemy to be defeated, just because he was supposed to keep me company in my free time. But he proved himself worthy of my loyalty and friendship and became my best friend instead. Lain is best bro.
I don’t recommend turning your back on him if you’re near a patch of flatu-lilies, though. Old habits die hard.
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For your hogwarts au, maybe Roman being bullied and Logan coming to the rescue?
“Excuse me.”
Logan looked up from his book and was momentarily startled by the two Ravenclaws in front of him. The Gryffindor set his book down and said politely, “Yes, may I help you? I’m afraid if you’ve come for the study group that you’re far too late. I was about to leave for bed.”
The Seventh year Ravenclaw smiled at him and shook his head. “No, we’re not here for study group. We’re actually here to ask you for a favour. You see-”
“Would you maybe consider being resorted,” the other Seventh year said in a rush. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she was bouncing up and down. “Please? We think that the sorting hat made a mistake and we got someone who doesn’t deserve to be a Ravenclaw when we were supposed to get you instead.”
Logan arched his eyebrow. “Someone who doesn’t deserve to be in Ravenclaw? The sorting hat doesn’t make mistakes,” he said in a gentle chiding tone. But the Ravenclaws kept talking.
“It must’ve! You know Prince?” The Seventh year boy rolled his eyes and huffed, not noticing Logan’s frown darkening. “That moron is the complete opposite of a Ravenclaw. Hates studying, loud, stupid!”
“We’ve been trying to show him that he’s not one of us,” the girl said in a patronizing tone, “but he’s too stupid to get it! No matter how much itching power we put in his bed or steal his stuff.”
The boy nodded firmly. “He’s a complete Gryffindor. But you! You’re a total-”
“Reddet ab oris.“
The orange spell burst from Logan’s wand and hit both of them straight in the chests. The Seventh year wobbled before opening his mouth and slapping his hands right over it when somehow a fart came out. The two Ravenclaws looked at Logan in awed terror.
“That,” Logan said in a tone that suggested he was a teacher explaining something, “is a spell of my own creation. It redirects your flatus, otherwise known as farts, from your behind to your mouth. You seem to enjoy speaking out of your asses so much that I thought this was apt. Now.” he glared at the two of them, “it will reserve itself in an hour. I suggest you use that time to think of supporting your Housemate rather than bullying him.”
And Logan then marched off to create a plan to stop the bullies embarrassing his friend.
(Translate: Fart from the mouth)
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Gassy Lessons - Third class: Science
After all the shit he had been going through Jay needed to vent to someone, and since all his friends had graduated there was only one person at the school he could trust. Mr Watts had taught Jay science every year he spent at the school but where Jay really liked the teacher was in the science class he usually joined each year where he would always enjoy what the man had to say about science, and also happened to give Jay more time to look at his ass. While Jay always got on with the sexy scientist he thought I'd he admitted what has happened to him he might be able to make an influential friend to help him through the year.
So the day after the incident with Mr Johnson, Jay waited until after school finished to go and meet Watts in his classroom. As he expected his favourite teacher was there with his cute ginger hair styled into a pompadour and handsome face giving him a bright smile. It was nice to see a friendly teacher for once.
"I heard you wanted to see me Jay?"
Jay was invited to sit on the other side of the teacher's desk but at least he could still see his face and toned upper half, but he was hoping he would stand up at some point so he could see what was lower down.
"So what is it you came to see me about?"
Jay remembered why he was hear so he cleared his breath and explained his extraordinary experiences over the past few days making it as believable as possible and attempting to convince the teacher how bad it's been for him. And by the looks of it he was getting through to him, when he first mentioned farting the teacher looked shocked and then even angry at his descriptions of how bad they smelled. And when Watts heard that it wasn't just one teacher but two he looked even angrier. Once he was finished Jay was satisfied that he might be able to get some action out of the teacher to maybe help him.
"So you would say that these two men were very talented farters?" Watts asked meaningfully once Jay had finished.
"I wouldn't really call it a talent but they're certainly good at it." Jay replied snarkily.
"Now Jay you don't have to be rude I believe a proficiency in flatulence is a great talent and one I am willing to admit to having myself.
It took Jay a moment to realise what the teacher was saying "Wait are you saying you're a farter as well?!" Jay's heart began to pound.
"Yes Jay I guess you could say I am, and what upsets me is through what you've told me I am no longer the only one at this school, or at least the only one I've discovered..." Jay wasn't really expecting this reaction but for now he didn't feel too threatened at least, but he swore to himself that he wouldn't get gassed again. "It's one of my favourite things about human biology actually, such an efficient but powerful way to get rid of waste built up gas, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't take pride in my own. Through some of my own personal research I've even found ways to enhance my own gas, not like I need it if course."
Jay thought if he treated it like a joke he would be able to change the subject to getting some help for himself. "Hah wow sir you do seem to know you stuff about farting, but -" Jay got cut off by the sound of Watts chair screeching backwards by him standing up.
"Yes Jay, yes I do" The attractive teacher circles round his desk to Jay's side and leaned down on the desk sticking out his ass behind Jay and resting his face on his elbow right near Jay. He gave his student a mischievous but subtly sultry look "Would you like to try one?" The look was piercing and sexual but the implications were horrific, but Jay found himself paralyzed in his teacher's leer. Exhaling the man leaned up off the table and turned away from the boy but off course leaving his perfect ass lined up straight with Jays face, this was the closest Jay had been to it and it was so close he could touch it, he wanted to. "I'll take your silence as acceptance" But Jay was too distracted to understand what he said.
FRRAAAAAAARP
Point blank in Jay's face, it caught him off guard and almost blew his face back, and the stink was something new altogether.
"Ah it's been a while since I've done it in someone's face, how was it?" The man turned around after waving his hand behind his ass a little, he sat on his desk and tilted Jay's chin up to look at him.
"It reeked sir, please don't make me do this again." Jay hoped his begging would get some sympathy but it seemed the scientist only heard what he wanted to.
"Ah good I've still got my signature stink!" He grinned as he let Jay go and hopped off the desk and went to fumble around in his bag and desk eventually pulling out a flask, a clipboard and some plastic lab goggles. "Now Jay how about you and I do a little experiment?"
"What do you mean?" Jay was getting even more worried now, one fart was enough, it was only one but the smell was still stuck in his nose.
"Now Jay for certain experiments like this one it's best that the subject remains unaware" Jay was ready to leave but unfortunately for him Mr Watts noticed and was obviously not making leaving an option. Quickly the man bolted over to Jay and sat on his lap. Jay was of course shocked, such intimate contact got him excited but he was not going to get hard right now, he had to escape.
Squirming under the man's plump ass he tried "Come on Mr Watts isn't this some kind of scientific ethical violation or something?" But Mr Watts just pushed himself down harder as looked back.
"Sorry Jay but with a chance this good and such a unique subject so personal to my skillset, some ethics can be passed." Jay just decided he would brace himself, there was obviously no escape the toned man was stronger than him, he thought that he might be able to at least try and enjoy the teachers ass on him but not too much he wasn't going to risk poking the teacher with anything. After slapping on his goggles Watts began chugging the flask, Jay couldn't tell what it was but it sounded thick and it seemed like his teacher was enjoying it. When the teacher was finished he made a noise of satisfaction and stifled a belch, throwing the flask to the ground Jay did get a look at the bottom of it before it rolled away, written on a label on the bottom it said '10 to 12 minutes' Jay guessed what this meant but he didn't want to think about it.
"Okay then Jay let's begin the experiment shall we, bombs away!"
PRAAAAAAAAARP
PRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAFT
FFFFFRRAPPPP
It seemed like an endless vibrated barrage against Jay's lap and crotch and it wasn't helped by the teacher rubbing in his ass and seemingly moaning with pleasure at letting them out. And even though it wasn't aimed at his face the stench certainly got there with a wave of rotten fecal stench reaching his nose making him gag and cough into his teacher's back.
After a few minutes the teacher stopped and looked back sighing in exasperation and relief. "Now Jay how would you compare this to the flatus of your other two teachers?" Jay understood now and realised why this was all his fault, he had made the scientist jealous, farting was obviously his territory and he wanted to be it's champion, if only he hadn't told him.
"I don't know sir I can't remember" This obviously wasn't what he wanted to hear, he made an annoyed huff, the man was wanting results obviously holding his pen up to his clipboard expectantly. "Okay Jay perhaps this will jog your memory?" He pushed his pen down the back of his trousers and from what Jay could tell from behind him right in between his ass cheeks the man made a deep sigh and the sound of a deep muffled rumble. After a few seconds it stopped but that was enough to scare Jay, when the mad teacher brandished the pen like a sword from its scabbard Jay felt like he could see the stench radiating off of it. He tried to buck his head away as Watts raised it to Jay's head but he knew he was in control here as he used his free hand to grab Jay by the hair holding him in place as he thrust it right up to his nose and with some spare fingers he shoved them into Jay's mouth blocking it as a way of breathing.
"Now Jay take a deep breath, I want you to get all of my stink..." And Jay had to taking a breathe through his nose pushed him over the edge, the smell was like a characteristic fart smell but tenfold making him wretch at the fumes invading his brain. He was going to pass out but his teacher wouldn't let him off that easy slapping him sharply on the cheek jolting the life back into the stink soaked student. "Come on Jay don't be so weak it's just a bit of gas isn't it, now tell me is it worse than those other two?"
Tired of it all, Jay was at least happy he didn't have to lie "It's the worst fart I've ever smelt, you win sir." The teacher got up and sat on his desk facing Jay he leaned back and smiled, he put down his clipboard, he had obviously didn't need it anymore.
"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that Jay, but then again I know you can vouch for me in saying that I never should have doubted my own brew." To punctuate this he learnt to his side and let out a short burst against the desk making a loud echoing sound.
RRRRRRRRRRAPT
He playfully wafted it at Jay who choked on it quickly and gave his torturer a defeated look. He had given up on escape.
"What can I say I take pride in my gas as I think all men should, even you Jay, but make sure you always remember who the master is" he was cocky but something about it excited Jay about how sensual it made the man seem.
Before the teacher could brag anymore his stomach let out a stark groaning rumble, the man checked his watch and grinned. "Now Jay we're starting phase two of today's experiment, I hope you remember earlier my remarks about my research on enhancing gassiness, well what I drunk earlier was the latest fruit of my research, a new concoction made to improve all elements of flatulence, and from my tests on my now ex-boyfriend I can assure you it works. Gulping this information had a mixed effect on Jay, while he was now saying prayers in memory of his nose, he had at least confirmation that this insane gassy scientist was at least gay, to be honest he probably should have worked it out already.
The man stood up and began pulling off his belt. "Now as the creator of this drink I know how it's results are best enjoyed" he turned around once again giving the student an amazing view. "and I believe that lets just say it's best consumed raw." and with that he pulled down his trousers as well as his underwear and let his round shapely ass pour out showing itself in all its stinking glory to Jay. The boy should have been terrified which he was, but the ass was beautiful with its light coating off hair and deep dark crack the inner pervert in Jay was delighted and obviously had given up on hiding itself. Practically drooling over the gassy man's behind Jay had gotten very obviously hard which made his teacher chuckle "Ah Jay I see that your proving one of my theories about you down there." But with all Jay had been through he was beyond caring.
Wanting to take back some control Jay stood up and thrust himself upon the teacher from the back side with his still contained boner going against the crack of his dreams, at least it wasn't in his face. "Bold choice Jay, but prepare to face the smelly consequences."
FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFPPPPPPPTTTTT
The gust of wretched winds jetted against Jay's cock creating an unbelievable sensation massaging but attacking it, and just because it wasn't point blank doesn't mean that this enhanced fart didn't pack a punch making Jay wretch into the teacher's back which he had now grabbed onto in fear of being blown away by his putrid stench. Unlike the other ones it kept going, the teacher laughing like the mad scientist he was at the massive fart he was letting out.
Both Jay's dick and nose were at breaking point, but only the former actually gave in with Jay spurting while still fully clothed. His knees buckles and as Watts fart began to peter out Jay fell to his knees but either fortunately or unfortunately for him this meant that his head was resting right in the dirty crack of his science teacher.
"I'm not sure if I should call that a brave move or not Jay but I will say that it took balls." He giggled as he saw the wet patch on Jay's trousers "and it seems like I certainly emptied yours, guess your some sort of fetishist because you sure as hell aren't the only one." And after that fart Jay wasn't even sure what to think of himself anymore. All he could do was smile weakly and enjoy being close to such a hot ass.
"However you're really in the firing line there Jay and as a man of science I should really warm you against being so close to a source of toxicity but I guess you've got me feeling rebellious."
Jay felt the cheeks part as the man widened his crack with his hands letting Jay get a closer smell of his ass musk but also lining him straight up with his hole.
"I've been looking for a lab partner for a while actually for some more extra curricular research and I've grown a certain fondness for you as well as the stench endurance of your nose, so let's just say this is the end of your interview for the position as well as the last part of my experiment." he put on hand on the back of the boys head as he pushed him into his crack even deeper "And anyways I can tell by the state and the stink of you that this will end you, so if you survive this I'll see you on the other side..."
BBBBBBBBBBRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT
Jay felt like the vile stench embodied him from the nose first rumbling around him like an earth quake. The fart was so powerful it was like a whole body experience of pure masculine stink. And Watts' hypothesis was correct as the fart covered student world went dark.
When he woke up in the class alone he couldn't guarantee he was alive feeling numb and groggy but he was sure as hell he couldn't deny what happened with the stink of flatulence still hanging distinct in the air around him. The sun was setting Jay hurried to grab his bag to get out of school since it must have closed hours ago, he noticed his planner on top of his bag with the page open on his schedule. After school three days a week had been penned in neatly 'Fart practice'. Whatever it was Jay knew this year was going to stink.
#eproctophilia#fart story#fart#fartfiction#gay#gay fart#male fart#stink#flatulence#man fart#fart teacher
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Minimally Invasive Surgery Market to cross US$ 324.9 Bn by the end of 2031
Minimally Invasive Surgery Market Outlook 2031
The global minimally invasive surgery market was valued at US$ 231.1 Bn in 2021
The global market is projected to advance at a CAGR of 3.2% from 2022 to 2031
The global minimally invasive surgery market is anticipated to cross US$ 324.9 Bn by the end of 2031
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Overview of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
Minimally invasive procedures enable a surgeon to use techniques that limit the size and number of cuts, or incisions, that need to be made. Advancements in minimally invasive surgery devices have revolutionized these procedures. Using minimally invasive technology has improved patient outcomes and recovery all over the world. Minimally invasive and robotic procedures allow the surgeons to advance in video imaging by virtue of voice control over the networked operating room.
Robotic procedures represent the latest development in minimally invasive procedures, providing surgeons with precision devices that employ the same small incisions as conventional laparoscopy. A key difference is that the robotic system can offer broader visualization of the operative field and precision control of minimally invasive surgery devices.
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AI-enabled services, 3D printing, and new imaging methods are increasingly being utilized in surgery. These are some of the key factors that are boosting the minimally invasive surgery market.
Faster Recovery and Shorter Hospital Stay Propelling Demand for Minimally Invasive Surgeries
Less wound pain, faster functional recovery, and shorter hospital stay are the key advantages of minimally invasive surgery (MIS) over open surgery. Minimally invasive procedures are also linked to significantly less blood loss, lower analgesic consumption, a faster time to first flatus and a soft diet, and a shorter postoperative hospital stay as compared to open surgery. Awareness about the benefits of minimally invasive surgeries is increasing among patients. This is compelling healthcare companies to increase the manufacturing of minimally invasive surgery equipment.
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According to Transparency Market Research (TMR) Healthcare Research findings, based on our pilot population study, we observed that most patients with renal calculi, prefer endoscopic procedures to manage the removal of kidney stones. They prefer a minimally invasive procedure instead of open surgery, owing to the high degree of awareness. Demand analysis of minimally invasive surgery suggests that endoscope technology and instrumentation have made it possible to convert many procedures in many surgical specialties from open surgeries to endoscopic ones.
Surgical Robots Performing Complex Procedures Likely to Boost Market Growth
Robotic surgery is a modern technique that offers significant results in various types of surgical procedures. A rapid increase in the adoption of robotic surgery for minimally invasive procedures is attributed to a blend of technological improvements such as the use of more efficient motors, compact & light materials, power backup, sophisticated controls, and safety mechanisms, along with more cost-effective versions. The high precision of robot-assisted surgery helps in accurate implant positioning and reduces the risk of injury to adjacent tissues. Patients also benefit from less bleeding and post-operative pain, and fewer hospital readmissions.
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Growth prospects for minimally invasive surgery market lie in innovations in surgical robotic systems. Robots are also becoming increasingly important in the field of minimally invasive surgery due to the growing complexity of procedures in order to treat difficult diseases. In 2020, more than 900,000 procedures were performed in the U.S., and about 5,000 robotic platforms were equipped in hospitals across the country.
According to a key opinion of Cleveland Clinic, on an average, around 35% of all colorectal surgery in the Atlanta area of the U.S. is being performed robotically for the last 2 to 3 years.
Increasing Adoption of Laparoscopic Surgery Creating Revenue Opportunities for Stakeholders
In terms of procedure, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been classified into laparoscopic surgery, robotic surgery, endoscopic mucosal resection, endoscopic submucosal dissection, and transcatheter.
The laparoscopic surgery segment led the market in 2020, and the trend is expected to continue during the forecast period due to the high rate of adoption of laparoscopy procedures to help diagnose different medical conditions that arise within the abdomen or pelvis.
Additionally, advanced laparoscopy devices are used to perform surgical procedures such as the removal of a diseased or damaged organ or a tissue sample for further testing (biopsy). Substantially low maintenance costs of laparoscopic handheld minimally invasive surgery devices and a rise in technological innovations in handheld instruments are likely to augment the laparoscopic surgery segment during the forecast period.
The market value of the minimally invasive surgery market is expected to grow since the transcatheter segment is likely to expand at a high CAGR from 2022 to 2031 due to a rise in transcatheter aortic valve implantation procedures. Demand for this procedure is predicted to increase exponentially owing to an aging population worldwide.
High Prevalence of Orthopedic Disorders Driving Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
The orthopedic segment held a significant share of the global market, in terms of revenue, in 2020. The trend is likely to continue during the forecast period since this segment is one of the fastest growing market for minimally invasive surgery.
An estimated 22 million orthopedic procedures were performed worldwide in 2017, and this number is only expected to grow. Therefore, a high number of cases of orthopedic disorders, such as the fracture of bones, bone cancer, etc., propels the demand for minimally invasive surgery across the globe.
Favorable Reimbursement Policies Increasing Hospitals Visits of Patients, Contributing to Market Growth
In terms of end-user, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been divided into hospitals, clinics, ambulatory surgical centers, and others.
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A rise in the number of operating rooms in developing countries in hospitals, an increase in the number of patient’s preference to visit hospitals due to medical reimbursement, availability of advanced minimally invasive surgery devices, and the surgeons’ capabilities to perform different types of minimally invasive surgery are expected to drive the segment during the forecast period. As of February 2019, there were a total of 33,000 hospitals in China, an increase of 1,866 in the same period of 2018.
Regional Outlook of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
In terms of region, the global minimally invasive surgery market has been segmented into North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. The regions have been divided into major countries and sub-regions.
Europe accounted for a prominent share of the global minimally invasive surgery market in 2020. The trend is projected to continue during the forecast period due to an increase in the geriatric population in the region. According to the Eurostat, in 2017, around 19%, or one-fifth, of the European Union (EU) population was aged 65 and above.
The minimally invasive surgery market in Latin America is anticipated to grow at a prominent CAGR from 2022 to 2031. This is attributed to an increase in the popularity of minimally invasive procedures over traditional surgeries, a surge in the incidence of lifestyle-related and chronic illnesses, and technical developments in countries in Latin America.
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Competitive Landscape of Global Minimally Invasive Surgery Market
The global minimally invasive surgery market is fragmented due to the presence of a large number of players. Key players operating in the global market include Abbott Laboratories, B. Braun Melsungen AG, Becton, Dickinson and Company, Boston Scientific Corporation, CONMED Corporation, Johnson & Johnson Services, Inc., Medtronic plc, Smith & Nephew plc, Stryker Corporation, and Zimmer Biomet.
Key hospitals that have been also profiled in the report include Apollo Hospitals Enterprise Limited, Huntington Hospital, Johns Hopkins Hospital, Massachusetts General Hospital, Rutland Medical Center, Saint Michael's Hospital, Singapore General Hospital, The Ottawa Hospital, and University of Pittsburgh Medical Center Washington Hospital Healthcare System.
Key players are adopting growth strategies such as new product development, product launches, product approval, agreement, partnerships, and mergers.
Each of these players has been profiled in the minimally invasive surgery market report based on parameters such as company overview, financial overview, business strategies, product portfolio, business segments, and recent developments.
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