Return to Perinthos is now available in both PDF and print. It contains over 80 “one-spread” dungeons that can be used together or standalone, unpublished Q&A with Jaquays, and a mini-setting by Luke Gearing:

Return to Perinthos is a megadungeon a la Caverns of Thracia. It is a U.S. letter-sized approximately 200-page wirebound book. You will be able to plop almost 80 dungeon tiles and keys right onto your gaming table.

The content for the book was created by the Jennell Jaquays Memorial Game Jam. As part of this community effort, Luke Gearing graciously agreed to write a setting that ties all of the disparate dungeon tiles together. The book also features an unpublished Q&A with Jennell Jaquays that was donated by Tavis Allison with permission from Goodman Games.

All proceeds from digital sales will be donated to Trans Lifeline.

One of the included dungeons is my Halls of Viridian Mist, a dungeon level for 4 to 6 Swords & Wizardry Complete characters levels 3 to 5. This challenging adventure features many tricks Jaquays used in her dungeons like non-linear loops, multiple elevations, interactive factions, and secret doors hidden behind other secret doors.

Digital copies are available at DriveThruRPG, while wirebound print copies are available from the publisher.

#News #Adventure #OSR #SW

It’s an ugly feeling that I don’t like, and I was already starting to journal in my head when I was driving home, and several different things came to mind. One of the things was that I just kept thinking to myself that I am an ugly person, not physically, but in the sense of this jealousy and envy. Later today I am hanging out with J and I, and both of them I would consider as close friends of mine that I hang out with frequently. I is a relatively newer friend and I’m honestly not that close with him yet, but J is. I have my therapy session today, and they knew that I was busy with that, and we have plans to hang out later, but apparently right now they are hanging out together.. I have to be careful with my mind and my thoughts because I automatically kind of want to feel like shit and remind myself of how excluded I am, but that’s likely not the case this is just childhood scars and attachment wounds in play. But I can’t lie it does kind of feel shitty to not be invited. And it hurts because I considered and I still do, J as one of my closest friends here. Who am I kidding, she is my closest friend here. And she connects with I pretty well it seems like they have their own friendship completely separate from me which is completely normal and I understand is healthy and natural, but it hurts me in these jealous ways. Like I think about how she doesn’t invite me over to just like I just be there and have her cook, and then I think about the places where I kind of feel a little bit of rejection from her. And I start to feel this ugly thing rear its head. And I know that I’m being irrational or I’m just kind of like replaying past patterns and this isn’t actually what’s happening, but I would be lying if I didn’t at least acknowledge the way that I’m feeling. I feel like I had a pretty nice long stretch of feeling like I am socially where I would like to be, but when something as benign as two of my friends being friends with each other in a way that doesn’t revolve around me happens, it’s enough for me to get in my head in this way. And even though it’s not true, I take this ambiguity to reinforce these painful thoughts of the possibility that I am liked by many, but no one’s number one. This feeling that I could disappear without consequence. It’s the same feeling I get after I host an event and everyone there has fun, but it’s almost like they have fun with other people and my value is as the one who facilitates it, and not much else. I turned on do not disturb just now because it has been like 10 minutes since I sent a message that was a little bit risky, in response to I saying that J is currently cooking and that he is over at her place. I wanted to fertilize that I would appreciate an invite even if they think I could not make it, and I said “mfw no invite 😔”. I feel kind of ashamed because it feels insecure to me, but I also don’t really know how to voice my asks properly. I guess I feel like whenever people invite me to things it’s like them saying that they actively want me there, and it’s not just because I am the one providing something. It’s like someone saying that they want my company, not just what I plan or invite them to. I am a little bit weary about venting in this way because I don’t want to confirm feelings that maybe are just transient, or things that I shouldn’t necessarily give weight to. But I also feel like maybe if I can say these things into words I can process these emotions. Thankfully I have my therapy session right after this. I remember at the end of obsession bear commits suicide in Nikki’s arms, and she desperately holds him and cries and begs for him to come back. And I remember how my brain automatically told me how no one feels that way about me. And I think that thought is an extreme instance of the underlying seed, which is the feeling that I could disappear easily. And I feel this way maybe because I grew up with this being drilled into me. I remember one year my parents forgot my birthday. I remember feeling hurt about how friends didn’t remember mine, I remember for Christmas one time a friend got everyone a present looked around and said is that everyone, went yup! And I was pretty much the only person without a present. I remember getting my best friend a present and she didn’t really get me anything, and when I said that made me sad, she went nuclear and completely ghosted me. I remember the one time I got to have a birthday party, I think I was 16, and that same friend that I had known since kindergarten started crying and everyone spent the rest of the night comforting her. And everyone kind of forgot about me at my own party. And I think about the time when I try to commit suicide and I got hospitalized and no one knew about it. Not even my family. It was several months later when my dad found out from the insurance bill. And I feel like this is not maybe what people deserve. But this was the hand that I was dealt. And unfortunately that is the mold that I have to break out of as an adult now. And it’s hard because there are so many different little sections of it that are completely hardened and rigid, and they won’t change until something presses against it like it does now. And so even though my life is such a nice one, and I had so many people envy me and I even think about how grateful I am for it, something this small happens and I’m reminded of the cage I grew up in. And it kills me to think about these hypotheticals that I don’t even think exist, those of people that check in on you, where it’s not an inconvenience or ask. Where people willingly tell you that you have a space in this world and in their minds and that they are happy that you exist. I feel like I’ve spent a lot of of my life going through it and learning that love is not really something that you get, it’s something that you earn. And it’s something that you kind of constantly have to pay for. And sometimes it feels like I just don’t have it now for it. And I get that I’m wrong in this, at least I really hope that I am. But it just feels shitty to think about how it exists out there, unconditional love or at least something near that. A love that exists when you aren’t at your best. And I feel like that is the most accurate way of putting how I feel, I know that I am loved when it is easy or when I am just that worth it. The problem is feel so much pressure to keep this up and the fact that sometimes it just doesn’t work. And I don’t even know what I would want differently here that is reasonable. Like all it is is two friends are hanging out together before we all hang out together. And I guess I would want to be invited or to just I just know that I’m not being replaced. And sometimes it just feels like I serve as a platform for other people, but at the end of the day they form connections and I just exist. Maybe I expect too much from friends. I think it is unreasonable and it’s not a healthy thing to expect to be invited every single time or to expect them to want to only hang out with me, and never just them together. I just feel excluded, and it feels like even though I am the friend that brings all these people together, and so I am the person that is at the forefront, at the end of the day that is not the person that they want to connect with. I really want the kind of love where I’m not afraid of it expiring or going away. One where is conditional on the core being that I am, not extra things like me putting in this much effort to connect. And the sad thing is I will still put in that effort, because I need connection. But it feels like I’m constantly job searching and preparing for interviews and going through that and I never have that security. And it just feels like I’m going to get cornered out of this friendship. And then where do I go? I have other friends and it’s not like I can’t deepen other friendships. And it’s not like that’s happening anyway. I just get terrified when the security that I value feels threatened. J is my best friend in person, and by far the person that I interact with most. And I felt secure that she is my best friend here, and vice versa. It’s that fear that priority goes away. And my access to someone I’m close with shrinks. I know that I want to start dating now, and I kind of am worried about codependency, because I think the thought of someone being completely reliable and completely there is addicting. And it feels safe. It feels like I can have something that I have been searching for and rest with that. And I’m tired feel like I have had to fight for so many things in this life that are kind of essential for a good life. And I wish that life was a little bit easier. I wish that connection was not something I have to work hard and face uncertainty with, and I wish that it was just a basic human right. I wish that I grew up with abundant love. I wish that I modeled the world in a way that I default to feeling connected to people when I need support, rather than isolation. And I worry so much about over depending on people or asking for too much, and I feel like it’s almost a self fulfilling prophecy because the more I don’t ask for help the more builds up until it becomes a monumental ask. And it feels unfair because I know that the world has been exceptionally kind to me, there have been so many places where I have been so incredibly privileged and unfortunate. And I sometimes can’t even comprehend how I would go through life if I didn’t have some of the blessings that I do. I think about how I struggle already, and how if I added it on some large problems that a lot of people have to face like financial insecurity, or things that the basic needs that all humans have, for stability, safety shelter food, etc. I don’t have to face those things really, and I still struggle enough to sometimes just want to have a way out of it. And I think about how they kind universe should not feel this way. And I know that this is strongly because of the mental conditions that I have that make everything seem worse than they are. And fundamentally if the scoring is wrong it’s pretty damn hard to win the game. But I feel like I would see more sunsets and smile more if life was a bit more kind. And it took me a while to say that sentence because I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe a lot of this because I have a scarcity Puff it. I know how meaningful and rare these happy moments can be. And we could fit whenever I get them I want to hang onto them as much as possible and savor them, or at least I try to. And I guess this only happens because of depression. Without it I would not have to understand the value of it and the scarcity that comes. And I guess for that I am grateful. And at least circling back to the original point, I do think that they are not excluding me, or anything like that. It’s not like I am losing friends. I’m just incredibly sensitive to this sort of feedback and I take a lot of this with a very negative lens to protect myself. But that does not make it any more true than it is.

Ich bin ziemlich gehyped. Gut, das geht mir öfter so*. Ein gutes Zeichen ist allerdings, wenn das Gefühl länger als eine Woche anhält.

In diesem Fall sind es schon drei Wochen und ich bin immer noch heiß. Die Rede ist vom WE20-Buchclub. Klar, ich weiß ... just another damn Buchclub? Really? Es ist schließlich weder mein erster noch mein einziger Buchclub.

Was daran anders ist, kann ich gar nicht genau sagen. Aber als Paul von WE20 mit der Idee um die Ecke kam, war ich sofort begeistert (siehe oben *). Es gibt einige Konstanten in meinem Leben: Pen&Paper und Bücher. Nicht nur das Lesen derselben, sondern Bücher ganz allgemein. Und genau das ist es vielleicht. Im Moment beschäftige ich mich viel mit Obsidian und der Buchclub bietet die Möglichkeit, zwei Interessen miteinander zu verbinden: Das Anlegen von Listen, die Organisation von Autoren und Büchern sowie die Freude am gemeinsamen Lesen.

Ehrlich gesagt weiß ich gar nicht, was mich mehr flasht. Obsidian ist nämlich echt cool (solche Sätze hört man vermutlich auch nur von Menschen, die keine sozialen Kontakte außerhalb des Internets haben), und ich freue mich darauf, damit zu arbeiten.

Diesen Monat lesen wir Altered Carbon von Richard Morgan. Treffpunkt ist der WE20 Discord jeden zweiten Montag. Einladung ist draußen.

Begleitet wird das Ganze auf buchmafia.org. Die Seite wird mit Obsidian erstellt und über Vercel und GitHub ins Netz gebracht. Besonders schick ist sie nicht, aber hoffentlich nützlich – zumindest für die mitlesenden Clubmates.

Ich für meinen Teil habe schon einiges gelernt. Allein das Plugin Dataview, mit dem sich bestimmte Angaben aus einzelnen Seiten auslesen und in Tabellen oder Listen darstellen lassen, nutze ich erst richtig, seit ich an der Seite arbeite. Noob, ich weiß ...

Aber zurück zum Buchclub: Auf der WE20 Seite ist es möglich, die persönlichen Top 100 der Bücher (sowie Filme, Serien und Animes) anzulegen. Diese Liste wird mit denen anderer Nutzer abgeglichen und daraus eine gemeinsame Top 100 aller WE20 Mitglieder erstellt. Wer liebt keine Listen?

Auch die Abstimmung darüber, welches Buch als Nächstes gelesen werden soll, wird nun direkt auf der Seite angezeigt.

Beim Erstellen meiner Liste ist mir allerdings aufgefallen, dass ich viele Bücher gar nicht aufgenommen habe, weil es sich irgendwie falsch anfühlte. Kann man Bukowski und Lovecraft in derselben Liste haben? Ich habe es teilweise gemacht, aber eigentlich bräuchte ich mehrere Listen. Und ich habe gemerkt, dass ich zu wenig lese oder einige Bücher noch einmal lesen müsste.

Finde ich manche Bücher heute überhaupt noch so großartig wie mit 16, 17 oder 18?

Of all the World Cups I’ve experienced, none took place in the country where I lived. Until 2026. This one snuck up on me. With “so many things going on in the world,” it just did not fit in mentally.

Now it’s here, and it is exactly what we need: three host countries and 45 guest nations coming together to celebrate. And what is a better place than New York, where you can access city services in 175 languages? Someone here probably roots for each of the 48 teams, and every day someone has a reason to celebrate.

This changes the story and the mood, hopefully not just for the next weeks.

If you still don’t like the World Cup, let Bill Saporito of the New York Times convince you.

想起多年前跟媽媽兩個人去日本大阪，結果第二天下午就跟媽媽吵架。到了晚上媽媽睡了，我一個人溜出去買酒，被超商店員要求看證件，當時護照被媽媽收走，翻遍了錢包，也沒證件可以證明自己滿二十，當下心情簡直糟到極點，我臉上可能很哀傷但店員一臉無奈。

後來總算找到一間超商沒檢查我證件，很慶幸地買到一罐啤酒，一個人坐在店門口外，一邊喝酒一邊掉淚、、、

#夏の思い出

U heeft mail van draculalallc@lorddarkweb.net

betreffende : mijnaccountdracula

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Heeft u hulp nodig omdat u wordt achtervolgt door kundige jagers, te vroeg bent opgestaan, knoflook in u rauwvlees pasta terecht gekomen en daardoor last heeft van diverse infecties, bloedarmoede en constipatie en nu niet langer beschikt over voldoende capaciteiten voor inloggen op u mijnaccountdracula neem dan contact op met iemand werkzaam bij de dichtstbijzijnde bank. Daar is altijd wel iemand net zo schimmig, niet zelf-reflecterend als u maar met voldoende liquide middelen om te zorgen dat u kunt herstellen en daarna weer normaal bij ons kunt inloggen voor u (bij)bestellingen, tips & tricks, advies inwinnen over nieuwe technologische vernieuwing voor u late night zzp bedrijfje bij het Suck IT forum of voor leuke duistere ornamenten in uw eigen kasteeltje of herenhuis.

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Overture:

I will be discussing the album The Post-Traumatic Manifesto by WeevilDoing and the song “covetous” by GHOST and Pals. These are are pieces of art that discuss some EXTREMELY triggering concepts with ZERO ambiguity, including:

• Pedophilia
• Necrophilia
• Threats of mass violence
• Human trafficking
• Self-harm
• Eating disorders
• Suicidal behavior
• Religious abuse
• External and internal ableism (specifically regarding ME/CFS)
• More shit I'm absolutely forgetting

These are pieces of art about being brutally, deeply traumatized, and the nature of how people ended up traumatized. I very staunchly stand on the side of art that is willing to be transgressive just for the sake of it, but this art that is transgressive because it documents real shit that happens to real people and how it makes them feel. I believe it is unethical to force people to prove that they're “licensed” or whatever to talk about a triggering topic just because it happened to them, but both GHOST and WeevilDoing have explicitly stated that these works are based on real life experiences, and I genuinely believe both are fucking gorgeous works of art that should be experienced by anyone willing to stomach them. With that said, there is a reason “covetous” is the only song I've ever gotten an 18+ warning for on the vocaloidlyrics miraheze, and “Chocolate-Box Girl” is the only song I've seen that has been outright excluded from having its lyrics hosted on the site (for context: “Zako” by Hiiragi Magnetite was allowed under the Akita Neru version, and other songs just as blatantly about CSA like Utsu-P's “Adult's Toy” or, of course, “covetous” by GHOST remain on the site). While this essay will not delve in depth on the songs and their topic, I do fervently recommend both and suggest that people listen to both in full.

I also want to start by saying this: I am going to say a lot of things that indicate that I do not like The Post-Traumatic Manifesto. I want to make it abundantly clear that, aside from a few technical qualms and matters of taste, I think it is one of the most fascinating albums I have ever heard, and that the majority of people who will find and listen to this album will fucking adore it. I do not want people to come away thinking that WeevilDoing made “bad art”, or that they have made anything other than a masterpiece. I want more people to listen to this, to have the experiences I didn't, to have gorgeous and difficult conversations on the nature of mental health, mental healthcare, trauma, everything. I want someone to find this album and have it awaken within them a feeling that, like the characters depicted within, they too can find hope and salvation. We good? We good. Let's go

Act I:

A few days ago, I was scrolling through a few tags on VocaDB, and kept noticing a single album across a plethora of the most interesting ones to me. I clicked into the page for The Post-Traumatic Manifesto by WeevilDoing and was greeted with this across the page. If you have known my artistic tastes, both past and present, you should know this shit is like catnip to me. Within the hour, I had the album pulled up on my phone, excited and ready to listen to something that could have been my album of the year. Forty-one minutes later, I was sitting around wondering just why I felt so disappointed, nearly repulsed, to the point where it was the least favorite thing I had encountered in half a decade.

I think it's easiest to start with the less controversial parts. While VocaDB lists this as an industrial and experimental album, I think the “noise pop” tag here is probably most apt. Even within that space, this is a little closer to the poppier end than I generally find myself enjoying. I'm also just...befuddled at the choice to use SeeU here. There's a 15-year-old song from a Korean producer literally making fun of how poor English-language SeeU songs tend to sound. “Splitter Girl” would likely be one of my favorite tracks on the album if it was intelligible. English-language vsynth is already playing on fuckin'...Producer Must Die mode. It's not that WeevilDoing is a poor tuner (in fact, they're a fantastic tuner. “Caliber Girl” is fucking gorgeous on that front), but this just hubristic. I also personally tend to like music where the vocals are mixed a little quieter into the mix, feeling like part of the instrumentation rather than rising above it. Vocals here tend to stand out a little too much for my preferences here, but that's an extremely minor thing.

It's also worth stating that this wasn't originally an album meant to be listened to in a single sitting. Each track was released serially, alongside a carrd.co page for each character explaining who they are, giving them a sona, and a short blog post from each of them. Listening to this as an album robs it some of the breathing room each of the characters needs and deserves. Thankfully, an interlude gives room between the two songs I think need it most, in the transition between “Caliber Girl” and “Chocolate-Box Girl”. I think the sequencing of the songs in the album (something I do care about) is great. Mayyyyyyyyyyyybe I would move “Refraction Girl” somewhere else, but beyond that, zero complaints. If these were my only issues with the album, I'd sit it solidly next to something like All Hail West Texas by The Mountain Goats, something where I can see exactly why and where people love it but ultimately is something not for me. I'd've listened to it, told people I know to listen to it, and promptly put it down and never think about it again.

Unfortunately for me, The Post-Traumatic Manifesto has a tenth character, with her own song, and in one fell swoop loses me entirely. Objectively speaking, “Nurse Parallel, PMHNP” is the gorgeous and correct way to end this album. A soaring anthem of hope, and likely an anthem describing the creator's own hope through inpatient therapy. It's likely most people's favorite track off the album, and I can't fucking stand it.

Intermezzo:

So, this is where the turn happens. The next part of this is gonna be pretty abrasive, and a lot less cohesively structured. It's a ramble. Maybe get a drink of water or something before you go in.

You ready? Let's go.

Act II:

“covetous” by GHOST and Pals is a song about your father wanting to kill you so he can rape you. I discovered it the same day I listened to Manifesto, and the dichotomy to my reaction to the two is why I'm writing this in the first place. It is pulsating, grinding, industrial darkness. It is vile. It is aggressive. It is threatening. It is raw. It is unambiguous. It is voyeuristic. It is a window into the worst things that people can feel, can do. This is what I want. This is the feeling I get from art that can't be bought anywhere else. I have enough music spreading messages about how you can get better if you just do the right things society asks of you. Go to therapy, take your meds, put down the knife, put down the blunt. Do all these things, magically things get better. I don't fuckin' care. I'm glad it worked for y'all, but it ain't worked for me. I want art that lives in that pit of darkness in your chest. I want art that reminds you of its buried presence, ripping it out from deep within your heart and making you stare at it. That black, pulsating mass that infects from within and without. “covetous” is bleak, terrifying, despair-inducing. It is what almost art is afraid of being. The same societal forces that tell you “Go to therapy, get a job, and you'll find friends that way” are the same ones that scare people away from making art about how shit just fucking sucks sometimes, that people do things to you that leave you feeling angry, hurt, alone, scared, weak, and that all you can do is fucking sit in it. The VN space calls this “utsuge”, literally “depressing game”. I feel no connection to folks who are getting better and channel that feeling into art. It's not that it's bad, it's that I can derive no value, no meaning from it. When art talks about how it gets better, it loses me. When art talks about how trauma can linger, festering like a wound, it grips me. It is a feeling I know all too well, and it's one I don't particularly get to share too often. I didn't go through what GHOST went through, but I'll be thinking about that bridge in “covetous” long before I can pick a favorite track from Manifesto. I don't want bittersweet, leaving you with a slight lasting saccharinity as relief from off-putting bitterness. I don't want kintsugi, strands of gold leaving that which was broken looking more beautiful than when it was fixed. I want bitterness that leaves you begging, not for sweetness to override it, but for something to wash it away clean to let the agony you just went through resonate throughout your mind. I want to cut myself sweeping up the shards of broken glass from a dropped plate, a reminder that brokenness is a state that itself produces something worth feeling.

This is something that Manifesto could never be, nor should it have tried to be that. It is not a lesser album for telling its story the way it should be told, but it is an album I cannot fathom caring for as a result. Earlier this year, I encountered viagr aboys by Viagra Boys, an album where I struggled to pick out a single thing I enjoyed, surrounded by friends who loved it and who were excited to hear me rave about it when I finished listening to it. The best thing I could say about viagr aboys was that the first two seconds of “The Pyramid of Health” reminded me of “Sex and Candy” by Marcy Playground, a song I actually liked. Despite being full of songs I absolutely enjoyed more than the entirety of viagr aboys, Manifesto immediately landed itself at the bottom of my list of albums I listened to this year, and even relistening to it to write this did not warm me to it at all. If anything, I enjoyed it less knowing that “Nurse Parallel” waited for me at the end of it all. This is a uniquely frustrating relationship to have with a work of art, but I would rather be frustrated and honest than lie about enjoying something I didn't.

Encore:

Writing this was mostly an excuse to explore my own emotions on how art depicts hope. Yes, the fact that I am using the term “hope” for art like “Nurse Parallel” while describing “covetous” as “despair-inducing” is because I have been recently going through the Danganronpa games with a friend. If you can find a better dichotomy of terms, please feel free to send them to me by snail mail. They end up on my back porch a lot, I'm sure one of them will relay the message to me. If you derive literally anything of value from this then uhhhhhh...

👍

Every new day brings another last day of something else. Today is the last day of a paycheck while I am on leave of absence. I forecasted this paycheck and while I am grateful that it is here, now I have to figure out how to make it last an unknown amount of time. Well, newsflash that is nearly impossible as I am an adult with bills and debt.

While it is possible I begin to struggle in the coming weeks or months, let’s be real about the workplace. I despise the eight-hour day, five-day week structure we never agreed to but live by anyway. I may not be super philosophical or knowledgeable on the history behind this set up, but it sucks. It takes precious time away from family, friends, and things that genuinely bring joy. I am all for making money and having a good steady career, but why is it at the cost of living? I want to make enough to survive while having plenty of time for what makes me, me. Capitalism has spoiled us all into thinking this is normal. Make money to afford the things you want while those same companies pay under a livable wage so that you dedicate the majority of your life making someone else rich. It doesn’t make sense.

To make matters worse, most workplaces are run by incompetent managers that get an entry-level managing position and somehow let that ‘power’ go to their head and treat you like crap.

I suppose you could say I am angry.

Thank you for your message. I am currently out of office with no set return date. I will get back to you when the time is right.

Growing up I had a large oak desk and I miss it. Unfortunately, my place is small and crowded for a second one. My wife uses an adjustable one for work. Ever since becoming a stay-at-home dad, my need for a desk or the dining table to write grows less.

One thing I noticed when I worked as a private investigator is I always used my right thigh to hold and write on my yellow legal pads. I still use this technique to this day. I wrote this article draft while sitting on the couch next to my younger son as he flipped pages from a book.

That’s the price to pay for being a field writer. You use whatever resources available to you in order to write. Unless you’re an amputee, sorry, your thighs are always with you if you need a writing surface.

The lesson: you don’t need expensive equipment or the best writing setup in order for you to write. Trying to do that will prevent you from writing. Your notebook, pencil, and thighs are all you need. Now, go forth and write.

#writing #desk #field #thighs

One of the perks of being temporarily unemployed is being available for family emergencies. My nearly one year old nephew had to stay home today and thankfully I was able to help watch him. Poor baby is not feeling too well, but I was grateful to have the opportunity to be there for him.

Afterwards, I went for a walk and then to pottery for a few hours before meeting my parents for lunch. I felt super tired around 3pm so I took a nap (another perk of being temporarily unemployed). I napped for a few hours, waking up refreshed and ready for an important World Cup game. Thankfully, we got the result we needed!

Although I am focusing on all my silver linings, there is still the impending doom of my situation hovering over me every day. I keep checking the status of things, but have yet to receive the update I need. I suppose I will keep checking every morning and continue to acknowledge that it is outside of my control.

Thank you for your message. I am currently out of office with no set return date. I will get back to you when the time is right.

A small glimpse of hope.

I am still waiting for good news, but I continue to remain hopeful and productive.

Although my days have not gone exactly as I hoped, I have been getting the rest and recovery that my body desperately needed. I am keeping spirits high and managing stress levels to the best of my ability. On today’s agenda I have laundry, desk cleanout, 10k steps, workout class, and task scheduling for the next few days.

Thank you for your message. I am currently out of office with no set return date. I will get back to you when the time is right.

You’re sitting in the doctor’s office. The test results are in. The doctor comes in, you’re scanning their face to see if it’s good news or bad news. They’re about to tell you your fate. The doctor tells you that your disease is in its advanced stages. They tell you that with proper treatment options, your best outcome is about two to three years. Two to three years is all you hear. Two to three years to live. Maybe you just bought a house, or had a kid. Maybe you just got married, you had your future planned out. Now you only have two to three years. What will you do now? In Part One of this series, I made the case for carrying on as usual. In Part Two, I want to explore why carrying on is the obvious thing to do and how it may serve to reorder our lives now rather than after a dire prognosis.

What is it about receiving a dire health prognosis that scares us so much? Is it knowing that we’re going to die? Most people know they’re going to die—they’ve known this since childhood. No, it’s something else. Maybe it’s knowing that it’s happening sooner than you thought? Prior to receiving the prognosis, you assumed you were going to live to old age but with one major caveat—that you may not. Since the prognosis, a new assumption has formed: now it’s assumed you won’t live to old age, but there is still a remote possibility you may beat it and live a long life. Your assumptions have changed, but uncertainty remains. It’s the same uncertainty you’ve lived with your whole life. Of course, there is the very real implication of needing to undergo treatment and face disability and hardship related to your ailment. But again, this was always a possibility before your prognosis. You’ve been sick before. You seek treatment, you try to get better.

Consider a world without our beloved doctors. In this world, there is no one to examine our symptoms and tell us we have x amount of time to live. A farmer gets sick. At first the farmer feels fine enough to carry on working in the field. She works in the field, but maybe feels a bit more tired than usual. She goes on like this for a few months, over the span of a number of months her work days gets shorter and shorter. Then one day the farmer decides she’s too tired to work in the field entirely— maybe she sends one of her children to replace her. She’s realizing that something is gravely wrong. Perhaps she has an intuitive thought that she doesn’t have much longer. She spends the rest of her days housebound— she’s too tired and too sick. Then one day, about eight months after the first signs of her mysterious ailment, she passes away. She got sick, she carried on farming to the extent she physically could, and then she died. This reveals that in the absence of a prognosis there was never any reason to do anything other than what she was already doing. She carried on exactly as she had been until she couldn’t.

I’m skeptical of the narrative that a prognosis should serve as a call to action—a call to suddenly change the course of your life to live it fully. Right now, you may have only ten months to live. Perhaps ten months from now you will die in a car accident—a morbid thought, I know. Despite this, you’re probably not living like you only have ten months to live and you’re probably okay with that. So then when the doctor says you have ten months to live what new information has the doctor actually given you?

Receiving a dire health prognosis should change nothing. You were okay with your life before, so why should it be any different after a prognosis? It shouldn’t. Disease obviously introduces physical limitations that need to be managed. Certain diseases demand rigorous treatments with debilitating side effects. You deal with your symptoms as you would any other time you’ve been sick, you try to get better, but the prognosis should in theory not stop you from doing or wanting to do what you’ve always done before because nothing about your situation has really changed.

Even though a prognosis should change nothing, this insight is still very much a call to action. It reveals that if you can’t tolerate the idea of doing what you’re doing now after a dire health prognosis, then it means that you shouldn’t be doing it now. The point is, we should be cultivating a full and meaningful life that we’d be happy to carry on with even after a dire health prognosis.

This is different from the popular motto live life like it’s your last day. The problem with this motto is that it doesn’t take into account what you’re already doing. This motto allows us to put it off until the day we realize that our lives are limited by a dire health prognosis. What I’m saying is that you’re already living life like it’s your last, because every day already could be your last. A diagnosis doesn't hand you a new timeline. It hands you the truth you've already been living by. Carry on. But carry on honestly.

What Does It Profit a Man

by Dan De Lion

There’s a question older than any platform, older than any market, older than the noise we call modern life:

What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul.

It’s not a religious line. It’s a human one. A line drawn in the dirt between value and worth, between living and being used.

And lately, I’ve been watching a culture forget the difference.

We’ve built an economy where a person’s visibility is treated as their value, where the body becomes a billboard, and where the self — the quiet, private, unrepeatable self — is chipped away and sold in fragments. The fans‑industry is only one corner of it, but it’s the clearest mirror we’ve got.

Because here, the trade is naked:

Your being for their coin. Your presence for their attention. Your dignity for their demand.

And the world calls it empowerment.

But empowerment that requires self‑commodification is just exploitation with better branding.

The question — What does it profit a man — cuts through the slogans. It asks what we’re really gaining, and what we’re quietly losing while we clap for ourselves.

You can gain followers and lose your boundaries. You can gain income and lose your inner life. You can gain attention and lose the sense that you’re more than what strangers consume.

A culture can lose its soul too. When it teaches its young that their worth is measured in subscribers, that their intimacy is content, that their body is a product, it hasn’t evolved — it’s just found a shinier way to forget what a person is.

The question stands there, unblinking:

What does it profit you to be seen by everyone and known by no one.

What does it profit you to be desired by thousands and valued by none.

What does it profit you to gain the whole world and lose the part of yourself that cannot be replaced.

I don’t write this to condemn the people trying to survive. I write it to condemn the system that tells them survival requires selling their own reflection.

A human being is not a product. A soul is not a subscription. And any industry that forgets this is already bankrupt.

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Honestly today I was just feeling myself. I low-key was in that flow state, smooth with it type beat. I’m looking forward to this three day weekend!