At the Bottom of the Box was Hope

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happy family trio where nothing bad happens ever and they all live happily ever after :))):))))))))) ) ))

reference under the cut

Buddy if anything is living in your blood (except for more parts of you) in detectable amounts then you have a serious microbial infection and need to go to the hospital.

Picture this: you are a Thing That Lives In The Ocean. Some kind of small multicellular animal a long time ago, before proper circulatory systems existed. “Wow,” you think, metaphorically, “it sure is difficult to diffuse chemicals across my whole body. Kinda puts a hard limit on the size and distance of what specialised organs I can have. Good thing I have all this water around me that’s the same salinity as my cells (they have to be that way so I don’t explode or shrivel up) so I can diffuse and filter chemicals with that.”

“Wait a minute,” you say a couple of generations later, because you’re not actually a small animal but an evolutionary process personified and simplified to the point of dangerous inaccuracy for the purposes of a Tumblr post, “instead of losing all these important chemicals to the water around me, how about I put it in tubes? I can keep MY water separate from the rest of the world’s water! Anything I want to keep goes in my water! Anything I don’t, I dump back into the outside water! I’m a genius! An unthinking natural trial-and-error process that’s a GENIUS!”

“Wow,” you think a great many generations later, “being able to have such control over such high concentrations of important chemicals is so great. Look how big I’m getting. I even have a special pump to move my seawater around, and these cool filter systems to keep the chemicals in it right, and that control and chemical concentration has let me grow so many energy-intensive, highly specialised organs! Being big is so hard. I need special cells just to carry my oxygen around now, to make sure my enormous, constantly-operating body has enough of it.”

At this point you are embodying a fish, and eventually, fish start straying into water with different pressures and salinity levels. (I mean, they do that since befor ehty’er fish, but… look, I’m trying to keep things simple here.) “What the FUCK,” you think. “My inside water is at a different salinity and pressure to the outside water?? How am I supposed to deal with that? I can’t have freshwater inside my seawater tubes! My cells have a set salinity and they would explode! I need to start beefing up my regulatory and filter systems so that my inside seawater STAYS SEAWATER OF THE CORRECT SALINITY even if the outside water is different! Fortunately, adding salt to my seawater is a lot easier than removing it, and I want to be saltier than this weird outside water.” At this point you beef up your liver and urinary systems to compensate for different salinities. (Note: the majority of fish, freshwater and saltwater, have a fairly narrow band of salinities they can live in. Every fish doesn’t get to deal with every level of salinity; they are evolved to regulate within specific bands.)

You also, at some point, go out on land. This is new and weird because you have to carry all of your water inside. “It’s a good thing I turned myself into a giant bag of seawater,” you think. “If I wasn’t carrying my seawater inside, how would I transport all these important chemicals between my organs and the environment?” As you specialise to live entirely outside of the water, you realise (once again) that it’s a lot easier to add salt to water than to remove it in great quantities. Drinking seawater in large amounts becomes toxic; your body isn’t specialised for removing that amount of salt. Instead, you drink freshwater, and add salts to that. The majority of your organs are, at this point, specialised for moving your seawater around, protecting it, adding stuff to it, or taking stuff out. You have turned yourself into an intelligent bag for carrying and regulating a small amount of imitation seawater, and its salinity (and your commitment to maintaining that salinity) is based entirely on the seawater that some early animals started to build tubes around a long time ago.

Because at some point, operating along lines of logic that worked out perfectly so far, you did decide to be a mammal.

A mammal is a machine for adapting to Circumstances. A mammal is a tremendously resilient all-terrain life-support system, with built-in heating, cooling, respiration, and incubators for reproduction. Mammals internalise everything (grudges, eggs) and furthermore are excessively, flamboyantly wet internally. Sure, everyone’s a bag of chemicals; but mammals slosh. Mammals took the concept of an internal ocean and took it in an unnecessarily splashy direction, added aftermarket mods and a climate-control system,

and just to show off, you leaned across the metaphorical gambling table and said: “my internal ocean is so good-“

“Bullshit,” said the shark, keeping it salty (ha)

“My internal ocean is so brilliantly resilient, more so than any of YOURS,” you said, holding their attention with a digit held aloft, “that for my next trick, I shall artistically recreate the ballad of evolution as a performance. I shall craft a complex chemical ballet depicting the origin of multicellular life - using some of my own material, of course-”

“Oh, ANYONE can lay an egg,” yodel the fish, and the ray adds: “ontogeny does NOT recapitulate phylogeny!!”

And you’re like, “yeah no, it’s an artistic rendition, not a literal thing. Basically I’m going to take some cells and brew them up-“

“Like an egg.”

“Like an egg. An egg but internally.”

“Yeah,” said the viviparous reptile, “yeah, like, that can work really well. I’ve always said it’s the highest test of one’s chemical know-how. It’s a lot of work. And forget about support from your family - forget about support from your PHYLUM - all you get is criticism.”

“I’m gonna do it on purpose forever,” you said. “The highest chemical, thermoregulatory, immunological, everything-logical challenge. It’s gonna be my thing.”

“I’m with you,” said a viviparous fish, stoutly. “Representation.”

You kindly don’t point out, once again, that you’re planning to do this outside the ocean, in a range of temperatures; carrying the dividing cells in a perfect 37.5• solution of saline broth in all terrains, breathing oxygen in a complicated matter, you know, bit more difficult; but you need your allies.

“It’s solid,” says the coelacanth.

“But is it metal?” says the deep-vent organism.

“Oh, it’s metal. I will feed the young,” you say, magnificently, “on an echo of the mother ocean. The first rich feast of cellular matter, the first hunt for sustenance, the first bite they sip of our liquid planet-”

Everyone waits.

“Will be a blood byproduct. My own blood byproduct.”

Everyone looks uncomfortable.

“But,” a hagfish says carefully, “don’t you outdoorsy guys still need your blood?”

You cough and explain that if you stay wet enough internally and hydrate frequently, you should be able to produce enough blood byproduct to sustain your hellish new invention until they can eat your peers.

The outrage that follows includes questions like “is this some furry shit?” And: “milk has WATER in it?”

And you won the bet. “My inner ocean is such a perfect homage to the primordial soup that I can personally cook up an entire live hairy mammal in it. And then generate excess blood byproduct from my body and give it to the small mammal until it gets big.”

Science fiction has always been political. Gibson’s Neuromancer was a warning about corporate power, not a pitch deck. Stephenson’s Snow Crash was satire, not strategy. Asimov’s Foundation explored the limits of individual genius and the necessity of democratic institutions. Star Trek imagined overcoming capitalism, not retrofitting it with better spaceships. If the future is to be made from stories, our task is ensuring those stories are worthy of the people who will live within them. That means recognising the selective deployment of science fiction as a political tactic – seeing the militarised drone and the privatised city charter not as neutral tools but as crystallisations of specific, narrow stories about power. It means demanding accountability not to curated fantasies of a literary past but to the pluralistic needs of the present. It means asking: whose futures are being built? Who benefits? Who pays the cost? What was left behind in the looting?

Honestly, slowing down the donations is very deadly. I hope you pay attention. I don't want to complain to you much. You know, I'm very careful to hide the bad side of our lives from you so that I don't feel negative feelings.

I'm also afraid for your feelings. I know how much sad you have because of us. That's why I always try to hide the bad side of you, but it is necessary to take care of my campaign this time, knowing that I helped you all by checking the campaigns and donating security, me, young man Hussein and Nablusi, so I want you to pay attention to this post, knowing that I will delete all the old posts and publish only this post because I'm about me by definition. Everyone knows me and knows the situation I'm going through here in Gaza. I hope you. This is my donation link :

Notice that I am married now and my wife has a gunshot wound and has not been taken out of her chest and I need a lot of attention from you. My campaign has now reached £3244. We want to reach a good amount, knowing that they are spent one by one, and I am waiting for my child who will come in two months with your generous donation. I want us to reach 10k pounds so that the required goal is about 6800 pounds to help me to spend these days in peace so that my child comes and has everything he needs you. Please stand with me by donating and sharing with some words that urge to donate, share with family and friends at the university anywhere you can help me.👼

these are images from a 1930s pamphlet that endorsed kudzu, entitled "stop gullies: save your farm"

Canebrakes built up incredibly rich, fertile soil and are amazing at preventing erosion. They form incredibly strong mats of rhizomes. And their roots are known to go 10 feet deep into the soil.

Mass funeral held for dozens killed in 2023 strike

💖 For help please click here

It broke my heart to hear a 10-year-old say these words. No child should ever feel that death is preferable to life.

10) Looking at Dooku and Sifo-Dyas as characters with fatal flaws, which of them do you feel is blessed with the worst flaw and why? (first, a moment to glower in the direction of christian theology that took ἁμαρτία to mean various types of sin, when the original definition of ἁμαρτάνω is more akin to “to miss the mark”. there is no moral value being made; it's an error that stands as the first domino that's going to knock the whole line down. unfortunately, thanks to the influence of christian theology, there are those who view it as a moral deficiency or defect that needs to be corrected/punished by the narrative.)

an in-universe comparison: sifo-dyas is exar kun and dooku is ulic qel-droma. not that sifo-dyas is a sith lord, but he and exar kun are both placed into situations beyond their control where they must make a decision that damns both them, and everyone around them: exar kun ends up trapped on korriban, horribly injured, and gives into the dark side to save himself; sifo-dyas ends up trapped by his own visions, horribly metaphysically & spiritually injured, and gives into despair (of the dark side) to try to save everyone else around him by bringing into creation the very people who will kill the order.

ulic qel-droma and dooku both think that they have mastered themselves enough that they can engage with the dark side and not be changed by it. ulic infiltrates the krath, believing he can conquer the dark side of the force, is manipulated into killing satal keto, and becomes a sith lord. dooku believes that if you have enough control over yourself you can use the dark side with impunity, is manipulated into killing sifo-dyas, yaddle, etc, and becomes a sith lord.

sifo-dyas’s “fatal flaw” is that he’s a jedi in the prequel era; he is blind to the machinations of the sith. unfortunately, because of the narrative necessity of the destruction of the jedi order so that luke is the last of the old and the first of the new, in becoming aware he has doomed himself.

dooku’s “fatal flaw” is that he’s never satisfied. he will always be looking to prove that gora was wrong for abandoning him outside the estate, in the forest where there are wolves, he will always be grasping for a place where he can feel like belongs and yet be unable to recognize when he is.

they share the same error: trusting the wrong person.

This month people have been tearing Flock cameras off their poles. Perched above public streets, they are birdlike things, weatherproof, and they photograph every passing car and file it in a searchable national database. Somebody cut two of them in half at Washington Avenue and Westcott in Houston, spray-painted the wreckage, and left an American flag on one of them. Police were notified on the morning of the Fourth of July. Somebody severed a camera in Rutherfordton, North Carolina. The police department posted the photograph itself and collected more than twenty thousand comments. “Not all heroes wear capes.” “Give them a medal.” Here is what the cameras do when nobody cuts them down. Cops use them to hunt immigrants and to follow ICE targets across state lines and to find women who ended pregnancies in states where that is a crime and to watch exes and to watch women they want, without a warrant and without a judge. A cop types a reason in a box and the box does not check. A man in Burleson, Texas, told deputies his girlfriend had taken abortion pills. He showed them the photographs, the FedEx envelope, the instructions. Deputies opened a death investigation into a non-viable fetus, and the district attorney told them the state could not charge her, and they searched anyway: 83,345 cameras across 6,809 networks, a month of everywhere she had been. The reason they typed was had an abortion, search for female. The search reached Illinois and Washington, where what she did was legal. They found her in Dallas. She came into the sheriff’s office a week later, and they thought she had come to explain the fetus, and she had come to report that the man who called them had put a gun to her head. A sheriff in Jerome County, Idaho ran his wife’s plate more than seven hundred times in three months. He typed the same reason every time. Test. The attorney general found nothing to charge him with. He retired in April. The Institute for Justice counts at least twenty-two officers who used the system to track people they were romantically interested in, and calls that almost certainly an undercount. And the cameras keep falling.