Fairfield County stereotyper
Cults and the Mind-Body Connection: A form of soul murder
2020.02.17 18:57 BlancheFromage Cults and the Mind-Body Connection: A form of soul murder
I just returned from the International Cultic Studies Association's annual conference and wanted to tell you about soul murder, the term coined by psychoanalyst Leonard Shengold to describe the intentional attempt to stamp out or compromise the separate identity of another person. That is what destructive cults do.
We need to have a separate discussion of HOW the SGI attempts to replace each member's identity
, but suffice it for now to refer here
My interest in cults grew out of my shock many years ago upon discovering how deeply my brother was involved in Transcendental Meditation (TM), so deeply that he lost the ability to think for himself.
I think we've ALL
seen SGI members, especially leaders
, whose every other phrase is, "President Ikeda says..." followed by some cliché or banal quote. They're not thinking
any more; they're just arranging phrases into sentences.
Since then I have treated a number of patients who had been profoundly damaged by cults, and when I heard about the International Cultic Studies Association some years ago, I joined and have attended and presented on topics related to cult involvement, something that the mental health field tends to know little about. At these conferences, I have met so many intelligent people who have been victims of cults, their families, researchers, and mental health professionals in the U.S. and abroad with expertise in the treatment of those who had been involved in a cult. I also met what are today known as exit counselors, usually former cult members themselves who left their cult, who will talk with individuals who agree to speak with them. (No kidnapping, as in the deprogramming of years ago.) ICSA even has a number of members who were born into a cult. Having high intelligence is no protection from becoming victimized by a cult.
My practice is two or three miles from Irvington and Tarrytown, in Westchester County, where the Rev, Sun Myung Moon, founder of the Unification Church (aka the Moonies) owned hundreds of acres. At least a few times a week I pass by Belvedere, a large estate where many followers live. Years ago, I imagined myself infiltrating the group but after reading accounts of how people can succumb to mind control, I decided against it.
Smart. She realized
she could be influenced
, despite her intention to NOT be.
At the conference, I met a young man who discovered when he was around 12 that the Rev. Moon was his father.
Hearing parents speak at the conference of their anguish after losing a child to a cult was heart-wrenching. And yet they gained some comfort and lessened their feeling of isolation by sharing their stories with others who understood.
That's one of our main goals here, to provide a forum for that purpose.
Cult activity is far more common than you might imagine. Our attention was drawn to cults in the '60s and '70s, when Allen Ginsberg said that life should be ecstasy
That's not a realistic aspiration - life always has ups and downs. What you regarded as the key to your eternal happiness will invariably pall and you'll find yourself searching for some new key to your eternal happiness. But notice how the Ikeda cult exploits this as well, with Ikeda's talk of a "diamond-like state of unshakeable happiness
" and all that. Ikeda sure looks happy, doesn't he?
Way to crown your lifetime of "striving" and "challenging" and "human revolution" with a "glorious crown of victory", dude. I just thought it would look, I dunno, different
, is all...
and went to India and Hindu culture in search of it. Many young people followed suit, questioning western values and embracing eastern thought. Indian clothing and Hindu practices became the rage, and we became accustomed to seeing young men in orange robes chanting their Hare Krishna mantra in airports and bus stations, where they sought recruits.
hare kṛiṣhṇa hare kṛiṣhṇa kṛiṣhṇa kṛiṣhṇa hare hare hare rāma hare rāma rāma rāma hare hare
Their heads were shaved except for a small lock of hair in the back, and they had paint marks on their foreheads. These representatives of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKON) became known as the Hare Krishnas. If anyone had told me years ago that I would develop a friendship with a man who had been deeply involved with this cult, I would not have believed it.
Many people react that way to becoming acquainted with Ikeda cult members as well. People have this distorted image of cults as involving weird robes, shaved heads (thanks, Hare Krishnas, for the stereotype) and sequestering themselves in walled compounds before committing mass suicide, but in reality there are cults all around us. Perhaps the most visible
type of cult at this point is the multi-level marketing scams that push people to alienate all their friends, relatives, and associates by pressing them to buy shit they don't want or sign up for shit they don't need - like SGI does. Very culty behavior.
The first generation of cult members were young people who left home and school looking for meaning at a vulnerable period in their life. They were seduced into thinking they had found what they were looking for in such groups as the Unification Church, Children of God, the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, Scientology and others. As their numbers increased, the different groups and practices began to blur in the public eye.
When we think of cults today, we tend to think of the Hare Krishnas or other eastern meditation groups. But many Christian cults have evolved, such as the Jesus freaks, Children of God, The Way International, the Unification Church, and the Mormon Church. And today cults are not limited to religious groups but include EST, Scientology, yoga cults, psychotherapy cults, and philosophy cults such as Aesthetic Realism.
Don't forget the MLM multi-level marketing scams! Those are VERY culty and have a LOT in common
with intolerant religious cults like SGI!
Just what is a cult? The word itself is controversial, because it used to be used to mean any religious group with unusual beliefs that deviated from the norm, what we might today consider a sect. Today, the term destructive cult is used to describe groups that use manipulative techniques and mind control to heighten suggestibility and subservience. They tend to isolate recruits from former friends and family in order to promote total dependence on the group. The aim is to advance the goals of the group’s leaders, which is to have total control over members.
That certainly fits SGI.
Gaining total control of members is done by assaulting the minds of recruits, an assault meant to control their minds. The mind is located in the brain and in certain hormones and enzymes that travel through the body, affecting our senses. It is through the senses, through seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling and touching, that we know about the world. Think of the body as a giant pharmaceutical factory that manufactures powerful, mind-altering chemicals that we can release by immersing ourselves in mood-altering activities or ingesting mood-altering substances. The medieval Christian mystics who starved and flagellated themselves knew this well. So do Turkey’s Whirling Dervishes, who once a year put on long white robes with full skirts, black cloaks, and tall conical red hats and twirl in unison to the sound of drums and flutes, faster and faster, whirling their way toward God and ecstasy.
Cults start seducing people with love-bombing, paying a great deal of attention to and being very affectionate with potential recruits, a very effective way of connecting with someone who is feeling lonely and isolated. Then they assault and overwhelm their senses by using various techniques to induce a dissociated state, an altered state of consciousness, a trance state, in which mind and body are disconnected from each other. These techniques include sleep and food deprivation, drumming, chanting, lecturing on and on for hours, flashing lights, spinning around in circles, all of which assault the senses and break down a person’s ability to think. The cult uses mind control to fill the dissociated mind with their beliefs and magical thinking. A moment comes when the mind shuts down and seems to snap from this assault to the nervous system. Snapping may happen suddenly and abruptly, or it may be a slower, more gradual process of subtle changes, resulting in personality change.
Most people reject the suggestion that SGI uses "sleep and food deprivation", but those who went on the
indoctrination trips tozans
to Japan reported minimal food and that 4 hours of sleep at a time was "a luxury". In preparing for and putting on a big event, people will typically be "so busy" that they're losing sleep, "putting the rest of their lives on hold", and not getting enough to eat - but those involved typically don't see
this as "sleep and food deprivation", even though that's exactly
what it is.
What did it for me was attending a women's conference and seeing how my friend worked so hard and they didn't even provide her with a lunch on either day. Ok - I understand they couldn't feed hundreds of people for the small attendance fee but there was not even a sandwich for the hardworking female daffodils (don't get me started on that sexism - lilac is 'fkable' and daffodil is 'past it' as far as I could make out). Source
I devoted almost a year of my life to Rock the Era. My development in other areas stood still while I devoted every spare minute to Rock the Era. Now I wish I had had time to develop in other ways. It feels very Japanese to me — the emphasis on sacrificing your time, and silent unquestioned acceptance about certain things. Source
Notice that it's the most devoted
members who are in those positions where they'll be sleep-deprived and without food - they're in the process of being "groomed" for even more cult indoctrination than the rest of the members. Which is why you'll see such a variation between experiences of the members
, with the ones on the fringes insisting it's "just such a nice social group" and the ones who were INSIDE
insisting it's abusive, coercive, and harmful. They're BOTH right, but since the latter exists, we have to attack it even though those peripherally involved don't understand why. Here is an example
of SGI-induced "snapping".
Many cults promote meditation, at times for many hours a day. When TM first came on the scene in the sixties, most people thought of it as a benign practice occurring 20 minutes in the morning and evening, but many advanced TMers devote many hours a day to meditating. In fact, they may go into the dissociated meditational state without intending to do so, and may live largely in a dissociated state of consciousness.
Cue one of the TM
loonies knights in shining armor to suddenly show up out of nowhere
to stan for TM and insist that we don't know what we're talking about...
Meditation is generally promoted as having many health benefits, and mindfulness meditation has been actively promoted in the past two decades. It is a western, non-sectarian, research-based form of meditation derived from a 2,500-year-old Buddhist practice called Vipassana. However, it is important to know that meditation of any kind is not for everyone. There are several studies indicating that up to as many as 55% of long-term meditators showed adverse effects, including partial epileptic-type seizures, with adverse effects increasing with the length of practice. Meditation can produce anxiety, panic, confusion, depression, agitation, ongoing dissociation, hallucinations, tics, sweating, trembling, shivering, worsened interpersonal relations, psychotic breakdowns and suicidal tendencies in some people. Meditation is particularly dangerous for those with a history of schizophrenia.
The TM movement is known for ascribing positive qualities to all kinds of cult-induced psychopathology. A psychotic breakdown may be regarded as achieving cosmic consciousness, the key to enlightenment.
We see this within other intolerant religious groups as well:
Olson said that while religion doesn't cause mental illness, he believes existing conditions can be inflamed by religious environments where leaders demand absolute obedience and claim to speak for God.
People with schizophrenia, personality disorders and a host of other mental disorders may be drawn such faiths for their structure, he said.
"This kind of culture, religious atmosphere, group dynamic can set up a situation where that person is more likely to act out in aggressive ways under tremendous pressure," Olson said.
But some experts suggest mental illness is harder to detect and treat in faiths more inclined to attribute odd behavior to Satan and trust prayer over medicine.
SGI is HUGE
, despite loving to make mouth-noises about "Buddhism is reason. Buddhism is common sense.
" NOT SO MUCH!!
"They're not seeing this as a mental illness. They're seeing it as the person having demons, perhaps, or a sin problem or not being spiritually fulfilled," said Roger Olson, a theology professor at Baylor's Truett Seminary.
And, in some fundamentalist environments, symptoms of mental illness can appear normal: Obsession over a religious leader can be interpreted as religious fervor, and delusions can be interpreted as religious visions. Source
TMers are indoctrinated to believe that if they spend thousands of dollars for a higher level of training, they would be able to levitate, also known as yogic flying. David Wants to Fly, a recently released film about a young man’s interest in levitation, has scenes of levitation, some of which can be viewed on YouTube. What you see is not people flying, but sitting in the lotus position within a dome-shaped structure known as a levitation dome, on a thick layer of foam rubber padding, and bouncing and hopping around on their behinds. I have also heard that they strap on foam rubber “butt pad,” which happen to be the number one bestselling accessory at Maharishi International University in Fairfield, Iowa. Apparently, they help someone bouncing around on his behind to bounce higher.
I dunno - I
Radiance, the TM Ideal community where my brother lives has, in addition to a community swimming pool, its own levitation dome. COMPOUND!
My brother said he banged into a wall while levitating and broke his good watch, making him decide to switch to a cheaper Timex. I tried it myself. I just bounced around. You too can bounce around on your behind without spending lots of money to learn how to do it. You don’t need to meditate. Just don’t call it levitation. Although TM purported that members could levitate, they never allowed photographers or filmmakers to witness it, and for good reason.
The cult preys upon the tendency of many to rely on magical thinking, which reinforces the tendency to endow the leader with omnipotent and magical powers, much like the child’s early mental representations of the parent who at that time, did control his universe. The member can readily come to believe that the leader can read his mind or hear conversations at a distance.
That despicable, drecky, self-glorifying Ikeda fanfic, "The Human Revolution", does this both with Toda and Ikeda. I'll put up a post about this in a bit.
Slowly, greater and greater irrational power is attributed to the leader. Because the cult leader tends to be a person with a sense of self-esteem so damaged that he requires the adoration, obedience, and subjugation of others to gain a sense of self-esteem and power, he cannot get enough of this. This is very much the same dynamic as is found in cases of domestic violence, when one spouse, usually the husband, tries to assert total control over the other, seemingly a cult of one.
We've noted the similarities between SGI and domestic abuse situations
, AND the narcissism
of Ikeda, who comes off as the most bullied kid in 3rd grade
, not some omniscient transcendent super
-leader (though that's what he's relying on his own Mary Sue
fanfic, "The NEWNEWNOODLOODLEEDOODLEENEW Human Revolution" to project).
Some in cults who cannot verbally express what they feel about what has been done to them express it through their bodies, harming themselves through cutting and burning themselves, starving their bodies or stuffing themselves with food when they can get their hands on it, or purging through vomiting. When they get too sick in the cult, this is when the cult will eject them because they feel no responsibility for getting them the help they need.
Here is a shocking account of this
It should not be a surprise to hear that many cults are openly against psychotherapy.
Why is it "taking the easy way out" to take prozac -- but it's okay to take cholesterol medication? Source
take "the easy way out"? You're still getting out!
I hope this helps you understand a bit more about soul murder. The victims of soul murder remain in large part possessed by another, their souls in bondage to another. Shengold cites George Orwell ‘s 1984, in which O’Brien says to Winston Smith:
“You will be hollow. We will squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves ... Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.”
Whoa - righteous
There is help available to those who have been victimized by a cult. There is a chapter about the cults, “Cult-Induced Ecstasies and Psychosis” in my book, Hungry for Ecstasy: Trauma, the Brain, and the Influence of the Sixties (2013). The ICSA website also has much valuable information there.
In New York, there is the Cult Hotline and Clinic at the Jewish Board of Family and Children’s Services, reached at 212-632-4640. Arnold Markowitz is the director. There are also local ICSA support meetings in NYC, Philadelphia, and Boston. Bill and Lorna Goldberg, both licensed clinical social workers, run a monthly free support group for people whose lives have been affected by cults, victims, and families, in Englewood, New Jersey. There is also help available in other areas of the country and in Europe.
submitted by BlancheFromage
to sgiwhistleblowers [link] [comments]
2019.11.05 23:55 BTJoy Nine Mews
The stories about Nine Mews had been circulating from as far back as 1924.
Back then the FBI, newly under the directorship of John Edgar Hoover, had intercepted a call to the Fairfield County Gazette reporting the strange findings that had appeared, apparently overnight, on a local farm. The farmer, one Hayden Swartz, had thought the items he’d found buried in among his windy tobacco plants had been no more than a neighbourhood curio— the kind of thing that might get his name printed in the paper and be forgotten soon after. Fair to say then Swartz was surprised to find a posse of federal agents rooting through his crops before the journalists even arrived.
They never arrived either— the journalists. The bureau had all these newfangled ideas about contaminating evidence and forensics and, for reasons best known to themselves, they were taking particular care over the few steaming scraps of silverish metal that had made indents in the earth as though having fallen from an immense height.
Swartz watched the agents work all day; telling the odd passing motorist on their usual route to Nine Mews for groceries that it was just a load of old engine parts and he’d no idea what’d got the Feds so agitated.
In truth, he half believed they were searching for his illegal still and so it was a relief when they began to pack up. Lifting those strange looking metallic objects— which’d been more trouble than they were worth— and covering them in sheets of plastic before depositing each one in the backs of their vehicles.
Aeroplane parts, the senior agent had explained to Swartz. An aeroplane had malfunctioned overhead and jettisoned a piece of tail and fuselage onto the fields below. It was a mercy it happened during the night or someone might’ve been killed in the collision.
Strange, Swartz had thought, and as the agents’ trucks rolled away in the opposite direction to Nine Mews, he’d looked up into the cloudless blue sky.
Aeroplanes never passed that way.
It took more than ten years for the bizarre occurrences that took place there to begin to give Nine Mews its national reputation.
By that time— from around 1936 onwards— all but a few of the old tobacco farms, the Swartz place included, had disappeared and been paved over. In their places small mercantiles, a few notaries, a post office and, of course, the most imposing building in the whole of the Mews: the sanatorium.
Being a place that trafficked anyway with the strange and unusual it raised little alarm when stories began to be told about the outlandish goings on inside the Nine Mews Sanatorium.
Later, however, it began to look more like a malady of the body the inmates were suffering from than any derangement of the mind.
Insomnia and loss of appetite, the senior doctors assured the public, were common traits in the mentally unstable. But, if that was so, the patients at Nine Mews more than surpassed the stereotype.
Inmates would go to extreme lengths rather than sleep. Their insomnia was disruptive to such a degree that a level of barbiturates usually deemed excessive would be used as a matter of course to sedate and bring rest.
But the greatest puzzle was the emaciation.
Patients presented unaccountable weight loss; to the point of appearing almost skeletal.
Screens were performed for an epidemic of gastrointestinal worms, but the patients’ stools were clean. Dining was strictly supervised and— to the astonishment of staff— their charges seemed to be eating more and more every day.
It was later decided that patients must have been inducing themselves to vomit in the brief moments of privacy allowed to them.
Subsequent observations found they were not.
And the most alarming thing about the whole affair: The more the barbiturates were used— the more the patients slept— the more emaciated they became.
Aaron Crane leaned his back against a pine.
It was morning now and— Christ— last night was another night he hadn’t slept.
Every time he blinked his eyes hurt like hell. The forest was cold and deep with fall snow and all that Aaron could feel was the hard line of his jaw and his own thinning fingers on the trigger of the handgun in his coat pocket. That, and he could hear the man— a hunter by all accounts— unaware of his presence behind the camouflage of the trees; though walking steadily in his direction. Aaron listened and tried not to breathe.
There was a cracking of twigs and a crushing back of snow as the man knelt to free another dead rabbit from a snare.
Aaron just reacted.
Before he knew it he’d broken cover and drawn and aimed the Colt directly at the hunter’s downturned face.
“Don’t you move!”
The hunter looked up and Aaron noticed his hands tighten on his own weapon; a powerful looking Ruger that could’ve no doubt blown a hole in Aaron as big as a tangerine.
“You better put that rifle down, Mr.” Aaron ordered. “Otherwise one of us is gonna be a lot lighter on blood.”
“Alright, son,” the hunter was an older man, and there was a wariness in his eyes that told Aaron he wasn’t spoiling for a fight.
He rose slowly, leaving the rifle at his feet.
“The name’s Billy Thatchell,” the hunter said.
“Yeah, well nice to meet you Billy,” Aaron said, “but that’s about as sociable as I want to get with a man I might have to shoot.”
Thatchell shook his head.
“You ain’t got no cause to shoot me,” he answered. “All I got is a little hunters’ cabin about a half mile back that way...”
He pointed off northwest.
“I ain’t got no money, and as for my vehicle... hell... I don’t think you’d get her started. Ain’t been drove since July.”
“I don’t want your money!” Aaron answered, “and I don’t want your car.”
“What do you want?”
Aaron relaxed his hold on the Colt but never lowered.
“I’m not gonna shoot you if I don’t have to...”
“That’s good to hear,” Thatchell nodded.
“But I need a place to rest up,” Aaron looked down hungrily at the small scraps of fur Thatchell had been liberating from the snares. “I could eat one of those rabbits too.”
Thatchell looked at the gunman quizzically.
“What you runnin’ from, son?”
Aaron didn’t see the point in maintaining secrecy.
“Nine Mews,” he answered.
“Fall’s rabbit season in the Adirondacks,” said Thatchell. “So rabbit’s what we got.”
He put down a plate of roughly diced rabbit-flesh finished with a cupful of white rice. Then he watched as the strange gunman who’d accosted him in the woods— and who was now sitting like a guest at table— began to scoop up the food like a ravenous animal; waiting just long enough to breathe between fingerfuls.
“We do got knives and forks,” Thatchell pointed into the pantry.
Aaron waved off the comment and continued to feed himself messily with his host’s earthy fare.
“You got a name, son?” Thatchell asked.
“Aaron,” Aaron answered, “Aaron Crane.”
“And did I hear you say you was from Nine Mews?”
Aaron stopped eating and looked up at Thatchell in silent horror.
“Listen, Mr.” He spoke through half-a-mouth of rice, “I’m obliged that you let me rest up here but I’m getting sick and tired of your goddamn questions. Just you remember whose gun’s still loaded...”
He slipped his Colt onto the table between them and eyed Thatchell dangerously.
“Now if you co-operate with me a hundred percent I’m not gonna shoot you. Just let me rest up and come morning you won’t see my ass for dust as far as Canada.”
“Canada?” Thatchell frowned.
“You heard me.” Aaron went back to eating.
Thatchell took Aaron’s brusk response for an end to conversation. He leaned back against his chair and stared out of the small cabin window at the snow whipping around in the dark branches of the pines.
Then he smiled; leaning back towards Aaron.
“You ain’t gonna get to Canada tomorrow,” he said.
Aaron shrugged and kept eating.
“No, son, I mean it,” Thatchell insisted. “There’s a blizzard on that’s fixin’ to blow all night. And you need to find some route round them mountains. And you’ve got no vehicle. You ain’t gonna get ten feet.”
Aaron had finished eating and Thatchell could tell by his expression that the kid was starting to understand his predicament. Thatchell took pity.
“Listen,” he said. “I could try to get my old rust-bucket started and we could take a drive into town—”
“No towns!” Aaron’s hand touched his gun. “No towns you hear me!”
“I hear you, son, I hear you.” Thatchell held up his hands. “What is it? Are you on the run?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Aaron said tiredly, then he just stared out the window at the snow.
“Wait a minute,” Thatchell searched his memory. “Nine Mews. That’s where that asylum is right?”
Aaron looked at him and the whole story was right there in his eyes.
“Oh, Jesus!” Thatchell pointed at him. “You’re a runaway from there? From the asylum at Nine Mews?”
Suddenly Thatchell was painfully aware of the gun. Aaron sensed the older man’s heightened caution.
“I’m not crazy,” he assured him.
“Forgive me, son,” Thatchell answered, “but there’s never been a crazy man said he was.”
“I was a journalist when I first went to Nine Mews,” Aaron said adamantly. “I was working in New York...”
He could tell Thatchell still had his reservations and so he dug angrily into his coat and produced his wallet.
He flipped the article open and displayed a small white card.
“That’s my goddamn Press ID... had to swipe it back with the rest of my clothes on the way out.”
Aaron could see by now that half an explanation wouldn’t do. He leaned in across the table.
“After a week working in Nine Mews,” he said, “I started to contract the same... sickness... the inmates had. Look at my face!”
Thatchell was looking. Aaron’s facial muscles were nearly non-existent, giving his face the appearance of a talking, blinking skull.
“It started so quickly,” he said. “Just bad dreams at first. Dreams of being locked up inside some... some kind of prison... and something vital being sucked out of me. Then I’d wake and I’d feel... drained, you know... and weaker... and when I weighed myself I was lighter than before. Every time I sleep it’s the same. But the dreams are realer now. So real that I know now for certain they aren’t dreams at all.”
Thatchell stared at Aaron. Christ, the kid wasn’t making a lick of sense.
For a while nothing disturbed the silence of the falling snow on the cabin roof.
Then Aaron smiled grimly. He no longer really cared if he was believed or not.
“What do you know about Nine Mews?”
“I heard the name,” Thatchell said. “When I was a boy, maybe. Kinda like a tristate ghost story. Apparently some things fell out of the sky ‘bout forty years back and old Hoover’s boys showed up and made them disappear.”
“Not just forty years ago.” Aaron’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial. “Before they put me away— in the asylum— I did some digging on those old stories— ghost stories as you call them— so happens folk’ve been seeing strange things in Nine Mews since there was a town there.
In 1893 there was this guy by the name of Joseph Hart who kept a small flock of sheep on that land— where Nine Mews is now. His testimony is on public record, hell, you can read it yourself.
He says one night he was woken by a fierce light in the sky. And, having no other reference, he reckoned it was thieves who’d cut the fences and come into the fields to take themselves a sheep.
He got his rifle and he went out, but the night was just dark.
He goes on to say that he’d waited out, in the pasture awhile, just to make sure no prowlers had stayed behind.
Then it happened again. Right in front of Joseph Hart’s eyes in the dead middle of the 1890s.
A light crossing the darkness over Nine Mews. He described it in amazing detail, Thatchell.
Like a fuse had been lit in the sky. Like quicksilver burning.
Then, just as quick, it fell down under the tree-line. And, though Hart never saw it again, he knew what it’d been.”
“And what was it?” Thatchell asked.
Aaron looked at him as though gauging every possible response.
“The same thing that fell into the Swartz farm in 1924,” he said. “The same thing I’m trying to get away from now.”
The snow had settled on the foothills of the Adirondacks, but it was still too deep for anyone to travel far without the aid of a motor.
Thatchell was trying to find the best way to deal with the situation. Here he was— miles from town— with an escaped lunatic from a Connecticut nuthouse holding him to ransom with stories about visitors from outer space.
“What exactly are we talking about here,” Thatchell broached the subject, “little green men?”
“For Christ-sake!” Aaron rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “No! I am not talking about little green fucking men! Ten years ago some hacks in Kentucky make up that term to sell papers and suddenly it’s all people can think of!”
“Okay,” Thatchell raised his arms placatingly. “But help me out here, son. What are we talking about?”
“Listen...” Aaron leaned forward. “Have you ever been alone and, for no reason, a sense of dread creeps up on you like something crawling on your back.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any man who doesn’t get spooked from time to time,” Thatchell answered, “but are you trying to tell me that’s got something to do with these lights over Nine Mews?”
“No,” Aaron shook his head. “I’m just explaining. That feeling. That dread. It’s an energy field. It comes into you and changes the way your body functions, right?”
“I suppose,” Thatchell shrugged.
“Well,” Aaron paused, “I want you to imagine a planet with no animals... with no plant-life... hell, where there isn’t even bacteria. An entirely new framework for living organisms. Think... if we didn’t evolve from those exact single cells that began life on this planet... what might we be now?
Imagine it! A planet where these... energies... dread, lust, hunger... are the original building blocks of life...”
“I think...” Thatchell tried to interrupt.
“No! Shut up!” Aaron touched his gun. “That planet isn’t in your goddamn imagination! It exists! It exists out there somewhere.”
He looked out at the falling snow.
“The energies have will... they think... they move... they’ve even found ways to build sophisticated crafts to carry them across interstellar space!”
Thatchell was aware that Aaron was still staring out the window. The hunter kept his own eyes on the kid’s gun; resting there under his frail and shaking hand.
“They’re here already, Thatchell.” Aaron said dreamily. “They don’t need to invade. They’ve arrived! The energies! When I was in Nine Mews one of them got a hold of me. It’s holding me now... like something dreadful crawling up my back. Don’t you see, Thatchell? It’s a parasite, alright. But it doesn’t live in the guts or the stomach. It lives in your mind! Don’t you see, Thatchell!? Don’t you see!? That’s why I can’t sleep! When I sleep it gets to eat!”
He flung his hands up and grabbed desperately at his skull-like head. Thatchell seized the moment’s opportunity and snatched the Colt out from under his unhinged visitor’s grasp.
He threw away the chair behind him and leapt from the table; pointing the weapon directly at Aaron’s head.
Aaron just looked at him. His eyes were incredibly tired.
“When I sleep it eats.” Was all he said.
“You’re just sick in the head, son.” Thatchell said pityingly. “You need help. Now I’m gonna call into town and we’re gonna get you the help you need.”
“No towns!” Aaron screamed. “They’ll find me! The doctors at Nine Mews!”
“You need a doctor.” Thatchell insisted.
“You don’t understand!” Aaron stood from the table. “They’ll knock me out with barbiturates. I’ll dream, Thatchell! I’ll dream!”
“It’s all in your head, Aaron!” Thatchell said.
“It’ll eat me, Thatchell,” Aaron replied, his skullish face was sneering and repulsive. “It’ll eat me while I dream!”
“I’m making the call...”
Thatchell moved a step towards the hallway where he kept the phone.
Aaron made a snarling, wild sound and leapt over the table. His hands were like two gnarled claws.
Thatchell just reacted.
For the rest of his life he’d regret it, but the handgun went off; blowing a hole the size of a fist in Aaron’s feeble head.
Darkness, and such warmness after the cold winds of the New York mountains.
Aaron could hear his mother’s voice and the deeper one of his father. It was like being home again when he was a little boy. They were talking— her and him— though not together; to a third voice in the room beyond the darkness.
Aaron nearly smiled at the comforting feeling of their closeness until, that is, he began to understand the words they were saying. That, and the terrible realisation of who the third voice belonged to.
“He’ll survive.” Said the voice of Doctor Cassidy.
Doctor Cassidy. Chief of Staff at the asylum.
He was in Nine Mews!
“The bullet did, however, leave irreparable damage to Aaron’s brain and there’s no telling if he’ll ever wake up again.”
A knife of white-hot terror pierced Aaron’s chest. His skin prickled with unusable adrenaline.
In the dream he opened his eyes.
The parasite wasn’t inside him, but he was inside the parasite.
He screamed into the fleshy walls of its twitching innards; that ball of corporeal energy that had landed in the tobacco fields of ‘24 surrounded him entirely; like a vast, digesting stomach.
On the interior lining where Aaron’s thin hands slipped and clawed a series of orifices the size of pinholes were opening in diameter to the size of children’s mouths.
And from the orifices a million proboscides, thin as black hairs, slid out to puncture Aaron’s skin; drinking blood and nutrients as they pleased.
submitted by BTJoy
to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
2019.05.31 17:32 WesAltenburg State League Series - 6/50: Iowa
Already Completed: Illinois North Carolina Nevada Idaho Virginia
Due Up: California Wisconsin New Jersey Missouri Pennsylvania Colorado Florida Ohio Michigan Ames RailRiders
Ames was originally named after Oakes Ames, a Massachusetts man who was a big part in the building of the Transcontinental Railroad. This is where the name RailRiders comes from. The team uses black, grey, and white, which I feel are representative of railways and trains. The font used is meant to replicated train tracks as there is two parts/sides of each letter. Bettendorf Gamblers
In 1991, an area native and businessman named Bernard Goldstein launched the first modern-day version of a riverboat casino in the waters in Bettendorf. This serves as inspiration for team name, colors, and logos. The colors are two shades of blue to represent the water, while the badge features a die with the waves. Burlington Hawkeyes
When thinking of Hawkeyes, most people associate this name with either the state in general or the University of Iowa. Burlington, however, is where the Hawkeye name first came into use. A subtle detail in the logo which I really like is that the B features a hawk eye peeking through it. Cedar Rapids Expos
Cedar Rapids is a city which is notable partly for the fact that it is one of the biggest arts and culture cities not just in Iowa, but in the Midwest. Some of the arts and culture institutions found in Cedar Rapids are Orchestra Iowa, the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art, the Cedar Rapids Ceramics Center, Theatre Cedar Rapids, and the Cedar Rapids Opera Theatre. The Cedar Rapids Museum of Art hosts the largest collection of Grant Wood paintings, also known as the man who painted American Gothic. The Gothic Era in general was a big influence on the art and culture beginnings in Cedar Rapids, which is why there is a gothic feel to the design. I initially named them because I thought I had read that the art and culture boom also partly came from the Chicago World’s Fair or an expo in Chicago, but I now can not find that. However, I still feel Expos is a good name for Cedar Rapids. Clinton LumberKings
When Iowa came up, this was the first team I thought of. My parents used to take me to LumberKings game all the time when I was little and these are some of my first baseball and sports memories. Hence, I definitely wanted to try my hand and recreating them in SMB2. While the game obviously has limitations, I think I did well with those limitations. Davenport Rebels
In 1837, Davenport was battling with Rockingham to become seat of Scott County. Davenport won, but through devious and creative methodology, which is what the Rebels nickname pays homage to. The town with the most votes by Scott County citizens in the February 1838 elections would win the county seat. Just before the election came around, acquired the services of laborers from Dubuque, who became eligible to vote. This tipped the vote into Davenport’s favor. The vote was ultimately never certified, resulting in a second election with a 60-day residency requirement for voting. Davenport won this election by two votes, a margin so close that it triggered a third election. This one was won by Davenport due to Rockingham basically giving up on the idea of being county seat. Davenport won this election and quickly built the chambers for the county seat. Des Moines Caps
Inspired by the capitol city of Iowa and it’s architecture. The capitol building in Des Moines is known for its big gold dome. This is why the team wears gold hats and gold helmets. The logo is also meant to show this, as well. The bottom half circle is to represent the building while gold half circle represents the gold dome. The reasoning for Caps instead of Capitols is that the team wears gold caps and that the gold dome can be considered the cap of the building. Credit u/dreddfyre Dubuque Scouts
Dubuque is a town on the Mississippi River, which also has an abundance of Scouts. One of the names suggested was Hilltoppers, but I decided to go with Scouts because I feel that this represented both the hills and river. I also think it works decently with Dubuque’s Key City moniker. Credit u/dreddfyre Fairfield Silicorns
My favorite nickname for an Iowa team and one of my favorite things I’ve found for any State League Series team so far is the Fairfield Silicorns. Despite being somewhere unexpected for a tech hub, Fairfield actually has a sizeable technology industry. As a result, locals nicknamed the area “Silicorn Valley”, a midwestern play on Silicon Valley. I loved that too much to not use it. The colors are inspired by corn with the yellow and dark green, with a bright green included to represent the modern tech hub that Fairfield has become despite the typical stereotype of Iowa towns. Iowa City-Coralville Ancients
Iowa City and Coralville are close enough as to where they can share a team. Additionally, the Ancients name fits both cities, but for different reasons. For Iowa City, the “old capitol” building is found here. For Coralville, floods in recent years revealed a huge collection of remains and fossils. The logo features a dinosaur coming out from a shield, meant to represent the old capitol and the fossils. The black represents the past, while blue and red represent the colors of Iowa. The green, since it comes automatically with the dinosaur, I think makes the whole pallet very interesting and unique, which is why I decided to make it so prominent despite it having no real importance. Credit u/dreddfyre Knoxville Sliders
Knoxville, Iowa is known as the sprint car capitol of the world. For those who do not know what those are, they are the racecars with angled roofs which run on dirt. To me, and I do not know if this is technically this is the correct term, they also look as if they were sliding on the dirt when taking corners. This is where the name Sliders come from. It also helps that there is an obvious baseball tie-in, too, with a slider being a type of pitch. The colors and logos reminded me of a 90s local race track look, which is what I was going for. Credit u/dreddfyre Maquoketa Bats
Another team with a baseball tie-in is the Maquoketa Bats. The main attraction of Maquoketa is the Maquoketa Caves State Park. An animal commonly associated with caves is bats, while also obviously being a baseball thing, as well. I used just the bat on its own because I feel that it also somewhat looks like an M, also. Since the team was named after caves and bats, I wanted a dark color scheme, but I did not want to use just black and white, which is why a dark grey is actually the main color in play here. Muscatine Melonheads
This team combines my love of the Backyard Sports franchise with one of the most unique towns in Iowa. Muscatine is also known as Melon City, due to their fame from growing melons. For those who played Backyard Sports, you remember the Melonheads being a team name option on just about every game and is one of the most recognizable Backyard Sports names. Credit u/dreddfyre
for the research and u/tengohierbas
, who’s awesome Melonheads post I used as a reference! Ottumwa Space Pirates
Ottumwa is known as the Video Game Capital of the World. Additionally, it is also home to Twin Galaxies. For Ottumwa, I wanted to honor this by creating a team that was inspired by video games. It took awhile, but I thought of the name Space Pirates, which I thought sounded video game-y and also had a bit of a tie-in with Twin Galaxies because it references space. The colors are a bright green and black, two colors I think are commonly associated with video games, electronics, and technology. Sioux City Sting
Despite having a nice roll off the tongue, the Sioux City Sting are actually named for another reason. Sioux City honey is one of the most popular types of honey in the world. Hence, the name Sting, a reference to the bees which produce honey. The colors are also inspired by bees, as well. Waterloo Belters
One of the Midwest’s biggest companies, John Deere, calls Waterloo home. The base of the Waterloo logo is actually inspired by the base of John Deere logo, a square with a bit of rounded edges, rather than perfectly straight. Belters is in reference to assembly lines/belts of the John Deere factory. The town was initially known as Prairie Rapids Crossing, which partly influenced the logo and design, as well. The blue waves across the logo represent both belts and rapids. The bats and baseball represent the fact that “belted” is often used to describe a well-hit ball.
submitted by WesAltenburg
to SuperMegaBaseball [link] [comments]
2017.01.04 22:22 lzzrbns [Fairfield County] Rabbit looking for home
Hi everyone! My family has a lovely ~6 year old rabbit named Jasper. They have almost completely moved to another country and with the hassle of getting their dog overseas they can't repeat with their rabbit. They asked me to post this message to see if anyone in FC would like a new furry friend for their family.
Pictures of Jasper: https://imgur.com/a/n4Fhn
Jasper is around 6 years old, and is a small domesticated american rabbit. We found him when he was slightly smaller roaming in our yard. Another neighbor two houses over also found a similar baby rabbit which led us to believe that someone's rabbits had babies and they just released them into the wild. Because of this, he has a hard time trusting people, and won't cuddle as other rabbits may. He stays still when you pet him, and can be picked up though he doesn't particularly enjoy it. He is very solitary and doesn't like the company of other rabbits. However - he loves being hand fed, has been known to sit by my mom's feet while she's sitting down, and is very sweet.
He is unneutered, but potty trained to only do his business in his cage. He has never shown any aggressive or dominant behavior (spraying, stomping etc.) and has been kept alone so my parents didn't feel the need to neuter him. He has a cage top, plastic bottom cage that is super easy to clean. He drinks from a standard drip water bottle attached to his cage and eats regular rabbit pellets, timothy hay, but loves all fresh greens. He's not interested in toys but does enjoy flipping his food bowl over to show off.
He's a sweet boy and I would love to bring him to a great home. He is completely free, comes with his cage and all his supplies. I'd be happy to drive him wherever in fairfield or probably new haven counties. My parents want to bring him to the humane society as a last resort but are hesitant because he's not your stereotypical "cuddly bunny" for small children and don't think he'll be adopted straight away.
Feel free to PM me or share to your friends, kids you babysit, etc. I'd really like to find him a great home for my parents especially.
submitted by lzzrbns
to Connecticut [link] [comments]