2010 world cup bracket

Drawing, illustration is dead. But it didn't die yesterday, it's not something that happened with the advent of AI. It is a phenomenon that has been around for some time, for at least a decade now.
It all started around 2008. 2008 was a year of great development for the internet in general, I personally have the perception that the web became mainstream around that time, especially thanks to the various social platforms which at the time were still crawling.
Now, without long rounds of words, the death of art is the fault of social media and capitalism. Very original thought I am aware. But the discussion obviously doesn’t end here. As I have been saying for a couple of years now, social platforms have betrayed their initial mission, there is no longer sincere sharing and publishing things on the net, especially for artists, has backfired. The internet is no longer a place where self expression makes sense, right now we find ourselves inside a monumental manger for AI companies and advertisers. These companies are straight evil, black or white, there is no shade of gray, basically Netslé if it was a tech company. They not only feed on our content but apparently now they aim to replace it. Call me a conspiracy theorist, luddite, do as you please. This whole story is just plain wrong. I could write long paragraphs to give you the impression that I have a little awareness or a deeper thought on the subject but that's not what I'm here for. I want to talk about the death of art.
When I say that art is dead I don't really mean it, the same goes for the internet and social networks, I am critical of these two things but there is no doubt that they have given us so much. The point of my speech is only one: saturation.
We are drowning in talent, there are too many masterpieces out there, it is full of people who are incredibly capable of creating entertainment of all types and for all tastes. Books, movies, comics, cartoons, video games. A single life is not enough to enjoy all the beauty of these infinite parallel worlds. But what role does drawing play in all of this? The greatest of masterpieces today is consumed with a speed not worthy of its quality.
What I mean is try to think of the most iconic video game released since 2010, the one that has generated the most reactions from the general public. Two video games come to mind: Minecraft and Undertale. I have to confess one thing to you, I'm not a big fan of these two, they are definitely close to my personal top 20 but there is a lot of stuff that I liked more. However, it’s impossible to not recognize their value, the impact that they had in videogame sub-culture.
Now, let's stop for a second on Undertale. You know Undertale's art style, right? It's iconic, but to call it inspired is perhaps a bit of an overstatement. It is certainly different and genuine and it is precisely this simplicity that has made it enter the hearts of many people. In addition to the incredible soundtrack of course. In the end, it's really true that graphics only count for a few, what counts is the artistic direction but even above are the ideas and the way they are applied.
I want to give you as an example a youtube channel that has recently exploded. It's called Monstergarden.
https://youtu.be/cwCV1opXBv8
He is a guy who deals with fantasy and worldbuilding. If you take a look at his content you will quickly understand what it means to know how to use your imagination well. It's not just the drawing that brings you the numbers that his channel has raised in less than a month.
So drawing is useless? For me yes, in part. A poorly drawn comic with a good story, I can follow it (basically the original One Punch Man webcomic), but bad story and good drawing... eehhh When I say drawing is useless try to think about how much time you spend looking at a single drawing on the internet, a few seconds most of the time, at least that's true to me. Usually I stop for more time in front of a drawing when I read a comics… or porn (I'm a simple man).
As an artist, I occasionally get lost in my drawings, staring at them for several minutes. It's kind of sad to think that there will probably never be anyone who will spend at least half the time I spent looking at my stuff. In a way, I'm my own #1 fan, sounds a bit depressing I know. I think this doesn't just apply to me, it's my opinion but I think there are many of us in this boat. When I was younger I drew to show others that I was good at it, now that I've grown up a bit I do what I do just because I feel like it. I gave up on social media, now I'm only dedicating myself to my story. I draw and write because I feel that inside me there is something that needs to come out and if I don't I feel sad, it's practically like going to the bathroom.
Speaking of AI, about a year ago I was scared, now I no longer see AI as an "invincible rival". I filled my eyes with Ai art, but there was nothing vaguely worthy of memory. Huge quantity, lack of originality. Ai art has become synonymous with the word anonymous, it’s mid as fuck, once the eye gets used to it… there’s nothing more. The only thing I found genuinely interesting are the AI generated commercials, those are very interesting and worthy to be called art, but it is just a happy atoll in the middle of a flat sea.
Do you know why I like reading comics like Scott Pilgrim? As you flip through the pages you can see the author's style evolves volume by volume. We start with volume 1 which is done in a certain way and then we get to 7, a completely different thing. The same goes for an average art profile on Instagram, how cool it is to scroll down to see how the new stuff is different from the old stuff.
With AI art there is none of this, lately I've been treating it like the spam emails in my inbox. It's an algorithmic cancer, visual pollution that I have to filter out to be able to look at the real stuff, the stuff created by people. From the finest of painting to the questionable sonic fanart. I hate Ai art, but this feeling of mine isn't driven by envy as it could have been a year ago. It's a different kind of hate, like when you step on dog shit on the street. I can’t take a little walk anymore down my favorite alleys, this shit is everywhere, I am unable to fully enjoy art spaces like Art Station, the spaces that must belong to real artists not to a horny redditor who spends his days churning out disproportionate asian girls.
(Sorry for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language)

I am just me; mellow and relaxed, yet vibrant and energetic. I give your backyard grass it’s vitality with long fresh splashy pigment. I am one of the first signs spring is on its way back. I permeate trees with lush yet lively shades of my inviting hue. A familiar feeling rushes over you as you lay in the soft grass under the shade of the trees, avoiding the igneous golden rays. I’m your favorite cone of cooling mint chocolate chip ice cream when the days get too hot, or do you like pistachio ice cream? I am your favorite pair of Crocs that somehow perfectly match your favorite tank top I’m so glad these items are saturated with my chroma. I couldn’t be more excited to be the lime in your sparkling drink or the fresh cucumber in your garden salad. Even the delicious avocado you had with breakfast; eggs and toast with a cup of coffee from your new verdant coffee mug. You could have chosen any other color to be your precious, but you chose me. I’m so elated to that I am the one that brings so much joy to your life and illuminates your world.

Emperor clarified by judgement : Things seem pretty set in stone, judgment talking about me wanting to approach the conversation with fairness , I feel like I’m in good judgment. The empress clarified by 9 of pentacles : I’m approaching it in a very caring, positive way, trying to be as understanding as possible. Feeling content no matter what direction it ends up in. 3 of swords, clarified by the world reversed and wheel of fortune upright: This is really confusing for me. Maybe the three of swords is him communicating his feelings finally, I personally see the wheel as change as it is always turning so I don’t know wether it’s change for the better with the world reversed or for the worse. Regardless I welcome change. 7 of cups, magician, ace of cups: I’m not too sure either but I think it’s interesting that it starts with 7 of cups unable to choose - then goes to ace of cups a choice/opportunity. The magician reminds me of the phrase ‘the balls in their court’. Two of pentacles reversed: I feel like this is a break in me feeling like I have so much in the air, maybe some starting to not care as much. 8 of wands, knight of wands: I can’t tell if this is him making an effort to have me in his life or him taking the opportunity to book it.
Any help or add ons would be appreciated. We are currently long distance and I’ve been struggling with feeling like he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me anymore. He’s very distant and kind of cold with me now. Im at a crossroads right now and feel like I’m pulling all the weight here. I’m going to have a talk to him soon about how he feels. I was curious to see how it would potentially go. Sorry for dirty background too haven’t vacuumed :/ thank you

Raw meat. Flesh. Burning. Melting. Suffering. Screaming. Agonizing. Dying. Rebirth. Suffering. Screaming. Agonizing. Dying. Rebirth.
Tyg awoke in a burst of panic, screaming in horrific pain, his entire body burning, reliving the agony of Pinkmaiden. He beheld a demon perched over his chest, its stare an icy gaze, one from which his eyes could not avert. It was a creature of cold, peering into his soul with vicious condescension; a terrible, wolfish grin adorned its face, as if some Lannisport artisan had etched it into a winter's sculpture. It leaned closer, whispering in his ear...
Drink, brave lion... rest now, Dragonsbane...
Its greasy ichor oozed over his lips, trickling into his mouth and down his throat; the world grew aswirl, and the demon faded from his sight. His vision acquiesced to black, his mind emptying of thought... until gradually, a thousand-thousand icy orbs appeared around him, growing brighter, more inviting, alluring, seductive, even....
Join us, brave lion... come to our side, Dragonsbane... embrace your destiny, young hero... accept your fate, conqueror... seize your rightful place among your people... take command of your legions...
He awoke again, screaming as before – but this time, neither demon nor ichor awaited him; there was only torchlight, and an old friend.
"Tyg, please – you're alright. You're safe. Please, do not torment yourself so." said Alphonse, leaning close from his seat next the bed.
"Where... am I? Where are we, Alph?"
His lieutenant offered a bittersweet smile.
"Deep Den. Your plan worked; thanks to your arrows, Alysanne Velaryon fled the field and left her allies to die. We slaughtered them and gave that dragon a bolt in the leg for good measure."
Tygren groaned; he was still in so much pain. He wished more than ever for sweet death; he looked upon himself, a mass of bloodied bandages, his every breath a struggle. He noticed a table opposite Alph, a maester's knife resting against its wooden surface; he tried to reach for it, but the pain was unbearable.
"Alph..." he croaked weakly, "I have a task for you..."
"What is it, Tyg?"
"That knife... take it... plunge it into my neck, kill me..."
His friend's face was shock and horror; it was the look of disbelief, incomprehension.
"What...? You speak nonsense, Tyg. Here, milk of the poppy – drink. Rest now, you must recover your strength," he said, raising a cup of the poison. Tyg recoiled in response.
"That was an order, Alph... kill me, now. Do it..."
Alphonse could do naught but stare.
"Are you deaf? I said... kill me! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"
Tyg raged, and a look of fear crossed Alph's features. He flinched as the little lion continued his rant.
"DO IT! NOW! KILL ME, ALPH! KILL ME! KILL ME!"
Alphonse stood, backing away slowly.
"CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?! KILL ME! KILL ME, OR I WILL DESTROY YOU! YOU'LL HANG FROM THE HIGHEST GALLOWS, TRAITOR! KILL ME! KILL ME!"
It was nothing short of wailing that consumed the room. His old friend fled the room, slamming the door with such force that it shook dust from its face.
Tyg continued to scream, to shriek, to bleat in hopeless agony. He frothed at the mouth, persisting in his lamentation until the exertion brought blackness to his world again.
Raw meat. Flesh. Burning. Melting. Suffering. Screaming. Agonizing. Dying. Rebirth. Suffering. Screaming. Agonizing. Dying. Rebirth.

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I’ve been thinking about starting an army from the Hobbit, probably Thranduil’s halls, but after looking more closely at the range, I noticed that none of the Battle of Five Armies forces are in plastic (excluding the wargs from earlier films). I was out of the game from around 2010 to 2018ish, so I missed out on most of the Hobbit stuff.
Thranduil’s armored elves, all of Lake-Town and it’s survivors, and the armored dwarves of Thorin’s company are resin, and the Iron Hills and Azog’s forces are nearly entirely forge world. Contrast that with the fact that the Dale warriors that got maybe a full 2 minutes of screen time have a plastic kit, as did the Erebor dwarves of the Thror flashback. As far as I can tell, they didn’t make any plastic at all after the second movie. Not to mention a handful of announced models never got produced at all.
So I’m curious if anyone knows what happened? Did the models sell really poorly? Was GW in the dumps? Did public opinion turn against the Hobbit films by the launch of the final installment? Could we see these in plastic in the near future?

History shows how to stave it off.
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/06/us-societal-trends-institutional-trust-economy/674260/
How has America slid into its current age of discord? Why has our trust in institutions collapsed, and why have our democratic norms unraveled?
All human societies experience recurrent waves of political crisis, such as the one we face today. My research team built a database of hundreds of societies across 10,000 years to try to find out what causes them. We examined dozens of variables, including population numbers, measures of well-being, forms of governance, and the frequency with which rulers are overthrown. We found that the precise mix of events that leads to crisis varies, but two drivers of instability loom large. The first is popular immiseration—when the economic fortunes of broad swaths of a population decline. The second, and more significant, is elite overproduction—when a society produces too many superrich and ultra-educated people, and not enough elite positions to satisfy their ambitions.
These forces have played a key role in our current crisis. In the past 50 years, despite overall economic growth, the quality of life for most Americans has declined. The wealthy have become wealthier, while the incomes and wages of the median American family have stagnated. As a result, our social pyramid has become top-heavy. At the same time, the U.S. began overproducing graduates with advanced degrees. More and more people aspiring to positions of power began fighting over a relatively fixed number of spots. The competition among them has corroded the social norms and institutions that govern society.
The U.S. has gone through this twice before. The first time ended in civil war. But the second led to a period of unusually broad-based prosperity. Both offer lessons about today’s dysfunction and, more important, how to fix it.
To understand the root causes of the current crisis, let’s start by looking at how the number of über-wealthy Americans has grown. Back in 1983, 66,000 American households were worth at least $10 million. That may sound like a lot, but by 2019, controlling for inflation, the number had increased tenfold. A similar, if smaller, upsurge happened lower on the food chain. The number of households worth $5 million or more increased sevenfold, and the number of mere millionaires went up fourfold.
On its surface, having more wealthy people doesn’t sound like such a bad thing. But at whose expense did elites’ wealth swell in recent years?
Starting in the 1970s, although the overall economy continued to grow, the share of that growth going to average workers began to shrink, and real wages leveled off. (It’s no coincidence that Americans’ average height—a useful proxy for well-being, economic and otherwise—stopped increasing around then too, even as average heights in much of Europe continued climbing.) By 2010, the relative wage (wage divided by GDP per capita) of an unskilled worker had nearly halved compared with mid-century. For the 64 percent of Americans who didn’t have a four-year college degree, real wages shrank in the 40 years before 2016.
As wages diminished, the costs of owning a home and going to college soared. To afford an average house, a worker earning the median wage in 2016 had to log 40 percent more hours than she would have in 1976. And parents without a college degree had to work four times longer to pay for their children’s college.
Even college-educated Americans aren’t doing well across the board. They made out well in the 1950s, when fewer than 15 percent of 18-to-24-year-olds went to college, but not today, when more than 60 percent of high-school grads immediately enroll. To get ahead of the competition, more college graduates have sought out advanced degrees. From 1955 to 1975, the number of students enrolled in law school tripled, and from 1960 to 1970, the number of doctorate degrees granted at U.S. universities more than tripled. This was manageable in the post–World War II period, when the number of professions requiring advanced degrees shot up. But when the demand eventually subsided, the supply didn’t. By the 2000s, degree holders greatly outnumbered the positions available to them. The imbalance is most acute in the social sciences and humanities, but the U.S. hugely overproduces degrees even in STEM fields.
This is part of a broader trend. Compared with 50 years ago, far more Americans today have either the financial means or the academic credentials to pursue positions of power, especially in politics. But the number of those positions hasn’t increased, which has led to fierce competition.
Competition is healthy for society, in moderation. But the competition we are witnessing among America’s elites has been anything but moderate. It has created very few winners and masses of resentful losers. It has brought out the dark side of meritocracy, encouraging rule-breaking instead of hard work.
All of this has left us with a large and growing class of frustrated elite aspirants, and a large and growing class of workers who can’t make better lives for themselves.
The decades that have led to our present-day dysfunction share important similarities with the decades leading to the Civil War. Then as now, a growing economy served to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. The number of millionaires per capita quadrupled from 1800 to 1850, while the relative wage declined by nearly 50 percent from the 1820s to the 1860s, just as it has in recent decades. Biological data from the time suggest that the average American’s quality of life declined significantly. From 1830 to the end of the century, the average height of Americans fell by nearly two inches, and average life expectancy at age 10 decreased by eight years during approximately the same period.
This popular immiseration stirred up social strife, which could be seen in urban riots. From 1820 to 1825, when times were good, only one riot occurred in which at least one person was killed. But in the five years before the Civil War, 1855 to 1860, American cities experienced no fewer than 38 such riots. We see a similar pattern today. In the run-up to the Civil War, this frustration manifested politically, in part as anti-immigrant populism, epitomized by the Know-Nothing Party. Today this strain of populism has been resurrected by Donald Trump.
Strife grew among elites too. The newly minted millionaires of the 19th century, who made their money in manufacturing rather than through plantations or overseas trade, chafed under the rule of the southern aristocracy, as their economic interests diverged. To protect their budding industries, the new elites favored high tariffs and state support for infrastructure projects. The established elites—who grew and exported cotton, and imported manufactured goods from overseas—strongly opposed these measures. The southern slaveholders’ grip on the federal government, the new elites argued, prevented necessary reforms in the banking and transportation systems, which threatened their economic well-being.
As the elite class expanded, the supply of desirable government posts flattened. Although the number of U.S. representatives grew fourfold from 1789 to 1835, it had shrunk by mid-century, just as more and more elite aspirants received legal training—then, as now, the chief route to political office. Competition for political power intensified, as it has today.
Those were cruder times, and intra-elite conflict took very violent forms. In Congress, incidences and threats of violence peaked in the 1850s. The brutal caning that Representative Preston Brooks of South Carolina gave to Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts on the Senate floor in 1856 is the best-known such episode, but it was not the only one. In 1842, after Representative Thomas Arnold of Tennessee “reprimanded a pro-slavery member of his own party, two Southern Democrats stalked toward him, at least one of whom was armed with a bowie knife,” the historian Joanne Freeman recounts. In 1850, Senator Henry Foote of Mississippi pulled a pistol on Senator Thomas Hart Benton of Missouri. In another bitter debate, a pistol fell out of a New York representative’s pocket, nearly precipitating a shoot-out on the floor of Congress.
This intra-elite violence presaged popular violence, and the deadliest conflict in American history.
The victory of the North in the Civil War decimated the wealth and power of the southern ruling class, temporarily reversing the problem of elite overproduction. But workers’ wages continued to lag behind overall economic growth, and the “wealth pump” that redistributed their income to the elites never stopped. By the late 19th century, elite overproduction was back, new millionaires had replaced the defeated slave-owning class, and America had entered the Gilded Age. Economic inequality exploded, eventually peaking in the early 20th century. By 1912, the nation’s top wealth holder, John D. Rockefeller, had $1 billion, the equivalent of 2.6 million annual wages—100 times higher than the top wealth holder had in 1790.
Then came the New York Stock Exchange collapse of 1929 and the Great Depression, which had a similar effect as the Civil War: Thousands of economic elites were plunged into the commoner class. In 1925, there were 1,600 millionaires, but by 1950, fewer than 900 remained. The size of America’s top fortune remained stuck at $1 billion for decades, inflation notwithstanding. By 1982, the richest American had $2 billion, which was equivalent to “only” 93,000 annual wages.
But here is where the two eras differed. Unlike the post–Civil War period, real wages steadily grew in the mid-20th century. And high taxes on the richest Americans helped reverse the wealth pump. The tax rate on top incomes, which peaked during World War II at 94 percent, stayed above 90 percent all the way until the mid-1960s. Height increased by a whopping 3 inches in roughly the first half of the 20th century. Life expectancy at age 10 increased by nearly a decade. By the 1960s, America had achieved a broad-based prosperity that was virtually unprecedented in human history.
The New Deal elites learned an important lesson from the disaster of the Civil War. The reversal of elite overproduction in both eras was similar in magnitude, but only after the Great Depression was it accomplished through entirely nonviolent means. The ruling class itself was an important part of this—or, at least, a prosocial faction of the ruling class, which persuaded enough of their peers to acquiesce to the era’s progressive reforms.
As the historian Kim Phillips-Fein wrote in Invisible Hands, executives and stockholders mounted an enormous resistance to the New Deal policies regulating labor–corporate relations. But by mid-century, a sufficient number of them had consented to the new economic order for it to become entrenched. They bargained regularly with labor unions. They accepted the idea that the state would have a role to play in guiding economic life and helping the nation cope with downturns. In 1943, the president of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce—which today pushes for the most extreme forms of neoliberal market fundamentalism—said, “Only the willfully blind can fail to see that the old-style capitalism of a primitive, free-shooting period is gone forever.” President Dwight Eisenhower, considered a fiscal conservative for his time, wrote to his brother:
Should any political party attempt to abolish social security, unemployment insurance, and eliminate labor laws and farm programs, you would not hear of that party again in our political history. There is a tiny splinter group, of course, that believes you can do these things … Their number is negligible and they are stupid.
Barry Goldwater ran against Lyndon Johnson in 1964 on a platform of low taxes and anti-­union rhetoric. By today’s standards, Goldwater was a middle-of-the-road conservative. But he was regarded as radical at the time, too radical even for many business leaders, who abandoned his campaign and helped bring about his landslide defeat.
The foundations of this broad-based postwar prosperity—and for the ruling elite’s eventual acquiescence to it—were established during the Progressive era and buttressed by the New Deal. In particular, new legislation guaranteed unions’ right to collective bargaining, introduced a minimum wage, and established Social Security. American elites entered into a “fragile, unwritten compact” with the working classes, as the United Auto Workers president Douglas Fraser later described it. This implicit contract included the promise that the fruits of economic growth would be distributed more equitably among both workers and owners. In return, the fundamentals of the political-economic system would not be challenged. Avoiding revolution was one of the most important reasons for this compact (although not the only one). As Fraser wrote in his famous resignation letter from the Labor Management Group in 1978, when the compact was about to be abandoned, “The acceptance of the labor movement, such as it has been, came because business feared the alternatives.”
We are still suffering the consequences of abandoning that compact. The long history of human society compiled in our database suggests that America’s current economy is so lucrative for the ruling elites that achieving fundamental reform might require a violent revolution. But we have reason for hope. It is not unprecedented for a ruling class—with adequate pressure from below—to allow for the nonviolent reversal of elite overproduction. But such an outcome requires elites to sacrifice their near-term self-interest for our long-term collective interests. At the moment, they don’t seem prepared to do that.

In what order would you rank in order each of the decades albums after the 1980's (which I'm sure the vast vast vast majority would put as the band at their peak)?
1990-1999 (No Prayer for the Dying, Fear of the Dark, The X Factor, Virtual XI)
2000-2009 (Brave New World, Dance of Death, A Matter of Life and Death)
2010-2021 (The Final Frontier, The Book of Souls, Senjutsu)
So ranked choice as: 1st ~~~ 2nd ~~~ 3rd
View Poll

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Contact me on (+44) 7593880762 on Telegram/WhatsApp if you have interest in Biaheza's Dropshipping course.
The course focuses on practical steps that take you from zero to a profitable dropshipping store in no time.
Biaheza's Dropshipping course guarantees real results, not just theories!
Experience the thrill of launching your own store and making over one thousand dollars on day one. Biaheza will guide you through every step, explaining how to scale your business for even greater success.
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If you are interested in Biaheza's Dropshipping course contact us on:
Reddit DM to u/CourseAccess
WhatApp/Telegram: (+44) 7593880762
Email: silverlakestore/@/yandex.com (remove the brackets).

Contact me on (+44) 7593880762 on Telegram/WhatsApp if you have interest in Biaheza's Dropshipping course.
The course focuses on practical steps that take you from zero to a profitable dropshipping store in no time.
Biaheza's Dropshipping course guarantees real results, not just theories!
Experience the thrill of launching your own store and making over one thousand dollars on day one. Biaheza will guide you through every step, explaining how to scale your business for even greater success.
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///11th of June, 2006
“Dad, the moon!” I shouted as I entered the garage. My father was on the floor, under his Bugatti 57SC Atlantic, obsessively removing and re-installing pieces of the car like he always did. He quickly got up, a smile on his grease-stained face.
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“Finally!” He said with his beer-breath, grabbing a towel and cleaning most of his face, before running outside as fast as he could. I followed him. I don’t know why I always liked these moments. Any child would find them terribly boring. But I always reveled on them. Maybe it’s because they were the only moments he smiled. He positioned his telescope on our front yard, adjusted the lens, drank a beer can and started looking at the full moon above us.
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“Do you see it?” I asked, sitting on the grass next to him.
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“Shut up.” He said, still looking. After half an hour of waiting, he started laughing. I opened my mouth to ask if he was seeing it, but I held my voice. Didn’t want to anger him.
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“It’s blinking! It’s blinking Johnathan!” He laughed. I smiled. That wasn’t my name, though he called me that. Only several years later I would learn that was the name of his deceased younger brother. Every full moon, we would come look at it with the telescope. And he’d always call me Johnathan. Probably because he was always so drunk. But from always avoiding me or calling me “Brat”, Johnathan was a nice shift.
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“Can I see?” I asked, and he lowered the tripod so I could see the moon. There was a small light blinking on it’s surface. It was truly beautiful.
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“Fine, my turn again.” My father shoved me back, adjusted the tripod back, and started looking at it again. “It’s blinking so much tonight… Maybe… Brat, get my camera!” He shouted at me. I quickly went inside the house, and looked around for the camera in the living room. There it was, on a little pile of beer cans and empty rythmol boxes in the corner of the room. I hurried back outside, as fast as I could, as I did not want to anger my father.
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I stopped on my tracks as soon as I was out of the house. There was a strange being involving my father. It looked like a snake, but I knew it was anything but a snake. There were not snakes that big where I lived. And certainly not with human faces. My father seemed oblivious to it, looking through his telescope, but the thing was all around him, from the bottom of his legs all the way to the top of his head.
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“It’s blinking so much…” He said, in awe. The creature looked at me, locking eyes with me, and smiled, revealing several sets of sharp fangs. And then, it disappeared. My father looked at me, he was sweating. “I think… I need to lay down for a bit…” He muttered, before falling on the grass. I spent the entire night trying to wake him up, before my mother found me there crying the following day.
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///09th of November 2021
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“And that’s why you decided to study astronomy? Really?” Melissa laughed.
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“Oh, come on, babe… Don’t make fun of my tragic past.” I said, finishing my waffles. She went to the fridges, grabbed the orange juice, and poured some in our cups.
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“Shall we toast?” She asked.
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“With orange juice? And what for?”
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“Your impending graduation. What else?”
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“Impending? Ha! I didn’t even start my capstone thesis.”
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“So, what will it be about? Venus, right? Or was it Mars?”
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“Nope. Too many people I know will already be working on planets like Venus and Mars. I thought about Neptune, but it’s too far away. So I figured, why not the Moon?”
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“Please, don’t tell me this is about your father.”
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“Mel, he wasn’t the best dad in the world. But he did left me his collection of vintage cars. This is what paid for my education.”
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“He didn’t left it to you, it was divided between you and your mother.”
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“Regardless, I feel like I owe him this. Apart from the cars, the moon was the only thing he loved.”
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“You owe him nothing, Ezra.”
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“I need to know what the blinking lights are! Lunar transient phenomena, it’s how they call them. There’s no scientific explanation to what they are.”
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“Just because there’s no known scientific explanation, it doesn’t mean one does not exist. And if there’s one, it’s certainly not creepy snake-man” She laughed.
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///04th of September, 2022
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The first thing you feel when you start seriously investigating the moon is how mysterious it is. We only went there a handful of times, and then never again. All reasons are given for this, but it never really felt right to me. Maybe what happened to my father always made me feel paranoid about the subject, but I somehow felt there were things about the moon that were hiding on plain sight.
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The focus of my research, the lunar transient phenomena, is incredibly unknown. Few studies were done about it, and most of them were never published or were abandoned. The few that were made available were either from little-known universities in third-world countries, in languages that I couldn’t understand and without English translation, or mere compilations of recorded occurrences. I found some theories. The lights were caused by magnetism, or by gasses, or by asteroids, perspective…
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But mere hypothesis were not enough for me. I needed to know. I needed to understand. I needed… I needed to confirm it weren’t those lights who killed my father that day.
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So, I delved deep into the research. I spent weeks in my bedroom, reading books and more books, entering all sorts of websites, sending emails to experts, looking for anything that could give me more information. But through all my effort, the only thing I could find were theories or hypothesis, all of them with little to no evidence. In my search for answers, I started straying further away from modern science, entering strange websites and reading books that talked about blatant pseudoscience, like astrology or the paranormal.
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///17th of February, 2022
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“So, what books will you be basing your capstone on?” My orienting professor asked. I could not see his face properly, we were talking through a videocall and he was not very tech savvy, so his eyes and nose were out of the frame.
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“Chris, I can only see your mouth!” I laughed.
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“Sorry…” He said, adjusting his camera. The framing was not perfect yet, but it was better. "Have you read the books I sent you?"
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"They... They were not what I was looking for."
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"What were you looking for, Ezra?"
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"I told you. Answers. I have been looking for answers, yet I only find questions."
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"We will only be able to find real answers when we actually set a lab on the moon. Until then, we will have to live with merely hypothesizing."
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"I know, but..."
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"Have you tried reading Kulikovsky?Or Hakan Kayal? Non-american studies in general."
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"Yes, professor Chris. But... All studies seem to contradict themselves. Some point to studies that I can’t find anywhere, like they don’t exist anymore. Like they were erased by someone…”
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“Some texts were never made digital or registered. It’s very unfortunate.”
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“Everyone tries to find a logical explanation... What if there isn't one?"
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"What is this truly about?"
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"What?"
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"It's just... You do know you can change your capstone thesis theme, right? Maybe an analysis of something more well-known could work better with your methodology."
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"Chris, I will not change my mind. We have discussed this before."
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"Well, well... I talked to one of my former colleagues, he is retired now, who also studied the moon, but his research was more focused on gravity. He told me there's a book called "A Study of the Moon with a New Lens" or something like that. Written by one Dr. Karl Hollfern in 1935."
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"That is way before LTP was even catalogued."
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"Catalogued, yes. Recorded? No. Hollfern studied extensevely the lunar mysteries. Unfortunately, he was executed by the Nazis because he opposed them. But his research lived on. My friend told me they have one of his books in the library. But it's in German."
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///18th of February, 2022
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I entered the library carrying a bag full of German grammar books and a dictionary. I would not let a little language barrier stop me from getting to the truth.
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“Hello, how can I help you?” The librarian asked, barely averting her eyes from her cellphone.
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“I’m actually looking for a book that could either be in the astronomy section or in the foreign titles section… Can you help me?”
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“Which book?” She was still looking at her phone, seemingly playing one of those generic casual mobile games.
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“It’s in German. Old, from the 1930s. Talks about studies of the moon made at the time.”
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“Unusual request, but ok…” She put her phone on the counter, and started typing on the computer. “Can’t find it. Do you have the author’s name?”
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“Karl Hollfern.”
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“Uncanny. It’s unlisted.”
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“What?”
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“We have it in the library, but it’s not available. We usually do this when books are being cleaned. Usually takes a couple of days… It says it won’t be listed until… Until 2100?
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“What? How does this makes sense?”
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“I don’t know. I’ve been working here for sixteen years, and have never seen something like this. Regardless, I can’t lend you the book. I can’t even let you access it in library grounds.”
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///23rd of February, 2022
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I was drinking my Starbucks cappuccino while trying to make myself comfortable on the shopping mall bench, to no avail. I was tense. I had never involved myself with something like this. If my mother or girlfriend knew, they would kill me. An older man made his way out of the crowd and patiently sat down next to me.
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“You were supposed to be sitting on the bench next to Nike. But no problem.” He laughed.
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“Sorry. I got confused…” I facepalmed.
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“I got the book you asked me too. But the price is going to be different in your case.”
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“As in more expensive?”
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“No. Normally, I charge twenty five grand, or double If the job is hard. In your case, the job was ridiculously easy. I will be charging five grand only.”
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“Thanks! I’m transferring to your account right now…” I said as I typed on my phone.
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“The book is in your car.”
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“How did you… Oh, of course.”
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“Pleasure doing business with you.” He got up and left. I immediately went to my car. There it was, Eine Untersuchung des Mondes mit einer neuen Linse.
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///28th of February, 2022
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“Honey, are you still awake?” Melissa asked me. I was sitting on a pillow in the corner of the room, aggressively doing more and more Duolingo lessons.
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“I’m busy, Mel.” I said, without averting my eyes from the green owl.
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“Is this about that German book you have been taking everywhere?”
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“No…” I blatantly lied.
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“Honey, you’ve been up all night. It’s ten to six.”
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“What?”
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“You are obsessed with this shit, Ezra! Look at you! This is the third time I find you here studying German instead of sleeping!”
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“I’m sorry, but you do know I have a capstone thesis to finish, don’t you?!” I screamed back at her.
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“Oh. So this is what’s all about, right?”
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“Babe, it’s not like that…” Before I could say anything, she stormed out of the apartment. I stood there, frozen, for a minute or two, before I went back to my Duolingo.
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///3rd of March, 2022
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“Hello Ezra” Chris said, as I adjusted my camera. As usual, I couldn’t see his face properly.
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“Good evening, professor Chris.”
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“Ezra, are you okay? You look tired.”
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“I’m fine.” I said vehemently.
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“Ezra… I… I have bad news for you.” When he said that, I felt like a hand was smashing my heart. “The university has rejected your intended theme.”
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“W-what?”
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“You’ll have to pick something else. I’m sorry.”
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“What? Why?!”
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“Apparently there’s information about Lunar Transient Phenomena that is undisclosed to the general public. The feds were here yesterday, talked with the dean about it. Said that researching the LTP was considered meddling in national security affairs, and that all projects focusing on it were to be halted.”
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“Bullshit!”
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“I’m sorry. I know how much time you have already invested in this. But we’ll find something else, Ezra. There are more lunar mys…” I interrupted him.
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“Why is it so hard to research a simple lunar phenomena?! Every time I advance, everyone tries to block me! They will not stop me from uncovering what happened to my father!” I slammed the table.
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“What?”
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“This will not stop me.” I muttered, while ending the videocall.
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///8th of March, 2022
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After some turbulent days, I was finally making progress again. My knowledge of German wasn’t great, but knowing basic grammar, using online dictionaries, and with a little help from online German studying communities, I was making my way through the book.
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The book was almost a century old, yet I felt like I was finally making progress. The research by Hollfern was fascinating, but disturbing. He described how the “blinking moonlights” if watched carefully, could be interpreted as having meaning. My German was advancing but far from perfect, so I didn’t have the exact translation, but it said something about the moon speaking in some sort of secret code using the lights.
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It also referenced some books, most of which seemed to not exist anymore, but some of them not only existed, I also managed to download their scanned PDFs. It was pretty unorthodox for a scientific study. There was a book on symbols and sigils of different religions, a compilation of theological texts about Gnosticism, a book compiling works by Schopenhauer, and a Hindi scroll explaining Chakras.
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I didn’t understood yet how everything connected. Seemed like a strange collection of unrelated weirdness.
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///10th of March, 2022
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I stumbled upon something I had previously overlooked. There’s an work by Schopenhauer where he discuss reading the Upanishads, which are old Hindi texts. The Hindi text I had downloaded was translated to English, but what if I looked for the original? Maybe there was something I wasn’t shown.
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The original had a section that was censored in the English version that talked about a Devas that was corrupted by an evil unknown entity called that attached on it’s solar plexus and made it miserable with overwhelming sadness and pain. A thing described as a floating jester.
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///13th of March, 2022
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The phone in the living room started ringing. I left it there, unwilling to stop reading the book and trying to translate the contents. The call went to voicemail, and then I heard the caller recording it:
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“Hey Ezra, I know you’re going through a bad time, but as your orienting professor, I care for you. You didn't show up for any of your tests. I know you seem to be focused on your research, but this isn't the-" I unplugged the damn thing.
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///16th of March, 2022
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I got evicted after not paying my rent. Or I was supposed to be at least. I picked up my research stuff and rented a cheap motel room on the outskirts of my town. I could not pay for the rent, and least not for now, I spent most of my money buying books and old magazines during the last weeks. I don’t need a place to call mine for now. I just need to find the truth.
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I know the government will come after me. I’m coming too close. But if they want me to stop, they will have to kill me. I’ve already lost everything. This investigation is all I have left.
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///18th of March, 2022
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There's an old website that I found while researching. A true relic, seems to be from the early 90s. It contains old conspiracies theories, like stuff about the Illuminati and New Age, Satanic Panic, how Ronald Reagan was actually replaced, among other things. But there was something among the insanity that I felt was the last thing missing in my investigation. The true reason why we never returned to the Moon and why the Soviets never even attempted landing on it.
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According to that website, during the last moon expedition, in December of 1972, the astronauts were secretly instructed to find out what was causing the Lunar Transient Phenomena, and spent three days on the Taurus-Littrow Valley, the region where the phenomena was more frequent on the previous five years. They were carrying a seismometer, as the most influential theory at the time was that the LTP was being caused by moonquakes cracking the surface of the natural satellite and releasing gasses.
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But what the seismometer detected was that there were no such thing as moonquakes. Their equipments revealed humongous structures, seemingly biological or mechanical, moving under the moon surface.
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One day before they left, NASA detected an instance of LTP a few kilometers near where they were stationed, so the astronauts went there to check. What they found there was never disclosed, but some theorize they met one of the beings responsible for causing the blinking lights. And that was the reason humanity abandoned all expeditions to the moon. After five missions in three years, we never returned there.
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///20th of March, 2022
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I woke up feeling like my head was spinning. I was lying on the sofa of my motel room. Once again, I had spent the entire previous night and day reading texts cited by Dr. Hollfern. My tablet was out of battery, so I got up, feeling pain all over my body, and went looking for my charger. It took me a couple of minutes to notice the two men wearing dark suits, black ties and dark sunglasses sitting on my sofa. One of them had a silenced pistol on his hand.
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“Good afternoon, Ezra Thornbridge.” The one holding the firearm said, with a voice so ordinary it was scary.
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“W-what?!” I blurted, still trying to overcome the pain.
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“Oh, don’t mind us. We are just here to recover something.” The other man said, smiling.
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“Something that isn’t yours, yet you’re in possession of.” The man with the gun complemented.
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“I… Who are you?” I asked.
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“Right now, I’m the man pointing the gun at you.” The man with the weapon said, while his partner just shrugged.
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“Fine, I’ll return your damn book. But I already know about it. I already put the pieces together."
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"Oh, interesting. What do you think you know, Thornbridge?" One of them mocked.
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"The Solar Plexus Clown Glider. I have studied them in depth. Or do you prefer to call them like the Gnostic theologians called them back in the day? *Archons…*”
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“Look what we have here, Spencer. Like father like son.” The guy with the gun scoffed.
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“I told you we should have just doped him and looked for the damn book while he slept. He is totally gone.” Spencer said.
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“I’m not crazy! The Archons are real! They killed my father! They kill people! And you, instead of trying to protect the people, just hide their existence, just lie, just lie and lie and lie!”
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“How can you be so smart yet so stupid?” The guy with the gun said.
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“The Archons don’t kill people, Ezra. They just make you miserable and drown you in fear and pain.” Spencer said.
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“But I saw one kill my father.”
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“Your father died of chronic ventricular arrhythmia coupled with excessive alcohol ingestion. The thing you saw was merely an emotional parasite, feeding off his negative emotions and influencing him to indulge on them.” Spencer said.
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“Does this mean…”
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“Yes. It also infected you that day. That’s why you saw it. It’s been with you ever since. The more you learn about it, the more you dread, the more you obsess, the more you lose… You were feeding it all along.” Spencer explained.
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“And why do you think we tried to protect you, dumbass? If the knowledge was harmless, we wouldn’t be around breaking the law and breaking people’s necks to prevent it from spreading.” The guy with the weapon said.
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“It’s not too late, Ezra. When your father was alive, there wasn’t much we could do, but now we have technology to make them go away. But it has a cost.” Spencer explained.
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“What cost?”
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“You will forget your father. You will forget most about the moon and astronomy. Probably the entirety of the last few months. And there are probable side effects, like sporadic short-term amnesia.” Spencer said.
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“Or we can just fucking shoot you in the forehead right now to prevent the thing from infecting more people. Your choice.” The guy with the gun said. I just turned around and ran as fast as I can towards the window behind me. I jumped out of it, shattering the glass, and fell on the hard cold concrete of the parking lot. I tried to get up, my body was all cut from the glass, and I felt something warm on my back, even though it was raining.
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“Are you stupid?!” I heard the guy with the gun shouting while he and the other agent descended the staircase that led to the parking lot. I finally got up, feeling cold from the rain, and tried to run, but could only limp. Yeah, jumping out of the window like I was in an 80s action movie wasn’t the best idea. I heard another click behind me, and fell to the floor. I could see the agents running towards me, smoke coming out of the gun. There seemed to be snakes around both of them, smiling witch their human faces and several sets of sharp fangs.
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I looked towards the sky. Among the raining clouds, I could see the moon above me, full and blooming. Blinking. Blinking so much.