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Sorting through the the Small Developer Basics; Land Cost, Total Project Cost, and Likely Rents

Typically the land price is not the driver you can pay $12-$16 per SF on the land and not upset the cost side of the equation too much, since the cost for the finished lot is a lower percentage of the overall project cost that the hard and soft construction costs are.  Here is an easier way to approach the basic go/no go analysis:
    •   Before thinking about cost per sf or rents per sf, think about total project cost per door(per unit) and typical rents per door (per unit).
    • Use “the rule of 100” a very workable rule of thumb that says the the total project cost per door should not exceed 100 X the monthly rent for a typical unit.
    • If the rent for a one bedroom unit is $900, you should not exceed $90,000 per door in total project costs (finished lot, hard and soft costs).
    • Here’s where good design can provide an advantage, if the typical one bedroom unit in the neighborhood is 850 SF for $900 per month that translates to $1.06 per SF.  The thing is, nobody thinks about what they are paying in rent in terms of per sf metrics.  They think about it as a check they write every month.  So, if you can build better units at 750 SF and rent them for $900 per month, that translates to $1.20 per sf, but you have to think in terms of specific unit design, and specific site plans so that you can see the arbitrage between what you want to build and the other guy’s product where he build a lot of off-street parking and a lot of landscaping, pool, clubhouse, etc.
    • The rough breakdown of project cost is typically something like this:  Hard cost: 65-70% Soft Costs 20-25%, Finished Lot 8-15%.
    • That project cost per unit cap of $90,000? divided by 750 SF = $120 per sf all in.
      • 70% of $120 = $84 per  in Hard Cost, 20% for Soft costs = $24 per sf and 10% for the Finished Lot = $12 per building sf (not lot area).
When you look at comparable rents, consider that you will be delivering newly constructed units which will typically command a 10%-25% rent premium over older units in the same area.  Also think about proximity to urban amenities, light rail stop, food and drink, trail system, parks etc.  You don’t want to talk yourself into an assumed rent that is way above what tenants will actually pay, but you don’t want to undervalue your units either.  It’s important to document your assumptions on rents, since they drive the whole thing.

What If Our Town Fixes the Parking Rules and Zoning and Then Nobody Comes to Build?

Small Mixed Use Building in Geneva, NY.  Photo by Mike Puma
Small Mixed Use Building in Geneva, NY. Photo by Mike Puma (used under Mike’s “feel free to use whatever you want, whenever” license agreement).  Mike is a project manager at Preservation Studios in Buffalo.  If you are in Buffalo please buy Mike a beer.

That’s the question my friend Mark Nickita heard from a City Manager in a small town in Michigan.  Mark thinks that’s a very good question.  Mark and his partner Dorian Moore are Architect/Developer/Retail Entrepreneurs based in Detroit.  They understand urban design, architecture, and what it takes to make a building project pencil in a transitional or down market.  His advice for the city manager?  “If there are no developers coming to help fix your town you will need to grow some developers of your own.  Figure out how to help them build (or rebuild) in your town”.  It’s a tough situation that illustrates why a new cohort of Small Developer/Builders is needed in so many places.

Mark and I were talking today about how the typical 2 and 3 story main street mixed use building is perfect for a rookie developer to use the FHA 203K purchase rehab loan program to finance their first project.

HUD Guidelines for FHA 203(k)

The program is for 4 units plus some allowed non-residential space.  Here is the breakdown from the FHA Guidelines:

“A 203(k) mortgage may be originated on a “mixed use” residential property provided that the percentage floor area used for commercial purposes follows these standards:

– One story building 25%

– Two story building 49%

– Three story building 33%

The commercial use will not affect the health and safety of the occupants of the residential property.

The rehabilitation funds will only be used for the residential functions of the dwelling and areas used to access the residential part of the property.”

So, since 4 units or more is the threshold for buildings covered by the Fair Housing Act requirement that all ground floor units must be accessible/adaptable, here’s what you do to rehab a small mixed use building using an FHA 203)k) loan:

  • Alternative 1: Keep the number of residential units to 3 or less and the SF of non-residential floor area within the percentages listed above.
  • Alternative 2: Carve out an accessible unit at the rear of the ground floor with three units on the upper stories.3story mixed use 203K diagram

This is not some exotic loan program.  It is a fixer-upper loan on a 1 to 4 unit dwelling.  If you pay attention to the particulars of the loan program, you can use it to fix a main street mixed use building and be in a position to live in one of the units rent free.  Four or five local folks doing this within a couple blocks of each other could change the main street.  Seriously worth pursuing for a lot of towns.

A number of colleagues whom I respect have made a point to telling me that the process of getting a 203(k) loan to actually close can be really tough.  There are enough specific underwriting requirements that are different enough from more typical loans which lenders process that closings get delayed, or the lender withdraws their commitment.  So finding a bank that actually has their stuff together on this program is important.  Wells Fargo has invested in training their people on this, so start with them.

The extra brain damage involved in the loan is why I think the 203k program is an excellent vehicle for the rookie developer looking to step up their game. It requires that the project scope be well thought out and well documented. It requires the rookie developer to understand the lender’s underwriting way more than the average mortgage borrower would. (-and possibly the more than the loan officer does..) It requires a long due diligence period from the seller. In short, the process is hard wired to require the rookie developer to have an excellent plan and seek help from their colleagues to launch their first significant solo project. It puts the rookie developer squarely in the position of adding value by creating order out of relative chaos. That ‘s the job.

Asking Nicely for Something that should be Really Obvious —(Again with the Parking Thing)

Providing convenient parallel parking at the curb should not be hard.
Providing convenient parallel parking at the curb should not be hard.

Parallel parking at the curb provides some important and useful things:

  • Slower traffic.
  • A formidable barrier between passing cars and people walking on the sidewalk, so walking feels safer.
  • Parking spaces located close to where people are actually going.
  • Parking spaces without any additional circulation lanes (and additional impervious surface).
  • Greater flexibility for building on private parcels.

So if you want to build in a place that does not allow parallel parking on a public street and requires way too many off-street parking spaces on the private parcel, it is usually worth the hassle to ask for a variance or exception to the rules that are on the books.  Sometimes this decision is made by a municipal staffer like a Zoning Examiner or Planning Director.  Sometimes special permission for something really obvious, (like a better parking arrangement) will require the approval of the Planning Commission or even the City Council.

If you are asking for on-street parking or a reduction in off-street parking It is important to make that ask in the context of a thoughtful project .  When you show the amount of on-street parking being provided, the reduction in the number of off-street spaces seems like housekeeping item and not a big deal exception or some completely exotic one-off variance.

Just to be clear , (since it is often all about how you ask), don’t just ask for a reduction in something that is on the books as a black and white requirement that everyone is supposed to follow. Show the reviewer, commission, or council the whole project and ask for the reduction as part of that larger conversation. When you demonstrate that you are doing more, doing better than a lot of what they are reviewing, relief from a number in the zoning code seems like a minor accommodation needed to get to a good outcome.

Parking Bloat Drives Down the Price of Land in Desirable Neighborhoods (which is really dumb).

Parking in Downtown Buffalo, NY.  A stark example of a city that has prioritized affordable places to house cars (--regardless of the cost or consequence).
Parking in Downtown Buffalo, NY. A stark example of a city that has prioritized affordable places to house cars (–regardless of the cost or consequence).

In an email exchange with my Architect friend (and aspiring developer) Sara Hines in Massachusetts, she asked “Okay, so I really want to build better places.  What towns in New England are going to let you build small scale walk-up buildings as-of-right, without requiring a lot of off-street parking?”

Good question.  More likely than not, you will have to satisfy some local version of a dumb minimum off-street parking requirement. This is particularly unfortunate and wasteful, since municipalities are genuinely terrible at guessing how much parking is actually needed.  Let’s just call it what it is.  Parking Bloat.

With off-street minimums, parking becomes the driver of what can be built and what a developer can afford to pay for land.  (also called the “land residual” in finance speak).  Simply put –you can only build what you can park according to the rules. That drives down the price you can afford to pay for the land.
There is some minor good news if you have an appetite for parking reform.  Since the requirement for off-street parking just reduces what can be paid for the land, you may have an opportunity for some arbitrage as a small developer. Think of excessive off-street parking as a land bank.  A piece of the parcel that needs to be set aside in the right configuration so that it might be built upon later, (after the rules change).   The strategy to deal with this is to provide the unessessary surface parking so that it is configured to be converted to building pads later.  To do this you need to keep the utilities out of the future pad and watch out for how the site drains.
Another strategy is to build actual garages to provide some of the required off-street parking.  You can rent out garages at the same rate per SF as local self-storage (or more).  Let’s face it.  They will end up being used as self storage anyway, but in the mean time they are a rent paying work around for Parking Bloat.
If a municipality is serious about the economic and cultural benefits of places worth caring about and they want to provide a greater range of options for where people can live and work, they will eliminate off-street parking requirements.  If they won’t take that step, I wouldn’t trust their well-intentioned planning efforts. It is clear that they are somehow just not equipped to do the most basic thing.   Parking Bloat is a telling metric for figuring out how a town works.  It could mean the elected officials and staff may not know what they are doing.  It could also mean that they know what needs to get done, but for some reason, cannot get it done.  Either way, the effect is the same.  The small developer/builder should watch out for surprises in dealing with the planning staff and elected officials. If the community is crippled by Parking Bloat, land will cost less and you will have to build less initially.  So don’t overpay for land and start working on getting rid of the regulations that require Parking Bloat.
Don Shoup’s book   The High Cost of Free Parking is out in paper back for $28.  Make sure your local public library has several copies.  Give copies to the leadership of your town’s various neighborhood associations and to the prime movers at the local chamber of commerce. With a little luck, the Town will do the right thing and you may create a couple of building sites down the line within the projects you built under the old bloated rules.

Grim Arterial Street or a Multi-way Boulevard ?

The Grim Arterial Street 150' ROW.
The Grim Arterial Street 150′ ROW.

The most challenging piece of the Amador Proximo charrette with Placemakers was figuring out how to deal with an unfortunate arterial street bordering the 60+ acre infill site on the West. This street could be anywhere in the US.  Chuck Marohn calls these unlovable high speed thoroughfares “Stroads”.  Neither a road between towns or a street in town.

Link to “Stroads” at

Our proposed solution was two  11′ through lanes in each direction with a center median with turn pockets and two low speed side drives providing access to the parcels along the boulevard with a median separating the through lanes from the side drives.  The side drives would allow businesses along the boulevard to stay in operation while the center lanes and medians were being constructed.

Illustration by Andrew von Maur.  Walking down the side drive of the proposed Multi-way Boulevard.
Illustration by Andrew von Maur. Walking down the side drive of the proposed Multi-way Boulevard.

We heard from serious local cyclists that a dedicated cycle track in the side drive median would be preferred over cyclists sharing the slower speed side drive, so we modified the section.

Proposed section redlined after meeting with local cyclists.
Proposed section redlined after meeting with local cyclists.

This approach has a shot at getting built, as the state DOT is in the process of negotiating an agreement with the city of Las Cruces to turn this section of the State Highway over to the city and the DOT has allocated funds to do some improvements to the current “stroad before turning it over.    A good deal for everyone.  The Boulevard will produce much higher economic value for the adjoining properties and the traffic capacity and safety of the arterial street will be significantly improved.

Plan view of the proposed Boulevard section, Existing Buildings in Black.
Plan view of the proposed Boulevard section, Existing Buildings in Black.

If you are interested in this approach to taming unfortunate streets, I recommend The Boulevard Book by Allen Jacobs and Elizabeth McDonald.

Link to the Boulevard Book on Amazon


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Tag Archives: 1950s kitchen

DIY Coca Cola Dish Soap Dispenser

 Simple Rockabilly Kitchen Upgrade!

My kitchen theme is cherries and Coke.  I have been wanting to find a more fitting kitchen soap dispenser for a while, when I saw a picture on Pinterest ( of a Coke bottle that had been converted to a soap dispenser.  It was one of those major “duh” moments…. why didn’t I think of that-  I mean I only have a ton of empty Coke bottles!  I’m lucky enough to live in mid century modern home that has not been upgraded, as you will see by the yellow formica counter tops and original early 1960’s yellow oven. I have a 1950’s formica table that is waiting for new legs, and when I get some I will share more images of my kitchen.  I collect new and antique Coca Cola items, so as you will see, some things are old, some are not. So I took one of the newer Coke bottles, put the dish soap in it and slapped a Suave conditioner pump on it and… voila!! The pump is silver, which doesn’t match my kitchen colors, but it’s the only one I had. As soon as I find a pump in black or red I will switch it out.

antique coca cola crate

coke bottles and pinwheels

antique hutch with cherry and coke decor

Retro in Pink!

1950’s Retro Kitchens

I LOVE retro kitchens.  I love the popular pastel colors of the 1950’s retro kitchens, the black and white diner style checkered floor, the simple cabinets, and the retro appliances- especially the refrigerators! Right now my kitchen is white and the 1950’s retro yellow (not my choice, came that way). The counter tops are that staple retro pattern laminate you see everywhere that comes in different colors, mine is the yellow with brown and blue boomerang shaped outlines all over it. My cabinets are plain white and the original yellow retro GE oven is still here and working. For years I have dreamed of a retro kitchen with all red appliances, but in my search of retro kitchen ideas and styles- I have fallen more and more in love with the pink retro kitchens! My only dilema is that pink is not my other half’s favorite color, so I am going to go with a pink AND red retro kitchen, with white cabinets and the black and white checkered laminate floor! Until the day it’s done I will continue to save the pictures I find and share them…

pink retro kitchen

vintage pink kitchen

1950s pink kitchen

1950s pink retro kitchen

retro pink kitchen

pink retro kitchen

pink and blue 1950s retro kitchen

1950s retro kitchen

pink retro kitchen

1950s style pink kitchen

1950s pink kitchen

1950s pink kitchen

My Favorite Refrigerator Ever, gotta have it!!

Pink retro refrigerator

Other Pink Retro Appliances…

pink retro oven

pink retro stove top

1950s pink retro refrigerator

1950s pink mixer

1950s pink food mixer

1950s pink dishwasher

reproduction pink 1950s dishwasher

pink retro refrigerator

pink retro mixer

pink retro can opener

pink retro beaters

pink retro dishwasher

Some of the red retro styles I may mix with my pink…. but more red retro kitchen pics in another post….

red retro kitchen

pink and red 1950s kitchen table

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1. MANGO BELTED BIKER JACKET // A badass leather jacket not only goes with (nearly) everything, but also keeps you warm. Plus, leather only gets better with wear – how many things can you say that about!?

2. DIPTYQUE POMANDER CANDLE // This candle was one of my many amazing discoveries at Mecca Cosmetica. The scent instantly reminded me of home baking and being snuggled up by the fire on a cold winters night (what more could you want from a candle!?). So, if you’re anything like me, a.k.a love the smell of cinnamon and never got over the childhood novelty of gingerbread men, you will love this candle!

3. HAPPY SOCKS // It’s simple, Happy Socks make you happy! And in leopard print? Clearly a winter necessity.

4. NARS VELVET MATTE LIP PENCIL IN DRAGON GIRL // Winter weather tends to lead to outfit choices with muted colours. But never fear, this means you can rock a statement lip like you just don’t care. And what better way to make a statement than with a red lip!?

5. TOPSHOP WHITE RIPPED BOYFRIEND JEANS // In winter, comfort is key. Boyfriend jeans are the ultimate way to be comfortable, while still appearing ‘put together’.

6. COMME DES GARCONS AMAZING GREEN EAU DE PARFUM // This tough yet lush scent reminds me of a mysterious forest with notes of spice and musk intertwined with sweet flowers. And it is indeed amazing (as the name implies).

7. KAREN WALKER FILIGREE COIN PURSE // I don’t really have a reason as to why you need a new coin purse for winter – apart from the fact that this one is super cool and definitely won’t stick around for long.

8. MARC BY MARC JACOBS DYNAMITE LOGO UMBRELLA // I’m going to point out the obvious – it rains in winter and an umbrella protects you from said rain. So, why not invest in a super rad umbrella? Then you will only lose 10 cool points when standing on the side of the road fighting with the wind to keep it in the right way, instead of 20.

9. BEAU COOPS JERRY ANKLE BOOTS // So awesome, so warm, so waterproof, so essential for winter.

10. ACNE STUDIOS DANIA SWEATER // Soft and snuggly knitwear is mandatory. Knowing I’ve got a cosy piece of knitwear (especially an Acne Studios Mohair sweater) to wrap up in when abandoning my warm bed, ever so slightly eases my mind.

11. KAREN WALKER RUNAWAY GIRL MUG // A hot chocolate (with an excessive amount of marshmallows) is the highlight of my cold winters morning, and what makes a hot chocolate with marshmallows even better? An amazing mug to drink it out of, of course.

Valentines herMoet & Chandon Message On a Bottle | Marc by Marc Jacobs Baker Watch | It by Alexa Chung Book | Fujifilm Instax Mini 8 Camera | kikki.K Puzzle Heart Card | Peter Alexander Pretty Floral Shortie Set | Essie Blanc Nail Polish | Essie Fiji Nail Polish | Lonely LuLu Underwire Bra | See by Chloe Eau De Parfum | Diptyque Baies Candle | Mooi Jem Maxi Pouch

boho chic2

1. Shakuhachi Flower Bomb Embro Square Dress | 2. Eugenia Kim Farrah Relaxed Fedora (Similar here and here) | 3. Zimmermann Keeper Embroidered Cover Up (Similar here and here) | 4. Diptyque Indian Incense Candle | 5. Tocca Cleopatra Perfume | 6. Simone Camille Clutch (Similar here) | 7. Nars Soft Touch Eyeshadow Pencil in ‘Hollywoodland’ | 8. Tigerlily Ajrakh Bikini | 9. Birkenstock Arizona Sandal | 10. Essie Blanc Nail Polish | 11. Maniamania Psychic Ring | 12. Ray Ban Aviators


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Нравится минимализм и стиль фотографии, интересный цветовой акцент. Злость и самокопание в себе.

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Teresa Freitas — photography - Really beautiful and surreal images by Portugal based photographer, Teresa Freitas.

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At Pretty Page Turner there's nothing better than a book in one hand and a steaming espresso, latte or coffee in the other. We love a coffee aesthetic staged for beautiful coffee photography.

She very much loves sitting in her front porch, watching the fall days go by and the leaves fall as she drinks from her cup of coffee.


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Union busting, but not from who you think.

Kevin Drum, writing in Mother Jones, astutely notes:

“[I]t’s not that the working class has abandoned Democrats. It’s just the opposite: The Democratic Party has largely abandoned the working class.”

 It’s an excellent article, and I encourage you to read the whole thing.

He goes on to describe the animosity that existed between the “New Left”, as he calls it, and organized labor. Specifically, to paraphrase him a bit, there was something of a culture clash, and so the  “New Leftists” were disliked by the old-school working class.

It’s this clash, of course, which has caused such a problem for the Democratic party, and the article does a good job of explaining how it still impacts them even today. And (forgive me a bit of self-promotion) it’s sort of related to the issue I wrote about here.

What's your stake in this, cowboy?


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Relaxing spa treatments at home

Meloneras (Gran Canaria) is known for its many spa facilities. Chocolate Fancy, Aroma-Therapy and Hydro-Massage is just a few examples of the many treatments you can get here. But sometimes you may just want to get that spa-feeling at home without the hassle of making an appointment days in advance, without that painful deep tissue massage or lying wrapped in Dead Sea mud for hours. Instead, here are a few products that will make you feel fabulous, energized and healthy in a jiffy.

1. DKNY beauty bag

2. Biotherm apricot oil therapy

3. Biotherm anti-fatigue moisturizer

4. Dior nail polish

5. Straw hat and scarf from Ralph Lauren (don’t know the exact connection to spa treatments but WTF it looks great anyway)

Posted on April 19, 2012, in DIY & shopping, Gran Canaria and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Being completely detached from female cosmetics, I’m curious as to how well that anti-fatigue moisturizer works. 🙂

  2. Yes, that is a very good question 🙂 This is the first time I’m (Hanna) trying this cream and I would lie if I told you that I have seen any visible result yet. But it definitely feels great to put it on in the morning and it goes into the skin without being too oily or greasy. It should have an anti-fatigue effect and it also has a lovely smell of peach. I bought 125 ml but there is also 50 ml available.

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Unyielding Blue

Unyielding Blue

A short story by Sam Oliver

Weightlessness, a warmth, a queer floating feeling, as if enveloped by cloud- if clouds could be warm. A bubble surrounds her, and at its edges there are hundreds of other bubbles, floating, transparent, all visible before her eyes. Deep blue eyes with red pupils, half-open, half-closed, barely looking out at anything at all. Engrossed with something, with nothing, pleased to be here, pleased to be gone.

Something is eating at her awareness, some small, dangerous thing, something she can’t quite credit with existence. Her arms and legs float beside her, drifting. She turns, sculling with her hands, twisting around in her timeless bubble, in the warmth. Is she upside down now?

She stares out beyond the film of her bubble, of her life, gazing down on upon rows and rows of bubbles just like hers, transparent, showing things, green things, red things, yellow and white things. Blurry through the film, but nevertheless there.

And next to her bubble, something blue, like her eyes, something safe and separate from her.

Time passes, and there is nothing but the warmth. A flicker in her eyes, something changes. She blinks, eyelids fluttering, open, then panic. She flips herself, panic slowly fading to wonder, gazing out at the bubbles, really staring at them.

Green slowly forms in her vision, becoming trees. White becomes cloud. Yellow becomes sun or fire and flickers hazily, grey forming smoke. Smoke which she breathes in, chokes on. She coughs, and the bubble around her begins to crack.

For a moment she doesn’t believe that it’s real that it happened, and then, as her eyes open fully and everything dissolves, she really doesn’t believe that it’s real.

Wind is streaming past her.

She is falling. She doesn’t know why she isn’t screaming. Instead, she’s laughing, even as she tips, even as her eyes fall on the ground rushing up to meet her, even as she slams into the ground face first and her skull knocks against stone. Cracks spiderweb through it. The force of the blow seems to shatter every bone in her body- she can feel the tortured twang of nerves set aflame by her impact.

For an eon she lies there, facedown, flat, unwilling or unable to roll over to get more comfortable, doing nothing but lying there, breathing unevenly through bruised lungs and cracked ribs. Each breath sets her body aflame. But there’s a… a fierce joy in her, so great that it makes her want to burst out laughing.

Her hands- blackened hands, brown hands, skin like charcoal- press down on the ground, push her up to her knees. Her eyes, wide and aching from harsh light after being closed for so long, turn to the ground around her, marveling at every detail in the cracked stone surrounding her, and at the bruised and broken skin on her body. Her mind loves the pain- and why? A word comes to her- perverted? Is she some twisted creature, to love this agony?

She stretches out from her knees, then slowly rises to her feet on numbed legs. Her hands clench. Unclench. She throws her head back, gasping, smiling helplessly, happily- and at nothing, at the grey smoke surrounding her like mist, at the basalt beneath her feet. Her breath comes deep and deliberate, the stabbing pain welcomed. And another word comes to her mind, on the tail end of a thought so powerful it causes her skin to tingle all over. She shouts it, the word, a word in a language she hasn’t used in ages escaping all at once.

She spreads her fingers, standing up straight and reaches up for the sky, grinning. Every part of her aches, but her mouth forms the word again, whispers it. “Alive. I am alive.”

The euphoria lingers for a time, buoying her up despite her aches and pains. Then a cold wind blows and brushes her body, washing over her all at once and making her gasp with the suddenness of it. Without quite realizing why, she turns, and immediately her happiness is replaced with a sudden, cold fear.

The girl feels alone and she doesn’t have a name. To her the latter matters more, and she finds herself hoping one might solve the other. Without any real direction to travel in, she walks off, stumbling slightly, trying to find her balance once, and then twice.

Her feet trip on stones hidden in the rock, but as time passes she can find her way easily, one foot in front of the other. It seems as if forever goes by as she walks. Finally though, her feet take her to a part in the grey smoke, to a place where it suddenly stops and, not five feet from her, blue begins.

As the smoke hisses away from her and her heart thumps in her chest, she spreads her hands, and the grey mist around her rises.

To reveal a curtain, a wall of unending clear blue- an incredible, shining crystal wall of- water. Fear vanishes, replaced by awe- the wall stretches on into the sky. Every part of her screams that she should run, but the water simply stays there as if there is- some barrier that prevents it from crashing down on her. She can see it flat against something- the wall of water is pressing up against something it cannot pass- the wall before her, the blue rising into the heavens can’t fall on her.

For a time she simply stands there, gazing into the depths of blue, her heart skipping beats, then slowly calming down as she eyes it, as she gets used to the idea of it. She lets out an nervous laugh, a relieved sigh.

She works up her courage slowly, but eventually begins to walk along the wall- for it seems to stretch on into the horizon.

She reaches an ebon hand out to touch the wall as she walks, tentatively, and gives a pleased, wondering gasp as her fingers slide through something with the consistency of glue, and then on into the water. It’s cool- pleasantly so against the aches of her hand and wrist.

She leans forward, pushing her hand through the invisible barrier and into the water, up to her arm…

But as she does, she looks down into a murky shadow, a blotchy patch of darkness down below her, over the edge- edge?

The basalt here drops off completely beyond the invisible barrier, leading into nothing but blackness and oblivion. The girl shudders and pulls her hand back from the water. And no sooner do her fingers pass the barrier between water and smoky air something enormous darts up from the black, a blurry shape all dark grey, with white ivory teeth flashing at her in a savage, saurian grin.

The shape brings memory to her lips and lets it out in a stutter. She stumbles back away from the invisible wall, catching herself on her hands.

“D-dragon,” She breathes, to no one, to nothing.

Its mouth opens further, a long scaled snout, sinuous, lithely scaled, its tail stretching down into the depths, its eyes flashing at her, cold, cold blue in the clear water, making her shiver. And then it speaks.

The words are in her head.

“Little demon girl, you are lost and alone.”

For a moment, she doesn’t understand that it addresses her, and of all the questions she has, her first feels stupid the moment it leaves her mouth.

“You have horns and cloven hooves, a long charcoal tail and burning red pupils, girl.”

Its tone hurts her ears- its voice is loud in her mind and echoes around her head. And for the first time, she also can feel her tail. Her toes, which she’d thought were rather hard, are shaped into hooves, and her hand, trembling slightly, reaches up- she can feel horns, one above and behind each ear, curling around under them and ending in points. It seems odd to associate them with herself.

“Who are you?” She asks quietly, her voice trembling.

“My name is Ashrinael. I am the Lady of True Depth, the realm you attempted to enter.”

“Who am I?” the girl asks, then, pushing herself up onto her knees and gazing at the creature curiously- now that it doesn’t seem about to snap her up. “What do you want of me?”

“I have waited for someone to indebt themselves to me for a time- few brave the depths anymore. I have… a task which need be done, that I myself cannot do.”

The girl nods slowly. She doesn’t quite understand, but she feels a tingling in her limbs. Her gaze wanders up to the massive expanse of blue rising above her.

“What do you require of me?” She asks quietly. “And what might I take in return?”

“Daring to assume you are allowed to ask a favor in return. You are faster than the others. But that is not important- you will be rewarded. I shall give you a name as payment before you start your task.”

“Done,” the girl says quickly. She suddenly doesn’t care what the task is- she’s felt a, a burning need for a name for a time now. Since she dropped.

“I will take you to what need be done, girl. Are you brave enough to enter the water?”

The nameless demon stands, walking to the edge of the barrier, hesitating. “How will I breathe?”

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” She lies, the word slipping out sharp. Her whole body hurts still from her fall. “Of course not.”

“Then come, little demon.”

The girl takes a deep breath, lungs stinging, ribs aching, and presses beyond the barrier into the cold.

The water presses all around her like a vice- and a current tugs at her a mere foot away from the barrier. She struggles in it for a moment, panics when she realizes she can’t swim, and begins to sink for a few awful seconds. A blue blur arcs through the water, sending a barrage of bubbles into her face, and then something long and sinuous wraps around her wrist. There is a brief tugging sensation, and then, abruptly, blurred, fast movement with water sliding around her, over her, drenched, towed behind an immense blurry shape, so fast that the water streaming around her forces her eyes shut.

Her mouth opens and she tastes saltwater, loses air, feels it hissing past her in a stream of bubbles, and with nothing to cling to, she’s helpless to steady herself and stop its escape.

It goes on. Her lungs ache to draw air in.

Presently, it stops, and she dares open her eyes. For a time now she realizes that she’s felt nothing around her, no water. Just cool- then freezing, the wind taking the heat from her bones. And there is much wind here.

She spits out her mouthful of salt water, coughs reflexively, feels it dripping down her chin. Her lungs have stopped aching, and she realizes that she no longer feels the need to breathe either. She lets the breath out again in a rush, but this time doesn’t draw in any air to replace what remains. Her lungs and her chest feel empty.

Her vision, blurry with salt, clears, and her heart pounds at what she sees. The wind isn’t all that is cold here. She kneels on a plain of pure ice that stretches out, obscured by heavy snow mist. Something wrapped around her waist- blue and comparatively warm- drags at her attention, and she hears the Lady of True Depth speaking in her mind again.

“This is as far as I take you, Emberais. That is your new name- take good care of it.”

The tail unwraps from around her waist- it is long, tipped with a spade- and where it had gripped there are the marks of scales on her charcoal skin. As the last of it unravels from her, the voice speaks again before she can voice an answer.

“Wings for the dead, breath for the dying, souls for the soulless- you are not the only hope, but you are a hope, Emberais. You must create an imbalance in order to restore it.”

Then the tail disappears, sliding into a pool of water- she must have been pushed through it!

The ice surrounding it is warmer than it should be, so she lingers near it while she tries to get her bearings.

Just like the smoke, though, the snow surrounds her on all sides, and there is no way for her to understand where she is. Was she pulled up or was she pulled down? It seems a bit irrelevant, but she’s curious.

She can feel her limbs warming on the ice, and the sheer contradiction of it makes her smile through the chill of the snow on her arms and legs. Ice should be cold.

She doesn’t know why she knows that.

Emberais, as she is now called, stands. She flexes her fingers, stretches out on her hooves, wobbling a little, unused to the way they stick to the ice. Her eyes still burn from the salt, but no matter how she stares into the snow she can’t see anything. Still, she isn’t breathing. She should probably be dead, but she doesn’t want to let that stop her. She owes a favor for being taken here and being given a name.

Everything else can wait until after she finishes this favor, whatever it is. She steels herself, gathering her strength, staring out into the snow until her eyes sting. She takes a deep breath, out of habit, and steps out into the white mist.

A time passes. She doesn’t know how long. The dragon’s words are ringing in her head nonsensically, in bits and pieces.

Wings for the dead. Souls for the dying, breath. Breath for the dead? Wings for the dead, breath for the dying, souls for the soulless. Souls…

Eventually, she comes across an immense rock structure- it fades into view slowly, as she approaches, barely more than a hill of snow in the mist until it becomes apparent that it is open, and that inside it is warm. She is cold- Emberais can feel her frozen hooves ache in sympathy for the difference in temperature. Already she can feel her fingers melting away.

She looks down at her hands and gasps- her fingers have curved into wicked talons!

She stares at them for a few moments, then carefully steps into the cavern, and the heat. Steam rises up around her- she’s beginning to understand the pattern. First smoke, then snow mist, now steam.

It feels good, soothing away the ache of the boneshattering cold. It feels incredibly good, in fact, and it’s only when she looks down that she realizes the steam here is near solid, swirling around her, caressing charcoal skin, along tail and her arms, shoulders and calves with an almost impish purpose.

To her further shock, it forms a shape in the air- a pair of glowing green eyes and a mocking smile.

Outrage boils in her blood. She can feel it pushing the last remnants of frost away, and set a sick tinge to the pleasing touch of the steam.

“Stop,” She says quietly. The eyes, staring at her still, do not budge. Her heart- had she ever felt it before?- is not beating, but there is a tingling, an undeniable sense of power in her blood, urging her on. “You have no right.”

Her voice is steady, without a tremble. She has stopped as well, staring the green eyes down, taloned hands clenched, tail flicking back and forth without her really willing it.

A voice in her mind, slick and cool where the dragon’s was overwhelming. “Why should I obey you, little half-blood?”

A taloned hand rests on her hip while she replies, eyes narrowing, still staring steadily. Something makes her say it, and she isn’t sure why it comes out, but her lips form the words before they even enter her mind. “I bring wings for the dead.”

“You’ve come to set me free?” The voice is eager, but also taken aback, as if it couldn’t fathom her purpose- the purpose that had sprung from her mouth full formed. The tendrils of steam stop toying with her.

“I suppose,” She concedes, still wondering at her own words. Is that why she is here? But how could she do such a thing?

“HAVE YOU COME TO SET ME FREE?”  The voice is unspeakably loud, and the entire cavern seems to quake, setting her aquiver, confidence shattered.

“Yes!” She replies in a shaky shout, above the rumbling of the cave. “I have come to set you free! I just- I don’t know…”

“You do not, but I will show you the way.”

“Can I trust you?” She asks, suddenly suspicious. The change had been so immediate it hurts her in her bones to try to switch from defiance to distrust. It’s moving too fast for her. “Wait-”

Her mind is set aflame. Her body- every part of her is jarred by something- something immense forcing its way into her, her head and body shaking with its passage. Her nerves are fire, boiling her blood away into steam- the steam that rises around her, dizzies her senses and rattles her bones.

She collapses to the wet floor of the cavern, panting, trying to gather her bearings and failing. Taloned fingers dig into stone with insolent ease, screeching as a razor drawn down glass.

The presence is there- slippery, cold, calculating- and dead. She can feel it resting in the back of her mind, and she feels thrice again as heavy as before, and thrice again as strong. Wondering at it, she finds- she feels– heavy wings on her back, feels her body larger and stronger than before, thick hooves now cloven and tipped with spikes that dig into the stone as her fingers had.

Her tail is longer now, charcoal still, but tipped with a red spade and with two long spines. The rest of her feels about the same.

Marveling at it, at the power as her tail flicks this way and that and she stands- struggling, spine curved slightly under the weight of wings that can’t be for anything other than ornamentation. She experiments with them, trying to fold them this way, and then that.

“What are you waiting for?” The amused, cool voice asks. “Give me wings, little demon girl.”

Emberais shivers. But she knows where she needs to go. First smoke, then water, then snow, then steam… She walks into the steam without thinking about it, and the heat dries her new, drenched wings. Slowly, the scales harden, and she can feel the strength running through them- ornamental?

No. Not a chance.

Gradually though, after what seems an eternity, she can see an end to the cave. Her wings, stiffening in the heat, fold as she stretches. Then unfold again, a dry wind blowing over her, boiling hot against her skin. It smells of spice- thyme, dried mint. Good, the voice whispers. It seems to be filled with a form of ephemeral satisfaction.

“Good?” She asks back, wonderingly. “I did nothing!”

You are the vessel.

“But what does that mean?”

You are the vessel!

Emberais sighs, hooves clacking on stone that gradually gives way into sand- pressing through another glue-like air barrier. Grinding hooves into grit.

Can you find the dying?

Emberais shrugs. “I found the dead, how much more difficult could it be to find the dying?”

And in her ears, an unholy shrieking and the screech of metal on metal is heard. Clangs, hisses, howls. The unearthly sound of combat whispers to her on the dry, dry wind. It chills her to her bones in a way the snow could never have done. But here she can see for miles, and the combat does not seem to be anywhere- just open plains of striped yellow sand for as far as the eye can see.

Impatiently, she feels her wings flicking, opening up, stretching out. Without warning, her heart jumping in her chest, they flap, reacting with her thoughts. If she could just fly.

And she does, her legs bunching under her, pushing off of the sand awkwardly, wings flapping down, fanning out- the ground drops away and she gasps, nearly squeals with a mixture of delight and stark terror. Her wings seem to know what to do even if she doesn’t, flapping once, twice, rising on a thermal. The rapidly receding ground vanishes from her mind, replaced with something else- a sort of abnormal determination, alien and foreign to her. She wants- needs- to go somewhere, and her wings are taking her there.

She doesn’t even need to think about what she is doing or where she is going. Her body makes all her decisions for her.

When it releases her, when her body is her own again, she feels herself touch down on stone, lime and rock together. Her nostrils flare, and she totters forward, then back, reeling from the smell of blood, rot and filth. It’s strong- so strong.

It makes her weak in her knees, but her hooves clack on the stone as she steps forward, staring into the sandy mist. Finally her eyes comprehend what she’s seeing, and the sight deadens her heart.

Men lie on the ground, sightless, soulless, staring above at nothing. Blood-soaked stone, cracked, hewn by blows from hammer or sword- shattered pieces of it lie scattered all around, glimmering faintly in the light of midday, in the heat of some glowing thing that scalds her back. Emberais steps forward uncertainly, kneels- with some difficulty, her hooves refusing to curl- next to one of the dead men.

Breath for the dying.

But these men are dead. She can feel them- they have no pulse, her fingers can feel no heart beating in their chests, their eyes are glazed. Yet the sounds of combat still carry to her ears. She pushes herself to her feet, standing again. She leans down, stooping to pick up a dropped hammer, but recoils, hand burning as if stung when she touches the metal handle.

Her fingers ache as she leaves it where it lies, wondering at it. Why did it hurt?

Breath for the dying!

It’s more of an urge, more of a need now. She stumbles off towards the sounds of battle, following metal on metal, treading sandy tracks in stone.

Her weaving path leads her to another clearing, stone and sand, nothing but stone and sand. Columns here, broken by some immense force. And two men, lying, glaring hatred at one another, weak and snapped hatred, but hatred all the same. Both have clapped hands to what can only be mortal wounds- the blood, the ragged, shallow breaths that pass their lips.

They freeze, though, almost in unison, turning their respective gazes to her with fear.

She walks closer, stands directly between them- they each sit with a back to a column, one with hand to chest, the other with fingers to his shoulder. Red drips down arm and belly respectively.

She can scent death on both of them, can smell it, almost taste it, and can feel the presence in her mind- the dead- yearning for them. She swallows hard, but fights down her fear and sits between the two dying men.

Words come to her, forced from her mouth by the urge in her breast.

“Two souls lie here in mortal agony, two souls. To one I give breath so that he might live, the other I’ll take as my own. Who will be a soul to the soulless, and which of you might live so the other will die?”

When the words are through, the force holds her tongue, and again she feels helpless, she is aware of her body fighting her, but helpless to stop it.

The balance must be broken before it is fixed.

“So ye are the judgement t’ be passed down on us,” The first says. She sees he has white skin, his eyes are blue and his hair as white as first snow. Wrinkles have only just begun to mar otherwise near perfect skin. His chest is a mess of red, and his hand is tense with pain. Weathered hand, veined hand, tired of battle.

Still, she doesn’t know how to- and cannot- respond to the man’s statement.

“It has the look of a devil!” The second hisses. She notices his tan-darkened flesh, the horrible broken mass of bone that used to be his shoulder and the wound on his chest also, a nasty puncture that seems to cause him immense pain with every drawn breath. His eyes are brown, and his hair is blacker than night. “Surely it is here for you, not me?”

“That no’ be my decision,” the elder one replies. “She be a valkyrie. Tis up t’ her who goes and who is left behind. Chooser o’ th’ slain, so she is. My part be over.”

“That is not so,” Emberais finds herself replying. “You must choose. What is more, you must agree.”

“Agree? To let some succubus wench of a devil decide my fate for me?” The man hisses.

“No,” Emberais replies stonily. Her voice is not her own. “You must agree with the man before you, your former enemy.”

She can say no more. She isn’t sure what she would say even if she could say something, but she does not like this feeling.

“Th’ day I let garbage like him decide wha’ our fate is t’ be is a sad, sad day indeed,” the older man grunts, laying back fully, wincing.

“Then you will stay here forever,” Emberais says quietly, and she realizes that no one forced her to say it, taking comfort from that. “You must choose.

“Who are you, demon?” The black haired one asks. Fear makes his strong voice tremble.

“My name is Emberais,” she replies warily. “Or at least, I am called Emberais. Who are you two, and what brought you to fight?”

“I be called Soulshatter, the White Hand,” the white haired man states, and for a moment he seems to regain some of his composure. “Champion o’ the Frozen Halls. My true name be yours already, aye?”

Emberais feels herself nod. And then realizes she does know his ‘true’ name- it tingles as it settles in her mind. “It is.”

“Some call me Bladebreak, the Grey Hearted,” the dark haired one says quietly. “I’ll not tell my true name to any demon.”

“You don’t need to,” Emberais says into the silence that follows. “I know of your true name already. All Carriers need to know this. Why are- were- you fighting?”

“Why? Are ye daft?” the white-haired man, Soulshatter asks sharply. “He be on th’ other side o’ me! He be th’ Champion o’ the Southland Fells.”

“That I am,” Bladebreak replies moodily. “You neglect to mention that the fight began because of your rather unchivalrous behavior.”

“If yer enemy can’t see ye and ‘e dies from ye attackin’ while he’s blind, th’ fault rests with ‘is corpse, no’ yer own. History t’ th’ victor,” Soulshatter grumbles. “None o’ tha’ “chivalry” shit. Ye know it all amounts t’ the same.”

“Craven bastard,” Bladebreak snaps. “You have no honor!”

“There is no honor in war,” Emberais says quietly, but her voice is lost as the two men fight, with words rather than blades.

Around them, the sand and wind pick up at once, blowing back and forth with each stinging volley. Emberais, caught in the middle of it, frowns at first, then as sand stings in her eyes and grit chafes at her wings, stands up and flexes them stamping a hoof, cloven points digging into the stone with a screech and a crash.

“Enough!” Emberais snarls, temper flaring. “Your arguments are both flawed. The land you knew is dead and gone! Here you are judged, and you behave like children!”

The air around her suddenly trembles with heat, the stone under her hooves smokes. “You are both near dead,” She says flatly. “You have not made any headway in centuries now!”

The knowledge comes to her- the dying’s eternal struggle with one another, the inability for them to choose- a challenge, an ordeal for warriors greater than any other.

“Before you give in and die, you must make this choice! Do you mean to run away, to postpone judgement forever?” Ember asks harshly, her eyes flashing. “If so, I will leave you to your respective fates now.”

This pointless bickering makes her angry- her angry, not the voice inside that seizes control. She had moved, had acted on her own. On memory that remains only as a blur…

Soulshatter stares at her, then stares at his feet, looking cowed. Bladebreak grumbles, but subsides, gaze falling as her piercing eyes meet his.

To her amazement, Soulshatter rises, leaning back against the column, sitting up straight and sighing heavily, raggedly. “Lass, ye strike th’ point squarely. We ‘ave been arguing for so long, be it any wonder the Fates ‘ave finally seen fit t’ send their angel?”

Bladebreak doesn’t respond, but she sees him lift his eyes, his mouth a twisted mess of emotion. He nods to Soulshatter, then shakes his head and stares at the stone again. After a time, he finds himself again and speaks. “When this- I can’t imagine being here forever. I suppose I always knew I was dead- from the moment I got this wound. I just did not think that I would ever… die. But I have been here with this abominable pain for what seems forever- I can’t remember when it happened any longer, and truth be told, I’d forgotten where I hailed from. Soulshatter has a much better memory than I.”

“Aye lad, but ye sell yerself short on combat,” Soulshatter replies, smiling a little. “Ye bested me.”

“No, I believe you bested me,” Bladebreak replies ruefully, smiling. “It should be I who gives this woman a soul.”

“Ye can’t mean tha’?” Soulshatter asks, incredulously. “She’s- well, ye know. She’s a she- er, no offense, yer angelship. Bu’ she no’ be of- her shell- ye canna expect t’ be you-!

“Souls are souls,” Bladebreak says quietly. “If mine is a price to pay for yours, then so be it. It is time to tip the balance, so to speak. It has been an honor knowing you, though I did not want to admit it. This demon- if demon she is- has… opened my eyes more with a few words than ever I could alone. I should be angry, but she is telling the truth. I owe it to her to provide wholeness now, a life debt.” He chuckles, coughs painfully and grimaces, hugging his shoulder.

“Do you find this agreeable?” Emberais asks of Soulshatter.

“Ach,” he whispers weakly. “Aye, tho’ it hurts t’ say it. I ‘ave no intention o’ becoming a woman. No offense meant, again, yer angelship, but I ‘aven’t got th’ courage t’ lose myself for ye, fer all that ye obviously be strong an’ brave. Best o’ luck t’ ye, Bladebreak of the Grey Heart.”

“Goodbye, Soulshatter, the White Hand. Good fortune until our paths cross- but truly, I hope they do not cross again,” Bladebreak says quietly.

Emberais reaches out, then, moving on instinct, and in a flash of light and a hissing, popping, crackling noise, Soulshatter disappears.

In her outstretched hand, Emberais holds a tiny figurine carved out of ice- strangely warm ice, that doesn’t melt in the intense heat. It is exquisitely detailed, a replica of Soulshatter down to the apologetic, slightly bewildered smile on his face as he’d disappeared.

“Keep it safe,” the dead whisper in her ear.

She turns to Bladebreak, who holds up his hands in weak protest, plainly horrified. “Where did you take him?”

“He is with me until he is to be reborn,” she replies, voice soft and soothing. “I have him here- see?”

She shows Bladebreak the figurine, but, far from making him relaxed, he seems to tense up further, eying her suspiciously.

“You’ve made your choice,” She reminds him.

It seems to ease his panic slightly. “I have. I am ready.”

“You are,” Emberais says quietly. She knows somehow- though she’s no longer questioning it- what to do, walking over to him, reaching down and settling her fingers against his forehead, palm flat against his skin. Black on tan.

There’s a tingling, queer cool sensation, and she closes her eyes but a moment. When she opens them again, Bladebreak is gone.

But she can feel him in her, dwelling there in a part of her, she can feel something- like an inner fire, an inner warmth that wasn’t there before. And the memory washes through her in a dazzling flood- violence, blood! Battle and glory!

Celebration in victory, a wife and children. Tragedy, deaths of the family, long, bitter struggle against the clans in the North, ice and steel leveled against friends….

She takes in a breath, stunned, and feels him- no, her- feels her own exultation at it, joy a hundred times more intense than at the pain of being alive, of being there. For the first time, now- she can feel her- her – thoughts. She can call them her own, rather than shades, half-memories. The feeling of the sand on her is uncomfortable- the wind beating at her stings like little specks of fire, her hooves grinding into the stone- it all adds into one true feeling.

Living. The pain is real.  The memories are real. She feels as if she is here above all else.

And while she can’t hear his voice, his story lingers- Bladebreak is here with her. She hadn’t realized what he was giving to her- willingly or not. Now… she could never, ever give back what he gave up.

The knowledge makes her tremble.

Are there tears on her cheeks? Salt on her lips, salt and sand.

But something still pulls at her. Even with everything completed- a soul for the soulless, breath for the dying, wings for the dead…

She has one last task to complete, and it’s one which is ingrained in her very bones. Turning, hooves biting into the stone, she sets off into the grit again, following her heart.

The cavern is near empty. A lone desk sits in the corner, and the clerk is obviously busy poring over a book. Near the northern end lies an immense pool. It’s exactly what Emberais has been looking for. Days ago, she would be thrilled to have found it. Now she is simply tired. Too tired to even experience her amplified excitement.

“Name, please,” A bored looking woman asks of her, not even looking up. Reaching over, Emberais taps the sheet of paper, forcing the woman’s eyes up to meet hers. The woman’s skin goes white, and she fumbles. “Ah- you-”

“I am here to give my regards to the Lady of True Depth,” Emberais says quietly. “Tell her I have finished what she needed done, and that I have braved the bureaucracy of seven different Planes in order to find her. Tell her I wish to receive my reward now.”

“Er- race?”

“I’m a demon,” Emberais replies smoothly. “Carrier type. They don’t tell you these things, you know,” She adds grumpily.

“I don’t, er, actually know,” The woman says, one hand tossing golden curls behind her head. “I’m not, uh, dead.”

“Neither am I,” Emberais says cheerfully. She flashes the woman behind the desk a tidy smile.

The woman gives her a strange look, but then nods. Her finger traces a burning sigil in the air, and as the strange rune disappears, there’s a near instantaneous boom that comes close to rattling the walls. Some dust floats down from the cavern ceiling, and the clerk sneezes noisily, blushing and hiding her face. “She’ll be waiting,” The woman says quietly.

“Finally,” Emberais mutters.

A week of searching- to have the end in sight should make her feel something.

She walks over to the immense pool of water and, very carefully, sits down near the edge of it.

“So, my little pawn. Come back?”

Her voice doesn’t hurt the way it used to. Emberais folds her arms and stares down into the pool. She can make out the dark shape of the Lady- of Ashrinael. It makes her apprehensive, of course, but she doesn’t tremble in fear.

“I am no one’s pawn, Lady,” Emberais answers. She isn’t sure if it’s her newfound soul that gives her this courage, or if it is her own heart which strengthens her. She had found both in her journey, so why is she angry?

It had been what she learned when she started her search. Why did it matter what she did?

Because giving a demon a soul was unprecedented. Word of mouth had spread. Because her new soul was no longer allowed to enter the Cycle. The balance had been tipped, and then broken the moment she had taken her first breath. And the orchestrator?

Swam in a pool below her.

“Yet you have done exactly as I wished!” Ashrinael hisses, excitement in that cool voice. “With any luck, now the entire system may change! It must change! You cannot fix what was not broken.”

Emberais shrugs dispassionately, even as anger churns in her stomach. “It is not my business anymore.”

“Really? And where will you go without me to protect you? Do you think that you can simply walk away?”

A sense of motion, a startling burst of speed, and the creature hisses in front of her, snarling at her, the Lady of True Depth rearing up out of the pool with claws to either side of her.

Emberais feels small and weak- all of her trembles, but a part of her roars back.

“Yes!” She shouts back, so that the word echoes in the cavern. Heat flares around her, evaporating water as it cascades down over the Lady’s scales. “I do! My life! My soul! I will do what I want, and no one can control me or manipulate that! I am not your servant, and I am not your slave! I did this task for you, but I have found myself, and I will never lose that!”

Ashrinael blinks at her, tongue flicking out, serpentlike, smiling, sinking down onto her scaled elbows and staring Emberais in the face.

“Good,” The Lady hisses softly. “Go then, daughter, and be free.”

She slips away then without another word, the flukes at the tip of her long dragon tail slapping the water as she dives. The shadow of her disappears, swallowed by the inky black of her domain.

The demon girl, still shaking, stands and regains her composure. She’s about to turn, when she realizes that she never was given her true name….

but it occurs to her that one’s true name lies with the soul they have. She knows the true name of Bladebreak, and, in knowing that, in knowing this one secret, and in being sent by Ashrinael- who is also apparently her mother- on this quest, she learned it- remembered and gained it- all on her own.

Emberais walks to the edge of the cavern and pauses for a moment, staring back at the clerk, who is reading her book, and at the silent pool of water. She doesn’t know what the truth of the matter is, but now she wants nothing more than to find out and to learn for her own sake.

With this in mind, she steps out onto the endless plain, and the wind below her accepts her wings as she takes flight- into the unyielding blue sky.


text:
Thursday, 4 February 2016

Charly 9 by Richard Guerineau Review

Charles IX was King of France from 1560 to his death in 1574 and is best remembered for the mass killing of Huguenot (French Protestants) leaders that became known as the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 1572.

Richard Guerineau’s comics adaptation of Jean Teule’s novel begins just as Charles is being emotionally blackmailed by his bloodthirsty mother Catherine de’Medici into ordering the massacre and then follows his descent into madness as the guilt becomes unbearable. Also, the comic was crap!

Charles was a gentle soul who happened to become King and, being only 22, was easily coerced by his family and elder council into ordering the shocking atrocity. Fine, but it’s not interesting to read. Nor is the way he deals with the guilt by going hunting, whoring, and being a bad friend. He just wasn’t that fascinating a person - barely anything happens for the duration of the book!

I had no idea that he was 22 when he ordered the massacre and then died a year and a half later, shortly before his 24th birthday – I found that out by reading up on him after finishing the comic which shows you how uninformative the book is despite being based on actual history. I feel like knowing that would’ve had an impact on the reader than the nothing there was instead. It reads like he lived for years after and died an older man rather than passing away so quickly - but then the comic is so, so boring that it maybe just felt like years because it took me so damn long to slog through!

I appreciate that Guerineau put a lot of effort into the art and it’s quite pretty to look at but the script and story stinks. Charly 9 is my first Delcourt comic (a French publisher) and it hasn’t made me at all eager to rush out and try more of their catalogue.

Charly 9

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The sounds of Spring…

Mmmm…. last night was the first night of the season that we were able to sleep with the window open, which is one of my favorite things in the world. Our bedroom window faces on the creek, so we get all the creek noises: this time of year that's spring peepers and tree frogs, and last night there was also a gentle rain dripping and plashing and making everything smell fresh, and around 11:00 a long train went click-clacking by on the opposite shore. Later in the season there will be crickets, and later yet cicadas, but always the frogs whirring in the trees along the bank.

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2 thoughts on “The sounds of Spring…

  1. This all sounds so nice – idyllic really. If I leave my window open I hear buses grinding gears and fume smells waft in – and those are the good sounds! 🙂

  2. I wish I had a creek nearby. Still I love window-opening time. I find that at those certain times of spring and fall when the windows are open, there's a certain sort of air–not really a smell, but something that begins in the olfactory senses–that almost makes me feel like I'm a kid again.
    Sadly we made it into the 90's today. Open-window time is limited in my neck of the woods.

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My favorite place to share updates is Instagram, follow me there.

Fenway Park Tour: Final at Bat

Here's my last shot of Fenway Park. It was a fun afternoon, quite entertaining. I'm looking forward to the 2013 season. Go Yankees. Yes, you read that right. You can be a fan of another team and still appreciate the history in this park!

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Posted by: playingthedevil | June 25, 2012

funny people (2009)

release date: july 31st, 2009
production budget: $75 million
u.s. gross: $51.86 million
foreign: $19.7 million

yet another high concept, totally fictional, and perhaps sci-fi summer comedy, funny people has adam sandler playing a successful, popular, self-loathing stand-up comedian turn movie star.

written, directed, and co-produced by judd apatow, funny people is 2 1/2 hours long, the longest of any apatow related or happy madison movies. it’s a daunting task for someone like me, who’s not only allergic to most happy madison productions but also thinks that apatow peaked with his tv shows (the ben stiller show, freaks and geeks, undeclared) and with diminishing returns with each new, longer movie.

the length is due to the fact that funny people is actually two movies in one. the first half has to do with sandler’s character george simmons, a former stand-up comedian now making dumb popular comedies, not unlike tracy jordan on 30 rock. simmon’s movies include one where he plays a grown man with a baby’s body (the wayans brothers’ little men) and one where he plays a merman (a male mermaid).

the star of little nicky, click, and jack and jill making fun of the wayans brothers

this first half, aka the better half, has sandler’s simmons finding out that he has a rare terminal disease that has a slim chance of recovering from. this news brings him to do stand-up in a comedy club, where he meets seth rogen’s up and coming stand-up ira wright. ira works at a deli and does stand-up for free. wright eventually becomes simmons’ assisstant/writer. the highlights here are the rza as ira’s deli coworker and james taylor as himself, performing at a myspace corporate event. we are also introduced to wright’s roommates: a fellow stand-up comedian played by jonah hill and the more successful comedian stuck in a bad sitcom played by jason schwartzman. there’s also aubrey plaza and aziz ansari, both from tv’s parks and recreations, as the love interest and fellow comic, respectively.

though this is the better half of the film, the snippets of stand-up performances are surprisingly tone deaf. instead of the more realistic reactions from the audience, there’s not much at stakes here. the film doesn’t seem to show the highs and lows most comedians go through of being on stage. the audience are either laughing or remain dead silence. it’s as if we are supposed to be appreciative of being able to see sandler and rogen performing. surprising since apatow worked with ben stiller, garry shandling, rosanne, and will ferrell. surely, they have enough battle scars to fuel a realistic movie about doing stand-up. only schwartzman’s sitcom contains any elements of satire.

flawed as it may be, this half nevertheless delves (however safely) into the world of stand-up comedy. there are plenty of cameos of actual stand-up comedians (andy dick, carol leifer, george wallace, norm macdonald, dave attell, sarah silverman…etc). it’s no small feat that the film is able to make paul reiser funny and the best thing ray romano has ever done, in a scene with eminem.

unfortunately, the second half turns into a soap opera without any laughs. it devolves into sort of thirtysomething without the wit, insight, or any entertainment value. simmons’ miraculously cured in the middle of the movie, as with most well to do white male protagonist, he realizes his proprieties in life and goes back to laura (played by leslie mann aka mrs. judd apatow), an ex-lover whom he cheated on.

laura is now married to the hulk himself, australian eric bana. they have two kids, also played by apatows. as per formula, we are told that bana is cheating on laura so it’s totally ok for simmons to have sex with her.

perhaps because of the success of his previous movies, apatow seems to have free reign on the movie. it’s unfortunate since this is definitely a case where a more structured and tightly cut movie would have sufficed. the second half is so shapeless that there is nothing for the audience to do but to wait for the movie to end.

despite its flaws, there is a good 90-minute movie trapped in here. it’s admirable that sandler’s character remains unlikable throughout most of the movie, up until the last five minutes. it’s rather pleasurable to see sandler’s character getting beat up by the hulk. granted, it’s for going down on mrs. hulk and not for making crappy movies, it’s nonetheless enjoyable.

only one of these is a real movie, i think, for now

rogen’s character is the entry point to the movie yet he isn’t given much to do during the second half. the roommates and love interest introduced in the first half is more or less forgotten during the second half in order to focus on the sandler character. it would have made sense for the movie to have the forced happy ending and focus on the sandler character had it been edited by the studio but apatow seems to have total creative control here.

i don’t regret spending 150 minutes watching the movie, it’s more enjoyable that any shorter happy madison productions. at the same time, paul thomas anderson was able to distill the sandler essence with punch-drunk love to greater effect in a shorter amount of time. funny people is about an hour too long.

speaking of funny people, mitch from the video vacuum’s funny people review

Search for Funny People on CanIStream.It

2.5/4 comedians (first half: 3/4, second half: 2/4)

  1. Thanks for the plug. I got to say that if Apatow went with Plot A or Plot B, the movie would’ve been solid, but by trying to crap both plots into a 2 1/2 hour flick pushes the audience’s patience to the breaking point.

    • i don’t know about the second story. there doesn’t seem to be any point, message or structure to it.

  2. I meant to say cram, not crap, but oh well. Sounds funny this way at least.

  3. My reasoning: “I see Adam Sandler; therefore, I shall not laugh.” So I skip it. Seriously, can’t stand the guy.

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This has been how I living.

Almost a month I've been jailed in the dorm.
Yeah, it'd been so hard for a week. Those tears, the homesick, the selfless. I wasn't the same. It was a week of School Orientation and I was an invisible girl who did nothing. The first day, ribbon group, library, choir, and even in the BONFIRE. It was on the third day. There were two main rituals in the School Orientation, and it were called by THE CALLING and BONFIRE, yeah. What was meant by 'the calling'? A ritual where all of Sampoerna Academy had to write their BIGGEST DREAM (their heart's calling) in a small paper which would be put in the little capsule/tube (as small as our middle finger actually), and these capsules would be put in the locked box. The box wouldn't be opened by anyone till we graduated or in our reuni. All of us really did that. Yes, and at the same night, the ritual of Bonfire held. In the calling, it was all about the dream, things what we wanna do, things that made a spirit in every of us. But about Bonfire, it was about our FEAR. The biggest fear of every student. We had to write our biggest fear on a piece of a small wood by the chalk, then we walked to the Futsal Court where the great bonfire existed. We walked in the line of our own House (I'll explain about it later on) which is.. yes, MANTA RAY :). In front of every line of House, there were couple of bricks where we're going to break our wood with our hand. Yes, like Karate. We never do that before, we didn't know how to break woods with hand only, we never know how was our strength. We just had to break that. Before we did that awesome 'breaking', we did PLEDGE. Yes, like Sumpah Pemuda, and it's about our goal in the future. And finally, after that pledge, one by one, we really broke that wood. By our own hand.

I won't explain this session as well as possible cause there were soooooooooooo many sweet details that cannot be imagined by words. All of us went forward to the very big great stage, and we were all about more than 300 students. Wow. I stood in the very front line actually, and it was ahmazing. We sang SPREAD OUR WINGS (and also our school's march of course), a song that had planted deeply in every heart of us. We are really one big family. We cried. Then the giving flowers. We gave our parents a rose. And I was crying so hard in my Momma's hugging. She-is-really-the-strongest-Mom-in-the-world. She is the best one. She is single parent. She is beautiful. She is.very.strong. Oh my God. ThankYou for boarding me out into this Lady. I'm very gifted, God. I am.

Okay then we had lunch together, we taken photos.. We gathered with all of Manta Ray's families, and our SA. SA is Student Advisor and it's like Wali Kelas in regular school. But we aren't class. We are House. and we (Manta Ray) don't have a same class. If you don't get it, it's okay. You don't need to know all of my details.

Right. Then every student was permitted to hang out with their parents. That was really not enough of time, but ooooooorrggh it just made me miss my Mom badly when she brought me back to the dorm. (Bayangin, karena minimnya kendaraan--karena sekolah saya memang terletak di dlm perumahan--kami terpaksa jalan kaki ke Indomart. Terus jalan balik lagi ke sekolah buat ketemu becak. Untung ketemu. Dan terus dengan becak itu kami pergi ke ATM--yang lumayan jauh. Terus ke tempat mama nginep, dan itu bukan hal mudah buat pak becak mencari rumah yang dimaksud, sedangkan waktu terus berjalan. Dan saya kembali nangis di sana. betapa saya merindukan rumah. Betapa saya sangat berbeda, betapa semuanya berbeda. Adaptasi, sebetulnya. Ya, cerita akan mulai berubah seiring anda membaca entri ini.)

Dan 2 minggu berikutnya kami lalui dengan menjalani Foundation Study dengan sisipan CORNPARTY di pergantian minggunya. It was really great night. Disusul Halal Bi Halal night yang juga penuh kehangatan. Yak until pada minggu ini, akhir minggu ke-4.
FYI, I entered the class of X-1, which is called as the group of INQUIRE by the seniors. Every class has their own characteristics. And yeah, may be I am that one--inquire. You know, I always ask and ask :)

Manta Ray.

We're consisted by 16 students. And we lived in the top of the dorm--Third Floor.
Okay, I decide to explain this section on the other post :P

Day by day passed away, and MUCH MORE HAPPINESS around my eyes :')
The first TARAWIH.
I just called Mega, Asti n Yonez, and absolutely, I cried during that calling. I was on the attic of my room and there was a big mountain and the wide sky in front of me. Stars. No, my eyes was--because it lighted in the dark. After that calling I've been sooo ahmazing. I can be free. I touch that freedom. I'm smiling as well, this is life. I'm back.

The next night. I sent 3 pages of cellular message to (for about) 40 kiddos from my lovely JHS! :'D And almost of them replied my messages and it was really awesome to know that I am still remembered. It was just too sweet guys. It was.

Yeah. And Journalist. Thank God, for giving me that chance to be 10 selected students that included as the main team of Newspaper and Newsletter of Smandasa! It is really really a great gift. Haha. *Paling gak, jadi 10 yang terpilih dari 80 anak itu.. yah, menyenangkan.

And The Churching?
Yess momma, I do still do Church. If you wanna meet me on Sunday, just go to Kayutangan Church. Or every first Friday of Month at the Ijen Cathedral :) Because if in the first Friday of Month there is a Mass which is presented by all of the SHS-ers from all over Malang City.

See yah.

  1. pengen bgt bisa kaya mba pipod (huaahh kapan ya? bikin envy deh) kwkwkwkwkwkwkwk .. eits, aku juga pengen bisa mbaca smua ini .. gra* aku gak tau artinya jadi bingung deh .. :) :D

  2. Waah makasihh! tp jd diri sendiri lebih menggiurkan lho dek :D
    hayo2 coba tanya Miss Dien :P


text:
Posts tagged ‘hate you job?’

Are you Feeling Stuck in Your Current Career?

Are You Feeling Stuck in Your Current Career?

Feeling Stuck in a job you hate?

Are You Looking for a New Career to Replace the One that Feels Tired and Worn Out?

Do You Want 2012 to be Your Best Year Yet?

Would You Like to Uncover Your Gifts, Talents and Life Purpose – and Learn How to Monetize That?

Keep Reading to Discover How You Can Create the Career and Life That Makes Your Soul Sing

You were not meant to spend your life working hard, struggling to make ends meet in a job you hate!

Everyone wants to feel like the work they do is meaningful, fulfilling and makes a difference.

– Imagine waking up each morning feeling excited about the day and week ahead of you, because you are loving what you are doing and are recognized and compensated for it?

– Imagine going into 2012 equipped with the information and tools you need to finally achieve the career fulfilment, wealth, success, happiness and passion you deserve!

Each one of us came into this life to follow a particular path that would lead us to fulfil our highest potential and enhance the lives of others through our great work.

Look around you at those people living “charmed lives.” Chances are they’re just living true to their designated paths, they found their destiny early in life.

When you’re on your unique path, you feel impassioned by your own life and work, abundance flows to you, and your life is in harmony.

When you are not living in alignment with your soul purpose – nothing works well in your life; you will struggle and never quite feel as though your work is meaningful and fulfilling. This can result in: frustration, boredom, anger, depression or even chronic illness.

If you have recently experienced a job loss or a major transition in your life, it is because your soul is calling for you to take a new path, a new direction, one more in alignment with your life purpose. Imagine if every career move, relationship and life experience has been deliberate, each containing a lesson or experience that leads us closer to our true life path and our greatest work.

The good news is that we all have an owner’s guide book! This guide book or blueprint is the way to get us moving back on track and living our life on purpose.

This guide is hidden within the vibrations surrounding the numbers of your birth date, or Numerology.

The Greek philosopher and mystic Pythagoras, father of our modern number system, designed a theory of numbers based on the digits 1 through 9 in 580 BC.

Pythagoras taught that each number has a meaning or vibration and by adding the numbers within your birth date and reducing them to single digits, you reveal the nature of the work you came here to do.

In Pythagoras’ system every number has a positive and negative vibration which shows its potentials and challenges.

The numbers can tell us what lessons we came to learn and the challenges that we are going to face.  They also tell us what will make our hearts sing and what career or work would best suit us, along with the potential pitfalls of your path

When we come in on a birth path, we come with specific talents & gifts that we intend to share with the world through our work. If you are doing work that uses those talents you will feel fulfilled in your chosen career and life. If you are hiding out from your mission, you may have ignored, suppressed or forgotten your talents.

To uncover your purpose, you must get in touch with your inner self, pay attention to that small inner voice that whispers to you its need to create, take action on this information, and then manifest it in the world.  This will lead you to create work that you love to do.  And as a result, people will pay you for it. Having money allows you to do more of the things that you love to do in your spare time.  And it gives you the freedom of when, where, and how you choose to work.

The world is waiting for you to step to be who you truly are!

It is waiting for you to step up into your full radiance and be the leader, healer, teacher, song writer, corporate executive you were born to be.

YOU have a Divine Role, a destiny that is uniquely yours to fulfil.

What is it costing you every day to stay stuck
in a job you hate?

What is it worth to have the key
to discovering your soul’s purpose?

What is it worth to have a career/business that you love?

What I would have given 10 years ago
to know this information,
it would have saved me years of
unhappiness and confusion.

An Intuitive Career Coaching Session can save you time and money
and get you on the fast track
to creating what you truly want!

Please visit for more information

Live the Life you Dream of!

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Project Director

Hollingsworth, Danny

Department Examiner

Sompayrac, Joanie; Thibadoux, Greg; Cox, Steven

Dept. of Accounting

University of Tennessee at Chattanooga

Place of Publication

Chattanooga (Tenn.)

Marijuana is becoming increasingly popular and accepted within our society; so much so that certain states have legalized it for medical or recreational use, despite marijuana remaining illegal with regards to the federal government. This has lead, and will continue to lead, to complicated and uncertain tax scenarios for the businesses that produce and sell marijuana. Many problems stem from the federal government being unable to recognize or associate with businesses that deal with marijuana. This affects these otherwise legitimate businesses by disallowing the use of federally insured banks as well as taking away the ability to seek federal bankruptcy protection. An inability to operate as a normal business may lead marijuana businesses to explore other tax planning solutions such as organizing as a social welfare organization. At worst, they may be driven back underground. Additionally, it may be professionally risky for CPAs to perform services to these businesses for fear of violating ethical standards. These smaller problems inevitably become one big problem, highlighting the power struggle between state and federal governments. Should the federal government have the ability to make these decisions for all of the states or should each state and each county of each state be allowed to regulate marijuana on their own? At the heart of this issue is its time sensitive nature. As potential government power changes, the future of marijuana businesses and their associates is unfairly unclear. In order to solve these problems, the federal government has three choices; each with their own benefits and costs. They can legalize marijuana at a federal level, completely outlaw marijuana and begin enforcing laws against known state dispensaries, or they can change certain areas of the tax codes and other select laws to offer clear directions for businesses and assurances of limited liability to those with whom they work.

B. S.; An honors thesis submitted to the faculty of the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Bachelor of Science.

Marijuana -- Government policy -- United States; Drug legalization -- United States

marijuana; taxes; legalization

Document Type

37 leaves

Under copyright.

Date Available

Included in

Accounting Commons


text:
The Coming Decade: End of the Oughts

sick but trueLooking back in anger is perhaps the only way to remember the years we have just spent.  While we may have made personal mistakes, we also were part of larger mistakes, errors for which we have only begun to pay the costs.  These would be our wars, our hyper-consumer lives, and a technology that has isolated as it has connected.  Our last decade, perhaps the last decade on earth of free refills filling our Big Gulps, twenty-four hour power supplies, and hot water on demand for all, will be remembered as the most important since the 1960s and perhaps even more so, as it may be the “oughts” that represented the highwater mark of the American Century that, if indeed it is closing, lasted a mere seventy years.

The 1960s were bookended by the election of John F. Kennedy and ended with the summer of love and Woodstock.  The bookends of the oughts are the stolen election of 2000 and the election of Obama 2008.  We had no summer of love along the way, while all of us, that is the bottom percentage of the dwindling middle class, did get fucked – it was not by a blond farmgirl on acid.  We fucked ourselves, and did so with a condom since we are living in the post-free love world and we must use protection, even from ourselves.  We have to look outside of history to find our current generation.  We cannot look to the media, since not everything is “[scandal name here]gate” nor every war the “next/current/another Vietnam.”    These 1960s indeed were more distinct in ways we see now.  At the start of the 1960s were guys in slender suits and black skinny ties, women in modern dresses, and classical music, top hats, and high art ended in mud and young kids fucking each other in vans.  The replacement of the cannon of literature, the invention of Kwanza, the endless rebellion that was to mark the next several decades and transform into commoditized descent and our present consumer conversation.  “Issues” came the rage, and Abortiongayrights our measuring stick of every law of the land from parking tickets to sundown laws.  Identity politics alongside of Issues consumed our nation and washed away any vestage of “we” since “we” never bought as much as “I” and while there is no “I” in “team” as American management constantly reminds us, there does seem to be a certain amount of “shut the fuck up and sit down hands folded!” in our version of “team.”  The fights and plights of those BabyBoomer Issueidentity Politics rumbled over our own lives and these august battles have crash landed in our decade, the oughts, burning at our feet.  Things have changed in the world in a way that is different from the 1960s but no less substantial and we cannot look back for reference.  Fashion, music, arts have hit the repeat button and like the media, have disintegrated into CGI and films that involve perpetual falling and screaming.   If we measure our decade, the oughts would not be jazz, cafes, happenings, art openings, or teach ins.  We’d be at a loss to find any difference between Emenim of 2000 and the Emenim of today, conceptualism of today or 2003, sculpture of today and 2002, or clothes since the crap at Target and K-Mart seem to blur together into one pile of invented fabrics, dumb statements on tee shirts, and clothes designed to allow yearly growth of waistline in keeping with our Americapitalist ideal of 8% on the bottom line.  In the world, however, the world of today looks nothing like 2000.

I picked up a copy of the National Geographic Magazine from 1989.  There was a story for everyone.  Sadly, every story in that issue is today historical, gone forever from this current world and captured only by those large photos the magazine is known for  – well, large photos (funny, a word heavy magazine known for pictures while Playboy, a picture heavy magazine was known for the articles – but that’s another post).  The Iraqi marsh dwellers, erased by the Gulf War and their environment drained, the small towns of Australia now enlarged by highways, China no longer a nation of farmers and muddy roads, the battle grounds of the south now being taken over my Walmarts and McMansions.  Everything in that world, a world of only twenty years ago, is vanished.  Today, we can look even closer to a world that is changed in shorter time.  Let us look to the National Geographic Magazines, or just to our own lives.

The America of today is a waning empire becoming more intent on internal security as it is media obsessed with trivia.  Our landscape is blotted by a housing boom that has changed the environment at a time when there is no longer any excuse in doing so.  We feel the first effects of climate change at the end of the decade we started still saying “more study is needed.”  More importantly, we launched two wars.  It is the two wars that will be our defining moment of the decade.  The decade where the people rose up, shouted “no” and then melted away. Fuck This Concervative Shit A reverse 1960s effect.  For those looking to the past to say, this decade was not the 1960s, they are correct.  There was no “summer of love” (perhaps a late spring of handjobs), no British invasion, no 1960s this or 1960s that.  The demonstrations were in the beginning of the decade, the world held hands and candles at 9/11, then we marched in the streets, then we watched as our nation clarified, and the top 1% of the population rose higher and higher in money and power and we sunk into a new poverty where we have all the supposed trappings of our middle class ancestors, but none of the security and stability.  In this decade we have transformed into a  mute nation.  The majority of the population not empower by democracy but frightened by it.  We do not want collectives we want gated communities.  We do not want civic, we want consumer service.  In this decade our society has shed a great deal of rights, while making old issues of the 1960s distracting puppet shows.  As we worry about Abortiongayrights, the world too has quietly realigned itself as if fitting into the clothes our nation once wore as the understudy in All About Eve and who seemed so innocent at first but those powerless conspiring against you always seem innocent when they are not in power.    When the Soviet union anathematized, we had no reason to fear the workers.  There was no Red Threat, no need to placate the socialists of this nation and provide social nets or services which, when dropped into a consumer society, only seemed to create welfare mothers and people who made a full time job of gaming the system.  In this decade, now closing, we have seen that others in the world…. they also don’t fear the workers.  There is no other option than our consumerism and Americapitalism.  Workers rights, self reliance with a degree of protections from powerful corporations, market freedom with controls for the larger players to allow for honest ideas and small businesses, these are gone.  Even socialist countries shed their programs and protections as France – the beacon of communism in the minds of our right wing – is talking like Friedmanists.  Our Walmart economy was our problem.  Now it’s the world problem.

In sixteen days we close out this chapter in our history.  Many of us look back on these ten years and see an entire chunk of our life, lost.  We perhaps stand on the edge, and as Hunter S. Thompson said, we cannot know that point until we have crossed it – and in having done so, cannot describe it to those who remain on the other side of sanity.

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UK researchers develop low tech method for environmental sampling of campylobacter

Washington, DC – May 12, 2017 – A team of researchers from the United Kingdom has developed a novel method for assessing human/pathogen interactions in the natural environment, using citizen scientists wearing boot socks over their shoes during walks in the countryside. In the process, they found that slightly less than half of the socks were positive for the gastrointestinal pathogen, Campylobacter. The research is published in Applied and Environmental Microbiology, a journal of the American Society for Microbiology.

In the study, groups of volunteer walkers wearing boot socks on one foot took regular four kilometer (two and a half mile) walks on each of six pathways in the countryside, over a 16 month period. The pathways are located in two regions of the UK, the livestock-dominated North West, and East Anglia, much of which is devoted to cropland, said coauthor Natalia Jones, PhD, Senior Research Associate, University of East Anglia.

Following the walks, the walkers mailed the socks to the lab, where coauthors used microbial culture and PCR methods to determine the presence, and species of Campylobacter.

As measured on boot socks, Campylobacter was more prevalent in livestock-dominated North West than in East Anglia (55.8% of socks, vs 38.6%). Campylobacter peaked during winter in both regions, and peaked again in spring in North West. Precipitation was associated with greater Campylobacter, and higher temperatures with less. The results "are consistent with our understanding of Campylobacter survival and the probability of material adhering to boot socks," according to the report.

C. jejuni was the most commonly found species, with C. coli largely restricted to the livestock dominated North West, according to the report. Source attribution analysis suggested that the major source of C. jejuni was sheep in North West, and wild birds in East Anglia.

The motivation for the study was the desire to develop an efficient sampling method to explore the potential for transfer of Campylobacter from the environment to humans through visits to the countryside, and to determine whether any such risk varied seasonally, said Jones.

Campylobacter is the most common bacterial cause of diarrheal disease in the developed world. "It is known that food is often a source of Campylobacter infections in humans, but we also know that exposure through food cannot explain all the cases seen in the human population," said Jones. "Exploring other potential routes was a key motivation."

Conventional sampling is based on sampling from a single point, called spot sampling, and does not sample human-pathogen interactions.

"Ultimately, this research could lead to interventions to reduce the risk to humans," said Jones.

The American Society for Microbiology is the largest single life science society, composed of over 50,000 scientists and health professionals. ASM's mission is to promote and advance the microbial sciences.

ASM advances the microbial sciences through conferences, publications, certifications and educational opportunities. It enhances laboratory capacity around the globe through training and resources. It provides a network for scientists in academia, industry and clinical settings. Additionally, ASM promotes a deeper understanding of the microbial sciences to diverse audiences.

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