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My [18 M] fiancee-to-be [22 F] found out I was sexually active, takes issue with it.

2020.09.17 11:36 bir_bintang My [18 M] fiancee-to-be [22 F] found out I was sexually active, takes issue with it.

tl;dr: Liberal muslim fiancee-to-be is upset over my history of dating and casual encounters.
A little background: my family and hers go way back and have always wanted to make the ties official, at this point I've accepted that both families really want this to happen and I might as well go along with it and give it a shot. No coercion or even guilt tripping on her side or mine. So far there is nothing official yet between us but we requested for an opportunity to discuss the more personal things with each other without any supervision, and they granted it. There is a moderately high likelihood that this arrangement will go through so from this point onwards I'm gonna base this thread on that assumption.
We pretty much found each other to be a decently good match despite the stigma surrounding arranged marriages. We both similarly value education very highly and we share the same level of ambition in our respective careers. And probably the most important thing for me is we are both pretty liberal by the standards of our conservative muslim families. I've been pretty much an agnostic cultural muslim for a while whilst she sees religion as a spiritual and private matter.
I've been living overseas in the past 4 years whilst she's currently studying and working back home in Indonesia. We're by and large a conservative country and she likewise still holds conservative views when it comes to sexual encounters.
Earlier this week she found out from my friends that I've had several ex girlfriends and was briefly pretty active in the dating app scene, mostly seeking the company of older women. This all happened before we knew our parents had plans for us. I've had casual encounters with strangers as well, but I've always made sure to stay clean and safe. She was a bit distraught at the revelation, not enough for it to be a dealbreaker by her admission but she's made it clear how she feels about the whole thing.
I don't want this to be a baggage going forwards, I believe clear communication is key and I would very much like to resolve any problem before it snowballs into something bigger or cause jealousy issues a few years down the road. Not sure how relevant it is: I have a strong moral objection against cheating and I've always held myself up to that standard of integrity, none of my casual encounters and even flirting happened when I was in an exclusive relationship.
How should I approach this? I feel responsible for the way she's feeling now. We're going to be a team going forwards and her problems are going to be mine and my problems are likewise going to be hers. Or should I just give her time to process the whole thing and come to terms with it in her own way?
submitted by bir_bintang to relationships [link] [comments]


2020.09.17 04:05 Khantlerpartesar The Timeline of Hololive

The following timeline is (messy and) based on Hololive (including Holostar) Vtubers (along with other characters) debut date (and even retirement date, yes, sadly), instances and marks but if there is no YouTube channel then I can only rely on other media such as Bilibili based on its debut date.
I would like to ask everyone's support to make this post appeal to everyone so that they knew atleast how the Hololive we come to love so much had began. Thank you.
Welcome to...
{Date first posted: September 17, 2020}
{Updates: September 17, 2020 --- ...}
///
[The Timeline of Hololive]
...
(Before and During 2017...)
1) Cover Corps, a company that develops and manages virtual reality and augmented reality software application products
2) Cover Corps started funding a Virtual YouTube Agency known as "Hololive", a female-only (that will be merge with Holostar in the future) group of virtual YouTuber as idols. It's main objective was to create a group of idols featuring Vtubers
3) "Yuujin A" - or A-chan, a former staff in Cover Corps and now a staff in Hololive
4) "Tokino Sora" - the first ever Virtual YouTuber of Cover Corps and the first ever member of Hololive, first member of a soon-to-be "0th Gen", she debuted September 7, 2017
5) "Ankimo" and "Yuujin A" joined in with Sora with the streams, well, sometimes
...
(2018)
6) "Robocco" - once a demonstrator for the technology of Hololive App joined Hololive Vtuber group, and will be member of a soon-to-be "0th Gen", debuted March 4, 2018
7) "Hoshimachi Suisei" - a once independent Vtuber that soon joined Hololive, and will be a member of a soon-to-be "0th Gen" debuted March 22, 2018
8) An audition was made (privately) and will begin the first Generational group of Hololive called "1st Gen"
9) "Yozora Mel" - is the first member of 1st Gen for Hololive to appear, debuted May 13, 2018
10) "Natsuiro Matsuri AND Shirakami Fubuki - both are members of 1st Gen of Hololive, they debuted June 1, 2018
11) "Akai Haato" - (or will be known in 2020 as Haachama) is another member of the 1st Gen of Hololive, she debuted June 2, 2018
12) "H▌│█║▌║▌║ C║▌║▌║█│▌" - another member of the 1st Gen of Hololive, she debuted(?) June 3, 2018
13) "Aki Rosenthal" - is the last member of the 1st Gen of Hololive, she debuted June 7, 2018
14) The "1st Generation of Hololive" was (unofficially (?)) formed, with its members are: Yozora Mel, Natsuiro Matsuri, Shirakami Fubuki, Akai Haato, H▌│█║▌║▌║ C║▌║▌║█│▌ and Aki Rosethal.
15) "H▌│█║▌║▌║ C║▌║▌║█│▌" - a member of 1st Gen of Hololive, she was officially terminated for violating a contract and thus was sacked by Hololive, she was the first ever Vtuber in the Virtual World who was wiped out from the face of the world. A controversial figure. She was terminated by June 25th, 2018, leaving behind a dark spot in the face of Hololive
16) "Hololive" was officially founded by Cover Corps and established its building agency
17) "Sakura Miko" - she debuted at August 1, 2018. However, she was not yet a member of Hololive. She was once placed in a "Sakura Miko Project", however, from the looks of it, the project failed.
18) "1st Generation of Hololive" was officially updated, members composed of: Yozora Mel, Natsuiro Matsuri, Shirakami Fubuki, Akai Haato, and Aki Rosethal.
19) Another batch (private) was made and was introduced as "2nd Gen" of Hololive by late 2018
20) "Minato Aqua" - is the first member of 2nd Gen of Hololive to appear, debuted August 8, 2018
21) "Murasaki Shion" - another member of 2nd Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 17, 2018
22) "Nakiri Ayame" - another member of 2nd Gen of Hololive, she debuted September 3, 2018
23) "Yuzuki Choco" - or Choco-sensei, is another member of 2nd Gen of Hololive, she debuted September 5, 2018
24) "Oozaru Subaru" - the last member of 2nd Gen, she debuted September 16, 2018
25) "2nd Generation of Hololive" was officially established, with its members as: Minato Aqua, Murasaki Shion, Nakiri Ayame, Yuzuki Choco, and Oozaru Subaru.
26) "AZKi" - is Vtuber Diva for the joint project between Upd8 and Cover Corp. At this point, she was not a member of Hololive yet, she debuted November 11, 2018
27) "Ookami Mio" - is a first member to appear in Hololive for a new engaging platform, and will be the first member to be part of a soon-to-be "Hololive GAMERS", she debuted December 7, 2018
28) Sakura Miko officially joined/placed to Hololive alongside the soon-to-be "0th Gen", she officially debuted under Hololive by December 25th of 2018
29) A "Non-Generational (or 0th Gen) of Hololive" was officially established with members (these people already exist in Hololive and even before then, with Sora as exception(?)) as: Tokino Sora, Robocco, Hoshimachi Suisei and Sakura Miko.
...
(2019)
29) An audition was made for a new branch called "Gamers of Hololive (?)"
30) Shirakami Fubuki, a member of the 1st Gen of Hololive, joined the Hololive GAMERS by March 22(?), 2019
31) "Nekomata Okayu" - is another member of the soon-to-be "Hololive GAMERS", she debuted April 6, 2019
32) "Inugami Korone" - is the last(?) member of the soon-to-be "Hololive GAMERS", she debuted April 13, 2019
33) Officially established a "Hololive GAMERS", a branch of Hololive, members composed of: Ookami Mio, Shirakami Fubuki, Nekomata Okayu, and Inugami Korone.
34) Due to the success of Hololive, new agency(?) was established(?) by Cover Corps called "Holostar", another Virtual YouTuber Agency for the male-only Vtubers as idols.
35) An audition was made in May 17, 2019 for Holostar was formed that will be called "1st Gen" of Holostar as well, initially, there were only supposed to be 3 members
36) May 19, 2019, "INoNaKa Music (INNK MUSIC)" was established by Cover Corps and is the music label under Hololive - basically they're the creators of Music and BGMs of/for our favorites Hololive (and Holostar(?)) Vtubers. It was announced that both AZKi, which she was now placed unto (but to this day, she was still endorsed by Upd8), and Hoshimachi Suisei will be affiliated with this, and will be running pretty much most of it
37) "Hanasaki Miyabi" - the first ever (male) Virtual YouTuber of Cover Corps, first ever member of Holostar and first member of its 1st Gen, he debuted June 8, 2019
38) "Kagami Kira" - another member of 1st Gen of Holostar, he debuted June 9, 2019
39) An audition for a new group (public announcement) of "3rd Gen" in Hololive had began by June 13, 2019
40) "Kanade Izuru" - another member of the 1st Gen of Holostar, he debuted June 22, 2019
41) By July 7th of 2019, the first two members of the 3rd Gen of Hololive was announced and they're: Usada Pekora and Uruha Rushia
42) "Usada Pekora" - is the first member of 3rd Gen of Hololive to appear, debuted July 17, 2019
43) "Uruha Rushia" - a member of the 3rd Gen of Hololive, she debuted July 18, 2019
44) "Daidou Shinove" - is the first ever Virtual Manager of Holostar, do not have YouTube account but based on his Twitter account he joined around August of 2019
45) "Shiranui Flare" - another member of 3rd Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 7, 2019
46) "Shirogane Noel" - another member of 3rd Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 8, 2019
47) "Honshou Marine" - the last member of 3rd Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 11, 2019
48) The "3rd Generation of Hololive" was formed and will be known as "Hololive Fantasy", the members are: Usada Pekora, Uruha Rushia, Shiranui Flare, Shirogane Noel, and Honshou Marine
49) An announcement that Hololive will launch a first ever overseas branch line; "Hololive China" or Hololive CH. In a site known as Bilibili, an audition was created for the first ever China's "1st Gen" of Hololive in China
50) "Yakushiji Suzaku" - another member of the 1st Gen of Holostar, he debuted September 7, 2019
51) "Arurandeisu" - is another member of the 1st Gen of Holostar, he debuted September 9, 2019
52) "Yogiri" - is the first ever overseas member of Hololive, first ever member that is from China, and first member of the 1st Gen of Hololive in China, she debuted September 28, 2019 (in Bilibili)
53) "Rikka" - is the last member of the 1st Gen of Holostar, he debuted October 20, 2019
54) The "1st Generation of Holostar" was officially established, the members are: Hanasaki Miyabi, Kagami Kira, Kanade Izuru, Yakushiji Suzaku, Arurandeisu and Rikka.
55) "Civia" - debuted in Bilibili at November 1, 2019
56) An audition was made for the "2nd Gen" of Holostar
57) In December 1st and 2nd of 2019, the agency of Holostar was scrapped(?) and instead merged together with the main branch that is Hololive and INoNaKa Music, and Holostar became one of Hololive's branch, thus establishing the "Hololive Production"
58) "Astel Leda" - is the first member of the 2nd Gen of Holostar, he debuted December 7, 2019
59) "Kishido Temma AND Yukoku Roberu" - both are the last two member of the 2nd Gen of Holostar, they debuted December 14, 2019
60) The "2nd Generation of Holostar" was established with members which are: Astel Leda, Kishido Temma and Yokoku Roberu"
61) An audition was announced for the "4th Gen" of Hololive
62) "Amane Kanata" - is the first member of 4th Gen of Hololive to appear, she debuted December 17, 2019
63) "Kiryuu Coco" - is another member of 4th Gen of Hololive to appear, she debuted December 18, 2019
64) "Tsunomaki Watame" - is another member of 4th Gen of Hololive to appear, she debuted December 29, 2019
...
(2020 'til Now)
65) "Tokoyami Towa" - is another member of 4th Gen of Hololive, she debuted January 3, 2020
66) "Himemori Luna" - is the last member of 4th Gen of Hololive, she debuted January 4, 2020
67) The "4th Generation of Hololive" was officially formed with members are: Amane Kanata, Kiryuu Coco, Tsunomaki Watame, Tokoyami Towa and Himemori Luna.
68) "Spade Echo" - is the last member of the 1st Gen of Hololive CH, she debuted in Bilibili at January 30, 2020
69) The "1st Generation of Hololive CH" was formed in Bilibili, with members are: Yogiri, Civia and Spade Echo
70) At the month of March, on the day of 6th, Hololive announced the retirement of, Yakushiji Suzaku. He's the first ever Virtual YouTuber of Cover Corps to graduate in Holostar - the first Holo-Retirement, leaving behind this scent of sadness
71) The "1st Generation of Holostar" was updated, members now are: Hanasaki Miyabi, Kagami Kira, Kanade Izuru, Arurandeisu and Rikka
72) Somewhen in March or April, marked the beginning of "Golden Age of Vtubers", with Hololive (alongside Nijisanji) rising in popularity immensely. And in June, marked the highest peak of Hololive's popularity
73) An announcement of Hololive for the "2nd Gen" of Hololive in China, an audition has began around late February(?) or early March(?)
74) "Doris AND Rosalyn" - the first two members who appeared first in 2nd Gen of Hololive CH, debuted in Bilibili March 6, 2020
75) Hololive announced its second overseas branch; "Hololive Indonesia" or Hololive ID. And audition was launched in late March(?) or early April(?) for the "1st Gen" of Hololive in Indonesia
76) "Ayunda Risu" - is the first ever member of Hololive ID and first member of the 1st Gen of Hololive to appear in Indonesia, she debuted April 10, 2020
77) "Artia" - is the last member of 2nd Gen of Hololive CH, she debuted in Bilibili April 11, 2020
78) The "2nd Generation of Hololive CH" was established, with members are: Doris, Rosalyn and Artia
79) "Moona Hoshinova" - is a member of the 1st Gen ID, she debuted April 11, 2020
80) "Airani Iofifteen" - is a member of the 1st Gen ID, she debuted April 12, 2020
81) The "1st Generation of Hololive ID" was formed and its members are: Ayunda Risu, Moona Hoshinova and Airani Iofifteen
82) An announcement by Hololive in twitter that there will be an audition for an English Speaking Vtubers starting by April 23, 2020
83) Hololive announced and introduced the "3rd Gen" of Holostar
84) "Tsukishita Kaoru" - is the first member of the 3rd Gen of Holostar to appear, he debuted April 29, 2020
85) "Kageyama Shien" - is a member of the 3rd Gen of Holostar, he debuted April 30, 2020
86) "Aragami Oga" - is the last member of the 3rd Gen of Holostar, he debuted May 1, 2020
87) The "3rd Generation of Holostar" was formed and was known as "TriNero" with members are: Tsukishita Kaoru, Kageyama Shien, and Aragami Oga
88) By June 28th of 2020, the 2nd Generation of Holostar named their group as "SunTempo"
88.5) July 3rd of 2020, Hololive ID, a second overseas branch of Hololive that is in Indonesia, announced an audition its Twitter for its "2nd Gen"
89) However, a sudden and sad news has arrived. By July 28th of 2020, Hololive announced that a member of the TriNero squad, Tsukishita Kaoru, had officially retired, leaving behind a mystery trail of his retirement
90) In the months of late June, July and early August, will be marked as the "Vidapocalypse", the Privatization/Deletion of the Holo-members streaming video games
91) On the day 31st of July in 2020 marked the beginning of visible struggles in Hololive. This day is the day when Sakura Miko was announced to be having a hiatus for one or two months by Cover Corps due to her illness
92) In August 5th of 2020, Ookami Mio was suspended of her activities. Two strikes were filed against her YouTube account and in danger of getting ban completely
93) By August 6th of 2020, Hololive announced in Twitter and introduced the "5th Gen of Hololive"
94) "Yukihana Lamy" - is the first member of 5th Gen of Hololive to appear, she debuted August 12, 2020
95) "Momosuzu Nene" - a member of 5th Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 13, 2020
96) "Shishiro Botan" - a member of 5th Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 14, 2020
97) "Mano Aloe" - a member of 5th Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 15, 2020
98) "Omaru Polka" - the last member of 5th Gen of Hololive, she debuted August 16, 2020
99) The "5th Generation of Hololive" was established, also known as "Holofive" with members such as: Yukihana Lamy, Momosuzu Nene, Shishiro Botan, Mano Aloe, and Omaru Polka
100) At August 17th of 2020, Mano Aloe got into trouble about her Live2D model and personal life suddenly got involved. The agency gave her 2 weeks of break to deal with this error, leaving behind the masses with worry but with support and expectations of her return
101) Unfortunately, in August 30th of 2020, a new member from the 5th Gen of Hololive, Mano Aloe, just after 2 weeks of her debut, soon retired due to stress. This caused an uproar in the community and created minor setbacks and so the terms of "Doxxing" and "Antis" was now well-known to hate. Mano Aloe's retirement left a deep scar in the community
102) By September 4th of 2020, Cover Corp announced that Ookami Mio's suspension was lifted and will return to her usual activities
103) "Civia" - is the first China-member Hololive to debuted in YouTube at September 5, 2020
104) In response to the massive uproar caused by Mano Aloe's retirement, a Legal Team from Cover Corp was made and announced as anti-harrassment and anti-bullying. An official statement of this was made in early September.
105) By September 8th of 2020, Hololive Twitter account introduced its first ever English branch, "Hololive EN"
106) "Gawr Gura, Ninomae Ina'nis AND Watson Amelias" - both debuted September 13, 2020
107) "Mori Calliope AND Takanashi Kiara" - both debuted September 12, 2020
108) The "1st Generation of Hololive EN" was formed with its members are: Mori Calliope, Takanashi Kiara, Gawr Gura, Ninomae Ina'nis, and Watson Amelia.
///
Hi, we're Ghengis Adolf Napoleon Julius. We're not new in Hololive but we're new here in the reddit of Hololive. We wanted to make our first post here to be memorable as much as possible.
And so, we did a timeline.
The "(?)" you see indicates that I am either unsure or lack of information about what a certain time point. Please help me correct this one.
And if there's a correction that needs to be addressed, just type it down below and I will edit the post.
Sources: A] https://virtualyoutuber.fandom.com/wiki/Hololive
B] https://hololive.wiki/wiki/Main_Page
Hopefully you enjoyed it, worked hard to this.
submitted by Khantlerpartesar to Hololive [link] [comments]


2020.09.16 03:43 carawenpeng Mini Batching Plant Price And Features For Concrete Production

Mini Batching Plant Price And Features For Concrete Production
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submitted by carawenpeng to u/carawenpeng [link] [comments]


2020.09.14 16:10 partypastor Unreached People Group of the Week - Arab (Gulf Spoken) of Qatar

Welcome back to the UPG of the Week! Sorry I missed last week, I was on a very long and very wonderful/fun road trip and completely forgot on Labor Day. Now, without further ado, meet the Arabs of Qatar.
How Unreached Are They?
The Arabs of Qatar are only 0.5% Christian (if that). That means that out of their population of 500,000, there are maybe 2,500. Thats 1 believer for every 200 unbeliever.
There is not a fully completed bible in their language (Arabic, Gulf Spoken)
[Edit: From u/jakeallen]
there are good translations into Modern Standard Arabic. If someone in this group learns to read, they learn to read MSA, not a dialect.
The internet can do some good. Facebook ads can lead people to the right messaging. But in person witnessing will build the church, which is the hardest thing to do right now.
What are they like?
Typical qualification that all people groups can't be summed up in small paragraphs and this is an over generalization.
Life for Saudi Arabs is one of harsh existence with few material belongings. Their main possession is the home - a long tent made from woven goat or animal hair. These tents are not permanent dwellings and are divided into two parts by a decorative partition called a gata. Typically, half of the tent is for the women, children, cooking utensils, and storage, while the other half is for the men. The men's section, which contains a fireplace built in the dirt, is used for entertaining guests. Men sit and make plans for the group, while the women do most of the work.
Animals are very important to the Saudi Arab lifestyle. Those who stay close to the desert's edge herd goats and sheep; whereas, those who travel and raid in the desert rely solely on camels. Sheep and goats are raised for monetary value, and camels are used for transportation.
Dairy products have been the traditional food source for Saudi Arabs. Camel's and goat's milk is drunk fresh or made into yogurt and a kind of butter called ghee. Most Arab meals consist of a bowl of milk or yogurt, or rice covered with ghee. Round loaves of unleavened bread are also served when available. Dates, which can be found in desert oases, are eaten as desserts after meals. Meat is served only on special occasions, such as for guests, marriage feasts, or special ceremonies.
Reflecting the influence of their Muslim religion, the Saudi Arab practice endogamous marriages (marriage within a small social circle). Inheritance is patrilineal (inherited by the next male family member). Saudi Arab clothing is designed for the harsh climate. It is made of lightweight, light-colored fabric and is also loose-fitting, allowing for the circulation of air. Joshua Project
History Lesson
Saudi Arabia is home to a number of different Arab groups. Saudi Arabs (more commonly known as the Gulf Arab) live primarily along the southern edges of the Arabian Desert in Saudi Arabia, Yemen, the United Arab Emirates, and Qatar. Saudi Arabs in Qatar speak a language called Arabiya or, as it is more commonly known, Gulf Arabic.
The Arab culture was developed by tribes of nomads and villagers who lived in the Arabian Desert. From there, some of them later migrated into northern Africa. There are two basic classes of Arab: the true nomads and the fellahin-those who have embraced farming. The nomads are best known for their treks across barren deserts on camels, occasionally raiding caravans crossing their paths. The fellahin are more settled, living on the edge of the desert. Most Saudi Arab are herdsmen, who move into the desert during the rainy winter season, then back to the desert's edge in the dry, hot summer. Joshua Project
What do they believe?
The founding of Islam in the seventh century profoundly altered the course of Saudi history. Today, the great majority of Saudi Arabs in Qatar are Hanbalite (Wahhabite) Muslims. In the mid-1700s, Mohammed ibn Abd al-Wahhab formed his fundamentalist sect, and today, the Saudi see themselves as the preservers of the true Islamic faith. The Wahhabites reject all innovations introduced into Islam after the third century of its existence and are very traditional in their practice of Islam. Their desire is to maintain and propagate what they see as the "true" path of Islam. Joshua Project
How can we pray for them?
Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved. (Romans 10:1)
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Here are the previous weeks threads on the UPG of the Week for Reformed
People Group Country Date Posted Beliefs
Arab Qatar 09/14/2020 Islam
Turkmen Turkmenistan 08/31/2020 Islam
Lyuli Uzbekistan 08/24/2020 Islam
Kyrgyz Kyrgyzstan 08/17/2020 Islam*
Yakut Russia 08/10/2020 Animism*
Northern Katang Laos 08/03/2020 Animism
Uyghur Kazakhstan 07/27/2020 Islam
Syrian (Levant Arabs) Syria 07/20/2020 Islam
Teda Chad 07/06/2020 Islam
Kotokoli Togo 06/28/2020 Islam
Hobyot Oman 06/22/2020 Islam
Moor Sri Lanka 06/15/2020 Islam
Shaikh Bangladesh 06/08/2020 Islam
Khalka Mongols Mongolia 06/01/2020 Animism
Comorian France 05/18/2020 Islam
Bedouin Jordan 05/11/2020 Islam
Muslim Thai Thailand 05/04/2020 Islam
Nubian Uganda 04/27/2020 Islam
Kraol Cambodia 04/20/2020 Animism
Tay Vietnam 04/13/2020 Animism
Yoruk Turkey 04/06/2020 Islam
Xiaoliangshn Nosu China 03/30/2020 Animism
Jat (Muslim) Pakistan 03/23/2020 Islam
Beja Bedawi Egypt 03/16/2020 Islam
Tunisian Arabs Tunisia 03/09/2020 Islam
Yemeni Arab Yemen 03/02/2020 Islam
Bosniak Croatia 02/24/2020 Islam
Azerbaijani Georgia 02/17/2020 Islam
Zaza-Dimli Turkey 02/10/2020 Islam
Huichol Mexico 02/03/2020 Animism
Kampuchea Krom Cambodia 01/27/2020 Buddhism
Lao Krang Thailand 01/20/2020 Buddhism
Gilaki Iran 01/13/2020 Islam
Uyghurs China 01/01/2020 Islam
Israeli Jews Israel 12/18/2019 Judaism
Drukpa Bhutan 12/11/2019 Buddhism
Malay Malaysia 12/04/2019 Islam
Lisu (Reached People Group) China 11/27/2019 Christian
Dhobi India 11/20/2019 Hinduism
Burmese Myanmar 11/13/2019 Buddhism
Minyak Tibetans China 11/06/2019 Buddhism
Yazidi Iraq 10/30/2019 Animism*
Turks Turkey 10/23/2019 Islam
Kurds Syria 10/16/2019 Islam
Kalmyks Russia 10/09/2019 Buddhism
Luli Tajikistan 10/02/2019 Islam
Japanese Japan 09/25/2019 Shintoism
Urak Lawoi Thailand 09/18/2019 Animism
Kim Mun Vietnam 09/11/2019 Animism
Tai Lue Laos 09/04/2019 Bhuddism
Sundanese Indonesia 08/28/2019 Islam
Central Atlas Berbers Morocco 08/21/2019 Islam
Fulani Nigeria 08/14/2019 Islam
Sonar India 08/07/2019 Hinduism
Pattani Malay Thailand 08/02/2019 Islam
Thai Thailand 07/26/2019 Buddhism
Baloch Pakistan 07/19/2019 Islam
Alawite Syria 07/12/2019 Islam*
Huasa Cote d'Ivoire 06/28/2019 Islam
Chhetri Nepal 06/21/2019 Hinduism
Beja Sudan 06/14/2019 Islam
Yinou China 06/07/2019 Animism
Kazakh Kazakhstan 05/31/2019 Islam
Hui China 05/24/2019 Islam
Masalit Sudan 05/17/2019 Islam
As always, if you have experience in this country or with this people group, feel free to comment or PM me and I will happily edit it so that we can better pray for these peoples!
Here is a list of definitions in case you wonder what exactly I mean by words like "Unreached"
submitted by partypastor to Reformed [link] [comments]


2020.09.13 16:25 tulangkerangka 22 [F4R] anywhere - a certified cynic but an actual hopeless romantic at heart

Title might sounds paradoxical but that's exactly how i feel about my own self haha. In term of dating (and life), i am very cynical, always ready to believe in the worst of everything and that everything that can go wrong will go wrong, but despite that i am always hopeful for a silver lining. I think that's why i dont really feel comfortable using dating app, a part of me see it as a very effective method to find someone but at the same time it feels so superficial and strangely detached. Maybe you feel the same, maybe you don't, it will be an interesting subject to discuss nonetheless.
So yeah, I am zaf, i live in indonesia and was born and raised here. I am a college graduate and right now i am doing a part time job while struggling to become a writer. I am drawn to creative activity like writing, drawing, and embroidery. I like to daydream about everything, from human conciousness to why kiwi tastes so good to some people and nasty to others. My favorite book is anne of green gables and i cry everytime i watch ghibli movies. I love cooking but the end result is not always good, i've managed to make scrambled egg with pasta on my first attempt at carbonara. I can be quite talkative whenever i am engrossed in an interesting discussion. Personality wise i am an upbeat and cheerful person. I can be pretty emotional tho, i have cried while watching spacetime odyssey by carl sagan bcs i suddenly felt so small haha, so you can imagine all kind of silliness i can do on a daily basis.
Even if i dont find the so called 'the one' here (which more likely than not doesnt exist because life doesnt work like that) i still hope that i can find someone to talk to. feel free to hit me up if you are interested :)
submitted by tulangkerangka to r4r [link] [comments]


2020.09.11 06:24 StygianSagas A Scratching at the Door (part 1/2)

It is my cathedral, my magnum opus- the culmination of two decades spent grinding my way through the most debauched and blasphemous practices and indulgences. It’s a thing of imposing grandeur most might shrug off as ominous or distasteful, like a soviet-era state edifice or a moldering abandoned hospital on an overcast hillside. It’s also seedy, just the right mix of ordered and disordered to tickle my mind and draw me into the rapturous atmosphere I have worked so hard to create within its walls. For years, I have retreated here when the weight of the world around me has beaten me low with its tedious, mundane goings-on, a last respite for a mind that never felt quite at home there. Fitting, then, that it will serve as my tomb.
Whoever stumbles across this account will find it in my home. From there, my cathedral is some two miles away, down the old logging trail that forks off from Whispering Pines Road. The dugout is near its terminus- a low, brooding bunker-like structure buried in the hills and blocked by a pair of rusted metal doors. I will leave these locked, but accessible via the key beneath this letter.
I don’t have any idea as to what the purpose of the modest dugout was originally, for it was barren when I found it two decades ago. Perhaps storage, for the nearest house is much too far away for it to serve effectively as a storm shelter. Regardless, the contents will be unharmed. I have committed crimes to attain the totems and relics I surround myself with, but while I might be a thief, I have always considered myself a borrower of items, rather than a taker of treasures. They may be redistributed to their proper places as authorities see fit to distribute them. Whoever first goes to the cathedral should mentally steel themselves for what they’ll find when they push through those heavy doors, though.
The collection began when I was a teenager. The first modest additions were items I acquired while delving in abandoned places of ill repute close to my hometown. I took a century-old diary from a moldering manor home in Louisville, and snagged a small bust dulled by time from a tottering school’s library in Lynch. As I grew in boldness, my taste for eerie and unsettling items grew more and more insatiable.
The gravestones of several notable Civil War-era dead were taken from Perryville, beginning the collection of headstones and memorial plaques of supposedly spectral figures that tile my cathedral’s walls. A bone saw, taken from a reportedly haunted hospital across the state line in Ironton, leans on a shelf against the skull of a folklore-rumored hermit-turned-warlock from the hills west of Ashland, which I dug up and preserved with great care after his remains had lurked in the ground for the better part of a century.
International connections may be needed to return some of the items, though, for I have done a fair bit of traveling in my time, always on the lookout for suitably evocative items for my gallery. The collection boasts, for example, a golden ring pulled from the bottom of a Yucatan cenote, where it rested amongst the honored sacrificial dead piled there during the golden age of the Maya. It rests upon the index finger of an unnaturally large mummified hand treasured by a twisted group of scholarly mountainside cultists in Tibet, who believed it to be the withered claw of a woman from the fabled subterranean realm of Patala. All this shall be catalogued in the most intimate detail which my memory allows, and I will denote the dates and locations at which each item was acquired, from the most modest small-town tombstone to the most exotic ‘cursed’ statuette or storied murder weapon.
I won’t get too bogged down in all that here, though. You’ll find that list in the cathedral, along with whatever remains of me. The purpose of this text is to dissuade anyone from touching or tampering with, in any way, a certain item I’ve hidden away in a long-forgotten mine not terribly far from here. The entrance will be collapsed, a feat which will charge me no small amount of work, and it desperately needs to stay that way. I only bother to mention this item at all because, for reasons that will become evident, I am unsure whether it will stay put down there in the wake of my death.
Any perusing these pages would be justified in wondering what all the fuss is about, so I’ll lay out the story as clearly as I’m able, starting with why I even had cause to come in contact with the wretched thing in the first place. Some years into my darker explorations and trophy taking, exploiting a long interest in the darker side of paranormal speculation and occult practices, I began to experiment here and there with immersing myself in the kinds of provocative groups that often congregated around the places I visited. In college I visited a local quarry notorious for suicidal leaps with some of my fellow students on Halloween for a very stereotypical drunk layman’s séance. It produced nothing tangible in terms of unexplainable experiences, but electrified me with the mood -the atmosphere- that accompanied our silly ritual when it was performed in so ominous a setting.
Branching out from there, I found equally atmospheric experiences by hitching my wagon to various occult groups across my region, the most longstanding relation being with a nameless group of pagan revivalists in Cave City. They stoked my need for taboo moods with spectacular solstice sacrifices of live bullocks during firelight ceremonies in the cave systems across the county.
Over the years, I built up a book of contacts who shared my fascination, or at least held a belief in eldritch ritual and ample enough contacts to put me in a position to experience and partake in their rites. I never developed any belief that anything I was doing had any impact in the material sense, however.
Chasing these rituals and gatherings was to me purely a folkloric, atmospheric exercise, a passionate and exciting interest that sweetened my existence in a world I found comparatively drab. When I witnessed a group of isolated townspeople in the arid interior of Tunisia burn a live lamb on a bed of coals before an ancient horned statue in the hills under a full moon, I was under no illusions that I had made contact with Baal Hammon. Rather, I could imagine for the briefest hour that I stood in Carthage before it’s fall. I could feel the exaltations and excesses of the men and women of that lost land in a way that few others, even amongst our great but fast-decaying scholarly institutions, will ever know. In this way, I liked to pretend that my pursuits were entirely anthropological in nature, an extended study in the collection and interpretation of dark folklore.
There was a small, sequestered portion of my mind, however, that had less rational motivations. Whenever a promising message would come my way, titillating me at the thought of potential reality behind all the shadowy pageantry of these ritual outings, I would jump at the chance to experience the kinds of raw emotion -fear, awe, or otherwise- that were so often whispered about in occult gatherings. I wanted some taste of the beyond, whatever that happened to be, and a chance discovery I made in July seemed to promise that very thing. It was this call to the unknown that set me on the path towards my final resting place in the cathedral.
Several months ago, a contact I made years back while visiting radical underground pagan organizations in Europe and with whom I had shared deep if infrequent correspondence was mentioned in passing by a mutual acquaintance, and it came up that he hadn’t been heard from in some months. I wrote to him and, when calls and emails went unanswered, I resolved to make the trip east to his home in the mountains of western Maryland to see him in person. Even among circles as prone to weirdness and reclusiveness as mine, it was odd for someone to go entirely dark. The nature of my interests -and those of my friend, for that matter- meant that the hunger for understanding ears to speak to was endless. For someone to wholly disconnect from the people who were best able to understand his eldritch obsessions and habits was an act of self-isolation above and beyond anything I or most I inquired with had ever witnessed.
When I arrived at his modest home west of Cumberland, I found it deserted in an odd state, with the front door unlocked and unsecure but the windows boarded up as if a hurricane were soon due on the mountainside. His shotgun lay tossed on the couch in the front room as I entered the building, and by the looks of the place, he had been holed up there for some time, sequestered off from the rest of the house. The doorway to the basement was boarded up, as was his adjoining bedroom and the back door onto the porch, which left only the front door accessible, and even that seemed to have been secured until recently. With his front sitting room space and a combined kitchen cut off like that, he’d set himself up to sleep on his couch and over the intervening days built up a fearful mess of discarded food and hastily-rifled books and papers.
Upon forcing my way into the basement, I found the sparse furniture and stored books and pictures tossed and turned, but nothing missing. The shotgun resting in the front room above had been fired several times into the walls, but had apparently stricken nothing, for there was no trace of blood or injury to be discovered.
Such disorder was worrying, for he had been an orderly and reserved man. What worried me more, however, was that there were no signs of forced entry. His old truck still sat rusting in the gravel driveway, the keys tucked under the driver’s seat as was his custom. The boarding and locks holding shut the front door had been calmly removed and unlatched from within, and there was not a single sign of disturbance in his makeshift fortress that would suggest someone had laid siege to the house to take him or his belongings. After locking himself in his front room for days, perhaps weeks, he had finally freed himself and walked out into the dense, mountainous woodland surrounding the house with no gun, no shoes, no keys, and no truck.
I set about investigating myself, hesitant to involve the authorities for obvious reasons. It was one thing to call up mutual associates to check whether there was any consensus on what he had been up to in the days prior to his confinement, but it was quite another to allow police to intrude on his property and potentially discover some macabre collection similar to my own that I’d been unaware of. Call after call came back inconclusive and shrouded in uncertainty, leaving me less and less convinced as the evening wore on that he would simply stumble out of the darkening woodline any minute fresh off some spectacular hallucinogenic trip, angry at my intrusion into his home. Then, as the sun dipped below the hunched, wood-cloaked mountains, my friend’s ancient land line received a call, sending me stumbling inside at a run from the porch, and plunging me into roiling chaos.
The initial exchange seemed innocuous enough, considering what was to follow. Speaking accented but practiced English, a man asked after the whereabouts of my friend. I was initially hesitant to be fully forthright with this stranger, but when he voluntarily betrayed that my friend had been in Myanmar by asking how he had been since his return, I felt it was necessary to probe just a little. I asked when my friend had departed and, upon realizing his return to the states must have been immediately followed by his recent descent into paranoid compound fortification, I inquired whether he’d seemed distressed or ill in the days leading up to his return home. Those simple questions were somehow all the man on the other end of the line needed to hear, for his response was to ask if he had gone missing.
“I warned him,” the voice muttered. “I warned him not to go up into the mountains. I knew it must be bad, for him to stay so quiet after leaving.”
The exchange that followed couldn’t have totaled more than ten minutes, but my constant reflection on it over the intervening weeks has stretched it into an hours-long ordeal, remembered verbatim and retrievable down to a syllable. At my insistence, he told me of the witching circles he occupied in Yangon, and of my friend’s keen interest in them. As evasive as I had been with exact details, he described a trip through the country organized for my friend by contacts in the region, a sort of whirlwind tour of debauched and culturally subterranean experiences. This trip had apparently terminated in an ill-advised trek into the mountainous north of the country, that the speaker and his local Yangon brethren had absolutely refused to attend.
“There are ruins in the hills,” he told me, the disgust plain in his voice. “Sacked and toppled by the kings of Pagan, and with good reason. None should travel there.”
For centuries, people both local to the region and native to other provinces of Burma had stayed clear of the place. The longstanding curse placed upon it by the Pagan kings of old was bolstered here and there by the hushed retelling of another tale of woe sparked when a foreign traveler or urban youth from the south insisted on seeing the forbidden heights. Reiterated in the flesh of modernity just as it would’ve been recited those centuries ago from atop the peacock throne of Burma, the man warned me with hushed tones not to look into my friend’s final days, to burn any of his private writings, and to leave the dead to lie. He then hung up, the whole thing feeling for all the world like an establishing scene out of a century-old horror story.
That is precisely what made it impossible for me to heed his warnings.
Even as I looked over the domestic devastation around me left in the aftermath of just such a visit, I understood every ounce of thought that had driven my friend to make the trip into the mountains. These unnamed ruins, haunted by shadowy legendry so fierce an occultist guide among fellow occultists would not risk their ancient paths, were everything a chaser of the extravagant could dream to see. Initially worried for my friend, the realization that it had grown dark outside now breathed some level of fear into me, only heightening the racing of my thoughts.
Had he not boarded up his home, then thrashed and shot at some unknown force in the basement, only to run away into the woods? What, should I decide to stay there through the night, would I find?
These were the sort of thoughts that would’ve driven a reasonable man out of the house and down the little mountain road into the security of town, but I, as attested to by the stolen gravestones and human remains which shall soon surround my corpse in the cathedral, am not a reasonable man. I set about a fevered examination of the books and notes with which my friend had occupied himself during his voluntary imprisonment, and left messages with all the contacts I had garnered over a lifetime’s probing the obscure and obscene who I thought might have any knowledge of use to me. After all, with nothing else to work from, this scrap of tantalizing information was the only hope of learning what befell my companion, and discovering whether the unknown caller’s pessimism on that score was justified. The ominous connotations of that information were just an added incentive.
The night was a long, tedious affair, with several breaks taken for no better reason than to calm my nerves and assure there was nothing lurking in the unlit kitchen or creeping up the now exposed basement staircase. Nothing save the atmosphere of the little house was amiss, though, and the night ultimately proved enlightening. From a battered notebook well worn by continued visits from its owner over the years, I learned about my friend’s obsession with the concept of the Nat, a kind of mythic Burmese-Buddhist spirit, or deity. Writing using a cypher popularized by the Golden Dawn with which many in my circles will be familiar, he had been jotting down notes regarding the origination of the currently recognized pantheon of thirty-seven Nat, and on unofficial, more local Nat, revered or feared by populations of certain towns and villages spread here and there across the interior of Myanmar.
It was a history in which I was not versed, for Myanmar had never come up as a focal point of occult or otherwise weird significance, but he’d developed a fascination with rumors of a cult in the remote north of the country centered on a Nat of such wickedness that it had single-handedly spurred the attempted banning of local Nat offerings. This being was supposedly the reason for instituting the official pantheon of thirty-seven instituted some thousand years ago, after the end of the first millennium.
Scattered across the margins of Cambridge and Oxford histories of Southeast Asia and several more journals filled with scribbled code, I learned the story of King Anawrahta, founder of the first unified Burmese empire, and a figure seemingly obsessed with the imposition of Buddhist religious order overtop of the native faiths of his land. In the texts of academia, the reason given for this ranged from expanding state control over local governance to enriching the crown through more reliable religious taxation. Notes from my friend on correspondence with local occultists and their own books of speculative history painted a different, altogether darker picture.
Folk tales from the jungle-choked hills in the north of the country joined longstanding occult traditions in laying the blame for this crackdown on local rituals at the feet of a reviled figure called Paunggkuu, whose name is closely linked to the modern Burmese word for spider.
Paunggkuu, known by no other name or title, is shadowed by many rumored pasts and motives, with some tales alleging he was a noble member of a local clan whose prosperity was shattered by the expansion of the king’s empire in the south, turning he and his family to blood offerings and shadowy rites in hopes of bettering their fortunes. Still others believe he was a Nat-possessed vagrant, a nobody raised from nothing by a wicked spirit to great infamy only to just as quickly be tossed aside- an expendable mortal shell for a being which had long lurked in the mountains. Many more hinted origins exist, but the outcome of the rise of Paunggkuu is always the same, with the mundane man-turned-warlock leading a cult of several hundred followers into a megalithic ruined city tucked away in the trees, where they began to prey on the surrounding countryside.
Village youths started to go missing, and over time, whole rural communities were stripped clean of inhabitants. Rippling outwards from the ruined city, the locals spoke in hushed whispers of a creeping death, a diabolical Nat or witch in the guise of a monster who haunted the spaces beneath raised houses and huts at night, and whose disgusting visage appeared to the locals in nightmare night after sleepless night. So great was the fear brought about by this shadowy plague of disappearances that the regional seat of power, the small city of Mogaung, was forced to take notice. Its kingly high priest, himself a vassal and ally of the powerful King Anawrahta in the south, sent men into the region to quell the disorder and bring those responsible to justice. When those men, too, had gone missing, an army of several hundred was raised, and when that had failed to report back, the priest sent desperate word to Pagan, petitioning the king for aid.
Anawrahta, occupied with other matters in the south, failed to answer with speed, but was spurred to action by a dark event sometime around the middle of 1057, when a nighttime raid on the outskirts of Mogaung itself drove the priest to flee south to the capital, where he took up exiled residence in Pagan with his suzerain. This attack, which was laid at the feet of bandits in official records, did not topple the city or level any temples, but its nature was so horrid that Anawrahta put a momentary halt to his campaigns of unification and consolidation to march north with more than five thousand men, riding upon a gold-girdled war elephant and leading the host in person.
The events which followed seem singularly terrible, and the narrative presented in the royal chronicles of Pagan of a bandit revolt quashed by the glorious armies of Anawrahta does little to explain why all but a thousand of the men sent into the jungle never came back. It does nothing to explain why local Kachin legend speaks of the mortified screams which echoed down from the hills being audible even now on certain moonlit nights, when the skies are right. Bandits, after all, couldn’t have spurred a burgeoning kingdom with more enemies than allies to spend half a year leveling an ancient stone city, and the rest of the century burying its name and history by burning books and sundering stone carvings.
The sun rose over the Maryland hills, and with it, I found myself reverberating with not only a new grasp of a strange land’s lore and legendry, but of my aims moving forward. Several contacts of my friend’s had agreed to come search for him and continue looking into the mounds of documentation he had compiled. While they got on the road and began their long drives, a Javanese associate who had led me on an extravagant tour of ancient fire-cults still in practice on the remoter regions of that island contacted a friend at my behest. This friend initiated a chain of further connections from friend to friend until I was speaking with a Burmese Buddhist monk-turned-animist wiseman, who knew of the rumored city in the north.
Though he dissuaded me from my stated aim of visiting the site in search of answers, he agreed to meet me in Yangon upon my arrival and place me in contact with locals of the northern Kachin province who could aid me in getting transport and supplies in so remote a region. I purchased my tickets that morning for a chain of flights leaving out of Washington D.C. that evening, and after leaving a scribbled note for my vanished friend in the off chance he resurface before his other companions arrived, I piled into my car without a wink of sleep to drive for the capital.
I cannot entirely give voice to the feelings which drove my movements throughout the day. Exhaustion did not catch up to me until well into the initial flight from Washington to Japan, and even then, sleep came in fitful bursts. I was too busy pouring over hastily-copied scraps of information left by my friend, staring holes in satellite images of northern Myanmar, and memorizing a few helpful words of the Burmese language to even consider how I felt. The whole of the scenario seemed like some great initial stage in an epic drama, and my worry at the sudden disappearance of a close friend and associate in the pursuit of strangeness had fast been molded together with an urge to see what he must’ve seen, and to feel whatever had spurred the paranoia he must’ve felt during those last, manic days in the closed front room.
It would be trite of me to proclaim now what a fool I was for being so blind, so eager to face the unknown. Moreover, it wouldn’t be entirely honest. Even now, as I prepare to do what must be done, I can recognize that what I found in Myanmar was exactly the sort of thing I had been searching for throughout the long and confused span of years that led me into the jungles of rural Kachin, and I can’t claim I regret taking the journey. I can only regret that my friend had to suffer what he did to show me the path, and that both he and I proved too fragile to tolerate the thing which followed us home.
I met with my contact after a lengthy but fitful sleep at the cheapest hotel I could book once landed and settled in Yangon. After another lengthy attempt to dissuade me from my course outside a tiny local café which featured florid stories about regional Kachin Independence Army rebels, he sketched out a travel itinerary which would take me first by bus, then by locally arranged jeep up precarious roads to the tiny settlement of Sumprabum, in the farthest northern reaches of the nation. The way was precarious at times, with the aged dirt roads never failing to buck and rock the buses this way and that on the precipices of the scrub-choked cliff faces they hugged. The locals, bundled in like canned fish with a painfully conspicuous foreigner among them, mostly rode in sleepy silence through nearly two days of travel, leaving me to wonder whether I was the only one worried by the idea of toppling over the edge. It wouldn’t do, after all, to come so close to the unknown only to die in a bus crash.
Worry proved pointless, however, and I ended up in a tiny, flea-ridden bunk in Sumprabum a couple days after setting out from Maryland, my eyes scanning the tree-shrouded hills through the mist from my perch on the porch of a catholic mission as they reluctantly allowed me some much-needed sleep. It would be the first real rest I’d had since prior to my fateful road trip-turned-world excursion began. It would later prove to be the final mundane, dreamless sleep I would ever experience, but in my exhausted anticipation, I didn’t take any time to savor it.
Awakening plucked and prodded by mosquitoes but otherwise feeling prepared for anything, I made my way to a modest logger’s house of sheet metal and crude timber, where I met my local guide. He was an older man still steely with a laborer’s wiry muscle who the entire gathering of homes called Saya, something close to teacher. With my night owl’s pale skin, my relatively impressive height and my profuse sweating at the unaccustomed humidity, I must’ve looked like some traveling alien jester to the village’s locals, and we’d soon gathered a sizable crowd of onlookers as we talked over the plan for the day’s hike. I would pay a small sum to his family for his aid and the food and water he would furnish me with for the night I wanted to spend in the ruins, and then he would lead me on foot about twenty miles to the northwest into the forest, over hills and through valleys, until we arrived at the place the local Kachin population had dubbed Pyethceehon.
The name was only ever spoken in wavering tones of disgust and fear, and the assigning of so alien a name, alongside my newfound proximity to the place my friend had been only a short while ago, filled me with nervous apprehension for the first time since my entry into his home back in the states. While that vestigial, reptile-brained warning of danger to come was enough to put me on edge, it came nowhere close to drowning out my higher aspirations towards intrigue and awe. To be so close to the unknown was an ecstasy I hadn’t found in all my years of searching, and I was not about to abandon that sensation now.
Saya set a firm pace up what initially were muddy and brutally-sloped logging roads through the hills. After several hours we branched off and forded into the sea of trees. The undergrowth and tree trunks combined into a morass which looked absolutely identical to my untrained eye for hour after hour, but by nothing more than his memory of the landscape and the feel of the hills beneath his flip-flop clad feet, Saya pressed through. He always seemed to know just the right place to squeeze through a looming wall of interwoven trees or a jam of fallen logs in a creek bed. Our entire trip was scored by his thickly-accented English telling story after story about the sizes of snakes that could be found here or the density of the ant hives choking the ground there, interspersed with assurances that I could turn back at any time with but a word to him if I lost my nerve. I responded and questioned him when I could, but I was winded and broken by the endless ascents and descents we made despite years of avid hiking back home, and my spaces between strained breaths were few and far between.
He told me of several disappearances of hunters and scouts for logging outfits in the area, but nothing had transpired near the ruins in recent memory. So dark was their reputation that throughout the militia-driven guerrilla warfare which had preceded my arrival for several years, not one camp or troop movement had been made around or through Pyethceehon, whether by loyalist or separatist forces. Saya was the only man in the area that had come close in the past five or six decades, and even he never dared go the final mile or two towards the old settlement in the trees.
The first visit was a childhood expedition in search of village chickens spooked into the jungle by a storm, which had ended in him accidentally stumbling across the stream which babbled downhill from the hilltop upon which Pyethceehon brooded. The second was to lead my friend to the stony banks of that very same stream.
On arriving, the brave man made me the same offer he’d made my friend, standing with his hands on his hips and offering to come with me into the ruins if I felt I needed him there. It was an offer made through a face haunted by the very syllables formed in making the offer, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask Saya along.
Thanking him for his kindness, I made certain of the time I was to meet him tomorrow and departed for the legend-haunted wreck atop the low mountain, with afternoon long having set in. Our pace had been slowed by my pondering progress, and I knew the few remaining hours of daylight would provide more than enough time for the savvy Saya to reach the logging roads and be well on his way to the village by nightfall. The prospect of a night alone on this unknown precipice only set in when thirty minutes of hiking up the creek bed had secured my isolation. I gripped the little revolver I’d been given to ward off tigers with a tight desperation I had never before experienced. All the while, my tired legs carried me that last mile into Pyethceehon.
I was more vibrant and alive in those terrified minutes than I had ever been before. I pity my friend, for having been the very first outsider in a century to visit the place had denied him the experience of knowing some specter of the danger that lurked there firsthand. While he must’ve felt the weight of the ruin’s reputation and atmosphere, only I knew the fate of a personal friend who had come before. It lit a fire in my stomach so intense I chewed the interior of my cheek raw in jittery anticipation of reaching the summit, my wavering legs finding new strength as my destination neared.
During my hurried in-flight preparations for this moment, I had scoured pictures, satellite images and documentary footage of great Burmese temple and stupa sites like Bagan, wanting to be accustomed to the kind of structures I might find upon arrival. I had expected crumbling but mighty dome-and-spire edifices like those, but what I found was altogether alien. The structures of Pyethceehon were much more like the small, tightly-packed, cone-roofed structures of lesser-known Nyaung Ohak far to the south.
Its avenues were only a few feet wide, choked between hundreds of huddled monuments and teeming with hungry plant growth, the few untoppled stone peaks reaching no further than fifteen or twenty feet into the branch-strangled sky. Many of them leaned, their bases sinking into the stone of the ground as the passing of ten centuries remolded the very Earth beneath their feet. It was the material, though, that shocked me so, making me think I had wandered into some mighty forest of vine-blackened prehistoric teeth as I crested the hill and stumbled into that outpost of blasphemy.
The stone was not the reddish-brown of most of the nation’s monuments, nor the sandy, water-aged brown of monuments elsewhere in the near and far east. It was not the marble of rich classical sculpture or the placid limestone grey of contemplative new-world step pyramids and old-world castles. Rather, it was the shiny and rippling surface of masterfully-shaped obsidian, their rain-polished surfaces staring back in rank after rank at me through the scrub- looking for all the world like massive, teeming ant mounds.
The play of the sun through the canopy above off the slightly uneven surfaces even lent them the illusion of motion, as of water bubbling in rapids over a bank of piled stones, or, perhaps more appropriately, of millions of chitinous ant bodies amassing to repel an intruder. Their mostly conical spires were shingled with tiny interlocking plates of jade, weathered by centuries until it was almost muted, looking grey against the greens of the jungle.
I lingered there on the precipice for a long while, telling myself I needed to catch my breath, but knowing with every second I spent looking into the distance down those accursed rows that it was something much less explicable that kept my body frozen among the warm trees. It is only now, removed from the stress and excitement of the scene, that I can guess at what unspoken and unrecognized force halted my progress. Though I might not have been able to give voice to why at the time, I knew deep down that the conditions for obsidian to exist at all were not right here.
Obsidian was not among the pantheon of materials found in the jewelry, weapons or art of Southeast Asia, and that was because the nearest region with the right kind of volcanic activity to generate the substance at all lay thousands of miles away across the south china sea, on the island of Papua. I remember vividly having it pointed out as a commodity unique to the isle in my travels through Indonesia years before. What on Earth the glistening void-dark rock was doing in Myanmar remains far beyond me, but the grooved and layered construction of it, along with the faintly rough and uneven breaks in the glass-like surfaces where it had been so carefully shaped, told me it could be nothing else.
When at last my legs were moving beneath me again, I found winding my way through the obsidian forest testing at every moment my resolution to be there. Each stupa was littered with carvings, almost all of them pictographic, and almost all of these featuring the crouching forms of spiders. The largest, however, dotted every ten or twelve structures along the overgrown path I had chosen to follow, held another, more tantalizingly sinister image.
The first time I passed one of these carvings, I kept moving, my mind rushing to place why I recoiled on such an instinctive level from those particular figures amidst a legion of equally disturbing sights and sensations. Upon reaching a second rendition of the image, though, I opened my pack and flipped through my friend’s notebooks, desperate to confirm my suspicions. It didn’t take long to find his own rendition of the image, half-remembered in my nervous state, scrawled on the back cover of a cheap, weathered notebook.
The thing was a gaunt, thin, gangly creature, reminiscent of a man, but twisted and bent nearly beyond recognition. Its legs looked almost stick-like, ending in pointed barbs, and its torso sprouted three pairs of arms, evoking the image of sword-wielding Hindu gods. The arms sported one more joint than the single natural elbow showed by human beings, and each pair of them was held high in an awkward, exaggerated shrug- like a father aping a silent film-era monster to spook his children. This gave me the initial, erroneous impression that the many arms were the skeletal structure of unfurled wings. Each came to a blade-like point, just like the feet, with each lower pair slightly shorter than the last. The head -or what should have been a head- was by far the worst of it, though, and to think of it now in light of what I know makes me wonder beyond wonder that I stayed in that ruin at all.
Where a head should be, there was merely an aperture at the top of the torso, a large fang-lined mouth that ran like a zipper from where the back of a neck would’ve been to where the sternum should begin. Around it, unfurled and given the illusion of squirming motion by both the impromptu sketch artist and the ancient sculptors, were multiple layers of the sort of stunted forelegs that flank a tarantula’s mouth.
With the afternoon wearing on, I slowly pieced the shattered remnants of my aesthete’s zeal for the unusual back together. Wandering familiarized me with the two square miles or so that constituted the remnants of this little graveyard of forbidden worship, the knowledge I gained of its layout fortifying me with a sense of distant belonging I knew full well would disappear as soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Radiating inward like the strands of a great web, the avenues of the place all lead to a single center point where some massive temple or palace complex had once stood. It was here that I began to set up a modest little camp to wait out the night, piling what scant dry firewood I found and clearing undergrowth so that any insects or snakes would be scared out and away from my position.
The old temple was nothing save a foundation long sunk into the murky earth, its bottom littered with mud and stone from the superstructure, leaving only stalagmite-like fragments of its black obsidian walls to poke outward from the debris. It was in the protective shadow of one of these that I settled down, piling several more natural stones as a makeshift seat only after I ensured that none of the images of the damnable spider-thing were in view of my perch.
The final couple hours before nightfall felt like minutes, for time flew past with a speed only dread can create. I reflected, as I sat waiting for the proper moment to begin burning my small reserve of firewood, that there had been little in the way of totems or objects in the ruins. Most of the buildings had been stupas, too small to inhabit or enter, and the temple behind me had long ago been toppled in Pagan’s raid upon the despised cult. The sculptures, really the only testament to the past nature of this place, were repetitive, mimicking in stonework the kind of mantra repetitions witnessed in Buddhist or animist ceremonies.
I flipped through my catalogue of hastily-acquired knowledge, often referencing my friend’s notes and the books to which he’d clung, trying to recall anything which might help me retrace his steps in this dark corner of the Earth. I found none, for his notes said nothing of his actual expedition, and the treatments of this place in text and legend were so frightful and vague that there was little to work from. There were no signs of my friend in the avenues of shadowy Pyethceehon, just as there were no signs of the day-to-day lives of its ancient residents. The jungle had swallowed this vile place, and in another millennia, there would likely be nothing left to visit here.
Beyond the lack of information on my missing friend, I found my motivation consumed as the sunset got underway by an exhaustion which was entirely unlike me. Thoroughly unnerved and in a place unfamiliar to me, I should’ve been wide awake, ready to weather an entire night of vigilant, guarded listening over my fire. Instead, as the sky’s oranges darkened the shadows of the surrounding trees and scrub, turning the ranked stupas into ominous silhouettes which seemed to creep towards me through the encroaching trees, my usual explorer’s thrill at the unknown was extinguished. Each blink came as a labored exertion while I breathed life into the little woodpile before me.
Exacerbating this, I became aware of an impenetrable quiet hanging over the thinned mountaintop clearing in which Pyethceehon had brooded all these centuries. It was as if the very mosquitoes in the air knew not to disturb the slumber of such an ill-fated and ill-tempered beast as this.
I was in for a tense night.
submitted by StygianSagas to LovecraftianWriting [link] [comments]


2020.09.11 06:22 StygianSagas A Scratching at the Door [part 1]

It is my cathedral, my magnum opus- the culmination of two decades spent grinding my way through the most debauched and blasphemous practices and indulgences. It’s a thing of imposing grandeur most might shrug off as ominous or distasteful, like a soviet-era state edifice or a moldering abandoned hospital on an overcast hillside. It’s also seedy, just the right mix of ordered and disordered to tickle my mind and draw me into the rapturous atmosphere I have worked so hard to create within its walls. For years, I have retreated here when the weight of the world around me has beaten me low with its tedious, mundane goings-on, a last respite for a mind that never felt quite at home there. Fitting, then, that it will serve as my tomb.
Whoever stumbles across this account will find it in my home. From there, my cathedral is some two miles away, down the old logging trail that forks off from Whispering Pines Road. The dugout is near its terminus- a low, brooding bunker-like structure buried in the hills and blocked by a pair of rusted metal doors. I will leave these locked, but accessible via the key beneath this letter.
I don’t have any idea as to what the purpose of the modest dugout was originally, for it was barren when I found it two decades ago. Perhaps storage, for the nearest house is much too far away for it to serve effectively as a storm shelter. Regardless, the contents will be unharmed. I have committed crimes to attain the totems and relics I surround myself with, but while I might be a thief, I have always considered myself a borrower of items, rather than a taker of treasures. They may be redistributed to their proper places as authorities see fit to distribute them. Whoever first goes to the cathedral should mentally steel themselves for what they’ll find when they push through those heavy doors, though.
The collection began when I was a teenager. The first modest additions were items I acquired while delving in abandoned places of ill repute close to my hometown. I took a century-old diary from a moldering manor home in Louisville, and snagged a small bust dulled by time from a tottering school’s library in Lynch. As I grew in boldness, my taste for eerie and unsettling items grew more and more insatiable.
The gravestones of several notable Civil War-era dead were taken from Perryville, beginning the collection of headstones and memorial plaques of supposedly spectral figures that tile my cathedral’s walls. A bone saw, taken from a reportedly haunted hospital across the state line in Ironton, leans on a shelf against the skull of a folklore-rumored hermit-turned-warlock from the hills west of Ashland, which I dug up and preserved with great care after his remains had lurked in the ground for the better part of a century.
International connections may be needed to return some of the items, though, for I have done a fair bit of traveling in my time, always on the lookout for suitably evocative items for my gallery. The collection boasts, for example, a golden ring pulled from the bottom of a Yucatan cenote, where it rested amongst the honored sacrificial dead piled there during the golden age of the Maya. It rests upon the index finger of an unnaturally large mummified hand treasured by a twisted group of scholarly mountainside cultists in Tibet, who believed it to be the withered claw of a woman from the fabled subterranean realm of Patala. All this shall be catalogued in the most intimate detail which my memory allows, and I will denote the dates and locations at which each item was acquired, from the most modest small-town tombstone to the most exotic ‘cursed’ statuette or storied murder weapon.
I won’t get too bogged down in all that here, though. You’ll find that list in the cathedral, along with whatever remains of me. The purpose of this text is to dissuade anyone from touching or tampering with, in any way, a certain item I’ve hidden away in a long-forgotten mine not terribly far from here. The entrance will be collapsed, a feat which will charge me no small amount of work, and it desperately needs to stay that way. I only bother to mention this item at all because, for reasons that will become evident, I am unsure whether it will stay put down there in the wake of my death.
Any perusing these pages would be justified in wondering what all the fuss is about, so I’ll lay out the story as clearly as I’m able, starting with why I even had cause to come in contact with the wretched thing in the first place. Some years into my darker explorations and trophy taking, exploiting a long interest in the darker side of paranormal speculation and occult practices, I began to experiment here and there with immersing myself in the kinds of provocative groups that often congregated around the places I visited. In college I visited a local quarry notorious for suicidal leaps with some of my fellow students on Halloween for a very stereotypical drunk layman’s séance. It produced nothing tangible in terms of unexplainable experiences, but electrified me with the mood -the atmosphere- that accompanied our silly ritual when it was performed in so ominous a setting.
Branching out from there, I found equally atmospheric experiences by hitching my wagon to various occult groups across my region, the most longstanding relation being with a nameless group of pagan revivalists in Cave City. They stoked my need for taboo moods with spectacular solstice sacrifices of live bullocks during firelight ceremonies in the cave systems across the county.
Over the years, I built up a book of contacts who shared my fascination, or at least held a belief in eldritch ritual and ample enough contacts to put me in a position to experience and partake in their rites. I never developed any belief that anything I was doing had any impact in the material sense, however.
Chasing these rituals and gatherings was to me purely a folkloric, atmospheric exercise, a passionate and exciting interest that sweetened my existence in a world I found comparatively drab. When I witnessed a group of isolated townspeople in the arid interior of Tunisia burn a live lamb on a bed of coals before an ancient horned statue in the hills under a full moon, I was under no illusions that I had made contact with Baal Hammon. Rather, I could imagine for the briefest hour that I stood in Carthage before it’s fall. I could feel the exaltations and excesses of the men and women of that lost land in a way that few others, even amongst our great but fast-decaying scholarly institutions, will ever know. In this way, I liked to pretend that my pursuits were entirely anthropological in nature, an extended study in the collection and interpretation of dark folklore.
There was a small, sequestered portion of my mind, however, that had less rational motivations. Whenever a promising message would come my way, titillating me at the thought of potential reality behind all the shadowy pageantry of these ritual outings, I would jump at the chance to experience the kinds of raw emotion -fear, awe, or otherwise- that were so often whispered about in occult gatherings. I wanted some taste of the beyond, whatever that happened to be, and a chance discovery I made in July seemed to promise that very thing. It was this call to the unknown that set me on the path towards my final resting place in the cathedral.
Several months ago, a contact I made years back while visiting radical underground pagan organizations in Europe and with whom I had shared deep if infrequent correspondence was mentioned in passing by a mutual acquaintance, and it came up that he hadn’t been heard from in some months. I wrote to him and, when calls and emails went unanswered, I resolved to make the trip east to his home in the mountains of western Maryland to see him in person. Even among circles as prone to weirdness and reclusiveness as mine, it was odd for someone to go entirely dark. The nature of my interests -and those of my friend, for that matter- meant that the hunger for understanding ears to speak to was endless. For someone to wholly disconnect from the people who were best able to understand his eldritch obsessions and habits was an act of self-isolation above and beyond anything I or most I inquired with had ever witnessed.
When I arrived at his modest home west of Cumberland, I found it deserted in an odd state, with the front door unlocked and unsecure but the windows boarded up as if a hurricane were soon due on the mountainside. His shotgun lay tossed on the couch in the front room as I entered the building, and by the looks of the place, he had been holed up there for some time, sequestered off from the rest of the house. The doorway to the basement was boarded up, as was his adjoining bedroom and the back door onto the porch, which left only the front door accessible, and even that seemed to have been secured until recently. With his front sitting room space and a combined kitchen cut off like that, he’d set himself up to sleep on his couch and over the intervening days built up a fearful mess of discarded food and hastily-rifled books and papers.
Upon forcing my way into the basement, I found the sparse furniture and stored books and pictures tossed and turned, but nothing missing. The shotgun resting in the front room above had been fired several times into the walls, but had apparently stricken nothing, for there was no trace of blood or injury to be discovered.
Such disorder was worrying, for he had been an orderly and reserved man. What worried me more, however, was that there were no signs of forced entry. His old truck still sat rusting in the gravel driveway, the keys tucked under the driver’s seat as was his custom. The boarding and locks holding shut the front door had been calmly removed and unlatched from within, and there was not a single sign of disturbance in his makeshift fortress that would suggest someone had laid siege to the house to take him or his belongings. After locking himself in his front room for days, perhaps weeks, he had finally freed himself and walked out into the dense, mountainous woodland surrounding the house with no gun, no shoes, no keys, and no truck.
I set about investigating myself, hesitant to involve the authorities for obvious reasons. It was one thing to call up mutual associates to check whether there was any consensus on what he had been up to in the days prior to his confinement, but it was quite another to allow police to intrude on his property and potentially discover some macabre collection similar to my own that I’d been unaware of. Call after call came back inconclusive and shrouded in uncertainty, leaving me less and less convinced as the evening wore on that he would simply stumble out of the darkening woodline any minute fresh off some spectacular hallucinogenic trip, angry at my intrusion into his home. Then, as the sun dipped below the hunched, wood-cloaked mountains, my friend’s ancient land line received a call, sending me stumbling inside at a run from the porch, and plunging me into roiling chaos.
The initial exchange seemed innocuous enough, considering what was to follow. Speaking accented but practiced English, a man asked after the whereabouts of my friend. I was initially hesitant to be fully forthright with this stranger, but when he voluntarily betrayed that my friend had been in Myanmar by asking how he had been since his return, I felt it was necessary to probe just a little. I asked when my friend had departed and, upon realizing his return to the states must have been immediately followed by his recent descent into paranoid compound fortification, I inquired whether he’d seemed distressed or ill in the days leading up to his return home. Those simple questions were somehow all the man on the other end of the line needed to hear, for his response was to ask if he had gone missing.
“I warned him,” the voice muttered. “I warned him not to go up into the mountains. I knew it must be bad, for him to stay so quiet after leaving.”
The exchange that followed couldn’t have totaled more than ten minutes, but my constant reflection on it over the intervening weeks has stretched it into an hours-long ordeal, remembered verbatim and retrievable down to a syllable. At my insistence, he told me of the witching circles he occupied in Yangon, and of my friend’s keen interest in them. As evasive as I had been with exact details, he described a trip through the country organized for my friend by contacts in the region, a sort of whirlwind tour of debauched and culturally subterranean experiences. This trip had apparently terminated in an ill-advised trek into the mountainous north of the country, that the speaker and his local Yangon brethren had absolutely refused to attend.
“There are ruins in the hills,” he told me, the disgust plain in his voice. “Sacked and toppled by the kings of Pagan, and with good reason. None should travel there.”
For centuries, people both local to the region and native to other provinces of Burma had stayed clear of the place. The longstanding curse placed upon it by the Pagan kings of old was bolstered here and there by the hushed retelling of another tale of woe sparked when a foreign traveler or urban youth from the south insisted on seeing the forbidden heights. Reiterated in the flesh of modernity just as it would’ve been recited those centuries ago from atop the peacock throne of Burma, the man warned me with hushed tones not to look into my friend’s final days, to burn any of his private writings, and to leave the dead to lie. He then hung up, the whole thing feeling for all the world like an establishing scene out of a century-old horror story.
That is precisely what made it impossible for me to heed his warnings.
Even as I looked over the domestic devastation around me left in the aftermath of just such a visit, I understood every ounce of thought that had driven my friend to make the trip into the mountains. These unnamed ruins, haunted by shadowy legendry so fierce an occultist guide among fellow occultists would not risk their ancient paths, were everything a chaser of the extravagant could dream to see. Initially worried for my friend, the realization that it had grown dark outside now breathed some level of fear into me, only heightening the racing of my thoughts.
Had he not boarded up his home, then thrashed and shot at some unknown force in the basement, only to run away into the woods? What, should I decide to stay there through the night, would I find?
These were the sort of thoughts that would’ve driven a reasonable man out of the house and down the little mountain road into the security of town, but I, as attested to by the stolen gravestones and human remains which shall soon surround my corpse in the cathedral, am not a reasonable man. I set about a fevered examination of the books and notes with which my friend had occupied himself during his voluntary imprisonment, and left messages with all the contacts I had garnered over a lifetime’s probing the obscure and obscene who I thought might have any knowledge of use to me. After all, with nothing else to work from, this scrap of tantalizing information was the only hope of learning what befell my companion, and discovering whether the unknown caller’s pessimism on that score was justified. The ominous connotations of that information were just an added incentive.
The night was a long, tedious affair, with several breaks taken for no better reason than to calm my nerves and assure there was nothing lurking in the unlit kitchen or creeping up the now exposed basement staircase. Nothing save the atmosphere of the little house was amiss, though, and the night ultimately proved enlightening. From a battered notebook well worn by continued visits from its owner over the years, I learned about my friend’s obsession with the concept of the Nat, a kind of mythic Burmese-Buddhist spirit, or deity. Writing using a cypher popularized by the Golden Dawn with which many in my circles will be familiar, he had been jotting down notes regarding the origination of the currently recognized pantheon of thirty-seven Nat, and on unofficial, more local Nat, revered or feared by populations of certain towns and villages spread here and there across the interior of Myanmar.
It was a history in which I was not versed, for Myanmar had never come up as a focal point of occult or otherwise weird significance, but he’d developed a fascination with rumors of a cult in the remote north of the country centered on a Nat of such wickedness that it had single-handedly spurred the attempted banning of local Nat offerings. This being was supposedly the reason for instituting the official pantheon of thirty-seven instituted some thousand years ago, after the end of the first millennium.
Scattered across the margins of Cambridge and Oxford histories of Southeast Asia and several more journals filled with scribbled code, I learned the story of King Anawrahta, founder of the first unified Burmese empire, and a figure seemingly obsessed with the imposition of Buddhist religious order overtop of the native faiths of his land. In the texts of academia, the reason given for this ranged from expanding state control over local governance to enriching the crown through more reliable religious taxation. Notes from my friend on correspondence with local occultists and their own books of speculative history painted a different, altogether darker picture.
Folk tales from the jungle-choked hills in the north of the country joined longstanding occult traditions in laying the blame for this crackdown on local rituals at the feet of a reviled figure called Paunggkuu, whose name is closely linked to the modern Burmese word for spider.
Paunggkuu, known by no other name or title, is shadowed by many rumored pasts and motives, with some tales alleging he was a noble member of a local clan whose prosperity was shattered by the expansion of the king’s empire in the south, turning he and his family to blood offerings and shadowy rites in hopes of bettering their fortunes. Still others believe he was a Nat-possessed vagrant, a nobody raised from nothing by a wicked spirit to great infamy only to just as quickly be tossed aside- an expendable mortal shell for a being which had long lurked in the mountains. Many more hinted origins exist, but the outcome of the rise of Paunggkuu is always the same, with the mundane man-turned-warlock leading a cult of several hundred followers into a megalithic ruined city tucked away in the trees, where they began to prey on the surrounding countryside.
Village youths started to go missing, and over time, whole rural communities were stripped clean of inhabitants. Rippling outwards from the ruined city, the locals spoke in hushed whispers of a creeping death, a diabolical Nat or witch in the guise of a monster who haunted the spaces beneath raised houses and huts at night, and whose disgusting visage appeared to the locals in nightmare night after sleepless night. So great was the fear brought about by this shadowy plague of disappearances that the regional seat of power, the small city of Mogaung, was forced to take notice. Its kingly high priest, himself a vassal and ally of the powerful King Anawrahta in the south, sent men into the region to quell the disorder and bring those responsible to justice. When those men, too, had gone missing, an army of several hundred was raised, and when that had failed to report back, the priest sent desperate word to Pagan, petitioning the king for aid.
Anawrahta, occupied with other matters in the south, failed to answer with speed, but was spurred to action by a dark event sometime around the middle of 1057, when a nighttime raid on the outskirts of Mogaung itself drove the priest to flee south to the capital, where he took up exiled residence in Pagan with his suzerain. This attack, which was laid at the feet of bandits in official records, did not topple the city or level any temples, but its nature was so horrid that Anawrahta put a momentary halt to his campaigns of unification and consolidation to march north with more than five thousand men, riding upon a gold-girdled war elephant and leading the host in person.
The events which followed seem singularly terrible, and the narrative presented in the royal chronicles of Pagan of a bandit revolt quashed by the glorious armies of Anawrahta does little to explain why all but a thousand of the men sent into the jungle never came back. It does nothing to explain why local Kachin legend speaks of the mortified screams which echoed down from the hills being audible even now on certain moonlit nights, when the skies are right. Bandits, after all, couldn’t have spurred a burgeoning kingdom with more enemies than allies to spend half a year leveling an ancient stone city, and the rest of the century burying its name and history by burning books and sundering stone carvings.
The sun rose over the Maryland hills, and with it, I found myself reverberating with not only a new grasp of a strange land’s lore and legendry, but of my aims moving forward. Several contacts of my friend’s had agreed to come search for him and continue looking into the mounds of documentation he had compiled. While they got on the road and began their long drives, a Javanese associate who had led me on an extravagant tour of ancient fire-cults still in practice on the remoter regions of that island contacted a friend at my behest. This friend initiated a chain of further connections from friend to friend until I was speaking with a Burmese Buddhist monk-turned-animist wiseman, who knew of the rumored city in the north.
Though he dissuaded me from my stated aim of visiting the site in search of answers, he agreed to meet me in Yangon upon my arrival and place me in contact with locals of the northern Kachin province who could aid me in getting transport and supplies in so remote a region. I purchased my tickets that morning for a chain of flights leaving out of Washington D.C. that evening, and after leaving a scribbled note for my vanished friend in the off chance he resurface before his other companions arrived, I piled into my car without a wink of sleep to drive for the capital.
I cannot entirely give voice to the feelings which drove my movements throughout the day. Exhaustion did not catch up to me until well into the initial flight from Washington to Japan, and even then, sleep came in fitful bursts. I was too busy pouring over hastily-copied scraps of information left by my friend, staring holes in satellite images of northern Myanmar, and memorizing a few helpful words of the Burmese language to even consider how I felt. The whole of the scenario seemed like some great initial stage in an epic drama, and my worry at the sudden disappearance of a close friend and associate in the pursuit of strangeness had fast been molded together with an urge to see what he must’ve seen, and to feel whatever had spurred the paranoia he must’ve felt during those last, manic days in the closed front room.
It would be trite of me to proclaim now what a fool I was for being so blind, so eager to face the unknown. Moreover, it wouldn’t be entirely honest. Even now, as I prepare to do what must be done, I can recognize that what I found in Myanmar was exactly the sort of thing I had been searching for throughout the long and confused span of years that led me into the jungles of rural Kachin, and I can’t claim I regret taking the journey. I can only regret that my friend had to suffer what he did to show me the path, and that both he and I proved too fragile to tolerate the thing which followed us home.
I met with my contact after a lengthy but fitful sleep at the cheapest hotel I could book once landed and settled in Yangon. After another lengthy attempt to dissuade me from my course outside a tiny local café which featured florid stories about regional Kachin Independence Army rebels, he sketched out a travel itinerary which would take me first by bus, then by locally arranged jeep up precarious roads to the tiny settlement of Sumprabum, in the farthest northern reaches of the nation. The way was precarious at times, with the aged dirt roads never failing to buck and rock the buses this way and that on the precipices of the scrub-choked cliff faces they hugged. The locals, bundled in like canned fish with a painfully conspicuous foreigner among them, mostly rode in sleepy silence through nearly two days of travel, leaving me to wonder whether I was the only one worried by the idea of toppling over the edge. It wouldn’t do, after all, to come so close to the unknown only to die in a bus crash.
Worry proved pointless, however, and I ended up in a tiny, flea-ridden bunk in Sumprabum a couple days after setting out from Maryland, my eyes scanning the tree-shrouded hills through the mist from my perch on the porch of a catholic mission as they reluctantly allowed me some much-needed sleep. It would be the first real rest I’d had since prior to my fateful road trip-turned-world excursion began. It would later prove to be the final mundane, dreamless sleep I would ever experience, but in my exhausted anticipation, I didn’t take any time to savor it.
Awakening plucked and prodded by mosquitoes but otherwise feeling prepared for anything, I made my way to a modest logger’s house of sheet metal and crude timber, where I met my local guide. He was an older man still steely with a laborer’s wiry muscle who the entire gathering of homes called Saya, something close to teacher. With my night owl’s pale skin, my relatively impressive height and my profuse sweating at the unaccustomed humidity, I must’ve looked like some traveling alien jester to the village’s locals, and we’d soon gathered a sizable crowd of onlookers as we talked over the plan for the day’s hike. I would pay a small sum to his family for his aid and the food and water he would furnish me with for the night I wanted to spend in the ruins, and then he would lead me on foot about twenty miles to the northwest into the forest, over hills and through valleys, until we arrived at the place the local Kachin population had dubbed Pyethceehon.
The name was only ever spoken in wavering tones of disgust and fear, and the assigning of so alien a name, alongside my newfound proximity to the place my friend had been only a short while ago, filled me with nervous apprehension for the first time since my entry into his home back in the states. While that vestigial, reptile-brained warning of danger to come was enough to put me on edge, it came nowhere close to drowning out my higher aspirations towards intrigue and awe. To be so close to the unknown was an ecstasy I hadn’t found in all my years of searching, and I was not about to abandon that sensation now.
Saya set a firm pace up what initially were muddy and brutally-sloped logging roads through the hills. After several hours we branched off and forded into the sea of trees. The undergrowth and tree trunks combined into a morass which looked absolutely identical to my untrained eye for hour after hour, but by nothing more than his memory of the landscape and the feel of the hills beneath his flip-flop clad feet, Saya pressed through. He always seemed to know just the right place to squeeze through a looming wall of interwoven trees or a jam of fallen logs in a creek bed. Our entire trip was scored by his thickly-accented English telling story after story about the sizes of snakes that could be found here or the density of the ant hives choking the ground there, interspersed with assurances that I could turn back at any time with but a word to him if I lost my nerve. I responded and questioned him when I could, but I was winded and broken by the endless ascents and descents we made despite years of avid hiking back home, and my spaces between strained breaths were few and far between.
He told me of several disappearances of hunters and scouts for logging outfits in the area, but nothing had transpired near the ruins in recent memory. So dark was their reputation that throughout the militia-driven guerrilla warfare which had preceded my arrival for several years, not one camp or troop movement had been made around or through Pyethceehon, whether by loyalist or separatist forces. Saya was the only man in the area that had come close in the past five or six decades, and even he never dared go the final mile or two towards the old settlement in the trees.
The first visit was a childhood expedition in search of village chickens spooked into the jungle by a storm, which had ended in him accidentally stumbling across the stream which babbled downhill from the hilltop upon which Pyethceehon brooded. The second was to lead my friend to the stony banks of that very same stream.
On arriving, the brave man made me the same offer he’d made my friend, standing with his hands on his hips and offering to come with me into the ruins if I felt I needed him there. It was an offer made through a face haunted by the very syllables formed in making the offer, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask Saya along.
Thanking him for his kindness, I made certain of the time I was to meet him tomorrow and departed for the legend-haunted wreck atop the low mountain, with afternoon long having set in. Our pace had been slowed by my pondering progress, and I knew the few remaining hours of daylight would provide more than enough time for the savvy Saya to reach the logging roads and be well on his way to the village by nightfall. The prospect of a night alone on this unknown precipice only set in when thirty minutes of hiking up the creek bed had secured my isolation. I gripped the little revolver I’d been given to ward off tigers with a tight desperation I had never before experienced. All the while, my tired legs carried me that last mile into Pyethceehon.
I was more vibrant and alive in those terrified minutes than I had ever been before. I pity my friend, for having been the very first outsider in a century to visit the place had denied him the experience of knowing some specter of the danger that lurked there firsthand. While he must’ve felt the weight of the ruin’s reputation and atmosphere, only I knew the fate of a personal friend who had come before. It lit a fire in my stomach so intense I chewed the interior of my cheek raw in jittery anticipation of reaching the summit, my wavering legs finding new strength as my destination neared.
During my hurried in-flight preparations for this moment, I had scoured pictures, satellite images and documentary footage of great Burmese temple and stupa sites like Bagan, wanting to be accustomed to the kind of structures I might find upon arrival. I had expected crumbling but mighty dome-and-spire edifices like those, but what I found was altogether alien. The structures of Pyethceehon were much more like the small, tightly-packed, cone-roofed structures of lesser-known Nyaung Ohak far to the south.
Its avenues were only a few feet wide, choked between hundreds of huddled monuments and teeming with hungry plant growth, the few untoppled stone peaks reaching no further than fifteen or twenty feet into the branch-strangled sky. Many of them leaned, their bases sinking into the stone of the ground as the passing of ten centuries remolded the very Earth beneath their feet. It was the material, though, that shocked me so, making me think I had wandered into some mighty forest of vine-blackened prehistoric teeth as I crested the hill and stumbled into that outpost of blasphemy.
The stone was not the reddish-brown of most of the nation’s monuments, nor the sandy, water-aged brown of monuments elsewhere in the near and far east. It was not the marble of rich classical sculpture or the placid limestone grey of contemplative new-world step pyramids and old-world castles. Rather, it was the shiny and rippling surface of masterfully-shaped obsidian, their rain-polished surfaces staring back in rank after rank at me through the scrub- looking for all the world like massive, teeming ant mounds.
The play of the sun through the canopy above off the slightly uneven surfaces even lent them the illusion of motion, as of water bubbling in rapids over a bank of piled stones, or, perhaps more appropriately, of millions of chitinous ant bodies amassing to repel an intruder. Their mostly conical spires were shingled with tiny interlocking plates of jade, weathered by centuries until it was almost muted, looking grey against the greens of the jungle.
I lingered there on the precipice for a long while, telling myself I needed to catch my breath, but knowing with every second I spent looking into the distance down those accursed rows that it was something much less explicable that kept my body frozen among the warm trees. It is only now, removed from the stress and excitement of the scene, that I can guess at what unspoken and unrecognized force halted my progress. Though I might not have been able to give voice to why at the time, I knew deep down that the conditions for obsidian to exist at all were not right here.
Obsidian was not among the pantheon of materials found in the jewelry, weapons or art of Southeast Asia, and that was because the nearest region with the right kind of volcanic activity to generate the substance at all lay thousands of miles away across the south china sea, on the island of Papua. I remember vividly having it pointed out as a commodity unique to the isle in my travels through Indonesia years before. What on Earth the glistening void-dark rock was doing in Myanmar remains far beyond me, but the grooved and layered construction of it, along with the faintly rough and uneven breaks in the glass-like surfaces where it had been so carefully shaped, told me it could be nothing else.
When at last my legs were moving beneath me again, I found winding my way through the obsidian forest testing at every moment my resolution to be there. Each stupa was littered with carvings, almost all of them pictographic, and almost all of these featuring the crouching forms of spiders. The largest, however, dotted every ten or twelve structures along the overgrown path I had chosen to follow, held another, more tantalizingly sinister image.
The first time I passed one of these carvings, I kept moving, my mind rushing to place why I recoiled on such an instinctive level from those particular figures amidst a legion of equally disturbing sights and sensations. Upon reaching a second rendition of the image, though, I opened my pack and flipped through my friend’s notebooks, desperate to confirm my suspicions. It didn’t take long to find his own rendition of the image, half-remembered in my nervous state, scrawled on the back cover of a cheap, weathered notebook.
The thing was a gaunt, thin, gangly creature, reminiscent of a man, but twisted and bent nearly beyond recognition. Its legs looked almost stick-like, ending in pointed barbs, and its torso sprouted three pairs of arms, evoking the image of sword-wielding Hindu gods. The arms sported one more joint than the single natural elbow showed by human beings, and each pair of them was held high in an awkward, exaggerated shrug- like a father aping a silent film-era monster to spook his children. This gave me the initial, erroneous impression that the many arms were the skeletal structure of unfurled wings. Each came to a blade-like point, just like the feet, with each lower pair slightly shorter than the last. The head -or what should have been a head- was by far the worst of it, though, and to think of it now in light of what I know makes me wonder beyond wonder that I stayed in that ruin at all.
Where a head should be, there was merely an aperture at the top of the torso, a large fang-lined mouth that ran like a zipper from where the back of a neck would’ve been to where the sternum should begin. Around it, unfurled and given the illusion of squirming motion by both the impromptu sketch artist and the ancient sculptors, were multiple layers of the sort of stunted forelegs that flank a tarantula’s mouth.
With the afternoon wearing on, I slowly pieced the shattered remnants of my aesthete’s zeal for the unusual back together. Wandering familiarized me with the two square miles or so that constituted the remnants of this little graveyard of forbidden worship, the knowledge I gained of its layout fortifying me with a sense of distant belonging I knew full well would disappear as soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Radiating inward like the strands of a great web, the avenues of the place all lead to a single center point where some massive temple or palace complex had once stood. It was here that I began to set up a modest little camp to wait out the night, piling what scant dry firewood I found and clearing undergrowth so that any insects or snakes would be scared out and away from my position.
The old temple was nothing save a foundation long sunk into the murky earth, its bottom littered with mud and stone from the superstructure, leaving only stalagmite-like fragments of its black obsidian walls to poke outward from the debris. It was in the protective shadow of one of these that I settled down, piling several more natural stones as a makeshift seat only after I ensured that none of the images of the damnable spider-thing were in view of my perch.
The final couple hours before nightfall felt like minutes, for time flew past with a speed only dread can create. I reflected, as I sat waiting for the proper moment to begin burning my small reserve of firewood, that there had been little in the way of totems or objects in the ruins. Most of the buildings had been stupas, too small to inhabit or enter, and the temple behind me had long ago been toppled in Pagan’s raid upon the despised cult. The sculptures, really the only testament to the past nature of this place, were repetitive, mimicking in stonework the kind of mantra repetitions witnessed in Buddhist or animist ceremonies.
I flipped through my catalogue of hastily-acquired knowledge, often referencing my friend’s notes and the books to which he’d clung, trying to recall anything which might help me retrace his steps in this dark corner of the Earth. I found none, for his notes said nothing of his actual expedition, and the treatments of this place in text and legend were so frightful and vague that there was little to work from. There were no signs of my friend in the avenues of shadowy Pyethceehon, just as there were no signs of the day-to-day lives of its ancient residents. The jungle had swallowed this vile place, and in another millennia, there would likely be nothing left to visit here.
Beyond the lack of information on my missing friend, I found my motivation consumed as the sunset got underway by an exhaustion which was entirely unlike me. Thoroughly unnerved and in a place unfamiliar to me, I should’ve been wide awake, ready to weather an entire night of vigilant, guarded listening over my fire. Instead, as the sky’s oranges darkened the shadows of the surrounding trees and scrub, turning the ranked stupas into ominous silhouettes which seemed to creep towards me through the encroaching trees, my usual explorer’s thrill at the unknown was extinguished. Each blink came as a labored exertion while I breathed life into the little woodpile before me.
Exacerbating this, I became aware of an impenetrable quiet hanging over the thinned mountaintop clearing in which Pyethceehon had brooded all these centuries. It was as if the very mosquitoes in the air knew not to disturb the slumber of such an ill-fated and ill-tempered beast as this.
I was in for a tense night.
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2020.09.11 06:14 StygianSagas A Scratching at the Door (part 1)

It is my cathedral, my magnum opus- the culmination of two decades spent grinding my way through the most debauched and blasphemous practices and indulgences. It’s a thing of imposing grandeur most might shrug off as ominous or distasteful, like a soviet-era state edifice or a moldering abandoned hospital on an overcast hillside. It’s also seedy, just the right mix of ordered and disordered to tickle my mind and draw me into the rapturous atmosphere I have worked so hard to create within its walls. For years, I have retreated here when the weight of the world around me has beaten me low with its tedious, mundane goings-on, a last respite for a mind that never felt quite at home there. Fitting, then, that it will serve as my tomb.
Whoever stumbles across this account will find it in my home. From there, my cathedral is some two miles away, down the old logging trail that forks off from Whispering Pines Road. The dugout is near its terminus- a low, brooding bunker-like structure buried in the hills and blocked by a pair of rusted metal doors. I will leave these locked, but accessible via the key beneath this letter.
I don’t have any idea as to what the purpose of the modest dugout was originally, for it was barren when I found it two decades ago. Perhaps storage, for the nearest house is much too far away for it to serve effectively as a storm shelter. Regardless, the contents will be unharmed. I have committed crimes to attain the totems and relics I surround myself with, but while I might be a thief, I have always considered myself a borrower of items, rather than a taker of treasures. They may be redistributed to their proper places as authorities see fit to distribute them. Whoever first goes to the cathedral should mentally steel themselves for what they’ll find when they push through those heavy doors, though.
The collection began when I was a teenager. The first modest additions were items I acquired while delving in abandoned places of ill repute close to my hometown. I took a century-old diary from a moldering manor home in Louisville, and snagged a small bust dulled by time from a tottering school’s library in Lynch. As I grew in boldness, my taste for eerie and unsettling items grew more and more insatiable.
The gravestones of several notable Civil War-era dead were taken from Perryville, beginning the collection of headstones and memorial plaques of supposedly spectral figures that tile my cathedral’s walls. A bone saw, taken from a reportedly haunted hospital across the state line in Ironton, leans on a shelf against the skull of a folklore-rumored hermit-turned-warlock from the hills west of Ashland, which I dug up and preserved with great care after his remains had lurked in the ground for the better part of a century.
International connections may be needed to return some of the items, though, for I have done a fair bit of traveling in my time, always on the lookout for suitably evocative items for my gallery. The collection boasts, for example, a golden ring pulled from the bottom of a Yucatan cenote, where it rested amongst the honored sacrificial dead piled there during the golden age of the Maya. It rests upon the index finger of an unnaturally large mummified hand treasured by a twisted group of scholarly mountainside cultists in Tibet, who believed it to be the withered claw of a woman from the fabled subterranean realm of Patala. All this shall be catalogued in the most intimate detail which my memory allows, and I will denote the dates and locations at which each item was acquired, from the most modest small-town tombstone to the most exotic ‘cursed’ statuette or storied murder weapon.
I won’t get too bogged down in all that here, though. You’ll find that list in the cathedral, along with whatever remains of me. The purpose of this text is to dissuade anyone from touching or tampering with, in any way, a certain item I’ve hidden away in a long-forgotten mine not terribly far from here. The entrance will be collapsed, a feat which will charge me no small amount of work, and it desperately needs to stay that way. I only bother to mention this item at all because, for reasons that will become evident, I am unsure whether it will stay put down there in the wake of my death.
Any perusing these pages would be justified in wondering what all the fuss is about, so I’ll lay out the story as clearly as I’m able, starting with why I even had cause to come in contact with the wretched thing in the first place. Some years into my darker explorations and trophy taking, exploiting a long interest in the darker side of paranormal speculation and occult practices, I began to experiment here and there with immersing myself in the kinds of provocative groups that often congregated around the places I visited. In college I visited a local quarry notorious for suicidal leaps with some of my fellow students on Halloween for a very stereotypical drunk layman’s séance. It produced nothing tangible in terms of unexplainable experiences, but electrified me with the mood -the atmosphere- that accompanied our silly ritual when it was performed in so ominous a setting.
Branching out from there, I found equally atmospheric experiences by hitching my wagon to various occult groups across my region, the most longstanding relation being with a nameless group of pagan revivalists in Cave City. They stoked my need for taboo moods with spectacular solstice sacrifices of live bullocks during firelight ceremonies in the cave systems across the county.
Over the years, I built up a book of contacts who shared my fascination, or at least held a belief in eldritch ritual and ample enough contacts to put me in a position to experience and partake in their rites. I never developed any belief that anything I was doing had any impact in the material sense, however.
Chasing these rituals and gatherings was to me purely a folkloric, atmospheric exercise, a passionate and exciting interest that sweetened my existence in a world I found comparatively drab. When I witnessed a group of isolated townspeople in the arid interior of Tunisia burn a live lamb on a bed of coals before an ancient horned statue in the hills under a full moon, I was under no illusions that I had made contact with Baal Hammon. Rather, I could imagine for the briefest hour that I stood in Carthage before it’s fall. I could feel the exaltations and excesses of the men and women of that lost land in a way that few others, even amongst our great but fast-decaying scholarly institutions, will ever know. In this way, I liked to pretend that my pursuits were entirely anthropological in nature, an extended study in the collection and interpretation of dark folklore.
There was a small, sequestered portion of my mind, however, that had less rational motivations. Whenever a promising message would come my way, titillating me at the thought of potential reality behind all the shadowy pageantry of these ritual outings, I would jump at the chance to experience the kinds of raw emotion -fear, awe, or otherwise- that were so often whispered about in occult gatherings. I wanted some taste of the beyond, whatever that happened to be, and a chance discovery I made in July seemed to promise that very thing. It was this call to the unknown that set me on the path towards my final resting place in the cathedral.
Several months ago, a contact I made years back while visiting radical underground pagan organizations in Europe and with whom I had shared deep if infrequent correspondence was mentioned in passing by a mutual acquaintance, and it came up that he hadn’t been heard from in some months. I wrote to him and, when calls and emails went unanswered, I resolved to make the trip east to his home in the mountains of western Maryland to see him in person. Even among circles as prone to weirdness and reclusiveness as mine, it was odd for someone to go entirely dark. The nature of my interests -and those of my friend, for that matter- meant that the hunger for understanding ears to speak to was endless. For someone to wholly disconnect from the people who were best able to understand his eldritch obsessions and habits was an act of self-isolation above and beyond anything I or most I inquired with had ever witnessed.
When I arrived at his modest home west of Cumberland, I found it deserted in an odd state, with the front door unlocked and unsecure but the windows boarded up as if a hurricane were soon due on the mountainside. His shotgun lay tossed on the couch in the front room as I entered the building, and by the looks of the place, he had been holed up there for some time, sequestered off from the rest of the house. The doorway to the basement was boarded up, as was his adjoining bedroom and the back door onto the porch, which left only the front door accessible, and even that seemed to have been secured until recently. With his front sitting room space and a combined kitchen cut off like that, he’d set himself up to sleep on his couch and over the intervening days built up a fearful mess of discarded food and hastily-rifled books and papers.
Upon forcing my way into the basement, I found the sparse furniture and stored books and pictures tossed and turned, but nothing missing. The shotgun resting in the front room above had been fired several times into the walls, but had apparently stricken nothing, for there was no trace of blood or injury to be discovered.
Such disorder was worrying, for he had been an orderly and reserved man. What worried me more, however, was that there were no signs of forced entry. His old truck still sat rusting in the gravel driveway, the keys tucked under the driver’s seat as was his custom. The boarding and locks holding shut the front door had been calmly removed and unlatched from within, and there was not a single sign of disturbance in his makeshift fortress that would suggest someone had laid siege to the house to take him or his belongings. After locking himself in his front room for days, perhaps weeks, he had finally freed himself and walked out into the dense, mountainous woodland surrounding the house with no gun, no shoes, no keys, and no truck.
I set about investigating myself, hesitant to involve the authorities for obvious reasons. It was one thing to call up mutual associates to check whether there was any consensus on what he had been up to in the days prior to his confinement, but it was quite another to allow police to intrude on his property and potentially discover some macabre collection similar to my own that I’d been unaware of. Call after call came back inconclusive and shrouded in uncertainty, leaving me less and less convinced as the evening wore on that he would simply stumble out of the darkening woodline any minute fresh off some spectacular hallucinogenic trip, angry at my intrusion into his home. Then, as the sun dipped below the hunched, wood-cloaked mountains, my friend’s ancient land line received a call, sending me stumbling inside at a run from the porch, and plunging me into roiling chaos.
The initial exchange seemed innocuous enough, considering what was to follow. Speaking accented but practiced English, a man asked after the whereabouts of my friend. I was initially hesitant to be fully forthright with this stranger, but when he voluntarily betrayed that my friend had been in Myanmar by asking how he had been since his return, I felt it was necessary to probe just a little. I asked when my friend had departed and, upon realizing his return to the states must have been immediately followed by his recent descent into paranoid compound fortification, I inquired whether he’d seemed distressed or ill in the days leading up to his return home. Those simple questions were somehow all the man on the other end of the line needed to hear, for his response was to ask if he had gone missing.
“I warned him,” the voice muttered. “I warned him not to go up into the mountains. I knew it must be bad, for him to stay so quiet after leaving.”
The exchange that followed couldn’t have totaled more than ten minutes, but my constant reflection on it over the intervening weeks has stretched it into an hours-long ordeal, remembered verbatim and retrievable down to a syllable. At my insistence, he told me of the witching circles he occupied in Yangon, and of my friend’s keen interest in them. As evasive as I had been with exact details, he described a trip through the country organized for my friend by contacts in the region, a sort of whirlwind tour of debauched and culturally subterranean experiences. This trip had apparently terminated in an ill-advised trek into the mountainous north of the country, that the speaker and his local Yangon brethren had absolutely refused to attend.
“There are ruins in the hills,” he told me, the disgust plain in his voice. “Sacked and toppled by the kings of Pagan, and with good reason. None should travel there.”
For centuries, people both local to the region and native to other provinces of Burma had stayed clear of the place. The longstanding curse placed upon it by the Pagan kings of old was bolstered here and there by the hushed retelling of another tale of woe sparked when a foreign traveler or urban youth from the south insisted on seeing the forbidden heights. Reiterated in the flesh of modernity just as it would’ve been recited those centuries ago from atop the peacock throne of Burma, the man warned me with hushed tones not to look into my friend’s final days, to burn any of his private writings, and to leave the dead to lie. He then hung up, the whole thing feeling for all the world like an establishing scene out of a century-old horror story.
That is precisely what made it impossible for me to heed his warnings.
Even as I looked over the domestic devastation around me left in the aftermath of just such a visit, I understood every ounce of thought that had driven my friend to make the trip into the mountains. These unnamed ruins, haunted by shadowy legendry so fierce an occultist guide among fellow occultists would not risk their ancient paths, were everything a chaser of the extravagant could dream to see. Initially worried for my friend, the realization that it had grown dark outside now breathed some level of fear into me, only heightening the racing of my thoughts.
Had he not boarded up his home, then thrashed and shot at some unknown force in the basement, only to run away into the woods? What, should I decide to stay there through the night, would I find?
These were the sort of thoughts that would’ve driven a reasonable man out of the house and down the little mountain road into the security of town, but I, as attested to by the stolen gravestones and human remains which shall soon surround my corpse in the cathedral, am not a reasonable man. I set about a fevered examination of the books and notes with which my friend had occupied himself during his voluntary imprisonment, and left messages with all the contacts I had garnered over a lifetime’s probing the obscure and obscene who I thought might have any knowledge of use to me. After all, with nothing else to work from, this scrap of tantalizing information was the only hope of learning what befell my companion, and discovering whether the unknown caller’s pessimism on that score was justified. The ominous connotations of that information were just an added incentive.
The night was a long, tedious affair, with several breaks taken for no better reason than to calm my nerves and assure there was nothing lurking in the unlit kitchen or creeping up the now exposed basement staircase. Nothing save the atmosphere of the little house was amiss, though, and the night ultimately proved enlightening. From a battered notebook well worn by continued visits from its owner over the years, I learned about my friend’s obsession with the concept of the Nat, a kind of mythic Burmese-Buddhist spirit, or deity. Writing using a cypher popularized by the Golden Dawn with which many in my circles will be familiar, he had been jotting down notes regarding the origination of the currently recognized pantheon of thirty-seven Nat, and on unofficial, more local Nat, revered or feared by populations of certain towns and villages spread here and there across the interior of Myanmar.
It was a history in which I was not versed, for Myanmar had never come up as a focal point of occult or otherwise weird significance, but he’d developed a fascination with rumors of a cult in the remote north of the country centered on a Nat of such wickedness that it had single-handedly spurred the attempted banning of local Nat offerings. This being was supposedly the reason for instituting the official pantheon of thirty-seven instituted some thousand years ago, after the end of the first millennium.
Scattered across the margins of Cambridge and Oxford histories of Southeast Asia and several more journals filled with scribbled code, I learned the story of King Anawrahta, founder of the first unified Burmese empire, and a figure seemingly obsessed with the imposition of Buddhist religious order overtop of the native faiths of his land. In the texts of academia, the reason given for this ranged from expanding state control over local governance to enriching the crown through more reliable religious taxation. Notes from my friend on correspondence with local occultists and their own books of speculative history painted a different, altogether darker picture.
Folk tales from the jungle-choked hills in the north of the country joined longstanding occult traditions in laying the blame for this crackdown on local rituals at the feet of a reviled figure called Paunggkuu, whose name is closely linked to the modern Burmese word for spider.
Paunggkuu, known by no other name or title, is shadowed by many rumored pasts and motives, with some tales alleging he was a noble member of a local clan whose prosperity was shattered by the expansion of the king’s empire in the south, turning he and his family to blood offerings and shadowy rites in hopes of bettering their fortunes. Still others believe he was a Nat-possessed vagrant, a nobody raised from nothing by a wicked spirit to great infamy only to just as quickly be tossed aside- an expendable mortal shell for a being which had long lurked in the mountains. Many more hinted origins exist, but the outcome of the rise of Paunggkuu is always the same, with the mundane man-turned-warlock leading a cult of several hundred followers into a megalithic ruined city tucked away in the trees, where they began to prey on the surrounding countryside.
Village youths started to go missing, and over time, whole rural communities were stripped clean of inhabitants. Rippling outwards from the ruined city, the locals spoke in hushed whispers of a creeping death, a diabolical Nat or witch in the guise of a monster who haunted the spaces beneath raised houses and huts at night, and whose disgusting visage appeared to the locals in nightmare night after sleepless night. So great was the fear brought about by this shadowy plague of disappearances that the regional seat of power, the small city of Mogaung, was forced to take notice. Its kingly high priest, himself a vassal and ally of the powerful King Anawrahta in the south, sent men into the region to quell the disorder and bring those responsible to justice. When those men, too, had gone missing, an army of several hundred was raised, and when that had failed to report back, the priest sent desperate word to Pagan, petitioning the king for aid.
Anawrahta, occupied with other matters in the south, failed to answer with speed, but was spurred to action by a dark event sometime around the middle of 1057, when a nighttime raid on the outskirts of Mogaung itself drove the priest to flee south to the capital, where he took up exiled residence in Pagan with his suzerain. This attack, which was laid at the feet of bandits in official records, did not topple the city or level any temples, but its nature was so horrid that Anawrahta put a momentary halt to his campaigns of unification and consolidation to march north with more than five thousand men, riding upon a gold-girdled war elephant and leading the host in person.
The events which followed seem singularly terrible, and the narrative presented in the royal chronicles of Pagan of a bandit revolt quashed by the glorious armies of Anawrahta does little to explain why all but a thousand of the men sent into the jungle never came back. It does nothing to explain why local Kachin legend speaks of the mortified screams which echoed down from the hills being audible even now on certain moonlit nights, when the skies are right. Bandits, after all, couldn’t have spurred a burgeoning kingdom with more enemies than allies to spend half a year leveling an ancient stone city, and the rest of the century burying its name and history by burning books and sundering stone carvings.
The sun rose over the Maryland hills, and with it, I found myself reverberating with not only a new grasp of a strange land’s lore and legendry, but of my aims moving forward. Several contacts of my friend’s had agreed to come search for him and continue looking into the mounds of documentation he had compiled. While they got on the road and began their long drives, a Javanese associate who had led me on an extravagant tour of ancient fire-cults still in practice on the remoter regions of that island contacted a friend at my behest. This friend initiated a chain of further connections from friend to friend until I was speaking with a Burmese Buddhist monk-turned-animist wiseman, who knew of the rumored city in the north.
Though he dissuaded me from my stated aim of visiting the site in search of answers, he agreed to meet me in Yangon upon my arrival and place me in contact with locals of the northern Kachin province who could aid me in getting transport and supplies in so remote a region. I purchased my tickets that morning for a chain of flights leaving out of Washington D.C. that evening, and after leaving a scribbled note for my vanished friend in the off chance he resurface before his other companions arrived, I piled into my car without a wink of sleep to drive for the capital.
I cannot entirely give voice to the feelings which drove my movements throughout the day. Exhaustion did not catch up to me until well into the initial flight from Washington to Japan, and even then, sleep came in fitful bursts. I was too busy pouring over hastily-copied scraps of information left by my friend, staring holes in satellite images of northern Myanmar, and memorizing a few helpful words of the Burmese language to even consider how I felt. The whole of the scenario seemed like some great initial stage in an epic drama, and my worry at the sudden disappearance of a close friend and associate in the pursuit of strangeness had fast been molded together with an urge to see what he must’ve seen, and to feel whatever had spurred the paranoia he must’ve felt during those last, manic days in the closed front room.
It would be trite of me to proclaim now what a fool I was for being so blind, so eager to face the unknown. Moreover, it wouldn’t be entirely honest. Even now, as I prepare to do what must be done, I can recognize that what I found in Myanmar was exactly the sort of thing I had been searching for throughout the long and confused span of years that led me into the jungles of rural Kachin, and I can’t claim I regret taking the journey. I can only regret that my friend had to suffer what he did to show me the path, and that both he and I proved too fragile to tolerate the thing which followed us home.
I met with my contact after a lengthy but fitful sleep at the cheapest hotel I could book once landed and settled in Yangon. After another lengthy attempt to dissuade me from my course outside a tiny local café which featured florid stories about regional Kachin Independence Army rebels, he sketched out a travel itinerary which would take me first by bus, then by locally arranged jeep up precarious roads to the tiny settlement of Sumprabum, in the farthest northern reaches of the nation. The way was precarious at times, with the aged dirt roads never failing to buck and rock the buses this way and that on the precipices of the scrub-choked cliff faces they hugged. The locals, bundled in like canned fish with a painfully conspicuous foreigner among them, mostly rode in sleepy silence through nearly two days of travel, leaving me to wonder whether I was the only one worried by the idea of toppling over the edge. It wouldn’t do, after all, to come so close to the unknown only to die in a bus crash.
Worry proved pointless, however, and I ended up in a tiny, flea-ridden bunk in Sumprabum a couple days after setting out from Maryland, my eyes scanning the tree-shrouded hills through the mist from my perch on the porch of a catholic mission as they reluctantly allowed me some much-needed sleep. It would be the first real rest I’d had since prior to my fateful road trip-turned-world excursion began. It would later prove to be the final mundane, dreamless sleep I would ever experience, but in my exhausted anticipation, I didn’t take any time to savor it.
Awakening plucked and prodded by mosquitoes but otherwise feeling prepared for anything, I made my way to a modest logger’s house of sheet metal and crude timber, where I met my local guide. He was an older man still steely with a laborer’s wiry muscle who the entire gathering of homes called Saya, something close to teacher. With my night owl’s pale skin, my relatively impressive height and my profuse sweating at the unaccustomed humidity, I must’ve looked like some traveling alien jester to the village’s locals, and we’d soon gathered a sizable crowd of onlookers as we talked over the plan for the day’s hike. I would pay a small sum to his family for his aid and the food and water he would furnish me with for the night I wanted to spend in the ruins, and then he would lead me on foot about twenty miles to the northwest into the forest, over hills and through valleys, until we arrived at the place the local Kachin population had dubbed Pyethceehon.
The name was only ever spoken in wavering tones of disgust and fear, and the assigning of so alien a name, alongside my newfound proximity to the place my friend had been only a short while ago, filled me with nervous apprehension for the first time since my entry into his home back in the states. While that vestigial, reptile-brained warning of danger to come was enough to put me on edge, it came nowhere close to drowning out my higher aspirations towards intrigue and awe. To be so close to the unknown was an ecstasy I hadn’t found in all my years of searching, and I was not about to abandon that sensation now.
Saya set a firm pace up what initially were muddy and brutally-sloped logging roads through the hills. After several hours we branched off and forded into the sea of trees. The undergrowth and tree trunks combined into a morass which looked absolutely identical to my untrained eye for hour after hour, but by nothing more than his memory of the landscape and the feel of the hills beneath his flip-flop clad feet, Saya pressed through. He always seemed to know just the right place to squeeze through a looming wall of interwoven trees or a jam of fallen logs in a creek bed. Our entire trip was scored by his thickly-accented English telling story after story about the sizes of snakes that could be found here or the density of the ant hives choking the ground there, interspersed with assurances that I could turn back at any time with but a word to him if I lost my nerve. I responded and questioned him when I could, but I was winded and broken by the endless ascents and descents we made despite years of avid hiking back home, and my spaces between strained breaths were few and far between.
He told me of several disappearances of hunters and scouts for logging outfits in the area, but nothing had transpired near the ruins in recent memory. So dark was their reputation that throughout the militia-driven guerrilla warfare which had preceded my arrival for several years, not one camp or troop movement had been made around or through Pyethceehon, whether by loyalist or separatist forces. Saya was the only man in the area that had come close in the past five or six decades, and even he never dared go the final mile or two towards the old settlement in the trees.
The first visit was a childhood expedition in search of village chickens spooked into the jungle by a storm, which had ended in him accidentally stumbling across the stream which babbled downhill from the hilltop upon which Pyethceehon brooded. The second was to lead my friend to the stony banks of that very same stream.
On arriving, the brave man made me the same offer he’d made my friend, standing with his hands on his hips and offering to come with me into the ruins if I felt I needed him there. It was an offer made through a face haunted by the very syllables formed in making the offer, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask Saya along.
Thanking him for his kindness, I made certain of the time I was to meet him tomorrow and departed for the legend-haunted wreck atop the low mountain, with afternoon long having set in. Our pace had been slowed by my pondering progress, and I knew the few remaining hours of daylight would provide more than enough time for the savvy Saya to reach the logging roads and be well on his way to the village by nightfall. The prospect of a night alone on this unknown precipice only set in when thirty minutes of hiking up the creek bed had secured my isolation. I gripped the little revolver I’d been given to ward off tigers with a tight desperation I had never before experienced. All the while, my tired legs carried me that last mile into Pyethceehon.
I was more vibrant and alive in those terrified minutes than I had ever been before. I pity my friend, for having been the very first outsider in a century to visit the place had denied him the experience of knowing some specter of the danger that lurked there firsthand. While he must’ve felt the weight of the ruin’s reputation and atmosphere, only I knew the fate of a personal friend who had come before. It lit a fire in my stomach so intense I chewed the interior of my cheek raw in jittery anticipation of reaching the summit, my wavering legs finding new strength as my destination neared.
During my hurried in-flight preparations for this moment, I had scoured pictures, satellite images and documentary footage of great Burmese temple and stupa sites like Bagan, wanting to be accustomed to the kind of structures I might find upon arrival. I had expected crumbling but mighty dome-and-spire edifices like those, but what I found was altogether alien. The structures of Pyethceehon were much more like the small, tightly-packed, cone-roofed structures of lesser-known Nyaung Ohak far to the south.
Its avenues were only a few feet wide, choked between hundreds of huddled monuments and teeming with hungry plant growth, the few untoppled stone peaks reaching no further than fifteen or twenty feet into the branch-strangled sky. Many of them leaned, their bases sinking into the stone of the ground as the passing of ten centuries remolded the very Earth beneath their feet. It was the material, though, that shocked me so, making me think I had wandered into some mighty forest of vine-blackened prehistoric teeth as I crested the hill and stumbled into that outpost of blasphemy.
The stone was not the reddish-brown of most of the nation’s monuments, nor the sandy, water-aged brown of monuments elsewhere in the near and far east. It was not the marble of rich classical sculpture or the placid limestone grey of contemplative new-world step pyramids and old-world castles. Rather, it was the shiny and rippling surface of masterfully-shaped obsidian, their rain-polished surfaces staring back in rank after rank at me through the scrub- looking for all the world like massive, teeming ant mounds.
The play of the sun through the canopy above off the slightly uneven surfaces even lent them the illusion of motion, as of water bubbling in rapids over a bank of piled stones, or, perhaps more appropriately, of millions of chitinous ant bodies amassing to repel an intruder. Their mostly conical spires were shingled with tiny interlocking plates of jade, weathered by centuries until it was almost muted, looking grey against the greens of the jungle.
I lingered there on the precipice for a long while, telling myself I needed to catch my breath, but knowing with every second I spent looking into the distance down those accursed rows that it was something much less explicable that kept my body frozen among the warm trees. It is only now, removed from the stress and excitement of the scene, that I can guess at what unspoken and unrecognized force halted my progress. Though I might not have been able to give voice to why at the time, I knew deep down that the conditions for obsidian to exist at all were not right here.
Obsidian was not among the pantheon of materials found in the jewelry, weapons or art of Southeast Asia, and that was because the nearest region with the right kind of volcanic activity to generate the substance at all lay thousands of miles away across the south china sea, on the island of Papua. I remember vividly having it pointed out as a commodity unique to the isle in my travels through Indonesia years before. What on Earth the glistening void-dark rock was doing in Myanmar remains far beyond me, but the grooved and layered construction of it, along with the faintly rough and uneven breaks in the glass-like surfaces where it had been so carefully shaped, told me it could be nothing else.
When at last my legs were moving beneath me again, I found winding my way through the obsidian forest testing at every moment my resolution to be there. Each stupa was littered with carvings, almost all of them pictographic, and almost all of these featuring the crouching forms of spiders. The largest, however, dotted every ten or twelve structures along the overgrown path I had chosen to follow, held another, more tantalizingly sinister image.
The first time I passed one of these carvings, I kept moving, my mind rushing to place why I recoiled on such an instinctive level from those particular figures amidst a legion of equally disturbing sights and sensations. Upon reaching a second rendition of the image, though, I opened my pack and flipped through my friend’s notebooks, desperate to confirm my suspicions. It didn’t take long to find his own rendition of the image, half-remembered in my nervous state, scrawled on the back cover of a cheap, weathered notebook.
The thing was a gaunt, thin, gangly creature, reminiscent of a man, but twisted and bent nearly beyond recognition. Its legs looked almost stick-like, ending in pointed barbs, and its torso sprouted three pairs of arms, evoking the image of sword-wielding Hindu gods. The arms sported one more joint than the single natural elbow showed by human beings, and each pair of them was held high in an awkward, exaggerated shrug- like a father aping a silent film-era monster to spook his children. This gave me the initial, erroneous impression that the many arms were the skeletal structure of unfurled wings. Each came to a blade-like point, just like the feet, with each lower pair slightly shorter than the last. The head -or what should have been a head- was by far the worst of it, though, and to think of it now in light of what I know makes me wonder beyond wonder that I stayed in that ruin at all.
Where a head should be, there was merely an aperture at the top of the torso, a large fang-lined mouth that ran like a zipper from where the back of a neck would’ve been to where the sternum should begin. Around it, unfurled and given the illusion of squirming motion by both the impromptu sketch artist and the ancient sculptors, were multiple layers of the sort of stunted forelegs that flank a tarantula’s mouth.
With the afternoon wearing on, I slowly pieced the shattered remnants of my aesthete’s zeal for the unusual back together. Wandering familiarized me with the two square miles or so that constituted the remnants of this little graveyard of forbidden worship, the knowledge I gained of its layout fortifying me with a sense of distant belonging I knew full well would disappear as soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Radiating inward like the strands of a great web, the avenues of the place all lead to a single center point where some massive temple or palace complex had once stood. It was here that I began to set up a modest little camp to wait out the night, piling what scant dry firewood I found and clearing undergrowth so that any insects or snakes would be scared out and away from my position.
The old temple was nothing save a foundation long sunk into the murky earth, its bottom littered with mud and stone from the superstructure, leaving only stalagmite-like fragments of its black obsidian walls to poke outward from the debris. It was in the protective shadow of one of these that I settled down, piling several more natural stones as a makeshift seat only after I ensured that none of the images of the damnable spider-thing were in view of my perch.
The final couple hours before nightfall felt like minutes, for time flew past with a speed only dread can create. I reflected, as I sat waiting for the proper moment to begin burning my small reserve of firewood, that there had been little in the way of totems or objects in the ruins. Most of the buildings had been stupas, too small to inhabit or enter, and the temple behind me had long ago been toppled in Pagan’s raid upon the despised cult. The sculptures, really the only testament to the past nature of this place, were repetitive, mimicking in stonework the kind of mantra repetitions witnessed in Buddhist or animist ceremonies.
I flipped through my catalogue of hastily-acquired knowledge, often referencing my friend’s notes and the books to which he’d clung, trying to recall anything which might help me retrace his steps in this dark corner of the Earth. I found none, for his notes said nothing of his actual expedition, and the treatments of this place in text and legend were so frightful and vague that there was little to work from. There were no signs of my friend in the avenues of shadowy Pyethceehon, just as there were no signs of the day-to-day lives of its ancient residents. The jungle had swallowed this vile place, and in another millennia, there would likely be nothing left to visit here.
Beyond the lack of information on my missing friend, I found my motivation consumed as the sunset got underway by an exhaustion which was entirely unlike me. Thoroughly unnerved and in a place unfamiliar to me, I should’ve been wide awake, ready to weather an entire night of vigilant, guarded listening over my fire. Instead, as the sky’s oranges darkened the shadows of the surrounding trees and scrub, turning the ranked stupas into ominous silhouettes which seemed to creep towards me through the encroaching trees, my usual explorer’s thrill at the unknown was extinguished. Each blink came as a labored exertion while I breathed life into the little woodpile before me.
Exacerbating this, I became aware of an impenetrable quiet hanging over the thinned mountaintop clearing in which Pyethceehon had brooded all these centuries. It was as if the very mosquitoes in the air knew not to disturb the slumber of such an ill-fated and ill-tempered beast as this.
I was in for a tense night.
submitted by StygianSagas to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.07 19:04 Cryptolexicon "Empirically, we know that Women and Men are Violent at Roughly Equal Rates.": Debunking the Female Supremacist Myth of the Non-Violent Female.

Summary: Female Physical Violence against Men is an underreported reality.
Data, Figures, Studies related to Female Physical Violence are systematically supressed by Female Supremacy Interest Groups, Researchers, Journalists. The view that men are responsible for the vast majority of non self-defensive physical violence (we are looking at you /Nametheproblem 👀👀) is grossly uninformed and ultimately dangerous.
Those who cling to the idea that males are responsible for most non self-defensive physical violence (/Nametheproblem 👀👀) have been radicalized - these people do not like Logic (how easily they jump from the particular to the universal), Empirical Data (they ignore Empirical data that challenges their bias and threatens their World View) and have a tendancy to selectively use the media to reinforce beliefs they cannot let go of.
The Female Supremacist (not the feminist, there is a difference... like Jordan Peterson said: definitions matter) holds onto a Core of unfalsifiable beliefs, beliefs which cannot be proven wrong (Men are Evil, All Males are rapists, All males are potential pedophiles, etc). The Female Supremacist avoids Empirical Data which would force her to reevaluate the validity of her belief system.
Let us explore Female Violence together, an idea we collectively struggle with.
"SAPERE AUDE" - Have the courage to use Your own Reason. Let go of preconceived ideas about violence and dive in the Data.
Ongoing thread.
https://preview.redd.it/47zcx33qbrl51.jpg?width=423&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f5fc0943fa2cbcbc2e541b8aaeb7ed7bd2820c5e

"Feminists had, for the most part, been reluctant to discuss violent women, for the very real fear it would undermine the hard-won battles secured by the campaigning and activism resulting from women’s victimisation." (Emma Milne, Jackie Turton).

"In many ways, we turned a blind eye to many women’s use of violence, their drug use and alcoholism, and their often harsh and violent treatment of their own children." (Ellen Pence, Duluth Model Creator)

"This discourse can be politically subversive in that it requires overcoming fixed gender stereotypes with a redefinition of ordinary femininity as aggressive and potentially harmful." (Daniella Bandelli, Female Violence in Italy: an emerging discourse of Heterosexuality).

"Over 200 studies, mostly in Euro-American nations, found about the same percent of women as men physically assault marital and dating partners. Tabulation of 24 published studies in male-dominant (MD) nations and the results for university students in 32 nations found that, regardless of the level of MD, about the same percent of women as men assaulted a partner. Moreover, the more MD the nation, higher rate of assaulting a partner by women (r=.41). " (M. Strauss, Assaults By Women On Male Partners In Male Dominant Nations: Preliminary Tests Of An Explanatory Theory).

..........
Minor and Severe DV, Males and Females, 32 countries: Female violence more common than male violence. Read: (https://www.semanticscholar.org/papeDominance-and-symmetry-in-partner-violence-by-male-Straus/0d722cf6d3738709ec2b687102e087d9f422de31?p2df)
..........
https://preview.redd.it/xkrpgztp21m51.png?width=982&format=png&auto=webp&s=c3375693f0e67248fb9d2d85a0cf8f232591d09c
..........
"Women are victims."
"Women always act in self-defense."
"Women are, unlike men, essentially non-violent."
These are central tenets of the Female Supremacist Narrative: Women are non-violent beings who act in self-defense. It is men who engage in non self-defensive battering.
These assumptions (widely circulated since aggressive government funding, the Feminist financial lifeline, depends on women being depicted as Victims, all the time. Victimization has over the years proven to be a very effective Fundraising Strategy) - that women always act in self-defense, that women are essentially non-aggressive beings - completely fall apart when you look at the Data.
Feminists, organized in a global cartel of journalists, editors, shelters, "advocacy groups", librarians, researchers, are the gatekeepers of truth: they have created a nihilistic dictatorship of opinion in the media to unilaterally indoctrinate the public about Female Violence, silence/cancel Critics and suppress empirical Data.

The Truth about Female Violence


Image Source: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/male-domestic-violence-victim-i-never-imagined-something-like-this-would-happen-to-me-10105586.html
Empirically, we know males and females (worldwide) admit perpetuating non self-defensive minor violence (pushing, shoving, slapping) at equal rates.
Additionally, well conducted large-scale empirical studies state that males and females (worldwide) admit perpetuating severe violence (severe violence can result, for example, in broken bones, lacerations, large bruises) at equal rates.
[-**Straus, Murray A. (2008). Dominance and symmetry in partner violence by male and female university students in 32 nations. Children and Youth Services Review 30( 3): 252-275**
Also:
-Whitaker, Daniel J., Tadesse Haileyesus, Monica Swahn, and Linda S. Saltzman (2007). Differences in frequency of violence and reported injury between relationships with reciprocal and nonreciprocal intimate partner violence. American Journal of Public Health 97( 5): 941-947.
-Black, Michele, and seven co-authors (2010). The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey: 2010 summary report. Atlanta, GA: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, at p. 43-44.
-Wilson, Margo and Martin Daly (1993). Spousal homicide risk and estrangement. Violence and Victims 8( 1): 3-16.
-Hines, Denise A. and Emily M. Douglas (2011). Symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder in men who sustain intimate partner violence: A study of helpseeking and community samples. Psychology of Men & Masculinity 12( 2): 112-127.
- Dutton, Donald, Tonia L. Nicholls, and Alicia Spidel (2005). Female perpetrators of intimate abuse. Journal of Offender Rehabilitation 41( 4): 1-31.
+ too many to include here]
78-80% of all violence is minor (there are no visible injuries) while 20-22% of violence is severe (This is calculated using data from two Bureau of Justice reports: Rennison, Callie M. and Sarah Welchans (2000). Intimate Partner Violence. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics, and, Rennison, Callie M. (2003). Intimate partner violence, 1993-2001. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics).
Violent females tend to have aggressive personalities and/or conduct disorder.
What are the reasons Females commit acts of violence? Anger (68%), to gain attention (53%) and retaliation (49%).

https://preview.redd.it/4ucd8plubrl51.jpg?width=281&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c758aac5db1cf4023a239a5c228412b49b9877b2
...

A random selection of Violent Females in action

https://preview.redd.it/ot7i4hxwbrl51.png?width=579&format=png&auto=webp&s=864fabc85011e8268efd52d7d5282d783b7a3783
These are but a few examples. There are thousands of examples like this available for your perusal.

  1. Olga Sterlyadeva confessed to murdering her husband Alexander as he slept. Olga hit his neck twice with an ax, cutting off Alexander's head. Then Olga used a chainsaw to cut up Alexander's body, which she used as fertilizer in her garden. Olga was angry because she thought Alexander was cheating (Stewart, Will (2018). Russian wife decapitates her husband with an axe and 'uses his body as fertilizer for her courgettes." Daily Mail, Jul 20 2018).
  2. Ilham Cahyani asked her husband Dedi for his cell phone password. He refused to give it so Ilham poured gasoline on Dedi and lit him on fire. Dedi suffered an agonizing death over the next two days (Malm, Sara (2019). Wife burns her husband alive in Indonesia after they argued when he refused to give her the password to his phone. Daily Mail, Jan 17 2019).
  3. A pet store CCTV recorded Ms. Lee throwing a puppy against the wall when the owner refused to give her a refund and take the dog back. The dog suffered a brain hemorrhage and died the next day (Aldersley, Miranda (2019). Woman kills puppy by throwing it against a wall at South Korean pet shop when they refused to give her a refund. Daily Mail, Feb 14 2019).
  4. Tanyatorn Ghanjanasak used multiple cell phones to threaten to kill her ex-husband, a soldier in the U.S. Army. She also cut his brake lines and somehow was able to poison him. She admitted doing all this in multiple text messages (Shaffer, Josh (2018). 'The poison was me... dumb ass': Doctor threatened to kill her soldier husband in ominous texts. Stripes, Aug 11 2018).
  5. Tami Huntsman admitted starving, torturing and murdering two children she was caring for -- age three Delylah and age six Shaun (Vankin, Jonathan (2016). Tami Huntsman: Mom charged in horrifying torture, murder of two small children will face death penalty, weeps in court. Inquisitr, Aug 18 2016, and, McPadden, Mike (2018). Tami Huntsman pleads guilty to torture-murder of niece and nephew, gets life. www.investigationdiscovery.com, Sep 26 2018).
  6. Jessica Warrent lied to police saying her daughter Armani hit her head while playing. An autopsy showed the cause of death to be a lacerated liver and other injuries from a severe beating. Jessica later admitted she lied to police, confessing that she beat her young daughter to death. What was baby Armani's crime? She couldn't stop wetting the bed (Baker, Neal (2019). Evil mum beat daughter, 4, to death with belt because helpless girl wet herself. The Sun, Mar 18 2019, and, Unattributed (2015). Warrants reveal dead NC 4-year-old suffered lacerated liver in alleged beating. Fox 8, Oct 16 2016).
  7. Amber Hall recorded herself beating her 22 month old daughter so badly that the toddler had to be put into a medically induced coma. The baby sustained permanent brain damage and has to use a feeding tube to eat. The video shows the toddler's hands were bound and tape was put over her mouth. Lawyer R.J. Larizza said: "The videos are beyond disturbing, they enter the realm of a child's most frightening nightmare." (Pleasance, Chris (2018). Mother who beat her 22-month-old daughter so badly she now has to use a feeding tube is sentenced to 40 years in jail." Daily Mail, Sep 16 2018.
  8. Jordan Worth beat and abused her boyfriend, Alex Skeel. She then starved him. She tried to finish the job with a knife. Police found Alex almost dead, laying in a pool of blood (Christodoulou, Holly (2019). Blood everywhere: Moment starved boyfriend, 22, is found '10 days from death' in pool of blood after abusive girlfriend slashed him with a bread knife. The Sun, Feb 18 2019).
  9. Luisa Cutting butchered her best friend, stabbing her 30 times. Covered in blood when police arrived, Luisa said:"Arrest me... I killed her." (Alexa Cannon was found dead with a butcher knife sticking out of her mouth (Griffith, Keith (2019). 'I killed her': College student, 21, 'stabs her best friend 30 times with a butcher knife' and greets cops covered in blood in the apartment they shared. Daily Mail, Jan 25, 2019).
submitted by Cryptolexicon to ReportMaleHateSubs [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 06:09 kitkarsten [task] I need a copywriter to write me a persuasive email to get my youtube TV show sponsors and free admission to excursions around the world.

I have been trying my hand at writing the copy myself, but several people have told me my copy is bad, so I figured I will hire someone.
Budget: $25
This is the copy I wrote myself
Opener 1 (( How does advertising exposure to your targeted NICHE to at least 1+ million views or your money back sound? Freaking awesome? That's what I thought too, my name is ___ and I am the founder of “Shred Shaka” TV. ))
Opener 2 (( Shred Shaka, a new extreme-sport and lifestyle “TV Series”, is looking for advertising sponsors, for our new series “Saty B Shreds the World”. We are confident our series will get at the minimum 1 million views, throughout the season. ))
(opener placeholder)...I am offering a spot for your company or product to be advertised or used in our new professionally funded, filmed, edited and produced Youtube and Instagram TV exclusive series “Satty B Shreds the World” (name pending). We have a variety of sponsorship packages from simple social media shoutouts to your logo on our crew shirts or even retail shirts. Our target audience is 18-40 year old surfers, skaters, boaters, hikers, and everything extreme inbetween.
About the Series: The series will follow (3 person camera crew) 4 early 21-23 year old surfers from Satellite Beach, Florida, around 3 countries in 3 seasons. (The purest sense of the word “Florida Boys” ) Chasing the best waves around the world and exploring several unique cultures in distant and remote places. The series is going to be a similar vibe to the old “Who is J.O.B”, with some light pranks and exploration similar to the “NELK Boys”. The series will be professionally filmed and edited in a mix of 1080P and 4K video, recorded by a fleet of drones, reel cameras and of course GOpro. Each season is going to be 12-15 episodes long, each episode around 16-20 minutes in length.
Join the Shred Shaka team today and increase your exposure and revenue!

Below are the guaranteed dates and locations we are filming with expected release dates.
Season 1
Location: Bocas Del Toro, Panamá
Filming Dates: March 01, 2021 to March 22, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) Starting April 6th- May 21st.
Season 2
Location: Puerto Escondido, Mexico
Filming Date: April 10th, 2021 - May 1st, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) Starting May 28th- .July 13th.
Season 3
Location: Uluwatu Bali.Indonesia + Traveling Thailand (extended season)
Filming Date: May 28th, 2021- June 28th, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) TBA
SPONSORSHIP OPTIONS BELOW
*Prices are per season (14-16 episodes) not for the entirety of the show*
Supporting Sea Lion
($250)
8 spots
Clickable Logo on our “Sponsors” Web Page
Link in every Youtube description
1 Shoutout in 1 Youtube/Instagram TV video
Believed in us Blue Whale ($500)
8 spots
Everything Above +
Logo On Back of Crew T-Shirts worn every episode
2 Shoutouts in 2 Videos + Instagram Post Shoutout
Included in the “Special Thanks To.. “video.
Make it happen Megalodon
($1000)
4 spots
Everything Above +
Shoutout and product use in 4 episodes
Your logo is on every “season” T-Shirt we sell.
If interested reach out to us below!
submitted by kitkarsten to slavelabour [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 04:19 kitkarsten I listened to your comments and edited my copy, what do we think now? (I am producing a Professional Youtube Series and this is the first copy I wrote myself, what do you think? part 2)

Previous Copy :https://www.reddit.com/copywriting/comments/imnf8i_am_producing_a_professional_youtube_series_and/
Edits: The top 3 comments said to do 3 things 1) make it shorter 2) remove where I went to school, and flex less 3) add a strong call to action. I tried to incorporate all of these changes.
**My main problem right now is with my opener, I like Opener 1, but a lot of people said it felt "scammy".** I want something catchy and personable.
Opener 1 (( How does advertising exposure to your targeted NICHE to at least 1+ million views or your money back sound? Freaking awesome? That's what I thought too, my name is Karsten Vaeth and I am the founder of “Shred Shaka” TV. ))
Opener 2 (( Shred Shaka, a new extreme-sport and lifestyle “TV Series”, is looking for advertising sponsors, for our new series “Saty B Shreds the World”. We are confident our series will get at the minimum 1 million views, throughout the season. ))
(opener placeholder)...I am offering a spot for your company or product to be advertised or used in our new professionally funded, filmed, edited and produced Youtube and Instagram TV exclusive series “Satty B Shreds the World” (name pending). We have a variety of sponsorship packages from simple social media shoutouts to your logo on our crew shirts or even retail shirts. Our target audience is 18-40 year old surfers, skaters, boaters, hikers, and everything extreme inbetween.
About the Series: The series will follow (3 person camera crew) 4 early 21-23 year old surfers from Satellite Beach, Florida, around 3 countries in 3 seasons. (The purest sense of the word “Florida Boys” ) Chasing the best waves around the world and exploring several unique cultures in distant and remote places. The series is going to be a similar vibe to the old “Who is J.O.B”, with some light pranks and exploration similar to the “NELK Boys”. The series will be professionally filmed and edited in a mix of 1080P and 4K video, recorded by a fleet of drones, reel cameras and of course GOpro. Each season is going to be 12-15 episodes long, each episode around 16-20 minutes in length.
Join the Shred Shaka team today and increase your exposure and revenue!
Website
Instagram:
Email:
Phone Number:

**I am not sure if I should include all of the seasons dates or just the first one**
Below are the guaranteed dates and locations we are filming with expected release dates.
Season 1
Location: Bocas Del Toro, Panamá
Filming Dates: March 01, 2021 to March 22, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) Starting April 6th- May 21st.
Season 2
Location: Puerto Escondido, Mexico
Filming Date: April 10th, 2021 - May 1st, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) Starting May 28th- .July 13th.
Season 3
Location: Uluwatu Bali.Indonesia + Traveling Thailand (extended season)
Filming Date: May 28th, 2021- June 28th, 2021
Release Dates: 2 episodes a week (tuesdays and fridays) TBA

SPONSORSHIP OPTIONS BELOW **this is displayed on a chart, not ugly text like below*\*
*Prices are per season (14-16 episodes) not for the entirety of the show*
Supporting Sea Lion
($250)
8 spots
Clickable Logo on our “Sponsors” Web Page
Link in every Youtube description
1 Shoutout in 1 Youtube/Instagram TV video
Believed in us Blue Whale
($500)
8 spots
Everything Above +
Logo On Back of Crew T-Shirts worn every episode
2 Shoutouts in 2 Videos + Instagram Post Shoutout
Included in the “Special Thanks To.. “video.
Make it happen Megladon
($1000)
4 spots
Everything Above +
Shoutout and product use in 4 episodes
Your logo is on every “season” T-Shirt we sell.
If interested reach out to us below!
Website
Instagram:
Email:
Phone Number:
submitted by kitkarsten to copywriting [link] [comments]


2020.09.05 03:29 StevenStevens43 The British Olduwan

The British Olduwan
Olduvai gorge:
One of the most important archaeological and anthropological sites in the world, in understanding the earliest known origins of Human-being, comes from a location known as Olduvai gorge in Tanzania, were Oldowan is thought to have first began evolving in to modern human, 1.9 million years ago.
Olduvai gorge
The Olduvai Gorge it has proven invaluable in furthering understanding of early human evolution.

Homo habilis, approximately 1.9 million years ago
Link for photo
However, it is likely that Olduwan was born from inter-racial breeding
Oldowan:
It appears one of the first things Oldowan man done, was go seeking for lands, perhaps a little cooler in temperature, as Olduwan, 1.8 million years ago first appeared in Georgia, Europe.
In fact, by 1 million years ago, Olduwan man had even turned up in the area that would be considered modern day London.
Pre-history of Europe
Homo erectus georgicus, which lived roughly 1.8 million years ago in Georgia), is the earliest hominid to have been discovered in Europe.
Link for photo
Olduwan expansion
Indonesia:
Other Oldowans headed for Indonesia.
Paleolithic
Homo erectus in Indonesia by 1.8 million years
Link for photo_without_national_boundaries.svg)
Russia:
1.5 million years ago, Oldowan man entered Russia, by the Caucasus, which leads in to Scandanavia from the Northern land bridge, which still exists today.
Pre-history
In 2006, 1.5-million-year-old Oldowan flint tools were discovered in the Dagestan Akusha region of the north Caucasus,
Link for photo.svg)
Dagestan
China:
China 1.35m years ago
Paleolithic)
Recent study shows that the stone tools found at Xiaochangliang site are magnetostratigraphically dated to 1.36 million years ago.[9]
Link for photo
Return of Oldowan:
It would appear one of Olduwans descendants, likely returned to Africa around, 300,000 BC, via europe. Crossing the Gibraltar straits.
Paleolithic
the Acheulean. Possibly the first hunters, H. erectus mastered the art of making fire and was the first hominid to leave Africa, colonizing most of Afro-Eurasia and perhaps later giving rise to Homo floresiensis.

The earliest known Homo sapiens fossils include the Jebel Irhoud remains from Morocco (ca. 315,000 years ago),[12]

Don't take offence:
Ok, now, it is likely that the first modern humans, are still around today, in the exact same form they were then. And today, they are classed as "intelligent modern humans".
They were likely, "the pygmy peoples".
The reason they were likely the same people, as todays pygmy peoples, comes from the knowledge that the Jebel Irhoud, were extremely small in size.
Morphology
The Jebel Irhoud individuals also had very thick brow ridges and lacked prognathism.[18]
Link for photo
Magdalenian:
Now, anthropoligical studies pretty much prove, that the Magdalenians that inhabited mainland europe between 17,000 BC and the onset of the younger dryas, were the same people as Jebel Irhoud.
Period biology
The fauna of the Magdalenian epoch seems to have included tigers .
Magdalenian humans appear to have been of short stature, dolichocephalic, with a low retreating forehead and prominent brow ridges.
Link for photo
Magdalenian expansion
Cheddar man:
The map above does not attribute Southern parts of Britain, to have been colonialised by the Magdalenians, however Britains oldest known skeleton is Cheddar man, believed to be from around 9,100 BC, and also thought by anthropologists, to be black in skin colour.
Cheddar man
Cheddar Man is a human male fossil found in Gough's Cave in Cheddar Gorge, Somerset, England. The skeletal remains date to the Mesolithic (ca. 9100 BP, 7100 BC) and dark or dark to black skin.[2]
Link for photo
Doggerland:
The reason it would have been so easy for the Magdalene to colonise Thames valley, would be due to the fact that, not only would they have the brain capacity to cross the Gibraltar straits, they would also have the advantage of being able to cross the Doggerland land bridge, which had not sunk yet, until 6,500 BC.
Doggerland
Doggerland was an area of land, now submerged beneath the southern North Sea, that connected Britain to continental Europe. It was flooded by rising sea levels around 6500–6200 BC.
Link for photo
Doggerland
Pygmy peoples:
Pygmy peoples of today, can be found mostly in the Congo region of Africa.
They are a peoples which typically average a height of less than 4 ft 11.
Pygmy peoples
In anthropology, pygmy peoples are ethnic groups whose average height is unusually short. The term pygmyism is used to describe the phenotype of endemic short stature (as opposed to disproportionate dwarfism occurring in isolated cases in a population) for populations in which adult men are on average less than 150 cm (4 ft 11 in) tall.[1]
The term is primarily associated with the African Pygmies, the hunter-gatherers of the Congo basin (comprising the Bambenga, Bambuti and Batwa).[2]
Link for photo
Pygmy peoples
Effacer le Tableau:
Whilst the only noticable difference between you, and a Pygmy person, is their small stature, and the fact that even today, they are hunter gatherers, despite some politically correct Scientists insisting that Pygmy peoples are not descended from Hunter gatherers, the Pygmy peoples have been the victims of repeated attempted genocides and extermination campaigns.
Most recently, January 2003.
Violence against pygmy peoples
From the end of 2002 through January 2003 around 60,000 pygmy civilians and 10,000 combatants were killed in an extermination campaign known as "Effacer le Tableau" during the Second Congo War.[27][28] Human rights activists have made demands for the massacre to be recognized as genocide.[29]
Link for photo
Baka dancers
Bantu master:
Even "today" the Bantu make no bones about the fact that they are the pygmy peoples "masters".
Perhaps it makes them feel big.
However even "you" have joined in, on Pygmy genocidal bullying, without even knowing it, or have you never used the term "mongo", in your younger years?
Mongo, is a pygmy language, aswell as a Pygmy location.
The word Mongo, should not be used disparagingly.
But unless you want to be part of a genocide campaign, you should also not ban the word from your vocabulary.
Simply use it, respectfully.
To put in to simple terms.
If a pygmy person went on the internet, and told everyone he was a Mongo, he would likely be banned, by a well meaning leftist, that does not realise that, this this person, really is from a village called Mongo, near congo, and speaks Mongo, and banning this person is about the most insulting and racial discriminative thing one could possibly do.
Reported slavery
In the Republic of the Congo, where Pygmies make up 2% of the population, many Pygmies live as slaves to Bantu masters. The nation is deeply stratified between these two major ethnic groups. The pygmy slaves belong to their Bantu masters from birth in a relationship that the Bantus call a time-honored tradition. Even though the Pygmies are responsible for much of the hunting, fishing and manual labor in jungle villages, Pygmies and Bantus alike say that Pygmies are often paid at the master's whim: in cigarettes, used clothing, or simply not paid at all.
Link for photo.png)
Pygmy language centres
Zoos:
Discimination against pygmy peoples is not new.
Pygmy peoples, even recently, have been sent to live in zoo cages next to Lions and Tigers, and many people view Pygmy peoples, as Paleolithics.
Even in the USA, as early as 1907, they were viewed as a circus act, alongside animals.
Systematic discrimination
Historically, the pygmy have always been viewed as inferior by both colonial authorities and the village-dwelling Bantu tribes.[15] Pygmy children were sometimes captured during the period of the Congo Free State, which exported pygmy children to zoos throughout Europe, including the world's fair in the United States in 1907.[15]
Link for photo
Pygmy person in Bronx zoo cage 1906
Pepi II:
Even as far back as 2297 BC, a 13 year old Egyptian pharoah named Pepi II, took great delight in capturing a pygmy person, and bragged about to everyone in Egypt.
The Egytians begged him not to kill the pygmy person, but instead bring the Pygmy person back to Egypt.
Likely to be used for entertainment purposes.
Early years of Pepi II's reign
Sent to trade and collect ivory, ebony, and other precious items, he captured a pygmy. News of this reached the royal court, and an excited young king sent word back to Harkhuf that he would be greatly rewarded if the pygmy were brought back alive, where he would have likely served as an entertainer for the court.
Link for photo
Iymeru:
But what do we learn from this?
We learn that modern humans from 300,000 BC had the potential to be extremely literate, intelligent, and that the idea that even Olduwan may have been an Ape, is simply misguided ancient discrimination and racism, and was genocided, quite simply because he was too stubborn to give up his traditions, and likely lacked physical build in order to stick up for himself against bigots that likely wrongfully viewed him as an illiterate fool.
However Pygmy peoples are regarded by Scientists, as modern humans.
And pygmy peoples, such as Iymeru, have been in even the highest positions of the ancient Egyptian empire.
Iymeru, was the second most powerful man in Egypt, during the 13th dynasty.
He was the Pharoahs vizier.
So much for Pepi II's circus act.
Iymeru)
Iymeru was an ancient Egyptian vizier) in office during the 13th Dynasty.
Link for photo#/media/File:Statue_Iymeru_Turin.JPG)
Iymeru
Indian pygmies:
However, there is a twist in the tale.
It appears more likley, that the magdalenian Pygmies, "were not" in fact the same pygmy peoples as todays Congo contingent, but in actual fact, were more likely Indian pygmies.
The African pygmies likely took the long way round the world, instead of going directly across the Gibraltar straits.
South east Asia
Frank Kingdon-Ward in the early 20th century reported a tribe of pygmy Tibeto-Burman speakers known as the Taron inhabiting the remote region of Mt. Hkakabo Razi in Southeast Asia on the border of China (Yunnan and Tibet), Burma, and India.
Link for photo
Indian Pygmy
Indo-European
The reason it was more likley Indian pygmies, than African pygmies, comes from the fact that there is plenty more evidence, which i will reveal later, of Indian descended people, having colonised Europe, and even America.
Not only this, one of the most common languages in todays world, is Indo-European.
Indo-European likley was a language that evolved over thousands of years, likely in stages, and likley due to pro-longed exposure to one anothers culture.
Indo-Aryan first arose in the Levant around the time of the ancient egyptian empire, when Indians and Aryans colonized lower egypt.
Indo-European evolved when Indo-Aryans invaded India during the battle of the ten kings in 1400 BC.
Though, it was likley that the Aryan language, already contained certain Indo components, by the time the colonized Egypt, and those were probably picked up from the Magdalenian period, when Aryans likely had to invade european mainland to escape the polar ice-caps, and integrated with Megdalenians.
Though, Indian genes in the northern hemisphere even pre-dated the Magdalenians, which i will cover later, so it is also likely, that when the Aryans invaded european mainland, and integrated with Magdalenians, their Aryan language already contained Indo components.
We can also see by the photo of the Philippino girl, how Anthropologists could mistake Cheddar man for being black.
This is due to the fact, that Indians, "are" descended from Africans, so, in a round about way, the Magdalenian "are" African pygmies, though not as directly as one would first think.
It is likley that the Magdalenian arrived in europe via India.
Though they likely made their escape, over the Gibraltar straits, the place were it all began.
Saudi Arabia:
Whilst it is actually likely, that modern day human was already living in Scandanavia, and even european mainland, as far back as 300,000 years ago, it is most probably that any evidence of this, was washed away during the younger dryas, when both Britain and Scandanavia, lay under polar ice-caps.
But the first "recorded" movement of modern day humans, comes from 75,000 years ago when Africans first entered the Arabian peninsula.
Pre-history
A 2011 study found that the first modern humans to spread east across Asia left Africa about 75,000 years ago across the Bab-el-Mandeb connecting the Horn of Africa and Arabia.[56]
Link for photo
Arabian expansion
India:
Modern human, from the Arabian peninsula, arrived in India, sometime between 80,000 and 60,000 years ago.
Paleolithic
"Modern human beings—Homo sapiens—originated in Africa. Then, intermittently, sometime between 60,000 and 80,000 years ago, tiny groups of them began to enter the north-west of the Indian subcontinent.
Link for photo
Israel:
As Israel was in Mesopotamia, Africans travelling to the Arabian peninsula, Indonesia, or anywhere else, would have no other option than to go through the Levant, making Israel one of the earliest populated areas by modern human.
120,000 years ago.
And almost definitely Black African.
Pre-history
The oldest fossils of anatomically modern humans found outside Africa are the Skhul and Qafzeh hominins, who lived in the area that is now northern Israel 120,000 years ago.[85]
Link for photo
Neanderthal man:
The best evidence of what Neanderthal man looked like, comes from very well preserved remains of Neanderthals found in Shanidar cave in Iraq.
The remains were thought to be from between 60,000 and 80,000 years ago, and they do point to a slightly different culture sharing the lands of Mesopotamia, with Africans.
Iraq pre-history
During 1957–1961 Shanidar Cave was excavated by Ralph Solecki and his team from Columbia University, and nine skeletons of Neanderthal man of varying ages and states of preservation and completeness (labelled Shanidar I–IX) were discovered dating from 60,000–80,000 years BP.
Link for photo
Neanderthal man
Neanderthal:
Neanderthals got a bad rap.
There is no doubt Neanderthal was Asiatic.
And do you remember Pepi II? That wonderful African pharoah that delightfully hunted down a "pygmy" when he was a boy? Well, this African also took great delight in carrying on the honoured age old African tradition of "smiting" Asiatics.
Well racism and discrimination is actually quite prevalent within the ancient egyptian dynasties, and an ancient old traditional practise of native egyptians smiting inferior Asiatics, can be traced back to 3000 BC, during the reign of Den.
The depiction even included a "bearded" foe.
Events#Events)
The picture shows Den in a gesture known as "smiting the enemy". In one hand Den holds a mace, in the other hand he grabs a foe by his hair. Thanks to the braids and the conic beard the foe has been identified as of Asian origin. The hieroglyphs at the right side say "first smiting of the east".
Link for photo
Smiting asiatics
Literate:
Now, i am hoping i no longer have to go in to too much detail about how, in actual fact, Scientists now think Neanderthal man was likely literate, and actually extremely intelligent.
In fact, intelligent Africans "would not" interbreed with an idiot.
And Neanderthal man did breed with other humans in this area.
In fact, breeding with Neanderthal man, is likely where Africans gained a bit more bulk from, by breeding with a person that is derived from Northern sub grouos, that have grown to be a bit bulkier in bulk, in order to with stand the cold winters.
He also likely was 50/50 in providing the components that would later evolve in to the AfrAsian language, that is spoken by Semites, and Arabians, as well as some Africans, but nobody knows were it evolved from.
Neanderthal
Neanderthal technology is thought to have been quite sophisticated.
Compared to modern humans, Neanderthals had a more robust) build and proportionally shorter limbs. These features are often explained as adaptations to conserve heat in a cold climate,
Neanderthal got cornered in Spain:
Now just like the previous two groups, Neanderthal, being from european mainland, and who still exists today, got cornered in Spain, by this new anatomically modern human-being.
Inter-group relations
Canadian ethnoarchaeologist Brian Hayden calculated a self-sustaining population which avoids inbreeding to consist of about 450–500 individuals, which would necessitate these bands to interact with 8–53 other bands, but more likely the more conservative estimate given low population density.[31] Analysis of the mtDNA of the Neanderthals of Cueva del Sidrón, Spain, showed that the adult three men belonged to the same maternal lineage, while the three adult women belonged to different ones. This suggests a patrilocal residence (that a woman moved out of her group to live with her husband).[233] However, the DNA of a Neanderthal from Denisova Cave, Russia, shows that she had an inbreeding coefficient of ​1⁄8 (her parents were either half-siblings with a common mother, double first cousins, an uncle and niece or aunt and nephew, or a grandfather and granddaughter or grandmother and grandson)[83] and the inhabitants of Cueva del Sidrón show several defects, which may have been caused by inbreeding or recessive disorders.[218]
Link for photo
Neanderthal
Anatomically modern people:
Now, do you remember the Magdalenians from earlier in this post?
Well here is a photo of Anatomically modern people.
Early modern human
Early modern human (EMH) or anatomically modern human (AMH)[2] are terms used to distinguish Homo sapiens (the only extant human species) that are anatomically consistent with the range of phenotypes seen in contemporary humans from extinct archaic human species. This distinction is useful especially for times and regions where anatomically modern and archaic humans co-existed, for example, in Paleolithic Europe.
Link for photo
Early modern human
Neanderthal did not get wiped out:
The early modern human however, did not wipe Neanderthal out.
They shared european mainland with other literate human-beings.
Some of those human-beings, particularly the ones from Britain, that at this point in time, is just a part of Eurasia, probably looked more like this.

Western neanderthal
Denisovan:
Now, Neanderthal not only spread out from Mesopotamia along European lines, and escaped via Spain, but also along Northern lines, before escaping in to Canada via the Bering land bridge, that was around at the time.
However, the remains are no longer considered to be that of Neadnerthal, but in fact, that of Denisovan, the ancestor of Australian aboriginals, as well as Inuits and Paleo-Indians in America, and others.
Pre-history
That Russia was also home to some of the last surviving Neanderthals was revealed by the discovery of the partial skeleton of a Neanderthal infant in Mezmaiskaya cave in Adygea, which was carbon dated to only 29,000 years ago.[6] In 2008, Russian archaeologists from the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnology of Novosibirsk, working at the site of Denisova Cave in the Altai Mountains of Siberia, uncovered a 40,000-year-old small bone fragment from the fifth finger of a juvenile hominin, which DNA analysis revealed to be a previously unknown species of human, which was named the Denisova hominin.[7]
Link for photo.jpg)
Denisovan
Lapland:
Now, it is likely that Paleo-Indians lived in europe, relatively peacefully, with one another.
At least until the younger dryas, when blond haired blue eyed Aryans from Scandinavia had to invade European mainland.
It is likely what happened during this period, is Aryans became less friendly, and forced Anatomically modern humans to flee via Spain, go and live in the Northern regions and peripheries as Eskimos in Iglus, or go and breed with the current Indigenous peoples of America and Australia and update their DNA.
When the Ice-caps melted, Scandinavians likely returned to Scandinavia, and pushed the Sami people farther and farther north, until they could go no farther north, and to this day, there is a peoples in the most Northern regions of Scandanavia and Russia that regard themselves as the indigenous peoples of Scandinavia and Russia.
They are called the Sami peoples.
You have likley heard of them, without realising it.
They are Laplanders.
The place Santa Klaus is from.
Sami people
The Sámi people (/ˈsɑːmi/; also spelled Sami or Saami) are an indigenous Finno-Ugric people inhabiting Sápmi, which today encompasses large northern parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland and the Kola Peninsula within the Murmansk Oblast of Russia. The Sámi have historically been known in English as Lapps or Laplanders. Sámi ancestral lands are not well-defined. Their traditional languages are the Sámi languages which are classified as a branch of the Uralic language family.
Link for photo
Sami peoples
Indigenous Americans:
The Indigenous colonisation of the Americas happened in two waves.
The first was between 57,000 BC and 17,000 BC.
However a Polar Ice wall prevented the first arrivals from prevailing any farther than Alaska.
Migrations in to the continents
Alaska was a glacial refugium because it had low snowfall, allowing a small population to exist. The Laurentide Ice Sheet covered most of North America, blocking nomadic inhabitants and confining them to Alaska (East Beringia) for thousands of years.[53]
Second wave:
Just as the Polar ice wall in Alaska was beginning to melt, and the ice-caps began shifting towards Britain and Scandinavia, the Aryans likely came down from the Northern lands, and many Paleo-Indians likely fleed across the melting Bering land bridge and got over just in time, to breed with Indigenous Alaskans, and populate the Americas.
Canada pre-history
The first inhabitants of North America are generally hypothesized to have migrated from Siberia by way of the Bering land bridge and arrived at least 14,000 years ago.[23]
South America:
Obviously some Paleo-Indians made it over the Ice-wall prior to the second wave arriving, as archaeologists are of the belief that South America saw it's first arrivals around 16,500 BC.
Pre-columbian era
The earliest archaeological evidence from human settlement in South America comes from Monte Verde (possibly as early as 16,500 BCE).[11]
Isolation:
Until the arrival of the Spanish during the Columbian era, Paleo-Indians would have been pretty isolated, with not too much opportunity for evolving, so the 1500 AD perfectly intact mummified Inca sacrifice, would give a good clue as to what the Paleo-Indians that arrived 14,000 years ago, or even 57,000 years ago, looked like.
Link for photo
Inca sacrifice
The Australian aboriginals have a similar ancestry.
The fact that modern Australian aboriginals have the exact same ancestors as US Indigenous peoples, and were hunter gatherers when Aryans first arrived in Australia, despite making crossings on land bridges on two seperate sides of the globe, is pretty much suggestive that early modern anatomical Indonesians inhabited most of the globe, and were very much literate. And modern, and they in turn were likely descended from a mixture of Israeli Neanderthal and Afro pygmy persons.
Pre-history
Human habitation of the Australian continent is known to have begun at least 65,000 years ago,[45][46] with the migration of people by land bridges and short sea-crossings from what is now Southeast Asia.[47] The Madjedbebe rock shelter in Arnhem Land is recognised as the oldest site showing the presence of humans in Australia.[48] The oldest human remains found are the Lake Mungo remains, which have been dated to around 41,000 years ago.[49]
At the time of first European contact, most Indigenous Australians were hunter-gatherers with complex economies and societies.[53
Greenland:
The Paleo-Indonesians even found their way to Greenland by 2500 BC.
Early Paleo eskimo cultures
In prehistoric times, Greenland was home to several successive Paleo-Eskimo cultures known today primarily through archaeological finds. The earliest entry of the Paleo-Eskimo into Greenland is thought to have occurred about 2500 BC.
And the photo just goes to show, the farther North you get, the whiter you get, as ones skin evolves to adapt to the cold.
And when you get even farther north, the redder you get.
Link to photo.jpg)
Greenlandic Inuit couple
Summary:
But, the point is, that blond haired blue eyed Aryans almost definitely pre-dated the younger dryas, and they moved southward, and any trace of their previous existence was wiped out by one of humanities greatest ever Cataclysms when an entire sub-contentent, and an Island, was cut in half from manland europe.
All this happened between only 6500 and 11,000 BC.
The northward movements that have been attributed to the populating of Britain and Scandinavia, and the sudden appearance of white blue eyed people, was actually a "re-population", and they already lived in those lands previous to that.
They had lived and evolved in those lands, ever since Oldowan turned up in the Thames valley 1 million BC, and 1.5 million BC in Russia.
But until the younger dryas came and wiped any history of them out, they had no real reason to make any significant appearance on european mainland, were archaeological evidence would be preserved.
And that is why the first archaeological evidence of white man only appears after and during the Younger dryas.
However britain was likely not originally inhabited by pure Aryans.
Pure Aryans likely began colonising Britain only after the Northward migrations.
And even then. they likley shared the Island with Greekish looking people, as well as possibly even remnants of Indonesians, and the place likely got divided after Doggerland sank, and Scandinavians eventually began adding Britain to their North sea expansion.
Likely beginning around 3000 BC, with the invention of their Hjortspring boat.
Bronze age
Thousands of rock carvings from this period depict ships, and the large stone burial monuments known as stone ships, suggest that ships and seafaring played an important role in the culture at large. The depicted ships most likely represent sewn plank built canoes used for warfare, fishing and trade. These ship types may have their origin as far back as the neolithic period and they continue into the Pre-Roman Iron Age, as exemplified by the Hjortspring boat.[43]
submitted by StevenStevens43 to AhrensburgCulture [link] [comments]


2020.09.04 22:16 kitkarsten I am producing a Professional Youtube Series and this is the first copy I wrote myself, what do you think?

I tired to keep it short and succinct, I will remove my contact info and self-plugs.

*COPY START*
How does advertising exposure to your targeted NICHE to at least 1+ million views or your money back sound? Freaking awesome? That's what I thought too, my name is Karsten Vaeth and I am the founder of “Shred Shaka” TV. I am offering to you Ad Sponsorship, in my new professionally funded, filmed, edited and produced Youtube and Instagram TV exclusive series “Satty B Shreds the World” (name pending). Our sponsorship packages include your logo on EVERY SINGLE shirt we sell, multiple youtube/instagram shoutouts and your product being used and filmed in every video (see more info at bottom of page).
The series will follow (3 person camera crew) 4 early 21-23 year old surfers from Satellite Beach, Florida, around 5 countries in 5 seasons. (The purest sense of the word “Florida Boys” Chasing the best waves around the world and exploring several unique cultures in distant and remote places. The series is going to be a similar vibe to the old “Who is J.O.B”, with some light pranks and exploration similar to the “NELK Boys”. The series will be professionally filmed and edited in a mix of 1080P and 4K video, recorded by a fleet of drones, reel cameras and of course GOpro. Each season is going to be 12-15 episodes long, each episode around 16-20 minutes in length.
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*COPY END*
submitted by kitkarsten to copywriting [link] [comments]


2020.09.02 03:34 planetpike75 [Battle] The Dragon Cast Down

[M] At long last, we have the conclusion to the great China-Bahrain-UAE-CIRAP-KSA-USA saga. This post will consist of multiple parts parts: some will be more like a typical modevent detailing the results of China's cyberattacks and other espionage actions against the United Arab Emirates. The other part will consist of the actual battle results as per usual. They'll be tied together throughout the post, and note the dates because this isn't entirely in chronological order for the sake of the narrative. That said, let's begin.
Also, ignore the fact that I posted this already. It didn't have casualties so it doesn't count. This thing is just about the 40,000 character limit and over 20 pages long; I did it in one day, so please don't be too hard on me. [/M]

The Digital Theater

3And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. 4And his tail drew the third part of the stars from heaven, and cast them to the earth: and the dragon stood before the woman which was ready to be delivered, for to devour her child as soon as it was born.
-- Revelation 12:3-4
Dubai International Airport Dubai, United Arab Emirates April 16th, 2028 14:58 Local Time
It was a normal day for the Dubai International Airport, the largest in the world and often one of the busiest. Despite the toll the oil embargo had taken on the Emirati economy, planes were still constantly in transit, flying in and out of the complex, carrying civilians, migrant workers, businessmen, royals, soldiers, doctors, and more. At one of its multiple international terminals, a young citizen of the Emirates, Muhammad al-Kadaj, stood by a flight board, tapping his feet impatiently. He and his newlywed wife were supposed to meet at the airport to board their flight to Ankara to visit his now father-in-law, but she was now almost twenty-five minutes late with no indication of what was taking her so long.
It's probably just running late, he thought to himself. The trains never run on time, anyway. She'll be here soon.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud blast of the sound of the display next to him turning to static. The flight schedule had been scrambled as letters and numbers flew across the screen in between bouts of static, and a piercing ringing exploded from a nearby intercom. After a brief moment to cover his ears and adjust himself to the shock, al-Kadaj looked up to see not only the display next to him showing an error message, but almost every screen within his field of view was either shut down, turned to static, or showing an error message of some kind. His immediate thoughts were panicked. What was happening? Was this a terror attack? A government coup?
About ten agonizing seconds later, the displays returned to normal and the screeching ceased. A voice rang out from the PA system. It was clearly not a prerecorded message; the man was fresh out of breath and seemed as confused as the airport's patrons.
"Please stay calm, everyone. We have had a minor security breach that is now under control. Please stay calm. Continue to your destinations and we will return to -- wait, what was that? Right now? Oh, god. Okay. Everyone, we are under attack. Please seek shelter in the nearest available space. This is not a drill. This is not a drill."
Al-Maktoum Station Dubai, United Arab Emirates April 16th, 2028 14:52 Local Time
Between the roar of the high-speed train and the bustling cacophony of the voices of its passengers, Layla certainly understood what her husband meant when he said that there was no city like Dubai. Her hometown, a small village about three hundred kilometers outside of Ankara, was all she had known for most of her life until she met Muhammad while studying in the Turkish capital. While she had adjusted to life in the city during her university years, she was not quite prepared for Dubai. And while she was overwhelmed, she found that she loved it. She had never felt so alive as she did when she walked its crowded streets, taking in the sounds of a hundred languages, the sights of grand skyscrapers, and the smells of the street vendors. It was different, but it was good. She was quite happy to live out the rest of her days with her husband in the city.
However, family had called her back to Turkey. Her father had fallen ill lately; while it wasn't life threatening, she and her husband found it proper to visit him and her mother to help with some renovations to their house and farmstead that were underway. Despite her newfound love for the city, she was excited to see her family again. It had been years since she last visited the cottage of her youth, and it would be a nice change of pace from the breakneck speed at which the average citizen of Dubai is forced to live his or her life.
She was roused from her half-slumber by the calming voice of the train attendant.
"Now arriving at al-Maktoum Station. Al-Maktoum Station. Please be careful as you exit the train."
The voice spoke, but the train did not slow down. The passengers began to notice this after a few seconds and a soft murmur soon erupted into a steady drone. And in an instant, the lights on the train were shut off. The train drew closer and closer to the station, where another train was parked -- but it did not show any signs of slowing down. The drone rose and rose, reaching its final form as an unearthly chorus of screaming and wailing.
Then, silence.
Ruwais Refinery Al-Ruwais, United Arab Emirates April 16th, 2028 15:05 Local Time
The refinery wasn't the best place to work -- especially not for a college-educated man like Ismail bin Talaal -- but it certainly paid the bills. At least, until the embargo hit. Ismail was one of many who found himself down on his luck after graduating from university with a mostly-useless degree, pushed out of any available opportunities by those more connected, more educated, or more experienced. After two years of looking for a job to no avail, he eventually followed in his father's footsteps as a worker at the Ruwais oil refinery. A lowly job, but it was better than nothing. The embargo had taken its toll on his paycheck and possibly the future of his employment, from what he could gather from the hushed whispers of his superiors at work. However, he couldn't afford to quit.
He was nearing the end of a long shift of sweeping floors and mopping up residue when he overheard two IT workers yelling at each other from across a hall. Tired of the mundanities of cleaning bathrooms and wiping off water fountains, he stood against the corner of the wall and bent his ear in to listen.
"Hey, uh, boss?"
"What's up?"
"Is the internet down for you, too?"
"What? No. At least, I don't think so. Let me check."
A brief moment of silence. Ismail had almost made up his mind to go back to work when the other voice piped back up.
"Yeah, it's wo-- nope, it's out for me, too. Shit. Have you tried the Ethernet cable? We can't stay offline for too long."
"Got it. Give me one sec. Hang on. What's all this? What happened to the maintenance page?"
"Is everything good?"
"Everything's gone!"
The New Age of Warfare
Contracted by the People's Republic of China, cybersoldiers from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea carried out a series of attacks against various positions and people within the United Arab Emirates on April 16th, 2028, as a preface to a Chinese intervention in the region. A number of targets, such as the Dubai International Airport and multiple desalination plants, were able to fend off the digital offensive, but not every target was so prepared, or so lucky. Specifically, the Dubai High-Speed Railway and the Ruwais Refinery crumbled under the weight of the attack. The attacks on the rail system resulted in a catastrophic failure of the entire railway network, causing four train crashes across the system that killed 76 and injured over 450 passengers. The Ruwais Refinery found its entire digital maintenance system wiped out. Entire records were destroyed, and the refining process was halted in its tracks, creating a sharp disruption to the flow of oil that keeps the Emirati economy afloat.
Not only this, but thousands of deepfakes of Emirati officials, leaders, generals, imams, economists, and businessmen immediately began circulating throughout social media, spreading across the globe. Ranging from fake sex tapes of President al-Maktoum with a variety of popular porn actresses, to the most popular imam in Dubai confessing to be a practicing Jew in private, to a faked tape of the Emirati general staff discussing their plans to unleash nuclear armageddon on Israel via a hidden cache of hydrogen bombs, troll accounts from IP addresses around the world were flooding Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Reddit. While many of these were easily identifiable as fakes, the more conspiracy-inclined people of the world were quick to latch on to a number of the fakes. In the UAE, hundreds of protestors gathered in Dubai to lament the sexual immorality of their President, while the "leak" from the military made its way across the pond to the United States, where large groups of evangelical Christians proclaimed that the end times were nigh, and that the antichrist, President al-Maktoum, would lead his army into Israel any day now as they demanded that President Cotton sever the American relationship with the great Satan, in a bizarre turn of fate.
In Bahrain, similar messages began to flood their networks and social media circles. The tyranny of Bahrain was laid bare for all to see as more and more people became sympathetic to the rebel cause. While they did not necessarily grow from this, a sort of apathy has spread throughout the Bahraini people as they can not bring themselves to condemn the rebels, but also can not bring themselves to join them.
In the immediate aftermath of these attacks, Emirati and Bahraini intelligence worked in cooperation with American and Saudi officials to determine the culprit of the attacks. They would not need to dig too deep, because the aggressor would soon announce its presence in the most obvious way possible.
After all, it is in a dragon's nature to roar.

The Peninsular Theater

6And the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred and threescore days.
-- Matthew 12:6
Before the true culprit revealed itself, however, there was another war raging across the Arabian Peninsula, one which had shaken the entire Islamic world to its core. The Gulf Cooperation Council had fully embraced its reliance on one another as a military alliance as the United Arab Emirates assisted Saudi Arabia in ridding itself of the Council for the Islamic Restoration of the Arabian Peninsula, and the Arab Republic of Egypt had also sent its Republican Guard to assist in securing the stability of its neighbor, and sometimes, friend. The Islamists reduced to the heartlands of its holy cities and their surrounding lands, the end was in sight. But one would be a fool to believe that radical Islamist jihadis would surrender Mecca and Medina without a fight.
The Battle of Medina April 18th, 2028
With the blessing of the Muslim faithful and the righteousness of the faith on their side, the GCC coalition forces led by the UAE and Saudi Arabia descended onto CIRAP in Hejaz like a pack of wolves. The morning light was greeted with the roar of hundreds of tanks as the Gulf's armies began their assault. Managing to catch CIRAP forces off guard, the town of Mahd al-Thahab was quickly secured by the Gulf with minimal losses. However, this victory would not bring entirely good news. Upon confiscating the armaments of the Islamist soldiers in the town, the Gulf forces found that their enemy was much, much better equipped than they had anticipated. From small arms and ATGMs to MANPADS and artillery shells, it seemed that the Council had a benefactor supplying them with arms to resist the Gulf's onslaught. Interrogation of local forces yielded information that Mecca and Medina were much better fortified than anticipated, and the Gulf's general staffs prepared themselves for the long road ahead.
When the Gulf forces arrived at Medina, they found that it was exactly as the captured CIRAP soldiers had described it. The city was loaded to capacity with guns; mortars and artillery lay ready to open fire on any who would approach, and soldiers equipped with rocket launchers took up positions in civilian buildings to fire on those who would not dare attack a hospital, a school, or a mosque. The Islamists had even gone so far as to forcibly conscript as many able-bodied men as they could coerce into fighting, many of them mere children handed an AK-47 and told to shoot anything that came from the east. It seemed that the former domain of the Prophet would not fall easily.
War is Hell, and the Battle of Medina was no exception. While the Gulf coalition had a relatively simple task in encircling the city, the constant harrying of their columns by artillery fire and suicide attacks by the CIRAP zealots would inflict many a wound upon their soldiers. Even so, the combined forces of the GCC managed to set up a ramshackle siege. However, this was only the beginning of the fight.
Siege warfare is insidious; when faced with adversity, men stand together, but when faced with hunger and poverty, men turn against one another. The siege took a great psychological toll on the CIRAP forces, and videos began to surface on al-Jazeera, MEMRI, and other social media circles of Islamist soldiers raiding civilians' homes to steal what food and supplies they could get their hands on. One particularly gruesome clip showed two CIRAP troops breaking into a home, beating a single mother bloody with the stock of an AK-47 while her infant child cried from within its crib, powerless to help its mother, who would eventually die from her wounds. All of these incidents lent a moral authority to the Gulf. While most of the world had never considered the GCC the "good guys," they were certainly better than this monstrous alternative.
With their hearts set on the liberation of their brothers in the faith and their rifles in hand, the Gulf coalition jumped feet first into Hell. They advanced slowly and precariously through the streets of Medina, fighting alley to alley, building to building -- breaking new ground as they fought a modern war in a city that housed almost two million people. Novel tactics were invented on the fly as the coalition armies sought out new ways to protect their armored vehicles from ambushes and keep a keen eye out for snipers hidden away in blown-out shells of buildings. The prevalence of the infantry squad remained at its all-time importance as the ever-changing cityscape required close cooperation by small groups of soldiers in coordination with one another. In the darkest alleys where tanks and vehicles could not fit, it was the infantryman who took the fight to CIRAP and liberated Medina, street by street.
Video footage from the battle made its way to all the regular destinations. Enthusiasts, families, journalists, and military officers alike were witness to the destruction wreaked by the conflict; each had their own reaction and used the footage for their own purposes. While this was not a Western war and most Americans and Europeans kept up with it very little compared to the White Russian War of the early 2020s, the rest of the world watched with wide eyes. A journalist from al-Jazeera, one Ali al-Assad -- of no relation to the President of the Syrian Arab Republic -- had this to say, a message recorded in the midst of a devastating artillery barrage from CIRAP:
"I'm here huddled with a few other journalists and a squad of soldiers in what looks to be a blown out elementary school. The entire building is nearly reduced to rubble; we're only in here because it's the only roof that looked stable enough to withstand a few artillery shells, and even then, you can see that each of us are taking turns praying for our own safety. The fighting here is fierce. I have never in my life seen anything like it, and I pray that no one ever has to witness what I've seen in the past few days. I have seen women and children hiding away, fearing for their lives, refusing to come out even at the call of Saudi and Emirati soldiers. I have seen enough corpses, both civilian and soldier, to fill ten graveyards. I have seen row after row of destroyed buildings, many of which will never be rebuilt. I have seen Hell, and I pray that God wipe from my memory the things I have seen -- things that no man should ever be made to witness."
Eventually, CIRAP was finally pushed out of Medina entirely. However, it was not without cost. The Gulf suffered heavy losses in the fighting, with hundreds of soldiers dying and losing millions and millions in valuable military equipment. They paid a heavy price, but Medina was finally free from the tyranny of the Islamists as one of two holy cities of the Arabian Peninsula was back in Saudi hands.
The Battle of Dammam April 20th, 2028
In the north, Gulf forces prepared for an assault on Dammam, the last stronghold of the PDF in the Arabian Peninsula. Unlike the Battle of Medina, this offensive would be relatively straightforward: the PDF operated mainly out of the countryside and struggled to maintain an effective presence in cities, so little would be needed in the way of a siege or protracted urban combat. The roar of tank columns and jet engines was almost enough to scare the PDF into surrendering; the actual devastation they wrought on the PDF emplacements was more than enough to break them apart. The PDF, a loose organization in the Peninsula, began to crack and tear away at the seams beneath the weight of the Gulf's offensive.
With Dammam secured for the KSA, the PDF's last major stronghold lies within Dhahran. The leader of the PDF in the Arabian Peninsula has sent a correspondence to the President of the UAE and the King of Saudi Arabia stating his intent to begin negotiations; he has made his position clear: the PDF will not surrender unconditionally, but has little desire to continue a war that it has no chance of winning, and is quite open to cutting its losses while it can. The decision now lies in the hands of the GCC on whether or not they will accept his offer or shatter his organization for good.
The Battle of Highway 85 April 21st, 2028
The hydra that is the Islamic State had again reared its ugly head in the Peninsula. Clearly not learning anything from its multitude of past defeats, it established itself in the towns of Hazem and Arar along Highway 85 in the deserts of northeastern Saudi Arabia. With little by way of natural protection and zero local support, the IS forces were left open and vulnerable, and the Gulf coalition knew this, taking advantage of the opportunity for a decisive strike.
The fighting was short and sweet. UAE air crews made short work of weakly-defended emplacements as Emirati and Saudi infantry moved in to secure the areas shortly afterward. The fighting had not even reached the population centers by the time the IS cell had crumbled, and when GCC forces rolled into Arar, they found almost no trace of the Islamic State as they had fled into the desert. While their presence did not evaporate entirely, their central command did, leaving scattered groups in the desert to carry out meager attacks on military police and other open targets.
The Battle of Mecca April 30th, 2028
As one wing of the Gulf's forces raised the Saudi flag over Medina once more, another wing crossed the perilous mountains to the birthplace of the prophet with the goal of liberating the city of Mecca. They had heard of the valiant struggle of their fellow soldiers in Medina and of the heavy price they paid to free the city. However, they were almost all ready to sacrifice their lives to liberate this holy city and return their home to normalcy. Many of them would follow through on that promise in the days ahead.
The Emirati and Saudi military leadership were not fools; they knew that radical Islamists would obviously not let the holiest city in Islam go without a fight. What they didn't expect was just how much of a fight they would put up. With a steady supply of Chinese and Qatari arms -- unbeknownst to the Gulf coalition -- what was once the shell of a guerrilla movement had reorganized itself into a semi-effective fighting force, and in a city as large as Mecca, a semi-effective insurgency force is one to be reckoned with. The story was similar to that of the Battle of Medina, but the resistance was fiercer as CIRAP was on its last legs. The fighters who managed to escape Medina alive had made their way to Mecca, and knowing that Jeddah would fall more easily than Mecca, CIRAP leadership ordered half of its forces on the coast to retreat into Mecca.
The strategic retreat of CIRAP from Jeddah led to an easy capture of the city by Gulf forces. It was becoming increasingly clear that CIRAP knew it would not survive, and that it was at this point merely determined to take down as many infidels as it could bring with it. Its death throes would be explosive; it would not go quietly into the night.
While the Gulf forces managed to encircle the city with relative ease, the siege of Mecca has seen suboptimal results. Suicide bombers, artillery strikes, and hit-and-run missions plague the Gulf supply lines and logistics chains. A host of soldiers equipped with anti-tank missiles and anti-air systems prevent any meaningful penetration of the city's interior. At this point, the Gulf coalition faces a decision: does it continue the siege, leaving the city's inhabitants to suffer as those of Medina did while maintaining the relative safety of its own forces, or does it muster up one final offensive to wipe the Islamists off the face of the earth? Whatever decision is reached will be bloody, and the world will always be left to consider what might have been had they chosen the other option. But such is the way and the cost of war: sacrifices must be made, regardless of the side taken or the outcome reached.
The Battle of Muharraq Island, Part One May 12th, 2028
In Bahrain, the rebels had been reduced to a small strip of land off the coast of greater Bahrain. With an indefensible position in spite of Chinese arms assistance and a disorganized leadership, the GCC set out to cut the head off the rebellious snake before it could do any more damage. In a violation of the Chinese no-fly zone, planes from the UAE took off toward Muharraq Island to assist in the liberation of the area, setting in motion a chain of events that would change the world forever.
Immediately after Chinese radars picked up the signature of Emirati fighters en route to Bahrain, a wing of Chinese H-20 stealth bombers took off toward the two airbases of the UAE. The strike was swift and decisive; the UAE was caught entirely off guard while their best pilots were away and the bases were sufficiently disabled. However, China overlooked two important presences in undertaking this mission. The first was the presence of European Union forces within the UAE airbases, which saw their fighters and equipment destroyed in the attack. The second was the presence of the one nation that could stand against the might of the Dragon.

The Gulf Theater

7And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; 8and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven... 14And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.
-- Revelation 12:7-8,14
Dragons are proud creatures. They live upon a great hoard of treasure, greedily devouring any wealth they come across while threatening to incinerate any who would dare oppose them. However, their pride is often their undoing -- every dragon knows that one day, they will face a knight who could slay them, but they assure themselves that this knight is not that knight. And today, the Dragon faced this realization.
The honor of the People's Republic of China was stained. The audacity of the Gulf Cooperation Council to place an oil embargo upon it could not go unpunished; despite warnings from the PLA general staff that China was not currently equipped to embark upon a full intervention and a personal ultimatum from President Tom Cotton that he would personally sink a hundred Chinese ships should they be so bold as to even think of standing against America, Premier Xi Jinping ordered the attack to continue. A great Type 002 aircraft carrier flanked by numerous smaller vessels made its way to the Persian Gulf with the intent of enforcing a no-fly zone over Bahrain. They were met by the might of the United States Navy's Fifth Fleet. Time stood still as the two titans stared one another down and dared the other to blink. After an eternity passed within minutes, Admiral Li Jiayi gave the order:
"Advance."
The Battle of the Strait of Hormuz May 14th, 2028
Military strategists and political scientists have long wondered what would happen should the People's Liberation Army Navy and the United States Navy finally meet in combat. But despite this morbid curiosity, it was natural that none of them would ever actually wish for this to come to pass, as it could accompany the destruction of the world as it stands today. However, the world drifts toward entropy, and the fated collision between the two great superpowers that remained after the collapse of Russia had arrived to shake the planet to its core.
China had taken special care to not anger the United States in its mission. Admiral Li had even sent a message to the US Navy that Chinese forces would not interfere with US forces at any point, and insisted that their quarrel was only with the United Arab Emirates. But true to its ever-belligerent nature, it seemed that the United States would not take that as an answer. The moment the Chinese fighters jumped from the deck of the Type 002 carrier, a swarm of United States fighters rose to meet them. And thus begun one of the greatest turkey shoots of modern warfare.
Chinese air doctrine relies on the advantage granted to the PLAAF by fighting on its home turf. The Great Wall of Sand and army of anti-ship and anti-air missile emplacements that exist to defend the Chinese coast are essential to the formation of air strategy by the Chinese general staff; the PLAN is much less comfortable operating outside of its known waters. On the opposite side of this deadly coin, the US 5th Fleet has been operating in the Persian Gulf since the 1980s, making it essentially their home away from home. So when a confident and powerful defender stood against the attacker in waters foreign to them fighting a style of battle unfamiliar to them, it was clear that there could only be one real outcome.
The Battle of the Strait of Hormuz was the largest naval confrontation to happen until that point in the twenty-first century, and was an exemplary statement of American naval dominance. The moment that the F-22 and F-35 fighter jets opened fire on the inferior Chinese J-31s, J-7s, and Q-7s, the American submarine command -- hiding away, unbeknownst to China -- opened fire on the PLAN vessels, along with a swarm of Harpoon anti-ship missiles. While the People's Republic forces were able to land a solid few blows against the Americans, the battle was heavily one-sided and ended with the complete decimation of the PLAN strike force as the last few Chinese captains still floating relayed a message of surrender in desperation. The Dragon had been cast down by the Eagle, which reminded the entire world of its superiority in all aspects of war.
The Battle of Muharraq Island, Part Two May 15th, 2028
With the Chinese strike force obliterated, the United Arab Emirates and Bahraini forces carried out their assault on the rebels, driving them off of the island and into the sea. However, the rebellion itself was far from over. The Gulf coalition did not know it, but in addition to the already-known fact that China was arming the rebels, they had engaged in a moderately effective propaganda campaign, rallying discontents in Bahrain to continue the fight. While the formal rebel army had been effectively scattered, it would be a long time before the small Kingdom would ever return to any semblance of normalcy, if ever.

The Global Theater

8And there followed another angel, saying, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication.
-- Revelation 14:8
The Battle of the Strait of Hormuz -- an event that would soon be renamed to the Hormuz Strait Crisis due to being so one-sided that historians could hardly call it a battle -- marked a turning point in the course of the world as it was known, as a decisive blow was struck against the People's Republic of China, which was thought up to that point to be the premier rising superpower, the chairman of a new world order. In the Gulf, the people rejoiced at the sight of the Americans returning to their posts, heralding them as their saviors from the evil that was China, come to destroy them. In the same vein, a new wave of Sinophobia arose in the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the other GCC member states. The "Great Satan" rhetoric that many imams had once applied to the United States of America was now being applied to China, drawing on its mistreatment of Uyghur Muslim minorities within its own borders and its audacity to attack the Arabian Peninsula itself. In their effort to usurp the United States as a global military power, they had mistakenly usurped another title that America once held -- one it was more than happy to give away.
In the United States and Europe, China was now seen in a new light. The United States had never been friendly with China -- especially not President Tom Cotton -- but not since the COVID-19 outbreak had such a pure hatred for the People's Republic run rampant in the country. And this vein of disdain was much, much stronger than that felt in 2020. China had spilled the blood of Americans, and while millions across the country celebrated that America had repaid their black eye with a gunshot to the head, the restless blood of the fallen continued to cry out for vengeance. American boys now lie dead in the Persian Gulf at the hands of the Chinese menace, and that was a transgression that could not be forgiven. President Cotton, once lambasted as a fascist lunatic, has seen his popularity skyrocket. 89% of Americans approve of his handling of the Hormuz Strait Crisis and his popularity within his own party has exploded. The Republican Party has surged with him, with thousands upon thousands of Americans joining the party in excitement after the great victory over China, many of whom would go on to join the Republican Vanguard and sign up to live in Vanguard communities. At the same time, the Democratic minority that was against the intervention were subject to a barrage of criticisms. Hawkish Democrats did their best to distance themselves from the pacifists while Republicans assaulted their rival party with accusations of being spineless cowards who did not have the faith in the American spirit that they had, the faith to trust that the United States military could overcome any opposition and destroy any foe.
The European Union would not be spared the consequences, either. French and British forces were in the UAE airbases destroyed by China; while no European soldiers were killed, European militaries were furious that China would be so bold as to think of damaging their property. At the same time, Europeans were both afraid and angry. They knew that they could not defeat China alone, especially given the United States' shaky relationship with the EU as of late, but the people did demand some kind of retaliation. In a matter of years, the EU-China relationship soured from the point of talks regarding an FTA to the European public demanding that the Union levy some kind of sanctions against the People's Republic.
In Asia, the nations of Japan, Indonesia, Vietnam, the Philippines, India, and South Korea breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The annihilation of no small part of the PLA was an embarrassing setback for China, and was practically guaranteed to force them to scale back their military aggression to focus on rebuilding and retraining due to a lack of confidence in their own abilities. Two factions have primarily emerged from this sentiment: those who believe that China is a non-threat and that Asia can now afford to let go of its fear and move past the need to counter China militarily, and those who believe that the time is now to strengthen a unified Asian military front that can match China and ensure that Xi Jinping and his ilk will never disturb their peace again. India, in particular, has fallen victim to the second position, as many in the BJP believe that there is no time like the present to solidify India as a real contender that can stand against China for years to come.
Finally, no nation has felt the impact of the Hormuz Strait Crisis more than China. With the utter failure of the PLAN to break the oil embargo and the collapse of their proxies, it would seem that their efforts of propaganda spreading and cyberattacking the Gulf were extremely effective in creating a disturbance and nuisance that would plague them for years to come, but not effective in forcing the Gulf to lift the embargo, especially with the results of the battle between them and the United States. China's alternative methods to acquire oil were largely failures, and due to this, their strategic reserves are running all but dry. China has been fighting on two fronts for some time now -- in Kazakhstan and in the Gulf -- and this has decimated its supply of oil reserves. The Chinese economy buckles under the weight of the embargo and loss of confidence in the central government as growth slows down to a halt; for a nation like China that is dependent on continued growth, this spells a looming disaster. The PLA has delivered a simple message to the Premier: lift the embargo and let us actually operate in Kazakhstan, or call all of this off and rebuild the country. There is no alternative left.
As predicted, the entire world quakes beneath the footsteps of giants. The Gulf's embargo has not been without its own costs. Oil prices all around the world are skyrocketing as the war takes its toll and the embargo weakens the GCC economies, not even to mention the disruptions caused to the Ruwais Refinery in the UAE by China's digital offensive and the disruptions caused by China's meddling in the global oil market. Furthermore, the strain on China's economy has reduced its ability to act as the world's leading exporter of cheap goods. In an alternate timeline where India, Nigeria, or Brazil may have been in a position to take over this role, this blow to the world market would be lessened, but unfortunately, this is not that reality. The entire global economy buckles under the weight of the clash of titans, and growth is expected to be down across the board as supplies of oil and consumer goods contract, causing price spikes that hammer the average consumer.
The world has changed. And as empires rise and fall, the only true certainty is that in spite of all of our differences -- be they cultural, racial, religious, or other -- is that we live and die as one. And should the world continue to live by the sword, we may soon find ourselves standing face to face with our own destruction.
CASUALTIES: THE HORMUZ STRAIT CRISIS
Side Killed/MIA Wounded Aircraft Ships
United States of America ~340 ~900 4 F-16 fighters, 4 F-15E fighters, 2 F-35 fighters 1 Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, 1 nonspecific supply vessel, 2 Cyclone-class patrol vessels
People's Republic of China ~3,500 ~4,000 26 J-31C carrier fighters, 8 Z-18 medium helicopters, 10 Z-9 utility helicopters, 8 J-7 interceptors, 9 Q-7 attack/strike fighters, 6 H6-Z bombers, 1 Y-8 transport/patrol plane 1 Type 002 aircraft carrier, 5 Type 052C destroyers, 5 Type 054A frigates, 3 Type 093 SSNs, 4 Type 096 SSBN, 1 Type 094 SSGN
CASUALTIES: THE PENINSULAR THEATER
Side Killed/MIA Wounded Aircraft Vehicles
Gulf Coalition (Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Jordan, United Arab Emirates) ~9,000 ~16,000 2 F-16s, 12 attack helicopters, various supply aircraft 180 APCs, 110 IFVs, 160 MBTs, 200 MRAPs, various supply vehicles
Bahraini Rebels ~2,100; wiped out ~1,500 N/A N/A
Islamic State ~1,400; nearly wiped out ~1,000 N/A N/A
Popular Defense Forces ~3,300; nearly exhausted ~2,200 N/A N/A
Council for the Islamic Restoration of the Arabian Peninsula ~6,000 ~14,000 N/A N/A
[M] If there is an issue with casualties please bring it to me as I have no clue how this all works, and will gladly fix any mistakes I made. Hope y'all enjoyed this read; it was very fun to write.
submitted by planetpike75 to Geosim [link] [comments]


2020.08.30 20:22 Kingofearth23 Anonymity by State/Country: Comprehensive Global Guide III

Ever since i started playing regularly, i've researched anonymity in places. Here is what i have for each state plus a bunch of other countries. If anything is outdated or incorrect, please comment.
United States
Alabama: No current lottery. Source: https://www.wtvy.com/content/news/Lottery-bill-other-legislation-is-likely-dead-in-Alabama-legislature-569059451.html
Alaska: No current lottery/Not Anonymous. "Unlike most other states, Alaska doesn’t have a state-sponsored lottery." Source: https://www.lotterycritic.com/lottery-results/alaska/ Alaska does permit charities to run lotteries, the largest one is Not Anonymous. Source: http://www.lottoalaska.com/
Alaska's governor has proposed a bill to create an official Alaska State Lottery. Source: https://apnews.com/78cacca5137f6b47e41be2de37600044
American Samoa: No current lottery. Source: https://simonsblogpark.com/onlinegambling/simons-guide-to-gambling-in-american-samoa/amp/
Arizona: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for all wins of $100,000 and over. Source: https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/arizona-becomes-latest-state-shield-lottery-winners-names-n995696
Arkansas: Not Anonymous/Other entities unclear. "Winner information is subject to disclosure under the Arkansas Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). A winner who receives a prize or prize payment from the ASL grants the ASL, its agents, officers, employees, and representatives the right to use, publish (in print or by means of the Internet) and reproduce the winner’s name, physical likeness, photograph, portraits, and statements made by the winner, and use audio sound clips and video or film footage of the winner for the purpose of press releases, advertising, and promoting the ASL". Source: https://www.myarkansaslottery.com/claim-your-prize
California: Not Anonymous/Only individuals can claim. “ The name and location of the retailer who sold you the winning ticket, the date you won and the amount of your winnings are also matters of public record and are subject to disclosure. You can form a trust prior to claiming your prize, but our regulations do not allow a trust to claim a prize. Understand that your name is still public and reportable”. Source: https://static.www.calottery.com/~/media/Publications/Popular_Downloads/winners-handbook-October%202018-%20English.pdf
Colorado: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. “As part of the Open Records Act, we are required to release to the public your name, hometown, amount you won and the game you played. This information will be posted on coloradolottery.com and will be furnished to media upon request.” Source: https://www.coloradolottery.com/en/games/lotto/claim-winnings/ Source: https://denver.cbslocal.com/2016/01/15/in-colorado-and-other-states-lottery-winners-can-keep-names-secret/
Connecticut: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via a trust or LLC, "Certain information about our winners is public information: Winner's name and place of residence, date of claim, game played, prize amount won, and the selling retailer's name and location. While most winners claim prizes using their individual names, some winners come forward using other legal entities (i.e., trusts, business partnership) to claim their prizes. In those instances, the Lottery will promote the win using that legal entity's name. For more information about such instances, please consult your personal accountant or legal advisor.” Source: https://www.ctlottery.org/Content/winner_publicity.aspx
Delaware: 100% Anonymous if requested by winner. "Many winners have chosen to remain anonymous, as allowed by state law, but their excitement is yours to share!" Source: https://www.delottery.com/Winners and https://www.delottery.com/FAQs
DC: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via a trust or LLC. Anonymous question is not directly answered on lottery website. "In the District of Columbia, specific lottery winner information is public record." However, a Powerball Jackpot win was claimed via a LLC in 2009. Source: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/04/AR2009050402008.html
Florida: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via LLC. "Florida Lottery winners cannot remain anonymous. Florida law mandates that the Florida Lottery provide the winner's name, city of residence, game won, date won and amount won to any third party who requests the information; however Florida Lottery winners' home addresses and telephone numbers are confidential." Source: http://www.flalottery.com/faq
The Florida Lottery allows trusts to claim it, however winner information is still released in compliance with the law. A $15 Million jackpot was claimed by an LLC. Source: https://www.fox13news.com/amp/consumehit-the-lottery-remain-anonymous-not-in-florida Source: http://flalottery.com/pressRelease?searchID=199128
Georgia: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for all prizes over $250,000. Source: https://www.stl.news/georgia-governor-signs-bill-allowing-lottery-winners-remain-anonymous/121962/
Guam: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://www.kuam.com/story/11218413/guamanian-wins-big-in-sportsbingo-but-has-yet-to-claim-2m-prize
Hawaii: No current lottery. Source: https://www.kitv.com/story/40182224/powerball-or-mega-millions-lottery-in-hawaii
Idaho: Not Anonymous."By claiming a winning lottery ticket over $600, winners become subject to Idaho’s Public Records Law. This means your “win” becomes an offcial Idaho public record. Your full name, the town where you live, the game you won, the amount you won (before and after taxes), the name of the retailer where you bought the ticket, and the amount the retailer receives for selling the ticket are all a matter of public record." Can seek anonymity if you have specific security concerns (rarely granted). Source: https://www.idaholottery.com/images/uploads/general/winnersguideweb.pdf
Illinois: Not Anonymous/Anonymous if requested by winner for all wins over $250,000 however info will be released to a FOIA request. "However, Murphy also cooperated with the Illinois Press Association in adding an amendment that ensures that Freedom of Information Act, an act designed to keep government agencies transparent by allowing the public to access any public record by request, supersedes the privacy law, according to attorney Don Craven, the press association’s legal counsel." Source: https://www.thetelegraph.com/news/article/Hidden-riches-Big-lottery-winner-in-Beardstown-13626173.php
Indiana: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via LLC or trust. "Indiana law allows lottery jackpot winners to remain anonymous, with the money being claimed by a limited liability company or legal trust." Source: https://www.chicagotribune.com/nation-world/ct-indiana-mega-millions-winners-20160729-story.html
Iowa: Not Anonymous/Can use a trust to claim but information will be released. "When you win an Iowa Lottery prize of $600 or more, you have to fill out a winner claim form that includes your name, address and Social Security number before you can claim your winnings. Iowa law makes the information on that claim form public, meaning that anyone can request a copy of the form to see who has won the prize. We redact sensitive information, such as your Social Security number, from the form before we release it, but all other details are considered public information under Iowa law (Iowa Code Section 99G.34(5)." Source: https://www.ialotteryblog.com/2008/11/can-prize-winne.html.
For group play, "Prizes can be paid to players who play as a group. A check can be written to an entity such as a trust or to a single individual." Source: https://ialottery.com/pages/Games/ClaimingPrizes.aspx
Kansas: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. "Kansas is one of a handful of states that does not have this requirement. If you win a prize in Kansas, you may request that your identity not be released publicly." Source: https://www.kslottery.com/faqs#faq-8
Kentucky: Anonymity appears to be an option. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website. But multiple instances of winners claiming anonymously have been reported in the news. "Kentucky Lottery spokesman Chip Polson said the $1 million Powerball winner claimed the prize on May 15 and the Mega Million winner claimed the prize on May 12. He confirmed that both players wanted their identity to remain a secret." Source: https://www.courier-journal.com/story/news/local/2017/05/19/two-1-million-lottery-winners-who-bought-tickets-louisville-want-privacy/101870414/
Louisiana: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. "Under the Lottery's statute, all prize payment records are open records, meaning that the public has a right to request the information. Depending upon the amount won and public or media interest in the win, winners may NOT be able to remain anonymous. The statute also allows the Lottery to use winners' names and city of residence for publicity purposes such as news releases. The Lottery's regular practice is not to use winner information in paid advertising or product promotion without the winner's willingness to participate. Source: https://louisianalottery.com/faq/easy-5#35 Source: https://louisianalottery.com/article/1050/the-williams-trust-claims-share-of-50-million-powerball-jackpot
Maine: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. "In the event that Maine does have a Mega Millions winner, he or she can opt to remain anonymous — but Boardman says that’s never happened. “What a winner could do in Maine is they could file their claim in the name of a trust, and the trust becomes the winner. So that’s how a winner could claim their ticket anonymously,” he says." Source: https://www.mainepublic.org/post/lottery-official-reminds-mainers-they-re-exceedingly-unlikely-win-16-billion-jackpot
Maryland*: Not Anonymous by Law, Anonymous in Practice. "However, the legal basis for this anonymity in Maryland is thin. The Maryland Lottery does not advertise that lottery winners may remain anonymous, but it posts articles on its website about winners and notes those winners who have “chosen to remain anonymous:” Source: https://www.gw-law.com/blog/anonymity-maryland-lottery-winners
*"Please note that this anonymity protection does not apply to second-chance and Points for Drawings contests run through the My Lottery Rewards program. Those contests are run as promotions for the Lottery. As such, they are operated under a different set of rules than our draw games and scratch-off games. The rules of participating in our second-chance and Points for Drawings contests state that winners' identities are published."" Source: https://www.mdlottery.com/about-us/faqs/
Massachusetts: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust "Lottery regulations state that a claimant's name, city or town, image, amount of prize, claim date and game are public record. Therefore, photographs may be taken and used to publicize winnings." Source: https://www.masslive.com/news/2018/05/lottery_sees_increase_in_winne.html
Michigan: Not Anonymous for Powerball and Mega Millions/100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for all other winners over $10,000. "Winner Anonymity. Michigan law requires written consent before disclosing the identity of the winner of $10,000 or more from the State lottery games Lotto47 and Fantasy 5. You further understand and agree that your identity may be disclosed, and that disclosure may be required, as the winner of any prize from the multi-state games Powerball and Mega Millions." Source: https://www.michiganlottery.com/games/mega-millions
Minnesota: Not Anonymous. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but lottery blog states "In Minnesota, lottery winners cannot remain anonymous. A winner's name, city, prize amount won and the place that the winning ticket was sold is public data and will be released to media and posted on our website." Source: https://www.mnlottery.com/blog/you-won-now-what
Mississippi: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. "In accordance with the Alyce G. Clarke Mississippi Lottery Law, the Mississippi Lottery will not disclose the identity of the person holding a winning lottery ticket without that person's written permission." Source: https://www.mslotteryhome.com/players/faqs/
Missouri: Not Anonymous. "At the Lottery Headquarters, a member of the Lottery's communications staff will ask you questions about your win, such as how many tickets you bought, when you found out that you won and what you plan to do with your prize money. This information will be used for a news release. You will also be asked, but are not required, to participate in a news conference, most likely at the store where you purchased your winning ticket." Source: http://www.molottery.com/whenyouwin/jackpotwin.shtm
A Missouri State Legislator has submitted a bill to the State House to give lottery winners anonymity. Source: https://www.kfvs12.com/2020/02/25/mo-house-considers-legislation-protect-identity-lottery-winners/
Montana: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. "In Montana, by law, certain information about lottery winners is considered public. That information includes: the winner's name, the amount won and the winner's community of residence. Winners may choose to claim as an individual or they may choose to form a trust and claim their prize as a trust. If a trust claims a lottery prize, the name of the trust is considered public information. A trust must have a federal tax identification number in order to claim a Montana Lottery prize." Source: https://www.montanalottery.com/en/view/about-faqs
Nebraska: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via LLC. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but a winner created a legal entity to claim anonymously in 2014. "Nebraska Lottery spokesman Neil Watson said with the help of a Kearney lawyer, the winner or winners have created a legal entity called Carpe Diem LLC." Source: https://journalstar.com/news/state-and-regional/nebraska/m-nebraska-powerball-winner-to-remain-anonymous/article_a044d0f0-99a7-5302-bcb9-2ce799b3a798.html
A Nebraska State Legislator has now filed a bill to give 100% Anonymity to all winners over $300,000 who request it. Source: https://journalstar.com/news/state-and-regional/nebraska/anonymity-for-lottery-winners-bill-would-give-privacy-to-those/article_1cdba44d-c8bb-5971-b73f-2eecc8cd4625.html
Nevada: No current lottery. Source: https://www.reviewjournal.com/business/casinos-gaming/heres-why-you-cant-play-powerball-in-nevada/
New Hampshire: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via a trust. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but a winner successfully sued the lottery and won the right to remain anonymous in 2018. Source: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/post-nation/wp/2018/03/12/winner-of-a-560-million-powerball-jackpot-can-keep-the-money-and-her-secret-judge-rules/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.bec2db2f7d2c
New Jersey: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.nj.com/politics/2020/01/win-big-you-can-claim-those-nj-lottery-winnings-anonymously-under-new-law.html
New Mexico: Not Anonymous. “Winners of $10,000 or more will have name, city, game played, and prize amount and photo on website.” Can seek anonymity if you have specific security concerns (rarely granted). Source: https://www.nmlottery.com/uploads/FileLinks/82400d81a0ce468daab29ebe6db3ec27/Winner_Publicity_Policy_6_1_07.pdf
New York: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via a LLC. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but per Gov. Cuomo: "For the past 40 years, individuals wishing to keep their name and information out of the public view have created LLCs to collect their winnings for them." Source: https://nypost.com/2018/12/09/cuomo-vetoes-bill-allowing-lotto-winners-to-remain-anonymous/
North Carolina: Not Anonymous. "North Carolina law allows lottery winners' identity to remain confidential only if they have an active protective order against someone or participate in the state's "Address Confidentiality Program" for victims of domestic violence, sexual offense, stalking or human trafficking." Source: https://www.charlotteobserver.com/news/local/article54548645.html
North Dakota: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.kfyrtv.com/home/headlines/ND-Powerball-Winners-Have-Option-to-Remain-Anonymous-364918121.html
Northern Mariana Islands: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.nmsalottery.com/game-rules/
Ohio: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but appears to have an anonymous option. "The procedure from there was a little cumbersome. I needed to create two separate trusts. One trust was to appoint me, as the trustee on behalf of the winner, to contact the Lottery Commission and accept the Lottery winnings. The secondary trust was set up for me as trustee of the first trust, to transfer the proceeds to the second trust with the winner as the beneficiary. This enabled me to present the ticket, accept the proceeds, and transfer it to the winner with no public record or disclosure." Source: https://www.altickcorwin.com/Articles/How-To-Claim-Lottery-Winnings-Anonymously.shtml
Oklahoma: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust or LLC. In accordance with the Oklahoma Open Records Act and the Oklahoma Education Lottery Act, the name of any individual, corporation, partnership, unincorporated association, limited liability company, or other legal entity, and their city of residence will be made public. Source: https://www.lottery.ok.gov/playersclub/faq.asp Source: https://oklahoman.com/article/5596678/lottery-winners-deserve-some-anonymity
Oregon: Not Anonymous. "No. Certain information about Lottery prizes is public record, including the name of the winner, amount of the prize, date of the drawing, name of the game played and city in which the winning ticket was purchased. Oregon citizens have a right to know that Lottery prizes are indeed being awarded to real persons. " Source: https://oregonlottery.org/about/public-interaction/commission-directofrequently-asked-questions Can seek anonymity if you have specific security concerns (rarely granted). Source: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3353432/Man-living-Iraq-wins-6-4-million-Oregon-jackpot.html
Pennsylvania: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. Source: https://lancasteronline.com/news/local/trust-that-won-powerball-no-relation-to-manheim-township-emerald/article_29834922-4ca2-11e8-baac-1b15a17f3e9c.html
Puerto Rico: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.nbcnews.com/news/latino/puerto-rico-powerball-winner-claims-prize-chooses-stay-anonymous-n309121
Rhode Island: Not Anonymous/Anonymous if requested but all info is subject to FOIA. "While the Lottery will do everything possible to keep a winner's information private if requested by the winner, in Rhode Island and most other states, this information falls under the Freedom of Information Act, and a winner's name and city or town of residency must be released upon request." Source: https://www.rilot.com/en-us/player-zone/faqs.html
South Carolina: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Anonymity or who can claim is not addressed on lottery website but appears to have an anonymous option based on prior winners. Source: https://myfox8.com/2019/03/15/the-anonymous-south-carolina-winner-of-the-largest-lottery-jackpot-is-donating-part-of-it-to-alabama-tornado-victims/
South Dakota: Not Anonymous for draw games and online games/100% Anonymous for Scratchoffs if requested by the winner. "You can remain anonymous on any amount won from a scratch ticket game. Jackpots for online games are required to be public knowledge. Play It Again winners are also public knowledge." Source: https://lottery.sd.gov/FAQ2018/gamefaq.aspx.
Tennessee: Not Anonymous/Can use a trust but info subject to open records act. Anonymity is explicitly noted as not being allowed on the official lottery website. Source: https://www.tnlottery.com/faq/i-won
However if it is claimed via a trust then the lottery will not give out your information unless requested to do so. "The TN lottery says: "When claiming a Lottery prize through a Trust, the TN Lottery would need identity documentation for the grantor and all ultimate beneficiaries. Once we are in possession of these documents and information, records are generated. If a formal request is made by a citizen of Tennessee, the Trust beneficiary's name, city and state must be made available under the Tennessee Open Records Act." Source: https://www.avvo.com/legal-answers/in-tennessee--can-a-lottery-jackpot-be-claimed-whi-2327592.html
Texas: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for $1 million or more IF the winner claims it as an individual AND chooses the Cash option. Not Anonymous if claimed by a trust or LLC or if the winner chooses the Annuity option. Source: https://www.txlottery.org/export/sites/lottery/Documents/retailers/FAQ_Winner_Anonymity_12112017_final.pdf
Utah: No current lottery. Source: https://www.lotterycritic.com/lottery-results/utah/
Vermont: Not Anonymous/Anonymous via trust. “The name, town and prize amount on your Claim Form is public information. If you put your name on the Claim Form, your name becomes public information. If you claim your prize in a trust, the name of the trust is placed on the Claim Form, and the name of the trust is public information.” Source: https://vtlottery.com/about/faq
Virginia: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for prizes over $10 million. "A new law passed by the Virginia General Assembly and signed by the Governor prohibits the Virginia Lottery from disclosing information about big jackpot winners." "When the bill goes into effect this summer, the Virginia Lottery will not be allowed to release certain information about winners whose prize exceeds $10 million, unless the winner wants to be known." Source: https://www.13newsnow.com/article/news/local/virginia/new-virginia-law-allows-certain-lottery-winners-to-keep-identity-private/291-c33ea642-e8fa-45fd-b3a4-dc693cf5b372
US Virgin Islands: Anonymity appears to be an option. A $2 Million Powerball winner was allowed to remain anonymous. Source: https://viconsortium.com/virgin-islands-2/st-croix-resident-wins-2-million-in-latest-power-ball-drawing/
Washington: Not Anonymous/Can use a trust but info subject to open records act. "As a public agency, all documents held by Washington's Lottery are subject to the Public Records Act. Lottery prizes may be claimed in the name of a legally formed entity, such as a trust. However, in the event of a public records request, the documents forming the artificial entity may be released, thereby revealing the individual names of winners." https://www.walottery.com/ClaimYourPrize/
West Virginia: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner for prizes over $1 million and 5% of winnings remittance. "Effective January 1, 2019, House Bill 2982 allows winners of State Lottery draw games to remain anonymous in regards to his or her name, personal contact information, and likeness; providing that the prize exceeds one million dollars and the individual who elects to remain anonymous remits five percent of his or her winnings to the State Lottery Fund." Source: https://wvlottery.com/customer-service/customer-resources/
Wisconsin: Not Anonymous/Cannot be claimed by other entities. "Pursuant to Wisconsin’s Open Records law (Wis. Stats. Secs. 19.31–19.39), the Lottery is required to disclose a winner’s name, likeness and place of residence. If you win and claim a prize, the Lottery may use your name, likeness and place of residence for any purpose without compensation to you.
Upon claiming your prize, you waive any claims against the Lottery and its representatives for any and all liability which may result from the disclosure or use of such information." "The original winning ticket must be signed by a single human being. For-profit and non-profit entities, trusts, and other non-human beings are not eligible to play or claim a prize." Source: https://wilottery.com/claimprize.aspx
Wyoming: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. "We will honor requests for anonymity from winners. However, we certainly hope winners will allow us to share their names and good news with other players." Source: https://wyolotto.com/lottery/faq/
Other countries
Australia: 100% Anonymous if requested by winner. "The great thing about playing lotto in Australia is that winners can choose to remain anonymous and keep their privacy, unlike in the United States where winners don't have such a choice, and are often thrown into a media circus." Source: https://www.ozlotteries.com/blog/how-to-remain-anonymous-when-you-win-lotto/
Bahamas: No current lottery. Source: https://thenassauguardian.com/2013/01/29/strong-no-vote-trend-so-far-in-gaming-referendum/
Barbados: Not Anonymous. "No. Barbados Lottery winners cannot remain anonymous. The Barbados Lottery mandates the winner’s name, address, game won, date won and amount won be provided; however Barbados Lottery winners' home addresses and telephone numbers are confidential." Source: https://www.mybarbadoslottery.com/faqs
Brazil: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.lotterycritic.com/lottery-results/brazil-lottery/
Canada: Not Anonymous. Every provincial lottery corporation in Canada requires winners to participate in a publicity photo shoot showing their face, their name and their municipality. Can seek anonymity if you have specific security concerns (rarely granted). Source: https://consumers.findlaw.ca/article/can-lottery-winners-remain-anonymous/
Carribbean Lottery Countries (Antigua/Barbuda, Anguilla, St. Kitts/Nevis, St. Maarten/Saba/St. Eustatius, and Turks/Caicos): Not Anonymous. "No. Caribbean Lottery winners cannot remain anonymous. The Caribbean Lottery mandates the winner’s name, address, game won, date won and amount won be provided; however Caribbean Lottery winners' home addresses and telephone numbers are confidential." Source: https://www.thecaribbeanlottery.com/faqs
China: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Must appear in a press conference and photo but allowed to wear disguise. Source: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2015/01/22/china-lottery-winners-mask/22108515/
Cuba: No current lottery. Source: https://oncubanews.com/en/cuba/society-cuba/cuban-traditions/lottery-the-national-game-infographics/
EuroMillions Countries (Austria, Belgium, France, Ireland, Luxembourg, Portugal, Spain, Switzerland, and UK*): 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.euro-millions.com/publicity
*United Kingdom: Excludes
*Caymen Islands, and Falkland Islands: No current lottery. Source: https://calvinayre.com/2018/11/02/business/cayman-islands-move-illegal-gambling-doesnt-address-real-issue/ Source: https://simonsblogpark.com/onlinegambling/simons-guide-gambling-falkland-islands/amp/#lottery-falkland-islands
*Anguilla, and Turks & Caicos: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.thecaribbeanlottery.com/faqs
EuroJackpot Countries (Croatia, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Netherlands*, Norway, Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, and Sweden): 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.euro-jackpot.net/en/publicity
*Netherlands: Excludes
*St. Maarten, Saba, and St. Eustatius: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.thecaribbeanlottery.com/faqs
Fiji: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://fijisun.com.fj/2012/11/08/3m-lotto-win-here/
Georgia (Kartvelia): Anonymity appears to be an option. "2.9.1. Prizes and Winners. Each Bidder shall provide details of:....how winners who waive their right to privacy will be treated;" Source: https://mof.ge/images/File/lottery/tender-documentation.pdf
Guyana: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.kaieteurnewsonline.com/2013/05/16/winner-says-he-was-too-busy-to-collect-78m-lotto-prize/
India*: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-35771298
*: Only available in the states of Kerala, Goa, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, Punjab, West Bengal, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, Manipur, Sikkim, Nagaland and Mizoram. Source: https://www.indiatoday.in/india/story/lottery-mizoram-nagaland-sikkim-kerala-975188-2017-05-04
Indonesia: No current lottery. Source: https://apnews.com/45eb94ff1b1132470a7aa5902f0bc734
Israel: Not Anonymous by Law, Anonymous in Practice. “[A]lthough we have this right, we have never exercised it because we understood the difficulties the winners could encounter in the period after their win. We provide details about the winner, but in a manner that doesn’t disclose their identity,” Dolin Melnik, then-spokesperson for Israel’s Mifal Hapayis lottery told Haaretz in 2009." Source: https://www.timesofisrael.com/why-the-israeli-lottery-gives-winners-masks/
Jamaica: Not Anonymous. First initial and last name of winner was released but winner was allowed to wear a mask for photo. Source: https://news.e-servicis.com/news/trending/lottery-winner-takes-prize-in-scream-mask.1S/
Japan: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2017/09/08/business/japans-lottery-rakes-declining-revenues-younger-generation-gives-jackpot-chances-pass/#.XRYwVVMpCdM
Kenya: Not Anonymous. "9.1 When You claim or are paid a prize, You will automatically be deemed to grant to O8 LOTTO an irrevocable right to publish, through all types of media broadcasting, including the internet, for the purposes of promoting the win, Your full name (as well as Your nick name), hometown, photograph and video materials without any claim for broadcasting, printing or other rights" Source: https://mylottokenya.co.ke/terms-conditions
Malaysia: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://says.com/my/news/a-24-year-old-malaysian-woman-just-won-more-than-rm4-million-from-4d-lottery
Nagorno-Karabakh: Not Anonymous. Source: http://asbarez.com/120737/artsakh-lottery-winner-claims-car-prize/
New Zealand: 100% Anonymous if requested by winner. Source: https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10383080
North Korea: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.nknews.org/2018/11/north-korean-sports-ministry-launches-online-lottery/
Northern Cyprus: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://www.pressreader.com/cyprus/cyprus-today/20181124/281590946615912
Oman: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: http://www.omanlottery.com/
Philippines: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.rappler.com/nation/214995-ultra-lotto-winners-claim-winnings-pcso-october-2018
Romania: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://www.thelotter.com/win-lottery-anonymously/
Russia: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: http://siberiantimes.com/otheothers/news/siberian-scoops-a-record-184513512-roubles-on-russian-state-lottery/
Samoa: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.rnz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/191796/samoa%27s-lotto-winner-still-a-mystery
Saudi Arabia: No current lottery. Source: https://www.arabnews.com/police-arrest-lottery-crooks-victimizing-expats
Singapore: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/did-you-win-here-are-results-of-136m-toto-hongbao-draw
Solomon Islands: No current lottery. Source: http://www.paclii.org/sb/legis/consol_act/gala196/
South Africa: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://www.thesouthafrican.com/powerball-results/powerball-winner-r232-million-found-lottery-details/
South Korea: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: https://elaw.klri.re.keng_mobile/viewer.do?hseq=38378&type=sogan&key=5
Sri Lanka: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: http://www.thesundayleader.lk/2010/01/31/where-do-all-the-lottery-winners-go/
Taiwan: 100% Anonymous if requested by the winner. Source: http://m.focustaiwan.tw/news/asoc/201806250011.aspx
Trinidad and Tobago: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://trinidadexpress.com/news/local/student-wins-the-million-lotto/article_3f3c8550-570d-11e9-9cc3-b7550f9b4ad4.html
Tuvalu: No current lottery. Source: http://tuvalu-legislation.tv/cms/images/LEGISLATION/PRINCIPAL/1964/1964-0004/GamingandLotteries_1.pdf
United Arab Emirates: Not Anonymous. Source: https://www.ndtv.com/indians-abroad/shojith-ks-in-sharjah-uae-wins-abu-dhabi-duty-free-big-ticket-4-million-jackpot-rejects-calls-2032942
Vatican City: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://cruxnow.com/vatican/2018/12/04/popes-white-lamborghini-up-for-raffle-winner-gets-trip-to-rome/
Vietnam: Anonymity appears to be an option. Source: https://ampe.vnexpress.net/news/news/vietnamese-farmer-identified-as-winner-of-4-million-lottery-jackpot-3484751.html
Windward Lottery Countries (Dominica, Grenada, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines): Not Anonymous. "Prize winners asked to do so by Winlot must give their name and address, and satisfactory establish their identity. All winners of the Jackpot (Match 6) prize will be photographed. Note that Winlot and CBN reserve the right to publish the names, addresses and photographs of all the winners." Source: http://www.stlucialotto.com/snl/super6_rules_regs.php
submitted by Kingofearth23 to LotteryLaws [link] [comments]


2020.08.29 18:06 HaulA29Augl Me-et G-ay With Da-ting Po-rtal Usa

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https://preview.redd.it/fzyucexityj51.jpg?width=275&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=cd1b2da2f7e37274c25196f554a9d0e9a97941ad
submitted by HaulA29Augl to u/HaulA29Augl [link] [comments]


2020.08.27 00:14 millywyco MW MYCO WEDNESDAY Inventory Update! First 20 Orders at www.millywyco.com and Orders Ending in 8, 2 or 6 on 8/26 get a FREE Syringe! Orders Ending in 26 are Doubled or Free :) Restocked GT, B+, Jedi Mind Fuck, Azurescens, KSSS, Ajax. Last Update for a minute...Deets and allll the Love in Post <3

www.millywyco.com Stickers=12mL Syringes
MillyWyco is NOT Willy Myco :) (see below)
Any mention of cultivation or anything unrelated to microscopy will not receive a response and orders will be cancelled. This includes DM's, PM's, e-mails, notes with your transaction, feedback of any kind, and thoughts. Don't even think about it! (I'm a mind reader)
Hello my beautiful loving family! MY brothers from other mothers, sisters from other misters, aliens from...wherever you're from. I have a lot of classic varieties restocked, and am so very happy to bring back JMF this week, but this will be the last inventory update post for the next few weeks. The inventory I have posted today is shown below on the list. Once varieties begin to sell out, I will "hide" them from the shop inventory, and only the varieties that are available will be shown. Once a variety runs out, they will not be available until my next inventory update in October. I will still be shipping out every day as I usually do while items are still available in the shop, I just will not be restocking any items until my next post.
Due to some of the drama surrounding sporeswap and sporetraders, and for a number of personal reasons, I am taking the next month to refocus, get balanced, and confirm the right course of direction for this venture. I don't like to get too personal in the main subreddits like this, because it makes my posts seem like a blog and lengthens the content when most people just want to get down to business, but I will go into more detail in the MillyWyco subreddit where I post more personal (and sometimes unrelated) content. I'll have a ramble going into more detail about the break, why, and what I want to accomplish in the next month on my sub later this evening or tomorrow, along with a flash giveaway.
I want to give a HUUUUGE thank you to all of the artists who submitted a design that I asked for last week! I haven't gotten back to many of you yet, but I will respond to all e-mails with feedback and your choice of prize for ALL submissions received :) You guys are THE BEST!!!! So incredibly talented and willing to help...I appreciate you all more than you know.
To ensure quality specimens and packaging, and due to the onslaught of orders on Wednesdays, all orders placed on Wednesday will be shipped on Thursday and Friday of that week (ALL Priority Mail and subscription box orders will ship on Thursday). You will receive an email notification with a tracking link when your order ships. I appreciate your patience so hard!
Also, when I say "Priority Mail", this is referring to USPS Priority Mail vs. the standard "First Class" mail. All of my orders get my absolute highest priority care and attention, regardless of shipping method. USPS Priority Mail costs me $8, while I only pass on $5 of that to your order...it does not benefit me in any way if you choose this option, I just know those orders need to get to you ASAP, so I make sure to get all of these out on Thursday, with as many standard shipping orders as well. Sometimes it is not humanly possible to get every order from Wednesday out on Thursday, and some ship Friday morning. Thank you for your patience and continued support!!
The first 20 orders placed after this post (Order #14193-14212) will receive a FREE mystery syringe with their order! This is a cubensis variety that shall remain a mystery....until you crack the code ;) Unfortunately, I cannot confirm which variety you will receive. Each week, I post slightly less than what I have on hand for each variety to accommodate a few special requests, account for any replacements needed, and to keep a master sample for myself. A couple of weeks ago, I spilled a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in the bin containing these syringes (doh!), and the ink on the labels bled making them unreadable. These "mystery" syringes are most likely something I have had in the past, but no longer offer.
ALSO...in addition to the first 20 promo, any order number ending in 8, 2 or 6 on 8/26 only will also get a free unlisted variety! If you are in the first 20, and your order number ends in 8, 2, or 6, you get both!
If your order number ends in 26 (#14226, 14326, etc.) the week of 8/26 only, I will be in contact to arrange your special gift. Either you can have a double order (you ordered 5, I'll ask which other 5 you'd like...if you ordered 10, you'll get 20, etc), or you can choose to make that order free, (refunded if already paid) totally up to you!
This week, I have restocked a few favorites, including Golden Teacher, B+, Cambodian, PE6, PEU, Albino A+, KSSS, Blue Meanie, Z-Strain, Mazatapec, Jedi Mind Fuck, McKennaii, Tasmanian, Rusty Whyte, and a few others!
Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed to a subscription box! Each and every month, these boxes will get better and better :) Newsletters will go out on the first of each month, regardless of when your plan is set to renew. In these newsletters will also be the winner of the random equipment raffle for MASTER PLAN members! This could be a sterilization wand, dehydrator, magnetic stir plate, or other super duper helpful tools in the hobby. Last month, 3 lucky Master Box subscribers received a pressure cooker, UV-C light sterilization wand, and a dehydrator!
PLEASE USE COUPON CODES if ordering on the site for discounts!! Please see below:
2PACK - $20 for two cubensis syringes
5PACK - Classic and most popular $30 dealio for 5 cubensis varieties. Also works in multiples of 5 as well, so if you need 15 syringes, this code will be good for 3- 5 packs, and you only need to place one order.
NEEDMORE - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 1 exotic add-on for $10...total $40
NEEDMORE2 - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 2 exotic add-ons for $20...total $50
NEEDMORE3 - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 3 exotic add-ons for $30...total $60
...and so on. Currently, this is setup for up to 5 exotic add-ons. If you have an order that does not meet these codes, such as adding on more than 5 exotics, getting 7 cubensis varieties, etc. please send me a message and I will build you a coupon code to match your order in a timely manner.
Shipping not available to ID, GA, or CA (yes, really)
Spore syringes are for microscopy use only
Any reference to cultivation will exclude you from placing an order and we may never speak again. I want to talk to you. Don't do it!
There are no exceptions to these rules. You have been warned.
PAYMENT METHODS ACCEPTED: Major Credit/Debit cards, Zelle, Cash App, Venmo, Google Pay, Apple Pay, Bitcoin and Amazon gift cards
PayPal is NOT available to me at this time.
Also, I am the fee master! I get charged fees left and right that I don't pass on to you from shipping and third party payments. If you'd like to throw me a tip, however much it may be, I'd love you forever and it really does make a difference! These types of people have allowed me to share with some who are less fortunate. On the other hand, if times are tough for you right now, let's talk about it!
ALL PRICES INCLUDE USPS SHIPPING WITH TRACKING!! I COVER ALL STANDARD SHIPPING COSTS.
Please add an additional $5 to any order if you prefer USPS Priority Mail shipping.
1 syringe for $15
2 syringes for $20
5 syringes for $30
Golden Teacher (LIMITED TO 2 PER ORDER!)
Ajax
Albino A+
Amazonian
B+ (Be Positive)
Ban Hua Thanon
Blue Meanie
Burma
Cambodian
Corumba Brazil
Costa Rican
Ecuadorian
Fiji
Golden Mammoth
Golden Teacher
Huautla
Jedi Mind Fuck
Koh Samui Super Strain (KSSS)
Lake Toba (Sumatra, Indonesia)
Lizard King
Mazatapec
McKennaii
Mexican
MR White
PES Amazon
PES Hawaiian
Roatan Honduras
Rusty Whyte
Taman Negara
Tasmanian
Wollongong
Z-Strain
THE FOLLOWING EXOTICS ARE NOT PART OF THE 5/$30 MIX-n-MATCH DEALIO, but can be added to the 5/$30 pack for $10 as an add-on, or $15 each by themselves. These are NOT cubensis, and NOT recommended for beginners. USE COUPON CODE "NEEDMORE" on the site to add ONE EXOTIC on to a 5 pack. Want 2 Exotics? Use code NEEDMORE2 or NEEDMORE3 for 3, etc. Currently this is setup to add a maximum of 5 exotics....if you need more, please message me and I'll create a unique coupon code to enter for your order :)
****Penis Envy #6 (PE6)***\*
This actually IS a cubensis variety, but added to exotics list due to rarity and popularity. NOT part of the pick 5.
****Penis Envy Uncut (PEU)***\*
This actually IS a cubensis variety, but added to exotics list due to rarity and popularity. NOT part of the pick 5.
****Gymnopilus Spectabilis***\*
****Psilocybe Allenii***\*
****Psilocybe Azurescens***\*
****Psilocybe Mexicana Galindoi***\*
****Psilocybe Ovoideocystidiata***\*
****Psilocybe Serbica***\*
****Psilocybe Subaeruginosa***\*
****Panaeolus Cyanescens (Alabama)***\*
****Panaeolus Cyanescens (Australia)***\*
All syringes are 12cc/mL and come capped with a sterile tip cap, and also include an 18ga 1.5" sterile needle and alcohol pads. Syringes are made in a lab grade environment and the utmost care and attention is the highest priority to be sure they are sterile. Anything exposed to an open air environment is subject to contamination, but I take every precaution possible to minimize this risk. I cannot "guarantee" they are 100% sterile, but I can guarantee that if you have an issue, I will make it right. I really do love to help, and if something happens, I'd like to know about it so I can fix the issue instead of you getting frustrated or giving up!
To ensure equal quantity of spores in each syringe, and for adequate suspension of the spores in the solution, I use a magnetic stir plate. Very often, this does such a good job of breaking up clumps of spores that it will appear to be sparse. THIS IS NOT AN ISSUE! There are still a TON of spores in each syringe, even if you can't see them individually (though most of my syringes appear to have a very good amount of visible spores...even with my horrible eyesight!). You can compare and contrast to see the blackish/purple tint to ensure every syringe is packed with spores. If a spore clump forms during transportation, simply give it a good flick with your finger and vigorously shake to break it up or free it from clinging to the wall of the syringe before examining.
Syringes ship in individual bags clearly labeled as to specific variety and born on date, bubble wrapped and shipped through USPS tracked shipping (discreet) within 24 hours of payment. I send tracking info soon after payment and give updates along the (super quick) way.
Any messages referring to spores being used for anything other than microscopy use will be ignored. Don't do it.
THANK YOU ALL so much again for your continued support!! I appreciate it more than you know! MUSH LOVE
P.S. In no way am I trying to be an impostor. I AM NOT WILLY MYCO. I chose this u/ a while back as sort of a play on words and tribute to a legend most of us recognize, long before I became a spore vendor. I don't want anyone to think I am trying to pass off as him, though I do admire his dedication to the craft! I appreciate all of the kind words, though, from people saying they learned from "my" videos. I wish I could pass on those notes to Willy himself.
Cheers and MUSH LOVE!
MW
submitted by millywyco to Millywyco [link] [comments]


2020.08.27 00:14 millywyco MW MYCO WEDNESDAY Inventory Update! First 20 Orders at www.millywyco.com and Orders Ending in 8, 2 or 6 on 8/26 get a FREE Syringe! Orders Ending in 26 are Doubled or Free :) Restocked GT, B+, Jedi Mind Fuck, Azurescens, KSSS, Ajax. Last Update for a minute...Deets and allll the Love in Post <3

www.millywyco.com Stickers=12mL Syringes
MillyWyco is NOT Willy Myco :) (see below)
Any mention of cultivation or anything unrelated to microscopy will not receive a response and orders will be cancelled. This includes DM's, PM's, e-mails, notes with your transaction, feedback of any kind, and thoughts. Don't even think about it! (I'm a mind reader)
Hello my beautiful loving family! MY brothers from other mothers, sisters from other misters, aliens from...wherever you're from. I have a lot of classic varieties restocked, and am so very happy to bring back JMF this week, but this will be the last inventory update post for the next few weeks. The inventory I have posted today is shown below on the list. Once varieties begin to sell out, I will "hide" them from the shop inventory, and only the varieties that are available will be shown. Once a variety runs out, they will not be available until my next inventory update in October. I will still be shipping out every day as I usually do while items are still available in the shop, I just will not be restocking any items until my next post.
Due to some of the drama surrounding sporeswap and sporetraders, and for a number of personal reasons, I am taking the next month to refocus, get balanced, and confirm the right course of direction for this venture. I don't like to get too personal in the main subreddits like this, because it makes my posts seem like a blog and lengthens the content when most people just want to get down to business, but I will go into more detail in the MillyWyco subreddit where I post more personal (and sometimes unrelated) content. I'll have a ramble going into more detail about the break, why, and what I want to accomplish in the next month on my sub later this evening or tomorrow, along with a flash giveaway.
I want to give a HUUUUGE thank you to all of the artists who submitted a design that I asked for last week! I haven't gotten back to many of you yet, but I will respond to all e-mails with feedback and your choice of prize for ALL submissions received :) You guys are THE BEST!!!! So incredibly talented and willing to help...I appreciate you all more than you know.
To ensure quality specimens and packaging, and due to the onslaught of orders on Wednesdays, all orders placed on Wednesday will be shipped on Thursday and Friday of that week (ALL Priority Mail and subscription box orders will ship on Thursday). You will receive an email notification with a tracking link when your order ships. I appreciate your patience so hard!
Also, when I say "Priority Mail", this is referring to USPS Priority Mail vs. the standard "First Class" mail. All of my orders get my absolute highest priority care and attention, regardless of shipping method. USPS Priority Mail costs me $8, while I only pass on $5 of that to your order...it does not benefit me in any way if you choose this option, I just know those orders need to get to you ASAP, so I make sure to get all of these out on Thursday, with as many standard shipping orders as well. Sometimes it is not humanly possible to get every order from Wednesday out on Thursday, and some ship Friday morning. Thank you for your patience and continued support!!
The first 20 orders placed after this post (Order #14193-14212) will receive a FREE mystery syringe with their order! This is a cubensis variety that shall remain a mystery....until you crack the code ;) Unfortunately, I cannot confirm which variety you will receive. Each week, I post slightly less than what I have on hand for each variety to accommodate a few special requests, account for any replacements needed, and to keep a master sample for myself. A couple of weeks ago, I spilled a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in the bin containing these syringes (doh!), and the ink on the labels bled making them unreadable. These "mystery" syringes are most likely something I have had in the past, but no longer offer.
ALSO...in addition to the first 20 promo, any order number ending in 8, 2 or 6 on 8/26 only will also get a free unlisted variety! If you are in the first 20, and your order number ends in 8, 2, or 6, you get both!
If your order number ends in 26 (#14226, 14326, etc.) the week of 8/26 only, I will be in contact to arrange your special gift. Either you can have a double order (you ordered 5, I'll ask which other 5 you'd like...if you ordered 10, you'll get 20, etc), or you can choose to make that order free, (refunded if already paid) totally up to you!
This week, I have restocked a few favorites, including Golden Teacher, B+, Cambodian, PE6, PEU, Albino A+, KSSS, Blue Meanie, Z-Strain, Mazatapec, Jedi Mind Fuck, McKennaii, Tasmanian, Rusty Whyte, and a few others!
Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed to a subscription box! Each and every month, these boxes will get better and better :) Newsletters will go out on the first of each month, regardless of when your plan is set to renew. In these newsletters will also be the winner of the random equipment raffle for MASTER PLAN members! This could be a sterilization wand, dehydrator, magnetic stir plate, or other super duper helpful tools in the hobby. Last month, 3 lucky Master Box subscribers received a pressure cooker, UV-C light sterilization wand, and a dehydrator!
PLEASE USE COUPON CODES if ordering on the site for discounts!! Please see below:
2PACK - $20 for two cubensis syringes
5PACK - Classic and most popular $30 dealio for 5 cubensis varieties. Also works in multiples of 5 as well, so if you need 15 syringes, this code will be good for 3- 5 packs, and you only need to place one order.
NEEDMORE - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 1 exotic add-on for $10...total $40
NEEDMORE2 - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 2 exotic add-ons for $20...total $50
NEEDMORE3 - 5 cubensis varieties for $30 plus 3 exotic add-ons for $30...total $60
...and so on. Currently, this is setup for up to 5 exotic add-ons. If you have an order that does not meet these codes, such as adding on more than 5 exotics, getting 7 cubensis varieties, etc. please send me a message and I will build you a coupon code to match your order in a timely manner.
Shipping not available to ID, GA, or CA (yes, really)
Spore syringes are for microscopy use only
Any reference to cultivation will exclude you from placing an order and we may never speak again. I want to talk to you. Don't do it!
There are no exceptions to these rules. You have been warned.
PAYMENT METHODS ACCEPTED: Major Credit/Debit cards, Zelle, Cash App, Venmo, Google Pay, Apple Pay, Bitcoin and Amazon gift cards
PayPal is NOT available to me at this time.
Also, I am the fee master! I get charged fees left and right that I don't pass on to you from shipping and third party payments. If you'd like to throw me a tip, however much it may be, I'd love you forever and it really does make a difference! These types of people have allowed me to share with some who are less fortunate. On the other hand, if times are tough for you right now, let's talk about it!
ALL PRICES INCLUDE USPS SHIPPING WITH TRACKING!! I COVER ALL STANDARD SHIPPING COSTS.
Please add an additional $5 to any order if you prefer USPS Priority Mail shipping.
1 syringe for $15
2 syringes for $20
5 syringes for $30
Golden Teacher (LIMITED TO 2 PER ORDER!)
Ajax
Albino A+
Amazonian
B+ (Be Positive)
Ban Hua Thanon
Blue Meanie
Burma
Cambodian
Corumba Brazil
Costa Rican
Ecuadorian
Fiji
Golden Mammoth
Golden Teacher
Huautla
Jedi Mind Fuck
Koh Samui Super Strain (KSSS)
Lake Toba (Sumatra, Indonesia)
Lizard King
Mazatapec
McKennaii
Mexican
MR White
PES Amazon
PES Hawaiian
Roatan Honduras
Rusty Whyte
Taman Negara
Tasmanian
Wollongong
Z-Strain
THE FOLLOWING EXOTICS ARE NOT PART OF THE 5/$30 MIX-n-MATCH DEALIO, but can be added to the 5/$30 pack for $10 as an add-on, or $15 each by themselves. These are NOT cubensis, and NOT recommended for beginners. USE COUPON CODE "NEEDMORE" on the site to add ONE EXOTIC on to a 5 pack. Want 2 Exotics? Use code NEEDMORE2 or NEEDMORE3 for 3, etc. Currently this is setup to add a maximum of 5 exotics....if you need more, please message me and I'll create a unique coupon code to enter for your order :)
****Penis Envy #6 (PE6)***\*
This actually IS a cubensis variety, but added to exotics list due to rarity and popularity. NOT part of the pick 5.
****Penis Envy Uncut (PEU)***\*
This actually IS a cubensis variety, but added to exotics list due to rarity and popularity. NOT part of the pick 5.
****Gymnopilus Spectabilis***\*
****Psilocybe Allenii***\*
****Psilocybe Azurescens***\*
****Psilocybe Mexicana Galindoi***\*
****Psilocybe Ovoideocystidiata***\*
****Psilocybe Serbica***\*
****Psilocybe Subaeruginosa***\*
****Panaeolus Cyanescens (Alabama)***\*
****Panaeolus Cyanescens (Australia)***\*
All syringes are 12cc/mL and come capped with a sterile tip cap, and also include an 18ga 1.5" sterile needle and alcohol pads. Syringes are made in a lab grade environment and the utmost care and attention is the highest priority to be sure they are sterile. Anything exposed to an open air environment is subject to contamination, but I take every precaution possible to minimize this risk. I cannot "guarantee" they are 100% sterile, but I can guarantee that if you have an issue, I will make it right. I really do love to help, and if something happens, I'd like to know about it so I can fix the issue instead of you getting frustrated or giving up!
To ensure equal quantity of spores in each syringe, and for adequate suspension of the spores in the solution, I use a magnetic stir plate. Very often, this does such a good job of breaking up clumps of spores that it will appear to be sparse. THIS IS NOT AN ISSUE! There are still a TON of spores in each syringe, even if you can't see them individually (though most of my syringes appear to have a very good amount of visible spores...even with my horrible eyesight!). You can compare and contrast to see the blackish/purple tint to ensure every syringe is packed with spores. If a spore clump forms during transportation, simply give it a good flick with your finger and vigorously shake to break it up or free it from clinging to the wall of the syringe before examining.
Syringes ship in individual bags clearly labeled as to specific variety and born on date, bubble wrapped and shipped through USPS tracked shipping (discreet) within 24 hours of payment. I send tracking info soon after payment and give updates along the (super quick) way.
Any messages referring to spores being used for anything other than microscopy use will be ignored. Don't do it.
THANK YOU ALL so much again for your continued support!! I appreciate it more than you know! MUSH LOVE
P.S. In no way am I trying to be an impostor. I AM NOT WILLY MYCO. I chose this u/ a while back as sort of a play on words and tribute to a legend most of us recognize, long before I became a spore vendor. I don't want anyone to think I am trying to pass off as him, though I do admire his dedication to the craft! I appreciate all of the kind words, though, from people saying they learned from "my" videos. I wish I could pass on those notes to Willy himself.
Cheers and MUSH LOVE!
MW
submitted by millywyco to sporetrading [link] [comments]


2020.08.25 20:06 TrevorSaniga AC square MC - The equatorial curse? Does it matter?

I'm looking for some perspectives on the effects of having an ascendant forming a tight square to the midheaven.
Does it actually manifest as a conflict between a person's career (10th) being in constant friction with their personality (1st) and close relationships (7th)?
Looking at the 4th / 10th axis being in opposition makes sense. Working too much is toxic for home life. We see it all the time. Workaholics frequently ruin their home life.
Same goes for the 1st / 7th axis. Being too selfish (1st) is toxic to relationships (7th).
This idea has been concerning me for a few months because it has major implications for equatorial countries. I've played with some software for equatorial births, setting birth dates for equinoxes and solstices, moving the time of birth through the clock dial. I noticed that EVERYBODY born at the equator has their ascendant forming a square to their midheaven within 4⁰. I am guessing over 65% have it within 3⁰.
The ramifications of this are huge. If the majority of the population see their career as a major obstacle to their own personal desires and relationships, that creates a severely disadvantaged workforce.
I pulled some stats from Wikipedia on the GDP per capita of equatorial countries and the numbers are dismal. Ecuador, Columbia, Gabon, Somalia, Papua New Guinea, Congo, Uganda, Guyana and Suriname are all some of the poorest countries in the world. Even in Central America, it seems that cities and industry avoid the equatorial region like the plague.
The only notable exception I found was Indonesia, which has a very robust economy. I was about to throw my theory away until I remembered that Indonesia is a majority Muslim country, and the Muslim culture is less concerned with ego and personal desires. This would mitigate the effect.
The birth chart of equatorial countries might also play a factor here. It would be interesting to pull charts for equatorial countries and see if this aspect is less prevalent in more successful economies.
Maybe this theory is nonsense. I was looking for some objective perspectives on how you may have seen AC square MC manifest in individual charts.
Thanks for your input!
TL;DR - Does having a tight AC square MC cause problems in a chart? Have you seen it manifest in real life? Is it a career killer?
submitted by TrevorSaniga to astrologyreadings [link] [comments]


2020.08.25 19:43 TrevorSaniga Ascendant in tight square to Midheaven - Does it matter? The equatorial curse?

I'm looking for some perspectives on the effects of having an ascendant forming a tight square to the midheaven.
Does it actually manifest as a conflict between a person's career (10th) being in constant friction with their personality (1st) and close relationships (7th)?
Looking at the 4th / 10th axis being in opposition makes sense. Working too much is toxic for home life. We see it all the time. Workaholics frequently ruin their home life.
Same goes for the 1st / 7th axis. Being too selfish (1st) is toxic to relationships (7th).
This idea has been concerning me for a few months because it has major implications for equatorial countries. I've played with some software for equatorial births, setting birth dates for equinoxes and solstices, moving the time of birth through the clock dial. I noticed that EVERYBODY born at the equator has their ascendant forming a square to their midheaven within 4⁰. I am guessing over 65% have it within 3⁰.
The ramifications of this are huge. If the majority of the population see their career as a major obstacle to their own personal desires and relationships, that creates a severely disadvantaged workforce.
I pulled some stats from Wikipedia on the GDP per capita of equatorial countries and the numbers are dismal. Ecuador, Columbia, Gabon, Somalia, Papua New Guinea, Congo, Uganda, Guyana and Suriname are all some of the poorest countries in the world. Even in Central America, it seems that cities and industry avoid the equatorial region like the plague.
The only notable exception I found was Indonesia, which has a very robust economy. I was about to throw my theory away until I remembered that Indonesia is a majority Muslim country, and the Muslim culture is less concerned with ego and personal desires. This would mitigate the effect.
The birth chart of equatorial countries might also play a factor here. It would be interesting to pull charts for equatorial countries and see if this aspect is less prevalent in more successful economies.
Maybe this theory is nonsense. I was looking for some objective perspectives on how you may have seen AC square MC manifest in individual charts.
Thanks for your input!
TL;DR - Does having a tight AC square MC cause problems in a chart? Have you seen it manifest in real life? Is it a career killer?
submitted by TrevorSaniga to astrology [link] [comments]


2020.08.24 19:42 partypastor Unreached People Group of the Week - Lyuli in Uzbekistan

Sup guys, I accidentally slept till 9 today, so my day is all wonky but I'm sitting in class now so its the perfect time to work on this post right? I always pick massive people groups so here is a smaller one that we can pray for! Meet the Lyuli in Uzbekistan!
Also, I couldn't get the wikipedia articles to link well, so they're bolded instead and you'll just have to trust me, sorry bout it.
How Unreached Are They?
Math is easy but sad today. The Lyuli people are 0% Christian. That means there is maybe (and hopefully) a few believers out of their entire population of 12,000 people.
There are portions of Scripture translated but not an entire bible nor even the New Testament as a whole,
What are they like?
Most of the Lyuli people live in Tajikistan, Uzbekistan or Kyrgyzstan. A smaller number live in Russia. Their language is a dialect of Tajik, a bigger Turkic language.
Lyuli families have clans and sub-clans. They are closed towards anyone outside the Lyuli community, especially since they are not accepted by many of the peoples they meet. They might be better accepted by Tajiks than other Central Asian peoples because of the similar language. Joshua Project
Women do not have an equal status to men in Roma society. They do not have the same rights, but they have many obligations. They have to give birth to many children whether they want to or not — a large family is a way to gain respect among the community, and the first question [women] get is how many children they have. The only chance for female education is before marriage, and that is extremely rare. Particularly because marriages are held at a very young age; girls are married at the age of 14 or 15. Medium
History Lesson
The ancestors of the Lyuli people were probably a caste of singers and dancers who, because of economic hardship, had to move elsewhere. They were scattered to several countries including what is now Uzbekistan. Joshua Project
There are several names for the Lyuli: Jughi, Multani or Luli. However, they refer to themselves as Mugat or Mughat (Persian: مغان‎, derived from Old Persian magi, "fire-worshipper"), as well as Ghurbat (Arabic: غربات‎), which means "lonely". The term Multani signifies a person who originates from the city of Multan (in modern-day Pakistan), because some of the Lyuli emigrated from Multan around 1380 AD. Wikipedia
What do they believe?
The Lyuli people are 100 percent Sunni Muslim.
Sunni Islam is the largest denomination of Islam, followed by 80–90% of the world's Muslims, characterized by a greater emphasis upon the traditions of the prophet and his companions. Its name comes from the word Sunnah, referring to the behaviour of the Islamic prophet Prophet Muhammad. Wikipedia
The Lyuli Roma identify as Sunni Muslims. They observe prayers, as well as all the other religious requirements and celebrations. In lay Muslim society they face discrimination from Uzbeks and Tajiks, who do not consider them “real” Muslims because of pagan elements to their religious practices, their caste system, and worship of fire. The Lyuli community’s understanding of Islam is more about a popular Islamic spiritualism combined with elements of the pre-Islamic past, which remain to this day in the lives of the Lyuli Roma. Medium
How can we pray for them?
Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved. (Romans 10:1)
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Here are the previous weeks threads on the UPG of the Week for Reformed
People Group Country Date Posted Beliefs
Lyuli Uzbekistan 08/24/2020 Islam
Kyrgyz Kyrgyzstan 08/17/2020 Islam*
Yakut Russia 08/10/2020 Animism*
Northern Katang Laos 08/03/2020 Animism
Uyghur Kazakhstan 07/27/2020 Islam
Syrian (Levant Arabs) Syria 07/20/2020 Islam
Teda Chad 07/06/2020 Islam
Kotokoli Togo 06/28/2020 Islam
Hobyot Oman 06/22/2020 Islam
Moor Sri Lanka 06/15/2020 Islam
Shaikh Bangladesh 06/08/2020 Islam
Khalka Mongols Mongolia 06/01/2020 Animism
Comorian France 05/18/2020 Islam
Bedouin Jordan 05/11/2020 Islam
Muslim Thai Thailand 05/04/2020 Islam
Nubian Uganda 04/27/2020 Islam
Kraol Cambodia 04/20/2020 Animism
Tay Vietnam 04/13/2020 Animism
Yoruk Turkey 04/06/2020 Islam
Xiaoliangshn Nosu China 03/30/2020 Animism
Jat (Muslim) Pakistan 03/23/2020 Islam
Beja Bedawi Egypt 03/16/2020 Islam
Tunisian Arabs Tunisia 03/09/2020 Islam
Yemeni Arab Yemen 03/02/2020 Islam
Bosniak Croatia 02/24/2020 Islam
Azerbaijani Georgia 02/17/2020 Islam
Zaza-Dimli Turkey 02/10/2020 Islam
Huichol Mexico 02/03/2020 Animism
Kampuchea Krom Cambodia 01/27/2020 Buddhism
Lao Krang Thailand 01/20/2020 Buddhism
Gilaki Iran 01/13/2020 Islam
Uyghurs China 01/01/2020 Islam
Israeli Jews Israel 12/18/2019 Judaism
Drukpa Bhutan 12/11/2019 Buddhism
Malay Malaysia 12/04/2019 Islam
Lisu (Reached People Group) China 11/27/2019 Christian
Dhobi India 11/20/2019 Hinduism
Burmese Myanmar 11/13/2019 Buddhism
Minyak Tibetans China 11/06/2019 Buddhism
Yazidi Iraq 10/30/2019 Animism*
Turks Turkey 10/23/2019 Islam
Kurds Syria 10/16/2019 Islam
Kalmyks Russia 10/09/2019 Buddhism
Luli Tajikistan 10/02/2019 Islam
Japanese Japan 09/25/2019 Shintoism
Urak Lawoi Thailand 09/18/2019 Animism
Kim Mun Vietnam 09/11/2019 Animism
Tai Lue Laos 09/04/2019 Bhuddism
Sundanese Indonesia 08/28/2019 Islam
Central Atlas Berbers Morocco 08/21/2019 Islam
Fulani Nigeria 08/14/2019 Islam
Sonar India 08/07/2019 Hinduism
Pattani Malay Thailand 08/02/2019 Islam
Thai Thailand 07/26/2019 Buddhism
Baloch Pakistan 07/19/2019 Islam
Alawite Syria 07/12/2019 Islam*
Huasa Cote d'Ivoire 06/28/2019 Islam
Chhetri Nepal 06/21/2019 Hinduism
Beja Sudan 06/14/2019 Islam
Yinou China 06/07/2019 Animism
Kazakh Kazakhstan 05/31/2019 Islam
Hui China 05/24/2019 Islam
Masalit Sudan 05/17/2019 Islam
As always, if you have experience in this country or with this people group, feel free to comment or PM me and I will happily edit it so that we can better pray for these peoples!
Here is a list of definitions in case you wonder what exactly I mean by words like "Unreached"
submitted by partypastor to Reformed [link] [comments]


2020.08.23 15:16 _anthologie Something about Steven's issue from the perspective of an Indonesian

Sorry, I have not seen/heard Steven's actual wording. Is it his wording that is too insistent in staying in touch with bigoted friends? Even in a society like USA where it is safemuch more encouraged to avoid bigots and move away from them?
I am not here to defend any poor wording of Steven's if that's the case. But I'd like to give some context on what it's like to have bigoted close friends and relatives in where he grew up, cuz I am living there right now.
Steven was Malaysian (iirc)... and bigotry is still very ubiquitous, enforced and open there (look it up), as well as Singapore and Indonesia.
Here where I live, the 30 year old priest who guides my monthly religious group for university students said to not date people of your own gender. The word gay is used as insults nearly all the time in coloquial contexts. My female classmates mock each other for "acting lesbian" while obsessing over fictional gay men. The younger security guards in the bank centre in my Uni complex listens/watches sermons that warns of homosexuality and transgendered people. I know it because the security guards play it in their smartphones without earbuds and with the volume on every morning to wake themselves up. There's bodies of psychiatrists who label homosexuality as mental illness here in Indonesia. Look them up if you do not believe me. The Human Rights Watch keeps these countries accountable for many crimes and denial of services against LGBTQ+ people.
Those people/institutions I can easily cut off from my life. My '70s parents and best teachers though... are bigoted/scared of other bigots, not sure which. What I'm sure of is that one of them incessantly jokes about Freddie Mercury going to hell many times (which weirds me out because she watches Bohemian Rhapsody three times and is obsessed with both his music and Rami Malek). And another berates me and harshly prohibitted me of admitting to others that I am bi or dating a girl in a long car ride at night after I got home from three days of a mountain camp.
What I'm also sure of is that they provided me with partial scholarships and fed, housed and earned money for my livelihood. They also are the people I joke and share my feelings to the most, what with me having been unable to befriend people my age most of the time out of completely differing tastes and focus in life. I am very afraid of them denying me of their care/basic necessities, as I am still unable to work in my degree's field and I actually am grateful for many things they have done for me. If I say I hate their bigotry, they being the people in power over me might abuse me or deny me my basic necessities or my future career.
And I actually still love my parents- in a country with many abusive parents, they are fairly lenient and they involve themselves a lot in making me gain knowledge and live in a fulfilling way. Heck, one of my parent adores the same games and music I do and we can gush long stretches about them. I personally barely have friends my age, and many of them are bigoted. I am not good at maintaining contact with my less bigoted online acquaintances due to my studies. So I heavily rely on my parents and my younger sibling for the socializing and daily assistance I need.
In summary I think Steven came from that kinda life like mine. Maybe he's not as hermity and solitary like I am, but I think his social environment is similar to mine.
I will never know how Steven's friends' bigotry are unless he actually tells about them himself. Which he does not have to at risk of having the fears of abuse/rejections come true. But I think he might be having similar experiences as I do. All he can do is apologize if his wording is the one that does not put into account of where the asker lives & the asker's actual pain & feelings about their bigoted friends. He should have explained this like how I explained it above, in my opinion. The world is weird and not black-and-white after all. And only wonderful in some parts/aspects.
This has been a rant, sorry.
submitted by _anthologie to watcherentertainment [link] [comments]


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