The clock tower is the detail that sticks. In the hills of Guian New Area, in China's south-western province of Guizhou, there is a cluster of buildings done up in a kind of continental European pastiche: red roofs, arcaded facades, a multi-arched bridge, and a tower with a clock on it. When AFP visited in July 2026 the whole confection was emitting a low, permanent hum. It is not a resort or a theme park. It is Huawei's largest data centre, and the hum is the sound of several hundred megawatts of cooling and compute doing whatever it is that compute does.

Outside it, on the road, street vendors were selling lunch to data centre workers beneath a banner exhorting everyone to promote high-quality development. A shopkeeper named Shu Peihua told the news agency what the change had felt like from ground level. It used to be a barren mountain, Shu said, but since the area has developed, transportation has become more convenient, trade has picked up, business opportunities have emerged. Another resident, Li Xixiu, put it more plainly still: the centres had really boosted the economy of this entire area, and the villagers in the neighbourhood now find jobs nearby, where before they had to go to other places.

Hold on to those two statements, because they are true. They are also, in the way that ground-level truths often are, an incomplete account of what has happened to Guizhou. In the same report, researchers at Taiwan's Research Institute for Democracy, Society and Emerging Technology laid a different set of numbers beside them. Guizhou has averaged 7.4 per cent annual GDP growth over the past decade. Its wage growth over the same period was second to last in the country. And the province, having borrowed heavily to build the roads, substations and fibre that make it attractive to a hyperscaler, now carries one of the highest debt burdens in China.

That is the puzzle. A place where the growth arrived and the prosperity did not.

What the Ledger Actually Says

The DSET analysis is worth reading slowly, because it separates two things that boosters routinely fuse. Data centres, the researchers found, drive heavy investment in land and equipment, but their impact on boosting local per capita income remains limited. Investment is not income. Capital formation is not a wage. A billion yuan of servers sitting in a shed in Guian counts towards provincial output in exactly the way that a billion yuan of anything else does, and it counts whether or not a single additional person in Guizhou is better paid as a result.

The debt side is starker. By 2024, according to DSET's figures, Guizhou ranked thirtieth among China's provincial-level jurisdictions on debt-to-revenue and twenty-seventh on debt-to-GDP. There are thirty-one of them. This is not a province that dabbled at the edges of the borrowing economy; it went in at the deep end and stayed. The South China Morning Post has reported that Guizhou's outstanding government debt in 2023 amounted to around 72 per cent of provincial GDP, well above the 60 per cent threshold the central government treats as prudent, after years of hefty infrastructure spending on projects that did not all deliver what local officials hoped.

Andrew Stokols of Singapore Management University offered AFP the general version of the finding. Data centres, he said, do not necessarily create a huge spillover effect on local jobs, and immediate benefits have been elusive, in China and elsewhere.

Elsewhere is the operative word. The Guizhou story reads as if it were about Chinese state planning, provincial competition and the peculiarities of local government financing vehicles, and in part it is. But strip away the Chinese institutional furniture and what remains is a much more general fact about a particular kind of asset: enormously expensive to build, almost costless in labour to run, and structurally disinclined to share.

How a Poor Province Became a Server Farm

Guizhou did not stumble into this. It went looking.

The province is mountainous, landlocked, historically among China's poorest, and for most of the reform era its principal export was people. Karst topography makes farming hard and heavy industry harder. What it has is altitude, a cool and stable climate, geological stability, cheap land and a lot of hydropower. In 2016 Beijing designated Guizhou as the country's first national big data comprehensive pilot zone. Guiyang, the provincial capital, began hosting an annual international big data expo. Apple's Chinese iCloud operation was routed through a facility in Guian built with the state-backed operator Guizhou-Cloud Big Data. Tencent went in. So did Huawei, at scale.

In 2021 the strategy got a name, and in February 2022 it got a budget. Eastern Data, Western Computing, or 东数西算, is the National Development and Reform Commission's programme to build eight national computing hubs and ten national data centre clusters, siting the compute-heavy, latency-tolerant workloads of China's digital economy in the energy-rich, land-rich, underpopulated west while the east keeps the customers. The hubs sit in Beijing-Tianjin-Hebei, the Yangtze River Delta, the Greater Bay Area, the Chengdu-Chongqing corridor, Inner Mongolia, Ningxia, Gansu and Guizhou. The NDRC's own projection was that the hubs and clusters would drive roughly 400 billion yuan of investment a year.

The logic is not stupid. AI training is brutally energy-hungry and largely indifferent to a few dozen milliseconds of latency. China has ordered that data centres draw 80 per cent of their power from renewable sources by the end of the decade, and the west is where the wind and the sun and the water are. Simeng Deng of Rystad Energy told AFP that the facilities help absorb the surplus of renewable power generation, which is a real service: western China curtails a great deal of clean electricity it cannot move east fast enough. China is on course to nearly double its data centre capacity within five years.

There is a wrinkle in the clean-power story that deserves stating. Guizhou is a hydropower province, but it is also a coal province. Its grid leans hard on thermal generation, and leans harder when the reservoirs are low. Between 2020 and 2024 the clean share of Guizhou's generation actually fell by five percentage points, one of the steepest declines in China, as fossil output grew faster than total generation. The 80 per cent renewable target is a target, not a description. And the curtailed wind and solar that western data centres are meant to soak up is curtailed partly because transmission out of the west is inadequate, which is the same infrastructure gap that made siting compute there attractive in the first place. The policy is elegantly circular: build the load where the power is stranded, because the power is stranded.

For a province like Guizhou, the pitch to Beijing and to the market was straightforward. We have the power. We have the land. We will build the rest. And it did build the rest, with borrowed money, which is the part of the sentence that ended up mattering most.

The Machine That Employs Almost Nobody

The single most useful piece of evidence on what a hyperscale facility does to the place around it was published this month, and it is not about China at all.

In a working paper dated 7 August 2026, Dany Bahar of Brown University and Greg C. Wright of the University of California, Merced set out to test the spillover claim directly. Their opening line is the thesis: a hyperscale data centre can cost more than a billion dollars while employing only a few dozen people. Using a registry of 341 hyperscale facilities in the United States, assembled from a Pacific Northwest National Laboratory atlas, operator announcements, subsidy records and state filings, they asked whether that investment propagates outward through the three classic channels economists expect: a deeper shared labour pool, denser supplier linkages, and firm clustering with knowledge spillovers.

Their method is elegant. Because operators screen sites for power, land and fibre, the places that get a data centre are systematically unlike the places that do not, which wrecks naive before-and-after comparisons. So Bahar and Wright compare the immediate vicinity of a completed facility against the surrounding area at the same site, and separately compare 341 built campuses against 84 hyperscale projects that were publicly announced and never constructed. Satellite imagery does the dating: land clearing and night-time lights mark the moment construction begins.

At the parcel, the effect is enormous and unmistakable. Night-time lights rise by 38 per cent within the first kilometre when construction starts. Vegetation clears. The place is visibly transformed. And then, moving outward, the signal decays to approximately nothing by five kilometres. Announced projects that were never built show no comparable change, which is the control working exactly as intended.

Beyond the fence line, the findings are a sustained deflation. Advertised salaries do not rise; the authors can rule out any increase above 5.5 per cent. New firm registrations and business applications do not rise, with upper bounds of 1.6 and 5.7 per cent. Supplier job postings rise by 5.9 per cent, but the confidence interval runs from a 15 per cent decline to a 32 per cent increase, which is a polite way of saying the data cannot tell. County-level data-processing employment rises 26 per cent and establishments 27 per cent, but that category includes the facility itself, and related industries show no consistent response. Compute-using firms are indeed found near data centres, but 69 per cent of them were already there before the nearest facility opened. Nearby rents may rise a few per cent, imprecisely. Multifamily permitting does not rise. Net migration does not rise. Foot traffic and commercial spending show no robust change. Residential electricity prices, in their US sample, do not rise either.

The summary sentence is one that ought to be pinned above every county planning committee and every provincial development office on earth: at this scale, the sites are transformed, but there is little evidence of a new local cluster.

That is Guizhou's 7.4 per cent GDP growth and its second-from-bottom wage growth, derived independently, on the other side of the Pacific, from satellites and job adverts.

Two Kinds of Job, and the Gap Between Them

The employment arithmetic is not hidden. It is simply presented in a way that encourages people to add the wrong numbers together.

A hyperscale build is a construction event of genuine magnitude. Industry staffing analyses drawing on the Uptime Institute's 2024 Global Data Center Survey put a 100 megawatt campus at roughly 850 construction workers across an eighteen-month build. These are the industry's own numbers, published by recruiters who profit from the boom, which makes their shape more telling rather than less. That is real money moving through a local economy: rented rooms, diesel, lunch, aggregate, portaloos. It is also, by design, temporary. When the last commissioning engineer drives away, a fully built 100 megawatt hyperscale campus typically retains somewhere between one hundred and two hundred permanent on-site staff.

The gap between those two figures is where the political trouble lives. A community is shown the construction number, experiences the construction number, and then is left with the operations number, which is smaller by an order of magnitude and often filled by specialists who commute or relocate rather than by the people who used to work the mountain.

Guizhou has a particular reason to feel that gap keenly. For three decades the province's most reliable export was working-age adults, sent to the factory belts of Guangdong and Zhejiang, leaving behind the phenomenon that Chinese social policy calls left-behind children. Li Xixiu's observation that villagers can now find work nearby is, in that context, an enormous statement. It is also one that depends on which phase of the project you are standing in. Construction employment for a build-out of dozens of facilities can run for years, and while it runs, it looks like a structural change to the local labour market. It is not one.

Ireland offers the cleanest illustration in the world, because the Irish state publishes both sides. The Central Statistics Office found that data centres consumed 22 per cent of all metered electricity in the Republic in 2024, and 23 per cent in 2025. The Department of Enterprise's own assessment, which dates from 2018, put direct employment at roughly 1,800 people, with a further 1,900 a year in related construction, the latter figure supplied by the Construction Industry Federation. Slightly less than a quarter of a national grid, in exchange for a direct workforce that would fit comfortably into a mid-sized secondary school. The jobs number is eight years older than the electricity number, which tells its own story about what gets counted. The Commission for Regulation of Utilities has rewritten connection policy to favour applicants who bring their own dispatchable generation or storage and can offer demand flexibility. Ireland is not hostile to the industry. It simply ran out of grid before it ran out of enthusiasm.

Loudoun County, and Why Guizhou Cannot Copy It

There is one place where the bargain has unambiguously worked for residents, and it is worth understanding precisely why, because the reason does not travel.

Loudoun County, Virginia, hosts the densest concentration of data centres on the planet. Its fiscal 2027 budget anticipates roughly 417 million dollars in real property tax from data centre buildings and about 879 million dollars in personal property tax on the servers and equipment inside them, nearly 1.3 billion dollars in total, or 45 per cent of the county's nearly 2.9 billion dollars in tax revenue, from a county of about 440,000 people. Industry-adjacent analysis by Mangum Economics for the Northern Virginia Technology Council estimates that without that revenue, residential property tax rates would have to rise by 91 per cent, nearly double, costing a typical homeowner some 5,800 dollars a year. The average completed facility employs about 50 people.

Loudoun is not a story about labour spillovers. Bahar and Wright would predict, correctly, that the wage effects there are muted. Loudoun is a story about a fiscal linkage: a local government with the legal power to tax the equipment inside the building, annually, at high value, and to spend the proceeds on its own schools and roads.

Almost nowhere else has arranged things that way. In the United States, at least thirty-five states now offer tax incentives aimed specifically at data centres, with cumulative awards approaching twenty billion dollars by the authors' tally from the Good Jobs First subsidy tracker. Good Jobs First's own analysis of eleven data centre megadeals found an average public cost of about 1.95 million dollars per permanent job, with the largest single per-job subsidy, 6.4 million dollars, awarded by North Carolina to Apple. The organisation's recommendation was that all state and local subsidies combined be capped at 50,000 dollars per permanent job. Set against 1.95 million, that recommendation reads less like policy advice than like an intervention.

Guizhou's structural problem is that it has neither Loudoun's tax handle nor the option of declining the deal. Chinese local governments do not levy a meaningful recurring property tax. Their revenue historically came from land sales and from off-balance-sheet borrowing through local government financing vehicles, which build the roads and substations and repay the loans out of the growth the roads and substations are supposed to produce. When a province competes for a hyperscaler by discounting power, discounting land and building the grid connection itself, it has converted the fiscal linkage from an asset into a liability before the first rack is energised. The investment lands. The debt service lands. The wage bill, being tiny, lands somewhere between the two and barely registers.

An Enclave With Better Cooling

Development economists have a name for this shape, and it is much older than the cloud.

Albert Hirschman argued in 1958 that the developmental value of an industry lies not in its size but in its linkages: backward, to the suppliers it pulls into existence, and forward, to the industries that add value to its output. In a 1977 essay on staple exports he generalised the scheme, adding the fiscal linkage, meaning the public revenue an industry generates, and the consumption linkage, meaning the local demand created by the wages it pays. An enclave economy is what you get when all four are weak. The classic cases are extractive: a capital-intensive mine or oil field employing very few people relative to its contribution to output, importing its equipment, exporting its product, and touching the surrounding economy mainly through a fenced perimeter and a haul road. UNCTAD's work on extractive industries describes exactly this combination, capital-intensive, labour-light, linkage-poor, as the reason resource wealth so often fails to convert into local development.

A hyperscale data centre is an unusually pure specimen. Its backward linkages are global: the GPUs come from a handful of foundries, the transformers and chillers from specialist manufacturers, the network gear from a shortlist. Bahar and Wright's inconclusive supplier estimates are what you would expect from an industry that buys almost nothing locally except concrete, security and landscaping. Its forward linkages are, by construction, non-local: the entire premise of Eastern Data, Western Computing is that the value-added services consuming the compute stay two thousand kilometres east. Its consumption linkage is capped by a payroll of dozens. And its fiscal linkage is the one variable that policy can actually set, which is precisely why competition between jurisdictions tends to bid it towards zero.

This is not an argument that data centres are bad. It is an argument that they are a particular category of thing, and that the category has a well-documented behaviour which the promotional literature systematically ignores. Guizhou did not misunderstand data centres. It understood them as a growth engine, which they are, and hoped they would also be a development engine, which they largely are not.

The Racks That Nobody Rented

The second Guizhou problem is that a good deal of the capital did not even deliver the compute.

In March 2025, MIT Technology Review reported that of the more than five hundred data centre projects announced across China in 2023 and 2024, at least 150 had been completed by the end of 2024, and that local publications were reporting up to 80 per cent of new computing capacity sitting idle. GPU rental prices collapsed accordingly: an eight-GPU Nvidia H100 server that had commanded around 180,000 yuan a month fell to about 75,000.

The DSET researchers Angela Glowacki and Cartus Bo-Xiang You, writing for the Australian Strategic Policy Institute's Strategist in May 2026, mapped the same problem onto the western build specifically. By 2024, 633 hyperscale and large data centres had been built and made operational under Eastern Data, Western Computing, lifting national computing capacity to 268 exaflops. Some western facilities, they wrote, sit empty, with utilisation rates as low as 20 to 30 per cent, a far cry from the original policy goal of more than 60 per cent. Beijing has since restated that all data centres should run at no less than 60 per cent utilisation, and that no new large or super-large facilities should be built in cities where existing ones operate below 50 per cent.

The reasons are mundane and instructive. Remote regions lacked the fibre-optic cables needed to move large volumes of data in real time, forcing operators to spend more on transmission than the model assumed. Renewable curtailment in the western region still exceeds 30 per cent, which undercuts the cheap-clean-power premise. Many facilities were built on the assumption that state-owned enterprises and government agencies would buy the compute, and that demand did not fully arrive. Inter-governmental competition produced speculative overbuilding, and more than a hundred state-backed projects have been scrapped in the past eighteen months against eleven cancellations in the whole of 2023.

Guian, to be fair, is at the better end of this distribution. Local reporting in August 2026 put first-half electricity consumption growth in the new area at 33.7 per cent year on year, on a total of 3.12 billion kilowatt-hours through late June, with big data operations alone consuming 1.93 billion of that, up 52.2 per cent. Guian is busy. But an idle rack and a busy rack impose the same debt service, and a province cannot know which it has bought until several years after it has paid.

Who Actually Pays the Bill

If the benefits are concentrated at the parcel and diffuse to nothing by five kilometres, the costs run in the opposite direction. They start at the parcel and travel.

A 2026 arXiv preprint by Danbo Chen, Zijun Zhou, Yongyang Cai, Jiahong Qin, Ani Katchova and Lei Chen models this directly, coupling language-model analysis of corporate compute plans with energy-system modelling. It projects that electricity consumption by the six largest AI firms will rise from roughly 118 terawatt hours in 2024 to between 239 and 295 terawatt hours by 2030, about one per cent of global power demand, with more than 90 per cent of new capacity landing in North America, Western Europe and Asia-Pacific. Crucially, the burden is not evenly distributed. The authors construct a Power Stress Index and find values above 0.25 in Oregon, Virginia and Ireland, while diversified grids in Texas and Japan absorb the load more comfortably. Their conclusion is that AI infrastructure has become a structural component of power-system dynamics rather than a marginal load, which means it now has to be planned for rather than merely connected.

Water follows the same logic. A preprint by Yuelin Han, Pengfei Li, Adam Wierman and Shaolei Ren, revised in March 2026, estimates that if 2024 water-use intensity persists, US data centres could collectively require between 697 and 1,451 million gallons per day by 2030, comparable to New York City's entire supply. Even assuming aggressive efficiency gains of 10 per cent a year, the range is 227 to 604 million gallons daily. Associated public water infrastructure costs reach roughly ten billion dollars, rising to fifty-eight billion under high-growth scenarios. Their central observation is the one that matters here: these impacts are highly concentrated on communities hosting data centres. The compute is national. The reservoir is not.

Memphis has become the American shorthand for what concentration looks like when it goes wrong. The NAACP, the Southern Environmental Law Center and Earthjustice sued xAI in April 2026 over the operation of 27 unpermitted methane gas turbines in Southaven, Mississippi, effectively a power plant assembled to feed the Colossus 2 facility. This is an airshed where Shelby County in Tennessee and DeSoto County in Mississippi have both received an F grade for ozone from the American Lung Association. The plaintiffs include residents of the Whitehaven and Boxtown neighbourhoods of South Memphis, downwind. The Department of Justice has since intervened on xAI's side. The turbine count, meanwhile, never stopped rising. The plaintiffs went back to court on 6 May 2026 seeking an emergency order to halt operations, and the installations continued regardless: by mid-July, correspondence between xAI's environmental consultant and Mississippi regulators, obtained by Reuters through a public records request, documented 59 unpermitted turbines, at least 57 of them at Southaven, roughly double the number the company had publicly acknowledged. The resolution took the most direct form available: Mississippi's Permit Board had already approved a permanent 1.2 gigawatt plant of 41 turbines on the same ground in March 2026, a month before the suit was filed, and on 31 July xAI agreed a schedule to strip the temporary machines out of the Stanton Road site, beginning in August 2026 and finishing by July 2027. The fight over unpermitted temporary turbines has been settled by making the power station permanent and lawful in the same airshed, breathed by the same people, which is the tell that it was never really about permits. Whatever the litigation concludes, the geography of the dispute is the point: the model is trained everywhere and the generation sits in one postcode, with permission now to stay there.

What Happens When You Ask

There is a final piece of the research picture, and it is a strange one, which is what makes it interesting.

In a preprint first posted in November 2025, Zhifeng Wu, Yuelin Han and Shaolei Ren asked whether large language models could stand in for community consultation on data centre projects. They built a framework that polls AI agents, prompted with local demographic and geographic context, on how they would respond to a proposed facility, and compared the output against real human survey data. The agents identified water usage and utility bills as the dominant concerns and tax revenue as the principal perceived benefit. Responses varied meaningfully depending on which model was used and where the hypothetical project sat. And, notably, the synthetic responses aligned substantially with findings from actual human surveys. The authors propose it as an efficient early-stage instrument for folding neighbourhood perspectives into siting decisions before the plans harden.

You can read that finding two ways, and both are uncomfortable. The optimistic reading is that we now have a cheap way to anticipate what a community will object to, months before the first hearing, at a stage when the design can still change. The bleak reading is that the industry has arrived at a technique for simulating consent, and that the reason such a technique is attractive is that the genuine article is expensive, slow and increasingly likely to say no.

The Guizhou villagers quoted by AFP were not polled, synthetically or otherwise. They were asked a question by a passing reporter and answered it honestly, which is a different exercise from being consulted before a decision. Nothing in the Eastern Data, Western Computing framework required anyone in Guian to be asked whether the mountain should become a campus, and it is worth being clear that this is not solely a feature of the Chinese system. Across the United States, the same decision is routinely taken under non-disclosure agreements and by-right zoning, and communities learn what has been approved after the approval.

Note also what the agents converged on. Water. Bills. Tax revenue. Not wages. Not careers. Not the long-run transformation of the local labour market. Even a synthetic public, prompted to reason about a data centre, does not appear to expect it to be a jobs programme. The expectation gap that Guizhou is living through is largely one that promoters created and that residents, given a moment to think, do not fully share.

What Shu Peihua Is Describing

So return to the shopkeeper on the road outside Huawei's clock tower, because nothing in the preceding sections makes what Shu Peihua said untrue.

The road is real. In a karst province where a mountain village might once have been two hours from a trunk route, a dual carriageway built to carry transformers and chilled water plant is a permanent improvement to the lives of everyone along it. The universities are real; a local vendor told AFP that two had been established since the facilities went in. The customers are real, and so is Li Xixiu's point that people find work nearby now instead of boarding a train to Guangdong. Guizhou has been one of the great exporters of migrant labour in modern China, with all the social cost that implies, and a family that stays together because a parent can get a security job or a canteen job or a fit-out job forty minutes from home has received something that does not show up in a wage-growth ranking.

What the evidence says is narrower and harder. It says that these gains are the consumption linkage of a construction boom plus the ordinary agglomeration of a new-town development, and that they are front-loaded. It says the operational phase which follows will not employ many people, will not raise local salaries measurably, will not spawn a cluster of firms that were not already coming, and will not, on the American evidence, move rents, migration or retail spending much either. It says the electricity, water and land are consumed locally while the value of what they produce is realised somewhere with better weather and higher salaries. And in Guizhou's case, it says the province financed the entry ticket with debt that now ranks second-worst in the country relative to revenue, against assets that may be running at 20 to 30 per cent utilisation.

None of that argues for refusing the data centre. It argues for pricing it honestly, and for noticing which linkage is doing the work. The fiscal one is the only channel a host can reliably control, and it is the one that inter-jurisdictional competition destroys first. There are policy shapes that hold onto it: recurring taxation of the equipment rather than one-off land revenue, as in Loudoun; subsidies capped per permanent job, as Good Jobs First proposes; published utilisation and load data so that a province can tell a productive asset from a monument; large-load tariffs that make the operator, not the household, pay for the substation; and sunset clauses that return the abatement when the promised employment does not materialise.

The alternative is what the resource curse literature has been documenting for sixty years in copper and oil, now rendered in reinforced concrete and immersion cooling. Something enormous arrives. The output figures move. The mountain gets a road, and then the road gets quiet, and the ledger that recorded the growth turns out never to have been the ledger that measured the prosperity.

Shu Peihua is right that it used to be a barren mountain. The question Guizhou has yet to answer, and that a hundred counties from Virginia to Kildare are asking in their own accents, is what a mountain becomes when the thing built on it needs the mountain far more than the mountain needs it.

References and Sources

1. China goes rural with data centres in quest to power AI – AFP, via The Star, 19 August 2026
2. Abundant electricity isn't enough: China's overbuilt AI computing power is underused – Angela Glowacki and Cartus Bo-Xiang You, The Strategist, Australian Strategic Policy Institute, 6 May 2026
3. The Local Economic Impact of Data Centers – Dany Bahar and Greg C. Wright, working paper, 7 August 2026
4. Concentrated siting of AI data centers drives regional power-system stress under rising global compute demand – Danbo Chen, Zijun Zhou, Yongyang Cai, Jiahong Qin, Ani Katchova and Lei Chen, arXiv preprint 2604.06198
5. Small Bottle, Big Pipe: Quantifying and Addressing the Impact of Data Centers on Public Water Systems – Yuelin Han, Pengfei Li, Adam Wierman and Shaolei Ren, arXiv preprint 2603.02705
6. What AI Speaks for Your Community: Polling AI Agents for Public Opinion on Data Center Projects – Zhifeng Wu, Yuelin Han and Shaolei Ren, arXiv preprint 2511.22037
7. China built hundreds of AI data centers to catch the AI boom. Now many stand unused. – MIT Technology Review, 26 March 2025
8. Western regions to gain computing power – China Daily, 17 March 2022
9. Big data key to high-tech development – China Daily, 30 May 2023
10. China's debt-ridden Guizhou faces reckoning after years of splashing out on pricey projects – South China Morning Post
11. AI and Data Centers Surge in Guian as First-Half Electricity Demand Jumps 33 Percent – ChinaTechNews, 20 August 2026
12. Chinese government plans data center capacity reseller network amid overbuild concerns – Data Center Dynamics
13. Data Centres Metered Electricity Consumption 2025, Key Findings – Central Statistics Office, Ireland
14. Government Statement on the Role of Data Centres in Ireland's Enterprise Strategy – Department of Enterprise, Trade and Employment, Ireland, June 2018
15. CRU Publishes its Decision on New Electricity Connection Policy for Data Centres – Commission for Regulation of Utilities, Ireland
16. Loudoun County, Virginia: The Heart of the Data-Center Boom – Judge Glock, City Journal, 26 April 2026
17. The Impact of Data Centers on Virginia's State and Local Economies, 6th Biennial Report – Mangum Economics for the Northern Virginia Technology Council, February 2026
18. Money Lost to the Cloud: How Data Centers Benefit from State and Local Government Subsidies – Good Jobs First
19. A Generalized Linkage Approach to Development, with Special Reference to Staples – Albert O. Hirschman, 1977, reprinted in The Essential Hirschman, Princeton University Press
20. Extractive Industries: Optimizing Value Retention in Host Countries – United Nations Conference on Trade and Development
21. Illegal Pollution from Data Center Power Plants Shouldn't Harm Our Communities. We're Suing xAI. – Earthjustice
22. Pollution from Musk's unpermitted xAI power project hits hardest in Black communities – Disha Raychaudhuri and Valerie Volcovici, Reuters, via The Star, 14 July 2026
23. State sets dates to retire temporary xAI turbines but allows some to go past original deadline – Mississippi Today, 31 July 2026
24. China's north cleans up its power mix as the south lags – Centre for Research on Energy and Clean Air, 19 March 2025
25. How Many Jobs Does a Data Center Create? – Data Center Geeks, compiling the Uptime Institute 2024 Global Data Center Survey

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Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer

Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.

His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.

ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk

Listen to the free weekly SmarterArticles Podcast

Shame on the publishers who didn't catch it. Is seeing the underlying foundation and patterning really that challenging? It was bad enough when very talented authors chose to make virtual copy-and-paste books, but this...this...

It sends me into a rage. An actual rage. Fucking hell!

How do people stomach reading this fancied up slop?! That is NOT how a thesaurus is used!

No wonder AI companies are buying up rare books and texts, scanning, then destroying them. It's not just to train. Give it a few generations and no one will have any understanding of the soul or artistry of the written word.

My writing is far from perfect, but it's not garnished AI bullshit.

A bestseller should not be this heavy-handed with its AI usage. That book is far from tool level usage. It has a smattering of human touch in it, but little more than that.

I am so sick of picking up “bestsellers” only to be presented with lazy AI butchery.

Hi blog friends! Hope this update finds you well. For your viewing pleasure – the word “Hi” fashioned out of some stepping stones in the dirt adjacent to some neighborhood businesses that always used to keep the prettiest roses out in front of their shops – which have become vacant since we last passed by 22 months ago.

It’s new power wheelchair adjustment time for me and the process has been bittersweet. It’s been kicking my arse, but I’m navigating through it. So far, my confidence has been shaken only twice – once due to a run in with a loose office rug inside an elevator, and again because of a small but very boss hill that slopes down in two directions at the same time. Crossing my fingers that the new center mount footplate I’m having installed soon will make a huge difference. In the meantime, I’ve learned that you shouldn’t be afraid to cite ADA violations to anyone, because chances are if they’re violating the ADA, they’re going against other important building and fire codes as well.

BTW, the loose rug in the elevator was Carpet Lady’s idea. Ever since she took over management duties here, she’s installed loose rugs inside the elevator and in front of just about every doorway and ruggable area in this place. We’ve had words about her doing this a few times. She also has a penchant for bringing in heavy planters filled with plants and “cute things” from Hobby Lobby. All these things are a wheelchair users nemesis, and they have been mine. Plus, it’s junking up our place and making it look unsightly as well.

Cute Snail coloring pages are still available for anyone who would like them. They’re easy print PDF and keepsake worthy if you’re into that sort of thing. According to my shop views, people who stop by are really liking the fall pages. Cute Snail Magical, Colorful, Bright, Spec-tacular Fall, Cute Snail Beautiful, Bright Spec-tacular Fall and Cute Snails On Rainbow Log Fresh Starts, Fall Leaves have the most views so far.

How are you doing? Let me know in the comments or via message, text or email. If it helps – which breakfast food takes the crown for you? Sweet Warm Cinnamon roll OR crunchy buttered toast? I like both. But buttered toast dipped in oatmeal or cinnamon rolls topped with butter are the shizzle!

Until next time!

❤️ Juliet

Starcraft Co. 16- New Friends

The crisis was no longer confined to Terran space. While the UIC staggered from one emergency to another, reports began arriving from beyond the frontier suggesting that the Protoss were experiencing a convulsion of their own. Terran knowledge of Protoss civilization remained fragmentary. Humans had encountered them often enough to know they were technologically superior, intensely religious, divided into numerous tribes and scattered across a broad region of space, but sustained diplomatic contact was rare. Most Protoss enclaves seemed content to ignore Terran affairs unless humanity wandered somewhere it was not welcome. The largest exception was the Ara tribe, one of the oldest and most advanced Protoss societies known to Terran intelligence. Their homeworld was Aiur, and even the UIC's best analysts knew surprisingly little about what happened there. That changed when an Ara distress transmission began broadcasting across Terran frequencies.

The message repeated in several human languages. It identified the sender, provided coordinates and requested military assistance from any force capable of reaching Aiur quickly enough to intervene. Nothing like it had ever happened before. Protoss did not ask Terrans for help. They rarely asked Terrans for anything. The transmission caused enough confusion inside the UIC that several departments initially assumed it was a trap. By the time intelligence confirmed its authenticity, StarCraft Co. had already received the unfiltered recording through one of the private channels it maintained outside government networks. The commander listened to it twice before asking for everything the company knew about Aiur. The answer arrived piecemeal. The Ara tribe was fighting an internal rebellion led by a fanatical sect whose exact ideology Terran intelligence did not understand. Whatever theological dispute had started the conflict, the rebels had crossed one boundary that even outsiders recognized as extraordinary: they had somehow acquired control over Zerg. Ara communications repeatedly described the practice as blasphemy. Zerg organisms fought alongside Protoss zealots and dragoons, responding to commands rather than attacking indiscriminately. Whether the rebel Protoss had independently discovered methods similar to those used by the Terran renegades or were actually cooperating with them remained unknown.

The parallels were too strong to ignore. Renegade Terrans bred Zerg, enthralled dormant swarms and created elite strains. Rebel Protoss now fielded controlled Zerg armies during an internal coup. Two major civilizations were experiencing rebellions at almost the same time, and both rebellions had somehow learned how to make the Zerg obey. The commander forwarded that observation to StarCraft Co.'s intelligence staff and deliberately did not send it to the UIC. Relations with General Voss remained functional, but New Carthage had altered something. StarCraft Co. was increasingly reluctant to assume that information placed inside the UIC bureaucracy would remain useful, secret or even find its way to the right person. The situation on Aiur was desperate. Most of the Ara fleet was away from the planet when the rebellion began. Under normal circumstances that would have mattered little. Protoss warp infrastructure allowed forces to move across enormous distances with astonishing speed. The rebels understood that better than anyone. Their opening operation had disabled the warp matrix linking the Ara capital with the wider Protoss network. The capital was now isolated. Rebel forces surrounded it from several directions while Zerg swarms filled the approaches. The Ara defenders remained technologically formidable but badly outnumbered, and their fleet was still days away by conventional movement. The distress call had not been issued because the Protoss suddenly desired friendship with humanity. It had been issued because they expected the capital to fall before their own people could reach it.

StarCraft Co. had its own problem. New Carthage had consumed enormous quantities of ammunition and damaged much of the company's heavy equipment. Other UIC contracts were already drawing away ships and infantry. There was no conventional army available to send to Aiur without abandoning obligations elsewhere. Under normal circumstances, the commander would have declined the request. Instead, he opened a file labeled COMMANDO. The project had begun quietly after Khamsin. StarCraft Co. had accumulated an enormous quantity of biological and neurological research from the renegade laboratories, most of it related to Zerg genetics, regeneration, neural control and the physical enhancement of living organisms. The company had officially handed copies to the UIC. It had not handed over the only copies. StarCraft Co.'s research division had spent months studying what could be applied safely to Terran soldiers without turning them into anything resembling the abominations discovered at Delos. The result was still experimental.

Commandos were not infested humans. That distinction had been absolute from the beginning. No living Zerg tissue was incorporated into their bodies, and anything capable of independent biological replication had been prohibited. Instead, StarCraft Co. scientists had used insights taken from the renegade programs to redesign conventional augmentation. Improved musculature. Faster neural transmission. Reinforced connective tissue. Aggressively optimized clotting and healing responses. Sensory enhancement. Combat stimulants tailored to individual metabolism rather than mass-produced for ordinary marines. Their armor had been designed around the same principle: lighter than standard powered infantry armor, but stronger, more responsive and integrated tightly enough with the wearer that movement approached instinct. The weapons were similarly excessive. Each commando carried a customized Gauss weapon that would have been unpleasant for an ordinary marine to fire continuously. Larger ammunition, higher muzzle velocity, smarter targeting and integrated fire-control systems allowed a single soldier to deliver firepower approaching that of an entire conventional fireteam. Their training was equally expensive. StarCraft Co. had selected experienced veterans rather than recruits and subjected them to months of tactical, physical and psychological conditioning. Twenty-four had reached operational readiness. They had never fought a real battle. The commander looked at the situation on Aiur and decided they were about to.

The Ara representative who answered StarCraft Co.'s transmission seemed initially confused by the offer. The Protoss had requested armies. StarCraft Co. was proposing twenty-four soldiers and a small medical team. The translation system rendered several seconds of Protoss speech before settling on, “This number is insufficient.” “Probably,” the commander replied. “It's what we can send.” The Protoss considered that. Behind him, the commander could hear distant impacts through the open transmission. “You believe these warriors can alter the outcome?” “I believe they'll get through your siege lines.” “And once they do?” “They'll find out whether they're worth what I paid for them.” The Protoss stared at him for a moment. “Terrans remain difficult to understand.” “That feeling is mutual.” Coordinates arrived thirty seconds later.

StarCraft Co. used a small transport group for the insertion. Anything larger risked attracting rebel spacecraft or drawing attention from whatever Zerg fliers controlled the upper atmosphere. The commandos boarded two dropships accompanied by medics and enough ammunition to fight far beyond what twenty-four soldiers should reasonably have required. Science vessels provided navigational and sensor support only until the ships reached the outer system; the commander wanted the experimental unit tested with minimal conventional assistance. If commandos required an army to keep them alive, the project had failed. Aiur looked nothing like any Terran world the soldiers had seen. Vast crystalline formations rose from forests beneath a violet sky. Protoss structures appeared almost grown rather than built, their surfaces glowing with internal energy. Even through combat displays, the planet conveyed age. This was not another fringe colony erected from prefabricated modules forty years earlier. Civilization had existed here while human ancestors were still learning to write. The battle below had scarred it anyway. The rebel Protoss controlled most of the territory surrounding the capital. Zerg creep stretched through forests and across valleys around their positions, biological growth pressing against elegant Protoss structures that looked fundamentally incompatible with it. The capital itself remained visible in the distance, surrounded by flashes from ongoing weapons fire. Rebel Scouts patrolled the most obvious approach vectors. Mutalisks moved among them. StarCraft Co. avoided both.

The dropships penetrated from the dark side of a mountain range, descending through a deep ravine that shielded them from most sensors. Their landing site was a narrow plateau high above one of the secondary rebel positions. The cliff had not been fortified because there was no obvious way for a substantial ground force to reach it. Twenty-four commandos did not constitute a substantial ground force. They disembarked in silence. The first rebel auxiliary base was less than two kilometers away. Sensor readings identified a handful of photon cannons, several dozen zealots and perhaps twenty dragoons. Under ordinary circumstances, StarCraft Co. would have approached with siege tanks and spent an hour dismantling the position safely. The commander wanted data. “Take it.” The commandos moved.

The first zealot died before the Protoss understood they were under attack. Three commandos fired simultaneously, overwhelming his shields and tearing through armor almost instantly. The second managed to charge, covering the distance with terrifying speed. The commando he targeted sidestepped. An ordinary marine would have been cut in half. The commando fired into the zealot's side at arm's length while another soldier hit him from behind. The Protoss warrior collapsed before completing his turn. Then the base reacted. Dragoons opened fire from the far side of the plateau. Photon cannons tracked toward the attackers. Zealots charged from two buildings at once. The commandos spread automatically. There was no need for anyone to tell them not to mass against Protoss weapons. Six soldiers concentrated on the nearest photon cannon while the others moved between crystalline structures. Shields failed beneath sustained high-velocity fire. One commando took a dragoon blast directly against his chest armor and was thrown several meters. His suit absorbed enough of the impact that he stood again before the medic reached him. The rebels had numbers. They had shields. They had Protoss weapons. They still couldn't keep up. Commandos moved too quickly between firing positions. Their weapons stripped shields faster than ordinary Gauss rifles should have been capable of doing. Zealots who committed to charges found their targets retreating while other commandos fired into their backs. Dragoons tried concentrating fire only to discover that the Terrans had already repositioned. The engagement lasted six minutes. Forty-seven rebel Protoss died. StarCraft Co. lost no one. The commander replayed the helmet footage once. “Keep moving.”

The route toward the capital ran through a series of valleys controlled by separate rebel formations. The rebels had not expected any force to appear behind their forward line, and their deployment reflected it. Most heavy units faced inward toward the besieged Ara positions. Auxiliary sites relied on zealots, dragoons and small numbers of photon cannons. The rebellion's more sophisticated weapons were apparently concentrated around the capital itself or elsewhere on Aiur. That made the commandos devastating. The second position received enough warning to form a defensive line. It didn't matter. Commandos attacked from three directions simultaneously. One team drew the dragoons forward while another climbed a ridge the Protoss had apparently considered impassable. The third moved under cover toward the photon cannons. By the time the rebels realized they were being flanked, their detection network was already collapsing.

The third position had Zerg. Zerglings came first, and the commandos killed them almost contemptuously. StarCraft Co.'s ordinary veteran marines had already become exceptionally efficient at dealing with zerglings. Commandos were faster, more accurate and equipped with weapons that tore through carapace almost regardless of angle. They fought in pairs, one moving while the other fired, never allowing the swarm to fix on a stationary target. Zerglings that would have overwhelmed ordinary infantry found themselves chasing soldiers almost capable of matching their bursts of speed. Hydralisks changed the engagement. Their spine fire remained dangerous even to enhanced armor. One commando took a projectile through the thigh and went down. The nearest medic moved toward him, but the wounded soldier had already applied an automatic seal and resumed firing from the ground. Another spine struck a commando's shoulder and failed to penetrate completely. She broke the protruding shaft away and continued advancing. The commander watched the physiological telemetry with increasing interest. The enhancements worked. More importantly, the soldiers remained soldiers. They weren't berserk. They weren't losing cognitive function. Heart rates were elevated but controlled. Coordination remained intact. The horrors at Delos had demonstrated how easily biological enhancement could become biological destruction. StarCraft Co. had produced something fundamentally different. The commandos eliminated the hydralisk group and continued toward the capital.

The siege intensified as they moved deeper. Rebel bases became larger. Zerg concentrations became denser. Mutalisks began appearing frequently enough that the teams could no longer simply avoid them. The commandos adapted. Whenever fliers approached, soldiers spread across wide areas and concentrated fire on individual targets. Their enhanced weapons made infantry anti-air fire considerably more dangerous than the mutalisks expected. The first swarm lost half its number during the initial pass and broke away. The second tried attacking from multiple directions and encountered the same problem. Individual commandos were simply too lethal for the usual method of tearing apart clustered marines. The fourth rebel base almost stopped them. It occupied a narrow valley directly along the most practical route toward the Ara capital. Nearly a hundred zealots and dragoons defended it, supplemented by several photon-cannon clusters and hundreds of Zerg occupying creep fields beyond the Protoss positions. The commandos did not have artillery, Goliaths or science-vessel support. For the first time, the commander considered redirecting them.

The commando leader proposed something else. “Let them fight each other.” The rebels controlled the Zerg, but not perfectly. StarCraft Co. had seen that repeatedly. Control required signals, handlers or infrastructure. The commandos spent forty minutes observing the position until they identified three Protoss structures associated with the nearby swarm. Ghosts would have been ideal. They didn't have ghosts. So commandos did it themselves. Six moved through the outer Zerg lines using terrain and speed rather than cloaking. They killed the Protoss operators within seconds, destroyed the control structures and withdrew. The effect was not instantaneous. Then something changed. Zerglings nearest the Protoss line stopped facing outward. A hydralisk fired into a zealot. The rebellion's control dissolved unevenly. Some Zerg continued attacking StarCraft Co. Others turned against the closest living targets. Mutalisks descended on Protoss positions. Zealots and dragoons suddenly found themselves fighting the creatures that had been guarding their flanks. The commandos waited three minutes. Then attacked everyone.

The valley became chaos. Rebel Protoss fought uncontrolled Zerg while StarCraft Co. systematically destroyed whichever side gained an advantage. Dragoons concentrating on hydralisks exposed themselves to Terran fire. Zerglings charging Protoss positions presented their flanks to commandos on the ridges. Photon cannons tried tracking too many targets at once. Twenty-four soldiers walked through the middle of a battle involving hundreds. When it ended, eighteen commandos remained fully combat capable. Four were wounded but mobile. Two required medevac once the capital was reached. The road ahead was open.

The Ara defenders finally made direct contact when the commandos reached the outer districts of the capital. The first Protoss patrol nearly fired on them before recognizing the Terran identification codes previously transmitted through the distress channel. The commandos were escorted behind Ara lines through streets that had been transformed into defensive works. The capital was magnificent even while under siege. Towers of crystalline material rose hundreds of meters into the twilight, their surfaces alive with currents of blue energy. Walkways crossed enormous open spaces without visible support. Structures seemed to curve in ways Terran engineering would have considered unnecessarily difficult simply because the Protoss could make them. Much of it was burning. The Ara had been pushed into a shrinking defensive perimeter around the warp nexus and central administrative district. Thousands of zealots and dragoons remained, along with scattered templar and a handful of heavier units. They were badly outnumbered. Rebel Protoss occupied the surrounding districts while Zerg controlled many of the approaches.

The Ara commander who met the StarCraft Co. team was visibly unimpressed by their number. “This is the army you promised?” The commando leader looked behind him. “No.” The Protoss waited. “This is all of it.” The translator required several seconds to render the response. Eventually the Ara commander said, “Then your species is either exceptionally courageous or exceptionally foolish.” “Been told both.” The commandos had brought something more valuable than numbers. Experience. The Ara had fought Zerg before, but their defensive doctrine treated the current siege primarily as a Protoss civil conflict with Zerg auxiliaries. StarCraft Co. looked at the battlefield differently. They had spent fourteen missions discovering exactly how controlled Zerg behaved, what broke their coordination and which threats mattered most.

The first recommendation surprised the Ara: stop defending everywhere. The capital's forces were distributed along an enormous perimeter, trying to preserve districts that had little strategic value. StarCraft Co. recommended abandoning several sectors deliberately, concentrating defenses around narrower approaches and allowing the Zerg to enter prepared killing zones. The Ara commander resisted until the commandos showed him recordings from Kestral and New Carthage. The second recommendation was simpler: kill the control infrastructure first. The Ara had been focusing on rebel warriors because Protoss instinctively regarded them as the greater threat. StarCraft Co. argued that the Zerg were the rebels' numerical advantage. Break their control and the siege could begin consuming itself.

The counterattack began twelve hours after the commandos entered the city. Ara forces deliberately withdrew from three outer districts. Rebel zealots advanced into the apparent gaps. Zerg followed. Then the defenders closed behind them. Protoss weapons hit the trapped formations from several elevations while StarCraft Co. commandos targeted control units and handlers. Zerglings lost coordination first. Some continued charging forward. Others attacked rebel Protoss trapped beside them. The defenders advanced. Sector by sector, the same method repeated. Commandos moved ahead of Ara formations, identifying Zerg-control systems and destroying them. Protoss zealots then attacked the resulting disorder while dragoons provided heavy fire from behind. High templar became particularly devastating once StarCraft Co. began directing them toward dense biological formations rather than scattered rebel infantry. Psionic storms tore through hydralisk masses and zergling swarms with efficiency that made the commandos reconsider several assumptions about Protoss battlefield doctrine.

The Protoss learned too. Ara warriors had initially regarded Terran infantry as fragile ranged auxiliaries. Then they watched a commando squad eliminate a force of zealots twice its size. They watched wounded soldiers continue fighting after injuries that should have incapacitated ordinary humans. They saw Terran medics stabilize casualties almost immediately and return some to combat within minutes. Respect developed rapidly when everyone was being shot at by the same people. The decisive battle came at the western transit nexus. Rebel forces had massed there to block the Ara advance toward one of the remaining warp-control facilities. Hundreds of Zerg occupied the open plazas around the structure while zealots and dragoons held the elevated approaches. Several high templar fought with the rebels.

StarCraft Co. and the Ara attacked together. The commandos went after the templar. Ara zealots engaged the rebel front. Dragoons traded fire across the plaza. The Zerg surged into the center. For several minutes the battle became almost impossible to distinguish by species. Protoss fought Protoss. Zerg attacked Ara positions until control nodes were destroyed, then turned on nearby rebels. Commandos moved between both, their weapons selecting targets almost continuously. One rebel high templar began forming a psionic storm over an Ara infantry concentration. A commando shot him through the head before it formed. Another pair of templar merged. The resulting archon charged directly toward the Terran unit. The commandos scattered. They had learned that lesson on Erebus. Rather than pour ineffective rifle fire into its shields, they led it toward an Ara dragoon formation. The Protoss understood immediately. A dozen dragoons concentrated on the archon while commandos fired from the opposite side. The shields collapsed. The archon died.

The western nexus fell. With it came access to one of the systems controlling the disabled warp matrix. Ara engineers went to work. The rebels understood what that meant, and every remaining force around the capital attacked. This was the siege's final moment. Zerglings flooded through streets already filled with corpses. Hydralisks fired from ruined buildings. Mutalisks filled the air above the city while rebel Scouts attacked Ara positions from higher altitude. Zealots charged behind the swarms. The Ara defenders formed around the warp complex. Twenty-four commandos had landed on Aiur. Seventeen were still capable of fighting. They took the center.

The battle lasted almost two hours. The commandos fought until ammunition became the limiting factor. Ara warriors began bringing them captured Terran-compatible supplies from weapons caches maintained by the rebels. Medics worked beside Protoss healers using technologies neither side understood. Commandos rotated out of firing positions only when weapons overheated. The Zerg reached the warp complex twice. The first time Ara zealots drove them back. The second time StarCraft Co. did. A group of hydralisks broke through a damaged eastern structure and reached the engineering teams working on the matrix. Seven commandos intercepted them at close range. Three were wounded. None withdrew. The last hydralisk died less than ten meters from the engineers.

Then the sky changed. The warp matrix came online. Nobody on the battlefield mistook what happened next for anything else. Blue light appeared above the capital in dozens of places simultaneously. Protoss reinforcements began arriving. Dragoons materialized first. Then zealots. Then reavers. Scouts appeared above the city. More warp signatures opened beyond them. The rebel assault faltered. The Ara fleet had arrived. What had been a siege became an extermination. Fresh Protoss forces poured through restored warp routes while the exhausted defenders surged outward. Rebel positions that had spent days grinding down the capital were attacked from both directions. Zerg swarms still under control were isolated and destroyed. Those whose control structures failed turned on anything nearby. The commandos stopped advancing. For the first time since landing, they were no longer necessary. The Ara could finish their own war.

The final casualty count surprised even StarCraft Co.'s research division. Of the twenty-four commandos deployed, five were dead. Eleven had sustained significant wounds. Eight remained physically capable of continued operations at the end of the mission. Every surviving commando had killed numbers of enemy combatants that would have seemed absurd for ordinary infantry. The project was a success. A frighteningly expensive one. Each commando represented more money in augmentation, training and equipment than an entire marine squad. Losing five in one operation hurt. The data gathered on Aiur nevertheless showed that the concept worked. A force small enough to fit inside two dropships had penetrated an army, destroyed multiple rebel positions, crossed Zerg-held territory and materially altered the outcome of a planetary civil war. StarCraft Co. began planning the next generation before the survivors left Aiur.

The political consequences were even larger. The Ara leadership requested a formal meeting with the commander shortly after the capital was secured. This time there was no translation through a battlefield channel. StarCraft Co. representatives were escorted into a chamber overlooking the restored city, where senior Ara officials waited beneath crystalline structures older than most Terran nations. The Protoss speaker addressed them in Terran Standard. “We called into darkness,” he said. “Your people answered.” The commander glanced around the chamber. “Seemed like you needed help.” The Protoss expression was difficult to read. “We did.” There was a long pause. “Our people will remember this.” The commander had dealt with corporate executives, generals, pirates, frightened scientists and government bureaucrats. Protoss gratitude felt different. “What exactly does that mean?” “It means that when StarCraft Co. calls upon the Ara, the call will be answered.” That was worth more than money. The commander understood it immediately. The Ara tribe possessed technology humanity barely understood, military forces capable of crossing interstellar distances through warp networks and influence among Protoss groups StarCraft Co. had never encountered. A favor from them was not something to spend casually. “Then we'll try not to waste it.” The Protoss speaker inclined his head. “Nor will we forget how few you sent.” There might have been humor in that. The commander decided to assume there was.

No UIC representative attended the meeting. None had been invited. That was deliberate. StarCraft Co. informed General Voss only that the Ara capital had survived and that the immediate threat had been neutralized. The report mentioned cooperation with local Protoss forces and omitted the private diplomatic understanding entirely. Voss seemed surprised. “You established direct contact with the Ara leadership?” “They asked for help.” “And you provided it.” “Yes.” “With twenty-four personnel.” “Yes.” Voss stared at him for several seconds. “I'm beginning to dislike your after-action reports.” “Why?” “They keep making the rest of us look bad.” The commander could have answered several ways. He chose the civil one. “Then stop giving us so much material.” Voss actually laughed. But the joke landed differently than it once would have.

StarCraft Co. had started as three mercenaries clearing zerglings from a scientist's basement. Now it possessed a growing fleet, experimental supersoldiers, private intelligence networks, captured alien technology, an unprecedented UIC retainer and a personal debt from one of the most powerful Protoss tribes in known space. More importantly, the commander now understood that the crisis was larger than Terran politics. Human renegades were breeding and controlling Zerg. Protoss rebels were doing the same. Neither rebellion appeared accidental. Whatever was happening had crossed species, governments and borders. The commandos had saved Aiur, but they had also confirmed something far more troubling.

Someone was teaching the galaxy how to use the Zerg.

In Summary: * It's been my experience that a good, productive Monday can set the tone for the rest of the week. That being said, I feel good about the rest of this week, because today has been good and productive.

The regular Monday chore, my weekly laundry, was taken care of early. A substantial amount of prep work for my appointment tomorrow afternoon with the Retina Doc has been taken care of, too. What remains to be done in that regard is best done tomorrow morning.

Next I've got a baseball game to see me through the evening until bedtime. Yep, all things considered this has been a good Monday.

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= 227,63 lbs. * bp= 143/82 (71)

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

Diet: * 05:20 – 1 banana, 1 little cupcake * 10:20 – 4 hot dogs in buns * 12:30 – pizza

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:15 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:55 – bank accounts activity monitored. * 05:15 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap * 07:30 – start the weekly laundry * 11:00 – follow news reports from various sources while folding laundry * 12:30 to 14:00 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:15 – listen to relaxing music while catching up on the day's prayers and sorting correspondence * 15:50 – listening to The Ride with JMV * 17:18 – switching over to 105.3 The Fan, DFW's #1 Sports Station, well ahead of tonight's MLB game between the Rangers and the White Sox.

Chess: * 17:00 – moved in all pending CC games

Ingredients

• 4 chicken drumsticks (thawed, refrigerated)
• 1-1½ C BBQ sauce

Directions

1. Put chicken in crock pot
2. Cover with sauce
3. Cook on high for 1 hour
4. Cook on low for 2 hours

Starcraft Co. 15- Defense II

New Carthage was supposed to be one of the safest cities in Terran space. It sat deep enough inside the UIC core that its defense plans assumed ample warning before any hostile force could reach it, and on paper the metropolis possessed everything a city of nearly twelve million people should have possessed: a full planetary army, layered orbital defenses, reserve armor formations, interceptor wings, hardened shelters and enough logistics infrastructure to sustain a prolonged siege. On paper, it was formidable. In reality, years of deployments to smaller crises had stripped away most of that strength. Units had been transferred to perimeter worlds and never replaced. Ships assigned to the orbital-defense command had been diverted to convoy escort, piracy suppression and emergency responses elsewhere in the sector. Reserve formations existed in administrative databases with vehicles that had been cannibalized for parts years earlier. The UIC had spent so long assuming the core worlds were untouchable that New Carthage's defensive establishment had become another hollow institution nobody intended to examine too closely until somebody actually attacked it.

Now somebody had. The renegades had pushed a massive Zerg force toward the city while coordinated attacks across multiple systems kept the UIC military scrambling in every direction at once. By the time StarCraft Co. entered the system, New Carthage had already endured two days of fighting. Entire suburban districts had been evacuated. Zerg organisms were probing the metropolitan perimeter from half a dozen directions. Local troops were exhausted, communications between commands were failing, and the promised UIC reinforcements existed mainly as departure estimates that kept moving backward. General Voss didn't attempt much euphemism when the commander contacted him during approach. “Local command will transfer operational control when you arrive.” The commander looked at the force roster again. “You mean what's left of local command.” Voss ignored that. “We're moving additional formations toward the system.” “How many are actually underway?” There was a pause. “Several.” “How many have left their bases?” A longer pause. “StarCraft, hold the city.” The commander stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Understood.”

StarCraft Co. arrived barely in time. The fleet came out of warp to find debris already drifting above New Carthage and emergency traffic choking every orbital lane. The captured battlecruiser from Erebus accompanied the company's older capital ships, giving StarCraft Co. its heaviest spaceborne presence yet, but even that force was too small to conduct an offensive against the swarm gathering below. The commander instead used every available ship to move soldiers, vehicles, ammunition and construction equipment directly into the city. Siege tanks rolled from transports while the streets were still crowded with civilians heading toward shelters. Goliaths deployed around power stations and landing fields. Veteran marines and medics were assigned to districts based on the approaches most likely to collapse. SCVs began turning highway interchanges, freight yards and industrial parks into defensive positions before the transports had finished unloading. The city's existing fortifications were worse than the commander expected. Several bunker lines had never been completed. Automated defenses had ammunition but no crews qualified to maintain them. Defensive walls stopped abruptly where development projects had expanded beyond the original perimeter. StarCraft Co. treated the city the same way it had treated Kestral, only on a scale that dwarfed the earlier battle. Wide roads were blocked with cargo containers and abandoned transit vehicles to funnel Zerg into narrow approaches. Mines were buried throughout parks, construction sites and evacuated suburbs. Siege tanks were positioned in deep, overlapping lines rather than directly along the perimeter, allowing them to continue firing if the outer positions fell. Missile turrets appeared around hospitals, command facilities and power infrastructure. SCVs reinforced buildings facing likely attack corridors and cut firing ports through concrete. Veterans from Kestral walked the defensive lines explaining the same principle they had learned there: nothing was intended to stop the swarm outright. Everything was intended to cost it time.

The first major attack began before the western line was finished. Zerglings flooded through abandoned suburbs in numbers so large that aerial reconnaissance could not distinguish individual organisms. Hydralisks moved behind them, burrowing beneath roads and emerging ahead of the main formation. Mutalisks swept between towers, using the buildings to break missile locks. The commander ordered the outer civilian districts abandoned and waited until the leading Zerg entered the prepared avenues. Mines detonated beneath them. Entire intersections vanished in fire. Siege tanks opened from kilometers away, their shells tearing gaps through the swarm while marines fired from reinforced structures overlooking the streets. Firebats held the narrowest approaches, filling alleys and underpasses with flame. Goliaths tracked mutalisks between buildings while missile turrets forced the fliers higher, where Wraiths could engage them cleanly. The attack lasted nearly three hours. It was followed by another from the south before the western units had finished rearming. Then another from the northeast. The Zerg came in waves that varied just enough to prevent the defenders from settling into a routine. Zerglings charged behind ultralisks, using the larger organisms as moving cover against artillery. Hydralisks burrowed beneath ruined neighborhoods and surfaced inside defensive sectors thought to be secure. Mutalisks attacked ammunition convoys instead of frontline positions. Scourge descended on Goliaths whenever their attention shifted toward ground targets. StarCraft Co. had seen all of these tactics separately before. What was different was the coordination. The attacks struck where defenders had moved resources away. Pressure increased on one sector whenever another required reinforcement. Someone was watching the city's responses.

New Carthage survived because StarCraft Co. had spent the previous year learning exactly how Zerg killed Terrans. Comsat sweeps moved ahead of armored formations to reveal burrowed attackers. Science vessels rotated across threatened sectors, projecting defensive matrices over bunkers about to be overrun and irradiating dense concentrations of hydralisks before they could mass. Siege tanks fired until their barrels required replacement, then crews rolled spare weapons into place while SCVs performed repairs under bombardment. Marines fought from prepared positions whenever possible and abandoned them before heroism became suicide. Medics turned subway stations and parking structures into field hospitals. Local UIC troops, disorganized when StarCraft Co. arrived, gradually began functioning better once they had clear sectors, clear orders and officers willing to admit when positions were lost. The Zerg kept coming. For two days New Carthage lived beneath continuous artillery fire. One wave included six ultralisks advancing through the southern industrial corridor while hundreds of zerglings flooded behind them. StarCraft Co. abandoned the first line, detonated fuel caches after the swarm entered, then concentrated three siege batteries on the ultralisks one at a time. Another assault sent mutalisks and scourge across the harbor while hydralisks attacked the bridges leading into the commercial district. Goliaths fought from parking structures while Wraiths used skyscrapers as cover. A science vessel deliberately drew a cluster of scourge away from a damaged battlecruiser, surviving only because a defensive matrix absorbed the first impacts before the vessel irradiated the mass around it. Everywhere the commander looked, something was burning.

Casualties accumulated. Entire UIC units ceased to exist. StarCraft Co. lost veteran marines who had survived Kestral, Delos and Khamsin. Several siege tanks were destroyed by ultralisks that reached the artillery lines. A hydralisk ambush inside a subway maintenance tunnel killed two medic teams before firebats could clear it. Yet every defensive line the Zerg broke revealed another behind it. The city was simply too large to take quickly, and StarCraft Co. understood attrition better than the attackers seemed to expect. Ammunition arrived constantly from orbit. SCVs rebuilt fortifications almost as rapidly as the swarm destroyed them. Civilians were evacuated from districts before they became battlefields. By the third day, the attacks began to change. They stopped trying to break through. Reconnaissance showed the Zerg withdrawing several kilometers from the metropolitan perimeter. At first the defenders thought the assault had failed. Then creep began spreading across the ground they had abandoned. Sunken colonies appeared along major approaches. Spore colonies rose behind them. Hydralisks disappeared beneath the creep. Zerglings stopped charging and began nesting. The renegades had changed strategies. They were no longer trying to take New Carthage in a single blow. They were surrounding it.

Terran positions appeared among the Zerg defenses almost immediately. Renegade siege tanks deployed behind fields of sunken colonies, close enough to bombard approaches but protected from direct assault. Missile turrets supplemented the spore network, making air attacks even more dangerous. Hardened bunkers housed renegade infantry and sensor teams. Supply convoys arrived from beyond the city, suggesting the besiegers intended to stay for weeks or months if necessary. The commander studied the perimeter map and understood the logic. New Carthage consumed enormous quantities of food, medicine, ammunition and reactor fuel. If the renegades could cut enough transport routes, the city would eventually become impossible to sustain. They no longer needed to storm it. They only needed to make the UIC pay more to keep it alive than the government could afford. Several local officers recommended an immediate breakout. The commander refused. He had seen what layered Zerg defenses supported by siege tanks could do at Delos and Khamsin. A ground assault through creep, sunken colonies, burrowed hydralisks and renegade artillery would cost thousands of soldiers even before reaching the first major defensive compound. StarCraft Co. could probably break one section of the siege line. It could not do so without losing enough armor and experienced infantry to make the next section impossible. “Then we wait for the Army,” a UIC brigadier said. The commander looked at him. Neither man needed to say anything else. They had been waiting for the Army since before StarCraft Co. arrived.

General Voss contacted them that evening. “Reinforcements are being assembled.” The commander asked where. “Several systems.” “How many are actually moving toward us?” Voss shifted in his chair. “We have competing emergencies throughout the sector.” “I know.” “New Carthage is not being abandoned.” “I didn't say it was.” Voss looked annoyed. “You're implying it.” The commander kept his voice level. “I'm asking whether I should plan around forces that are actually coming or forces somebody intends to request after the next planning conference.” Voss said nothing for several seconds. The commander had crossed closer to open criticism than he had before, but there was little point pretending anymore. Eventually Voss said, “Plan without them.” “Understood.”

Fortunately, StarCraft Co. had planned for that possibility already. The profits from Erebus and the UIC retainer had funded another expansion of the company's fleet, but the newest vessels had still been undergoing trials when the emergency at New Carthage began. They were Minotaur-class battlecruisers, heavily modified capital ships built around the lessons of Cressida. Their armor incorporated improved composites developed after repeated exposure to Zerg biological weapons. Targeting systems had been optimized for small, fast organisms like scourge. Reactor output and cooling had been increased to sustain heavier weapons fire. StarCraft Co. had poured an irresponsible amount of money into them. Now the commander ordered every combat-ready Minotaur to New Carthage. The siege continued while they waited. StarCraft Co. probed the perimeter but refused to commit. Ghosts infiltrated sections of the renegade line and returned with targeting data. Science vessels mapped spore-colony concentrations and hidden hydralisk positions. Wraiths remained inside the city rather than challenge the anti-air network. Siege tanks occasionally exchanged fire with renegade batteries across the no-man's-land, but neither side accomplished much. The Zerg continued spreading creep. Each day the ring around New Carthage became thicker.

Then the Minotaurs arrived. They emerged from warp above the planet in formation, larger and more heavily armed than anything StarCraft Co. had fielded before. The local UIC command initially assumed they were government reinforcements and began celebrating over the tactical network. The commander let them enjoy the mistake for almost a minute before transmitting the StarCraft Co. identification codes. The plan was brutally simple. The siege existed because the Zerg and renegades had been able to fortify without meaningful attack from above. The Minotaurs would change that. Science vessels and long-range reconnaissance had already mapped thousands of defensive positions around the city. The battlecruisers did not need to search for targets. They only needed to work through the list.

The bombardment began on the northern perimeter. Yamato cannons destroyed the heaviest concentrations first. Renegade siege batteries vanished inside blasts powerful enough to crater entire defensive positions. Spore colonies capable of threatening the battlecruisers were targeted systematically while the Minotaurs remained beyond the densest defensive zones. Laser batteries swept scourge from the sky as the creatures attempted suicide attacks. Valkyries and Wraiths moved behind the capital ships once gaps opened in the spore network, exterminating mutalisks and guardians trying to escape. The renegades had built their siege line to defeat ground forces. They had not built it to survive this. For six hours the Minotaurs moved clockwise around New Carthage, destroying defensive concentrations sector by sector. Sunken colonies disappeared beneath bombardment. Missile-turret clusters were obliterated. Siege tanks attempted to redeploy and were caught in the open. Spore colonies fired upward until Yamato blasts erased them. The Zerg response became increasingly desperate. Hundreds of scourge attacked one Minotaur simultaneously, only to encounter overlapping laser fire, Valkyries and defensive matrices from supporting science vessels. Several reached the hull and detonated. The ship remained operational.

Once the outer defenses began collapsing, the ground forces moved. Marine-medic teams advanced behind siege tanks while science vessels scanned continuously for burrowed organisms. Goliaths followed to handle anything airborne that survived the battlecruisers. The operation resembled Delos, only faster. Tanks deployed beyond the range of surviving sunken colonies and destroyed them. Infantry cleared the ground afterward. Science vessels revealed hydralisks waiting beneath the creep. Firebats burned Zerg structures and hive growth. SCVs moved immediately behind the assault to repair armor and clear paths through destroyed fortifications. Whenever resistance became too dense, the ground force stopped and marked the position for the Minotaurs. Then the sky solved it. The northern siege line collapsed before sunset. The western line followed during the night. By the next morning, renegade units were attempting to withdraw from the south before StarCraft Co. reached them. Some escaped. Most didn't. Wraiths intercepted transports lifting from improvised landing fields. Battlecruisers destroyed vehicles moving across open desert. Ghost teams cut communications between retreating formations and locked down armored units long enough for siege tanks to reach them.

The Zerg had nowhere to retreat. Without the renegades directing them and without the defensive infrastructure protecting them, the remaining organisms reverted to what StarCraft Co. understood best. Zerglings charged. Hydralisks fired from whatever cover remained. Ultralisks tried to close with the tanks. Mutalisks attacked Goliaths. StarCraft Co. killed them with procedures refined over fourteen missions. At that point it really was cleanup. Four days after StarCraft Co. arrived, the last organized defensive position outside New Carthage was destroyed. Creep still covered enormous areas around the city, and isolated Zerg remained hidden in tunnels, ruins and abandoned suburbs, but the siege was broken. UIC engineers began reopening highways and orbital supply routes. Civilian transports returned to the surface. Emergency crews moved into districts that had been inaccessible since the first attack.

The government reinforcements still had not arrived. General Voss contacted the commander while StarCraft Co.'s armor was returning to the city for repairs. He looked genuinely relieved. “New Carthage is secure?” “The siege is broken.” “Excellent. Central Command has two divisions preparing to deploy. They can take over stabilization operations.” The commander glanced at the casualty report. “When do they arrive?” Voss checked something off-screen. “Forty-eight to seventy-two hours.” The commander looked out across the ruined outskirts. StarCraft Co. personnel were already clearing mines, repairing bunkers and hunting the last burrowed Zerg. Medical teams were still treating UIC soldiers who had spent days fighting with almost no reinforcement. The new Minotaur battlecruisers hung above the city like artificial moons. “Of course,” the commander said. Voss heard something in the response. “I know what you're thinking.” “I haven't said anything.” “You don't need to.” The commander let that sit.

For months, StarCraft Co. had treated the UIC's failures as an inconvenience. Corruption meant bad procurement. Bureaucracy meant slow intelligence. Neglect meant arriving at bases like Kestral and discovering that half their supposed defenses did not exist. New Carthage was harder to dismiss. A major core-world metropolis had nearly fallen because the army assigned to protect it had been scattered elsewhere while the government assured everyone that adequate forces were on the way. Adequate forces had eventually arrived. They just hadn't belonged to the UIC.

Inbetweeners Part 2- The Interloper

The Interloper is one of the main NPCs in the Inbetweeners campaign. It, but I will use the pronoun he for ease of reading/writing, is a four dimensional being from the Far Realm. The Far Realm isn't one place, but is more a catch all term for areas outside the standard Planar Cosmology that do not follow the normal laws of physics and rules of magic. Time, gravity, and these concepts do not apply in the Far Realm. My particular vision of the Far Realm is that it is not a three dimensional plane. I use the term 4-dimensional, but in reality it has various levels of spatial dimensions, frequently fractal dimensions and such. The point being, the Far Realm is alien and different from the known cosmology of 5e it is difficult for normal beings to even comprehend. Traveling there will cause a mortal to go mad if not outright kill them. So, the Interloper is a being native to this place of madness. He traveled to the 5e multiverse sometime ago. Also, my campaign used a hybrid model of the Great Wheel, World Axis and World Tree cosmologies, borrowing planes from 3.0, 3.5, 5.0 and adding in some new ones. The campaign leaves the details of his arrival and his past on the plane mysterious intentionally, but it is clear he has been operating for at least some time.

The Interloper doesn't have a physical form in a 3 dimensional sense. Instead, he can create three-dimensional manifestations but his true physical form exists between the planes. The players have never viewed his physical form directly, and most creatures that do never return. That is not to say it is impossible to view the true form of the Interloper and survive. In the middle portion of the campaign both the renegade archangel Lurian and fallen angel Zariel directly met with the Interloper and lived to tell the tale. If one is sufficiently powerful and proves sufficiently interesting or useful, they appear to be able to directly treat with the Interloper and survive. For the first leg of the campaign though, he is mostly a disembodied voice in the Grey Room that the players speak with. Later in the campaign, he creates various avatars or simulacra. He asked the players what form they should take, and one of them mentioned “duck” so he took on the form of a massive, prismatic duck brimming with energy. Later, he adopted this athestic for many of his simulacra, taking on rainbow colored versions of various birds like penguins and ostriches. It seems that each simulacra took on a unique bird species, but its unclear how many he created. Still, these are more like puppets, while his true form was hidden somewhere in the deep Astral Plane. I used the Astral Plane as the space inbetween planes, like the normal cosmology, but the Deep Astral is outside of that, a place that's difficult to access. So far all the players know about it is that it is where powerful beings like Tiamat convalesce when their bodies are destroyed and that it is not easy to access. Though, intrepid mortals with a mastery of technology and magic like the Giff are able to navigate the Astral into the Deep Astral.

While the Interloper's physical form is certainly a point of intrigue, it is his goals that are more interesting. The Interloper isn't evil or malevolent, he is simply curious. By all accounts he is a pleasant entity to interact with and enjoys transactional relationships. However, his alien nature makes him utterly lacking in compassion or understanding of mortal emotional states. In this way, his experiments can unintentionally cause mass suffering or disruption without him realizing it. However, he is not incapable of learning. The Interloper over time has changed his tactics to avoid disruption. He's a little bit like Hubert J Farnsworth in this regard, sending the players into horrible danger with little awareness. The mere fact he ripped their souls from the afterlife to enlist them and is unaware of the gravity of this decision starts to foreshow his disposition. He sees the players like research assistants helping him to understand the cosmos. He collects samples, experiments and creates new things. Many of his creations are horrifying and dangerous and must promptly be destroyed. Some are just disturbing. For example, while the players were deliberating on what to do next, he had a centuar appearing creature made out of human appendages appear that just screamed. He asked the players candidly what they thought. They said its horrible and should be destroyed, so he quickly created fractal blades to shred it into nothingness. Other than that, he tries to reward the players equitably for what they bring, though frequently missing the mark. Many of the powers he grants are far above normal powers in the game, but come with significant, unintentional drawbacks. And that brings us to the Interloper's biggest flaw: recklessness.

The Interloper's curiosity frequently leads him to rush projects, not think through the consequences, or abandon them entirely when something new comes about. As a result, collateral damage frequently occurs. In his early days, he showered his “participants” with new powers and gifts, many of which killed them outright if not turned them into horrific abominations. Those who survived the gifts quickly became too powerful and too dangerous. This drew the attention of the Protectors of the Weave, who came close a few times to capturing the Interloper. As a result, he started to become more cautious... but still certainly not cautious enough. The players' accidentally drew the attention of the Protectors at one point. The Interloper is able to deal with their agents that come to investigate but asks the players to be more careful. Later, another “participant” is tricked into bringing a device into the Grey Room that triggered a full on Mechanus invasion. At this point, the Interloper told the players to flee as he attempted to fight them off and became imprisoned. This leads to another point, the Interloper is powerful but not omnipotent.

The Far Realm, fractal dimensional nature of the Interloper means he is able to bypass many physical and magical constraints that bind most sentient beings in the multiverse. He can't be “killed” easily, can see and move through space with ease, and exist many places at once. He's able to create things from nothing, develop new spells and living beings and generally bend reality. But this power is not limitless. I envision it like he has a battery that charges over time but he can only exert so much energy before he becomes depleted. Far more powerful than a mage, but he pales in comparison to the resources and power level of the combined force of Mechanus, hence his choice to try to hide them. Once they do capture him, however, they are unable to kill him directly. After sending in wave after wave of construct and weapon to defeat him, they determine that he is actually being strengthen by the attack waves and instead opt to keep him quarantined and starved of power sources so he will diminish over time. Only when the players bring him a massive investiture of power from the Lady of Pain is he able to break free of the prison by essentially metastisizing, creating so many versions of himself and the grey room it shattered all the metaphysical tethers and broke the containment. So to powerscale him so to speak, it would be mortals < greatest heroes < deities < interloper < greater deities < primordial powers like the Lady of Pain and Primus, ruler of Mechanus. Later in the game, the Resplendent Six (who will be introduced in a later post) is able to hunt down and defeat individual simulacra of the Interloper, but not locate or fight his prime form.

In terms of his powers, he operates best by leveraging existing fractures in reality. So, if he wanted to destroy Mechanus, he would fail miserably. He simply couldn't generate enough energy to even make a dent in their defenses. However, he was able to shatter the Heavens into seven separate planes because it was already on the verge of a civil war and separated along ideological lines. In this way, the Heavens were strong but brittle and able to be smashed. I don't want to undersell his power though. Later in the campaign, he invaded hell and killed most of the Demon Lords “for fun”, discovering that Demons ruled through brute force and fear, and he could easily recruit legions of demons simply by defeating their leaders in single combat, a trivial feat. But, he avoids the Lady of Pain as much as possible, aware that her power eclipses his to such a degree she could destroy him on a whim. In the latter parts of the campaign, the Beeple Queen (to be introduced later) becomes powerful enough as to eclipse the Interloper as well. Also, the Protectors of the Weave specialize in Far Realm threats, so they have technology specially suited to binding and nullifying beings like the Interloper. When invading the Grey Room, they used constructs to flood the room with trans dimensional anchors and tethers that trapped the Interloper in place and dampened his powers.

The Interloper's ultimate goal is knowledge and the ability to continue his studies unimpeded. In this way, the destruction of Mechanus would serve his goals as they present the primary organized resistance to his experiments... or existence in the planes all together. But if left alone, he'd just want to keep puttering away. Ultimately though, his experiments cause complications for other factions, creating a target on his back. Some of his more fun projects:

Dragon Abomination- The Interloper made a deal with Zariel. He took an ancient spiritual parasite that grants immortality and modified it so Zariel could leverage it to become immortal herself. In return, she brought him one of the consorts of Tiamat. Using that and many other dragons he captured, he spliced them together to create a fractal dimensioned dragon abomination with countless heads that seem to appear and disappear as you look at it, like a fractal design. The consort of Tiamat was needed as a powerful enough host to make a base for the abomination. Zariel almost died doing it, but she brought him his prize and got hers in return.

Interplanar Flux Spells- Rather than drawing from The Weave, he has developed spells that use energy that naturally occurs from friction between planes. This once per day spells can be incredibly powerful, like instantly reversing all damage taken in the last minute, summoning a duplicate of yourself from another timeline, etc. But, they have high risks and drawbacks. More on these later.

The Jailer- A boss the players fought midgame, a horrific infernal tech infused monster, the players gifted the body to the Interloper. He made “improvements” and put it back into service to defend him.

One last note, the Interloper, while mostly aloof, can at times hold a grudge. A former “participant” known only as the Renegade was able to trick the Interloper into giving him unbounded powers. He then severed his tie with the Interloper and ran off with the powers. The Interloper felt that since the Renegade did not honor the terms of their deal, he should be “reprocessed” and his powers and abilities return. At this point in the game, the Interloper still hasn't gotten the Renegade, but his war with Mechanus has taken precedence.

Anyway, more on the Interloper later but I think this is a good start.

Short-lived as their career was, The Civil Wars produced some of the best Americana storytelling of their era: emotional, but devoid of unnecessary soppy sentimentality. No filler, no skips, just songs that all pull their weight.

I remember while living in the U.S. spending a lot of time exploring Americana. That exploration led me to Jason Isbell, and the Drive-By Truckers, Old Crow Medicine Show, Shovels & Rope, and others. But it was The Civil Wars that struck a particular chord with me (pun intended). The quality song writing partnered with honest reflection wrapped in layers of sparsity that just work.

Barton Hollow is the kind of record that rewards a slow relisten — not because it's demanding, but because it's so sparse that everything you missed the first ten times finally has room to land. By the 11th listen that sparsity has layers and carries an emotional weight that wasn’t immediately obvious

20 Years

The first track on the album, and also the first one I remember hearing. One of the things that has always struck about The Civil Wars is how their voices aren't just complimentary, but weave together through melody and harmony.

If I recall correctly, this song is about a family secret related to one of them — but that's all that's ever been shared, and the mystery is cloaked in the misty Southern vibe. There's definitely a sense that the secret is never resolved, and the listener is left to ponder. But that pondering isn't necessarily a negative — if anything, it adds to the song's weight. It's that sense of mystery that first encouraged me to seek out more of their catalogue.

I've Got This Friend

Simple, but wonderfully executed. This is the track that proves the album's depth beyond the singles — no key change, no vocal fireworks, just a well-observed lyric and a melody and simple story that trusts the listener to feel it rather than being told to.It’s also immediately relatable. I think that’s the power of the Civil Wars, they tell a story through music, melody, and lyric but don’t feel the need to spoonfeed you into an emotional response. The bridge in particular is a beautiful meander of their complimentary vocals.

C'est La Mort

Could easily picture R.E.M. doing a rendition of this song and retroactively sticking it on Automatic for the People. It’s exactly the right register — hushed, mortality-haunted, elegant rather than bombastic, a song written from inside grief rather than looking back at it, letting the melody carry the weight instead of the lyric spelling it out. Sitting with it longer, I can also hear Eddie Vedder singing this — it has hints of “Just Breathe,” that same stripped-back, plainspoken intimacy with mortality, unafraid of the subject rather than skirting around it.

To Whom It May Concern

If Cinderella was set on a Southern plantation, this would be the song that played when Cinderella and the Prince are reunited. Even a “happy” moment on this record doesn't get a big sweeping orchestral triumph — it gets something quiet and aching instead, joy delivered in the same hushed register as the grief elsewhere on the album.

Poison & Wine

A song about two people who find themselves in a failed or failing relationship. Their most famous song, but I found it the least interesting track on the record — a little flat, sonically uninteresting, as close to skippable as this album has. Maybe that's the irony of it: the same sparseness I've praised everywhere else on Barton Hollow works against this one for me. Here it reads as flatness rather than restraint — proof that “less is more” isn't automatically successful just because it's the band's signature move.

My Father's Father

Has that small West Virginia mining town bluegrass vibe — a different corner of “Southern” entirely to the plantation-Gothic tracks elsewhere on the record, harder and dustier, generational hardship baked into the sound rather than genteel decay. The title itself does a lot of the work: an inheritance passed down through generations of men in a hard place. It's someone who wants to leave someplace but is trapped by that inheritance.

Barton Hollow

The record's mission statement, and arguably still their best song. Built on almost nothing — a driving guitar figure, some percussive stomping, two voices — and yet it's the most menacing thing they ever recorded, closer to a murder ballad than a folk song. As an opener it sets a tone the rest of the album never has to fully match again. It's also the song that announces who they are, in a way most bands need two or three albums to manage.

As a murder ballad, it's worth contrasting with something like Colter Wall's “Kate McCannon” — a classic murder ballad in the fullest sense, narrating the whole crime plainly: courtship, betrayal, confession, motive and method all laid bare from the killer's own mouth. “Barton Hollow” works almost in reverse. There's violence and consequence in the air, but the actual who-did-what-to-whom is never spelled out — atmosphere and implication rather than narrative. Wall gives you the whole crime scene; The Civil Wars just give you the guilt hanging over one. Fitting, given the same instinct runs through “20 Years” — withhold rather than confess, and let the listener carry the unresolved weight.

The Violet Hour

A beautiful instrumental piece. Starts off somewhat sombre, but gradually feels more hopeful, yet the cello keeps that hope grounded. And in true Civil Wars style, it ends feeling like the future has not yet been written. Has very TV theme tune vibes — Twin Peaks meets The X-Files.

Girl with the Red Balloon

Pure Leonard Cohen, with a touch of Serge Gainsbourg. The opening image — a pub on the south side of town, where time stands still while there's still wine around — does a whole backstory's worth of work in one line, the way Cohen so often let a room describe a character rather than naming a feeling. The Gainsbourg comparison lands in the mood: warm, a little dangerous, sung with an intimacy that undercuts how sad the actual situation is. It's a good reminder they weren't purely an Americana act — there's a genuine chanson tradition running under the surface too.

Falling

A swirling number. Where “Barton Hollow” is percussive and driving, “Falling” is disorientation set to music — a circular, almost hypnotic guitar figure and vocals that overlap rather than trade cleanly. The lyrics flow through the melody rather than sitting in tidy rhythmic boxes, stretching and compressing to match the emotional shape of the line — the same instinct you hear in Cohen or Joni Mitchell, where the tune sounds discovered rather than imposed. Even singing the “same” line, Williams and White sometimes land a syllable apart, which only adds to the vertigo.

Forget Me Not

Appalachia sweeps into Georgia's peach orchard and on to the porch of a Savannah plantation — a whole regional journey carried entirely in pacing and hush, without a single line of exposition. This is the album's Southern Gothic instinct at its purest: no magnolias, no sweet tea, nothing so on-the-nose. Just the sense of something old sitting on that porch, and a melody quiet enough to let it breathe.

Birds of a Feather

Another triumph of their vocals intertwining. The call-and-response to begin, before blending together. It's arguably the perfect metaphor for their pairing as artists — fitting, in hindsight.

Bonus Tracks

Billie Jean / I Want You Back

Their takes on these two are unique. Both flip their originals almost completely — Michael Jackson's “Billie Jean” is one of the most instantly recognizable grooves in pop music, all paranoid propulsion and dance-floor tension, but The Civil Wars strip that away entirely for a fingerpicked, swing-feel acoustic arrangement that turns a song about denial into something closer to a confession whispered across a table. “I Want You Back” is an even bigger swing — the original is pure euphoric Motown joy, so finding the yearning underneath the celebration is a much harder trick than slowing down a song that was already melancholy to begin with.

Dance Me to the End of Love

One of the rare moments where I enjoy a cover more than the original. Leonard Cohen's version is already iconic and kind of untouchable — dry, world-weary, with a sinister waltz undertow. The Civil Wars seem built for exactly this kind of material: restraint, close harmony, nowhere to hide. They're not trying to out-perform Cohen, they're finding the quieter, sadder song that was arguably always inside it.

You Are My Sunshine

This one immediately reminded me of my mother — she used to sing the chorus to us when we were young, to cheer us up when we were upset, and if it wasn’t this song it was Two Little Boys, which was a hit in its own right for the infamous Rolf Harris. It's a song that's been passed down so informally, parent to child, generation to generation, that most people who know it learned it the same way I did: sung to them, not from a record.

Fitting that The Civil Wars would be the ones to cover it too, given how much of their own catalogue plays with the contrast between a comforting surface and something more aching underneath.

Goodbye Girl

Not a cover, as it turns out — an original, despite the title's borrowed familiarity. Built around a small, precise image: someone forgetting their grandmother's scarf as they walk away in the park. Same songwriting DNA as the rest of the record — one specific, unremarkable object doing all the emotional work instead of a big declarative line about heartbreak.

The Theme Running Underneath It All

If there's a thread tying Barton Hollow together, it's this: love here is beautiful and hard — often a burden, something to be endured, sometimes naive, sometimes complicit, even compliant. The record rarely lets love be just one thing.

“Poison & Wine” is love as compulsion, damage and devotion inseparable. “Girl with the Red Balloon” is love as accommodation — someone permanently cast as the one who lets others in without ever quite being let in herself. Even “Barton Hollow” itself, on the surface a stomping outlaw song, carries that same undercurrent of consequence and reckoning running through nearly every love song on the record.

What keeps it from tipping into melodrama is that nobody in these songs is purely wronged. The narrator is usually implicated in their own undoing — staying too long, loving the wrong way, complicit in the same poison they're naming. That's love as something people participate in even while it costs them, which is a harder and more honest thing to write than straightforward heartbreak.

When you speak to me, speak with clarity and intention, with tenderness, and purpose.

Speak as someone who truly listens: not only to my words, but to the idiot winds between them, since springtime turned so quickly into autumn.

Follow your nose. Breathe in the truth of me, the warmth of my neck, however the wind touches the leaves, and slowly turn them red.

And when you speak, let it be honest. Let it be whole. Let it be something you can give yourself to. only if you’re looking it can find you.

When you kill someone, you don't just kill who they were, you kill a little bit of everyone who knew them.

|Home| Jump to: The Brother I Was What Happened to Marie The Fight for Her Life Her Life Now Forgiveness & Guilt The Brother I am Become

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This quote hit me like a freight train—not just because it’s true, but because I lived it.

I am watching a documentary about Brad Bird. He directed The Incredibles, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Ratatouille, and one of the greatest films ever made: The Iron Giant.

If you haven't seen the film, or read the source material, The Iron Man by Ted Hughes, what are you doing wasting your time here? Go read the source and then watch the film. It's a soul-rending story about being the best you can be, not what everyone expects you to be. Not even what you are SUPPOSED to be.

At least enjoy this great documentary. Maybe I'm biased as an animator, but it's terrific.

The Giant's Dream – Making of the Iron Giant

In an interview, Brad Bird says the above about killing someone. His sister had been murdered by her husband and it unmoored Bird. He started asking the question, 'what if a gun had a soul'. Then when presented with the Iron Giant project he pitched shifting from the Pete Townshend rock-opera concept to the more human-scale and heart-tale that we got.

His comment about killing a little bit of everyone the person knows ripped my heart open.

Brad Bird’s quote hit me like a freight train—because I lived it. My sister almost died at the hands of her husband nine years ago this month.

The Brother I was

I have two little sisters. One a year younger (Marie) and a second 3 years my junior (Capri). I was never the kind of brother I think a brother should be. We argued and fought a lot. Mostly Marie and I. Capri, as the youngest, somehow managed to avoid my wrath. But for some reason, Marie and I were always at odds.

I think it was her inability to just stop instead of escalating. I'm not sure which of my parents that behavior comes from. I guess... mom? I don't really think of either of my parents as escalators, but who knows what we saw and experienced when they were still figuring out how to be adults.

I do know Marie's very vocal nature frequently grated on my nerves. And between the alcoholism at home and my parent's work schedule (mom worked nights and dad worked days), it seemed like while we had parents around, we often just had to exist on our own. I think I saw myself as some kind of disciplinarian, which I was clearly not qualified to do. I just yelled and screamed and hit like I saw my parents and aunts and uncles do.

Maybe Capri just stayed quiet and low to avoid the pummeling she could see inflicted on her big sister. But before you consider me a Machiavellian villain, Marie was no light weight. If she got one thing from our youth, it was how to take a hit and how to dish one out.

I wish she hadn't learned that lesson.

Between the home life our parents had in those early days, my own violent contributions and a wicked assault by an uncle that we all feared and loathed, Marie developed a taste for abusive men.

Both of my sisters did.

In the youngest, this manifested in an inability to maintain a consistent relationship. She has been married 5 times, twice to the same man. At 50, she is currently single and will likely stay that way.

Marie, the middle sister, first married a hellion of a jerk who was verbally abusive and manipulative. She had a large family with him and over time, he manipulated her and the courts to cut her out of her own children's lives entirely.

I was out of her life for a number of years because of her destructive behavior, so I am not privy to exactly what happened. It is possible that he was completely justified in the devastating act of cutting a mother off from contact with her four children. But, knowing the man, I think it was her childhood that allowed him to do that.

Marie had been mistreated as a child and though she could give as good as she got, her self-worth probably took a huge hit when she had to go to court and listen to her husband lie and cheat to paint her as a wicked mother.

In hindsight, I wish I hadn't cut her out of my life. She likely felt alone and abandoned during those years.

Because she was.

My parents were there, but where was her big brother? Aren't they supposed to defend their siblings?

What the hell, Keeper?

What would you do if you were a mother of 4, having lost a 5th in the first weeks after birth and your whole life has it's rug pulled out from underneath you?

Well, Marie fought it with drugs, alcohol and education. Always a fan of drink, she turned her habit up to eleven trying to hide from the demons of loss and then used drugs to function as a human being during those numb states. This was important while she took her RN degree and went back to become a Nurse Practitioner.

Her NP would give her a new, well-paid life that she practiced on the road working one temp gig after another.

She traveled the country three months at a time. A huge portion of her income went to her ex-husband to care for her children. A two edged sword for many.

She never spoke to me about how she felt about it. But I'm sure she was of two minds.

Who of us wouldn't be?

On one hand, you can provide your children with a more comfortable life, on the other, you're trusting a scoundrel to do that.

With lots of money, lots of time and easy access to drugs, she became a target for the kind of man Gary Michael was.

A worm of a human who gambled and drugged his way to a disability. He was looking for someone to take care of him when he met Marie.

I remember her coming to see me before she married him and I had little input for her. We had been estranged for more than 20 years at that point and I, full of myself and my own righteousness, couldn't be bothered with her car-wreck of a life.

In hindsight, I can't help but think that if I had taken a single hour and listened to her story—offered her some stable advice, things might have turned out differently.

But I didn't.

I can still see her standing next to the big tree in my front yard, stamping out a cigarette. Trying to play it cool that I didn't really want to talk to her. What a pathetic fail.

She would go on to marry Gary Michael and disappear from our lives altogether. Prior to this, she was in semi-regular contact with my parents and Capri (the youngest) but now even they lost track of her.


We would learn later that Gary Michael would keep her tied up in casinos gambling and drugging every minute that she didn't have to be at work. She was his meal ticket and funder for his life-long gambling addiction.

What Happened to Marie

I don't know what happened that May 2016. She maybe got tired of his constant leaching, insistence on her severing all contact with her family or maybe it was just a fight that got out of hand.

I'm guessing.

What I do know is that the morning of May 6, 2016 a 911 call went out stating that a man had found his wife unresponsive in their bathroom.

He thought she was dead.

First responders would come and find that she was unresponsive, but not dead. They rushed her to the hospital where they put her on life support. She had suffered a hypoxic brain injury that left her comatose.

That means her brain was deprived of oxygen for a long enough period of time that her body was in the process of shutting down.

She was dying.

The Fight for Her Life

Had Gary Michael waited another half hour, she would have expired.

Frankly, that might have been a blessing.

Marie would lie comatose for most of a month. It was a terrible thing to see. A vital and robust woman who we had only ever know to be bigger and louder than almost all of us was suddenly reduced to a flaccid bag of mostly water.

Gary Michael, a former nurse himself who lost his license for stealing drugs from work, knew the terminology to put the medical staff at ease and dissuade any question of foul play.


According to him, they had been drinking the night before and that Marie had too much. He went to bed and found her in her state. He was surprised and heartbroken. But, he didn't count on the determination of Marie's will to live or her mother once she was involved.

A highly experienced nurse herself, a few weeks into my sister's 'recovery' and once the shock of the event began to recede, my mother started asking questions. The first thing of concern to her were the bruises all over my sister's back and shoulders. When she asked the medical staff, they said her husband told them she had fallen. When Marie's mom asked Gary Michael, he evaded and said he didn't know. After that conversation, he avoided being at the hospital any time my parents, my youngest sister, or I were at the hospital. Which was almost always.

Marie was in ICU in a hospital three hours from home, but my parents just rented a short term hotel and lived there for a month.

My wife and I traveled down for a half a day at a time.

I remember seeing my sister's husband sitting in his car once when we arrived. When I mentioned this to my mother, she pointed out that she thought he was avoiding them. Waiting for his wife’s family to leave so he could come in and try to control the narrative.

After a month, the decision had to be made to terminate life support or let her exist in perpetuity at the whim of a machine. I forget why, but the decision fell to my mother. I think Gary Michael had begun to extricate himself from the situation at that point and staff deferred to my sister's family to make her health decisions.

So, my parents decided to 'pull the plug'. My mom explains that as a nurse, she knows there is no quality of life living on machines and if you've got not brain function, you are as good as dead anyway.

We all agreed with this thinking. We could still recall the Terri Schiavo debacle in Florida and none of us wanted to see Marie end up like her.

But, my younger sister was as tough at death's door as she had been in life. She wouldn't die.

After a week, she started to show signs of consciousness. Little things like facial expressions when she would hear the voice of my parents, Capri, my wife, or me.

That last one was pretty touching. I thought she'd spent her life not caring much for me. But there was something in there. I would read to her from the Bible and sometimes I would find a tear streaming down what I thought was an unconscious face.

As she started to develop more and more awareness, my mother noticed Marie had a very strong resistive reaction to any moves made toward or around her face and head. She interpreted this as a defensive reaction.

My mother became convinced that Gary Michael didn't just find my sister, but that he had done something to her. She connected the dots of the bruises on her back and can elucidate how you can wrap a large town or sheet around a person's face to restrict airflow.

To get enough pressure to cut off breathing you would need to knot them in such a way that would leave large bruises on the upper back of the person.

When the police were called, almost six weeks had passed from the inciting incident and evidence of foul play was circumstantial at best. Detectives did find that after Gary Michael moved out of the temporary apartment they had rented while she was on assignment there, the landlord had to hire contractors to rebuild the bathroom. The sheetrock had been broken, mirror smashed, sink broken and the door jarred from its hinges.

When asked about this, Gary Michael explained that they had locked the dogs in the bathroom and left for the day and they had torn it up.

They were two Pomeranians.

I don't really understand why this didn't go anywhere. It could be I am biased and so the 'evidence' adds up to attempted murder. But the police didn't see it that way. It could be we are entirely wrong. That the story my sister's husband of 6 months is true. That she was a drunk and an addict who just went too far.

But, my gut says no. My feeling is that Gary Michael is a dangerous actor. My interactions with him in the year or so after this happened always felt off. He lied about strange things that didn't require lies. He always wanted something and when it became clear we all thought he was responsible, he became combative and angry at the idea.

I can understand not wanting to be best friends with someone who suggests you might be a murderer. But anger and deception is the wrong approach if you are trying to convince a family of something other than what they think.

Months would go by with Gary Michael doing everything he could to close all interested parties out of Marie's life. It was atrocious. My parent's had to fight tooth and nail for any scrap of information or thing that belonged to my sister. Finally threatening legal action if Gary Michael did not acquiesce.

Early into the time when she came home, there was a real effort on my sister's husband's part to try to get physical possession of her. My mother thinks this was an attempt to ensure he could get access to her social security.

And true to form, at some point, she discovered he was at the social security office attempting to file that paperwork. But an astute employee asked too many questions and he evaporated like had been doing with anyone who asked to many questions about my sister's condition.

Her Life Now

Her condition, specifically, was that the hypoxia left her brain damaged. She has no short term memory and her long-term memories are vague and inconsistent. She also has very limited motor control of her hands in addition to her peripheral vision being impacted.

If you've seen 50 First Dates with Drew Barrymore... it's like that but not cute or sweet at all. She doesn't relive the same day over and over. But she will watch the same film for 6-8 weeks at a time before she realizes she's seen it already. Right now she's on her 700th viewing of Dirty Dancing with Patrick Swayze.

In the first year she was home she cried constantly and couldn't form words. She walked all the time. If she was awake, she just paced up and down my parents very long hallway or walked around the yard inside the fence.

A few times she got out and it was a panic. I found her in the middle of the road a few miles away once. She had no way to tell anyone who she was or where she was from. She didn't know her own name.

She could not (and still can't) feed herself, drink without assistance or use the toilet without an attendant.

It is entirely believable that Gary Michael could have filed for her payments, then driven her to the middle of a desert and simply dropped her off 20 miles from people. She would have died from exposure in just a day or two.

I am glad my sister has found some kind of peace. She doesn't cry constantly any more and at times seems actually happy. She has forgotten that she has 4 children and lost one. She has forgotten that she was married to not one but two different assholes. Those are small blessings.

Forgiveness & Guilt

Recently I read an article on forgiveness. It made a good point, that when we forgive people we aren't condoning their actions, we are giving our selves a gift. I forgave Gary Michael many years ago and so have my parents.

It doesn't make the pain of seeing Maire in her state any easier, but at least we don't have to carry the weigh of hating a scum of a man.

I even offered to study the Bible with him. He said thanks but no thanks. I'm not big enough or mature enough to tell you that it didn't please me that he refused. It will be punishment enough to live with being who he is and when that day comes to face judgement for what he did (allegedly) to my little sister... well, I'll let God sort that out while I'm busy living the best life that I can.

My parents have been caring for Marie full time for 10 years now. They won't be able to do so for much longer. Maybe they have five years of energy left in them. But I can see the toll it is taking. They are counting on God's Kingdom to resolve this and if it doesn't come soon, it will fall to me and my youngest sister.

We do not have the capacity to provide the care my parents do. Perhaps the love, but simply not the physical ability. That means some kind of facility. I doubt Marie will care, she doesn't understand a lot (though she will tell you she knows her brain isn't working right). But it will destroy mom and dad to see strangers muddle at caring for her. If I am honest, it would be better for everyone for professionals to do the job.

The only reason they can care for her now is that my mother's professional life was as a nurse caring for the mentally disabled. But her emotional connection I think has prevented her from making some tough decisions at times.

For instance, for a time, my sister was behaving like a cat. She would go to my father and ask to be fed and he would acquiesce, then she would go to my mother and do the same. They didn't figure this out until she had put on about 70 lbs.!

Reader, I can't tell you how heavy this is on my mind and heart. I typically shut it out and try not to confront it emotionally. My sister-in-laws death 18 months ago keeps it in my frontal cortex night and day though. And when I read or hear something like Bird's comments it just rips me wide open.

I don't talk about this in depth with anyone. It might be good to, but I can't help thinking people don't want to listen to my problems when they have enough of their own. If you stuck around long enough to read this... well, I love you for learning a little bit more about me than you probably ever wanted to know.

The Brother I am Become

I know what happened to Marie isn't my fault. It's just unforeseen circumstance. But as I have alluded to, part of me will probably never forget that I wasn't the kind of brother I wish I had been. The protector, the supporter, the lover.

I have spent my life trying to make up for that, running from that boy I was and doing my best not to become the kind of man I fear any woman would dread. I have had some success. But the weight of that burden is incredible. To hate yourself so much that you try to be the kind of person you can love.

Friends confirm I have achieved enough of a measure of lovability to call myself a success, but those demons still lurk deep inside.

Like that iron giant, it's hard to override your programming.

It is true, that to kill someone is to kill a little of all who knew them. But there are extensions of that truth that get into to even how we treat one another. When we are angry, anger doesn't just impact the target. It splashes into the life of everyone they know. Maybe that is why the Bible promotes the idea of being wrathful but not acting (do not sin).

One day, we won't have violent actors. That is a promise God's word makes, that the wicked will be no more. Then we'll see the promised lion and lamb cohabitation. If men like Gary Michael can turn around and find a place there, I am at peace with that. Jehovah knows our hearts better than we do and that isn't a concern of mine.

I am far more interested in seeing my poor little sister made whole again. To see her run and laugh and cry like she should have when she was a child and not born of fear and anger.

Then, maybe, if I play my cards right, I'll get the chance to be that brother that I've read about in books and dreamed of becoming. Until then, I'll try to be as successful as I can by bettering people’s lives as often as possible.

And doing as little damage as I can along the way.

Some days are more successful than others.

Keeper

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The Brother I Was What Happened to Marie The Fight for Her Life Her Life Now Forgiveness & Guilt The Brother I am Become

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#essay #memoir #littlesister #irongiant #confession #alcoholic

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2025-05-07 00:00:01

Mark Millar interviewing Traves Charest is so great.

Downloaded Ian M. Banks' USE OF WEAPONS on kindle for my travel reading, which I have embarrassingly yet to read. Even more embarrassing is that I haven't read any of The Culture novels, but they've been coming up enough in conversations for the past few years that it is high time.

Been a minute since I busted out the kindle, after having amassed a number of Arab-language paper books at the Cairo Book Fair earlier in the year. Last thing I read on the kindle was Walter Mosley's ARCHIBALD LAWLESS: ANARCHIST AT LARGE, which I really really loved.

#radar #reads

Ever been in a rough spot?

Last summer I was in a rough place. I had quit social media for a while. I had given up on some friends, and been given up on by my fair share too. I was cranky, not just because I am a bipolar with dysphoric manias, I was upset that “hanging out” seemed to be a thing of the past. I am a very extroverted type of personality, perhaps it hits me harder than most, granted. But it did hit me very hard. Even waiting in line sucks compared to the good ole’ days of talking to anyone.

I thought about selling all the music gear, I thought about a lot of things. But then my doctor diagnosed me with Tardive Dyskenisia after I experienced unpleasant shakiness and tension in my legs, toes, hands..jaw. That changed my thinking.

Yeah, but djembe?

Keri’s father passed away a long time ago and left us some wonderful musical instruments. We have a lovely 12-string from Yahama and a djembe from him. I grabbed the djembe for this first time around the time this was going on. I played drums in school, but I wouldn’t say I was ever good at them. But the hand drum patterns felt relieving, somehow. I felt the djembe drum limber me up for subsequent parts. It’s almost as if the rolling patterns and accents were busting away some kind of plaque on my arms and it made them feel better for other things.

When I play djembe daily, I am better at everything else I do musically. The least I could do was build a band with it. So if you are in a funk and happen to like djembe, you are in luck. Where the name comes from, basically. I wanted to make more funk music, initially, hopefully that part of the plan still works out.

Why no singer, singer?

Before this EP in Sept. last year, I hadn’t done much in jam rock or instrumental music. I tried some vocals on a few things, but it just didn’t feel right. In fact, I have tried to sing on a few Djembe Funk tracks, but it doesn’t feel right for that project. I am open to it, I love singing. But I haven’t found vocals I like for this in myself or anyone else who digs it. So, in keeping true to things I hold dear, no vocals yet. Keri sings a few words on a song, but Keri can do whatever she wants. lol.

Upon listening again…

I just listened to this again and it is a happy record. I might have made a few mixing decisions a little differently, if I mixed it again today. But this is an early work for this project. I’m very happy to present it a year later.

A goto celebration in the speakers.

If you don’t know, these songs, and all of Djembe Funk music is largely about celebrating. Not just happy, not just upbeat, but a celebration. I celebrate movement in my life now. I don’t need many reasons. I hope you’re not paying much attention to the music with folks shouting and throwing things up in the air. But if you happen to be, at least there’s nice djembe going.

We are looking at lot of improvisation.

I generally start each Djembe Funk jam with improvising on djembe, or electric guitar, or fretless bass. Once I have something I like and the BPM, I am off to the races. There’s a lot of the improvisation in each part that winds up on each track. Sometimes it rules, sometimes it doesn’t. I enjoy tracking and feeling free to improvise at the same time. If it vibes, I share it. Most times I don’t.

Citrus Fruit is a rad song, period.

One song made in this session is still one of my favorite songs! I feel like when I can squeak out one of my own favorite songs, I might as well have built my own house. “Citrus Fruit” has never left any playlists I have it on this whole time, by the way. I love when it comes on! I think that is a rad song, don’t mind saying. Had good shit that day, I guess. Must have.

Download (free):

Bandcamp: Djembe Funk Debut

Kintners Repository: Djembe Funk Debut

This is a short little thing, I don’t mind you keeping it handy for quick celebrations. It works for me.

Thanks.

Kelly Kintner

The Horse’s Mouth magazine