1. Logic system overhaul/improvements. Current system is tedious and a pain to do, even for relatively small builds. Even just having the ability to filter out logic points that are already connected would greatly improve the system across the board, ideally an advanced filter system would be added, such as creating groups, filtering parts, etc. The need to not only use but also create microcontrollers for instrument panels feels excessive and unnecessary. Simplifying panels, or giving the option of a simplified instrument panel that does not need to use a microcontroller, would go far in decreasing the games barrier to entry.
   
2. Built in GPS maps. The fact that this game does not have a built in GPS map, like those tom tom gps map things you see on older cars is absurd when career mode’s map doesn’t show where you are on the map. And before anyone says that it’s “realistic”, if fishing boats in the Bering Sea can have a GPS map during rough weather, I see no reason why a SAR vehicle wouldn’t have such basic equipment. The current career mode’s starter boat is kinda useless at the starting base for this reason, there aren’t many landmarks out in the ocean, and I shouldn’t have to use the workshop just to make the base boat functional.
   
3. Radio console. A simple premade radio console with knobs and such would also be nice and simplify a decent amount of logic.
   
4. Custom window, wedge, and pyramid dimensions and/or more of these blocks in general, and make them more customizable (ie changing the windows color to green or putting designs on wedges and pyramids)
   
5. Small boats keep water out, don’t need a closed volume to be buoyant
   
6. Sails
   
7. 18th century weaponry
   
8. Life rafts
   
9. Emergency inflatable slides (for planes)
   
10. Gliding
    
11. Oars
    
12. Premade vehicles for every basic need you have in game. There should be basic, cheap, premade cars/trucks, boats, etc that can fulfill most of everything you would need to do in game. Nothing particularly fancy, just simple builds that can easily supplanted by custom creations that can serve as references for your own builds or be stopgap measures until you build replacements.
    
13. Search and Recovery. Unfortunately, not every SAR operation is successful. Missions about recovering remains would be nice and can add a decent bit of variety. For example, maybe a hiker found a body in a hard to reach place in the mountains, and because of that an offroad vehicle or aircraft is needed to get there, diving on a wreck to recover remains, or recovering a car from a lake. Other missions could also be diving for investigation critical components, such as black boxes or voyage data recorders, or even specific components that investigators want to find.
    
14. More in depth rescue/injury mechanics. Stuff like sprained ankles, injuries, pregnancy status, health conditions, etc, requiring different things to heal/stabilize. This would also add a sense of urgency to each SAR mission, as now you can’t solve/delay everything by throwing a first aid kit at it. Maybe the local hospital doesn’t have the facilities to treat a time sensitive, so you have to transport the patient to a bigger hospital. Dealing with things like hyperthermia would also be nice.
    
15. Boat materials (wood/metal/polymer)
    
16. Amenities and furniture in general.
    
17. Logging industry
    
18. Fishing industry
    
19. Debris
    
20. Other SAR teams/companies to have a presence in the world and are able to be called upon if needed.
    
21. Nuclear reactor disaster
    
22. More variety and depth for SAR missions, such as an aircraft ditching in the harbor, an aircraft going missing and having to search for it, recovering lifeboats, a nuclear powered ship sinking and having to deal with the radiation, chemical tankers releasing toxic chemicals into the water, sinking an adrift vessel, stopping an illegal salvage operation etc. A cool idea would be to add in the possibility for major accidents to happen, such as a cruise ship capsizing, a nuclear powered ship sinking, or a military aircraft armed with a nuclear warhead being lost over the ocean. Another cool idea would be to add interviews with accident investigation teams after some accidents, such as when a ship sinks because of poor maintenance about what you saw. Obviously, the interviews should only occur for more major accidents and when the player could actually have relevant information. There could also be complications for missions, such as the ship still moving and unable to be stopped, the whole crew is incapacitated, etc.
    
23. In the same vein as no 22, an overhaul of Search And Destroy as it pertains to the overworld would also be nice. Instead of simply having an AI that fights the player, how about having 2 major factions that fight each other, the local military and an invading military, with the option of creating your own faction to take over the islands. This would differ from the previous system by making it so that you would complete orders issued to you, such as patrolling a specific area, engaging a fleet, mining or demining a waterway, etc. At first, you start out doing gruntwork, but as you move up in rank the more you can do, such as sending grunts to do the gruntwork for you. You could also give the option for the player to make their own faction Another thing that could be added are pirates and pirate gameplay. SAD could also add in new missions and disasters, such as disarming mines from the second world war, serial killers, hijacking attempts, a fire at a munitions dump, etc. You can have a lot of fun in regards to disasters and special missions too, such as cleaning up a munitions dumping ground (like what the Norwegian military did, dumping thousands of tons of munitions into a river) or a sunken supply ship detonating (like that one off the coast of England) and dealing with the after effects of that.
    
24. Hiring AI to do things for you, such as a doctor to administer medical assistance to survivors, a captain to drive a boat, SAR divers to recover people from the sea for you, etc.
    
25. Passenger playstyle. Ferrying passengers around feels like a logical next step in the game, with factors such as reliability, how fast you can get to destinations, feats (ie having the fastest passenger ferry in the world even if it does not operate at that speed regularly or having the biggest ferry, etc), price per ticket, amenities(free or paid movie theatre, comfy seats, concession stands, is the interior a comfortable temperature, is there a barbershop and if so is it any good, etc) and necessities (do you have enough seats, is there a bathroom, do you have enough life preservers, if it’s overnight, do you have any beds etc). Options to run excursions with famous or historic ships, simple cruises/excursions to places around the islands would be nice too.
    
26. Expansion of delivery and miner playstyles. Expansion of these playstyles, such as hiring AI to do parts of the job, either as employees or contracting out another company to, say, transport coal from your mine to the powerplant would go a long way to fleshing out these playstyles. You can even have the option to do smuggling runs of illegal or illicit goods. Smaller deliveries that can be handled with a van, or doing mail runs would be cool as well as oversized delivery missions. Increasing the variety of cargo to transport, such as transporting locomotives and/or cars for export would be cool.
    
27. Terminal loading cranes.
    
28. A R&D mode which would allow for quick and easy analysis of a creation where you get raw numbers on a ship’s current tilt, balance, engine performance, etc with the ability to easily change the weather and conditions of the environment and easily switch to build mode.
    
29. Shipwrights. The idea here would be to overhaul building mechanics as it relates to career mode. Instead of being able to instantly build everything, how you can modify your vessel is limited to what your facilities can do. To get a brand-new ship, you would have to commission it from a shipwright. Before commission, you would have access to R&D mode to fully test out the vessal. Where the fun part really begins is that you can have an entire playstyle built around receiving commissions for ships by the AI (or even other players) for a desired vessel within x specifications at a cost of x amount for x amount of vessels within x timeframe with a bedroom made out of 50% windows at a height of x feet, or even upgrade/modify preexisting vessels as part of a commission or to flip on the market, buying older vessels of varying states and giving them a new lease on life. How many ships you can produce at a given time would depend on your facilities, which can be upgraded. Of course, there would be aircraft and land vehicle equivalents. You can even see the ships you produced doing their job in the world.
    
30. Salvaging. Another playstyle that I feel would be a next step for Stormworks would be salvaging vessels either for scrap, refurbish them for resale, restoration into a museum piece, or simply to clear a waterway. You could even give the option to illegally salvage shipwrecks.
    
31. Survey missions
    
32. Survival suits
    
33. Crabbing
    
34. Flooding disaster
    
35. Hurricane and super storm disasters
    
36. Air conditioning
    
37. Other ships coming to assist vessels in distress.
    
38. Tropical islands
    
39. Blimps, zepplins, and hot air balloons.
    
40. Naming vehicles
    
41. Rogue waves
    
42. Supernatural phenomenon. My idea for this is that you would have two categories of phenomenon, explicable and inexplicable. Explicable phenomena would be phenomena that have scientific explanations for them, things such as ghost lights with scientific explanations behind them, maybe have some missions where you disprove the supernatural. Having everything be explicable, however, can be underwhelming so actual supernatural phenomena, such as fleshgaits (especially with SAR being the core theme of Stormworks), ghost ships, or alien encounters, especially if mechanics, such as SAR, are incorporated in it. Like, imagine a seemingly normal SAR mission turning out to be the rescue of aliens from a crashed spaceship and you have to transport them to a drop off point where the MiB is waiting, or a mission where you first set out to debunk the supernatural to then be assailed by the flying dutchman.
    
43. More doors, buttons, ladders, stairs and hatches (ie: a traditional house door, car doors, glass hatches, etc)
    
44. Panels that can be used as signs or “hatches” for otherwise external equipment (ie in order to access a fire extinguisher you have to open a hatch first, im sure there is a better word for it but I can’t think of it)
    
45. Moonpools
    
46. Pools
    
47. More buildable/modifiable properties, especially for terminals. Could be expanded with the ability to flip properties.
    
48. Races
    
49. Competing manufacturers of equipment and engines that have varying strengths and weaknesses that improve as time goes. This would also make the game more accessible by giving new players the ability to easily access better engines while also rewarding those who learn how modular engines work by allowing them to jump ahead of the AI. Perhaps a system where you can lease or even produce your own engine designs could be implemented to further reward and encourage using modular engines.
    
50. If the game becomes comprehensive enough, the ability to change which era you play in (1700s, 1800s, 1940s, etc) would be a really cool addition by adding in technological challenges of older eras. Additionally, there could be supernatural phenomena that isekai vehicles to and from different time periods, which could add in a whole variety of interesting missions and challenges.
    
51. Built-in couplers for trains
    
52. Wind having an effect on the player (exiting an aircraft and standing on its wing should result in you being yeeted off the aircraft)
    
53. Pressurization
    
54. Ingame tutorials like what From The Depths has
    
55. A better openworld, NPCs, and RP experiences. The world of Stormworks feels very much dead, which is a shame because that is it’s biggest selling point for me over other building games like simple planes. It gives a reason for all the vehicles being built beyond simply being cool, you can actually DO things with it. I would recommend solving this by:
    
56. Create actual population centers. Not huge cities, but small towns dotted across the islands with actual businesses and populations would go a long way to improving the game world, maybe have one or two cities on the island itself so we can do stuff with skyscrapers.
    
57. Global traffic of personal, commercial, and government boats, aircrafts and land vehicles would go a long way to making the world feel less empty. Having npcs use a dedicated radio channel for chatter, and which you can interact with them through would be great. This traffic responds to ingame events, for example increased outgoing road traffic when a disaster is about to hit
    
58. More realistic roads
    
59. Navigation signs, buoys, etc
    
60. NPCs operating gas stations, bridges, and industries in general.
    
61. Relating to one, make NPCs not only interactable beyond being glorified money bags, but also interact with their environment. Such as trying to move away from fires, calling for help when they see a vehicle, moving towards a stopped SAR vehicle and climbing aboard, getting inside a vehicle of their own volition or swimming to shore when they are literally meters away instead of staying in the water and/or burning boat. Having NPCs interact with the player as well would also be great, such as thanking you for saving their lives, buying the player a beer as thanks if they meet in a bar, etc would be nice. Ideally, there would be a number of persistent npcs who have names, personalities and backstories. Such as Joe, an old sea captain who’s vessel is painted pink in memory of his 6 year old daughter who disappeared, and, if he thinks his vessel is about to sink, will desire to go down with the ship and be resistant to his personal rescue.
    
62. Consequences for your actions visible in game. For example, if a casualty becomes a fatality, there is a funeral service held at the graveyard.
    
63. NPCs having varying fluencies in English
    
64. Missions with storylines attached to them, such as an archaeologist searching for Atlantis, or a group of sailors looking to raise the cargo ship they worked on after it sunk.
    
65. Radio music channels
    
66. TV channels, can also have a gameplay effect through amenities
    
67. Newspaper with an obituary, some fluff news stories, generic articles, state of the economy, ships launched, details regarding the SAR missions you did or didn’t do, in game events, etc.
    
68. Unmarked missions, for example lets say Captain Joe’s ship sinks, but Joe survives. Joe is depressed, but if you go out of your way to salvage and repair Joe’s ship and give it back to him he will be happy.
    
69. NPC backstories being more then just a text in a box, perhaps a mission leads to you finding Captain Joe’s daughter, alive or dead leading to either a heart warming reunion or somber closure.
    
70. News interviews
    
71. Points of interest, such as abandoned buildings, natural wonders, historical locations, museums, heritage railroads, businesses etc with lore surrounding them and special missions for that location. For example, lets say there is a hot air balloon tour operation. There would be a few special missions pertaining to hot air balloons in that location. Or for the heritage railroad, their engineer called in sick so they need someone to fill in for the day.
    
72. Flavor for missions, for example maybe a family of four reported in the burning boat and watch you put out the fires
    
73. NPCs react like real people in the sense of physiological reactions, such as grieving, becoming frozen in shock, mental breakdowns etc.
    
74. All disasters have effects (when applicable) in the overworld, such as destroyed homes, ships transported inland, etc. Having missions pertaining to the aftermath, such as removing large debris from roads and tracks to recovering missing persons.
    
75. Visual deterioration of abandoned/sunk/crashed vehicles
    
76. NPCs may try to take advantage of disasters, such as by robbing people on a sinking ship, looting buildings after a disaster, etc
    
77. NPCs may panic and act irrationally when in a disaster, such as taking life jackets away from women and children, releasing lifeboats/liferafts early, etc
    
78. Skills and attributes, such as consoling, leadership, physical fitness, bartering, etc
    

That’s my wishlist for now. I know it’s a lot, and some of it may seem to be a bit much, but I don’t think any single thing is out of the realm of reasonable possibility. The biggest appeal of Stormworks, at least to me, over competitors such as Simpleplanes is that there is a purpose behind what you build. I think that if Stormworks were to expand on RPG elements it would not only greatly elevate the game as is, but also expand the audience while enhancing the core experience.

“Rule #1: Guns don’t do jack.”
All the others vary, but this is always the #1 rule at every park in the country.
Personally, I would have added precisely four extra letters to it, but upper brass insists we need to uphold at least some modicum of professional decorum. Still, there are no words to describe just how frustrated it makes me every single time I see some jagoff standing there gormlessly unloading his magazine into some unfathomable nightmare creature who obviously isn’t going to feel a thing. Once I even saw someone run empty and then try to reload, instead of just, I don’t know, running away. I was almost glad to see him get exsanguinated.
Many folks have attempted to get creative with it. You name it, they’ve tried it. Silver bullets, 50 caliber high explosive incendiary ammunition, shotgun slugs cased in gold carved out from the Ark of the Covenant and pumped full of aglaophotis and blessed by the pope himself… and nothing. Nada. Zilch. As far as I know, throughout the entire history of the NPS, not a single bullet we’ve fired has even lightly tickled any of God’s half-finished rejects that stalk the wilderness.
I guess we just have trouble coping with the fact that our generation’s favorite hammer doesn’t work on this particular nail. In all fairness, though, there’s a psychological benefit to holding a gun, even knowing this foremost rule. It’s a lot more bearable to weave through trees in the pitch black wood miles from civilization when you have ol’ Remington’s gift to humanity gripped in your shaking hands. Venturing out with just your bare fists feels like you may as well give up, drop trou, bend over, and hope the thing with forty thousand eyes is feeling romantic.
I have to admit, even I keep my trusty old 1911 on my hip, even knowing it’d be absolutely useless for anything but putting a round through my own brain stem in case I get cornered by any of the things you really don’t want capturing you alive.
“Rule 2: Handheld UV lights are required when bushwhacking after midnight so fluorescent spider silk may be seen and avoided. If caught by a strand, or if you feel the earth beginning to part beneath you, throw down a circle of salt, recite the Gayatri Mantra, and clap exactly thrice.”
I’m sure you’ve wondered how we even come up with the really elaborate and specific rules like this one. The answer’s simple: a little bit of occult research, and a hell of a lot of deadly trial and error.
Sure, sometimes we get lucky and somebody else does our homework for us. For example, up at Isle Royale, an Ojibwe elder was kind enough to provide us with a few rules that help greatly when dealing with… well, you-know-what. Sorry, but never referring to them by name was one of the rules. In general, though, if you see a rule emphasizing that you have to clap exactly thrice, you can bet it’s because some poor bastard tried clapping two times or four times and ended up paying the ultimate price for it.
In this case, it was Annemary, or ‘Crazy Anne’. I worked by her side for twenty years, at least. She was a hell of a woman, the kind who made everyone hush into a terrified silence whenever she walked into a room. Still, even she wasn’t as scary as that spider-thing that kept her alive for a week in his web while he extra-orally digested her. He was a right bastard, and for a while I worried we’d have to write off Shenandoah as a lost cause… but since this rule was put into place, the evil cunt has been more or less left to starve. I consider it my magnum opus.
We only pulled it off because of you, Anne, you crazy diamond. Once you’ve conquered Hell, save a spot for me beside your throne, okay?
“Rule 3: If approached by a man with the head of a deer, offer to make him tea. He likes it strong with milk and two sugars. Sit with him as he drinks, and respond to him with absolute politeness and good manners at all times. Never ask him his name.”
You’ll be pleased to know that not every strange thing that lurks in these parks is the sort that yearns to tear your intestines out through your arsehole while you cry for mommy. Just like real wild animals, a vast majority of them just want us humans to leave ‘em alone… and a few even like us.
We’ve got a swell arrangement worked out with this peculiar deer-man who manifests in front of rangers on graveyard shift every once in a while. That 10 foot tall sonuvabitch has got the body of a man but the head of a stag with a rack any hunter would drool over, the digitigrade legs of a wolf, and he wears these flowing robes which look to be made of the night sky, glimmering stars and all. He talks all cryptic and posh, but all he asks us for is some tea time. In return, he opens that third eye on his forehead and glimpses into the future, giving us a few hints as to what sort of trouble might be brewing in the next few weeks. From our encounters, he seems like a nice enough fellow.
We only tell you not to ask his name because it’s beyond pronunciation and will just leave your ears bleeding. You know how it is.
“Rule #4: If you hear the wailing of an infant in the woods steadily drawing closer to the park office, open the red lockbox with code 0681. There is a living fetus inside on a bed of satin; pierce its heart with one of the provided golden pin needles until the noises cease.”
Another complicated mess of a rule we had to bring in a Goetic daemonologist to help cook up. I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, sure, if we knew more about these things, we could probably pare these rules down some more, come up with something simpler, easier. But the point is that the rules we have now have weathered the test of time and have been proven to keep us safe consistently. Once we’ve achieved that consistency, a rule pretty much never changes, since any propositions to study alternatives are always shut down by the question of “what happens if your hypothesis doesn’t work?”
Oh yeah, by the way. You recall how I mentioned there are certain entities out here you really don’t want to get taken alive by? This is definitely one of those. Cutting up that fetus is never very pleasant, but trust me, it’s worth the trouble.
But if you want to trail blaze and stake your life testing out some theory you cooked up… be my guest.
“Rule #5: When staying at the old barracks, always cover every mirror in a room before turning out the lights, and never remove or break-“
“Wait. Slow down a second.”
I had not even made it through five rules before the rookie sitting across from me at the cabin rudely interrupted. He was a young man who’d look more at home in Hollywood or Los Angeles than out here in the woods, his immaculately groomed jet black hair slicked to the side like all the posh celebs are doing it. I didn’t have a very good first impression of him, but hell, I always hated when I had to babysit a newbie through a night. Patience was never my strong suit.
“Can I ask why these are all so… infuriatingly vague?” He continued. “Like, what do I do if forgot to cover a mirror? What happens if I don’t clap three times or whatever?”
“Because there’s fifteen rules even just here in Shenandoah. That might not sound like a lot, but when you’re fighting fer your life ‘gainst something with more mouths than you have teeth, it’s a hell of a lot to remember. Got to keep details sparse, y’see. Make sure to drill in the important bits. And it wouldn’t help you none to know what happens if you break a rule - it’d only scare ya,” I explained. “Now shut your yapper while I finish reminding you of ‘em all.”
He groaned. “I’ve already heard them far too many times. At least a thousand today.”
I stared daggers through him. “There’s no such thing as ‘too many’ in this case, boy. People died to write these rules, and they’ll save your life.”
“With all due respect: how, exactly, are these supposed to protect me? Like… how is clapping and throwing salt around supposed to ward off anything? It’s complete nonsense!”
We got a lot of these types of guys: the “rational skeptics” who don’t believe in your silly rules. It’s either that or the fools with more muscle than brains who think they can kill a creature who can make your heart pop with a single thought. Usually, they get filtered out and fired quick. Usually. I made a mental note to beat the ass of whoever decided that this smarmy, cocksure rookie was ready for the graveyard shift. But it was too late to send him home; he wouldn’t make it out of the park alive, if he tried to traipse off through the woods at this hour.
“It doesn’t have to make sense. These things don’t work by our logic.” But I knew I couldn’t convince these types with words alone, so I stood. “C’mere, boy. Let me show you something.”
I led him to the huge window pane on the cabin’s wall, overlooking the forest down below, and checked my watch - only 20 minutes til the show started. It was a pain convincing him to shut up and wait, but that big mouth of his snapped closed the instant he realized something was emerging from the bushes down there.
It was a raccoon - not an unusual sight out here, if not for the fact that it was walking upright. And not the clumsy waddling on hind legs you expect from animals, but it seemed to stroll bipedally with all the grace of a man, as if its body had been unnaturally twisted and deformed to befit a style of movement that was never meant for it. It moved with purpose, crab walking across a mossy field with its upper body rigid as a statue’s would be, one ‘arm’ pointing towards the sky and the other to the ground below. It plodded along its set route for a minute before disappearing back into the shrubbery without ceremony.
He was baffled, slack-jawed. “What the hell was that?”
“Exactly what it looked like,” I told him. “If you’re lookin’ for a logical explanation, there ain’t any. Some places on earth, they aren’t run by our logic. They’ve got a different basis for their rules entirely.”
“And what’s that?”
“Symbolism,” I replied, as if it were obvious. “In our world, everything’s got to follow the laws of cause-and-effect. For what you’ve seen to have happened, two raccoons must’ve fucked at some point to birth the one we saw. Then somebody, probably me, would’ve had to surgically or genetically mutilate it in ways beyond current medical science, tame and train the wretched thing, and set it up to perform this exact routine at this exact time… and all for what? To mildly confuse a rookie ranger? Explaining it would require so much contrivance, so much pulling assumptions out your ass, that it would laugh in the face of Occam’s razor. For our logic, it is unexplainable. Impossible.”
“But symbolically, it made perfect sense. That creature don’t need a backstory or a cause - it prolly just came into existence a few minutes ago, and will pop out of existence once it’s sent its message. Its gesture was the hermetic mantra ‘as above, so below’ - reminding us that everything that everything that happens on the surface world is mirrored in the underworld. It happens every morning at 1:33 AM because that’s the exact time the Witch of Woodbridge killed ‘erself to become the intermediary between the two here in Shenandoah. And it’s a raccoon because...” I paused. “Well, actually, I haven’t really figured that part out yet.”
My words failed to comfort him. In fact, the more I spoke, the more horrified he seemed, eyes widening in confusion and horror as if I’d just sat down and told him that the voices in my head command me to lick the dandruff off of camels. “Oh my God. You’re crazy. You’re actually insane.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Tell ya what. Think of, for an example you’d be familiar with, a voodoo doll. You use a strand of their hair or a toenail or something so that the doll comes to symbolize their physical vessel. By hurting the doll, you’re symbolically hurting their actual body, so the damage happens to both. That’s how the supernatural works.”
He blinked. “Voodoo dolls work?”
“In places like this, they do.” I raised a brow. “Does that surprise you?”
Suddenly, he stood and threw up his hands, as if realizing he’d been made the victim of some sick prank. “You know what? Screw this. I don’t know if this is some kind of hazing thing or what, but I feel like continuing this line of conversation would just leave me as batty as you are.”
My heart lurched with terror as he stomped to the front door and began undoing the numerous slide locks and dead bolts. “Wait! Hell are you thinkin’, boy?”
He’d only barely opened the door a crack before I’d wrapped him in a chokehold, but it’d been enough. He let out a startled yelp as I started violently pulling him across the cabin, practically clobbering him just to keep him from wrestling out of my grip. I was no spring chicken, and the younger man probably could have bested me, but I had the element of surprise on my side, plus a blow to the head that had left him drowsy.
I tossed him headlong through a hatch, down into a crawlspace under the cabin where sage burners and dried tobacco and protective talismans were waiting. I slammed the hatch shut behind him, restraining the squirming rookie with my weight and clapping a hand over his mouth to silence his protests. His face was twisted by confusion and rage, and he was just about to throw me off of him, but then he froze… eyes widening, as we both heard the unmistakable sound of… something walking in through the ajar cabin door.
We’d made it into the crawlspace just in the nick of time.
There was the heavy click-clack of hooves against the wood floor above us, interspersed with quieter thuds. It took him a moment, but I could tell when he’d figured it out. With one pair of legs, the creature walked with normal hooves… with the other, it walked on the knuckles of human hands. And as it stalked the house, knocking over plates and bookshelves, it growled and hissed and groaned not out of one maw, but three: one sounding high and avian, one low and reptilian, and another letting out the soft bleating of a sheep, all in unison like some unholy choir.
Just when it seemed like it couldn’t get any worse, a fourth maw must’ve opened up, for a new sound filled the room “Daddy?” Came a little boy’s voice, desperate and whimpered, sniffling in a way that made me feel sorry for it even despite knowing better. “Why did you leave me out in the woods, daddy? It was so dark… and I was so scared. Please, daddy. I thought you loved me. Where are you?” The child’s voice devolved slowly but pitiful begging to outright sobbing and inconsolable weeping, downright screaming itself hoarse as the clock neared 2 and the creature’s searching grew frantic.
But the very instant the clock struck 2 o’clock, all the sounds ceased, all at once. We waited there for a moment, in that deafening silence… until I smacked the rookie across the back of the head. “Rule 11, you smug prick. You never open the door at this hour of the night. That… thing takes it as an invitation.” My voice made it obvious I was desperately holding back my simmering fury. I’ve beaten folks half to death before, and I’m not afraid to do it again. “If you want to get yourself killed tonight, have at it. But I am not letting you take me down with you.”
Once the nightmare had left, his brain had an opportunity to register what had just happened… which quickly escalated into a full-bore panic attack. “Fuck this, man. What in the hell was that!? Oh God, oh God, oh God, I can’t take this man, no, no, no, I’m not cut out for this, I need to go home, I need to, I can’t-“
I watched nervously as he jumped up and started frantically pacing the cabin. He was acting erratically, sloppily. This couldn’t end well. “Snap out of it, boy! No sense in braving the woods this late at night. Ya won’t be able to see more than a foot in front of your face. Just wait here until sun-“
He swung at me when I tried to restrain him again, almost breaking my nose. “No, man! I can’t take an entire night of this! I need to go! Jesus, let me go, you crazy bastard!”
I didn’t want to admit it, but this one was looking like a lost cause. There was no way I’d be able to overpower him again once he inevitably did something else stupid. Call me selfish, but at this point, my only concern was making sure he didn’t get me killed.
“Alright! God, fine! If it’s really so important to ya… you can go. Your shift’s officially over, rookie. But I ain’t goin’ out there with ya. You’ll have to brave it on yer own. As long as you follow the rules, you should be able to make it back to your car in one piece. You hear me? The rules!”
He pouted like a child being lectured by an overbearing father. “Yeah, yeah, Christ, old man, I get it! I’ll follow the damn rules!”
In my defense, I did furnish him with every single thing he’d need to survive out there. UV flashlights, salt boxes, obsidian talismans, volcanic ash, the dried and shrunken head of a lamb, and more… not that he appreciated any of it. He was just whining at me to hurry up, ignoring all my attempts to remind him of the rules, like he was in a rush to get out there and die horribly. Eventually, I just gave up, shrugged, and let him hike off into that pitch blackness.
To his credit, he made it farther than I’d expected. Twenty minutes of silence passed, and I started to wonder if he’d actually pulled it off after all.
That was about when the screaming started.
I’d heard it too many times before: the distinctive wailing of a man realizing everything he’d done and accomplished in his life had all just been leading up to this moment when a shambling abomination saw fit to deliver him to the afterlife kicking and screaming and missing a few body parts. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest, really, but it was still unpleasant to listen to.
Judging from what little of it was intelligible, he was crying about something pulling out his eyes. Must’ve broken rule 13. Poor, stupid bastard. That one’s so easy, you’d almost have to be breaking it on purpose.
I remember the first time somebody broke a rule and got themselves killed under my watch. It almost broke me. I blamed it all on myself, then. Sent me into a depression for months. But now, after all these decades… I’m just numb.
After all, my only job is to write the rules.
If they don’t want to follow them, well… it’s their funeral.

Harbinger:

Genres: thriller, scifi, fantasy, war, mythology, space
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What is Harbinger really about and who is the messenger of doom? Chapter One Starts with the origins of the Fenshian and the Dochani, it tells of them being of one race. It is an excerpt of a text book written by the main character's ancestors. Dochani Beta refers to the planet that the Dochani came to colonize after several wars fought on other planets, their home world is not known. The Vortex and The Map of the Universe is mentioned so soon in the story, like it is and is not the premise of the book. It mentions the civil war between Dochani on Dochani Beta. War preparations are listed, which includes laying eggs on several million planets. It continues to refer to the Dochani Archives, which are pretty much scattered across the universe. After the civil war, the Dochani are found by the Fenshian and a massacre occurs. Chapter Two starts with hiding in the ocean. The Dochani school system is explained, the Dochani under school is explained, and the Dochani colonies are discussed. Dochani Zeta the planet is introduced at this point in the story. The planet Sevle that the mother of Alexandra, Kenjin, is introduced with the prophesy of destruction for the planet Sevle. With regards to the prophesy, the planet Primus Mortus is mentioned. Kenjin's home planet is mentioned. The Kingdom of Shinra is introduced in the story. Dochani are egg laying beings and as such, this is where Kenjin's Egg is mentioned. The last egg of a Dochani mother, last before her death, gains the previous powers of all of the mothers that had passed, not all Dochani have a last egg before death.
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Their death is usually after they lay the egg, not dying of old age and the last birth or laying is not the last before death if they did not die in the laying of the egg. Alexandra is the last egg, or comes from the last egg rather. The hatching may not happen for 2,000 years as this is what happens with Alexandra. Alexandra, after her hatching, spends over 300 years in the town of Bannian on the planet, Sevle. When it is time to leave the town, it is on a ship named Sea Serpent. Chapter Three begins with the storm on the sea. Alexandra is lost and Kalima and her mother and father carry out their things in the kingdom of Shinra. For Sevlin time passes quickly as they do not normally live very long, they die sooner than later. Fast track to Kevlin being a lot older as Kalima tells of her life. Soon we learn of Kevlin's folly and all of his desires to find Alexandra. The mistakes he makes in front of the wrong people. Chapter four begins Kalima's dilemma. She finds her dad dead in his bed, and begins the process of becoming immortal. Then her father's funeral takes place and she is different, and her family is annoyed with Kalima. She is betrayed by her brothers. Kalima has to survive, no matter what. She is thrown into the ocean and finds herself facing things that she never thought that she would. But she still had to find the truth about what happened with her father and his strange death.
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Chapter five is all about that ocean view and the shaman that betrays her. Kalima becomes the sentient creature of the sea and then becomes a woman of power with a book that should not exist. There is a major magical accident that sends her to be born from another, on an Earth. She is in an egg of her mother and her mother is born. Chapter six she is born from that mother. Mad science is done on her as she is eventually known as Tika Roma. There is higher tech on this world, like it was at 2500+ AD. Chapter seven she begins to get more powerful. Chapter eight she makes terms with her captors. Later that Earth explodes and she is sent somewhere else. Chapter nine we are back to Alexandra when she went overboard from the ship, Sea Serpent on the planet Sevle. She meets the L'art'o tribe that takes her in, but does not take her in. They are cannibals so they think a little differently. Alexandra learns their customs while a captive. Chapter ten she is tattooed with dots and branded. She is a slave. Chapter eleven she is taught how she is to serve the L'art'o tribes people. At the end of the initiation of being a servant, there is the smoking of the pipe. It brings out the beast within her. After she finds herself on Sortenla, another planet where she eats lily pads. Chapter twelve begins with her back in the L'arto'o tribe, but after being away for fifteen years and many of the tribes people were eaten by wolves or a wolf.
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An acolyte, Jentus, takes her in to get supplies for being trained as a hunter. Chapter thirteen begins her hunter training. Basic training is fighting and exercises, an enchanted forest is used to get more out of training in a shorter time frame. It feels longer than it actually is in the real world. The Dochani are explained in the words of her captor, Jentus. Blocks, punches and kicks are explained and worked on. Chapter fourteen begins with the practice sword, a short sword. After some time she is sent into the Enchanted Forest again where she has to survive on grubs and foraging. Shortly after passing through the veil between the real world and unknown world she ends up on another world, a Dochani world. Chapter fifteen she begins mage training with her father, Genshen. Karma is the essence of Dochani magic. There is a training accident and because of stress she finds herself in the in-between assassin world of the wolf. A six hundred thousand year old wolf that no longer exists outside of the realm of the wolf, trains her how to be an assassin. Back in the L'art'o tribe none of them is left and the devourer of worlds that was prophesied to come on Sevle, comes. Fenshian means devourer. Chapter sixteen she is back on Sortenla, the planet. The army structure of the Grand Reach is explained by SilverFox. SilverFox makes his escape from a forward camp with important papers, while the rest of the army fights the enemy. Chapter seventeen is the logistics of various members of the group that peeled off and the defenders that were left behind. The defenders at the forward camp are overrun and only one sergeant survives the attack, as the sergeants were left in charge of fighting the enemy while ciphers are being taken to the king or high ruler.
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Tree the scout is caught and the shapeshifter elf is found out as he was one of the sergeants. In the desperate fight or flight run SilverFox tumbles down a hill and runs into Alexandra, or this is the other side of her story being revealed. Tree is caught by the necromancer, the nemesis or one of the nemisises of the story. Chapter eighteen introduces the Magi. Ghast Ogres are the Magi. Alexandra cannot find a source to fuel her magic on Sortenla so she uses blood magic to heal her and SilverFox, binding them together. Her father warned her that this magic can corrupt your karma. It is reported to the king that his son and the ciphers he was carrying, were captured. SilverFox is the son of the king. The Ghast Ogre is rescued by two female elves, the Ghast Orge's soon to be wives, and the shapeshifter elf is found to be the uncle of one or both of the elves that rescue the Ghast Ogre. The necromancer is in a bath house in the city of bone. Scouts report to the king of where SilverFox and the girl is, as the king does not know who she is at this point. Chapter nineteen we are introduced to the city of bone and what takes place there. Betrayed by the only scouts to give the king the message of where SilverFox is, those that were with SilverFox before wait in cells. SilverFox and Alexandra are in a stone room. Within the Gunga Jungle, the Ghast Ogre kingdom, the two elves marry the Ghast Ogre in the Ghast custom. Part of the process is Magi Tattoos. Chapter twenty brings in the necromancer's undead armies. War between the allies and the emperor begin. SilverFox, Alexandra and the others are tortured in the city of bone, while the war is fought on more than a few fronts.
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Things get so bad that Alexandra turns into the wolf and kills several of the captors and torturers. Chapter twenty one begins the tea party with two elf lady's after they come to save Alexandra and the rest of those being tortured that were not already dead. After a long talk, training is offered as well as ancient armour said to bond with those that wear it, or kill them if they are not Dochani. Armour that can be summoned in layers, weapons as well made from the same materials. Chapter twenty two begins bow training. Go'gen style of martial arts, the style used by the elves and the Ghast Ogres, is taught to her. Real weapons are used in sparring. Alexandra, SilverFox and their family receive 150 Magi tattooes and are part of the Magi. When Alexandra is 1590 years old, the Fenshian come to Sortenla. Chapter twenty three begins Alexandra's long 20,000+ years of metamorphosis. Afterwards Alexandra is feline with wings and claws and her family is missing. She is still on Sortenla. Hunters are hunting for a feast, the Boggarin is one of the delicacies of trolls. A tiger is hunted, then an Egorack, and of course the Rhagarian Hog. At this time there is not much of the big empires of the past just tribal villages, good trolls, and of course bad trolls. A long table is where they will eat this food after the cooks prepare it. Chapter twenty four finally declares Alexandra as champion, even though she was away for like 25,000 years and so much changed while she was changing. Chapter twenty five begins with the betrothal as all alliances are weddings or marriages.
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In this time, the marriage gauntlet is a thing and you run through it when you get married. If you don't make it, you don't get married. Once through it, the marriage alliance happens with the marriage of two tribes becoming one. Chapter twenty six begins the mind trap, a Fenshian trick. Michael Cronin, the necromancer, is still alive after 25,000 years or not as he is just a Lich. The creature that is Michael Cronin is sent into another existence when Alexandra crushes his heart. The war goes on and the Fenshian are destroyed, but in the end Alexandra is hit with a strange black dart and disappears. Chapter twenty seven begins with Nobeard leaving a note for the one to come, which is several thousand years after the disappearance of Alexandra. A small group of bandits with iron gauntlets on their armour and bad trolls are in this time, left over of the enemies before. Tribes and a troll / tribe hybrid from an old alliance exist in this time. They are all descendants of those that fought the Fenshian and the undead so long ago. The Iron Fist are descendants of the emperor's men. Chapter twenty eight is the meeting after the Iron Fist men attacked the village. Allies will be gathered just like what happened more than seven thousand years ago. This is still the planet Sortenla. Dractopus are explained here and Dragon Rats. Of course.
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After rest, all go to different areas to gather and form a new city. Chapter twenty nine troll history is explained and the other races on Sortenla as many left for somewhere else. In chapter thirty the great hunt begins like it did more than seven thousand years ago, chapter thirty one is the feast and marriage proposals, chapter thirty two is the journey to the new city. Chapter thirty three is where everyone agreed to meet. As they all travel towards the agreed upon place, Kalima comes down in a great ball of fire. Chapter thirty four they see a black castle in the distance and head towards it. 50,000 plus allies entered the castle and were just gone. On the planet Earth 2150 a Jacob Mathews is tossed a black sphere and disappears from that planet. Jacob ends up on another planet changed from what he was. Chapter thirty five Jacob get's married to the daughter of the Icorn people. The Icorn people begin to get wings again and the Icorn Fortress is moved into. Aqua goblins have to be fought that burn in the daylight. Chapter thirty six starts on the planet Primodia where Delaigda resides. She rides on a black horse through a wall of black and disappears from her world. The'd'r resides on the planet Geh where everyone that touches a black object goes. He is in search of the one.
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Delaigda becomes a gladiator of sorts on the planet Geh. Chapter thirty seven brings a few heroes together. The heroes are pursued. The underground and the syndicate are opposing factions. Chapter thirty eight the heroes think of the past. The syndicate is explained. The underground is explained. Chapter thirty nine is the vortex and what it means with regards to Alexandra. Thorinjian, on the planet Khangle, encounters a black sphere and it sends him to the planet Geh. He ends up saving the boss of the underground and makes a deal with her. Orc Carcass Tavern makes its first appearance as Thorinjian has visions induced by the singer. Alexandra awakes in a Lagoon not knowing who she is. Chapter forty we learn of the keeper of the Lagoon. Alexandra undergoes training, and also training within dreams. She get's sick from not knowing herself and ends up at the Ork Carcass Tavern. Chapter forty one the doctor arrives to treat Alexandra.
Book can be found here Harbinger

So I’ve been looking for some birds and all of my local pet stores are selling birds at a ridiculous amount and I’m not looking for a crazy species just a GCC. I found a website with breeders and I found a baby GCC named Harry Potter, the breeder is located at Tx while I have ordered fish online I have never odered reptiles or any birds and I don’t know if it’s a good idea, it has a details saying that they are shipped in a plane via live animal cargo and it said on the description of the birds that it was tested for disease and as well as the parents. It had also mentioned that before they let the bird go to a new home they get a certified avian veterinary technician, I have everything on standby cage food toys treats etc money set aside for emergency vet visits, I just need to know if it’s safe and a good idea.(also the birds hatch date is 3/31/22

The 3 basic parameters of hashtag #Valzubiriagenda:

1. We artists and everyone else can write and self-publish art- and artist-related books: memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs. Books are forever. Pamphlets and brochures are not books.
2. We announce a schedule of increasing prices of our art pieces, which includes quantities (scarcity numbers) per price point and overall (the total quantity of art pieces we might ever make). This helps art traders, art investors and art collectors speculate or even stop speculating and instead join a community of investors working together to hopefully skyrocket to the higher announced prices in a shorter span of time.
3. We can use the NFT world, because NFTs provide the tracking (who owns what) and trading.

We can also not be involved with NFTs. Stores and individuals can help sell art using online presence and our catalogs in the stores. If this trends, or once this trends, even expensive art can be sold by neighboring businesses, without exclusivity. Commission systems do not have to be standardized. Art investors can produce their own catalogs to leave at the cafés. Even the cafés can produce their own catalogs.
Valzubiriagenda NFTs
NFTs only came about a few years ago. But I had been working on this since the 1990s. I wrote a book, Valzubiriagenda, along with fellow artist Silverio Perez, and released it in 2018 (Amazon and elsewhere), tackling everything related to #1 & #2. We'll come up with #3 in a later book/ memoi marketing book.
Any artist, including tangible artists can release 10,000 NFTs if the artist chooses to do so. For tangible artists, the NFT first becomes an Art Commission Contract for sight unseen, yet-to-be made art. Once the art is made, the NFT becomes proof of ownership that the actual, tangible art is theirs.
Warehousing our tangible art
Another related idea is that the tangible art may be warehoused by the artist so that the NFT traders continue to trade. This means that even 10-ton 10-foot tall sculptures can be owned and traded by anyone without worrying about shipping, reshipping, scratches, smudges, parts breaking off, etc. The newness of the pieces remain because they are stored by the artist, source, gallery, etc. The art piece gets shipped to the art collector, the ultimate owner.
An artist who makes ceramic coffee mugs - smaller art pieces, can release 10,000 NFTs with a schedule of increasing prices so that NFT traders can trade immediately. The 10,000 coffee mugs can get damaged, so as they are made, they continue to be stored by the artist, until the time when art collectors decide to have the art pieces shipped to them.
Why only now?
I decided to write as many book-length memoirs as I can before I came out to promote this.
I'm an artist and an author. Both need time to "master." I would not even fully use "master" on myself, because there's always something new, even to my own art, my own writing and publishing.

I am now claiming that I'm the visual artist who has produced the most artist memoirs in the world. I have 5 on Amazon. I count Valzubiriagenda as both a marketing book and a memoir-of-sorts, because it has a lot of my own life lessons on writing and publishing. I would not care to contest my claim of having the most memoirs. I will release 5 more over the next 3 years.

BARTER! Get help to write, photograph art and publish your books!
Anyone can hire 11 ghostwriters for 11 memoirs. If you can make art, but you cannot write, then barter your forever art with those who can help you produce forever books.
I don't feel the pressure of writing and publishing because I feel my focus should be on art students and art experts who would study my art and my books 100 years from now. Don't expect relatives and friends to read your books.
I call myself the Dollman
For my NFTs, I am proposing to make dioramas - my original, costumed, bejeweled porcelain dolls in backdrops that will also have precious metals and gemstones. This way I can incorporate precious metals and gemstones in my work, to make sure that people perceive my art as expensive, just in case I myself don't become "famous" - there's no need to get world famous. We are artists and all we need to do is to satisfy the art niche.
Use your laptop now!
I will encourage you to start writing your book-length memoir. Write, Edit and then Self-publish it. Get help. Why wait a hundred years for someone to write about you when all you need is a laptop and a nearby coffee shop.
Don't start counting chickens before the eggs hatch. I have encountered a lot of would-be writers who immediately see themselves as bestselling. world famous assets to society. Two even wanted me to sign NDAs (Nondisclosure agreements), because they did not want me to steal their book ideas.
Here's a suggestion. I would not personally do it. From one manuscript can come 2 books: The Original Draft (unedited, with misspellings, considered to be an art piece, scanned pages(?) of your handwritten original effort), and The Final Edition (edited).
PROVENANCE!
Another way to enhance our investability, tradability and collectability is PROVENANCE - how art ownership proceeds through time. The way this can be done is also through publishing books. Everyone can write their memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs, including traders, investors and art collectors. In effect, we artists can continue to be included or mentioned in even more books, without any additional effort by us.
You as an investor, reseller, trader, art collector should be able to publish a catalog with 250 works by 250 different artists, but they need to agree to this right from the start - it's your money, you should require them to follow your version of the hashtag #valzubiriagenda parameters, which preferably should include permission for you to publish their art. Why would you track down 250 artists later?
No exclusive contracts
If you're a café, you can call for artists, and come up with a book with for example, 30 artists, with a chapter devoted to each artist's profile and images of the artist's art.
You can distribute your catalogs to businesses and individuals near and far and online.
The book Valzubiriagenda even cites that funeral homes and janitors closets can sell art, with or without exclusivity. Airline catalogs can include million dollar art pieces. Car manufacturers, showrooms and even car repair shops can sell art as well. Everyone should be able to do this, anywhere in the world, especially not just because of the pandemic, but right now, we are in really bad economies.
What's with the name #Valzubiriagenda
I was into conspiracy theories in 2018, and this term, "The Mandela Effect," was popular. I had read many times that an artist coined the term, but I had to research online, for her name, many times, before remembering it. I'm not good at remembering names. It took me a year and a half to finally tell you that Fiona Broome coined "The Mandela Effect."
I also thought I might have to research trademarks and copyrights just to come up with a generic name. So I decided on "Valzubiriagenda." I was not really sure at first, but I decided to use it as the title for my book (with co-authoartist Silverio Perez) so that there would be no turning back and I can move on.
Am I a FUTURIST?
Someone I recently met this May 2022 just called me a futurist.
In the 1990s, I proposed to a pension fund that they can raise billions of dollars, especially for emergencies, or as needed, or out of desperation, if the pension fund purchases a quantity of art from an artist who not only has a current, reasonable price, but an announced future price that the artist wants to reach.
That future price would obviously be higher than the current price. The art commission contract for multiple art pieces can be taken to the fund's financial lender for a loan. The higher future price can be used for financing purposes.
The pension fund's treasurer, a publicly elected official, said this idea might work, but we had to keep this a secret and discuss this some more, because other pension funds might copy and do this prematurely. This idea had to come from the two of us. The treasurer needed his votes and I needed credentials.
Added into the pot was my idea that I, as the artist, will also write one book-length artist memoir. This was and still is a strong factor, because the leadership and marketing books I had read then mentioned a strong tip. If you want to advance in your field, write a full-length book that is related to the field.
Unfortunately, the elected official, the treasurer of the pension fund, who was also a friend, passed away - he was old and had ailments. At that point in time, I cannot just approach another pension fund treasurer to share this idea with.
I realized I had to write a few memoirs. I needed to set an example for other artists, so I needed to write more than one memoir. Then I felt I should also make ready another book - the how-to of what I'm up to. I wrote Valzubiriagenda, which was a memoir of sorts. I knew how long it would take me to write a book, so I had to make sure I can also consider this book a memoir.
In 2008, I imagined that someone like Bernie Madoff, or a fund like Lehman Brothers, would be desperate enough to use this to save themselves and their companies. I was not ready. I had only written 1 manuscript for a memoir.
In 2012, I released Dollman the Musical, A Memoir of an Artist as a Dollmaker. Once again, I was not ready because writing it depressed me a little, and I knew I had to write more.
In 2014, I released 3 memoirs, and re-released Dollman the Musical. Besides releasing regular books, I released special editions of the 4 books, which had a "Special Secret Insert for Bankers," which explains my ideas of an announced schedule of exponentially increasing prices, to satisfy investors, and the publication of artist memoirs, to satisfy art collectors.
In 2014, I also issued out a press release. Google "Can Billion Dollar Artist Save Investors and World Economy Valentino Zubiri PRWeb August 19 2014" and you will see the press release.
What I did was stake a claim on my ideas. I did not promote my books and the press release. I just wanted them to stay online, like a sleeping giant or a dormant volcano. I even designed 3 of the book covers to look like indie books from the 1980s. I was planting the seeds, thinking they will eventually grow and bear fruit in the future.
In 2015, I was interviewed by Richard Syrett, about one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately. This book is my memoir with paranormal stories. I could have pursued promoting my paranormal stories, but I wanted to be known first as a visual artist and memoirist, so I allowed myself one interview related to Hocus Pocus Lately. Richard Syrett has(had?) his own syndicated radio show, The Conspiracy Show with Richard Syrett, about the paranormal. He also guest hosts on Coast to Coast AM, another internationally syndicated show about the paranormal.
In 2018, I released Valzubiriagenda (co-authored by artist Silverio Perez, a fellow artist). Finally, this book is "the how-to of what I'm to."
I'm going to end this with some strangeness. In 1986, a lady at a religious gathering went into a trance and left a good number of messages. Supposedly, anyone who got into a trance would have messages, but once the trance was over, the person would not remember what was said.
I was not part of the group, but the lady turned her head to face me. She "foretold" that whatever I would decide to do in the future, it will take time, but it will be the right thing. This is one of my stories in one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately.
The Tulipmania of 1634-37
I discovered that there was this incident of rare tulips becoming collectible during the Dutch Golden Age. There were tulips so rare and so well-desired that their prices equaled to that of a house. You can read more about this online (Wikipedia) or watch a few YouTube videos about it.
Here is the most useful idea that I gleaned from the Tulipmania. The tulip bulbs remained safe inside nurseries. The traders were carrying the deeds of ownership to the tulip bulbs.
Then NFTs came to the forefront
I started learning PHP, an HTML scripting language, and MySQL, the database that PHP can connect to in the background, in 1999, when there were only 3 books about PHP and MySQL at the bookstores.
By 2014, I was trying to figure out how to make the "ledger," or database that can be used to update ownership and who can be contacted. If we are trading art, then the art ownership should be updated.
Then NFTs came about. This can be used as our ledger. Everyone can immediately trade NFTs of future, yet-to-be made art pieces, especially because it takes time to make tangible art.
NFTs actually went a step ahead, by allowing digital art to be traded.
The only setback with NFTs, in my opinion, is that it still lacks a commission system for resellers and representatives.
For example, if a café wants to represent me, then they can promote me at their café and on their online pages. If I make one piece of art that will be exclusively represented by a gallery, then that commission will be different and more specific. As ownership is transferred, the subsequent owners should be able to reset the commission. We should also have the option of giving commissions to hundreds of representatives at one time with different percentages if need be.
The recent crypto crash
Lately, we have observed that NFTs and cryptocurrencies have been behaving like the stock market and other markets. They have been fluctuating.
I believe that it is time for a trend which discourages fluctuation of prices.
I have also seen YouTube videos where social influencers are encouraging us to be on the lookout for exponentially profitable ventures, because we have all seen this happen with the exponential increase of Bitcoin and Ethereum.
Let's see if #Valzubiriagenda trends
We can announce present and future art prices. The galleries won't do this (yet?) because they follow a more traditional approach to the business of art.
We have a choice of using incrementally or exponentially increasing prices. We still reserve the right to change things in the future, so everyone should know to follow the latest update.
If this trends, if you as an artist simply announces that you will write an artist memoir, or that you will include the future works in future art books, you might have more art traders, investors and collectors approaching you.
Get your pen, paper and calculator
Imagine yourself as an artist, where you are right now. Let's just say you still do not have a book about yourself and your art yet. Imagine now that you have a memoir out there. Don't you think it makes sense to charge more than what you are charging now? Writing and publishing books is just the beginning. I'm just standardizing this approach. The books also say to do other related projects. In my case, getting Dollman the Musical onstage is one idea. You will have other related projects, but the publication of memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs will help all of us.
You can also imagine that a law firm that has meeting rooms, with someone who wants to form a local #valzubiriagenda group, can have meetings. A local café can do the same. Local photographers for your art, writers, editors, book designers, proofreaders and others can join in.
I suggest have printed books to share. 15 copies of your memoir or art books will be better than an e-reader or laptop or your phone to show. These gadgets can be stolen, sabotaged, broken, have coffee spilled on them, etc. 15 printed books means simultaneously showing to 15 people. You can even give them away to potential resellers, investors, traders and collectors.
When it rains, it pours, as in the days of Noah
There's a saying, "When it rains, it pours." There is a negative interpretation and a positive interpretation.
Negative: When trouble comes, they cascade to even more.
Positive: When opportunity comes knocking, more follow suit. We can assume that if one gets our art because of #valzubiriagenda, more want to do it now, because of the rising prices, and FOMO - fear of missing out. What will they lose if they miss the boat?
As I have said earlier, if the #valzubiriagenda trends, if you announce a future memoir or art catalog, you might have an increase of investors, traders and art collectors who would want to check you out. You might encourage more sales. Just remember to write and publish that memoir and art catalog.
There's this saying, "As in the days of Noah." Imagine Noah, building his ark, with members of his own family, putting all his time and effort into it. Noah was a nice guy. I'm sure every once in a while a neighbor offered him coffee, or chai latte, or whatever refreshing drink they might have back then.
Here's the lesson to be learned. Just because they offered him some type of bubble tea drink, or coca cola, they still didn't make it to the ark. Rubbing shoulders with actors does not make you an actor. I have told my artist friends to write their memoirs. They told me that once they see me succeed, after all these many years of seeing my seemingly useless efforts, then they will write their memoirs and follow the road that I had paved for them.
Good luck to them, but if I were you, act now, get my art or make art. Support the 5-year old artist whose parent promised to release a comprehensive art catalog. If you get that 5-year old's art, and mine, I would be honored to be in the same art catalog that you will produce. I'm already successful at that point. You have gotten the mission just right.
I have already claimed to have written the most book-length artist memoirs in the world. Dethrone that claim. Barter. Use ghostwriters. Success to me means facing God one day and saying, I wrote my memoirs and left the world a legacy of books and art. I will not tell God, smiling and proudly, that I encouraged a run for my art by announcing a schedule of exponentially increasing prices that reached 9 figures. I'm sure God knows we had fun.

JOIN THIS GROUP

If you want to try out #valzubiriagenda, in any capacity, join this group. Let others know about this group as well.
If you are an artist, you can let everyone know here that you will produce your memoir, art catalogs, etc. It's okay if you don't know how to go about publishing yet, I will discuss this. Please be honorable enough to produce what you promise to produce.
If you want to meet fellow artists, investors, resellers, etc., join us here.
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Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, Artist, Memoirist
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Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, artist & memoirist

Chapter VI
The first land we sighted after leaving Sydney was the Three Kings, New Zealand. We had run before a fair wind up to this time, and had come into what was regarded as a good whaling ground. Now every eye was scanning the horizon, since a bottle of grog was promised to the man who should first sight a whale. I had been on the port watch since I came on board under Mr Hawkins, the chief mate, and one evening, just as our watch below was ending, I went aloft to see the sun set. Against the broad, red horizon I saw some dark objects spouting and tumbling. In an instant I had shouted “Whales ho!” to claim the bottle of grog. “Where away?” was the skipper's question. “On the lee bow, sir.” For an instant he scanned the spot with his glass, an anxious moment for me lest I should have mistaken a shoal of porpoises for a school of whales, and not only lose my prize but expose myself to the ridicule of my fellow sailors. “Right you are, it's whales, sure enough; you have won your grog, lad.”
We had no time to lose; the night would soon be on us, and our chance would be lost. Down went the boat with Ned Farne, our harpooner, in the bows ready to launch his weapons when opportunity offered. On came the school, tumbling and blowing, throwing jets of water ten or fifteen feet into the air, causing a very grand yet terrible scene. At length they got almost within range; the boys were pulling like mad to keep up with the pace the whales were swimming at. We saw Ned rise up in the bows, poise his arm back for an instant, then launch the harpoon straight for the huge back of the fish that was nearest to him. The aim was true, the missile was buried over the barb in the soft blubber beneath the outer skin, and away went the whale dragging the harpoon rope after it so rapidly that they had to pour water upon the side of the boat to prevent it from igniting, through the violent friction. Again the huge creature rose to breathe, and another harpoon was driven into it, causing it once more to rush away through the water at lightning speed. Darkness fell over the scene before they had killed it, and the boat remained by the carcase all night to prevent it sinking. When morning came it was a busy scene on board, preparing to cut it in and try it out. At length the task was completed, and five large sacks of oil were secured; not a large yield certainly, but the foretaste of better things, we hoped. We cruised over the same ground for several days, but saw no more whales, accordingly we stretched across to Curtis' Island, about 500 miles to the north-east, where in about a month we got five or six more, some of them giving very fair yields of oil. After this we ran down upon Norfolk Island, where we fell in with the Mercury, schooner, Captain Barnet, also on a whaling cruise from Tasmania. From her we shipped two additional hands, and then made for Moreton Bay, on the coast of Queensland. Here not a solitary fish was to be seen, therefore we ran back for our old ground off Curtis' Island. Scarcely had we arrived when we fell in with a heavy gale from the north-east, raging for twenty days, in which we had to heave to, not being able to show a rag of sail. On the 21st day, when the wind began to lull, we found ourselves off the Three Kings, a drift of more than 500 miles. We had shipped such heavy seas, and the force of the storm had been so great, that our tryworks had been carried away, and three of our boats stove in. Therefore we bore up for the Bay of Islands, where we arrived on the 10th of April, 1811, anchoring as before off Te Puna. We were the only vessel in the bay at the time, though others entered during our stay.
The same day that we reached our anchorage a chief named Taua Makia came aboard to take care of us and watch over our interests, lest we should be swindled in trade or otherwise maltreated. This considerate proceeding was not disinterested, but the ‘consideration’ expected was not large. The Skipper ordered a boat to go ashore and bring a load of gravel to serve as shot for our guns since this had been omitted in the ship's supplies, and the natives were not to be trusted, even though we had a protector. The news had spread like wild-fire that a ship was at anchor in the bay, and already scores of canoes were being launched to pay a visit to the pakeha, but we loaded our guns, and pointing them astern, ordered all the visitors to keep back, which, after a little demur and grumbling they did. Nevertheless, all throughout our stay, they never desisted in the attempt to get on board, considering it a gross breach of hospitality on our part to deny them the privilege. As our example was imitated by Captain Walker, of the Endeavour brig, that came in a few days after us, having on board two missionaries for Tahiti - Messrs Davidson and Williams - the natives concluded that in us they had got a very bad and uncivil customer to deal with.
Meantime we had commenced work upon the repairs of the vessel. Nearly all our spars had been carried away, together with our jibboom and some of the bulwarks; we had lost every boat but one, and small leaks were demanding attention, We bad two sawyers on board, and as Captain Walker had three whom he lent us for the time, our skipper thought it best to put the ship thoroughly to rights here, in place of putting back to Sydney. Accordingly, the sawyers went ashore, rigged up the pits, and commenced work vigorously. But the Maoris did not exactly see the force of this. They imagined that we were concocting some diabolic scheme of destruction against them in making such extensive preparations, which they considered as in some way identified with our worship. They pulled down the works and threatened to kill the sawyers if they attempted to resume operations. But a volley from the vessels soon scattered them, and a strong guard being picked from the crews of both ships, they were hereafter permitted to labour uninterruptedly. During this time, I had considerable liberty granted to me to go ashore, or to go fishing with Taua Makia. The first time I availed myself of the former privilege, I received as great a scare as ever I had in my life. Three of us had been wandering about in a bit of bush near the Keri-Keri River, trying to find our way back to the saw-pits, when suddenly we issued upon a cleared space, in which were a few houses and patches of cultivation. Before the entrance to one of the whares stood a band of females crowned with chaplets of green leaves, and wringing their hands. One of these, an elderly woman, who seemed to act as chief mourner upon the occasion, and had a chaplet of dog's hair round her temples, different from the others, advanced in front and began to throw her arms about, raising her head and eyes to heaven. Whilst doing this, in a very plaintive quavering tone, she commenced a wailing song, in which she was joined by her companions. I was afterwards initiated into this, and now give a specimen of a funeral lament: -
Taku hei he piripiri (my fragrant bundle the piripiri) Taku hei moki-moki (my fragrant bundle the mokimoki) Taku hei tawiri (my fragrant bundle the tawiri) Taku kati taramea (my sweet juice of the taraniea) Te hei o te pounamu (the companion of the greenstone) I haramai ai - e (is gone - alas, upon) I runga te angai-ia-ana (the angai-e-).
It was the tangi, or wail for the dead. But at this period I knew nothing of Maori customs or ceremonies, and my very hair began to rise with horror as I thought perhaps they might be celebrating some human sacrifices. Our fear kept us quiet. In the thick bush we lay watching the scene, overshadowed by the gloom of a gigantic kauri-tree, and wishing ourselves anywhere but in our present predicament. When the sorrowful song was ended, and the females had entered the whare, we noiselessly strove to retrace our steps, and chance favouring us, we came out a mile or two from where the sawyers were at work. As I afterwards discovered, no duty is so sacred or so obligatory as the interment of the dead, no trouble being considered too great, no expense too excessive, no lamentation too extreme to testify to the respect in which the deceased was held on earth, and to raise him in the estimation of the mysterious spirits to whom he had gone. Taua Makia sometimes went with us fishing to induce the prey to come upon hooks by the constant chanting of Karakias or incantations, supposed to have a very potent influence over the finny tribe. I cannot say we were ever very successful when he was with us, since the noise he made and the fishing gear he would insist upon employing were neither conducive to lure the fish to our bait, nor to hold them when they were hooked. But this, of course, may have been merely an ignorant pakeha's prejudice, since many a lusty kahawai or schnapper, have I caught with a hook made from a dead man's bone. Don't wince, reader; better, is it not, to be put to some use after death, than to feed a legion of hungry worms.
We began to mix a little with the natives when ashore, and I grew more familiarised with their ways. We attended their baptisms, He Tohi, and gave presents to the infant, that it never enjoyed; we consulted the Niu, or divining sticks, whether we should reach home in safety; we were present at their marriage tauas, when the bride was carried off by main force sometimes minus her clothing, finally we were guests at their hakaris, or feasts, and could vouch for the excellence of Maori culinary skill. But we shall have enough of these in the course of the narrative, the reader shall eat and drink to his heart's content but at present we must keep to the thread of our story.
In a fortnight the sawyers had finished their work ashore, a week more completed the repairs aboard, and whatever little trade we had carried on completed, the skipper thought of standing out to sea again. In some mysterious way or other, I had offended the old bosun of our ship, and he had persecuted me with most relentless malice. Nothing I could do was right, the rope's end was my daily sauce, and complaints about my laziness were continually being carried to the captain. At length one day, irritated by their constant occurrence, he said when another of my misdeeds was laid before him, “String him up then, and give him a dozen.” This was just what the bosun wanted; and in a trice he strung me up to the mast, and a good round dozen I received, being only released when nearly fainting with pain and shame. He had got the best of it just now; my day of retribution came again. Now, this method of instructing me in navigation was by no means to my taste, and as two of our men had absconded the day previous, concealed, as was thought, in the bush, I imagined I could emulate their example, perhaps, to join them. At least, I should first go to the Endeavour, as she lay nearer the shore, if not, the bush it must be. Therefore, waiting my opportunity, about 3 o'clock one morning I slipped overboard and swam noiselessly to the companion ship. As I came alongside puffing and blowing, thoroughly exhausted with the long swim, and almost inclined to give up the business, the carpenter, who was acting as bosuns mate in the Endeavour for the time, saw me, and flung me a rope, by which I climbed on deck. I told him my story, and as he was a decent sort of a fellow, he was slipping me quietly along the deck to the foc'sle, when the second mate saw us and demanded to know what I wanted there. With my usual readiness, I invented a tale of a morning swim and exhaustion, but the story would not hold water, and the captain was informed of my arrival. As soon as morning broke he sent over to the Harwich, telling Captain Simmons that I was on board his vessel, and about nine our skipper came over with two men to take me back. Reluctantly enough I went, as I knew a flogging was in store for me, but to my surprise the captain only took me into his cabin and rated me soundly for my foolhardiness in risking my life thus, telling me I escaped a flogging by his having discovered many of the bosuns stories to be untrue. My condition was now better on board, as I was taken aft, and kept under the captain's own eye. My enemy, the bosun, was speechless with rage, yet he was powerless now to do me harm.
About a week after this the Endeavour sailed, Captain Walker having come on board the Harwich and taken a very friendly farewell of our skipper, and a fortnight afterwards we followed suit, going back to our old cruising ground at the Three Kings. The weather was very uncertain and squally, so that we did not see any whales; therefore we stretched over to Norfolk Island, and speedily were busy at work.
The first day we arrived we secured three whales, which we cut in and tried out, the third day two more, and the fifth day another. Then our luck seemed to change, and not a solitary fish could we see for an entire month. We tried all our former grounds, Curtis' Island, Moreton Bay, Three Kings, to no purpose, only when off the East Cape did we catch sight of a small whale, which we secured but only got one barrel of oil from it. The weather now began to be very stormy; winter was at its depth, and the air was piercingly cold. Therefore Captain Simmons concluded to break the cruise, to run for Sydney, discharge his cargo of oil, and commence anew. Another consideration, also, was that several of the men were very ill with scurvy and dysentry - in fact, the crew was only at half at its usual complement, therefore the cry was “about ship,” and “Sydney ho!”
It was whilst running home before a fine fresh breeze, that one night we were knocked up by Mr Hawkins singing out, “Ship on fire on the weather bow.” The shock was electrical. Everyone bundled out of their hammocks and rushed on deck. There on the horizon was a grand and terrible spectacle. A large ship was burning from stem to stern, lighting up the gloom of the winter's night for miles around, throwing a deep lucid glare over the inky ocean. The flames were bursting up the hatches, were licking the masts and spars, were peeping out in little forked tongues through the portholes. The captain ordered lights to be burned at the masthead, blank charges to be fired from the guns every minute, and the jolly-boat to be manned and to go in search of survivors. In an hour our efforts were rewarded by three boat-loads of fear-stricken men boarding us and asking reception. They informed us that the burning ship was the “Lady Lucy” from Sydney to London, that she had caught fire when a week out, from a burning candle falling into an oil cask, and that over 50 lives had already been lost through the capsizing of two of their boats. Captain Simmons made them welcome, and a few days after we reached Sydney, where they were taken in hand by the Government and forwarded home by the next vessel. Thus ended my voyage in the Harwich, perhaps the most pleasant of all my trips.

This part got a little bit away from me. I only intended to have a brief moment between David and Ruk'sa, but it grew a bit more than I planned. It seemed like the right time for David to tell a little bit about his side of things. I hope you enjoy, and once again let me know what you think.
First / Prev / Next (At some point)
CW: Suicidal thoughts/actions
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David was all-too familiar with the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d spent many nights staring up at it praying for sleep to take him. Of course, then he had to deal with the nightmares. Tonight, was no different. Well, there were the two fik sleeping on either side of him, but the insomnia still had a firm grasp of him. The following afternoon he was supposed to catch a chartered shuttle out to the boonies for the funeral of a man he didn’t know. He could probably catch some sleep on the red eye, but if he couldn’t even sleep in his own bed…
He decided to stretch his legs. Thanks to a bit of luck, he wasn’t pinned down like last time, so he tried his best to stealthily shuffle off the foot of the bed. He padded silently to the bathroom, closed the door, then flicked on the light. Blinded for a moment, he blinked his eyes a couple times in the mirror until his vision cleared. Between the dark circles under his eyes and how gaunt his cheeks had become; his face took on an almost skull-like appearance.
He stared into his eyes, watching them dilate ever so slightly. Come on, man. You gotta get some sleep. Something. Anything. He ran his fingers through his mop, contemplating whether he should try and find some kind of barber. Perhaps one that could do something about his beard too. Knowing his luck, the aliens probably just grow perfect hair and have no concept of a hairstylist.
Resting his elbows on the counter, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. Just let exhaustion take you. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He flicked off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark once again. Once he could see, he padded back out of the bathroom and into the living room. The fik had overrun the small abode. Half a dozen bodies strewn about peacefully asleep on the floor, the room full of gentle breathing and the occasional snore. Chief Sulta had claimed the couch after being denied the bed by David. She made it clear he could also use the bed, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger into it. This of course didn’t stop the other two who were with him the previous night. Apparently, they thought they got a pass. He was too frustrated to object. Plus…They were warm…
David carefully stepped over the sleeping forms making his way to his kitchen. The chief seemed alright after a couple conversations. His guardians disapproved vehemently of course, but she seemed honest. A bit too honest. She really intended to do everything she could to keep David safe, but…Well, she wasn’t the sharpest bulb in the box.
Clearing the threshold, he made his way to the fridge for something to drink. As he sipped, he checked the time. It was still a few hours till morning. It was hard to tell on station. This one orbited a moon that orbited a gas giant that orbited another gas giant that all orbited a distant star. There was some kind of galactic standard time, but David could never get his head around it.
“Why are you awake?”
He looked up at Rus’ka leaning against the doorway. She was rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I have insomnia.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where I can’t sleep.”
She crossed the room to stand beside him as he turned to lean back against the counter.
“Sleeping is easy. Just close eyes and relax. Sleep come to you. You try too hard, maybe?”
He sighed and reminded himself that they were a relatively young species that didn’t come with countless medical journals or psychology papers. Lucky them.
“If only it were that easy. No. I broke whatever I had that let me sleep.”
“How can you fix?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well…How did you break?”
He closed his eyes and set his glass aside, “I don’t know…Well, I have some ideas, but I don’t know.”
“What ideas?”
He couldn’t tell if she knew what she was doing or was just stubbornly persistent. Probably a mix of both. “Probably what happened to me.”
“What happened to you?”
He took a deep breath and slid down the counter to sit on the floor. She joined him there. “I told you: a lot.” He looked her in the eyes. She didn’t look away. He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d do anything besides talk about this, but… If she wanted to live here. Live with him, then she should probably know. She’d find out one way or another. When did I accept that?
Looking down between his knees he sighed and began, “I was kidnapped. I don’t remember much of what happened. One minute I’m trying to figure out why my Honda died again, the next I’m strapped to a table.” He shuddered. “I was groggy, but I could still feel them-“ He swallowed, “cutting into me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I just felt and watched. They were out of a nightmare. They couldn’t be real. But I felt it. It was real. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt.”
He screwed his eyes shut trying to force the memory down. To think of anything else. Ruk’sa put her arm around his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Then I could hear them. I could understand the snakes.” He fingered the scar behind his ear, “They put a translator in me. Then threw me in a cell. I was a slave.”
*****
As soon as he could move his arms, he began hammering on the metal cage around him. “Let me out! Don’t do this! Let me out!”
In a flash a blade whizzed past his temple scoring a shallow cut. “Silence! You will not speak. You have nothing to say anyway.”
His crimson captor ignored him and returned to the console before them. David took stock of his situation to find any possible way out. He was prone on his back in a metal coffin with a grate by his head, apparently there for easy stabbing access. He took a minute to control his breathing when the guard slithered out the door.
The box wasn’t tiny. It seemed to be made for larger creatures, but it was still a challenge for David to sit up. He grabbed onto the bars and pulled himself up to the hatch. A quick scan revealed the handle just outside. He thrust his hands through the bars, but he couldn’t reach the latch. It was so close. It looked like it turned toward him. All he had to do was pull it.
He sat for a moment contemplating what he had available. All he had on him was his rental tux. He regretted not going for the cummerbund, so the bow tie would have to suffice. He pulled it off his neck and stuck his hands out of the cage. It took a few tries, but he eventually managed to toss one end of the tie around the handle and caught it in his other hand. He didn’t have a lot of leverage, but with a steady pull he managed to pop the latch.
It was awkward twisting and dropping to the floor, but he was free…Free-ish. Now he just had to get out of the room. Glancing back to the wall of cells he realized he was the only one there. That made things simple. He stalked to the iris door and peeked out after it hissed open. The halls were empty, so he ducked outside. The place was massive, which made sense given its inhabitants. He noticed the halls had a slight bow in them. Must have made slithering easier.
He picked a direction and padded away as quietly as his dress shoes allowed. He’d stop at every intersection and listen. He chose the path with the least sound up until some kind of alarm sounded.
“Cell breach. Alert. Cell breach.”
He needed to hide, and fast. Looking around the circular hallway he noticed pipes and vents above him. Using the rounded walls to his advantage, he got a running start and ran up the side of the warped wall. It took a couple tries, but he eventually made his primate ancestors proud and caught a pipe above him. He hauled himself up and began shuffling awkwardly above the hallway.
Below him pandemonium broke out. He saw dozens of snake monsters slithering this way or that, looking for him. Each armed.
David channeled his inner John McClain and pulled a vent off the ceiling and climbed inside. As he crawled, he thought about what he was even looking for. There had to be some kind of escape pod, or shuttle he could steal. Maybe hide out on the next shuttle headed down to abduct some other poor dumb bastard. All he knew was he needed to get home. After scuttling around for a while his luck ran out. He crawled over a vent that couldn’t hold his weight and he fell into a hallway. Hauling himself upright with a groan he stopped dead at what he saw.
He could see Earth through the window. David never believed he could be an astronaut. He thought this view would forever be a dream, but there it was. Earth was beautiful.
Then he felt a sharp stinging pain across his back as a monster slashed him. He convulsed and collapsed, losing consciousness as he was dragged back to Hell.
*****
“I don’t know how long I was there…But that was the last time I saw home…I tried escaping. Many times. I saw home and damn it I was going to get back…Each time they punished me. Each time I ‘lost value’.” He looked over his scared arm then squeezed his eyes shut. Forcing the memories away. He didn’t want to be taken again, but they pulled. He could feel the cuts. The burns.
Ruk’sa rubbed his shoulders and leaned into him. Trying to keep him there with her.
With a shuddering breath, David continued, “Then one day, I was ‘rescued’. I don’t know if they were with the Community or just pretending, but some of those big bastards raided the ship. It got loud and violent. They hauled us off and took us to a little waystation. Refueling, I guess. They kept telling us we were safe. Then one of them…I think he was one of them, told us we needed a medical examination.”
*****
David and a couple of other escapees stared out the window at the strange planet. It was a pale-yellow rock drifting around some distant star. They were let off the ship to stretch their legs while it refueled for the next leg of the journey. David didn’t know where it was supposed to go. He just wanted to go home. He didn’t know or care how he’d explain what happened to him. There were plenty of crazy whack-jobs who claimed to be abducted. He could just roll with them. Or just pretend the whole thing never happened.
One of those big bastards who ripped him out of his cell and tossed him bodily off the ship appeared in the doorway.
“You there. You need a medic to look you over. Come on over here and let’s take a look at you.”
Seemed fair enough. David wasn’t sure how much blood was too much to lose, but the snakes flirted with that line all too often. He and the others shuffled over to the giant and where he directed. David entered the room and was soon pulled up by his arm. It felt like it might pop out of its socket. He struggled and thrashed before a giant fist sent the world to spin.
He woke up in another cell with another man. All he could do was weep.
*****
David didn’t notice when Ruk’sa drew him into her lap. He clutched at her arm to stay where he was. In the here and now. He could still see Sammuel’s face.
“The big bastards didn’t cut. They just hit you. Or starved you. All I could do was hold on. I tried to help Sammuel. Tried to keep him strong. If he was strong then I would be strong. We’d come so far. I held out. I did it once, I could do it again. And I was right. We were liberated once again after God only knows how long. We were free.” He swallowed and wiped away the tears forming in hie eyes.
“I can still remember the blinding light. I was numb when they hauled us off. They took us to some big station and asked where we wanted to go. I told them I just wanted to go home.” He let the tears fall now, “they told me it was gone. ‘What do you mean it’s gone?’ ‘It’s been destroyed. A terrible tragedy.’ I thought they were lying. It had to be another trick to keep me enslaved. I never escaped. They just refuse to send me home…Then they showed me…”
He clutched at her shoulders and buried his face in the nape of her neck, “That was all I had! I just wanted to go home! And they fucking stole that too!”
He wept and shuddered in her grasp. She stroked the back of his head while he collected himself.
“They tried to fix me. I broke down. I had nothing left. So, they sent me away to the loony bin. I just wanted to die. Is that too much to ask? Just bury me with the rest of my kind. But they had to try and fix me. They barely knew me or mine! How can you fix that!?”
*****
He was trapped once again. The fucking snake sat there asking questions like they didn’t destroy his life.
“David. Please talk to me. I’m trying to help you. If you just talk to me, we can help you.”
What fresh Hell was this? Making his tormentors try and fix him? David closed his eyes and refused to speak. If he looked at her, he could only relive what they did.
“I know what you went through was stressful…”
She didn’t know shit! How could she? He wouldn’t give her anything. Never again. He wasn’t a slave. He’d die first. Why didn’t he die? He should be with all the others. What’s left?
“David, please. I’m trying to help you. I just want what’s best for you.”
He knew what was best for him. He was tired of everyone trying to control him. This was no different. Well, no more. He’d seize the last bit of control he had. His hands were bound, but his mouth was still free. He bit down on his wrist. Maybe he could bleed out before someone stopped him.
“Nurse! Nurse! I need you in here!”
*****
David didn’t know how long it had been. Ruk’sa was rocking him back and forth. He felt tired. But he still couldn’t sleep.
“I was trapped there for a while…I couldn’t take it…Once they realized I wouldn’t talk to a snake, I started saying the magic words. ‘Oh, I feel better. I’m moving on. I’ll be fine I promise.’ They didn’t know the first thing about humans. I lied. They let me go thinking they’d done good… When they let me free, I tried taking all the pills they gave me. I tried ending it all a couple more times…They’re too damn good at stopping me.”
Ruk’sa couldn’t stop herself. She clutched David tightly to herself. “Saaaa, no! David, no! You can’t mean that! David must…David must….Saa!” She was ashamed for not having the words. She couldn’t fix him.
“I’m sorry…You just found a broken human…Just let me be broken.”
“No!...We fix you!...We must!” She held him tight as if he’d slip away. She didn’t know what to say. But she’d figure it out. She had to.
They stayed like that for a while before David asked, “Can…Can you hold me? Just like this? Please?”
She nodded, “Forever, if I must.”
David buried his face in her chest while she clutched him tightly. She tried to stop the tears from falling. To stay strong. To hold him and show him he was safe.
She tried her best, all the while a certain albino listened from around the corner, out of sight.

Gud maowning err'vy baowdie. Here's the based recap of the dis month's episodes from hit anime series Urban Rescue Ranch.
Read Last Month Recap
It's confirmed that the vidiyas posted are actually done a few days in advance for Uncle Ben's mental sake and so he can focus more on rehabilitation. As a result, the recap is solely focused on the vidiyas and other content like Instagram stories are more up-to-date. Uncle Ben also reminds everyone to not simply drop off animals at his ranch due to legal reasons; some animals cannot be rehabilitated if he doesn't have the right permit and resources to do so.
That being said, Uncle Ben has gotten his wildlife permit! This month was mostly spent on him setting up the ranch to be properly inspected and receiving his well-deserved permit so he could rescue other animals. In addition to this, he also has an exotic snake permit and is still working on getting more permits to work with. The inspectors are aware of the current housing situation and had given him advice and notes on what to change on the ranch before the final inspection. As a result, the property has been heavily altered.
The trailer, Ouncetopia, and the barn have been completely cleaned up, and some animals are either relocated or now free reign. The trailer was gutted out so it can be used to rehabilitate songbirds and small mammals. The kitchen and bathroom area will be used for rehabilitation needs and ready to be used when the next animal comes in. Ouncetopia has been completely cleaned out; Uncle Ben has decided to have the prairie dogs free-reign for the summer. Mrs. Ounce and Cringe have created holes in the property and like to reside under the shipping container without needing to return to Ouncetopia, so the shed is cleaned out to take in future rabbits and possums if needed; future renovations are planned. The barn saw the most cleanup: the capybaras and kangaroos are moved out to prepare for other animals that could be rehabilitated and aquatic enclosures were made to house animals like turtles in the future. One of those enclosures will be used by Gustavo Fring when he will eventually moves out of Uncle Ben's home. The capybaras are taken to a new enclosure that minimizes mud-rolling and is closer to the pond while the kangaroos get to free reign. The trampoline area is currently being occupied by Pog and Queen since they like the trampoline and need to be isolated from the other animals while construction and reorganization are going on. Kennels were also set up to house future animals.
The new house is still at a somewhat standstill. The roof is put on but siding has not been added despite the go-ahead given. Uncle Ben still lives in his current house and is hoping to move once the new house actually finishes, which would probably happen after getting the permits done and getting Gustavo Fring out of his house.
The chickens that live in the barn are now mothers to several chicks! It is revealed that both hens have laid eggs in the hay blocks and several of them were born. Mother and babies are doing well, with them mostly living in one of the several kennels set up. Uncle Ben plans on giving the chicks to friends in the future due to the sheer amount of them born. The hay was moved elsewhere so they wouldn't nest any further. The chicks like to eat the maggots from the capybara poop, which arguably would allow them to be well-fed without having to be given other foods. Uncle Ben has put out chick starters just in case and the two hens are helping each other raise their babies together.
At the inspector's request, due to Uncle Ben's current house becoming an office space and another rehabilitation area in the future, no more domestic animals are in the home. The only animals left in the house are Gustavo Fring, who is still growing and eating pinkies, and a pigeon Uncle Ben has taken in named Geronimo (sometimes called Gerbingerbones). Sometimes, Big Ounce is brought in, but he mostly lives outside to free-reign.
Uncle Ben has had some pigeons and doves given to him this month; the doves were quickly given away due to lack of permit and the pigeons, which were baby birds blown out of their nest at the Waco Tortilla Bridge, were hand-fed until they could move into the pigeon loft. Geronimo was part of a pair of pigeons that came separately but his sibling was dragged off by a wild animal when the two were left on the porch one night. Geronimo was given extra care and as a result now stays on Uncle Ben's shoulders, sometimes flying back to him when he's thrown into the air. Although Geronimo stays next to Uncle Ben most of the time, he is sometimes put in the loft. The loft (which is now two different housing setups) itself now houses the pigeons from Baylor University, the Tortilla Bridge, Geronimo, some more pigeons from a friend, and recent baby pigeons that were hatched!
Patrick Bateman's limp is no more and has now moved outdoors. While he is still drinking, he is slowly being weaned and taught to eat solid foods by Big Ounce. An enclosure was set up for him to rest in and Master Oogway likes to spend time in there as well. Patrick Bateman has gotten into humping Uncle Ben's leg as well. He gets along with the kangaroos, who tolerate him at best, and he has been introduced to the rest of the prairie dogs. Sometimes he will follow Uncle Ben around and does zoomies.
New Kyle has been rehomed. Uncle Ben gave him to a friend, who has a similar-aged female Rhea and decided to give him to her. The chicks that were bought to teach New Kyle to eat were given away but Winchester (formerly New Remington) stayed. Initially staying in the barn, he now free roams but mostly stays with the rheas, who tolerate him too. The hogs that were with Petunia were rehomed after bullying her too much. Petunia remains in her pen by herself, which she doesn't mind.
Meanwhile, Discord Kitten Nitro (formerly known as New Tupac and Bubus) was adopted by Lamar from Prairie Creek Ponds for his daughter. Nitro was discovered on a friend's roof abandoned by his mom and needing to be frequently fed due to his age. Because of how young he was, he was taken in by Uncle Ben and bottle-fed until he can eat solids on his own and therefore be adopted. Although Uncle Ben doesn't mind helping rehabilitate kittens, he is unable to keep Nitro due to being allergic to cats; he mentions he is fine with kittens but will get allergic reactions to grown cats for some reason.
Part of why Pog and Queen are locked up is for Billie Eyelash's sake. Although progress is made to get her used to them, Queen is still a major concern; she likes to try chasing the animals such as Master Oogway and Billie Eyelash around as a way to get her zoomies out of the way and try playing with them. Despite this, Billie Eyelash has gotten more familiar with Uncle Ben and the rest of the animals. She is spending more time not following Dababy around as much and letting Uncle Ben pet her without being afraid. He even got to shake her hand! She likes to hang out near the capybara enclosure by herself under the tree and has gotten more use to the dogs' antics. Dababy and Kevin remain aggressive, with Kevin now often tripping over his feeding trough whenever Uncle Ben comes near.
Kevin and Obama finally show proper incubation behavior. A big part of why the two of them have their eggs taken is due to them not remaining on their nests to help incubate their eggs. Kevin finally shows his behavior for the first time on the ranch, which allowed Uncle Ben to no longer collect eggs, but he remains aggressive because he's Kevin; as a result, he often trips over his feeding trough to try to get to Uncle Ben and tries to attack him at any opportunity. Obama has remained in her nest and ended up hatching a few goslings. Initially, Uncle Ben thought he would not be getting any more babies after no hatches were found after New Kyle, but was surprised at seeing the goslings for the first time.
Since being allowed to free-reign, Mrs. Ounce and Cringe have made a ton of holes around the property and they like to reside under the shipping container. Mrs. Ounce has gotten aggressive to whoever would try to get close to him, attacking Uncle Ben and others in the process. Correction on the last post: Mrs. Ounce hasn't been rehomed yet but will be in the future with Cringe. To minimize attacks, Uncle Ben stays away from the prairie dogs and has Big Ounce separate from the group when he needs to go out. Cringe is revealed to enjoy swimming in the water. Having them free roam meant that they can drink out of the pond whenever they are thirsty.
The most important news of all: Uncle Ben's pond is now complete! Thank you, Prairie Creek Ponds, Team Aquascape, and Pondscapes of Charlotte!
The pond was drained and rebuilt to be bigger, have a wetland filter, and have an intake bay to help make maintenance easier. Team Aquascape and Pondscapes of Charlotte have made their own vlogs about the experience as well! With some landscaping, the pond area is also covered in sod and some plants were added to it as well. Uncle Ben plans on adding more vegetation but is trying to figure out what things to do around the pond as well; the renovations left him with a ton of dirt and empty areas that he has no idea what to fill with and is looking for suggestions. He has some fruit trees and put items like bamboo near the water to make the area look prettier.
Uncle Ben has moved the fish from his tank and caught more fish to be added to the pond. Bubble Bass, the channel catfish, cichlids, sunfishes, crappies, and some tagged gars were put in as well as tree frogs and rosy-red minnows that can be used to eat their waste and be eaten by the other fishes. The crawfish, goldfish, and snake that used to live in the pond were either moved into the other ponds or released elsewhere. As a result, egrets, cranes, and herons have been coming over to the other ponds to eat the goldfish in the other ponds. Tree frogs were brought in as well, with most of them residing in the nearby trees and their tadpoles swimming in the water with the minnows.
Although Uncle Ben planned on having the pond area more organized before showing the capybaras the area, they have been collectively escaping their enclosure and going to the pond anyways. The capybaras love both the main pond and wetland filter areas, often doing dubious things in addition to swimming, and their enclosure is intentionally put close to the pond so Uncle Ben can let them out on certain days. He plans on using the poop that shows up in the pond to be used as fertilizer for fruit trees that will be planted near the pond in the future. The current enclosure they are in still has their small tub of water they can still swim in.
Uncle Ben suspects at least two or all of the capybaras are males. He notes that some of them look smaller than others while some seem to have male features like prominent-looking scent glands and testicles. While he doesn't mind having a mix of males and females or having all males, he plans on neutering the capybaras if the latter is the case as a means of minimizing hormonal behavior. Kumala seems to be more affectionate and comfortable around Uncle Ben, enjoying pets more often compared to Savesta. Uncle Ben suspects this is due to him giving Kumala constant attention after the fight.
To celebrate, Uncle Ben took a trip to Matagorda County with Geronimo, Kyle the Fish whisperer, B-Alt, and Big Ounce. He went fishing to catch shrimp and helped tag some sharks. The shrimp and fish he caught were eaten on the shore. He is also looking for interns to work with him in the summer.
Vidiyas this month:

• How to Please a Capybara
• I Fed a Crocodile to my Capybara (LEGALLY) *Big Ounce Dies*
• Eating Kevin’s Son (ASMR)
• Why I Eat my Pets (Trauma Dump) *cooking Big Ounce*
• I Fed a British “Person” to my Capybaras (Wilbur Dies)
• Gort Learns to Love Again
• How to Strangle an Ostrich (Gort Escaped)
• I Poisoned My Capybaras (PETA called)
• We did it. (Season Finale)
• I Fed a Shark to My Prairie Dog (Big Ounce Dies)
• BONUS:
  • Building HUGE CAPYBARA POND at Urban Rescue Ranch (EXCLUSIVE UNCLE BEN CONTENT)
  • @TheUrbanRescueRanch Gets A Pond! (Giant Urn Install)

Let me know in the comments if I missed anything. I love ya and appreciate ya. And, I'll see you in the next--- oop, almost forgot to tell ya:
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The 3 basic parameters of hashtag #Valzubiriagenda:

1. We artists and everyone else can write and self-publish art- and artist-related books: memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs. Books are forever. Pamphlets and brochures are not books.
2. We announce a schedule of increasing prices of our art pieces, which includes quantities (scarcity numbers) per price point and overall (the total quantity of art pieces we might ever make). This helps art traders, art investors and art collectors speculate or even stop speculating and instead join a community of investors working together to hopefully skyrocket to the higher announced prices in a shorter span of time.
3. We can use the NFT world, because NFTs provide the tracking (who owns what) and trading.

We can also not be involved with NFTs. Stores and individuals can help sell art using online presence and our catalogs in the stores. If this trends, or once this trends, even expensive art can be sold by neighboring businesses, without exclusivity. Commission systems do not have to be standardized. Art investors can produce their own catalogs to leave at the cafés. Even the cafés can produce their own catalogs.
Valzubiriagenda NFTs
NFTs only came about a few years ago. But I had been working on this since the 1990s. I wrote a book, Valzubiriagenda, along with fellow artist Silverio Perez, and released it in 2018 (Amazon and elsewhere), tackling everything related to #1 & #2. We'll come up with #3 in a later book/ memoi marketing book.
Any artist, including tangible artists can release 10,000 NFTs if the artist chooses to do so. For tangible artists, the NFT first becomes an Art Commission Contract for sight unseen, yet-to-be made art. Once the art is made, the NFT becomes proof of ownership that the actual, tangible art is theirs.
Warehousing our tangible art
Another related idea is that the tangible art may be warehoused by the artist so that the NFT traders continue to trade. This means that even 10-ton 10-foot tall sculptures can be owned and traded by anyone without worrying about shipping, reshipping, scratches, smudges, parts breaking off, etc. The newness of the pieces remain because they are stored by the artist, source, gallery, etc. The art piece gets shipped to the art collector, the ultimate owner.
An artist who makes ceramic coffee mugs - smaller art pieces, can release 10,000 NFTs with a schedule of increasing prices so that NFT traders can trade immediately. The 10,000 coffee mugs can get damaged, so as they are made, they continue to be stored by the artist, until the time when art collectors decide to have the art pieces shipped to them.
Why only now?
I decided to write as many book-length memoirs as I can before I came out to promote this.
I'm an artist and an author. Both need time to "master." I would not even fully use "master" on myself, because there's always something new, even to my own art, my own writing and publishing.

I am now claiming that I'm the visual artist who has produced the most artist memoirs in the world. I have 5 on Amazon. I count Valzubiriagenda as both a marketing book and a memoir-of-sorts, because it has a lot of my own life lessons on writing and publishing. I would not care to contest my claim of having the most memoirs. I will release 5 more over the next 3 years.

BARTER! Get help to write, photograph art and publish your books!
Anyone can hire 11 ghostwriters for 11 memoirs. If you can make art, but you cannot write, then barter your forever art with those who can help you produce forever books.
I don't feel the pressure of writing and publishing because I feel my focus should be on art students and art experts who would study my art and my books 100 years from now. Don't expect relatives and friends to read your books.
I call myself the Dollman
For my NFTs, I am proposing to make dioramas - my original, costumed, bejeweled porcelain dolls in backdrops that will also have precious metals and gemstones. This way I can incorporate precious metals and gemstones in my work, to make sure that people perceive my art as expensive, just in case I myself don't become "famous" - there's no need to get world famous. We are artists and all we need to do is to satisfy the art niche.
Use your laptop now!
I will encourage you to start writing your book-length memoir. Write, Edit and then Self-publish it. Get help. Why wait a hundred years for someone to write about you when all you need is a laptop and a nearby coffee shop.
Don't start counting chickens before the eggs hatch. I have encountered a lot of would-be writers who immediately see themselves as bestselling. world famous assets to society. Two even wanted me to sign NDAs (Nondisclosure agreements), because they did not want me to steal their book ideas.
Here's a suggestion. I would not personally do it. From one manuscript can come 2 books: The Original Draft (unedited, with misspellings, considered to be an art piece, scanned pages(?) of your handwritten original effort), and The Final Edition (edited).
PROVENANCE!
Another way to enhance our investability, tradability and collectability is PROVENANCE - how art ownership proceeds through time. The way this can be done is also through publishing books. Everyone can write their memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs, including traders, investors and art collectors. In effect, we artists can continue to be included or mentioned in even more books, without any additional effort by us.
You as an investor, reseller, trader, art collector should be able to publish a catalog with 250 works by 250 different artists, but they need to agree to this right from the start - it's your money, you should require them to follow your version of the hashtag #valzubiriagenda parameters, which preferably should include permission for you to publish their art. Why would you track down 250 artists later?
No exclusive contracts
If you're a café, you can call for artists, and come up with a book with for example, 30 artists, with a chapter devoted to each artist's profile and images of the artist's art.
You can distribute your catalogs to businesses and individuals near and far and online.
The book Valzubiriagenda even cites that funeral homes and janitors closets can sell art, with or without exclusivity. Airline catalogs can include million dollar art pieces. Car manufacturers, showrooms and even car repair shops can sell art as well. Everyone should be able to do this, anywhere in the world, especially not just because of the pandemic, but right now, we are in really bad economies.
What's with the name #Valzubiriagenda
I was into conspiracy theories in 2018, and this term, "The Mandela Effect," was popular. I had read many times that an artist coined the term, but I had to research online, for her name, many times, before remembering it. I'm not good at remembering names. It took me a year and a half to finally tell you that Fiona Broome coined "The Mandela Effect."
I also thought I might have to research trademarks and copyrights just to come up with a generic name. So I decided on "Valzubiriagenda." I was not really sure at first, but I decided to use it as the title for my book (with co-authoartist Silverio Perez) so that there would be no turning back and I can move on.
Am I a FUTURIST?
Someone I recently met this May 2022 just called me a futurist.
In the 1990s, I proposed to a pension fund that they can raise billions of dollars, especially for emergencies, or as needed, or out of desperation, if the pension fund purchases a quantity of art from an artist who not only has a current, reasonable price, but an announced future price that the artist wants to reach.
That future price would obviously be higher than the current price. The art commission contract for multiple art pieces can be taken to the fund's financial lender for a loan. The higher future price can be used for financing purposes.
The pension fund's treasurer, a publicly elected official, said this idea might work, but we had to keep this a secret and discuss this some more, because other pension funds might copy and do this prematurely. This idea had to come from the two of us. The treasurer needed his votes and I needed credentials.
Added into the pot was my idea that I, as the artist, will also write one book-length artist memoir. This was and still is a strong factor, because the leadership and marketing books I had read then mentioned a strong tip. If you want to advance in your field, write a full-length book that is related to the field.
Unfortunately, the elected official, the treasurer of the pension fund, who was also a friend, passed away - he was old and had ailments. At that point in time, I cannot just approach another pension fund treasurer to share this idea with.
I realized I had to write a few memoirs. I needed to set an example for other artists, so I needed to write more than one memoir. Then I felt I should also make ready another book - the how-to of what I'm up to. I wrote Valzubiriagenda, which was a memoir of sorts. I knew how long it would take me to write a book, so I had to make sure I can also consider this book a memoir.
In 2008, I imagined that someone like Bernie Madoff, or a fund like Lehman Brothers, would be desperate enough to use this to save themselves and their companies. I was not ready. I had only written 1 manuscript for a memoir.
In 2012, I released Dollman the Musical, A Memoir of an Artist as a Dollmaker. Once again, I was not ready because writing it depressed me a little, and I knew I had to write more.
In 2014, I released 3 memoirs, and re-released Dollman the Musical. Besides releasing regular books, I released special editions of the 4 books, which had a "Special Secret Insert for Bankers," which explains my ideas of an announced schedule of exponentially increasing prices, to satisfy investors, and the publication of artist memoirs, to satisfy art collectors.
In 2014, I also issued out a press release. Google "Can Billion Dollar Artist Save Investors and World Economy Valentino Zubiri PRWeb August 19 2014" and you will see the press release.
What I did was stake a claim on my ideas. I did not promote my books and the press release. I just wanted them to stay online, like a sleeping giant or a dormant volcano. I even designed 3 of the book covers to look like indie books from the 1980s. I was planting the seeds, thinking they will eventually grow and bear fruit in the future.
In 2015, I was interviewed by Richard Syrett, about one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately. This book is my memoir with paranormal stories. I could have pursued promoting my paranormal stories, but I wanted to be known first as a visual artist and memoirist, so I allowed myself one interview related to Hocus Pocus Lately. Richard Syrett has(had?) his own syndicated radio show, The Conspiracy Show with Richard Syrett, about the paranormal. He also guest hosts on Coast to Coast AM, another internationally syndicated show about the paranormal.
In 2018, I released Valzubiriagenda (co-authored by artist Silverio Perez, a fellow artist). Finally, this book is "the how-to of what I'm to."
I'm going to end this with some strangeness. In 1986, a lady at a religious gathering went into a trance and left a good number of messages. Supposedly, anyone who got into a trance would have messages, but once the trance was over, the person would not remember what was said.
I was not part of the group, but the lady turned her head to face me. She "foretold" that whatever I would decide to do in the future, it will take time, but it will be the right thing. This is one of my stories in one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately.
The Tulipmania of 1634-37
I discovered that there was this incident of rare tulips becoming collectible during the Dutch Golden Age. There were tulips so rare and so well-desired that their prices equaled to that of a house. You can read more about this online (Wikipedia) or watch a few YouTube videos about it.
Here is the most useful idea that I gleaned from the Tulipmania. The tulip bulbs remained safe inside nurseries. The traders were carrying the deeds of ownership to the tulip bulbs.
Then NFTs came to the forefront
I started learning PHP, an HTML scripting language, and MySQL, the database that PHP can connect to in the background, in 1999, when there were only 3 books about PHP and MySQL at the bookstores.
By 2014, I was trying to figure out how to make the "ledger," or database that can be used to update ownership and who can be contacted. If we are trading art, then the art ownership should be updated.
Then NFTs came about. This can be used as our ledger. Everyone can immediately trade NFTs of future, yet-to-be made art pieces, especially because it takes time to make tangible art.
NFTs actually went a step ahead, by allowing digital art to be traded.
The only setback with NFTs, in my opinion, is that it still lacks a commission system for resellers and representatives.
For example, if a café wants to represent me, then they can promote me at their café and on their online pages. If I make one piece of art that will be exclusively represented by a gallery, then that commission will be different and more specific. As ownership is transferred, the subsequent owners should be able to reset the commission. We should also have the option of giving commissions to hundreds of representatives at one time with different percentages if need be.
The recent crypto crash
Lately, we have observed that NFTs and cryptocurrencies have been behaving like the stock market and other markets. They have been fluctuating.
I believe that it is time for a trend which discourages fluctuation of prices.
I have also seen YouTube videos where social influencers are encouraging us to be on the lookout for exponentially profitable ventures, because we have all seen this happen with the exponential increase of Bitcoin and Ethereum.
Let's see if #Valzubiriagenda trends
We can announce present and future art prices. The galleries won't do this (yet?) because they follow a more traditional approach to the business of art.
We have a choice of using incrementally or exponentially increasing prices. We still reserve the right to change things in the future, so everyone should know to follow the latest update.
If this trends, if you as an artist simply announces that you will write an artist memoir, or that you will include the future works in future art books, you might have more art traders, investors and collectors approaching you.
Get your pen, paper and calculator
Imagine yourself as an artist, where you are right now. Let's just say you still do not have a book about yourself and your art yet. Imagine now that you have a memoir out there. Don't you think it makes sense to charge more than what you are charging now? Writing and publishing books is just the beginning. I'm just standardizing this approach. The books also say to do other related projects. In my case, getting Dollman the Musical onstage is one idea. You will have other related projects, but the publication of memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs will help all of us.
You can also imagine that a law firm that has meeting rooms, with someone who wants to form a local #valzubiriagenda group, can have meetings. A local café can do the same. Local photographers for your art, writers, editors, book designers, proofreaders and others can join in.
I suggest have printed books to share. 15 copies of your memoir or art books will be better than an e-reader or laptop or your phone to show. These gadgets can be stolen, sabotaged, broken, have coffee spilled on them, etc. 15 printed books means simultaneously showing to 15 people. You can even give them away to potential resellers, investors, traders and collectors.
When it rains, it pours, as in the days of Noah
There's a saying, "When it rains, it pours." There is a negative interpretation and a positive interpretation.
Negative: When trouble comes, they cascade to even more.
Positive: When opportunity comes knocking, more follow suit. We can assume that if one gets our art because of #valzubiriagenda, more want to do it now, because of the rising prices, and FOMO - fear of missing out. What will they lose if they miss the boat?
As I have said earlier, if the #valzubiriagenda trends, if you announce a future memoir or art catalog, you might have an increase of investors, traders and art collectors who would want to check you out. You might encourage more sales. Just remember to write and publish that memoir and art catalog.
There's this saying, "As in the days of Noah." Imagine Noah, building his ark, with members of his own family, putting all his time and effort into it. Noah was a nice guy. I'm sure every once in a while a neighbor offered him coffee, or chai latte, or whatever refreshing drink they might have back then.
Here's the lesson to be learned. Just because they offered him some type of bubble tea drink, or coca cola, they still didn't make it to the ark. Rubbing shoulders with actors does not make you an actor. I have told my artist friends to write their memoirs. They told me that once they see me succeed, after all these many years of seeing my seemingly useless efforts, then they will write their memoirs and follow the road that I had paved for them.
Good luck to them, but if I were you, act now, get my art or make art. Support the 5-year old artist whose parent promised to release a comprehensive art catalog. If you get that 5-year old's art, and mine, I would be honored to be in the same art catalog that you will produce. I'm already successful at that point. You have gotten the mission just right.
I have already claimed to have written the most book-length artist memoirs in the world. Dethrone that claim. Barter. Use ghostwriters. Success to me means facing God one day and saying, I wrote my memoirs and left the world a legacy of books and art. I will not tell God, smiling and proudly, that I encouraged a run for my art by announcing a schedule of exponentially increasing prices that reached 9 figures. I'm sure God knows we had fun.

JOIN THIS GROUP

If you want to try out #valzubiriagenda, in any capacity, join this group. Let others know about this group as well.
If you are an artist, you can let everyone know here that you will produce your memoir, art catalogs, etc. It's okay if you don't know how to go about publishing yet, I will discuss this. Please be honorable enough to produce what you promise to produce.
If you want to meet fellow artists, investors, resellers, etc., join us here.
If you are a book writer, editor, proofreader; if you can photograph art pieces; if you are a book designer, etc., join us here. Let us know if you charge, barter for art, or both.
If you have your own tips and knowledge to share, join us here.
If you have underaged artists you are managing (parents, etc.) join us here.
Join this group if you want to sell works. Post your works. You web links. I'm sure I will.
You can announce meetings in your area. You might have meeting rooms, a café, restaurant, etc. where people can meet. In the future, you can have the regular show and tell, where books can be shown and shared.
​
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, Artist, Memoirist
Underaged artists are welcome here, so please be mindful of your language. We cannot post your adult-oriented art pieces, but you can direct us to a separate page or community. There will be limits to your posts, and there will be adult-oriented art that we cannot allow to be posted.
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, artist & memoirist

Hello. I won't beat around the bush. This letter, more like a confession, came to me through a long chain of acquaintances and distant relatives several years ago. I do not personally know the people referred to in the letter, and I cannot say anything about its authenticity. However, the places described in the text do exist, I myself grew up nearby.
Last week I was digging through my email for the password to an old multiplayer game and came across this email again. To be honest, reading it the second time was just as disturbing and uncomfortable as the first. Having come up with nothing better, I decided to translate it into English and show it to you, friends. My fellow Yuriy Eremenko (hi bro!) helped me with the translation, I myself am not so good with English.
I want to know what you think about all this. I really really want to.
-------
from: bespalyi***@mail.ru to: litovskih.***@gmail.com subj: Regarding your request
Hello, Sasha. Forgive me, if you can of course, but it didn't work this time.
I can explain how that happened, but you probably shouldn't count on me now. I do think there is still a chance though. You can try to do everything yourself. I did not manage to do it, but maybe you still can. It's a bad option, a very bad one. This is not a good thing, no matter what you say to yourself. Quite the opposite.
If I had another solution, I wouldn't even suggest this, but I do not see one. I just remember your look when we last saw each other, and, well...
Look, just think it through, don't do something you would regret later, do not rush anything. I may have nothing to lose, but you have Zina, and your parents, if they're still alive of course. Sometimes it's just better to leave things as they are, you know?
I'll tell you what I know. You know my address. Delete this message once you read it.
Long story short, when I was about 10 or 11 years old, there was this urban legend about our yard...
I feel like I've known this legend for a long time, since my childhood. All the kids were aware of this legend and knew plenty of other, similar ones. In the town's outskirts, in this ("experimental", as they said back then) microdistrict lived several generations of teens. From the town to our district led a 5 kilometer long road, alongside several sandlots. Schools, kindergartens, couple of clubs - according to the architects, these blocks of flats, around 20 of them, that organized our microdistrict, were supposed to be autonomous. And autonomous they were. Sure, some people went to the town from time to time, to visit their relatives for example, but the majority of us rarely left Zhilmash.
As a result, stories about a creepy man from the local park, or about the dark secrets of the sewers, or, say, about the manhole in a corner of one of the yards constantly circulated around the local kids and teens, told again and again and collecting more and more creepy and less believable details. Seriously, someone should have written a dissertation about our "folklore", but that's beside the point.
Thing is, our surroundings were not the only thing that was enclosed. In fact, our yards were as well. In the middle of a square made of long nine-story buildings, where all the porches were facing, there was always a polyclinic, a school, or any other socially important establishment, while a few archways led outside these fortresses, as if they were meant to have a suspension bridge as well. One would think that Zhilmash was designed by a man suspecting that, sooner or later, the locals would have to withstand a circular siege of their houses.
The urban legend I want to explain to you is about the corner closest to my porch. There were bushes growing in said corner, facing the shop windows of a pharmacy and a barbershop that occupied the first floor. There, near ground level, between the two blocks of flats, formed a crack roughly three palms wide and about one and a half meters high. There was a small passage behind the crack, but no adults ever went that way. This hole allowed us to shorten our path outside, but squeezing in there and staying clean was impossible. So we, kids and teens, were the only ones to really use it, especially when playing hide and seek and enacting a tiny war. At the same time, the adults had to take one of the archways to get to the bus stop.
Right in front of the hole there was a square, about an open book-sized, stone block, placed into the ground, seemingly during the construction works, resulting in this small pedestal. As the story went, you had to place some small animal on top of it and kill it. Then, instead of the crack, there would appear a passageway not to the concrete slab behind the bakery, but a way to an entirely different place. A "dead world" of sorts. Once you got there, you needed to quickly find a kiosk with closed or painted over windows, go to its front and loudly and clearly ask for whatever you wanted - a new Sega or even a computer. Some boy, according to the rumors, had even asked for an entire jeep. And, if you did it right, your wish would come true and you would need to hurry and exit this place before the passageway closed.
Typical story, if I am honest - dark, cruel and stupid. Precisely one that children love. As proof, people constantly brought up a friend of a distant relative's friend who did exactly that and their wish came true. They also pointed out the concentric circles and squiggles scratched on top of the pedestal with a knife or some nail.
Nobody from our company even thought of torturing a poor animal like that to test this stupid story For even joking about it we'd call the one suggesting to test the story sick in the head. Nika, however, was not from our company. Almost an adult, as I thought back then, a very beautiful girl with copper hair and almost constantly bruised knees, she once went to live with her grandmother for the summer and immediately gained the role of our yard's Ataman, setting up her own rules.
We were showing her around for the whole duration of July. I think each of my friends fell in love with her at least a tiny bit, since we were of that age. On one of the last long evenings before she was supposed to leave we set up a small bonfire, baking potatoes that we got god knows where with salt in tinfoil. We were telling stories, and of course someone blurted out something about the passageway. On the next day, Nika brought her grandmother's parrot to our "Headquarters" on the sandlot.
Have you finally figured it out, Sasha? Anyone else would have said that I may have lost my mind or maybe became an alcoholic, since I am seriously telling you how a children's horror story became reality. But not you. Yes, you got that right: all these years, when the need arose, I went to a pet store, bought a pet, one that I did not feel that much guilt about, and went there. The hole and the stone block are still there. But do not get too excited, finish reading first. Because you cannot solve it just by killing an animal. Nothing happens so easily, you know it well.
When Nika, ignoring our loud protests, broke the poor parrot's neck, we fell silent. Something broke alongside his spine. Something right turned very wrong. Nika did not seem as beautiful to me anymore. Her appearance did not change, but the girl herself and everything around her became ugly in my eyes. Especially gross was the stone block with the little carcass on top of it. As if it was made of squirming insects and not concrete. At the time I couldn't understand where this fracture appeared, inside me or somewhere outside. Now I know - everywhere.
We were stunned for just a moment, then we heard a loud sound from behind our backs. It was as if something huge smacked its lips, opened its mouth and inhaled deeply, almost with pleasure. The air in the clearing started to float and distort, flowing around us. Then it went in the vertical passage between the two houses, now leading to the bluish twilight of a somehow different yard, completely alien to us. In our yard it was only midday.
Houses stood there as well. Normal from the first glance, but looking dusty, almost ancient, like pyramids in the pictures of a children's encyclopedia. In the light gusts of wind small whirlwinds of dust formed and fell apart. It got cold - not extremely cold, but more like the cold you feel when entering the shadow on a sunny day. And a faint smell. It was disgusting, bitter and almost rotten, like from a wet overfilled ashtray or from a Chizhevskiy's lamp. The wind was making the grass move - normal grass on our side, and some colorless and dried like hay stems on the other.
Despite my disgust, I managed to grab Nika, who was running right past me into the passage, by the wrist, but she pushed me aside, and squeezed into the passage. Into the portal. After all, why not call it for what it is. She stood there for a bit, looking around. She turned to look at us with fear on her face mixed with enthusiasm. And, as it seemed, the enthusiasm overcame all of her fear.
— Don't just stand there! Come here!
Nobody moved a muscle. Quite the opposite. Kostya, the youngest of our group, backed away slowly until his back hit the wall. Nika's ginger hair almost faded, became an unremarkable shade of brown. Weird details, I know, but this is how I remembered her: scared and faded. Almost fractured.
— Nika, please come back, — Anton said quietly.
— Wha-a? Pft, pussy! And you call yourselves men? Aren't you curious? — her voice sounded muffled, the intonations fading out at the border.
— Really, don't...Maybe you shouldn't go there, we can clearly see that something is wrong there. And it stinks. Maybe this place is radioactive?
— We'll lie to your grandma that Kesha flew out the window, — I said, — Tell your grandma I let him out, you won't get scolded. Let's go, please? What if the passage closes? How will we get you out?
Our obvious stress, of course, only made her more excited. We should've just shut up or suggested coming back with rope and a flashlight, but we were too scared. And then she walked away and ordered us to watch the passageway. Called us dipshits and that she'll go make a wish, disappearing behind the nearest house with darkness instead of windows.
We waited for 30 minutes or so, but nothing happened. Moving slowly, as if underwater, I walked around the pedestal to see that world better. Yes, there was indeed a town, but almost swollen, wrong. Monochrome, like in a dream. Similar to our town in general. As long as you pay no mind to the details, that is.
There, everything seemed a bit bigger than normal: the window holes are bigger, the floors are higher, and the empty metal trash can could fit a person inside it. Along the road stood distorted lampposts, accentuating the unpleasant perspective. The upper floors were lost in a fog, making the unusually thin street, squeezed by buildings from both sides, look more like a cave with a high ceiling rather than an open space. No movement. And no sky as well, just countless dark shades instead of it. One row of buildings stood behind the other, hiding the horizon from my view and forming a depressing maze, the further parts of which were swallowed by darkness and fog. Alongside the road, the broken benches and rusty cars there were lots of grey sand.
Looking at the corners and the walls going up and to the sides I did my best to imagine people walking around here, living in these houses and then just packing up their things and suddenly leaving somewhere else.
As hard as I tried to imagine it, I just couldn't...
Instead, old scenic decorations came to mind, meant to imitate a normal soviet town for some old forgotten movie.
My thoughts were interrupted by a terrifying scream from the crack's side, echoing around the emptiness between these scary monoliths. It was Nika, but her scream was so loud and strained that it turned into a roar and then a wheeze. Sasha, you wouldn't believe that a small girl could scream like that. There was a temporary silence necessary for a deep inhale and the scream started again. It got closer. Nika was supposed to come out from that corner, which she disappeared behind all this time ago.
Seconds passed by, I did not let my eyes wander from that corner, trying to pinpoint at least something in the darkness of this dead world. And finally, I saw a shaky silhouette. It did not look human. Struggling to move on short leg stumps, an armless and asymmetrical figure leaned on the wall. The sacks and meat pieces dragging behind the figure inflated and deflated making fleshy noises, like a frog goiter. Bending like a worm, it pushed itself off the wall with all of its strength and made a few more clumsy steps in our direction. It screamed in Nika's voice. The scream came from the disorganized lumps of flesh the thing was dragging behind it.
I screamed and recoiled. The edge of a stone, which I had completely forgotten about, hit my knees. Falling, I threw the bird's carcass onto the grass. The champing sounded again, as if cutting off the heart-rending cry of our friend with a knife. Gradually, other, normal sounds returned: the laughter of children from the side of the sandbox, the cooing of pigeons, the voice of a woman calling someone for dinner from the kitchen window. It was day again in the narrow opening, rare dandelions were swaying there, a bus, battered by life, drove up to the "Sports School" stop. A striped cat ran past and darted into the basement window. Nika was nowhere to be found.
Drowning in tears, we told the adults what had happened: first to our parents, then to a gloomy man in an unbuttoned police jacket, while a friend of his questioned the neighbors. Nika's grandma was taken to the hospital, we thought her heart was about to stop. No one told us that we were lying or played around too much. But the testimony of little kids was also not taken seriously. They clarified over and over again if we had seen a suspicious man, and even described his appearance. They must have had some kind of maniac in mind.
I accompanied the policeman to the place where Nika was last seen. He looked around, stuck his head inside the hole, went around the house and wandered for a long time on the other side of the patch of land between the ends of the houses, looking for something in the grass. Then they left. The blue UAZ appeared in our yard several more times, but, of course, it was as if Nika had disappeared without a trace.
That summer, I occasionally thought about what she was like when she stood there, calling us to follow her. At night, I dreamed of something else. Something almost turned inside out, but still alive ... However, this happened less and less, and life had set its own priorities. In the fall, my father left us, problems began at home, there were also several disagreements at school. Years passed. The old company fell apart, new friends from the other yards appeared. I remembered little about the red-haired girl, but since then I have always went past the accursed place. That is, until I was fifteen.
After my father left us, my mother started drinking. A little bit at first, locking herself in the kitchen after work. Thinking that I'm sleeping in my room unaware of her crying, sitting with a glass of vodka in front of the TV. Then things got worse. Getting drunk, my mother became tearful, asked me for forgiveness, promised that she would quit from tomorrow morning, but that, of course, was a lie. A couple of times I got hit in the face by the men she brought with her - I tried to get them to leave the apartment. Then I skipped school for weeks so as not to show my bruises.
The head teacher wrote our family down as dysfunctional and did not do much since. By the eighth grade, the entire household was on me, I even learned how to cook. Mostly I just cooked soups, because they were somewhat filling and inexpensive. I got a job with a friend of his father at a car wash as a "runner" when my mother was fired from her job. She had spent all of the alimony on alcohol. My father knew, sometimes threw some extra money our way, but did not want to interfere in our affairs. It seems that he had started a new family, but I did not ask questions, and he was in no hurry to tell me anything.
By the ninth grade, every morning, just opening my eyes, I sincerely hated this life. Sometimes I spent whole days in bed, listening indifferently to the clanging of glasses of my mother's friends in the kitchen. How she vomits in the bathroom, yells at the TV, knocks at the door to my room: "Kolenka, sonny, I'm one hundred roubles short, I'll return it at the end of the month! Do you want to go for a walk in the park later? Do you remember what you wanted? I'll only go to the store and then go back". After another call to the ambulance, while the mother was sleeping under a dropper, the paramedic told me (not looking up from filling out the papers on hospitalization refusal) that she would last another year at this pace, maybe two, and then it would be necessary to call not an ambulance, but a funeral home.
Every morning in the ninth grade, I woke up with thoughts about the hole in the corner of the yard and the strange city lying behind it. The legend turned out to be accurate, the first part at least, so why the hell shouldn't it be true in its entirety? I knew what wish I wanted to make. Only a miracle could save my mother, or rather, both of us. And if not, then I didn't even want to live too much. I remembered all the horror of that summer, but you can't run away from yourself: the idea seemed more attractive day by day. Do you understand, Sasha?
One day, after returning from my lessons, I found my mother drunk on the floor by the stove, with an arm broken at the elbow. It seems she was trying to cook dinner for us when she lost her balance and fell. The sharp tip of the broken bone pierced the stretched skin from the inside, and she didn't even wake up. It's a miracle that she didn't have the time to turn on the gas.
Having sent her to the hospital, I sat up all night without sleep, and in the morning I went to the zoo store and bought an exotic lizard with the last money I had for this month. It cost far more than the funny hamsters that bustled about in the neighboring enclosure, but I couldn't bring myself to look at them. It was easier for me this way.
Everything worked like a charm. I again felt that the world had cracked, but now I myself was the center of the split, as Nika had once been. From that day on, I started to feel worse about myself, you know? As if I was that one person who I would not shake hands with at a meeting. I became a little unpleasant for myself, I don't stop to look at my reflection in the mirror anymore, I constantly carry this trash in myself. It's up to you if you decide to follow in my footsteps. I have a theory. It consists in the fact that, by opening the hole, you are doing something disgusting, and not even by personal, but by cosmic standards ... And the problem is not in the killing of an innocent animal, which is necessary for this, but in what happens then - in the very appearance of the gap.
Looking up from the stone, I was not even surprised. It was as if all these years had not happened at all, the city behind the hole has not changed at all, except for a couple of little things. I think that time goes differently there, or is even frozen in place. Because the "dead world" is not actually an abandoned village located somewhere in the north. Rather, it is an echo. A dream about what our reality could become if something terrible happened to humanity, which we miraculously managed to avoid. People have never inhabited these houses. Their inhabitants are completely different. And they are still there.
When I climbed through the gap, the smell of decay and bitterness spilled in the cold air, vividly reviving childhood memories. I looked around for traces of the creature that came to us four years ago from the darkness. The deposits of sand seemed to form a barely noticeable path leading along the wall and making a loop near the hole, from where a long rectangle of light was now falling. But it could have been an illusion, or the natural workings of the wind, and I didn't see anything else.
I had a flashlight with me, but I did not dare to turn it on. There was enough light, even though the source was not clear. Soon I noticed that there was light in some of the windows: first in one part of the building, then in another, square frameless pits were faintly opalescent, all in the same dirty-gray spectrum, like multiple TVs tuned to the same program were working right behind them. From other windows protruded long black tufts of what looked like crooked branches of dead shrubs or mushroom stipes.
Getting colder inside with every step, I wandered, raking in the smelly sand with my feet, in the direction where Nika had fled in search of a way to make her wish. Clinging to the ice-cold stone, I looked around the corner. Nothing was moving in the streets. The road continued, partially blocked in two places by fallen lampposts, smashed to pieces like antique columns in the ancient ruins of a lost civilization. But for some reason, it constantly seemed to me that something was still breathing behind these walls and, perhaps, even looking at an intruder from the darkness of these huge apartments. Gathering what little courage I had left, I took a few steps towards the center of the street, looking intently around me in order to detect any possible source of danger in time.
To the left, slightly to the side, stood a gray cube of something like a boiler room or a transformer booth with its gates wide open, as if in an invitation, with barely visible broken wires laying around. Behind it began a labyrinth of small garages, almost completely hidden behind thickets of the same bundles of sticks, which had made their way here and there from under the ground, like frozen explosions, from round holes in wells with torn hatches. Whatever happened here happened very quickly. I looked ahead. In the distance, about one house away from me, near what looked like a broken subway lobby, a patch of dim glow spread across the asphalt: one of the lanterns still functioned there, the only one as far as the eye could see.
In the dim circle of light stood a row of ordinary trading stalls. You know, those armored monsters with tiny money slots, they used to hang around every corner and sell pretty much everything from chewing gum to hard-to-find pantyhose.
My heart pounded even faster. So the legend did not lie about this either! To get there, it seemed, it was enough to go straight along the street past a series of entrances, some of which even still had doors hanging on one hinge. I must have lost my vigilance from impatience...
Each dark doorway was three meters high. As I drew level with the first of them, I heard something rolling in there, inside, bouncing off the steps. A worn rubber ball with two stripes rolled out onto the road in front of me. I used to have the same exact ball as a child, except that it got lost somewhere. Perhaps it flew away from a strong kick somewhere into the bushes, and I never saw it again. Maybe even in those very bushes in the corner of the yard.
I won't bore you with the details of the fear I experienced there. Both for the first time, and in all of my subsequent visits. Either way, you will see something of your own, personal, my experience will not be useful to you. Just... be prepared for anything. Just like in that ravine, in the first Chechen war, remember? Ha, then, after the shelling, you and I decided that now we saw everything, we were baptized, and nothing could scare us anymore. I don't know about you, but then I saw plenty of things afterwards: both in the dead world and in our ordinary one. Hell, sometimes I even miss the war. Don't get me wrong, but at that time I had friends, we swore to go through life together, if we made it out alive that is, and we believed in our oath.
Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked. It's been a long time since the last opportunity to talk heart to heart to someone.
I don't know for sure whether this world can harm you, whether it just plays around, whether it wants to scare, or vice versa - tries to make friends. I will only say that its inhabitants should be avoided at all costs. It is not difficult, they are rarely intrusive and almost never leave their homes. But if you see fresh footprints in the sand or something like a stripe that a huge snail could leave, turn around and leave. Don't run, you don't have to run there at all. You'll be back the next day. Each animal killed will take away a piece of your own soul, but it's better that way than to disappear completely.
Look at the picture I have attached. I have drawn, as best I could, the route that turned out to be the safest. Strictly follow it, even if some loop seems strange and unnecessary to you. Especially if it appears. Yes, in one place you will have to enter the house. There is a gap in the apartment on the second floor, you go out there, go down another entrance. So it is necessary, and for God's sake, do not arrange excursions for yourself, but inside the house, look only at your feet. Right at your feet and nowhere else. Ideally, close your eyes altogether. I wrote down the required number of steps, remember the amount and count.
Well, there is little left to say. How I got to the stall and made my first wish...
Coming out right under the dead light of the lantern, I perceived almost nothing. I was not harmed, but the human psyche, especially of a skinny teenager that I was, is simply not adapted to endure such things. I was trembling, not believing that I got there. At first I was overcome with despair at the sight of a row of stalls: they were destroyed and had see-through holes in places: just rusty frames with spots of dry and peeling paint. In the floor of one of them, a nasty mushroom-like bush grew, parting the wreckage.
Slowly walking along the large heaps of metal, I reached the last kiosk in the row, and although the light inside was not on, I knew: this is it. Welded from sheet iron, like all the others, this one was mostly intact. Even the glass behind the bars had survived, so dirty that no goods behind them, if any, could be seen. On a small semicircular window, behind which the salesman was supposed to be, there was a yellow card with a faded, just like everything around, inscription: "OPEN". Gathering my strength, I tapped on the window with my knuckle. Just a second later, it opened.
My nose was hit with a terrible stench. Once I already felt something similar. When, one autumn, I took a deep breath of hot and humid steam, coming from a sewer in which some animal had died and had been decomposing for a long time.
The darkness of the iron box was not pitch black; It occupied almost the entire volume of the kiosk. It was the Seller.
Finally, the movement in the darkness stopped. "Even if the kiosk had a door," I thought, "this creature would not be able to get out and chase me." The thought calmed me down a little, but I lost all of my pre-prepared words. My voice sounded strange and muffled in the middle of the empty square of this forgotten world.
— My mother... She is a good person, but she drinks a lot. Vodka, that is... or any alcohol. She won't be able to stop on her own because she's sick and I can't do anything about it. I have tried and tried!
The last "tried" quickly faded, as the echo disappeared into the alleys and yards. They didn't answer me. I don't know to whom and what I tried to prove, the words just flowed out of me, and they were sincere.
— She will die if it goes on like this, and I will be left alone. We didn't deserve it. I still love her! Therefore, I want my mother to stop drinking, and everything to be fine with us, just as before!
— Can I? — I added, waiting for the mocking echo to die down again.
And then there was silence. A minute had passed, and I sighed. What was I even thinking about. I fell for childish tales, climbed into a world where everyone either died a million years ago or became monsters, I tried to talk with one of them ... I need to save myself as soon as possible. Or maybe when I return to the passage, it will be closed? The thought that I could stay here forever made me want to just lie down and cry.
- f̶i̸n̸g̴e̶r̴, - gurgled the darkness.
- What? A finger?
- f̵i̶n̶g̷e̵r̶
Oh god, it was impossible to call it a voice, but it seems that I understood what they wanted from me. An icy cold sweat formed on my forehead. Why did I decide that everything would be free? Did this shit sound like a good fairy tale from the very beginning? And what if this creature bites off my finger, will I be able to get back and not bleed out?
Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I tore two long strips from my T-shirt, then pulled out the trouser belt and squeezed it in my teeth, folding it in half, like I saw in the movies, until my mother sold our cassette player to someone for almost nothing. Clenching my left hand into a fist, I stuck out my pinky finger and put my hand right in the window of the kiosk, at the same time closing my eyes and clenching my teeth.
Nothing happened. After a couple of minutes, I dared to open my eyes. Maybe I misunderstood, and it was not about barter? As soon as I took my hand out, the window slammed shut. The inscription on the card had changed, now it said "CLOSED". Looking at my left hand made me dizzy, I started to feel sick: there was no pinky finger. There was no blood either, the remaining half of the phalanx looked like I lost my finger a long time, at least a year ago. Deciding to deal with this later, I went back. The hole and the clear sunny day behind it were still there.
You know, Sasha, I still wonder: what did Nika wish for? What was the price she had to pay?
As for what happened next, I think everything is clear. When my mother returned to work, we patched up our place, which had been pretty much wasted at that moment. I retrained from a simple car washer to an assistant mechanic in the same place, in a car service. I was entrusted with simple repairs, they paid a little more. In general, the money began to suffice. I had to call my friends to ward off some excessively aggressive chumps, who did not want to understand that they were no longer welcome at our house, and life went on as usual.
I learned to live without my pinky finger in just a week, and I lied to my mother about an accident at work last year. She cried again, of course. Mom died ten years ago: quietly, in bed, already retired. There was no more drinking involved, and those were good years. There would have been more if not for her poor health.
After leaving school, a war broke out, and the military registration and enlistment offices did not particularly sort out who to take. From here on out, you know everything yourself. Some returned, some didn't. We've been lucky. It was there that you called me Kolya the Fingerless, but now you at least know where my finger actually went.
At home, I got a job as a car mechanic in a bus depot. Between a tank and a rust-bucket of a car there is not such a big difference, if you look closely. Life was not that great for me, but I had girls, and meetings of old veterans. I bought my mom a country house in the suburbs to grow her own tulips there - what else does a person need? Only in a nightmare could I imagine that someday I would return to the dead world. But fate decided otherwise.
You now know how I spent my pinky finger. But at our last meeting, you noticed (I saw that you noticed): since then I have been squandering a lot. Three fingers remained on my right hand and two on the left. And that's not it. One kidney. Pancreas. And my left eye can't really see. Can you guess why that is? I think you can. You have always been the smartest among us, student.
As you could have guessed, I haven't worked as a mechanic for a long time. I get my allowance, I don't leave the apartment, I almost forgot what people look like, except for the girls from the welfare department. But I'm not offended. Do not reproach yourself that we did not communicate for a long time. And tell our guys, if necessary, when you meet. I wouldn't even talk to myself if I could.
When a year passed, we returned to civilian life, and things started to get better for everyone, Igor at first suddenly did not want to go to the next meeting to drink, remember that? And when we forced him, he sat in the corner, pale, did not even drink. This is Igor, who prepared booze almost from antifreeze.
His wife, Katya, was diagnosed with a bad case of breast cancer. And he loved her unconditionally. She was waiting for him to return from the war and here he was after all. I must have said too much then. I could not look at how he was tormenting himself, I really wanted to cheer him up. Everyone lost their mood, they parted early, and on the way back I bought a canary near the house. Breast cancer cost me another finger and another lie about an accident at work.
After that, a rumor had spread, either as a joke, or seriously: the fingerless healer. Everything was as promised: not just a remission, but as if the sickness was removed completely. The doctors were shocked, Igor laid at my feet while I couldn't even look him in the eyes.
Then more people came. Someone has a mother, an old father, children... Especially children. Then I realized that our world is full of suffering. I, whatever one may say, could help where nothing else would have helped. What is one finger of mine against someone's life that is just beginning? Believe me, I thought about this a lot, looking at all the new short stumps: stumps sticking out of my palm.
I didn't agree every time, and when I did, I didn't say anything. Inoperable hip fracture, legs turned into mush, the guy will never walk again - a finger. Sudden stroke, progressive dementia, another one. Congenital cerebral palsy, complete paralysis of the body - two fingers. Rumors spread. That's when you came to me for the first time, remember? We put your Zinka back on her feet, I hope she is doing well now.
Nine. Nine trips to the dead world, and every time a little less of me came back. And every time, while I looked at the opening passage, some creature was dying in my hands, and inside a part of my soul was dying as well. Nine is a lot, Sasha. I no longer feel anything but deep disgust for myself. People cannot look at me without disgust, without understanding why. They feel what I have become, although they do not know the reason. Paradoxically, the more I helped people, the more lonely I got. But I was ready for it, it's part of the price.
The only reason I haven't killed myself yet is because I might be of use to someone else. What little is left of me.
And then you called again.
I'm really sorry about your girl, really. I hope this fucking junkie gets caught and hanged by the balls. Believe me, I was ready to give everything that I have for her. I don't know, really, whether that would be enough or not ... Everyone else was alive, you know? Sometimes things were very bad, and then it cost me more, but everyone else was still alive. Nevertheless, I was going to try.
But the unexpected happened. As I made my way to the kiosk, I heard the soft cry of a child. It was coming from the windows of one of the apartments, away from my usual route. I don't know what came over me, but I decided to check. Used the grappling hook, climbed into the window. An insane risk, but... I must have realized something on a subconscious level. It was Nika.
How much time has passed, more than thirty years? But that is by our, earthly standards. For how long did she wander through the monstrous colorless void among the dreary monoliths, from apartment to apartment, in the hope of meeting at least one person? I'm afraid to even imagine it. The main thing is that she is alive. And she's still a child, in a way. In its current form, at least...
Oh, you should have seen what her stupid wish did to her. What was it like? Perhaps something like "I want to live forever"? And now, for the first time, something came to my mind. After all, we don't know how many more Zhilmash children got there over all these years, and what they wanted. I remember what I myself could wish for at that age. Is it just the new bike or the dog? Or maybe, for example, to take revenge on a bully? Or become invisible?
I think Nika recognized me.
I never made it to the kiosk. I came back to send you this email. Forgive me if you can, but I only have one chance left, and I must try to save her. I must return her body, return Nika back to our world. There is no worse fate than the one that fell to her. I don't know what the price will be, but it doesn't matter. Even if I have to take her place, I'm ready. After all, it was my fault that the portal closed back then. I'm afraid, it was I who told the legend about the passageway that evening by the fire.
You have a choice, Sasha. Think it over properly. Sometimes it's better to leave things as they are.
I have to go, she's been waiting too long...

“To those who fell in the Battle of Scarville,” the stone memorial read. “Your sacrifices were not in vain. October 24th, 1918- October 27th, 1918.” Above the base stood a statue of an American soldier with a round cap and a long rifle with a bayonet attached. His face had a perpetual scowl, his eyes slightly squinted as the statue looked at something far off in the distance. I heard a throat clearing. I looked around in confusion.
“Beautiful memorial, eh?” a voice said from behind me. I turned and saw an ancient-looking man in a suit. His face had so many wrinkles that it reminded me of a raisin. His ears and nose stood out massively on his shaking frame. I wondered just how old this man really was.
“Yes, it certainly is,” I admitted, glancing once more at the shining marble statue which seemed to glow under the bright summer sun. “But what is the Battle of Scarville? I’ve never even heard of it.” The ranger shook his head sadly at this.
“Most of you younger people haven’t,” he said gruffly. “But my family was involved in the Battle of Scarville. If you have a few minutes, I can tell you all about it.” He motioned to a bench next to the statue, one that I could have sworn wasn’t there just a few seconds earlier. I shrugged it off though, admitting to myself that I might have missed it due to the glare of the sun, which was slowly disappearing behind the trees. We both sat down. He told me his name was Franklin, and I told him mine was Ted. We shook after we had introduced ourselves, the small, bird-like bones of his fragile hand feeling almost weightless under my grasp. And then Franklin began to tell me a story that would change my life forever.
*****
I was just a kid when this happened. My father was a soldier in the area, but he never liked to talk about what he did. Then one day, he came running in the living room, his eyes all wide, telling me and my mom to get all our stuff, quick, it was time to go, and all this other nonsense. My mother asks why. He starts screaming gibberish about monsters and this and that. And my mother says the strangest goddamn thing- “Oh, is it that time again?”
Right then, the shaking starts outside.
“Oh, God, it’s too late,” my father says, and he puts his face in his hands, crying. Now, my father was not a man who ever cried. I didn’t even see him cry at my grandfather’s funeral. He was made of stone, one of the toughest men I will ever know. So when he started crying, I knew something bad was happening.
The sky started to go dark, as if there were a solar eclipse. My mom grabs a canvas bag and starts trying to go around the house, grabbing some food and drinks. But my dad yells, says we have no time for that. He tells her to grab his other gun, the 12-gauge in the closet upstairs. He runs downstairs and grabs his rifle, shoving a magazine in it and standing at the door, straight as a board and as pale as a sheet. The sky seemed to go dark, even though it was still over an hour until sunset.
Out of the darkness, I saw silhouettes, stumbling shapes with twisted legs, broken arms, long necks and strange eyes. They continued forward at a much faster pace than any walking man. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and the closer they got, the more hypnotized I felt. There was a strange, pulsating light that came out of their faces, you see. If you stared at it too long, you would get carried away by that light…
My da, though, didn’t hesitate for a moment. He started shooting as soon as they were within range of the 30 aught 6. The nearest one’s head exploded in a shower of dark blood. The rest of them began hissing like snakes and running forwards. My da empties his whole magazine, taking down six of them, then slams and locks the door.
“Where’s that fucking gun?” he screamed. My ma came running down the hallway with the big black thing in one hand and a box full of slugs in the other. He grabs the gun from her hand and gives it to me.
“You know how to shoot, boy,” he says. “Now is the time for you to prove yourself. Protect your family and home.” By this point dozens of those things are slamming on the other side of the door, still hissing and gurgling in some strange language I’ve never heard before. I nodded at my da, and started slamming slugs into the shotgun.
They were practically breaking the door down by this point. The lock had started to bust and twist, and the door was separating from the threshold. A couple more good hits and it would have been all over the floor anyway. I know a good slug will shoot through doors, hell, they’ll shoot through walls, so I point the shotgun at the door, point blank, and begin shooting through the door. Some of those things start screaming and falling over, dead, exit wounds the size of grapefruit in their backs and chests. But the door is in a sorry state by this point, full of massive holes and splintering apart. I had to reload, and they started busting through, coming into the house.
Now that they were close, I could tell they were not human, though from a distance they almost looked human. But they had these strange, pulsating black veins going up their neck and stretching out across their face, and their eyes were all the same silver color, glowing as if they had some inner light. It wasn’t just a reflection, like you see with some animals at night who run in front of your headlights. This light was coming from within them, and it was bright.
Some of them had blood caked around their mouths, running down their clothes and the entire fronts of their bodies. Whose blood, I didn’t yet know, but when I saw the casualties in the town later on, I would figure it out.
Just when I thought we were going to be overwhelmed, my neighbor and some of his family members ran over. He starts screaming at me from the yard, firing his gun at the creatures in a frenzy of violence. He had his two sons with him, and they all had shotguns. They were whooping and hollering, blowing the creatures apart with buckshot. When one of them stopped to reload, the other two would cover them, so that they had a nearly constant rate of fire. My da and I ran out the door, shooting and reloading. I saw the skull of the nearest creature disintegrate as I fired into its head from less than five feet away, but its eyes seemed to hover in the air a moment after it was gone. It reminded me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, how its face seemed to hang in the air after its body had gone.
By this point, we had finished off the entire group of them. A couple dozen bodies lay around us. My heart was beating and my blood was up. I could almost relate to the sons of my neighbor; part of me wanted to whoop and holler too. Part of it was fun and exciting, even though I knew that one wrong move would mean likely death.
I used the break in the action to move closer to one of the corpses and look at it. In its basic shape, it looked human, but up close, you could tell it was no such thing. For one thing, they all had six fingers on each hand, and they were twisted, long things. They almost looked vampiric- and, as I would find out later, that was right on the money, or at least as close to it as we could understand. Their skin had thin black veins running every which way, and they appeared to all be wearing some sort of coarse brown cloth, formed into shapeless pants and shirts. They even covered their feet with it, though they had some sort of leather on the bottom. It didn’t look like any leather I had ever seen, however. It shone and shimmered, and it looked inflexible and thick. It looked chitinous.
Out in the field, we heard a sound like a screaming woman. It broke the silence and caused us all to jump, spinning around and pointing our guns. But what we saw there was no scared lady. It was some sort of animal, standing over ten feet tall. It looked like some huge praying mantis, except its hide was shiny and black. Massive pinchers extended from the front of its face, big enough to chop a man in half down the middle I reckon. The eyes were huge and black, but as the light moved across them, they seemed to shimmer like rainbows.
“What in God’s name is that?” my da yelled, but the neighbors only shook their heads in amazement. Then one of the boys, a red-headed and skinny lad by the name of Wesley, said something that caught me off guard.
“I saw some of those things coming out of the caves,” he said. I looked at him, eyes wide. So did everyone else. “When I was fishing earlier at the stream. I thought it was just people exploring the tunnels at first, until I saw their eyes and those veins…” His father grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
“When was it?” his father asked him, looking scared and uncertain. “How long ago, son?” His son shook his head slowly, trying to remember.
“An hour ago, maybe,” Wesley said. “As soon as I saw them I started running home, and not five minutes after I got there, they started coming across the yard…”
People from town were running down the road now, screaming in terror and pain. I saw them driven on like herds of sheep, and our giant praying mantis friend also noticed. Its head went up, antennae flicking, head cocked to the side in a way that would have been comical in other circumstances. Its pinchers moved faster, opening and closing constantly, as if it were trying to taste the air. Then it started running. It was just a black blur in the dim light, flying across the yard at an impossible speed. I couldn’t even see its legs moving.
It grabbed the nearest person, a young woman with huge terrified eyes, and used its pincers to snap her head right off. The decapitated head rolled across the ground, an expression of mortal terror still etched into her expression. Then the mantis creature began to suck at the bleeding stump of her neck- drinking until it looked like the body was sucking in on itself, until the skin was pale and bloodless as a mannequin. The other people were stumbling and running around it, still praying and cursing and shrieking, but it took no notice of them. Once it was full, it looked bigger- more swelled up, like a tick. Its chitinous black shell seemed to expand, looking more rounded, and it even looked a little more red in the pale light- as if the blackness of its hide had lightened into a shade of darkest crimson.
“We’re being invaded by vampires!” I screamed. Everyone looked at me, but no one argued. They didn’t even have time to. At that moment, the next wave started.
Our home was on a road with houses every few hundred feet, a forest behind the houses and a grassy field on the other side. The road itself sat between the field and the homes. The trees pressed in on the houses, being only twenty or thirty feet behind them. The woods were old and thick with brush and prickers and endless ferns. It was hard enough to see in it at daytime, but it was now nearly night, and trying to see into it was a fool’s errand.
The enemy used our disadvantage to surprise us. We had all reloaded, of course, and we had five men with guns. I wished I had another one to give to my ma, who stood behind my da, both of them looked scared and far too pale.
I saw it was the mantis creatures that were approaching, though a few of the vampires walked through silently, their eyes glowing. The two apex predators didn’t seem inclined to attack each other. I wondered if maybe the vampires had even domesticated the giant mantis creatures somehow. It didn’t seem likely, but who knew?
We started shooting as soon as they broke the boundary of the woods. The mantis creatures shrieked like dying women, emitting deafening wails as their legs, chests and heads were blown apart by shotgun and rifle fire. But more and more kept coming, and some were now coming from the field and road as well. We were slowly being surrounded, and our ammo was not unlimited.
A vampire ran at my mother. I saw it in slow motion, the creature popping out from the grassy field and sprinting. My father was busy firing that rifle like a madman, trying to keep the mantis creatures from overtaking us. I knew it was a hopeless task. But I could at least save my ma. I raised the shotgun, the vampire only a few feet away from me now, and shot it point-blank in the face.
Its head disintegrated into a mask of gore, droplets of blood flying. My mouth had been open; I was breathing hard, terrified and in the middle of battle fever, you see. And a few droplets of that strange, dark blood splattered directly into my mouth. I hadn’t even realized what had happened until I tasted it. It tasted nothing at all like human blood, nothing like sucking on a cut thumb after a small injury, nothing like the taste of a bloody, rare steak. No, this blood was sweet and somehow cloying. It was an artificial sweetness, like some fake sugar you might put in coffee, combined with a vague metallic aftertaste. I started to spit after I realized what had happened, but by that point, we were being overrun.
My neighbor was ripped apart in front of me, his old, weather-beaten face showing a final expression of shock and horror as a mantis bit him across his body right where his heart lay. Blood spurted from the wound. The mantis gingerly pushed the body parts apart and began to suck at the blood from the spurting injuries. Another followed silently behind and started feeding on the other half. I watched it all in horror, until a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun and saw Wesley.
“We need to go, now,” he said, pulling me.
“My da and ma and the others!” I screamed. He shook his head. He was closest to me. As we became overrun, the creatures had split us into smaller groups. Wesley’s brother and my ma and da were one of them. We had at least five mantis creatures and a few more vampires between us. As dozens more came running towards us, towards commotion and the prospect of a warm meal, I realized Wesley was right. But I fired all the same, taking down one of the mantis creatures with a slug to the torso. Its dark blood covered the dirt as it squealed and fell over, kicking its legs slowly and rhythmically like a flipped turtle as it died.
My da and Wesley’s brother were still shooting. I thanked God that we each had a sack of ammo. But mine was feeling light. I looked down and saw only a dozen more slugs, maybe. They must be getting low too. I knew I would have to come back for them when things had calmed down. But for now, I fled.
Wesley ran ahead of me, his coarse work clothes flapping in the wind. We sprinted across the yard. I looked back and saw one of the mantis creatures running us down, moving much faster than either of us could ever hope to run. I stopped, turning. It felt like I was facing down a charging train. I raised the gun, and with a shot to the head, I dropped it only ten feet away from me. It kept running for a second, a body without any brain to run it, then it began to fall forward, sliding, its legs kicking and trembling as it died.
He had a shelter behind his house, apparently. It was little more than a root cellar in the backyard of his house, but it was hidden and underground. He pulled the latch on the hatchway, opening it and motioning for me to go first. I ran forward, climbing down the short ladder. He followed, keeping the hatchway open for light while he started a gas lamp with some flint. Once we were situated, he closed the hatch. It was able to be locked from the inside, and was reinforced against tornados, with wood and concrete forming the walls. We also had some supplies down there, water and jars of pickled foods and jerky. Not much variety, but it would do.
We stayed down there for two days. When we came back up, the creatures were gone. They had even taken their dead with them. I didn’t know where they had gone, though I assumed it was back into the caves.
They had left our dead, however. Countless bodies lay all around the surrounding towns. I saw endless dead in the downtown area when I went down there. And I never saw my da or ma again. I never even found their bodies. Perhaps they had been dragged off into the woods, or perhaps the creatures took a few bodies back with them- maybe as souvenirs, or just for some fresh meat.
All of the people who died in the Battle of Scarville were reported as casualties from the Great War, or the Spanish Flu. But those of us who were there know what we saw, and these were no flu victims. Thousands of bodies around the town had all the blood drained from them.
I wonder why those creatures from underground didn’t keep going. After all, they had won the “Battle” of Scarville, which was really just more of a massacre. But then I thought about how deer hunters are only allowed to hunt so many per season, to allow their population to regrow every year. And I thought about those abominations under the earth. And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they might not be doing the same to us- waiting for the human population to grow for a hundred years or so, then, when the population is fat and healthy and lazy, come back out to feed on the herd.
*****
The old man stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at me. His story had apparently come to an end. He smiled slightly at me, but I kept looking at him suspiciously, waiting for some sort of punchline.
“You realize how insane that whole story sounds?” I asked after a few moments. The old man with his withered face just grinned at me.
And in the dying light of the setting sun, I could have sworn his eyes were glowing.

The number of con-men involved in various schemes with Alex Murdaugh is so great it is often a bit difficult to keep track of who did what.
Today I wanted to Make a summary of Corey Fleming esq..
Like many of Alex Murdaugh's other accomplices, Corey and Alex have a long history and they were even room mates back in college.
After the mysterious accident that killed The Murdaugh nanny / housekeeper, Gloria Satterfield, Alex hatched a plan to win an insurance settlement, and steal the money.
Alex knew Gloria and he also knew her sons Tony and Brian. Gloria had worked for the Murdaughs for 20 years and had helped care for Paul and Buster as well as providing domestic work in their home. Alex and Corey recognized that Tony and Brian were very vulnerable people that would be easy to take advantage of without their mother to help them.
Alex attended Gloria's funeral and found Tony and Brian and told them that he could connect them with a sharp attorney who could get them some financial compensation for the loss of their mother in "the accident" at his home. Alex blamed his dogs for causing the fall that killed Gloria. He told them that he knew an expert attorney who would get them both good insurance settlements.
Murdaugh then contacted his familiar accomplice, and longtime good 'ol boy club member Corey Fleming. He had been friends with Corey now for decades and knew his moral character well. This was the most critical part, because what Alex wanted Corey Fleming to do was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Alex needed to be certain that he connected Tony and Brian Satterfield with someone that would be willing and anxious to go along with his scheme to steal from the two destitute young men. Normally Alex and Corey would split 40% of the settlement money. That is some very generous pay! Alex and Corey could have paid themselves $1,720,000 plus any "expenses", but Alex and Corey coveted all of the $4.3 million.
The two boys signed the paperwork that Mr.. Fleming drew up for them. Alex and Corey then bilked Alex's insurance carrier out of 4.3 million dollars! At the same time Corey told the boys the case was mired in legal hell and he had no money at all for them. The boys could not make ends meet. They stressed over food and taxes on their home. In fact they lost their home to foreclosure when they could not pay the taxes. Corey knew there situation. He also knew he had been paid $4.3 million. He and Alex kept every penny. if it weighed on their consciences it did not show!
To try to keep the boys in the dark Alex and Corey convinced Tony to give over his rights to represent his mothers estate to a banker. Fleming then filed dishonest disbursement sheets directing where the money should go so that he and Alex could siphon it off.
Their brutal con finally came to light because a local reporter named Mandy Matney was looking into Alex Murdaugh's dealings and she discovered a court document that said the Satterfield boys had been awarded $500,000 for the death of their mother. When she talked with the boys they indicated they had never received a cent. They hired a new attorney, Eric Bland, to sort out what had happened to their insurance settlement. Mr. Bland then made the flabbergasting discovery that not only had the boys been awarded $500,000 by the insurance, they also had been awarded $3.8 million from the umbrella policy!
Corey Fleming esq. initially denied any guilt, but after watching another good 'ol boy club member and Murdaugh buddy, Russell Laffite (Palmetto State Bank CEO), get convicted on every single count against him and looking at some very lengthy time (exact amount unknown as yet, sentencing has not happened), Corey decided to take a sweetheart plea deal that limits his potential jail time to 5 years and an fine of not more than $250,000. Mr. Fleming has pleaded (pled?) guilty to "conspiracy to commit wire fraud", a fancy term used by lawyers as a euphemism for what Corey Fleming esq. and Alex Murdaugh esq. did to the tony and Brian Satterfield.

Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas

We are a family-owned and operated funeral home in Houston, Texas. We specialize in full-service funeral needs, including traditional funeral services, graveside funeral services, and memorials or celebrations of life services for those families desiring cremation at a reasonable price. With any of our funeral service options, you may choose to have a funeral or a celebration of life service where friends and family can gather together to share grief and offer comfort to each other without the stress and inconvenience of expensive funeral services you don’t need.
We offer an affordable alternative to expensive funeral homes and cremation services. At Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas, you may choose from a range of options. We offer traditional burial services with wood or metal caskets, graveside committal services, or direct cremation. You may decide to hold a memorial service in your house of worship or in our boutique-like facilities. We have a full selection of cremation urns and can provide or arrange for many other services you may need to personalize this remembrance of your loved one.
Our caring staff looks forward to the privilege of helping your family create a celebration of life that is meaningful to you. Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas may be reached 7 days a week at (713) 981-1184.

Where to Start

Handling the death of a loved one is never an easy task. We’ve put together some of the important information you’ll need to make the initial decisions, reach out to the appropriate people, and begin the process of designing your loved one’s final farewell. Remember that, as you begin to cope with your loss, it’s often a good idea to enlist the help and support of a trusted friend in making the necessary arrangements.
If you have any questions about your next steps, the options available to you, or what the funeral arrangement process will entail, we’d be honored to walk you through this information in more detail and answer your questions. Don’t hesitate to contact us for anything you might need.

On-Site Crematory

8 Step Peace of Mind Cremation Identification Process
In order that our families may have the highest degree of confidence in our cremation procedures, we have developed an “8 Step Peace of Mind Cremation Identification Process”.
Your Loved One Never Leaves Our Care
Prior to Cremation:
A wrist identification band is placed on your loved one at the time we come to your home, hospital, or other care facility.
After the family is invited to identify & spend some private time with their loved one, the cremation container is labeled with your loved one’s name before they are placed into the secure refrigeration facility.
Our General Manager, Ted Garcia, reviews all cremation paperwork to ensure family authorizations and permits have been received.
During and After Cremation: Your loved one is removed from the refrigeration facility and noted into a tracking logbook. The log shows the date and time of cremation, and the crematory operator’s name.
Our crematory checklist is dated, start time noted, and signed immediately before and after the cremation takes place. The crematory checklist, metal identification tag and wristband are placed on the door of the cremation chamber during the cremation process. After the cremation is completed, the cremated remains are removed from the chamber and taken to the processing station and allowed to cool. The crematory checklist, metal identification tag and wristband are placed on the processing machine following the cremation process. The metal identification tag corresponding to the name and other personal identifying file information from your loved one is placed into a temporary container. Read the Advantages of a Family Owned, On-Site Crematory Facility.

On-Site Crematory Advantages

Advantages of a Family Owned, On-Site Crematory Facility Our state-of-the-art, on-site cremation facility means that you and your family are assured that your loved one will be properly cared for by our expert staff in a timely way without ever having to leave our care.
Your loved one is always under the care of our licensed funeral directors who personally supervise every step of the cremation process. Our licensed funeral directors are also licensed crematory operators.
Having our own crematory on-site insures respectful handling of your loved one, and every cremation is performed individually.
Another advantage of our on-site crematory is that you have the opportunity to participate in the process to the extent that is comfortable for you.
Unlimited cremation options The cremation chamber is thoroughly cleaned after every cremation to insure that there is no co-mingling of cremated remains and that the remains are returned to the family. Extensive documentation procedures guarantee that the cremated remains returned to the family are that of their loved one. Our crematory is open for inspection at any time. Beautiful Garden and Water Pond

About Us

A Family Serving Houston Families Since 1947 Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas has served Houston families for more than 20 years. Because we have strong roots in this community, we are fully committed to offering local families exceptional, affordable funeral services. We strive to serve each family with the compassion, dignity, and respect they deserve in their time of need.
At Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas, you’ll discover the level of compassionate care only a family can provide. As a family ourselves, we understand the importance of paying tribute to your loved one with a truly meaningful funeral service.

Why Us

Houston TX Funeral Home Offering Experience and Compassion for Your Family Our goal at Miller Funeral Services & Cremation Society of Texas is to build on the 60 years of experience our family has had helping people make final plans for their loved ones. As a family-owned and operated firm, we are sensitive to the needs of your family after the passing of a loved one.
We have had strong ties in the Houston area for several generations and will continue to build upon our commitment to you and your loved ones. When you choose us, you will be served by friends and neighbors.
After being stunned by the expense that is common for final arrangements, we made a commitment to do things differently. Our staff is not on commission, so you will not be exposed to high-pressure sales tactics. We pledge to treat you with the kindness and dignity that you deserve.

Contact Us

Address: 7723 Beechnut St, Houston, TX 77074 Phone: (713) 981-1184 Email: [email protected] Website: https://www.millerfuneral.com

The 3 basic parameters of hashtag #Valzubiriagenda:

1. We artists and everyone else can write and self-publish art- and artist-related books: memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs. Books are forever. Pamphlets and brochures are not books.
2. We announce a schedule of increasing prices of our art pieces, which includes quantities (scarcity numbers) per price point and overall (the total quantity of art pieces we might ever make). This helps art traders, art investors and art collectors speculate or even stop speculating and instead join a community of investors working together to hopefully skyrocket to the higher announced prices in a shorter span of time.
3. We can use the NFT world, because NFTs provide the tracking (who owns what) and trading.

We can also not be involved with NFTs. Stores and individuals can help sell art using online presence and our catalogs in the stores. If this trends, or once this trends, even expensive art can be sold by neighboring businesses, without exclusivity. Commission systems do not have to be standardized. Art investors can produce their own catalogs to leave at the cafés. Even the cafés can produce their own catalogs.
Valzubiriagenda NFTs
NFTs only came about a few years ago. But I had been working on this since the 1990s. I wrote a book, Valzubiriagenda, along with fellow artist Silverio Perez, and released it in 2018 (Amazon and elsewhere), tackling everything related to #1 & #2. We'll come up with #3 in a later book/ memoi marketing book.
Any artist, including tangible artists can release 10,000 NFTs if the artist chooses to do so. For tangible artists, the NFT first becomes an Art Commission Contract for sight unseen, yet-to-be made art. Once the art is made, the NFT becomes proof of ownership that the actual, tangible art is theirs.
Warehousing our tangible art
Another related idea is that the tangible art may be warehoused by the artist so that the NFT traders continue to trade. This means that even 10-ton 10-foot tall sculptures can be owned and traded by anyone without worrying about shipping, reshipping, scratches, smudges, parts breaking off, etc. The newness of the pieces remain because they are stored by the artist, source, gallery, etc. The art piece gets shipped to the art collector, the ultimate owner.
An artist who makes ceramic coffee mugs - smaller art pieces, can release 10,000 NFTs with a schedule of increasing prices so that NFT traders can trade immediately. The 10,000 coffee mugs can get damaged, so as they are made, they continue to be stored by the artist, until the time when art collectors decide to have the art pieces shipped to them.
Why only now?
I decided to write as many book-length memoirs as I can before I came out to promote this.
I'm an artist and an author. Both need time to "master." I would not even fully use "master" on myself, because there's always something new, even to my own art, my own writing and publishing.

I am now claiming that I'm the visual artist who has produced the most artist memoirs in the world. I have 5 on Amazon. I count Valzubiriagenda as both a marketing book and a memoir-of-sorts, because it has a lot of my own life lessons on writing and publishing. I would not care to contest my claim of having the most memoirs. I will release 5 more over the next 3 years.

BARTER! Get help to write, photograph art and publish your books!
Anyone can hire 11 ghostwriters for 11 memoirs. If you can make art, but you cannot write, then barter your forever art with those who can help you produce forever books.
I don't feel the pressure of writing and publishing because I feel my focus should be on art students and art experts who would study my art and my books 100 years from now. Don't expect relatives and friends to read your books.
I call myself the Dollman
For my NFTs, I am proposing to make dioramas - my original, costumed, bejeweled porcelain dolls in backdrops that will also have precious metals and gemstones. This way I can incorporate precious metals and gemstones in my work, to make sure that people perceive my art as expensive, just in case I myself don't become "famous" - there's no need to get world famous. We are artists and all we need to do is to satisfy the art niche.
Use your laptop now!
I will encourage you to start writing your book-length memoir. Write, Edit and then Self-publish it. Get help. Why wait a hundred years for someone to write about you when all you need is a laptop and a nearby coffee shop.
Don't start counting chickens before the eggs hatch. I have encountered a lot of would-be writers who immediately see themselves as bestselling. world famous assets to society. Two even wanted me to sign NDAs (Nondisclosure agreements), because they did not want me to steal their book ideas.
Here's a suggestion. I would not personally do it. From one manuscript can come 2 books: The Original Draft (unedited, with misspellings, considered to be an art piece, scanned pages(?) of your handwritten original effort), and The Final Edition (edited).
PROVENANCE!
Another way to enhance our investability, tradability and collectability is PROVENANCE - how art ownership proceeds through time. The way this can be done is also through publishing books. Everyone can write their memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs, including traders, investors and art collectors. In effect, we artists can continue to be included or mentioned in even more books, without any additional effort by us.
You as an investor, reseller, trader, art collector should be able to publish a catalog with 250 works by 250 different artists, but they need to agree to this right from the start - it's your money, you should require them to follow your version of the hashtag #valzubiriagenda parameters, which preferably should include permission for you to publish their art. Why would you track down 250 artists later?
No exclusive contracts
If you're a café, you can call for artists, and come up with a book with for example, 30 artists, with a chapter devoted to each artist's profile and images of the artist's art.
You can distribute your catalogs to businesses and individuals near and far and online.
The book Valzubiriagenda even cites that funeral homes and janitors closets can sell art, with or without exclusivity. Airline catalogs can include million dollar art pieces. Car manufacturers, showrooms and even car repair shops can sell art as well. Everyone should be able to do this, anywhere in the world, especially not just because of the pandemic, but right now, we are in really bad economies.
What's with the name #Valzubiriagenda
I was into conspiracy theories in 2018, and this term, "The Mandela Effect," was popular. I had read many times that an artist coined the term, but I had to research online, for her name, many times, before remembering it. I'm not good at remembering names. It took me a year and a half to finally tell you that Fiona Broome coined "The Mandela Effect."
I also thought I might have to research trademarks and copyrights just to come up with a generic name. So I decided on "Valzubiriagenda." I was not really sure at first, but I decided to use it as the title for my book (with co-authoartist Silverio Perez) so that there would be no turning back and I can move on.
Am I a FUTURIST?
Someone I recently met this May 2022 just called me a futurist.
In the 1990s, I proposed to a pension fund that they can raise billions of dollars, especially for emergencies, or as needed, or out of desperation, if the pension fund purchases a quantity of art from an artist who not only has a current, reasonable price, but an announced future price that the artist wants to reach.
That future price would obviously be higher than the current price. The art commission contract for multiple art pieces can be taken to the fund's financial lender for a loan. The higher future price can be used for financing purposes.
The pension fund's treasurer, a publicly elected official, said this idea might work, but we had to keep this a secret and discuss this some more, because other pension funds might copy and do this prematurely. This idea had to come from the two of us. The treasurer needed his votes and I needed credentials.
Added into the pot was my idea that I, as the artist, will also write one book-length artist memoir. This was and still is a strong factor, because the leadership and marketing books I had read then mentioned a strong tip. If you want to advance in your field, write a full-length book that is related to the field.
Unfortunately, the elected official, the treasurer of the pension fund, who was also a friend, passed away - he was old and had ailments. At that point in time, I cannot just approach another pension fund treasurer to share this idea with.
I realized I had to write a few memoirs. I needed to set an example for other artists, so I needed to write more than one memoir. Then I felt I should also make ready another book - the how-to of what I'm up to. I wrote Valzubiriagenda, which was a memoir of sorts. I knew how long it would take me to write a book, so I had to make sure I can also consider this book a memoir.
In 2008, I imagined that someone like Bernie Madoff, or a fund like Lehman Brothers, would be desperate enough to use this to save themselves and their companies. I was not ready. I had only written 1 manuscript for a memoir.
In 2012, I released Dollman the Musical, A Memoir of an Artist as a Dollmaker. Once again, I was not ready because writing it depressed me a little, and I knew I had to write more.
In 2014, I released 3 memoirs, and re-released Dollman the Musical. Besides releasing regular books, I released special editions of the 4 books, which had a "Special Secret Insert for Bankers," which explains my ideas of an announced schedule of exponentially increasing prices, to satisfy investors, and the publication of artist memoirs, to satisfy art collectors.
In 2014, I also issued out a press release. Google "Can Billion Dollar Artist Save Investors and World Economy Valentino Zubiri PRWeb August 19 2014" and you will see the press release.
What I did was stake a claim on my ideas. I did not promote my books and the press release. I just wanted them to stay online, like a sleeping giant or a dormant volcano. I even designed 3 of the book covers to look like indie books from the 1980s. I was planting the seeds, thinking they will eventually grow and bear fruit in the future.
In 2015, I was interviewed by Richard Syrett, about one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately. This book is my memoir with paranormal stories. I could have pursued promoting my paranormal stories, but I wanted to be known first as a visual artist and memoirist, so I allowed myself one interview related to Hocus Pocus Lately. Richard Syrett has(had?) his own syndicated radio show, The Conspiracy Show with Richard Syrett, about the paranormal. He also guest hosts on Coast to Coast AM, another internationally syndicated show about the paranormal.
In 2018, I released Valzubiriagenda (co-authored by artist Silverio Perez, a fellow artist). Finally, this book is "the how-to of what I'm to."
I'm going to end this with some strangeness. In 1986, a lady at a religious gathering went into a trance and left a good number of messages. Supposedly, anyone who got into a trance would have messages, but once the trance was over, the person would not remember what was said.
I was not part of the group, but the lady turned her head to face me. She "foretold" that whatever I would decide to do in the future, it will take time, but it will be the right thing. This is one of my stories in one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately.
The Tulipmania of 1634-37
I discovered that there was this incident of rare tulips becoming collectible during the Dutch Golden Age. There were tulips so rare and so well-desired that their prices equaled to that of a house. You can read more about this online (Wikipedia) or watch a few YouTube videos about it.
Here is the most useful idea that I gleaned from the Tulipmania. The tulip bulbs remained safe inside nurseries. The traders were carrying the deeds of ownership to the tulip bulbs.
Then NFTs came to the forefront
I started learning PHP, an HTML scripting language, and MySQL, the database that PHP can connect to in the background, in 1999, when there were only 3 books about PHP and MySQL at the bookstores.
By 2014, I was trying to figure out how to make the "ledger," or database that can be used to update ownership and who can be contacted. If we are trading art, then the art ownership should be updated.
Then NFTs came about. This can be used as our ledger. Everyone can immediately trade NFTs of future, yet-to-be made art pieces, especially because it takes time to make tangible art.
NFTs actually went a step ahead, by allowing digital art to be traded.
The only setback with NFTs, in my opinion, is that it still lacks a commission system for resellers and representatives.
For example, if a café wants to represent me, then they can promote me at their café and on their online pages. If I make one piece of art that will be exclusively represented by a gallery, then that commission will be different and more specific. As ownership is transferred, the subsequent owners should be able to reset the commission. We should also have the option of giving commissions to hundreds of representatives at one time with different percentages if need be.
The recent crypto crash
Lately, we have observed that NFTs and cryptocurrencies have been behaving like the stock market and other markets. They have been fluctuating.
I believe that it is time for a trend which discourages fluctuation of prices.
I have also seen YouTube videos where social influencers are encouraging us to be on the lookout for exponentially profitable ventures, because we have all seen this happen with the exponential increase of Bitcoin and Ethereum.
Let's see if #Valzubiriagenda trends
We can announce present and future art prices. The galleries won't do this (yet?) because they follow a more traditional approach to the business of art.
We have a choice of using incrementally or exponentially increasing prices. We still reserve the right to change things in the future, so everyone should know to follow the latest update.
If this trends, if you as an artist simply announces that you will write an artist memoir, or that you will include the future works in future art books, you might have more art traders, investors and collectors approaching you.
Get your pen, paper and calculator
Imagine yourself as an artist, where you are right now. Let's just say you still do not have a book about yourself and your art yet. Imagine now that you have a memoir out there. Don't you think it makes sense to charge more than what you are charging now? Writing and publishing books is just the beginning. I'm just standardizing this approach. The books also say to do other related projects. In my case, getting Dollman the Musical onstage is one idea. You will have other related projects, but the publication of memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs will help all of us.
You can also imagine that a law firm that has meeting rooms, with someone who wants to form a local #valzubiriagenda group, can have meetings. A local café can do the same. Local photographers for your art, writers, editors, book designers, proofreaders and others can join in.
I suggest have printed books to share. 15 copies of your memoir or art books will be better than an e-reader or laptop or your phone to show. These gadgets can be stolen, sabotaged, broken, have coffee spilled on them, etc. 15 printed books means simultaneously showing to 15 people. You can even give them away to potential resellers, investors, traders and collectors.
When it rains, it pours, as in the days of Noah
There's a saying, "When it rains, it pours." There is a negative interpretation and a positive interpretation.
Negative: When trouble comes, they cascade to even more.
Positive: When opportunity comes knocking, more follow suit. We can assume that if one gets our art because of #valzubiriagenda, more want to do it now, because of the rising prices, and FOMO - fear of missing out. What will they lose if they miss the boat?
As I have said earlier, if the #valzubiriagenda trends, if you announce a future memoir or art catalog, you might have an increase of investors, traders and art collectors who would want to check you out. You might encourage more sales. Just remember to write and publish that memoir and art catalog.
There's this saying, "As in the days of Noah." Imagine Noah, building his ark, with members of his own family, putting all his time and effort into it. Noah was a nice guy. I'm sure every once in a while a neighbor offered him coffee, or chai latte, or whatever refreshing drink they might have back then.
Here's the lesson to be learned. Just because they offered him some type of bubble tea drink, or coca cola, they still didn't make it to the ark. Rubbing shoulders with actors does not make you an actor. I have told my artist friends to write their memoirs. They told me that once they see me succeed, after all these many years of seeing my seemingly useless efforts, then they will write their memoirs and follow the road that I had paved for them.
Good luck to them, but if I were you, act now, get my art or make art. Support the 5-year old artist whose parent promised to release a comprehensive art catalog. If you get that 5-year old's art, and mine, I would be honored to be in the same art catalog that you will produce. I'm already successful at that point. You have gotten the mission just right.
I have already claimed to have written the most book-length artist memoirs in the world. Dethrone that claim. Barter. Use ghostwriters. Success to me means facing God one day and saying, I wrote my memoirs and left the world a legacy of books and art. I will not tell God, smiling and proudly, that I encouraged a run for my art by announcing a schedule of exponentially increasing prices that reached 9 figures. I'm sure God knows we had fun.

JOIN THIS GROUP

If you want to try out #valzubiriagenda, in any capacity, join this group. Let others know about this group as well.
If you are an artist, you can let everyone know here that you will produce your memoir, art catalogs, etc. It's okay if you don't know how to go about publishing yet, I will discuss this. Please be honorable enough to produce what you promise to produce.
If you want to meet fellow artists, investors, resellers, etc., join us here.
If you are a book writer, editor, proofreader; if you can photograph art pieces; if you are a book designer, etc., join us here. Let us know if you charge, barter for art, or both.
If you have your own tips and knowledge to share, join us here.
If you have underaged artists you are managing (parents, etc.) join us here.
Join this group if you want to sell works. Post your works. You web links. I'm sure I will.
You can announce meetings in your area. You might have meeting rooms, a café, restaurant, etc. where people can meet. In the future, you can have the regular show and tell, where books can be shown and shared.
​
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, Artist, Memoirist
Underaged artists are welcome here, so please be mindful of your language. We cannot post your adult-oriented art pieces, but you can direct us to a separate page or community. There will be limits to your posts, and there will be adult-oriented art that we cannot allow to be posted.
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, artist & memoirist

I hope this is the correct sub for this, if not, kidly direct me to the right one. Now, let me start by saying, I have no knowledge in dream reading, multi universes or quantum mortality/immortality. I've only heard about it, maybe read an article about it, but I want to hear your thoughts on this...
I was having this dream and in it, I was driving home w a friend in her truck, it was night time. We were talking, catching up. I was in the passenger seat and she was driving. All of a sudden while I'm talking to her, I start panicking. I can see the road but I can see another layer, like im in another place, but I can still see where I am. In this other layer, im focusing in and out of it, like I'm im the car w my friend and Im also in this other place. What I see is I'm in a crowd during the day, Im with some person and we're downtown. We round a corner and hear shots being fired. Its a long stretch of road with businesses and more people. Everyone starts running and I see the shooter pointing down the direction where I am. I start running and screaming, "No, no, no no! Run" When I'm screaming I'm screaming in the car again w my friend in the original setting. I can see her driving, but I also see this street where Im running in a crowd full of people from this shooter. She starts freaking out and trying to talk to me, she asked what's going on and Im still screaming, "Its a shooter its happening, run, run!" And Im saying this as im sobbing and choking through my words. So Im in the crowd again, all the while I can hear my friend screaming asking whats wrong and it gets muffled out. I am north of the shooter and I am able to run around the shooter in the crowd and he begins to turn and shoot west where I just went w the crowd. I keep looking back as I run to make sure he isn't running or walking with/towards the crowd. He stays standing in the same place and I can see him shooting into the crown. I make it south of him then he begins to turn south and shoots. This time I keep looking forward. I can see the street w people, but I can also see myself in my friends car. I hear the shots go off behind me and people screaming even louder around me I look back, see him shoot, I turn my head as im running to look forward. Then I feel a burning in my neck. In that split second, I'm back in the car w my friend and I just slump over dead! Everything went black and in that moment I opened my eyes in real life and Im at home on the couch...
When everything goes black I see flashes of a funeral, news articles, my obituary, my friend screaming in the car, her driving to the hospital, the date Oct 20th (😱) and I can FEEL heartbreak, sadness, sorrow, all in a split second before my eyes flew open and I actually woke up...Usually if I have an intense dream I'll wake suddenly sometimes crying, hyperventalating, sad, still scared... but nothing? Even if I dream about getting cut or stabbed or something crazy, there is usually a lingering sensation when I wake. I even expected my neck to hurt when I woke, but nothing...
Maybe being in a dream state my psyche was able to tap into this other universe?? The emotions of the crowd and myself were so intense that it took over and I was able to "be" in these two parallel places?... I've always been open to the unexplained and I've heard a handful of stories similar to mine on podcasts or other places, this is very interesting to me, especially the fact that I saw a date. I also saw street names but I've tried google maps and there is no place where these two streets are in the same place? The streets were Research and Brackenridge, unsure of "street", "Lane", "Avenue", etc.. Now I do live in Austin Tx and we have these streets, but theyre in no way similar or near each other like they were in this other setting I experienced.
Anyways, let me know your thoughts! I appreciate any feedback! also did I flair this correctly? So much unsure-ness.

I am looking to complete my living form dex in Pokemon HOME and am seeking the following Pokemon:

Pokemon	Form
Diancie	Base
Hoopa	Unbound
Zarude	Dada

Shinies and Mythicals
I am offering the following pokemon in trade (Imgur Album with all offered pokemon below):

Pokemon	Sex	Ball	Shiny?	Event?	HA?	OT	ID	Obtained Method
Blastoise	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Pidgeot	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Pidgeot	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	164916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Raichu	F	PokeBall	Yes	No	Yes	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, given HA via Ability Patch in Shield
Machop	M	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Machoke	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Gengar	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Onix	F	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught during space-time distortion in PLA
Gyarados	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Flareon	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Aerodactyl	M	Premier Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Aerodactyl	F	Premier Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Pichu	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Marill	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Azumarill	F	Great Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Yanma	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Yanma	F	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Celebi	N/A	PokeBall	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Mudkip	M	Great Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Gardevoir	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Swablu	F	PokeBall	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Altaria	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon Go
Altaria	M	PokeBall	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Duskull	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Dusclops	F	Wing Ball	Yes	no	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Salamence	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Deoxys (Defense)	N/A	Premier Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Deoxys (Defense)	N/A	Premier Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Shellos (West Sea)	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Driftloon	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Glameow	M	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Bronzong	N/A	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Skorupi	F	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Phione	N/A	Gigaton Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from the Manaphy quest in PLA
Phione	N/A	Gigaton Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from the Manaphy quest in PLA
Obstagoon	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO

Aprimons
In addition to the above listed pokemon, I also have a small selection of Aprimons in HOME that I would be willing to breed down. I can trade you either the egg or a hatched mon, whichever is preferred. Available pokemon are here:
Imgur album with available Aprimons
Items
I also have access to various items and Apriballs in S/V that I would be willing to discuss. These items include:

Item	Quantity
Ability Patch	10
Ability Capsule	56
Auspicious Armor	2
Big Nugget	9
Bottle Cap	38
Dream Ball	1
Fast Ball	2
Friend Ball	1
Golden Bottle Cap	1
Heavy Ball	1
Lure Ball	1
Level Ball	1
Moon Ball	3

Codes
Lastly, I have one code for the Ultra Ball backpack in S/V. Code was earned from the Global Challenge III competition a few weeks ago by me.
REMINDER: PokeBall Flair or higher is required when trading for shiny or event pokemon
All trades will need to be completed in either Pokemon HOME or Sword/Shield with the exception of items traded in S/V. Please let me know if you have anything I am looking for, or if you're interested in what I have for trade. While I am primarily looking to complete my HOME living dex I will consider all good faith offers. Thanks, and happy trading!

I am looking to complete my living form dex in Pokemon HOME and am seeking the following Pokemon:

Pokemon	Form
Pikachu	Original Cap
Pikachu	Hoenn Cap
Pikachu	Sinnoh Cap
Pikachu	Unova Cap
Pikachu	Kalos Cap
Pikachu	Alola Cap
Pikachu	Partner Cap
Pikachu	World Cap
Diancie	Base
Hoopa	Unbound
Sinestea/Polteagiest	Antique
Zarude	Dada

Shinies and Mythicals
I am offering the following pokemon in trade (Imgur Album with all offered pokemon below):

Pokemon	Sex	Ball	Shiny?	Event?	HA?	OT	ID	Obtained Method
Blastoise	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Pidgeot	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Pidgeot	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	164916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Raichu	F	PokeBall	Yes	No	Yes	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, given HA via Ability Patch in Shield
Machop	M	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Machoke	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Gengar	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Onix	F	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught during space-time distortion in PLA
Gyarados	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	N/A	Dev (self)	154916	Self-caught in Pokemon GO, transferred via LGP
Flareon	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Aerodactyl	M	Premier Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Aerodactyl	F	Premier Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Pichu	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Marill	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Azumarill	F	Great Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Yanma	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Yanma	F	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Celebi	N/A	PokeBall	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Mudkip	M	Great Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Gardevoir	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Swablu	F	PokeBall	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Altaria	M	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon Go
Altaria	M	PokeBall	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Barboach	F	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Duskull	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Dusclops	F	Wing Ball	Yes	no	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Salamence	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Deoxys (Defense)	N/A	Premier Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Deoxys (Defense)	N/A	Premier Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO
Shellos (West Sea)	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Driftloon	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Glameow	M	Gigaton Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Bronzong	N/A	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Skorupi	M	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Skorupi	F	Wing Ball	Yes	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from random encounter in PLA
Phione	N/A	Gigaton Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from the Manaphy quest in PLA
Phione	N/A	Gigaton Ball	No	No	N/A	adfluffy (self)	173208	Self-caught from the Manaphy quest in PLA
Obstagoon	F	Ultra Ball	Yes	No	No	adfluffy (self)	502608	Self-caught in Pokemon GO

Aprimons
In addition to the above listed pokemon, I also have a small selection of Aprimons in HOME that I would be willing to breed down. I can trade you either the egg or a hatched mon, whichever is more convenient. Imgur album with available Aprimons
Items
Finally, I also have access to various items and Apriballs in S/V that I would be willing to discuss. These items include:

Item	Quantity
Ability Patch	10
Ability Capsule	56
Auspicious Armor	2
Big Nugget	9
Bottle Cap	38
Dream Ball	1
Fast Ball	2
Friend Ball	1
Gold Bottle Cap	1
Heavy Ball	1
Lure Ball	1
Level Ball	1
Moon Ball	3

REMINDER: PokeBall Flair or higher is required when trading for shiny or event pokemon
All trades will need to be completed in either Pokemon HOME or Sword/Shield with the exception of items traded in S/V. Please let me know if you have anything I am looking for, or if you're interested in what I have for trade. While I am primarily looking to complete my HOME living dex I will consider all good faith offers. Thanks, and happy trading!

So, to start, l 16 F, have a big sister, Mary(not her real name). She just got back from Baylor University in Waco, TX. She had been living on campus, except for coming home for holidays. The last time she came home was Easter, so about 3 weeks. I have gotten used to, and was even enjoying, being the oldest at home, so I was kinda sad when she came back. I know that's awful to say, but I've been a middle child so long, I've always wanted my little brother, Evan(also not his real name)to take me seriously. So, when she came back, I said "Aw, man, now Evan will only listen to and pay attention to you!" When she's home, he never listens to me. So, I was sad she came home. Tell me, AITJ?

I am very late to tell this story and also I apologize as brevity is not my strong suit.
I am not really anybody in any scene, just happened to be there. It was in 2004 Jan 2005, when I saw Arcade Fire play at Trees in Dallas,Tx.
How I came to be there - A few weeks prior I went to a CD store and on a listening station it (Funeral) was there, and Tunnels started and I don’t think I stopped listening until part way through Power Out when I got up and paid for the CD, walked home, and listened to the whole thing. It was such a feeling of elation.
at checkout, someone dropped they were coming to town soon. I played the CD on repeat for days, maybe weeks(?) leading up- So yeah I thought let me get some tickets and play this for my friends and it will be a great day.
But they were lukewarm and I somehow ended up at Trees by myself. I think I had done the whole look in the mirror and say “if Gabriel wants to rollerblade Gabriel gets to rollerblade ” mentally and just went.
It has been so long since all of this happened I question if this actually occurred or it was a small moment that I have kept embellishing for so long. For everyone else and the band it might’ve been a Tuesday
I have only seen Arcade Fire three times, But to confirm that I’m not crazy, the third time I saw them on the EN tour, they dropped this nugget, amongst other things (i will come back to this later) - “Win thanked the "one person" at the AAC who had stayed [at] Arcade Fire's sold-out Trees show in 2004.”
I lost it when he said that in 2017 and a woman behind me said “what did he say?” And her boyfriend repeated it and she said “so who is that?” And he pointed to me and said “apparently, this guy” which has always cracked me up. They spent most of the show with their arms folded tight.
Back in 2004 2005, AF were delayed by some transportation trouble and they thanked a band from either Austin or Denton who had made the trip to get them and bring them to Trees.
I just want to say that it was definitely more than just me in the room when they played. But it was just like this scene in 24 hour party people where Tony Wilson sees the Sex Pistols for the first time.
But I am not Tony Wilson and it’s Arcade Fire playing Funeral like their life is on the line to a small group of people and I’ve never experienced anything like it.
I’ve never met again a single other person from that room but we all saw something that was beautiful and raw and unsurpassed except possibly for those who got to attend Stop Making Sense and see Talking Heads perform What a Day that Was
And at this most exquisite moment when AF were potent and striking - off to the right of this small stage appeared a really normal looking couple with beers in their hands.
The woman is blonde or dirty blonde and the guy has brown short hair and they just look like SMU frat kids on a date. And they just stroll on the stage and Win has not noticed but maybe Sarah and they are exploring some of the stage where the drumsticks/motorcycle helmet getup (that I think Richard Reed Parry uses) and they are amused with themselves and sort of looking around but also they look like a bit, a comedy piece. Surely it’s a bit?
and then the frat girl just picks up the drumsticks and starts banging them a bit and before you know it she’s put the helmet on and the frat guy is wandering up to a microphone that is finally close enough to Win that he turns, looks down the stage right and sees this guy sort of “blah blah blabbing” along with him.
I don’t know how long this moment lasts but it felt like forever, enough to steal a glance again at the girl who is banging drum sticks on her head and on stuff around her, but Win picks up this guy (with ease) and slams him right into the drums. Was it timed to the end of a song? Maybe. Did it end the song? Maybe. Were they done playing for the night or did they have an encore? possibly.
These are the kinds of questions that haunt me and I’m just going to mis quote John Ford- “When the truth becomes legend, print the legend” - so let’s say he picked him up threw him into the drums at the exact conclusion of Rebellion and that was the end of their set.
There’s other details from that night that people might know - would love to know if anyone out there remembers what really happened or could corroborate any of this.
Thanks for reading this
Edit: Win and the Dallas Observer were off a bit on the timing it was Jan 22 2005 thanks u/bbrodsky
Edit 2: okay so here’s the set list from that show. They did end with rebellion during encore but the timing was so good that I just kept thinking it had to be a bit. but the whole place was going wild and it was a pretty unhinged night so maybe it was impeccable timing or this couple were really at the “drunk and don’t give an f” stage.
Edit 3: Okay we have at least one photo with the girl in the dress that wore the helmet and to the right of her looks like a guy singing with his hand in the air. Thanks u/cowboypants you infidel! (wink)