Last week, I forgot to set any goals for this week. That meant that everything I got done this week was a huge success. 😹 Most of what I did this week is the kind of stuff that doesn't make me feel like a writer, though. I did a lot of promo work, trying to make the best of the holiday week for those of us in the U.S.

Smashwords (the vendor I use to get my books out to the places I don't have accounts with) has an upcoming deadline for anything that needs to be done / ready in time for the Christmas season. That means if I want to get book 2 published in time for the holidays, I need to prioritize finishing book two and getting the audio recorded.

Since I'm not 100% sure what I'm doing for book 3 yet, book 2 might not have the “next time on” section like Death In Transit has. I'm not so committed to the bit that I would delay the release of book 2 for that.

Next week's goals

1. Design a cover for Book 2
2. Finish missing scenes
3. Major edits
4. First pass audio recording

If I get any proper writing in, great. As long as I get those bits in too!

#ProgressUpdate

WHEN THE TREES WENT TO WAR

(A remembrance without exaggeration)

Most people think of trees as background— as scenery, as shade, as things you lean against when you’re tired.

They forget that trees are older than every town, and wiser than every law.

A tree grows slow enough to remember what humans forget on purpose.

So when the trees went to war, it wasn’t sudden.

It was decided.

The first sign was not loud. It was not dramatic. It was the silence.

No frogs. No crickets. No wingbeats. No distant bark.

The land held its breath like someone bracing for impact.

I don’t forget a silence like that. It doesn’t fall over a place— it rises from it. A silence with teeth.

Then came the tilt.

Not of the ground— of attention.

Every tree—pine, oak, cypress, magnolia— aligned itself to a single point the way iron filings align to a magnet. Branches angled. Crowns leaned. Roots tightened in the soil.

And the two of us— the only two who remember— we felt it first in our knees, then in our ribs, then behind our eyes.

Humans talk about fight-or-flight as if they invented danger.

The trees? They have a third mode: judgment.

They were judging something that day.

Not a person — a pattern. A kind of wrongness that had stood in the land too long, spoiled too many roots, soured too many mornings, bled too many seasons dry.

And then it happened.

No fire. No storm. No mythic lightning strike.

Just the trees— moving.

Not walking. Not bending in a wind. Acting.

Branches cracked like knuckles. Limbs fell where they meant to fall— not random, not wild— strategic. Blocking roads. Crushing the wrong porch. Shielding the right one. Splitting one barn. Leaving another untouched.

People screamed. People ran. Some dropped to their knees. A few understood immediately— those rare souls who listen to land the way others listen to sermons.

The trees didn’t rage. They corrected.

It lasted minutes. But the land aged years in that span.

And when it was done, the woods exhaled. The creatures stirred. The frogs croaked one by one as if taking roll call after judgment.

And the trees stood where they chose to stand— lighter, relieved, settled.

Like a bone set back into its rightful place.

⸻

What people always misunderstand

When the trees went to war, they weren’t angry. They weren’t vengeful. They weren’t rebellious.

They were restoring order.

Everything in the woods knows this: when the balance is broken, someone must put it right. And if the humans won’t, the trees will.

The land has a law older than scripture: the strong protect the root. And the trees are the strongest thing the land has.

⸻

Why I remember -

Because I felt the verdict. Because I was close enough to hear the land say:

This far, no further.

Because the Witch— not the poacher, not the litterer, not the petty wrongdoer— but the Witch per se, the wrongness without form, the contamination of pattern— had crossed into the county line and tipped something too far.

The trees answered.

They always have the right to answer. They simply rarely choose to.

I were there. That’s why it stays with me like a scar.

By the Numbers

Mental health stigma.

It's a thing.

But it's just one of those things that we seem to just accept and move on, live our lives, do the best we can in this crazy world of ours. It's seemingly one of those things that we say to ourselves, “Eh,it's just how the world is these days.”

And that's true. It's a subject that is, unfortunately, a thing that will be with us for a long time. I've seen it myself, quite often. I've experienced it first hand growing up. And I continue to see it on a daily basis.

But with many of the issues that we see these days, from school shootings to suicides to online bullying to so many other different things, they could have been prevented by acceptance, understanding, and self-awareness.

1.) Acceptance. Accepting that everyone is different, and our differences makes us unique. Accepting that others are different, not weird or strange or crazy.

And finally, acceptance that it's okay if you have severe anxiety. That it's okay if you are depressed. It's okay if you have bipolar disorder.

You aren't alone.

2.) Understanding. Understanding goes a long ways to acceptance. But if you want to accept others and accept yourself, you first need to understand what it is.

And be able to put yourself in other people's shoes. That one is called Empathy.

3.) And finally...Self-awareness. This is huge. And not everyone will find it. Be aware of your actions and how they can affect others. Be aware of your own “shortcomings” and whether or not it needs to be “fixed”. Sometimes, believe it or not, you do not need to be “fixed”. You can just be...

You.

Anyway. I'm sure I'll cover more of this later. For now, though, mental health stigma.

It's a thing.

And I think the only way to fight that is to spread awareness. Talk about it. Write about it. Poke fun at it. Understand it. Accept it.

At some point, I will do a deep dive into the history of Mental Health and how far it has come. And it has come far. But we still have a ways to go.

The numbers speak for themselves.

The following statistics were found on the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) website. It can be found here: https://www.nami.org/about-mental-illness/mental-health-by-the-numbers/

To summarize:

“Millions of people in the U.S. are affected by mental illness each year. It’s important to measure how common mental illness is, so we can understand its physical, social and financial impact — and so we can show that no one is alone. These numbers are also powerful tools for raising public awareness, stigma-busting and advocating for better health care.” (NAMI, Mental Health By the Numbers)

Remember, these are stats taken from just one country, the United States. I am sure there are stats taken from other countries, and the world at large, but the numbers might be skewed depending on each country's viewpoints on mental health and mental illness. That's also to say that not everything gets reported....

Or believed.

“Mental Health by the Numbers is based on the most current and representative sources available, according to NAMI. Data is from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), Centers for Disease Control (CDC), National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) and others.” (NAMI, Mental Health By the Numbers)

Last updated in 2025, so this is the most recent statistics.

So let's dive in.

~ More than 1 in 5 U.S. adults experience mental illness each year. ~ More than 1 in 20 U.S. adults experience serious mental illness each year. ~ More than 1 in 7 U.S. youth ages 6-17 experience a mental health disorder each year. ~ 50% of all lifetime mental illness begins by age 14, and 75% by age 24. ~ Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death among people ages 10-24.

Now let's put this into context.

~ For every 5 adults you see, at least, at LEAST, 1 adult is suffering from mental illness. ~ For every 20 adults, at least 1 adult is suffering from a serious mental illness. ~ For every 7 of your classmates at school, at least 1 child or teenager has a mental health disorder. ~ And finally...Suicide is the SEOND leading cause of death among people ages 10-24....

I want to cry.

~ 23.4% of U.S. adults experienced mental illness in 2024 (61.5 million people). This represents more than 1 in 5 adults.

61.5 MILLION PEOPLE....

~ 5.6% of U.S. adults experienced serious mental illness in 2024 (14.6 million people). This represents 1 in 20 adults.

~ 16.5% of U.S. youth aged 6-17 experienced a mental health disorder in 2016 (7.7 million people). This represents more than 1 in 7 youth.

“This represents more than 1 in 7 YOUTH...

I want to cry again.

The next wave of statistics has more to do with the percentile number of the different kinds of mental illnesses (anxiety, depression, PTSD, Bipolar disorder, etc). Of particular note, the two I have the most experience with, are Major Depressive Disorders and Anxiety Disorders. Major Depressive Disorders number in at 15.5%, among adults, while Anxiety Disorders has a whopping 19.1% of US Adults.

To put this into perspective, for every 100 U.S. Adults, 15 of them have a Major Depressive Disorder, and 19 of them have an Anxiety Disorder. Of particular note, also, is the fact that many of them have not just one, but both!

NAMI also numbers its statistics based on demographic groups, such as Males, Females, Non-hispanics, Hispanics, Whites, Blacks. Multiracial, Indian, etc. The one that really leapt out at me was the number for the Lesbian, Gay or Bisexual demographic group: 53.2%. That's over half of U.S. adults who are experiencing/suffering from a mental health disorder. Over. Half.

I kid you not, it's depressing just reading up on these staggering numbers. But the problem is, they are just....numbers.

And it's way easy to overlook it all. They are just...numbers.

It doesn't fix anything.

It doesn't solve the world's problems.

It doesn't give you answers to life's mysteries.

They are just...numbers.

But.

Here's a question you should ask yourself:

“Why is there stigma attached to Mental Health when there is quite obviously a glaring need to make Mental Illness more universally accepted and recognized?”

According to Google:

“Stigma refers to negative attitudes, beliefs, and stereotypes people may hold towards those who experience mental health conditions. Stigma can prevent or delay people from seeking care or cause them to discontinue treatment.”

Did you know that your mental illness is directly tied to your physical health?

Absolutely.

Take a look.

~ Risk of cardiometabolic disease is up to 2x higher in people with mental illness compared to people without mental illness.

~ People with depression have a 40% higher risk of developing cardiac disease, hypertension, stroke, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, or obesity than the general population.

~ 34.5% of U.S. adults with mental illness also have a substance use disorder.

~ 6.9% of U.S. adults with mental illness are unemployed compared to 4.3% of U.S. adults without mental illness.

~ High school students with recent symptoms of depression are more than 2x as likely to drop out compared to their peers.

~ Students ages 6-17 with mental, emotional or behavioral problems are more than 2x as likely to repeat a grade.

~ At least 8.4 million people in the U.S. provide care to an adult with a mental or emotional health issue.

~ Caregivers of adults with mental or emotional health issues spend an average of 32 hours per week providing unpaid care.

Again, the numbers are truly staggering. And why mental illness remains such a controversial subject is beyond me.

I blame society.

One of these days I will go over the positive aspects of talking about your mental health, and why you should embrace the fact you have a “mental disorder”. Because is it really a disorder (yes, it can be!), or is it just uniquely...

You?

I'm Slightly Unhinged.

And that's okay.

Next blog post, I'll write a bit about my own personal mental health history. No this isn't a biography about my life. It's a biography about mental health. :)

See you soon!

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: How to Style Jeans for Corporate Meetings — The Everyday Girl’s Power Guide, Alcohol 2, The Wood, and Ice cream, or you scream

---

How to Style Jeans for Corporate Meetings — The Everyday Girl’s Power Guide. Jeans in a corporate meeting? Absolutely. The modern workplace isn’t about strict suits anymore — it’s about looking sharp, confident, and authentic. And nothing says all three like a perfectly styled pair of jeans. The key? Balancing professionalism with personality. Let’s break it down, Accra Girl style. Go for the Right Jeans. Not every pair of jeans can handle a boardroom. The cut, colour, and fit matter more than you think. Choose: Dark Wash Jeans – Deep indigo or black denim instantly reads “corporate chic.” Straight-Leg or Slim-Fit Cuts – These create a clean, tailored line that mimics dress trousers. High-Waisted Styles – They cinch the waist and add structure to your look. Avoid: Distressed, ripped, or bleached jeans. Oversized or low-rise styles that look too casual. Pair with a Polished Top. The trick is to elevate your jeans with a smart top that means business. Button-Down Shirts: A crisp white or powder blue shirt tucked neatly into your jeans is a timeless power move. Add a slim belt for a refined finish. Silk or Satin Blouses: Add a hint of luxury and femininity while keeping it professional. Structured Tops: Think peplum blouses or tailored shirts — they instantly sharpen your silhouette. Local twist: Try pairing your jeans with an Ankara-trimmed shirt or a bold printed blouse. It’s professional with a pop of personality. Layer with Authority. Layers make your outfit look intentional and sophisticated. Blazers: Your best friend for corporate denim looks. Go for neutrals like beige, navy, or charcoal — or make a statement with bold colors like emerald or mustard. Longline Vests or Coats: Perfect for boardrooms that blast the AC, they add instant polish and structure. Cardigans: A soft cardigan in solid tones can make jeans look office-appropriate without feeling stuffy. Step Up Your Shoe Game. Shoes can make or break your look. Heels: Block or kitten heels add polish without sacrificing comfort. Loafers: A classic choice for sleek sophistication. Mules or Pointed Flats: Perfect for a smart-casual meeting day. If you’re running around Accra’s heat, stylish flats or slingbacks can keep things comfy yet chic. Accessorize with Intention. Keep your accessories classy and minimal — think elegant, not extra. Structured Bags: A leather tote or satchel instantly elevates denim. Jewelry: Gold hoops, pearl studs, or delicate necklaces add just the right touch of elegance. Watch: Because a confident woman always keeps time — in style. Tip: Confidence is Your Best Outfit Even the best-styled jeans mean nothing without poise. Walk into that meeting like you own both the room and the brand. When you look good and feel comfortable, your confidence naturally shines — and that’s what people remember. Jeans can absolutely slay in the corporate space — if styled with care. The Accra Girl knows that success isn’t just about what you wear, but how you wear it. So next time you have a big meeting, slip into your smartest pair of jeans, grab your blazer, and serve boss energy from 9 to 5. Alcohol 2. I recently explained that alcohol is the number 4 on the list of traditional addictive drugs, before wee (heroine, nicotine, cocaine, alcohol, cannabis=wee) and that the addiction grows slowly, hardly noticeable, but steady, and can take years to become disturbing. So you're dating. Hubby likes life and goes out often, taking you happily along to make the party even better. And he has a few glasses. And he is fun. Beware. If he drinks more than one glass more than once a month you should have your doubts, how much will he drink in 20 years from now? Look at his family as well. If alcohol is a common drug there then you have the second red flag. Check it out, worldwide 5% of the population has an alcohol dependency. That is one out of 20. Maybe choose a buddy from the other 19?

The Wood. 3rd Ringway Estates Oso/North Ridge, Accra. They were proposing a nice line up female vocalists and as I've never visited the place we decided to have a go. A big range of cocktails and a very limited food menu, even more limited because half of what we ordered was not available. One of these places where you should rather ask what they have than ask for the menu, and where the waiters cannot even tell you what type of beer they sell. And it really took very long before our dish arrived, but let's say it was worth the wait It's a bit of a show off place, many dressed for more than the occasion, but nice to watch this unofficial fashion show. A big plus is that they have a reasonable sound system and did spend some time on the soundcheck, though once done no one adjusted things again to the need of the individual singers. The band did a good job at accompanying the singers. Pity that they only started at 9:30pm, though no time was mentioned on the flyer, and a few foreigners who had come, maybe to look for talent, left before the show even started. Don't people have jobs during the day? If the line up is interesting it's a good place to visit, just take you dinner before your get there.

Ice cream, or you scream. I recently saw a few big billboards advertising ice cream, at 25 GHS per scoop, though on the picture it had 3 scoops. Knowing that the Government approved minimum wage is 19.80 GHS per day one starts to wonder. And yes, there's a whole load of workers who are on that minimum wage. They eat corn or cassava dough, and if they can afford it they add some pepper. Not ice cream.

Lydia...

Do not forget to hit the subscribe button and confirm in your email inbox to get notified about our posts.

I have received requests about leaving comments/replies. For security and privacy reasons my blog is not associated with major media giants like Facebook or Twitter. I am talking with the host about a solution. for the time being, you can mail me at wunimi@proton.me

I accept invitations and payments to write about certain products or events, things, and people, but I may refuse to accept and if my comments are negative then that's what I will publish, despite your payment. This is not a political newsletter. I do not discriminate on any basis whatsoever.

#002266 – 12 de Agosto de 2025

Meio século passou e ainda estou vivo.

Death In Transit preview

The captain was laying on his back on the floor. They hadn't seen much of him since they'd started the trip but Jesper recognized him all the same. A little tubby. Hair thinning up top. Thick, unruly mustache and a few days of stubble. He was breathing. His lips had turned blue and his eyes looked like they were bulging a bit.

“Damn!” Jesper said.

“Quiet! Please! I've never done this with a human before,” Nassadra said. She ripped the captain's shirt open and pulled an instrument out of her bag. She injected him with something and then pulled out a complicated looking device.

“God, I hate this part,” Jesper said quietly. He had to stay. He knew he did. No one else had run into the fray. He looked around the cabin, trying to find anything that might ... help in some way.

He found a button for the public address system. He pressed it.

“This is Jesper. Don't rush the control room. Nassadra is trying to save the captain from ... I guess a heart attack? If there's any additional qualified medical personnel aboard, please make your way to the forward compartment. Otherwise, stay out.” He pressed the button again to stop broadcasting.

---

“Proximity alert,” the ship said.

“What?” Nassadra said. She pulled the cloth off her head and sat up.

“Proximity alert.”

“What's that?”

“Unidentified vessel is coming close to us.”

“Call them.”

“Unknown command. Please consult the ship's manual which can be located —“

“Shut up!”

---

A voice came over the channel.

“Don't you worry about us. We're here to take something that's ours. If you cooperate, you won't have a bit of trouble, Sanders.”

“This isn't Sanders. This is his first officer. Sanders is indisposed and he didn't say a thing about having a visitor mid-trip. Break away immediately.”

“No, I don't think we're going to. You'd better cooperate.”

The call disconnected.

Jesper turned on the PA.

“We're being boarded by pirates. Anyone who doesn't feel up to fighting should lock themselves in the passenger compartment. If you can fight, I may need your help. Until this situation is over, don't do a shipwide broadcast.” He turned the PA off and set a passcode to lock out the ship controls.

Juan made his way to the back.

“Yeah, you should probably go with them.”

“I'm going for my knives,” Juan turned back and gave him a disgusted look. “Don't get in any fights without me, pretty boy.”

Death In Transit is now available across ebook stores including Smashwords, Kobo, Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Everand, Thalia, Vivlio, and Fable.

Not sure yet? Read more about the cast in the announcement post.

WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe

Wolf In Wool is finally available on your favorite podcasting platforms. Happy to have you reading, and it’s a superior way to be in my head. But sometimes, it’s fun to listen too.

I’ll still include a link so you can listen here if you prefer the simplicity of wolfinwool.

In either case. Thank you and happy to have you on my journey.

—

---

#podcast #wolfcast #confession #essay #story # journal #poetry #wyst #poetry #100daystooffset #writing #story #osxs #travel

Je viens d'installer ChromeOS Flex sur mon vieux Thinkpad T450s (Lenovo). Une installation d'une simplicité désarmante et, surtout, d'une rapidité stupéfiante. Par ailleurs, ce système, beaucoup plus que sur Linux – du moins pour les distributions comme Ubuntu et celles qui en dérivent (Mint, Zorin, PopOs, etc.) –, a porté un sacré coup de jeunesse à cet appareil quasi moribond. Pour rappel, le T450s date de 2013. Ça fait donc plus de douze ans que je l'utilise au quotidien, comme ordinateur principal, d'abord, puis comme appareil secondaire par la suite. D'aucuns prétendent que l'informatique ne cesse de booster la consommation de produits toujours plus révolutionnaires par leur prétendue nouveauté. Avec cette installation, je fais mentir les statistiques… – Un tutoriel complet sur l'installation de ChromeOS Flex sur un vieil ordi.

Pour rappel, Chrome OS est une système informatique développé par Google depuis une quinzaine d'années. Cela a donné naissance aux Chromebooks, des ordinateurs portables souvent utilisés dans le milieu de l'éducation aux États-Unis. Réputés bon marché, ils fonctionnent comme un terminal, toutes les applications se déployant autour du navigateur Chrome. Un cas typique d'un usage Web Base. Quelques années plus tard, ils ont fait un bon de géant en intégrant le Play Store, c'est-à-dire la possibilité d'installer des applications Android comme sur les téléphones et les tablettes. Cela a eu pour effet de multiplier les applications, même si plusieurs d'entre elles ne sont pas optimisées pour fonctionner sur des écrans supérieurs à onze pouces.

Les Chromebook ont continué à évoluer, notamment avec la mention “Plus”. Celle-ci certifie que les constructeurs respectent le cahier des charges de Google en matière de performance. Ainsi, on peut trouver des Chromebooks bon marché, utiles pour effectuer des tâches bureautiques et naviguer sur le Web, et des Chromebooks plus performants permettant d'effectuer des opérations plus lourdes, voire plus complexes, notamment des applications Linux.

L'avantage des ordinateurs tournant sur ChromeOS réside dans leur simplicité. Un Chromebook démarre en quelques secondes, il n'a pas besoin d'antivirus et son offre logicielle s'avère complètement gratuite. En revanche, vous ne pouvez pas utiliser un Chromebook en dehors de l'écosystème de Google avec lequel il s'avère intrinsèquement lié. Un autre inconvénient – mais en est-ce vraiment un ? – c'est que les usages sans connexion sont limités à la bureautique.

Vous commencez peut-être à vous demander pourquoi je parle des Chromebooks alors que je n'en possède pas. Tout simplement parce que Google a lancé un autre système basé sur ChromeOS : ChromeOs Flex. C'est celui que j'ai installé sur mon vieil ordi et, franchement, j'en suis très satisfait. Certes, Flex ne permet pas d'accéder au Play Store de Google (bien qu'on puisse toujours bidouiller un truc, mais c'est à nos risques et périls). En revanche, contrairement à ce que d'aucuns racontent sur le Web, il est possible d'installer des applications Linux. En tout cas, moi je l'ai fait. Comme quoi il ne faut pas croire tout ce qu'on raconte.

• Un article détaillé de François Charron sur ChromeOS Flex

Si vous souhaitez un ordinateur qui démarre au quart de tour, qui n'aura jamais de problème de sécurité et qui se met à jour sans que vous vous rendiez compte, alors vous devriez essayer ChromeOS Flex. Comme vous le savez sans doute, avec le Chrome, vous avez la possibilité de transformer n'importe lequel site Web en application. C'est ce que je qualifiais ci-dessous de Web Base. Certes, les Chromebooks ne sont pas sans limitations, et ils ne sont pas faits pour tout le monde. Mais vous vous laisserez peut-être gagner par leur simplicité… En terminant, le fait que votre vieil ordi soit certifié par Google (voir le lien vers la liste ci-dessous) vous permettra d'avoir l'esprit tranquille, car vous vous assurez que tout fonctionne bien, les commandes du clavier, l'écran tactile, la caméra, etc.

---

Des informations tirées du site de Google sur ChromeOS et ChromeOS Flex :

• ChromeOS Flex
• Chrome OS
• ChroseOS Flex : liste des ordinateurs certifiés

---

Daniel Ducharme : 2025-11-28 Mots-clés : #chromebook #culturenumérique #Google #informatique #ordinateur #technologie

Det er bra Mahmoud Farahmand tar til orde for et “flomvern” mot ytre høyres ønske om etnisk rensing, eller “remigrasjon”, som de nå kaller det. Det er viktig at Høyres justispolitiske talsperson er klar i talen her. Samtidig er Faramands argumenter gyldige for flere som han selv argumenterer for å sende ut av landet. Det bør kanskje lede til ytterligere refleksjon.

Vi har sett mange drøye saker de siste årene der mennesker som har blitt norske har blitt deportert eller truet med deportasjon etter lang tid i landet, ofte for feil de ikke selv har begått. I fjor ble for eksempel Sara Temurvitsj Valieva truet med utkastelse til Iran og separasjon fra sin to måneder gamle baby fordi foreldrene gav feil opplysninger til UDI da hun var tre år gammel. I fjor ble Zarina Saidova deportert til Kashakstan fordi moren oppgav feil opplysninger da hun selv var barn. Dette er utslag av politikk som dessverre har hatt bred støtte på Stortinget.

Vi har foreldelsesfrister for mange grove forbrytelser, men ikke for brudd på utlendingsloven. Lovlydige og hardtarbeidende nordmenn deporteres til land de ikke lenger kjenner, fordi de store partiene har drevet en overbydelseskonkurranse i å være strengest i innvandringspolitikken. Målet har vært å imøtegå og nøytralisere de mest innvandringskritiske. Men for hvert skritt man går for å komme dem i møte, tar de et nytt skritt mot høyre. I USA, Tyskland, Danmark og mange andre land har ytterliggående høyrepartier nå nådd til det punktet der de åpent argumenterer for massedeportasjoner og de facto etnisk rensing.

“Når mine barn spør meg ved middagsbordet om jeg er norsk, svarer jeg ja, jeg er norsk. Jeg har ikke noe annet hjemland eller annen nasjonalitet. Dette er landet mitt. Hva gjør vi med de som er i min kategori?”, spør Faharamand. Svaret bør være enkelt: folk i denne kategorien kalles nordmenn. Lager vi et B-lag av folk som aldri kan være sikker på om de egentlig får bli i landet, vil integreringen kollapse.

Det er dessverre her slaget står nå: ved sin omfavnelse av “remigrasjon” viser ytre høyre sitt sanne ansikt (som aldri har vært spesielt godt skjult). De ønsker seg et etnisk rent land. Det er en av de farligste idéene i menneskehetens historie, som har ført til ufattelige grusomheter, og den må avvises kontant av en samlet norsk offentlighet.

E’s family threw me a surprise birthday. I cried in private after.

Aunque no quería saber nada de los sueños, al paso del tiempo le pareció curioso que en varias ocasiones soñó que era Bruce Lee. No es que estuviera peleando. Simplemente era Bruce Lee, sentado en el sofá y pensando que era como el agua.

V Brčálníku žil kanec jménem Prdévo. Smrděl po bahně a prdu tak silně, že i kapradí mělo slzy v očích. Nejradši se celý den rochnil v bahně a kumuloval si tam svoje bahenní prdy.

Měl obrovskou prdel. Tak obrovskou, že když byl celý zahrabaný v bahně, trčela ven jen ta prdel jako maják pro zvědavé sebevrahy.

---

🧓💦 Dědci na koupeli

Jednoho dne přišli k Brčálníku koupat své unavené, mechové prdele. Koupali se, cákali, smrděli a ani si nevšimli, že kousek od nich trčí kančí zadek velikosti kuchyňského stolu.

A pak to přišlo.

Dědek Šnorchle prdnul. Nenápadně. Nevinně, ale trochu nešikovně.

A to probudilo Prdéva.

---

🐗💨 Kanec vyráží

Kanec vyrazil z bahna, jako když se probudí démon z prdele světa. Celý byl obalený blátem, jen ta jeho gigantická prdel se leskla na slunci.

Zařval. Zafuněl. A rozběhl se směrem k dědkům, přičemž z každého kroku vylétl bahenní pšuk v sérii: prp—prp—PRRRP.

Dědci nejdřív zpanikařili. Když kanec vyrazil, dědci šli do kolen.

První dědek se pokusil utéct, ale jeho prdel zatočila později než zbytek těla — narazil bokem do stromu a odrazil se zadkem zpátky do vody.

Druhý dědek skočil do bahna a pokusil se dělat mlhu. Jeho prdel vystřelila tak chaotický prd, že sám sebe ztratil v prdelní mlžné cloně.

Třetí dědek se prostě schoval za vlastní prdel. Dřepnul si a přitiskl hlavu mezi půlky.

Ale pak si vzpomněli na něco zásadního:

Mají také prdele. A ne malé.

---

💥 PROTIPRDNÝ ÚDER

Dědci se seřadili, otočili se zadky směrem ke kanci a spustili protiprdný úder.

To nebylo prdění. To byl orchestr. Každý dědek pustil tón své kategorie:

První dědek si stoupl široce jako tank, natáhl půlky a vypustil BRRRRBLP, který rozkmital hladinu Brčálníku a převrátil jednu rybu.

Druhý dědek zvedl prdel vysoko jak lampu a pustil dlouhej, pevnej prd, co zněl jako stará trumpeta.

Třetí dědek vypustil tak rychlý série-metrický prd, že to vypadalo, jako když někdo střílí hrášek z kulometu: prp-prp-prp-prp! Bahno se začalo třást a žába v dálce upadla pod hladinu.

Když tyhle tři prdy vyrazily současně, vznikla prdelní tlaková vlna, která kanci ošlehla chlupy na zadku dozadu, a na dvě sekundy to vypadalo, že ho dědci fakt přeprdi.

Kanec se ale zastavil, široce se rozkročil a roztočil svou obří prdel, jako kdyby startoval mlýnek na sádlo.

Pak ji prudce vychýlil do strany a spustil bahenní prdelní torpédo.

Torpédo letělo vzduchem jako hnědá kometa, přesně mířené, hutné a s přesahem, kterému se těžko uhýbá.

Jeden dědek to schytal do zad, druhý do tváře, a třetí jen stihl zařvat „NE DO PR—“, než ho to celého opláchlo jak tlaková myčka smradlavého bahna.

---

🏃💨 Ústup dědků

Po chvíli bylo jasné, že kanec má větší zásobu paliva. Dědci začali couvat, prdět jen symbolicky a nakonec utíkali směrem k vesnici, kde je bezpečí, mech a pivo.

Prdévo zůstal stát u Brčálníku. Taky byl zmožený.

Tak si prostě sedl… a začal poklidně, rytmicky prdět do vody, jako by si tím zapisoval deník.

A dědci si zapsali do kroniky:

„Pokud prdel rotuje, je pozdě na veškeré nápady.“

In the glow of our screens, we scroll through carefully curated lives, viral sermons, and heated theological debates—all before our morning coffee. Social media has fundamentally changed how we practice faith and care for our mental wellbeing, creating both unprecedented opportunities and unexpected challenges.

The Double-Edged Sword

Social media offers remarkable benefits for faith communities. Distance no longer separates us from daily devotionals, worship services stream live to those who are homebound, and believers across continents can pray together in real time. During the pandemic, these digital connections became lifelines for isolated individuals seeking spiritual community.

Yet these same platforms can distort our spiritual lives in subtle ways. The comparison trap affects not just our bodies and careers, but our faith journeys too. We see others' mountaintop moments while wrestling with our own valleys, wondering why our prayer life doesn't look as vibrant or our faith doesn't feel as certain. The highlight reel of someone else's spiritual life can make our everyday discipleship feel inadequate.

When Faith Goes Viral

Social media's attention economy rewards controversy over contemplation. Nuanced theological discussions collapse into soundbites, and complex questions of faith get reduced to shareable graphics. The algorithm doesn't prioritize depth—it prioritizes engagement. This creates an environment where outrage spreads faster than understanding, and performative faith can overshadow authentic spirituality.

The pressure to project a certain image affects religious leaders and everyday believers alike. Pastors feel compelled to build their personal brand, while congregants curate their spiritual personas for an invisible audience. This performance anxiety can leave us disconnected from the very peace and authenticity our faith is meant to provide.

The Mental Health Toll

The intersection of social media and faith can create unique mental health challenges. For those already struggling with religious anxiety, the constant stream of spiritual content can intensify feelings of inadequacy or fear. The echo chambers of social media can reinforce unhealthy religious perspectives, whether that's toxic positivity that denies real suffering or doom-scrolling through apocalyptic interpretations.

Cyberbullying takes on particular sting within faith communities. Believers who ask questions, express doubts, or hold minority positions can face harsh judgment from those who claim to follow teachings of love and grace. The anonymity of online spaces sometimes brings out the worst in people who might be kind face-to-face.

Finding Balance and Boundaries

Navigating this landscape requires intentionality. Here are some practices worth considering:

Create sacred offline space. Designate times and places that are screen-free for prayer, meditation, or worship. Let your spiritual practices be fully present rather than documented for social consumption.

Curate your feed mindfully. Follow accounts that nourish rather than drain you. If certain voices consistently leave you feeling anxious, inadequate, or angry, it's okay to unfollow—even if they're saying things that are technically true.

Practice digital sabbath. Regular breaks from social media aren't just good for mental health—they're spiritual disciplines that create space for deeper reflection and genuine rest.

Engage with discernment. Not every theological debate requires your participation. Sometimes the most faithful response is to keep scrolling.

Seek real community. Digital connection supplements but cannot fully replace embodied community. Prioritize in-person relationships where you can be known beyond your online persona.

Authentic Faith in a Digital Age

The goal isn't to abandon social media entirely or to demonize technology. Rather, it's to approach these tools with wisdom, recognizing both their potential and their limitations. Social media can be a powerful tool for encouragement, learning, and connection—but it cannot replace the slow, often unglamorous work of spiritual formation.

True faith develops in the quiet moments that never make it to Instagram, in the persistent showing up even when we don't feel inspired, in the relationships where we're seen at our worst and loved anyway. It grows through doubt and questions as much as through certainty, through failure as much as success.

Moving Forward

As we navigate this digital landscape, we might remember that every generation of believers has faced new challenges to authentic faith and mental wellbeing. The medium changes, but the core practices remain: prayer, community, service, rest, and the ongoing work of becoming more fully human and more deeply connected to the divine.

The question isn't whether social media affects our faith and mental health—it clearly does. The question is whether we'll engage these platforms with intention, creating boundaries that protect our peace and practices that deepen our spiritual lives. In an age of constant connectivity, perhaps the most countercultural thing we can do is to occasionally disconnect, choosing depth over breadth and presence over performance.

Your faith journey doesn't need to be Instagram-worthy to be real. Your mental health matters more than your follower count. And the most meaningful spiritual work often happens in the spaces between posts, where no one is watching except the One who matters most.

after Basil Bunting

Poetry? You work for me. You don’t have hobbies. Your time is mine.

This guy — what’s your name? — he works all night. He sleeps here.

What do you do? Poetry in your lunchbreak? We don't do lunchbreaks.

Poetry's finished. We can do it in a microsecond — the clever shit maybe two.

Inception — that’s real art. They’ve made a sequel — I told them to.

I've been to space remember? Mars next — I’m building the future.

What's a poet ever done? Lefties, gays. The trans agenda. I'm telling governments to lock 'em up.

El Salvador — let ‘em rot. Or shoot them – quicker.

Gather round, all leave's cancelled. We've got new crap to do. Blame this prick.

What you write is shit. Man, your fucking face. Man. Epic roast, man.

You think you're smart? I didn't even write this. Now get back to work.

I spent most of today in bed, choking on my own loneliness. As I mentioned in NO LONGER WORTH ANYONE’S TIME, I am officially no longer worth anyone’s time anymore. I have to forcefully wedge myself into peoples’ space and time, and figuratively ask them, “Hey, do you have a moment?” I had really hoped that I would be able to find some friends to hang with at my church, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m not involved in any kind of service at church, and I’m not going to join something just because I need friends, because I don’t think God would be the biggest fan of that. And, welp, I kind of tried to make friends in faith, because I long for deep relationships that have faith at the heart of it. But it’s been a couple months, and I’m still really lonely, and I don’t really get the sense that anybody is open or willing to become friends with me.

Two things that has recently changed with me is:

1. I’m no longer self-confident

2. I’m not funny anymore

I’m not confident in myself anymore because God has shown me time and time again that I shouldn’t be confident in myself, but in Him. But I have yet to grasp what being confident in God really means. For example, I used to believe that I could achieve X, Y, Z with my own ability. But now, I’m unsure about everything. “Well, maybe I could achieve X, Y, Z if God allows, but I’m not even sure if that’s what He wants, and…” is what’s been running through my head.

I’m not funny anymore. I used to crack a lot of crass jokes, and I just kind of stopped doing that, especially around church people, because I know God doesn’t like that. But that was kind of my entire humor repertoire, and I guess I haven’t reinvented myself yet. Every conversation used to be a little minigame for me to get people to laugh, and I’ve lost that playfulness too. So I’m not funny anymore.

In either category, I’ve regressed, and it shows in my life. Some days, I can’t bear to look myself in the mirror because I can’t stand the sight of myself, because it reminds me of the entire being that I am, which I find disgusting and unbearable to be even reminded of. Socially, because I spend so much of my time coding, I’ve become an omega autist, and I have trouble making conversation with people, much less cracking jokes, and making people happy.

So today, I spent a lot of time choking on myself in bed. If I still drank, I would have drowned myself in alcohol. I’m past that, so I didn’t do that, but I instead reflected on how little anyone cared about my existence. And I don’t say that lightly. My life is currently possessed by a quietness, stillness that reflects my social isolation. My phone mostly rings with Slack messages from people at work telling me to do something, and a whole lot of ads. When I get back to my apartment from work, I compulsively turn on something like Youtube or music just to fill the silence. It’s hard for me to bear the silence.

Today I felt bodily pain while lying in bed and reflecting on my aloneness. Something hurt. I don’t know what. Maybe it was my heart. I wondered if I should cut myself with the razor blades I use to shave. If I started, I didn’t think I would be able to stop myself from going all out and giving myself a serious injury. I shivered, thinking about the ramifications of it. I would have to pay for a visit to the ER, trashing my bank account. I would have to give people at work and church some bullshit excuse on why I had a huge bandage on my wrist that everyone would see through. I would have yet another addiction to deal with. The thing that really stopped me was having to explain it to everyone. It would make me ashamed to the core. It’s just weak and lame, that whole cutting yourself thing because you hate yourself. I wouldn’t want to show myself around them again.

Some people tell me stories about how people around them are compelled to come to church because of the manner in which they live their life. They possess a hope and joy that is unknown in this world, and like a moth to a flame, people are drawn to it, and want to know why. Every time I hear a story like that, I’m cut to the core, because I know that the way that I’ve lived my life, and how I live right now, nobody will do that looking at me. I’m completely useless to both people and God. Writing was the only thing I was ever talented at, and I think I’m getting worse at that too. So I’m on the way to becoming a human dumpster.

This blog is a pretty honest reflection of my internal dialogue. Who would read this and see Christ? I’m despaired and who I am, and what I’ve become. I don’t know if I can change, and I am forcing myself to hope, because I have decided to hope.

Yeah anyways, I crashed out and fell asleep in a state of depression. I woke up, and went to church, because they had dinner for people. Everyone there was new to the city, like me, and didn’t have anywhere to go, like me. I was hoping to talk to the people a little more, but our head pastor ended up giving a long talk, which I liked too.

This is the gist:

1. God doesn’t have a special someone prepared for you in marriage. There are multiple options He usually opens up to you, and you have free will in the matter. If you’re ready for marriage, and you’re awake to the signs He’s giving you, you’ll find it. The key here is that you must first give God control over your marriage, trusting that He’ll show you someone, rather than you finding something yourself.

2. Youth is a time of venturing off the beaten path, and throwing stuff at the wall, seeing what sticks. Continually question, and try new things even if people tell you you can’t do it.

This is what I realized:

1. I need to let God take the wheel on marriage, my dreams, and friendships.

Because I don’t want to be forever alone, I must therefore marry. I don’t have any dreams of my own, mostly because I’ve given up on them, waiting for God to show me something. I don’t have friends in this new city. In all these things, I must give God full control, and continually pray for His guidance in these things. That God might prepare me to play my part in a loving marriage, that He will give me vocational calling, and that God will show me who to make my deep friendships with. I must pray with expectance, and unrelenting hope, because I know that God is listening to my every word of my prayers.

I’ve half given up on making deep faith-based friendships/relationships at church because everyone’s so busy with their own thing. But I’m also just hedging my expectations against disappointment, and I decided that I would stop doing that. I also feel bitter and rejected even though nobody’s actually rejected me (I’M SUCH A LOSER) that I just want to distance myself from them because I’m a petty bastard. I hate myself for even considering in hoping for friends, because it feels so impossible that it’ll happen that I feel like an idiot for hoping. But for God, this is a simple task. I also hate asking for help, from anyone, even God. It makes me feel incompetent, weak, and useless. If someone stabbed me in the arm, I would tourniquet myself, and take an Uber to the ER. I wouldn’t ask for help unless I was literally bleeding out.

I’m such a sensitive bitch and I can’t stop myself. I’m so stupid and I hate myself for it. (x10000000000000000)

I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself

I’m

s

u

ch

a

bitch

#personal

The safehouse stank of cordite and betrayal. My contact lay slumped over the table, a single bullet hole between his eyes—too neat for amateurs. “Well, scheisse,” I muttered, flipping the bloodstained dossier. The pages were coded in a cipher even my scarred hippocampus couldn’t parse. The window shattered. No gunshot—just the phut of a suppressed round embedding itself in the wall beside me. I dove behind the couch, palming my Walther. “You’re getting sloppy, Schakal,” a voice purred from the shadows. Vienna accent. Her. My ribs ached where she’d slipped a stiletto last time. “Missed you too, Liebling,” I growled. The lights died. Game on.

#Scratch