When I was a kid I used to dislike driving up to Deltona to visit my aunt and uncle. I generally liked my aunt and uncle, so it wasn’t them. It was the Deltona area at the time that garnered my disdain.

This was the early-to-mid-90s. Deltona is an early exurb of the Orlando, Florida area, really close to Sanford. Both communities were “developed” in the 1980s as a place for “starter homes” for new families. Centex Homes billboards were a regular sight on I-4 in those days, one of the leading companies building cheap houses all over Central Florida. Eddy, who was my youth pastor growing up and a mentor figure for me for many years, was a carpenter by trade and he helped build all the houses in the Deltona area. He said that he’d hop in the back of a truck to ride to the job site, dodging rattlesnakes to then get on a roof and just hop down the line of houses, moving from roof-to-roof. He told me that guys would sometimes attempt to kill rattlesnakes from the back of the truck by using rebar like a spear and throwing it at them.

“You had one shot,” he’d tell me from the driver’s seat of his van as we drove past the Deltona exit on our way to New Smyrna to surf, “a rattlesnake has like an 8-foot striking range, so if you missed there was a real risk that the snake could bite you in the truck bed.”

This story was often accompanied by a phrase I’m sure lots of us have heard before; that, before the houses, there was “nothing out here.”

Nothing.

This was what I didn’t like about Deltona. The surrounding area felt like there was nothing. Just miles and miles of what I would later come to know as “scrub pine”—forests of tall pine trees and small palms, the ground beneath being sand littered with pine needles, cones, and dry sticks. A landscape that seemed boring and banal. Tearing it up for houses and strip-malls seemed like an absolute improvement.

The epitome of land that is “undeveloped.”

My first memories of my mom as a working person were when she worked as the bookkeeper for a real estate developer. The concept of “undeveloped land” is something I unconsciously sublimated from my earliest years.

I remember when my childhood church, the First Baptist Church of Pine Hills, was eyeing its future growth and owned a 50-acre plot of land in the Ocoee area of Central Florida. Eventually this plot of land would become my high school and the main place of worship for the church. But when I was like 8 and we went out for the ground-breaking ceremony for the building that would house classrooms and a gymnasium, the area was a seemingly endless stretch of orange trees. There was one hill, heading West on Highway 50, that when it crested you could see almost all the way to Claremont. In 1990 it was a horizon of green, a single road bifurcating fields of citrus. Everyone who grew up in Florida prior to the 2000s likely has a story about some area that “used to be nothing but orange groves.”

But, to my mind, orange trees were something. Scrub pine was, truly, nothing.

***

When I was in seminary I was first exposed to the theologians of Radical Orthodoxy that would become deeply influential to me. In particular is Catherine Pickstock. A friend of mine had given me a burned CD of an interview she and John Milbank gave (I think to the BBC) and Pickstock said something that has stuck with me ever since: all things were created to worship and so when we look at a tree and see it as a being in worship this changes our relationship with the tree—it is no longer a commodity to be used but a creature that glorifies its creator.

Like I said, I this stuck with me and I think of it often, especially now that I live in Hawaiʻi which is a place that pretty openly celebrates the fellowship and sacred participation of all creatures. In Hawaiian thinking, trees and animals are a “people” who share our spaces with us and it is our kuleana (responsibility) to care for them and treat them as part of our ʻohana (which, as Lilo all taught us, means family). The continued use of valleys and islands for live-fire drills and bombing practice, the sullying of our wai (water), the loss of indigenous agriculture to pineapple and sugar farming to export wealth out of our communities is all seen as actions that hurt our family. The ʻaina (land) is part of us, is something that participates in a sacred life. Hawaiians rightly understand that all of creation worships its creator and so we are not free to casually exploit creation and treat it as a kind of impersonal “resource” for consumption.

Calling land “undeveloped” carries with it an assumption: that turning that land into something that can be monetized is the realized telos (its end or purpose, to use an academic theological term) of that land. The assumed thinking here is that a piece of land is effectively “wasting its potential” by simply existing.

Members of the Church are not innocent here. Centuries of interpreting passages about tilling the land or our God-given “dominion” over creation as though it is our obligation to transform land into something for financial gain have their genesis in various corners of the Church. The truth is that our “dominion” is supposed to look like the Kingdom of God, which is defined by Jesusʻ own humility. A gift that indigenous Christians give back to the Church is the reminder that our relationship with the land is defined by what Hawaiians call pono, which is most closely translated as “righteousness” (but is also deeply related to the concept of sovereignty). We are stewards of a creation that is not ours, set in the midst of a worshipful mosaic of fellow creatures, expected by God to do right by them.

I’m of the mind that Christianity itself has been the victim of a kind of intellectual colonization that has caused it to lose focus on things that Jesus called to our attention. Wealth-hoarders/addicts throughout generations have the habit of forcibly wrenching religious beliefs into something that supports their exploitative vision. Jesus, ever the agrarian, repeatedly directs our attention to the created world in order to teach us about the Kingdom of God—which is to say that the exploitative impulse we see coming from Christian Nationalists and others of their ilk is not something intrinsic to the Christian faith itself, but is the result of the colonizing impulse to rework anything and everything into justifying these actions.

The “undeveloped land” mindset is subtle. What starts as “there was nothing but orange trees” can quickly turn into “there was nothing.” And of course there was never nothing.

***

When I was in Thailand in 2007 I met guys who had grown up in the US while their dads were being educated for ministry. Once they returned to Thailand they took to their Thai culture to a degree that even astounded other Thai people. I went through a similar thing when I returned to Florida after my time in Northern Virginia/DC during seminary. I became extra Floridian.

An author who was important to me at this time was Jeff Klinkenberg. His Seasons of Real Florida should be required reading for anyone moving to the state. It was him who got me to understand that scrub pine land was far from “nothing.”

Turns out that this type of land, ubiquitous and seen as the kind of bland “cookie matrix” between the chocolate chips of “civilization” (to borrow an image from Chuck Palahniuk), is a completely unique ecosystem. It’s a rare example of a “wet desert,” meaning that even though the area gets rain like 200 days out of the year (calling Florida the “Sunshine State” is just the first of many falsehoods about the state that charlatans came up with to sell land starting in the 1800s) because the ground is mostly sand, the water doesn’t stay and runs through down to the aquifer beneath the surface. There are crazy lizards that swim in the sand. And the whole thing has evolved to rely on lightning.

See, scrub pine is sandy because it used to be ocean. Florida was basically an underwater sandbar until relatively recently (in a geological sense). The plants that grow there are opportunistic plants that have adapted to eke out enough moisture from the sand to thrive. That and they can make use of the consistent rain that falls (nearly every day in Central Florida is a thunderstorm starting around 3 pm). These tall and thin pine trees are also perfect lightning rods. The lightning strikes the palms, they catch fire. The fire opens their cones and the rising heat helps carry the seeds. The fire also burns off parasitic plants and over-zealous undergrowth. With Florida being the lightning strike capitol of North America, this is ideal.

Basically, this is an ecosystem that has adapted perfectly to its environment—one could argue that it does so in worshipful response to what God has ordained it to do, moving as it does through the long evolutionary process of God’s creative act. It’s a rare and beautiful thing when one really considers it.

But, it also so happens to be flat and easily transformable land that also just so happens to exist around some of the most active tourist hotspots in the world. Which means that it is not in the best interest for the investors that we see this land for what it is and celebrate it as a means to glorify God and draw us all closer into His love. No, it has to be seen as “undeveloped.” As “nothing.”

This scenario is playing out all over the world. You’ll hear this language as the wealth-addicts eye the construction of yet another data center. Or high-rise that will never be filled. Or shopping center that will put other places out of business. Or agriculture land that will grow corn or beef to be exported elsewhere at the expense of feeding the hungry who live in the detritus of what we might call “post-developed land.”

For us Christians there can be no such thing as “undeveloped land.” No vista contains “nothing.” Rather it is all rife with the creatures of our God and King, living in uninterrupted worship of Him.

“You love all things that exist and loathe none of the things that you have made, for you would not have made anything if you had hated it.” (Wisdom 11:24, ESV)

If God loves it, then we’re meant to love it. It’s not “undeveloped.” It’s something entirely more valuable.

A pen and ink drawing of a scrub pine forest that I drew after learning to appreciate them

---

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

#theology #nature #ecology #Jesus #Episcopal #Anglican #Christian #Bible

In Summary: * This has been a good Wednesday, all things considered. It started a little rough for me. I had a touch of the intestinal bug that hit the wife on Sunday, but I'm already feeling much better. And, in spite of not feeling 100% on top of my game, my meeting at the bank went well. My afternoon was spent relaxing, listening to a thirteen inning MLB game between the Minnesota Twins and the New York Yankees. The Twins finally won that game by a score of 5 to 4.

Listening now to relaxing radio music, there's nothing on my agenda other than the night prayers and meditations, and probably another early bedtime.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.97 lbs. * bp= 154/90 (60)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:00 – 1 Reese's pb cup, nacho chips w. cheese & meat sauce * 12:15 – popcorn, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy * 16:40 -1 fresh apple, and a few more Reese's pb cups

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 03:50 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 04:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to music, nap * 10:30 – prep for a business meeting later today * 11:30 – business meeting at bank * 12:15 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvi * 13:30 – listen to radio call of MLB game, Yankees vs Twins * 16:32 – and the Twins win, 5 to 4, in the 13th inning of an overtime game. * 16:45 – follow news reports from various sources

Chess: * 09:10 – moved in all pending CC games

I’ve been remembering my dreams again. I’ve stopped falling asleep with YouTube on and blaring in my ear, and I do sleep with a notebook beside me most nights.

There are times when I won’t remember very much in the morning, but then if I concentrate hard enough, I am able to retrieve them. I usually pause and try really hard to come up with tiny elements or recall a tiny fragment—eventually, bigger chunks of the dreams emerge.

I notice that a lot of what I dream about has something to do with my every day. They don’t come from nothing. Whether it’s about eating less meat, or about my partner. All is one. Everything is connected.

Let’s do a card pull this evening: The Tyrant. Of course, I pull this one. I’ve just spent most of my day in front of the computer making graphics and working for this job that barely cares about me. I need to care about myself. In our society, where FREE love and care are so scarce. Where money is worshiped like God, we must remember to care. To let go of all that we think we must do. What are we called to do?

What am I being called to do?

I recently met two jewelry designers. One was from a small town in Argentina, and the other from Brazil. They were speaking Portuguese when I walked into their shop. The Argentine woman spoke Portuguese because her partner is from Brazil. She said Argentina has beautiful cities and villages, but its beaches aren’t so great. She said Brazil has way better beaches.

After chatting for a while, they complimented my skin, saying my tan was beautiful. The Argentine said she couldn’t tan like me because she was too pale. I told them it’s the sun and that the sun loves me. I’m probably the darkest I’ve ever been. Growing up in Japan, where pale skin is glamorized and over-idealized, women around me wore sunscreen and cover-ups daily. I always questioned the excessive aversion to the sun. In Japan, dark skin is often associated with farmers and physical laborers. Yeah, I get it because I know enough cultural nuances, but it’s still stupid because it comes from such a low, insecure place. As a kid, I played outside a lot, so I naturally got a tan in the summer. People often teased me for being darker, so I wore sunscreen and tried to avoid the sun as I hit puberty. Today, I love sunbathing and do not wear sunscreen at all. It feels toxic to me.

Back to the story. As I was leaving the shop, a thought hit me. What if people who do horrible things—dictators, colonizers, slave owners, criminals, psychopaths—are the way they are because they haven’t absorbed enough sun? Do they lack vitamin D? Maybe the lack goes way back to their previous generations. What if they hate themselves because the sun doesn’t love them? So they do horrible things to people who are in touch with the sun. Do you notice that those on the receiving end of tragedy tend to have darker skin? The sun's warmth gives me vitality that nothing else can. It lifts my mood and nourishes and strengthens my body, and seeing my skin darken in response to the sun makes me happy. I wonder what the world’s outcome would have been if they had simply admired those loved by the sun, rather than dictating, colonizing, owning, hurting, and abusing them.

I think something has been missed in the whole Ed Sheeran/Macklemore/Everybody but Ed quits the tour controversy.

First of all, even Bob Kraft, who got Macklemore tossed from the tour, doesn’t actually believe that criticism of the actions of the Israeli government is antisemitic. Kraft is a supporter of Trump. You know, the guy who famously said there were “very fine people on both sides” when incels with tiki torches marched through UVA chanting “Jews Will Not Replace Us!”

Kraft is a very rich guy and doesn’t care about antisemitism because he doesn’t believe it, or anything else, can touch him. But he cares deeply about preserving a status quo that has made him incredibly wealthy.

So what he doesn’t want, and what nobody with power in this country wants, is for the citizens of the United States to start being critical of the way “the good guys” use military power.

It’s probably hard to explain to anyone who didn’t grow up here the degree to which young people in this country are indoctrinated with the idea that the United States of America is not just a country; it is the best, most morally correct country in the world. And if the USA occasionally does things like incinerate entire cities full of civilians, well, that’s just because they were trying to save American and Japanese lives, see! Because if they hadn’t dropped the bomb, they would have had to invade, and so many more people would have died! So incinerating two cities full of civilians was the moral course of action!

They really told us stuff like this. And we really believed it.

And Israel is probably the only other country that we ascribe this level of virtue to. (And let me say this as a GenXer—when I was growing up, Holocaust survivors were alive. I met a couple. If you’re even like 40 years old, the Holocaust probably seems like ancient history to you, but for us it was a thing that happened to our grandparents. And so a lot of folks see any resistance against the actions of the Israeli government as a continuation of the Holocaust’s project of eliminating Jewish people from the face of the earth. I don’t agree with this perception, but I get how you arrive at that point of view. But that point of view is not driving billionaire and government overreaction to people pointing out that maybe the government of Israel should stop doing genocide.)

The position of the United States in the world is, in large part dependent on the implicit threat that the US government will use military force to accomplish its aims. But this threat rests on VERY shaky foundations due to the fact that we have a volunteer military. In other words, you have to convince people that they are signing up for a virtuous project when they join the US military, or else fewer will sign up.

The US establishment was stung by the widespread opposition to the Vietnam War. So much so that they abolished the draft in order to squash said opposition. It worked! As soon as they stopped drafting people, the protests stopped! And while we’ve protested other wars, they haven’t drawn the massive opposition that Vietnam brought because our wars are, by and large, fought by poor people.

But now the establishment is in a pickle. Because they really can’t bring the draft back without massive pushback. And they can’t continue to recruit people to project force across the globe unless they can get them to believe that they are soldiers of righteousness, fighting for truth, justice, and the American way.

So unquestioning support for Israel is where they’ve decided to draw the line. Because it’s not too far a step from realizing that the US is funding a genocide committed by our client state in the Middle East to realizing that maybe US military actions in the world aren’t really about spreading democracy any more than Israel is committing a defensive genocide. Maybe the aims of our military actions are actually venal and ignoble. While some people will still definitely want to sign up to be international bullies, it’s a smaller number than would want to sign up to do something brave and noble.

So this, I believe, it’s what’s behind the wild overreaction to people expressing the idea that Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank are human beings who deserve to exist. Because the United States is on the side of genocide in this conflict. We are not the good guys here. And the more people who believe this, the shakier American military power becomes.

Weird, after having such a terrific night

Dream 1 — The Client

A client who owes me a huge sum of money calls.

He tells me I charged too much and that he is not going to pay me.

I am desperate.

I start bargaining with him, begging him to at least pay half.

The whole thing feels humiliating because I need the money badly. There is no comfortable buffer. Losing that payment would be catastrophic.

---

Dream 2 — Plane Crashes

Horrible dream.

Ng and I have been in a plane crash, but we survived. We walk away from a broken fuselage. We seem to have been the only two people aboard.

The plane had been some kind of experimental AI-piloted aircraft.

Later, we are invited to a picnic at Kitty Hawk. It is a big event. President Carter is there, although somehow we are on the steps of the Capitol building, like the old Schoolhouse Rock “I’m Just a Bill” cartoon.

We are having lunch under a large tent at the edge of a huge grassy area.

I walk outside, look up at an empty sky, and say:

“That plane is going to crash.”

There is a murmur as a thousand people look up and see absolutely nothing.

Then the murmur turns ugly.

People make snarling remarks. The whole crowd seems angry at what they think is a tasteless joke.

But I just stand there staring at the sky.

For.

A.

Long.

Time.

Eventually the music starts again and everyone returns to the garden party.

What are we celebrating? That we survived? Or something else?

There are too many people for it to be about us.

Elegant food. String quartet. Very swanky.

Then I see it.

I raise my hand, point, and say again:

“That plane is going to crash.”

A small private jet appears.

It falls almost in slow motion.

I watch it smash into the ground about a thousand feet away.

There is no explosion. It is more like a train hitting a cement truck.

A huge smoking crater.

The crowd is stunned.

The music stops.

A woman begins to weep.

Everyone looks from the wreckage back to me.

Moments later someone shrieks and points into the sky.

Another small plane is falling.

This one is on fire.

Then another.

And another.

Soon two dozen aircraft have fallen out of the sky.

The landscape is covered in wreckage.

Some are enormous airframes. A few are helicopters.

Then I hear a dull roar growing louder and louder.

I look up and see a gigantic plane coming directly toward us.

One wing has been sheared off.

It is spinning.

Flames trail behind it.

I shout to Ng:

“Get down!”

She just stands there.

“What? Why? Why do I need to get down?”

I shove her across the lawn and into a drainage ditch, then dive in behind her just as the flaming wreck slams into the tent where we had been standing.

Earth and fire explode into the air.

The wreckage surges over us while we lie in the ditch with our hands over our heads.

Some time later, we are at a press conference at the ocean.

Actually, in the ocean.

The audience stands in shallow water with pant legs rolled up while an official explains what happened.

There had been a problem updating the software.

They needed to change from a 12-hour clock to a 24-hour clock, but nobody could find a good time to make the transition.

So a technician decided to turn air-traffic control off and back on “real quick.”

When the system restarted, it allowed AI to take control of the aircraft.

They still could not explain why the AI crashed all the planes.

---

Self-Analysis

These two dreams feel connected.

The first is almost painfully direct: something I depend on is suddenly taken away by someone else’s decision. I have done the work, I expect the payment, and then I am told that the agreement may no longer matter.

What gets me most is not the money itself, but the helplessness of it.

I am reduced to bargaining.

Please pay half.

Please give me something.

That emotional state carries straight into the second dream.

The plane dream begins after I have already survived one disaster. I am not standing under the sky as an innocent observer. I have already been through the crash once.

That may be why I am watching so closely.

Everyone else is eating, listening to music, enjoying the party.

I am scanning the sky.

I know something can go wrong because it already has.

When I say, “That plane is going to crash,” no one believes me because there is nothing visible yet.

That feels familiar.

Sometimes anxiety is exactly that: seeing all the possible consequences before there is any evidence that they are actually happening.

The crowd is comfortable because the danger is invisible.

I am uncomfortable because I know invisible danger still exists.

Then one plane falls.

Then another.

Then everything starts falling.

That escalation feels like the real center of the dream.

One problem is manageable.

Two problems become a pattern.

Then suddenly my mind is imagining total system failure.

The first dream gives that pattern a very practical foundation. When there is little margin for error, one failure can feel enormous. A single unpaid bill can seem capable of knocking over everything behind it.

There is another kind of vulnerability here too.

Once something has been put into the world, I do not always control what happens to it afterward.

Money owed to me is outside my control.

Words read by someone else are outside my control.

A plane handed over to an automated system is outside my control.

Different situations, same emotional structure.

Something important has left my hands.

Now I am waiting to see what happens next.

The garden party makes that contrast almost ridiculous.

Everything looks polished.

Important people.

Good food.

Music.

A beautiful lawn.

A civilized explanation for everything.

Meanwhile, machinery is falling out of the sky.

That may be my brain making fun of the idea that life is ever as orderly as it looks from the outside.

And when the biggest plane comes at us, all of that disappears.

There is no time for explanation.

No time for debate.

I protect Ng and get us into the ditch.

That is probably the clearest instinct in the whole dream.

When everything becomes chaotic, I stop trying to understand it and protect what matters to me.

The ending is almost comical.

All that destruction comes down to a software update, a clock change, and someone deciding to reboot the system “real quick.”

That feels exactly like anxiety about fragility.

Huge consequences.

Tiny trigger.

The most unsettling part is that even after the officials explain what happened, they still cannot explain why the AI crashed the planes.

They can explain how control was lost.

They cannot explain what happened after control was gone.

That distinction sticks with me.

Both dreams seem to circle the same fear:

I can do my part correctly and still find myself depending on people, systems, or circumstances I cannot fully control.

And when I am already stretched thin, even a small failure can look like the beginning of planes falling out of the sky.

---

#amber #undertow #static #glass #ghost #gravity

Joined in progress.

Today's MLB game of choice is joined in progress. The Twins and Yankees are playing through the 3rd inning, and the Twins are leading, 1 to 0. I'm following the game's scores and stats in real time via MLB's Gameday Service where we can also find links to the radio-call of the game provided by announcers of either team we choose.

And the adventure continues.

Document er en fiende av norske etablerte medier. Deres busimessmodell er å diskreditere de såkalte “mainstream media” for å spre sitt høyreekstreme tankegods. At de kan pynte seg med medlemskap i Redaktørforeningen er en fallitterklæring for norsk presse. Endelig kommer flere redaktører på banen i protest.

Dette er, som kjent, Anders Behring Breiviks gamle favorittblogg. Han leste ikke Document for å finne reisetips eller kakeoppskrifter, men fordi de spredte den hatefulle og konspiratoriske tankegodset som inspirerte Breivik til å sprenge regjeringskvartalet og massakrere barn. Den dag i dag pisker de opp hat mot AUF-ere, spesielt Gaute Skjervø, og bruker landssviker-retorikk mot statsministeren.

Angrep på etablerte medier er en sentral del av Documents virksomhet. Filter Nyheter bringer denne uka noen ferske eksempler fra podcasten “skogpodd”, der redaktør Hans Rustad raljerer over sine “kolleger”: NRK «minner litt om Goebbels” journalistene i NRK er «propagandasoldater», VG er «spydspissen for den dype staten» og Aftenposten «tjener ondskapens hær i himmelrommet». Dette kan man altså få millioner i pressestøtte for.

Hvilke redaktører ønsker å gi godkjentstempel til en slik brønnpisser? Svar: alle sammen! Bortsett fra en liten håndfull prinsippfaste redaktører som nå velger å melde seg ut i protest. Resten ser ut til å trives godt med å låne sin troverdighet til Documents samfunnsnedbrytende virksomhet.

Hva er det man egentlig er redd for her? At Document skal få vann på mølla? At forsøk på “kansellering” skal gi dem unnskyldninger til å spille offerrollen? Her er greia: de trenger ikke noe vann på mølla. Mølla går av seg selv. Document kommer til å anklage “mainstream media” for å være korrupte og onde uansett. Likevel velger altså våre etablerte medier å svare på de konstante angrepene ved å låne Document sin troverdighet. Hans Rustad jobber hardt for å undergrave norske redaktører, og de svarer med å låne ham spaden sin.

Eller for å sitere Churchill (beklager, jeg har blitt mann 41, det er obligatorisk): “You were given the choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor, and you will have war”. Document vil fortsette å undergrave den frie pressen og demokratiet vårt for å fremme sin ekstreme agenda. Det eneste norsk presse kan velge, er om de vil vise ryggrad eller ta angrepene liggende. All honnør til dem som står opp og sier fra.

Starcraft Co.– A Retrospective

Now that Starcraft Co. is finished, I wanted to just give a few thoughts, reflections and future ideas. First off, it turned into a much larger project than I initially anticipated. The final product was 348 pages, 131452 words and 33 chapters... a proper novel. The writing style evolved as the missions became more detailed. Initially I started with just short action sequences, which made sense considering the early missions were very simple and linear. As the scope of the campaign broadened, it turned into more of an epic sci-fi style space opera. Because it was based on an RTS campaign written over 20 years ago, there wasn't a ton in the way of world building and character development, so I did my best to fill in the gaps without having to completely rewrite the narrative or add in non-canon content. Overall I'm happy with the final product.

I felt the story really captured the theme of the original campaign, quality over quantity in combat. A small mercenary outfit focused extensively on improving their skill and equipment and this allowed them to continually face foes with overwhelming superiority in numbers and come out victorious. They simply scaled up from there. The Protoss alliance was interesting to develop because in the campaign there isn't a ton of build up to it, and yet they become an integral part of the final missions. So, developing this was fun. In retrospect, the betrayal felt a little sudden, like clearly the UIC was corrupt, but the degree to which Starcraft Co. turned on them is a little out of left field in the campaign. So I made sure to foreshadow this in missions prior to Greed, which really kicks it into overdrive. If I was to do it all over again, though, I'd lay the groundwork earlier. I think I made up a lot of the campaign as I went along originally, so this makes sense. The early missions were pretty simple, but that was more me learning how to use the campaign editor. I didn't really understand triggers until mission 9.

There was of course some inevitable repetition, as RTS campaigns are well... repetitive. I don't imagine many people would be interested in reading it in its entirety, but it was a fun experiment/challenge nonetheless. I'll probably host/post the entire document at some point down the line, I just haven't decided how yet. In the meantime, some future ideas:

Starcraft Co. 2

I had a planned second campaign, that starts right at the end of Starcraft Co. that I never actually created. The original campaign never reveals the true antagonist, who set the renegade scientists entire plan into motion. Terrans alone never would have been able to figure out how to enslave/breed zerg, let alone grow an Overmind. So this campaign was going to explore who did it and have you play as this mysterious antagonist, with Starcraft Co. themselves playing the role of the villain. This would take a lot of work since I never actually drafted the campaign, and I could do it in a few ways:

1)Actually dig out the old Brood War Campaign editor (or a 3rd party one) and make the campaign. Then use that as a template for the next installment. This would be fun, but especially time consuming.

2)Just sketch out the narrative using the lore I have built up as a template.

3)A hybrid. Don't make every mission, but a few of the more interesting ones and fill in the blanks. Honestly this is the most appealing at the moment.

It will be a while before I try to tackle Starcraft Co. 2, if I ever do, but I think it could be fun.

Continuing the Inbetweeners

We are about 20 installments deep into the Inbetweeners and not even close to halfway through. I'll keep plugging away at this one as I have time. I anticipate it will eventually eclipse Starcraft Co. in scale based on the amount of lore I have piled up.

The Indeterminate Trials of Marius (working title)

Project I've been sketching out, involving an unfortunate protagonist who has a seemingly endless series of trials he must complete to return to his family and regular life. I'm still working out the details but I'm planning on rolling out the first installment at some point.

Other RTS campaigns.

Maybe I can dig back in the old memory vault and resurrect other StarCraft Campaigns, or maybe some old Age of Empire's 2 campaigns I created back in the day. These would be much smaller in scope than Starcraft Co.

And of course, miscellaneous treatises, short stories, writing experiments, etc will continue to be produced. Stay tuned!

It's only been a few weeks since I started sharing these pages, and I'm now better in command of my research and investigations than before I began. I must not underestimate what writing here has done for my understanding and my peace of mind.

Two things from my Thus wrote I post (August 31, 2026) call out to me today:

“Speaking my truth to the world is better than letting my inner world consume me whole.”

And:

“Silence also corrodes. If left unmanaged, some unspoken words and thoughts become toxic. They rush the mind, body, and soul like a firestorm, leaving nothing but ash and cinder in their wake.”

I'm not suggesting I've found some new reservoir of strength. But I do feel I've arrived at the edges of something unfamiliar, where knowledge, however subjective, and uncertainty are coming into a strange sort of balance I’ve never encountered — a cheimorropia between worlds.

But is balance preferable? Does balance mean smoothness? Is there friction that is healthy, even necessary?

#Intermundia

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Notes:

1. Cheimorropia — (n.) from Greek cheimōn (winter storm) + rhopē (the tilt of the balance before it settles); storm-poise; balance amidst chaos.

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By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of my reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.

I came upon this quote while searching a book from my library regarding what to make of alleged psychical (anomalous) experiences when corroboration is lacking or insufficient:

“If I am the character-witness for an obscure man who relates a psychical incident, I am but one and may myself have been deceived in my impressions of him. If, however, the narrator is a famous man, and many persons of standing have spread abroad his reputation for judgment and character, it is much harder to believe that all could have been deceived in him.” — W.F. Prince

If I understand the author’s logic, reputation as collateral, with many vouchers for one, seems a sound method. Courts have run on less for centuries.

But if I were to apply the author’s logic to my own circumstances, then this would be a closed case before it ever opened. This is not a critique of his method, just of my situation, for which I’m obscure by both choice and design. No one can vouch for me, as I write under a name that cannot be easily found. No persons of standing have spread or can spread my reputation for quality character or sound judgment broadly, for I have taken careful steps so that none shall. That, in itself, may appear a self-defeating move, but I do not believe celebrity equals authenticity.

Upon a second reading of the first clause, however, I may myself have been deceived in my impressions of him. For the person vouching for the obscure man is himself a narrator. The persons of standing who vouch for the famous man are narrators in their turn, each requiring their own vouchers, each of whom may have been deceived in their own impressions, just as I may have been in my own. In this chain of vouchers, no first witness exists. There is only the telling of the experience, passed upward, and at the top, someone whose word must simply be taken.

The author would be right to doubt me if he were here today. My own events had all the witnesses their nature permitted. Outside of two or three experiences I can recall off-hand, the majority of my encounters have but two witnesses, and one of them cannot be deposed. My testimony, in part, waits here in these growing pages. Therefore, the very same doubts and burdens of proof that meet me at the bottom of the ladder also wait at the top, for everyone — famous or merely patient — with a book of entries older than I am.

#Anomalology

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Notes:

1. See also Darke Sentences: Vigenère's Chain of Knowing.

2. Quote is from Noted Witnesses for Psychic Occurrences, by W.F. Prince (1928).

3. A paradox of the psychical is the need to speak of it to process, understand, and integrate it, but to speak it means to take the great risk of being disbelieved, mocked, shunned, clinically probed, and institutionalized. How does one negotiate such treacherous terrain? Thus, the misunderstanding and vilification of the anomalous, and the limitlessness of the unspoken.

4. In my vernacular, Psychical and Anomalous are one and the same.

5. W.F. Prince was an Episcopal priest turned psychical researcher. I do not share his traditions despite what appears to be our shared, asynchronous interests in anomalous experiences. I’m certain we’d have had very robust conversations, if given the opportunity.

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By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of my reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.

Arne Svingen, forøvrig en av favorittforfatterene til eldstemann, løfter noen gode poeng i sin ytring på NRK.no. Det skal godt gjøres for meg å løse noen av utfordringene, men jeg kan bidra med et knippe anbefalinger som kanskje kan bidra til å navigere jungelen av litteratur for de yngre.

Lesing for barna er minst like viktig som egen lesing. I hjemme vårt har vi lest for barna siden de var veldig små, og jeg har bygget en god liste med bøker og serier jeg synes utmerker seg og som jeg gjerne kan anbefale videre.

Jeg lenker til bøkene i norske nettbutikker, men de fleste kan fint lånes på biblioteket. Å bygge en samling bøker hjemme er noe jeg har stor tro på at inspirerer til mer lesing, men det må ikke bli en barriere for å skaffe bøker til lesing. Lån på biblioteket, av andre, og bruk bursdager og jul til å ønske dere bøker til barna, er en god løsning.

Jeg synes det er vanskelig å klassifisere mange av bøkene i alderskategorier, fordi barn ofte er veldig forskjellige når det kommer til modenhet, leseferdigheter, hva de liker, og mange 13-åringer vil jeg tro (som vår) kan kose seg med bøker for de yngre barna, fordi det er gode, morsomme og trygge historier.

Denne listen blir mer som et utdrag enn en komplett liste. Det er enormt mye der ute, men her er et sted å starte.

Detektivbyrå nr 2 av Jørn Lier Horst og Hans Jørgen Sandnes

Jørn Lier Horst og Hans Jørgen Sandnes produserer detektivhistorier så blekket spruter. Det har blitt en enorm samling fengende og spennende historier som kan leses for eller av barn fra de er ganske små.

Oppdagerklubben av Bobbie Pears

En god serie fantasifulle skapninger og verdener. Har vært til glede for barna fra de var 4-5 og fremdeles for yngstemann på snart 10.

Alba og Finito av Lars Mæhle

Nyere serie om Alba og hunden hennes Finito som løser mysterier. 10-åringen synes fremdeles disse er artige.

Musse og Helium av Camilla Brinck

Her må du stålsette deg litt, da det er mange bøker og det føles til tider som det går i ring. Men barna fenges og det er en både spennende historie og fokus på gode verdier. Stå i det, så får barna en fin introduksjon til fantasy og eventyrsjangeren gjennom disse to musene og vennene deres.

Gutta i Trehuset av Andry Griffiths og Terry Denton

Her er det også en god stabel bøker for barna å fordype seg i. Kombinasjonen av morsomme tegninger, bisarre historier og fantasi-uten-grenser har gjort det til en sikker vinner for gutta mine. Eldstemann på 13 plukker dem fremdeles opp innimellom.

Bokfabrikken Arne Svingen

Kronikkforfatteren har også vært en bokfabrikk i mange år noe som har resultert i en rekke gode bøker både for de yngre og ungdom.

Spesielt etter 10-årsalderen har eldstemann fått opp øyene for universene til Svingen, kanskje aller mest de selvstående bøkene. Kan nevne Snitch, Unike Edgar, Bror, Cash Money

Familien Von Humbug av Karen Margrete Kilane og Hans Jørgen Sandnes

Nyere serie om Lucy og bestefaren. Lucy oppdager hun egentlig er del av en mystisk og til tider dysfunksjonell herskapsfamilie, von Humbug. Hun møter bestefaren sin og sammen oppdager hun familiehistorien sin, drar på elleville eventyr.

Blinkskudd for yngstemann fra 8-årsalderen.

Donald Pocket

Ikke undervurder verdien av Donald-pocket, følelsen av å krype under et teppe eller dyna med en pocket mens høststormen banker på vinduet, eller i teltet en varm sommerkveld. Egne minner med Donald-pocket i hendene er mange, og våre barn kan gjerne få oppleve det samme. Erfaringen min er at historiene fremdeles slår veldig godt an.

Kjøp samlinger på Finn.no. Hender du kommer over en banankasse med pockets for håndfull mynter. Hjelper godt med å fylle opp nevnte bokhylle med leseinspirasjon.

Dette er i hvertfall en start. Diskuterer gjerne barn, lesing og barnebøker, så hører gjerne fra deg. Send meg også gjerne dine boktips til barna!

Just to be incredibly explicit, I am in no way shape or form interested in J as anything past a friend. Because we hang out a lot and we do stupid things together, a lot of people think that we are in a relationship. This isn’t necessarily great for me because both I don’t want her partner to feel worried at all or any kind of fear regarding that, but also because lot of single people might rule me out because it seems I’m in a relationship. But I think it’s honestly a really sweet thing, on how our platonic friendship and love for each other. Is that meaningful. I feel like if strangers don’t think that opposite sex friendships might potentially be relationships, their is work to be done lol. Something about being so comfortable with someone else and not worrying about being perceived in certain ways is a really comforting thought.

I remember when I was a child seeing a show on television with someone using a pottery wheel. It was so cool to see a lump of reddish brown clay spinning around, and being manipulated into a vase, or a bowl, or whatever. It was like magic to me. I always thought I might like to try it.

It was pretty exciting when the person shaping the clay would add too much water or make a part of the outer edge too thin. The entire project would suddenly go into speed wobble. There was really no saving or fixing it when that happened. It would fold up, and flop around wildly. Inertia would destroy it. The only thing they could do was pick up the pieces, mash them all together, and start over.

That is what my posts are like. I start off with an idea, and then I lose control of it. It goes into a speed wobble, fold ups, and pieces of it fly. Instead of starting over, I scoop the entire mess up, mash all the pieces together, and then post it. Maybe I should have started over. Put more work into it. Instead, I put the mess into the kiln. It comes out looking like a lump of clay that has some remnants of when someone had tried to turn it into a vase, and failed. Part of it smooth, part of a hand print, and what might have been the upper rim mostly squeezed together like a sneering mouth. What the fuck is that? Oh, that's when I tried to make a vase. I have to get ready for work.