text:
Sherry Masood
Meeting a Stranger
Tripping and Finding a Dollar
	The bay always makes the sunset a much bigger event. It’s like you’ll miss it twice, once for the reflection, once for itself. A man is leaning over the bridge, contemplative. The bridge is bustling and honks are as common as laughs. Couples walk hand in hand and bicyclists fly past in their separate lane. An Asian family passes by the man. The mother leads the family, looking at her surroundings for threats against her children. A scowl painted on both of the parents faces; you can tell it’s been a stressful day. The first three members of the family of four walk past the man without skipping a beat, but a little boy with a short black mop on top of his head pulling up the rear stops to stare. The man turns to stare. For a few seconds they analyze each other, imaging life on the other side. “Kenji! Pali Pali!” The boy reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a piece of chocolate. “Here, this’ll make you feel better; it’s what my Appa gives me when I’m sad.” The man smiles for the first time in what seems like his life and pats the child on his head as a worried mother grows an impatient look on her face. “Run along now”.
	The sun’s golden lining disappears over the coast line leaving behind a dark purple afterglow. It’s one of those dawns that has the moon coming early to say goodbye to the sunlight- a full moon, he’s been waiting.  In what seems like minutes to the man, dawn turns to pure night and people file off of the bridge. Each car passing by has a more significant impact on the near silence of salty waves and the low whistle of the breeze. He wasn’t on Earth time anymore. Time is like a balloon- the more you fill it, the heavier it becomes. This particular balloon was filled with just the very basics: the night air, starlit darkness on a rippled reflection, and *thump*,*thump*. A new sound emerged- the sound of concrete being slapped by the sole of a boot. A Hispanic man, a stranger looking to be in his early 40’s emerges out of the darkness. Shaggy brown hair lies messily atop a wise looking face, empathetic grey eyes seem to stare into the man’s soul. The stranger stands maybe five feet from the man and leans over the hanging of the grey bridge. “Do you know what serendipity is?” asks the stranger. “Yeah… kinda”. “It’s like a happy accident”, the stranger explains. “Like tripping and finding a dollar?” “Yeah… kinda.”
	The two men, one quite older than the other, stand side by side as if swallowed whole by the bright white gem. “Ya know, I saw you here last week, and again two nights ago” the stranger said. Silence responds. “Are you not sure about it? Or were you waiting for something?” The man looks at the stranger, then at the moon, gesturing with his chin. “I see”.
The stranger pulls out a flask. “Do you have something you can use as a cup?” he asks the man. The man looks down and thinks. He reaches in the inside of his coat and pulls out a mint container. “There’s some left, want any?” he asks the stranger. “I’m about to drink liquor”.
“Oh… Right”, the man empties the mints into the bay.
	The stranger pours the man a shots worth of amber, he asks, “What do we toast to?” “How about to the liquor?” “To the liquor!!” exclaimed the stranger as they tip their vessels together. Down the hatch the shots of gasoline go. “Ya know, I kinda hate whiskey but right now, this is all right” said the man. “It’s an acquired taste. Let’s get you on your way”. Two more shots poured, two more warm stomachs, two happy brains. *Braaaawaarooop*, the stranger lets out a devastating belch, the man responds with his own, less powerful, but nonetheless impressive, belch- the sounds of solidarity in the night. Two piss streams go into the bay. The darkest part of the night has already passed.
	“So what is it anyway?” the stranger turns and asks inquisitively. “What’s all gone so wrong?”
The man starred at his own two feet. “Where do you want me to start?” he looks down at the strangers’ feet.  “I’ve just moved to this city and my whole worlds back on the other side of the country probably falling in love without me. My family doesn’t give a damn about me and they don’t even notice I’m gone most of the night. The one thing that cared about me as much as I cared about it, my dog, was just put down for being a potential killer. My whole fucking life has been swept up from under my feet and now I’m having drinks with a stranger on a bridge well past midnight in a town I know nothing about...” the man sounded like he’d wrung out the last of the words he could manage for the moment. Turning with sparkly moonlit eyes and a manic kind of smile he asks, “So, how’s that?” The stranger looks back alarmed and sorry, “Listen I-*pop*…. *pop* *pop*.
	“Those sounded just like suppressed .45 rounds!” the man exclaims as they both turn to face the west entrance to the bridge. They start running, pounding against the steelwork. As they approach the entrance they see two shadowy figures running quite a distance away; turning into an abandoned side street. They were running from the scene they had left. The man and the stranger approached the first café adjacent to the bridge and found themselves in a horrific scene. A sprawl of spilled out purse objects: lipstick, lotto tickets, napkins, a cleaned out wallet. It was all fallen in a trail leading up to a woman’s hands-pale and relaxed. A pool of dark blood was collecting under her abdomen; a stream began flowing across covering her face down figure, dying the tips of her straight black hair. The blood was approaching her other hand which was clutched onto tight by a smaller hand.  A sudden rustle caught both men off guard and they turned to see a small child clutching his leg, a quiet terror erupting from his eyes. His mouth was open like he was screaming but hardly any sound could be heard. “Oh, fuck” said both men, one taking a step back, the other shocked frozen. This small boy, no older than 8 had a hole going through his entire left thigh, past the muscle and bone, and all the way through to the other side. The man kneels down and holds the boys hand, “Can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get help and you’re going to be okay.” The boy, still looking as if he was screaming, shook his head yes as tears glided across his face. “I don’t understand it, why can’t he speak?” asked the stranger. “He’s… he’s a- a mute.” said the man. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital, is there one close by?” “Only a block away on Grant” said the stranger “There’s a Sutter.” The man gently as possible placed one arm under the boy’s jeans, damp and warm from the blood and the other on the top of his back and lifted the boy up. “Let’s go”. “Wait. I need to call the police and wait for them here. You take the boy.” The man looked at the stranger firm in the eye and nodded, “Okay”.
	The boy had been in the E.R. for three hours now. The sun had risen. The police had come to gather information. He had none for them. They told him the woman couldn’t be identified. There was nothing to go off of. They didn’t mention the stranger so neither did he. He starred at his own two feet and thought about if the boy would ever be able to walk again. It looked bad. He knew he didn’t have to stay. The operators room swung open and an older doctor came through, “You must be Jack?” he asked. “How is he?” “Well we were able to save the leg.” “Oh thank god” Jack said, exhaling relief. “But the boy is still in no condition to walk. It’s still too early to tell when that’ll approve but it’s safe to say he will recover.” “That’s such a relief doctor, thank you so much.” “I think if there’s someone that boy should be thanking, it’s you Jack. You know I bet he’s been wondering about you. I’d like him to rest some more but you can come visit him in an hour or so if you’d like.” “Thank you doctor.”
	Jack went into the chair and slept for the first time in almost two days.
	“Hey”
The boy was lying in the hospital bed with a cotton leg and sad eyes that looked straight into and out of Jack. “I know this must be horrible for you.” The boy raised his arm and ushered Jack to come closer. The boy had something clutched in his hand. Jack approached him and raised his hand. The boy wrapped both hands around Jack’s hand and held on. Jack began to tear up as he felt something small and cold put into his hand. The boy closed Jack’s hand around the golden ring that had once belonged to his mother’s right hand. He had been holding it this whole time.

title: Tripping and Finding a Dollar

question: What does the story say about people Jack interacts with?

answer: A little boy with a short black mop hands the man a piece of chocolate. The man then encounters a Hispanic man, who shares a drink with him. They happen upon a shooting and discover a small boy who is bleeding from the leg. He also speaks to the police and then to an older doctor.

question: What does the story say about Jack's children?


split: test

text:
With financial firms now pushing strongly into auto loans, here's how Congress is helping car dealers rip you off

By  David Dayen

November 27, 2013 5:45PM (UTC)

(TOMENG VIA ISTOCK)

If you have bad credit in America, you will have lots of trouble buying a house, securing a credit card or even getting a job. But it apparently won’t stop you from one very expensive but common purchase: buying a car. And now this may augur some serious problems.

Subprime auto loans – given to people with credit scores of less than 680 – account for 27 percent of all loans for new vehicles in 2013, according to analyst Experian Automotive. That’s well above pre-recession levels. Financial firms have pushed strongly into auto loans of late, and are increasingly willing to fund subprime borrowers. This year, banks even sold $17.2 billion in auto loan-backed securities, which are bonds similar to the mortgage-backed securities that accelerated the housing bubble.

In many parts of the country without viable mass transit options, Americans need cars for transportation to jobs or schooling. And surging car sales, now at their highest pace since 2007, helps the broader economy. So an increase in auto loans isn’t necessarily bad. But when all the growth in lending comes from subprime borrowers, who are vulnerable to greedy financiers by virtue of their sheer desperation, experts get nervous.

“The question is whether it’s predatory, and where you draw the line,” says Stuart Rossman, director of litigation for the National Consumer Law Center. His organization and others have found multiple ways in which auto dealers scam subprime borrowers, forcing them into higher interest rates and longer-term loans. Auto dealers, the middlemen between a consumer with bad credit and the financing for the vehicle, have outsize power to set terms and extract profits. And though the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau is supposed to protect Americans from this kind of mistreatment, there’s a catch: Congress carved out an exemption from CFPB regulation for auto dealers, putting their oversight in the hands of the notoriously sclerotic Federal Trade Commission. As a result, just as water inevitably rolls downstream, big money has flooded into auto loans, the financial transactions with the fewest eyes on them.

Dealers obtained this power through a combination of bad regulatory decisions and rising political influence. Decades ago, each major auto company had its own dedicated financing arm; Ford dealers would have to use Ford Credit, GM dealers would use GMAC. The Justice Department’s anti-trust division, in an attempt to drive competition, ruled in the 1960s that automakers could no longer tie financing to the sale of the car. But this gave lots of leverage to auto dealers, who could now pick and choose whom they used to finance their loans. “They shop for the financing company that gives them the best markup,” Stuart Rossman told Salon.

The “markup” refers to the additional points a dealer adds to the interest rate, as compensation for matching the borrower with a lender. This markup is both completely at the dealer’s discretion, and hidden from the borrower. When an auto dealer tells you, “I can get you a loan at 10 percent,” he is not required by law to inform you how much of that reflects the actual cost of financing and how much comprises the markup. In the mid-1970s, the Federal Reserve ruled that dealers could satisfy the Truth in Lending Act merely by quoting the final interest rate to consumers, not the component parts. “They said consumers would be confused,” Rossman said. “But if I knew my dealer was charging me an extra 3 points, I would not be confused about my response.”

Dealers use this opaque system to their advantage, saving their biggest markups for subprime borrowers, who may not otherwise be able to secure credit. They have also elongated the length of auto loans to as much as seven years, which lowers the monthly payment but costs much more in interest – and increases the dealer markup, which gets calculated as a portion of the interest rate. Dealers don’t care whether the borrower can ultimately pay back the loan, because the finance company pays out their markup immediately. The higher interest rates have led to increased defaults on auto loans, years into the recovery.

While dealers claim the markup merely reflects reasonable compensation for bringing in loans, consumer groups believe the system creates an incentive for higher borrowing costs. “The concern is that, instead of basing the interest rate on the risk the person presents, you have somebody else with no skin in the game getting involved for profit,” said Chris Kukla, senior vice president at the Center for Responsible Lending. A 2009 CRL report showed that consumers financing cars through a dealership will pay _$25.8 billion_ in interest rate markups over the life of the loan.

Kukla described a popular practice known as the “yo-yo” scam. Auto dealers sell the consumer a car, then call them back a week later and claim they cannot find financing at the agreed-upon interest rate. “We’ve seen many cases where the person gets called back and presented with a higher interest rate,” Kukla told Salon. The dealers basically trap borrowers, telling them they cannot refund their down payments, that they already sold their trade-in vehicles, or that they owe a rental fee for using the car in that interim period. Kukla says these incidents increase for borrowers with lower incomes and credit scores, easy marks who expect their lending to fall through and don’t suspect a dealer scam.

Congress prevented CFPB from regulating auto dealers because of an amendment to the Dodd-Frank law authored by Rep. John Campbell, R-Calif., himself the former CEO of three auto dealerships in Orange County, who still makes millions renting out properties to used car dealers.  Beyond actual plants in Congress, the political power of auto dealers, wealthy constituents who have a presence in nearly every congressional district, cannot be ignored.

But despite this freeze-out, CFPB has not stopped trying to protect consumers from price-gouging on auto loans. While they cannot regulate dealers, they can regulate any financial company with over $10 billion in assets. They’ve used this indirect power to try to get the financers to police the dealers.

In March, CFPB released a bulletin to auto lenders, warning them that they would be held accountable for discriminatory pricing. Studies find a close correlation between heavy markups on auto loans and race. African-American and Hispanic borrowers encounter higher rates for auto loans than whites, with some increases of over 300 percent. Under the Equal Credit Opportunity Act, CFPB can penalize lenders for discriminatory lending practices on the basis of race, color, religion, national origin, sex, marital status and age. At an auto lending forum earlier this month, CFPB director Richard Cordray said, “We have a clear duty to address any discriminatory practices that result from the loan programs established by auto lenders, whether they are lending directly to consumers or instead are lending indirectly through intermediaries,” aka dealers. This has had early success: Large banks have written to dealers to warn them about discriminating against customers on any loans they finance. “The money is put on the table by the lenders, not the dealers,” said Stuart Rossman of the NCLC. “By controlling the spigot, CFPB can avoid having a mess on the floor.”

While indirect policing shows promise, the lack of transparency creates challenges. It’s hard to get information about the size of dealer markups, as well as demographic statistics. (CFPB uses data from the Census Bureau and the Social Security Administration.) In addition, using fair lending laws to enforce markups could lead to dealers spreading them out to everyone. Moreover, the competition for the auto lending market – outstanding auto loans total $783 billion, making it the third-largest source of household debt – makes it difficult to stop the markup scam. Once you stop one lender, another can pop up.

For example, CFPB has floated the idea of flat fees for auto dealers, instead of discretionary markups. But you would need to enforce that across all lenders. Stuart Rossman explained that in the early 1990s, Nissan created the “Customer First Program,” mandating a flat fee on dealer markups, which meant cheaper financing for borrowers. “Within six months they lost 60 percent of their business,” Rossman said. “Why would a dealer accept a flat fee when Acme Finance wouldn’t put any limits on them?”

In order to get sector-wide enforcement on markups, lawmakers and advocates want Congress to close the loophole, and allow CFPB to monitor auto dealers directly. Sen. Elizabeth Warren questioned CFPB director Cordray about this earlier this month, and Cordray demurred, saying “the law we have is the law we’re working with,” and vowing to focus regulation on auto lenders, where they have explicit responsibilities. Warren replied, “It makes no sense to me that there should be any exception here for consumers who are being tricked out of billions of dollars every year on car loans.”

CFPB clearly wants to minimize abusive practices in this critical area of financial transactions. But without standardized conduct for auto dealers, as CRL’s Chris Kukla says, “Anyone walking into a dealership can get hit with an unjustified expense without even knowing it.”

David Dayen

David Dayen is a journalist who writes about economics and finance. He is the author of "Chain of Title: How Three Ordinary Americans Uncovered Wall Street’s Great Foreclosure Fraud," winner of the Studs and Ida Terkel Prize, and coauthor of the book "Fat Cat: The Steve Mnuchin Story." He is an investigative fellow with In These Times and contributes to the Intercept, the New Republic and the Los Angeles Times. His work has also appeared in the Nation, the American Prospect, Vice, the Huffington Post and more. He has been a guest on MSNBC, CNN, Bloomberg, Al Jazeera, CNBC, NPR and Pacifica Radio. He lives in Los Angeles.

MORE FROM DAVID DAYEN • FOLLOW DDAYEN

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Trending Articles from Salon

question: Summarize what happens if you have bad credit in America.

answer: In America, bad credit can lead to people having trouble buying a house, securing a credit card, or even getting a job. It also leads to the possibility of getting scammed by auto dealers, as bad credit doesn't inhibit someone from buying a car. Subprime auto loans are given to people with credit less than 680. When the growth of lending comes from these subprime borrowers, the consumer with bad credit may get scammed.

question: What does the text say about an increase in auto loans?

answer: In parts of the country without viable mass transit options, Americans need cars. The surge in car sales, at their highest pace since 2007, creates an increase in auto loans that helps the broader economy.  However, a lot of the growth comes from subprime borrowers, who are vulnerable to greedy financiers. Auto dealers often find ways to scam these borrowers by forcing them into higher interest rates and longer term loans.

question: Summarize the "yo-yo" scam.

answer: A popular practice in auto loans is the "yo-yo" scam. Auto dealers will sell a consumer a car. They then call them back a week later claiming that they can't find financing at the agreed upon interest rate, and will present the consumer with a higher interest rate. Doing this, the dealers trap the borrowers by telling them they can't refund their down payment or some other excuse. Borrowers with lower incomes and credit scores are easy marks for this scam.

question: Summarize how consumers can be protected.

answer: The CFPB tries to protect consumers through indirect policing. They try to regulate any financial company with over $10 billion in assets so that they can try to get financers to police the dealers. The CFBP also released a bulletin to auto lenders that warned them that they would be held accountable for discriminatory pricing. Being that there is close correlation between heavy markups on race, the CFPB has also tried to protect consumers under the Equal Credit Opportunity Act. This act can penalize lenders for discriminatory lending practices on the basis of race, color, religion, national origin, sex, marital status, and age.

question: What does the text say about the regulations under the Trump administration?


text:
1.  All Games
2.  Simulation
3.  The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs

PC
[The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs - Cover / Packshot]

[The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs - Cover / Packshot]

-   GENRE: Simulation
-   RATING: (6)
-   SYSTEM: [Windows PC]
-   LANGUAGES: German, English, French, Italian, Spanish, Polish, Portuguese, Dutch
-   DELIVERY: Origin (Direct)
-   PUBLISHER: Electronic Arts

[]

DLC INFO: This additional content requires The Sims™ 4 in order to play.

Videos and Screenshots The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs

-   Description
-   System Requirements

Description of The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs

Buy The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs as a Origin (Direct).

Create a variety of cats and dogs, add them to your Sims’ homes to forever change their lives, and care for neighborhood pets as a veterinarian with The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs. The powerful new Create A Pet tool lets you personalize cats and dogs, each with their own unique appearances, distinct behaviors, and for the first time, expressive outfits! These wonderful, lifelong companions will change your Sims’ lives in new and special ways. Treat animal ailments as a veterinarian and run your own clinic in a beautiful coastal world where there’s so much for your Sims and their pets to discover.

KEY FEATURES

-   Create Cats and Dogs – Use the powerful Create A Pet tool to express your creativity as you customize your Sims’ perfect cats, dogs, puppies, and kittens. Choose from a variety of breeds, give them distinct personalities, and directly manipulate their features. Easily personalize their coats with unique patterns to create your real-life pets, dream pets, or something more fanciful. For the first time, complete their looks with expressive outfits and accessories.
-   Bond with Your Pets – Experience the companionship and fun that furry friends bring to your Sims’ lives. Cats and dogs have minds of their own and form special relationships with Sims based on their daily interactions. Your Sims care for, train, and play games with their pets who all exhibit distinct and sometimes bizarre animal behaviors.
-   Become a Vet and Run a Clinic – Build a veterinary clinic, hire a dedicated staff, and further your career as the town’s most promising animal doctor. You’re in control of daily operations from the services offered to what you charge. Your Sims can diagnose and cure pets with critical surgeries or treat fleas and other afflictions with simple medications.
-   Explore Brindleton Bay – Discover the coastal shores of Brindleton Bay, a new world where your Sims and their pets can live and enjoy outdoor activities. Play fetch near the harbor docks, take a walk to the lighthouse, or visit a park to setup an obstacle course and meet other pet-loving locals. Be on the lookout for stray pets that your Sims can take in as their own.

System Requirements The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs

System Requirements __ Windows

  ----------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  OS:         Windows XP (SP3), Windows Vista (SP2), Windows 7 (SP1), Windows 8, or Windows 8.1
  CPU:        1.8 GHz Intel Core 2 Duo, AMD Athlon 64 Dual-Core 4000+ or equivalent (For computers using built-in
  RAM:        2 GB
  Graphics:   128 MB of Video RAM and support for Pixel Shader 3.0. Supported Video Cards: NVIDIA GeForce 6600 or
  HDD:        9 GB
  ----------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

System Requirements __ Mac OS

  ----------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  OS:         Mac OS® X 10.7.5 (Lion)
  CPU:        Intel Core 2 Duo-Prozessor with 2,4 Ghz or better
  RAM:        4 GB
  Graphics:   NVIDIA GeForce 320M, 9600M, 9400M, ATI Radeon HD 2600 Pro or better. 256 MB VRAM or better.
  HDD:        10 GB
  ----------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Critics Read more: Opencritic.com

  "Pets in Sims 4 are a measure to the franchise's potential."

  "The Sims 4 Cats & Dogs was the expansion I was most looking forward to, and it did not let me down. With the robust creation tool, the numerous new items, and great ways to play and..."

  "More options means more gameplay possibilities for simmers, and we all know how much we love making up stories. With The Sims 4: Cats & Dogs, the missing piece to any household that..."

Game Information

question: What kind of game is The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs?

answer: Simulation.

question: Is The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs a standalone game?

answer: No, it requires The Sims™ 4 in order to play?

question: What is the name of the tool that lets you create and personalize your Sims cats, dogs, kittens and puppies?

answer: It's called Create A Pet.

question: What kind of profession can you engage in The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs?

answer: You can become a veterinarian and run your own clinic.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The Sims™ 4 Cats & Dogs is a DLC game that requires The Sims™ 4 to play. The DLC allows you to create your own customized dog, cat, kitten, or puppy, giving them unique personalities and outfitting them with various accessories.


text:
They could see it through the viewport, floating in space like a big milky pearl.

“There it is,” Captain Yates said. “Jaatmar.”

Lieutenant Brigsley stared at the planet for a long time.

Yates switched on the intercom. “This is Captain Aaron Yates of the ISS Fulcrum. Does anyone read me?”

There was only static.

“I repeat, does anyone read me?”

Brigsley restored the Fulcrum’s non-critical systems, bringing on the lights, weapons, and secondary engines. “I suppose they’ll hear us soon enough.”

In the tunnels under Jaatmar, the teacher moved across the room, arms behind his back. “Now, does anyone know where the ‘so clean you could eat off it’ expression comes from, and why it’s important?”

A milark at the front of the class raised his left arms.

“Yes, Glikkagron?”

“It comes from the human tendency to associate cleanliness with food,” Glikkagron said. “And it’s important because it shows a fear of disease and death.”

“Very good,” the teacher said, nodding. “Write that down, everyone. Questions like these will be in the exam.”

Everyone except Glikkagron hunched over their holopads, and there was the harmonious tap-tap-tapping of one-hundred and seventy-four milarks writing about their favourite subject in the world: humans.

A student sitting next to Glikkagron raised her hands.

“Yes, Hjasup?”

“Why are the humans afraid of death?” She asked.

The teacher thought about it. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”

Hjasup’s eye spun to Glikkagron, whose arms were flailing wildly.

“I know, I know!” He clicked

“Yes, Glikkagron?”

“Because they can’t control when it happens!” Glikkagron clicked, his twelve spindly legs scratching on the ground. “Chapter 4 of Humans, What Do You Know? says control is a big part of the human psyche, and what is death if not the greatest lack of control?”

Despite the room being almost completely dark, the teacher could see Glikkagron clearly. The young student was obviously awaiting praise, but this was not a class on human philosophy; it was Human Expressions and Idioms V3. Although brilliant, theories like that would have to wait until later on, during The Nature of Human Existence V1.

“Let’s continue,” the teacher said, moving across the room on his twelve stick-thin legs. “Can anyone tell me where ‘it takes one to know one’ comes from, and what it implies?”

Glikkagron’s arms shot up.

“Someone other than Glikkagron.”

The other one-hundred and seventy-four milarks raised their arms.

The teacher picked at random. “Yes, Nsskks?”

Nsskks began to secrete ink; he was hardly ever chosen. “I do-don’t know where it c-c-c-comes from, but I believe it’s a c-c-counter-insult.”

“And what is a counter-insult?” The teacher asked.

“A c-counter-insult deflects th-the-” Nsskks’s words were obliterated by an awful screeching every milark on the planet heard: it burrowed into the head, and scrambled the brains, inducing endless waves of nausea.

When Captain Yates turned off the Fulcrum’s intercom, the sixteen thousand milarks below Jaatmar’s surface heard the echo of their screams. The screeching had stopped. It had all just stopped.

The astronauts looked at each other, and then once more out the viewport. Now that they had landed, they could see the white fields of – well, it looked like ant hills, is what it looked like. Hundreds of the things, no more than a few feet high, everywhere.

“Never saw these in the pictures.” Lieutenant Brigsley said.

“No,” Yates said, reaching for his helmet. “Too small.”

In the airlock, they stood listening to the hiss of depressurization, and then the Fulcrum’s outer door opened. They could have said something monumental, but neither felt much like showboating. No one on Earth would ever hear them. So they walked out in silence, their boots crunching over the brittle ant hills.

A clutch of milark babies squirmed and clicked under her feet, and dozens of unhatched milarks hung from the ceiling, watching their brothers and sisters, and the slimy milark grovelling on the ground.

“My dear Brood Mother,” he said, kissing the earth. “My dear Brood Mother.”

“Speak, worm.” The Brood Mother said, her voice shaking the entire cavern.

“There are two life forms on the surface,” he said, lifting his ink-soaked head, “and we believe they’re humans.”

The Brood Mother’s egg sacs trembled. “Humans?” She said. “Humans.” She repeated, this time rolling the word around her tongue. “Bring them to me.”

With most of the class collapsed on the ground, the teacher, like any good Education Hive employee, rushed through the room, helping fallen ones to their feet.

“What happened, Sir?” Glikkagron said, raising his arms. “I’ve never read about-”

“They need lights,” the teacher said, almost to himself, “and oxygen. They need oxygen.”

“Are you… Sir, what are you-”

“Quiet!” The teacher yelled.

“Sorry.” Glikkagron said.

After helping up the last of the students, the teacher took a long, slow breath. “Get the oxygen tanks, and the lights. We have visitors.”

The students scrambled over each other.

The astronauts saw a group of creatures in the distance: their long spidery legs - attached to ash-black exoskeletons - crawled over the ground in a way that suggested disorientation, as if they hadn’t been outside in years.

Captain Yates took out his translator. “Welcoming committee.” He said.

The milarks approached, shielding their faces against the red sun. They clicked and clicked and clicked at the humans, and each extended one of their hands: it was common knowledge that a ‘hand-shake’ was the customary way of greeting someone on Earth.

While humans and milarks shook hands, Yates activated the translator.

“…honoured to be a part of this glorious moment.”

Yates pointed the device at another milark.

“…requests your presence.”

He pointed at another.

“…true that humans actually shave their heads?”

And another.

“…all so tall?”

Yates flipped a switch on the translator, and spoke into it. “We need food.”

The milarks listened to the broken clicking coming through the translator, and then turned to one another.

“What did he say?”

The other milarks clicked inquisitively.

“Something about rubes?”

“No,” another milark said. “Tubes. He said something about tubes.”

Yates looked at Brigsley, and gave him the translator.

“Can you understand us?” Brigsley said. “We need food.”

The milarks looked at each other, and shook their heads.

“Let’s just take them down already,” a milark at the back of the group said. “They must be starving.”

Boxes of luminous fungi were strung down the tunnels. Ordinarily much too bright for the eye of a milark, the fungi was now essential, because the whispers were true: two humans had arrived on Jaatmar, and they were going to see the Brood Mother.

Glikkagron and Hjasup walked along with the other three thousand students from Education Hive. Despite being half-blind and dizzy, the students never broke file, and they never stopped clicking. Who would be the first to touch the humans? What would the humans be fed, leeches or slugs? Where would the humans sleep? Who would be given the privilege of examining their urine and fecal matter?

“You should really be given a few samples of their urine, Glikkagron,” Hjasup said, her legs trembling with excitement. “Don’t you think?”

Glikkagron turned to Hjasup, but all he could see was a vague outline of her. “Yes,” he said, “that would be a dream come true… You know something? I wouldn’t even examine it. I’d drink it, just so I could say that something from a human was inside of me.”

“Would you – would share some with me?” Hjasup asked, secreting a small dribble of ink.

Glikkagron nodded, but he realized she probably couldn’t see him. “I would share some with you.” He said.

“Now, attention, attention!” The teacher said, stopping the students, and pushing them to one side of the tunnel. “When the humans come, you will not break away from this wall. You may stretch out your hands and try to touch them, and you may say whatever you wish, but you must not break from the wall. Those that do will be severely punished.”

The students were silent.

The teacher craned his head from one side of the tunnel to the other, taking in the students. “We will not overrun them, and we will not scare them. We will show the humans that we are the loveliest, most gracious creatures in the known universe. Is that clear?”

A few students mumbled.

“I said, Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The students mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir!” The students cried.

“Sir?” Glikkagron said, raising a hand.

“What is it, Glikkagron?” The teacher said, staring at the left end of the tunnel.

“Will there be a chance to examine any human waste?”

The teacher nodded, not taking his eye off the left end of the tunnel. “Yes, of course. Unless the humans refuse. We would never just take samples from them.”

Glikkagron and Hjasup turned to each other and did a happy little dance.

“Here they are. Here they are,” the teacher said, pushing Glikkagron and Hjasup to the wall. “Everyone against the wall, now!”

Captain Yates and Lieutenant Brigsley followed the welcoming committee into the tunnel. An endless row of smaller milarks jumped and kicked and reached for them, all screaming at a frequency too high for the human ear.

“These are students,” a milark from the welcoming committee said, gesturing with his arms. “As you can see, they are very excited by your presence.”

Brigsley pointed the translator at a student.

“…SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH MY SHIT! OH-”

Brigsley lowered the translator’s volume: any louder and he thought the speakers might pop.

“Y-YOUR HELMET!” One of the students screamed, tugging at Yates’s arm. “Y-Y-YOUR HELMET! Y-YOUR HELMET! PLEASE! P-PLEASE! Y-Y-Y-YOUR HELMET!”

Yates looked at a member of the welcoming committee, who was nodding her head.

“The tunnels are being pumped with oxygen as we speak,” she said, “so you’re free to take off your helmets.”

The students all gasped as Yates secured his hands around his helmet; they gasped again as he twisted it off in one quick motion, throwing it back to the milark who had called for it.

Nsskks collapsed to his knees, spurting ink over his prize.

“I can’t breathe,” Hjasup said, clutching her chest. “Glikkagron, I can’t breathe.”

Glikkagron was screaming as loud as the rest of them, and though he felt Hjasup’s arm on his, he couldn’t hear what she was saying, nor did he care: the humans were about to pass, and all that mattered was for them to turn their heads - even for one second - and acknowledge his existence. Jumping and kicking and screaming wasn’t working, because everyone was already doing that.

“Glikkagron!” Hjasup wheezed, as Glikkagron stepped away from the wall. “Glikkagron…”

Hjasup slid to the ground, gushing streams of black ink. Her heart slammed against her chest, faster with each gasping breath, and where there had been screaming, there was silence. She squinted at the boxes of fungi on the ceiling, shining brighter, it seemed, than the stars themselves. Why did this have to happen now? What would the humans think?

After Lieutenant Brigsley handed his helmet to one of the students - who then bashed another student over the head with it – he turned to his captain.

“This is getting out of control.” Brigsley said.

Yates stared at the welcoming committee, where only two milarks remained; the rest had broken off to hold rowdy students against the wall.

Yates snatched the translator from Brigsley.

“Can we hurry this up?” Yates said.

“Curry?” One of the milarks said, turning around. “We’ve heard of this dish, but I’m afraid we don’t have it. Don’t worry. Don’t worry. You’ll have many superb things to eat once we-”

Yates threw the translator to the ground, and stomped on it.

“Glikkagron!” The teacher shouted, certain the blurry milark who had just left the wall was him. “Glikkagron, get back here!”

Glikkagron ran towards the humans; he would get their attention, he would tell them how much he knew about the human race, and they would be amazed.

“Hey,” a student said, pointing at Glikkagron, “he just left the wall!”

“GLIKKAGRON!” The teacher screamed, racing after him.

“He’s gonna hurt them!” Another student said. “He’s gonna hurt the humans!”

In an instant the word had spread to every milark in the tunnel, and then there was no stopping it: the waves and waves of students rushing to defend the humans.

“GET BACK!” The teacher screamed, as he was knocked down and impaled by thousands of sharp, spidery legs. “Everyone … get … back…”

title: [SF] Depressurization

question: What does the story say about Klingons?

question: What does the story say about the humans?

answer: The humans are astronauts aboard the starship ISS Fulcrum. They are led by Captain Aaron Yates and Lieutenant Brigsley is one of his men. They are exploring the planet of Jaatmar, and are surprised to see hundreds of white anthills no more than a few feet high. Brigsley says he never saw these when looking at pictures of the planet, and Yates says the anthills were too small. When they land on Jaatmar's surface, the astronauts needed their helmets to breathe. It appears something happened to the humans and their ship. Brigsley needed to restore the Fulcrum's non-critical systems, they needed food, and no one from Earth could hear their transmissions. The humans are celebrities on Jaatmar. The indigenous creatures study human existence, idioms, and expressions.

question: What does the story say about the Milarks?

answer: The Milarks are insect-like (or ant-like) creatures indigenous to the planet Jaatmar. They live underground where it is dark because light disorients them. Milarks have long spidery legs, ash-black exoskeletons, and excrete ink, especially when excited. They seem to be intelligent creatures that have a working social structure. A Brood Mother leads the hive. Others play essential roles, such as the Education Hive employee who teaches younger Milarks about humans. Milarks have books about humans and have been studying them for some time. The Milarks seem to admire humans and treat them like celebrities.


text:
She Ran
by Karl Verkade
…to be read with accompanying soundtrack

   The night was cold and thin. The air was scantily clad in such a way that she felt that if she could but stop for a second, she could reach through it and grasp time. Arrest it, stop it, bring back the years of hope, before the years of inevitably set in. But she did not stop. She ran.

   Air is a precious commodity; one she had taken for granted until it was all she had. Tonight she chased it; she felt as if her lungs could not get enough of it. With each new step, a new shallow breath, and a new resolve to continue filling her chest with the last thing in this world that was free. She knew that if she stopped, the night would end; and she did not want the night to end. The colors were too vivid.

   First the reds…the piercing reds. They swept out of the night sky in such an instant that she did not have time to witness their origin. But there they were. Swirling, brilliant reds that swept her up like she scarcely remembered. Indeed, did she even remember it? Or was this the embodiment of a shadow she always hoped to one day remember. The color floated around her as she ran, keeping up with her; perhaps even lagging back a little so that she could keep up with it. She could not help it; she began to be entranced by its brilliance, though she dared not slow down. She peered into it, trying to imprint upon her memory every detail of its stunning lifeform.

   Then suddenly, did it change? The reds were not quite as flowing as they once were. They moved a little more awkwardly. She knew she had seen that movement before, somewhere. Then she remembered. Yes! The reds were walking! Alongside her they walked, still dancingly keeping up with her every running stride. Their shapes became more and more human. She recognized one of the colors. He looked into her eyes with the love that said that it was already finished; there was nothing she could do to ever spurn that love. Then another color touched her shoulder. She whirled her head around just in time to catch the shape of a life that spoke of a bond with her that nothing but tears could form. In an instant, the motherly shape was gone, but reformed next to the figure on her other side, walking arm in arm with it.

   She almost stumbled. Something had touched her heels. She turned her head around long enough to see a child following behind her. It was a little girl…a little girl without colors. She skipped and sauntered, without a care in the world, but all the time keeping up with her. She wondered at the child; she wondered at childhood. So happy, so light; all its cares are immediate. There is no sense of that fact that time will one day have its way. No one tells children the truth.

   From somewhere behind the child, deep in the distance, she thought she saw another red. A different red. But she couldn't be sure; she had to keep her head straight onward, to immerse herself in the air, in the night. Nor did she have time to worry about the new color, or the child, as the brilliant reds by her side had split into multiple colors, each walking at its own pace somewhere by her side. They were dear to her…some moreso than others. All looked at her with varying degrees of knowingness. One in particular. He looked at her with a seriousness, and a questioning. His was by far the most tender touch, but not the most knowing. She slowed slightly, gasping for breath as she did. She turned to look at him, but her gaze was interrupted by the new color, now creeping along the horizon next to her. It was a dark color, and threatened to swallow the red she now fought desperately to keep. She reached out for him; but slowly he faded, and slowly the dark approached. She had seen this before.

   In an instant he was gone, and in his place were two other brilliant reds. One for whom she cared, one with whom she was comfortable. The dark color approached. She tried to outrun it, but it was of no use. It swallowed up the two colors just as it had swallowed the last. She now saw that it was not a darkness, but a deepness. A deep red that spoke of something she knew all too well. It sent shudders through her life-stained body.

   The shudders continued as she ran. And continued. Until she had unknowingly discovered that she was quite at home with the shudders. She did not mind them. In fact, the deep red had mixed with the brilliant red so much so that neither color was now better or worse for the mixing; but they were more real. Then, just as she was about to acquiesce to the new deep and brilliant red, it suddenly birthed a figure. And she hated. She hated its curves, and its smoothness, and its beauty. It tore from the rest of the colors, revealing its blackness. And then, in horror, she watched as it reached back into the deep and brilliant red and pulled from it the loving figure. He looked at her as she ran with the same, unquenchable love as before, as he faded off into the distance with the beautiful black figure.

   She ran harder; and at her heels she felt the child again. She turned again to look, and now saw a young lady, walking warily behind her. She knew that look; the colors had replaced the innocence. She had never been sure which was more desirable; but now she knew that neither could ever coexist peacefully with the other.

   The deep, brilliant red circled around her and comforted her. It did not split into its native colors, nor would it ever again. And she was grateful.

   Now there was another color. It crept out from behind her. She turned to look; were the colors coming from the child? But it was no longer a child, or a young lady. It was a young woman…a young woman with a war in her eyes, between childlike hope and the lamentable wisdom of the inevitable. She recognized that look. And she ran faster.

   But she could not outrun the new color. It surrounded her, and here and there penetrated the deep and brilliant red with its yellow haze. It was a tired color…so tired that it was almost transparent, and blended in with the night in such a way that at times, in her gasping for air, she would inevitably suck in its yellow weariness as well. But she did not mind. A little weariness might even be nice…it made her feel as if her running was accomplishing something. Accomplishment. The reds spoke nothing of that. She wondered at her life, and for the first time, looked upwards. There were no colors to see through…just the night sky. The vastness looked down upon her as if it knew her. She slowed a little, letting her inconsequential state settle in over tired bones. The yellow crept wearily into her upward gaze, and she knew the child at her heels was now a woman. She did not turn, but ran onwards, knowing all too well the look in the pursuing woman's eyes. There would be tears, resolve, the tiniest glints of echoes that were once laughter; but most of all, the yellow weariness.

   Her legs were tired, her lungs empty. She inhaled without the benefit of air, as the deep and brilliant red moved underneath her and helped her forward. The yellow slowed her enough to where she could look around her a bit; she discovered trees…big, green trees towering over her on either side. The deepness carried her down the small, inescapable path made by the foliage, and the little child softly padded around in front of her. The bright eyes of the child were now furrowed under a wrinkled brow, and the once beautiful cheekbones now protruded in a manner unworthy of the years and wisdom that made them such. At first she blushed with the hardness of the old woman's gaze, but then stared back at herself with the same knowing inevitability. The old woman took her hand in hers, and walked her down the path. She tried to run to keep up, but could not; the old woman dragged her softly and silently onward, as the deep and brilliant red carried her, the tired yellow enveloped her, and the green trees lapped gently at their own dust which formed her body.

   And she stopped running.

   It had been a miserable night, and they were excited to be able to go into the alley and play today. They bounced the ball against the cracked bricks of the tall buildings, and he even let her win a few times.
   But this turn, he was going to win. With all the bravado a big brother can muster, he slammed the ball at the corner of the building where the curb met the bricks. The ball ricocheted down the alley, towards an oncoming truck. As it did, it dislodged some old newspaper crumblings, and in the tired yellow light cascading onto the alley through the old buildings, they saw it. His sister screamed and went running back through the shabby aluminum door into their mother’s apartment. But he couldn't move. He stared at her.

   They drove down the alley. What a miserable day. The night had been cold, and whenever the nights were cold, he knew it would be a long day. He watched as two children bounced a ball against the side of the grimy building. The ball got away from them and in the tired yellow haze peering through the buildings, he saw the ball dislodge some old papers; and underneath it, he saw another one. They stopped the truck and walked over to the body. It was not her…it was never her; it was a shell. He wondered who she was. They picked her up, and he knew that beneath his gloves, there was coldness. But her open eyes seemed peaceful; somehow that brought him comfort. He looked into her eyes as the red of the bag enveloped her body, and she was gone.
   It was then that he noticed the boy. He hadn't moved, but was staring at them with large, questioning eyes. He nodded at the boy as they carried her back to their truck, and attempted a smile through his mask. The boy was motionless.
   "We're just taking her someplace where she can rest," was all he managed.
   "I know what the green trucks mean," said the boy bravely.
   "But you've never seen this before?"
   The boy shook his head, fighting back the tears for which he had been taught he was too old.
   The man stopped, and pulled his mask off over his head. He looked straight into the boy's quivering eyes.
   "It's very short. Don't waste it."
   He looked at the boy. The boy looked back at him. Not knowing what else to do, he slowly turned away, leaving the boy standing alone in the alley; older, whether he wanted to be or not.
   They put her in with all the rest.

title: She Ran

question: Are the colors the protagonist sees real?

answer: It would appear that they're either hallucinations or her imagination.

question: Are the figures and individuals the protagonists sees appear around her real?

answer: It would seem that they're hallucinations or her imagination.

question: What happens to the woman running?

answer: She dies and is picked up by a coroner.


text:
The SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF USELESS GIVING (SPUG) was a campaign group in New York against pointless gifts at Christmas, and particularly against the exploitation of junior employees by their supervisors.

It was founded in 1912 by the actress and socialite Eleanor Robson Belmont[1] and Anne Morgan,[2] daughter of J.P. Morgan,[3] along with a few dozen women in New York City. Both of these ladies were rich and philanthropically inclined to improving the lot of working women in New York.

The SPUG was established in response to what the women perceived to be unnecessary Christmas-related materialism, as well as the era’s custom of employees giving gifts to bosses and higher-ups in exchange for workplace favours.[4] Frequently the gifts given were expensive, costing up to two weeks’ worth of wages.[5] This would have negatively affected female employees to a greater degree than their male counterparts, as women have been found to spend more time and money on gifts, and to experience a higher degree of gender expectations and social pressure around gifting.[6]

Between 1912 and 1913 the group grew to 6,000 members.

Rallies were held by the SPUG, and promoted female solidarity, even if class divisions lingered, giving the occasions an air of maternalistic charity and sisterhood.[7]

SPUG membership was initially restricted to women, however men were later permitted to join, primarily as a result of President Theodore Roosevelt,[8] who, in December 1912, became the first “man Spug”, promoting hundreds of others to join the movement to reduce Christmas gift giving.[9]

“I believe the group can accomplish what the individual cannot—namely, the gradual substitution of the right spirit of Christmas giving, in place of the custom of ‘collective’ and ‘exchange’ presents which exists to-day,” read the society membership card Roosevelt signed. “I agree to pay 10c. a year dues and wear during all campaigns the Spug button.”[10]

By Christmas 1914 the society stalled, as a result of war which had erupted in Europe, and which drew the attentions of SPUG founders Belmont and Morgan.

In recent years, SPUG's opposition to consumerist trivia has once again found favor.[11][12]

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title: Society for the Prevention of Useless Giving

question: Why might rich socialites have wanted to improve the lives of working women?

answer: The bosses presumably did not need the gifts traditionally bestowed upon them by their far less-earning employees.

question: Is SPUG an altruistic endeavor?

answer: The text indicates a general opinion is that this is altruism, but it's not clear what the concrete end result has actually been-i.e., have women been able to save money because they no longer feel pressured to give gifts frivolously?

question: Why might Belmont and Morgan have withdrawn in order to turn their attention to the first World War?

answer: Perhaps they wanted to raise funds for war-time efforts or provide care and shelter for soldiers.

question: What is a hypothetical example gift-giving that would not align with the principles of SNUG?

answer: Giving your well-to-do friend a new chandelier, which has no purposeful value.


text:
As the sun rose that morning, he stood there at the stern of the ship, both hands on either side of that fat, cumbersome wheel. The sailor had spent many days and many nights clutching its wooden rim.

The wheel was stiff. It cooperated like an sick old man being forced to squeeze every last particle of existence out of his broken body.

The sailor had not been in the company of another for a very long time. His sanity had parted ways with him long ago, and he’d accepted that. He never mourned his sanity. It slipped away quietly one day, undetected.

The sailor couldn’t remember the last face he saw. One afternoon not long ago, the sailor found he hard time visualizing a face, any face, in his mind. He found this troubling. He squeezed his eyes tight, blanketed his forehead with his palm, trying very hard to recall a face, any face at all. He tried hard, but with no success. He was neurologically constipated.

He gave up, and several troubling hours passed. He was then hit with a solution to his problem, one which should have been obvious, but it hadn’t been. The sailor was relieved to rediscover that included with his human body was a human face.

His hand rediscovered his old face, and it seemed foreign. All of this sticky apparatus attached to the front of his skull. It seemed so crude, so obscene. He wondered how he ever got my in his old life ashore. How was he able to converse with another person while their head apparatus flaps around, crude and sticky just like his. He‘d regained his ability to visualize faces, but he really wish he hadn’t.

Perhaps having souls operating these faces nullifies the horrific nature of them somehow. Normalizes then over time. The sailor had not been among other beings with sticky apparatus at the front of their heads for an eternity.

The sailor’s unaccompanied mind travelled to many places which were and continue to be entirely inaccessible to the sane mind.

The sailor had a benefit in being aware of his insanity, and thus he didn’t feel he had to question and judge himself for the many odd notions and probably irrational ideas he would have from time to time. He was insane, and insane people are licensed to do insane things, he figured. He wasn’t going to attempt to suppress his eccentricity. He decided that long ago. Some fortunate people can travel beyond the sane, and return unscathed. The sailor however, had been too far gone, for far too long. He was not going to be returning to the lost world of reason and rational, linear thinking.

Sometimes the sailor would invent imaginary people. They never stuck around for more than a day. The sailor liked variety. These weren’t imaginary friends. The sailor enjoyed the company of imaginary strangers.

The sun continued it’s ascent into the empty sky. Long ago the sight of the morning sky may have raised a corner of the man’s mouth. It’s quite possible that in the man’s ancient past, he enjoyed the crisp morning air, gazed at the heavens and sighed a contented sigh. It’s quite possible that this is one of countless fragments of this man’s truth which have been whisked away by a gentle wind. All who have lived have known the work of this wind, some more than others. The delicate way of this wind seems spiteful. A gentle breeze passed by the one who walked the earth with his heart gleefully exposed, unacquainted with the wind. The sky was spectacular and the grass felt like love and smelled of something sweet and eternal.

Not one person has gone from A to B without cursing the ways of this unstoppable wind. They wave their fists, they shout vengeful violence at the great thief. Their verbal fists find themselves without satisfaction. This breeze can’t be battered, just as water cannot be strangled. Many have tried this as well, when gratitude for it’s service is replaced with resent. For some, the service of water seems to only prolong the heavy days and the bloody nights of disassembly, dissection and reconfiguration. For some, the water appears to be the wind’s accomplice. The wind, the great thief, the water, the great captor of man in disguise.

title: [MF] Today I took Adderall and wrote whatever this is. It’s definitely rough, it might not make much sense, and it doesn’t have an ending. I haven’t tried writing a story in 2+ years. I would really appreciate some honest feedback! Thanks folks...

question: Why was the sailor alone?

question: For how long had the sailor been away at sea?

answer: According to the story, it appears the sailor had spent what seemed like an eternity on the ship, steering the wheel wherever. It had been so long the sailor had been in the company of another person that he had forgotten what people look like. He had difficulty recollecting what a human face looked like by trying to search his mind for any hints. Being away from people tampered with the sailor's sanity, and it never bothered him. He appeared to have gone off the rails unintentionally, but he seemed fine with it.

question: In what ways does this story illustrate the adage "no man is an island"?

answer: The famous John Donne saying and poem, "no man is an island," is factual and reflects nicely in this passage. After being at sea for so long, with no human contact, with extremely severe isolation, the sailor couldn't recollect people's faces. It's a common belief that people struggle to cope on their own and need the support of others. It is easy to see how a seafarer's mental health would deteriorate over time without any human contact. Isolation is a myth. When separated from other people, one will inevitably go insane.


text:
“JANUARY 1ST” (stylised as JANUARY 1ST) is a song by Japanese rock band Coldrain. It is the third single and sixth track on their sixth studio album _The Side Effects_, produced by Michael Baskette, written by Masato Hayakawa and was released on 8 August 2019.[1][2][3][4]

“January 1st” is the first ever soft song by the band to ever be released as a single.

Background

“January 1st” was released on 8 August 2019 as the band's third single and the sixth track off their sixth studio album _The Side Effects_, following the release of the second single “Coexist” which was released just the month prior. It was the last single to be released prior to the album's release.

On 7 August, several teases were made on Coldrain's social media accounts with a photo of lead singer, Masato Hayakawa, surrounded by darkness, as well as a translucent image of him in the same photo which is contrasted by a flame and water. This tease would be followed up by an announcement made of the official music video, which would be slated for release on the following day.[5]

Composition

“January 1st” is an alternative rock song. The track runs at 150 BPM and is in the key of A major. It runs for four minutes and 40 seconds.[6] The song was written by Masato Hayakawa and Ryo Yokochi, it was produced by Michael Baskette.

Meaning and lyrics

“January 1st” is written about Hayakawa's dog, who passed away on January 1, 2019. Struggling to cope with his loss, who felt like family to him. He wrote the song to cope about how he could not let go for someone he loved dearly and had many memories of. As a result of this, the chorus would be a direct reference to how Hayakawa felt about it.[7]

Hayakawa would directly request “January 1st” to be a single and a music video released by the band. This would prove to be ambitious, as it would be the first slow song by the band to ever be released as a single.[8]

Track listing

Music video

The music video for “January 1st” was released alongside the single on 8 August 2019, and was directed by Koh Yamada.[9]

The video starts out with frontman, Masato Hayakawa, walking up from the ocean on the beach during the night to join his bandmates to perform the song. Flames from campfires surround the band as they perform. These scenes are intertwined with Hayakawa singing the song during the day on an escalator, under a bridge, and in the sea on the same beach while also scaling up stairs in a well which symbolises moving on.

As of October 2020, the song has 710K views on YouTube.

Personnel

Credits adapted from Tidal.[10]

COLDRAIN

-   Masato Hayakawa – lead vocals, lyrics
-   Ryo Yokochi – lead guitar, programming, composition
-   Kazuya Sugiyama – rhythm guitar
-   Ryo Shimizu – bass guitar
-   Katsuma Minatani – drums

ADDITIONAL PERSONNEL

-   Michael Baskette – producer, mixing, arrangements
-   Ted Jensen – mastering
-   Jeff Moll – recording engineer
-   Joshua Saldate – assistant engineer

Charts

+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Charts (2019)                     | Peak                              |
|                                   | position                          |
+===================================+===================================+
| Japanese Daily Hot 100[11]        | 57                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Japanese Weekly                   | 74                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

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title: January 1st (Coldrain song)

question: What does the text say about recording an album in Tokyo?

question: What does the text say about Coldrain?

answer: Coldrain is a Japanese rock band. Members include Masato Hayakawa (lead singer), Ryo Yokochi (lead guitar), Kazuya Sugiyama (rhythm guitar), Ryo Shimizu (bass guitar), and Katsuma Minatani (drums). The band has released six studio albums to date. Coldrain just released "January 1st," the third single from their sixth album, The Side Effects", produced by Michael Baskette and written by Masato Hayakawa.

question: What does the text say about Coldrain's album, The Side Effects?

answer: Coldrain's album, The Side Effects, is the band's sixth studio album. It was written by Masato Hayakawa and produced by Michael Baskette. Two singles from the album, "January 1st" and "Coexist" were released a month apart (Coexist was released first). "January 1st" was the last single to be released before the band released their full album.

question: Summarize the most interesting facts about Coldrain's single, "January 1st"?

answer: "January 1st" is the first-ever soft song by Coldrain to be released as a single. It is an alternative rock song that runs at 150 BPM in the key of A major for four minutes and 40 seconds. Hayakawa wrote "January 1st" in memory of his dog who died on January 1, 2019. The dog was like family to Hayakawa and he was struggling to cope with his loss. He wrote the song to help him cope and talk about how he could not let go of someone he loved dearly. The chorus of "January 1st" was a direct reference to how Hayakawa felt about his dog's passing.


text:
THRILLOPOLIS was a planned amusement park that was to have been built by Themeparks LLC in the early 2000s. The park was planned to be built in Nashville, Tennessee, near the Adelphia Coliseum. The project was announced in 2002, and was projected to open in 2005. The park was originally planned to be located at an 82-acre site near the Adelphia Coliseum on the banks of the Cumberland River, but after conflicts with the local government, Themeparks LLC planned to build the park in Wilson County. The project was scrapped around 2004-05.

History

Downtown Nashville proposal

In the early 2000s, Themeparks LLC, who were operating Magic Springs and Crystal Falls in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and had sold Kentucky Kingdom in Louisville, Kentucky to Premier Parks in 1997, were looking to expand. The company began working on plans for an amusement park that was to be built in Nashville, Tennessee, a city that had not had any major amusement parks since Opryland USA closed in December 1997.[1] On April 25, 2002, Ed Hart, the CEO of Themeparks LLC, pitched the concept for a Nashville-based theme park called Thrillopolis to Mayor Bill Purcell and the Nashville Chamber of Commerce. Thrillopolis was planned to be built on an 82-acre industrial site, owned by the Steiner Liff Iron and Metal Company, on the banks of the Cumberland River and next to the Adelphia Coliseum.[2] Construction was to begin in late 2002, and the park was going to open in 2005. During the proposal, Themeparks LLC estimated that the park's construction would cost $193 million, the company wanted $127 million in public financing which they would back with a $100 million letter of credit. Maria Partlow, vice president of marketing for Themeparks LLC, said, “We have to have a public-private partnership, that is the model for how these parks work now.”[3]

Several Nashville council members publicly showed opposition for the planned amusement park. Council member J.B. Loring said the proposal “simply doesn’t fit in with the progress of Nashville at all,” and he said that every council member he spoke to agreed with his opinion that the plan was “ridiculous.” Council member Ron Nollner said that the proposal was “Out of the question, In my book, that’s not doable." John Summers, another council member, said that Nashville “shouldn’t be the funding of first resort for a speculative business. If the business doesn’t work out, the city is at risk. Meanwhile, extending the lending capacity to amusement park developers means we have less lending capacity for our real needs, like schools.”[4] Mayor Purcell also showed opposition to the amusement park, saying "Everyone thinks that it would be nice for us to have a theme park, the question is, should we take $127 million in public resources and put it to that use?” Purcell mentioned that he didn't understand why Hart wanted public funding when he didn't seek a bank loan, saying “For returns that are certain, there is a great amount of capital in a market system like ours. For people with ideas to come to a city asking for funding, that usually means that private investors have concluded that it doesn’t meet their standard of risk.” Hart said that he needed credit from the city, because “financing an amusement park of this size privately would mean taking on too much debt.”[5]

Many people were also opposed to the park's proposed location, next to the Adelphia Coliseum and Downtown Nashville. Because of the area's proximity to Downtown Nashville, many were worried about the park's affect on the city's aesthetic, as it would become a noticeable part of Nashville's skyline.[6]

On June 17, 2002, Themeparks LLC announced that the 82-acre riverfront site in Nashville was no longer under consideration as a possible site for Thrillopolis. During the announcement, Hart said that “the company is looking at various other locations in Nashville-Davidson County, as well as in the greater Middle Tennessee region, as potential sites for a park,” Hart continued, saying “It has become apparent that there are divergent opinions about the best use of the Steiner Liff site that do not appear to be reconcilable any time in the near future," adding “Despite our confidence in the initial financing plan, we understand Metro’s concern about assuming credit risk. We look forward to continued discussions with Mayor Purcell to meet his criteria as well as our own.”[7]

Wilson County proposal

On September 18, 2002, The Wilson County Economic Development Board confirmed that Themeparks LLC was looking at several Wilson County sites. Many people in Wilson County were excited that Thrillopolis could be built in the area, one resident said “Maybe it'd save them from raising our taxes again. We'd get out-of-state money coming in.”[8] During preliminary discussions with Wilson County officials, Hart mentioned that a scaled-down version of the park would be built. Unlike the Nashville proposal, a water park would be built first, and then expand to add amusement rides.[9] On October 15, 2002, Themeparks LLC announced that they had signed an exclusivity agreement with Wilson County for the development of a theme park. Under the one-year covenant, the two moved forward with a feasibility study to project the potential economic benefits of a public-private partnership.[10] However, Themeparks LLC decided not to build an amusement park in Tennessee, and Thrillopolis was canceled around 2004-05.

During an interview in April 2014, Hart talked about Thrillopolis, he said “I was interested in opening up a theme park in Nashville, and Opryland had closed, and we tried to work that out with a number of city and state officials. We were at it for about two or three years, but it didn't work out, and some things don't, but it would have been interesting for Nashville to once again have had a nice regional theme park.”[11]

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title: Thrillopolis

question: What does the text say about the best rides at Thrillopolis?

question: What does the text say about the level of opposition against the proposed Thrillopolis amusement park?

answer: Several Nashville council members publicly opposed the amusement park. One council member, J.B. Loring, said the proposal doesn't fit in with the progress of Nashville. He also said that the council members he spoke to found the Thrillopolis plan (public/private partnership) "ridiculous". Another council member, Ron Noller, said the proposal was "out of the question", while John Summers stated that Themeparks LLC shouldn't be asking Nashville to fund its speculative business. If Thrillopolis doesn't work out, it puts the city at risk. Even Mayor Purcell opposed the idea, questioning why Themeparks LLC just didn't get a bank loan instead of asking for funding from the city. Many people also opposed the park's proposed location, saying it was too near downtown Nashville.

question: What does the text say about Themeparks LLC's pitch for Thrillopolis?

answer: Ed Hart, CEO of Themeparks LLC, pitched a Nashville-based theme park called Thrillopolis to Mayor Bill Purcell and the Nashville Chamber of Commerce. Thrillopolis was planned to be built on an 82-acre industrial site on the banks of the Cumberland River next to the Adelphia Coliseum. Themeparks LLC estimated the park's construction would cost $193 million. However, the company wanted a public-private partnership, meaning they wanted $127 million in public financing which they would back with a $100 million letter of credit. This didn't sit well with the mayor and the city council, because the project was speculative and carried too much risk for the city.


text:
Death.

It was all around me. Down the corridors in the rooms. The smell lingered like a black, hazy cloud above my head. The corridors were sickly white from the lights watching above, hurting my eyes as if somehow malicious and malevolent. Cautiously, I walked down the corridor; the sound of my heels clicking against the floor, echoing in my mind like the beats of people’s hearts around me.

I leap. At least a foot or two in my mind, though it may have just been two inches. My heart skips, delaying my breath, and when it does come, it is in gasps and pants.

A bloodcurdling scream had just emanated from one of the many cold, clinical walls, echoing down the corridor. I sigh, “Just another day at the offices I suppose”.

I’m a nurse at the local hospital in the intensive care unit. Just an average person, there’s nothing different about me. At least, this is what I lead people to believe. I have a secret to hide, that nobody knows.

The hospital is the safest place for me to hide.

Nobody ever thinks it’s me. I mean, I’m a doctor - why would you suspect someone like me? You see, if I told you my secret right now, you would go cold. Your blood would freeze. You’d try your best to escape the crazy person that just told you this horrible, crazy thing. That’s what happened to last person I told.

My own mother, terrified, started screaming and shouting at me, telling me I’m a monster and that she never wants to see me again. Reluctantly I left, feeling rejected and downtrodden. I’m no stranger to rejection; I’ve always been cast out of groups, always been ignored.

That is, until I met him.

As I continued my journey down the corridor, I heard another scream; the same freezing sensation goes running down my spine exactly like before, reaching into my heart, replacing my blood with ice, pulling my air out of my body. I sigh, and after pausing for a precious moment, press onwards with my duty.

I walked into the rooms around me, checking on the patients - but I have a specific patient on my mind. Calmly, I stroll out of the penultimate room, down to the last room at the end of the corridor. Drawn to it I quicken my pace, desperation setting in like the jaws of a vice, holding me in its grip. Something about it tempts me, there is something just so unusually tantalizing about it.

I am the moth, and this is my flame.

Carefully, I placed my hand upon the doorknob and paused for a moment, reflecting briefly on the events that had led to this moment. I smile to myself. “Time to go,” I whisper, and turn the doorknob, slowly and deliberately, quiet as a cat would tread down this hall. I push slightly on the door. It obeys, and opens without a sound, revealing its secrets.

There he lay, helpless, the pain creeping up on his face, contorting his usual handsome features into something completely different. He now was a catalyst of pain and anguish. His cheery demeanor had been replaced with a forlorn, defeated expression that I could feel myself mimicking from just looking at him.

It killed me to see him that way - something I’d never felt for anyone before it had all happened. The pale skin on his chest gently rose with his every breath. His bed ridden hair spread messily over his pillow like waves of some brown ocean, once luxurious now resembled rotten straw. Those mesmerizing ocean blue eyes that always kept me hypnotised in my place now repelled me, even though they weren’t open. Under his paper white skin, I could see his blood pumping faintly through his veins. I breathe in, taking in his scent. The smell intoxicates my mind, making my head spin around and around, my world suddenly becoming very cloudy. My every thought spiraling out of control, but all centering on him. His scent. His blood.

Snapping out of my trance, I then realised how close I was to his neck. I pull back, ashamedly and race out of the room, making sure to leave no trace of my foul presence.

This turn of events had been recurring without relent for weeks now, ever since he was first admitted into this place. Ever since the start, something about him had hypnotised my every sense. Try as I may to avoid his room - even the very corridor it was situated in - it still seemed to end in the same horrible fashion. My face only inches from his neck.

This story isn’t unique though - this same tragic turn of events has happened to me once before, a long time ago. I used to work night shifts at another hospital before this one; and just like this very moment I was checking on patients to see if everything was ok.

There was one patient who stood out to me in a big way. His name was Gustav Wood. He was vastly different to all the others, and just like the current object of my desires, some unidentifiable thing about him stood out. Maybe it was his velvety smooth skin, how magically pale it was or the way his voice sounded, like a glass full of warm, creamy chocolate. I didn’t know what it was, but something about him intrigued me, and I had to find out what it was even if it killed me.

Gustav and I bonded quickly and graciously over the months of his stay at the hospital. We talked enthusiastically whenever I was treating him and checking in on him, and I found out a lot of things about him. He was a solider and got injured badly in the war. I nursed him from almost certain death - when he first came in I honestly thought he wasn’t going to make it and he was all I could think about throughout all my waking (and sleeping) hours.

One miserable night, when the rain was pouring angrily down, with the fog hanging thickly in the night sky, I went to check on Gustav. I walked into his room, quietly, so as not to wake him if he indeed was asleep. He turned around as briskly as I had entered and looked at me, but something about him seemed to be different. Something seemed wrong. I ignored that thought in the back of my head, continuing to get closer to him.

Gingerly, I stood beside his bed. Gustav gazed up at me with that strange look in his eyes, the same one I have been seeing for a few nights now. This look made me feel uneasy. This look was wrong. But before I could speak to him, or even open my mouth to try to speak, I noticed his eyes had taken an unusual form, and a devilish grin was forming on his lips.

It all just happened so fast. He grabbed me at the back of my head fiercely, and threw it back with enormous strength - strength I would never have expected from a recovering war casualty. My eyes opened wide, my mouth wider, and as I was just about to scream, he sank his teeth deep into my neck. My festering scream then released itself from my lungs, as he drained the life from my body. And as suddenly as he had started, he stopped, dropping my limp body on the bed and vanishing through the window into the darkness of the night.

I laid there, withering in pain on the blood splattered sheets, the pain unreal like my body was being incinerated by the forces of Hell itself. Finally, the pain subsided and I woke up. A week had passed, and I was laid in the same place I was viciously attacked by Gustav. And I couldn’t place it, but something was very different about me. Something had changed in me; whether Gustav had provoked this change or it had happened itself I didn’t know. But I know now.

Tonight wasn’t any different to the other nights earlier in the week. I was doing the night shift again, checking in on each patient meticulously like every other night at the hospital. Once again, I had arrived at the end of the corridor. I had arrived near him. Cautiously, I opened the door, careful not to make a sound, then swiftly, gracefully entered - shutting it behind me. Then silently, coolly, walked towards him.

He was sound asleep. “Not for long,” I think, “Tonight’s the nights when my plan comes into action.” Cunningly, I put my face near his neck, his blood tantalisingly pulsating under his skin. Out of nowhere there was a noise outside the room. I stopped dead in my tracks and listen.

Silence.

Slowly, I opened my mouth, moved carefully over to his neck and sank my teeth in deep. He woke up immediately of course - much to my dismay - and screamed out in pain. I quickly clamp my hand over his mouth to muffle his irritating screams. The taste of blood in the back of my mouth was amazing, like nothing I had ever tasted before.

I don’t know how long I was there, but eventually I stopped, dropping his limp body to the bed. I gazed down to my blood splattered shirt, to his lifeless, limp body and smile to myself.

“Wow,” I sigh to myself, reveling in delight when all of a sudden a loud bang sounds outside; I get up from the bed immediately and jump through the window into the darkness, taking with me my conflicting feelings of ecstasy, guilt, but most of all – satiety.

title: My Shameful Affliction

question: Summarize the feelings the narrator is experiencing weeks after going through her ordeal with Gustav Wood.

answer: The narrator could smell strange odors in the hospital corridors. She could clearly hear her heels as they click against the floor. At the sight of a patient lying on the bed, feelings of intoxication took over her senses. She could smell his blood, see it pumping through his veins. She pulled closer to his neck before she stops herself.

question: Who treated the narrator's injuries after she was assaulted by Gustav Wood?


text:
AGNAM-GOLY is a Sahelian village in north-eastern Senegal with a population of inhabitants.[1] The village is located in the Matam Department of Matam Region, approximately to the northeast of Dakar, on the bank of the Senegal River.

History

Founding

[Villagers in traditional clothing]

Agnam-Goly was founded by the Thioye family well before the year 1529. The Thioye began to inhabit caves in the _dieri_ to the south of the village, over 12 meters (40 feet) above the ground. These caves, protected from the elements by large rocks, can still be visited today. The early inhabitants of Agnam-Goly left behind a mosque surrounded by a stone wall before moving north to the _walo_, which is the site used by the village today for agriculture and fishing.

At first, the village consisted of a single hearth surrounded by huts, each of which housed one family. This arrangement served to strengthen family ties and encourage solidarity between neighbors. These early structures, some of which are still standing, are located in the center of the modern village of Agnam-Goly.

The village contains six traditional quarters, each with its own prominent family: Cooyɓe-e-Kuñ'njooɓe, Jalluɓe-e-Gaajooɓe, Jooɓɓe-e-Barooɓe, Salsalɓe-e-Mbaayɓe and Sinc'cu-e-Caareen. [The first buildings] When Fouta was conquered by Koli Teŋella in the 16th century, Agnam-Goly – like the other Agnam villages – was already a fair-sized town. As Oumar Kane notes:

“The West Booseya extends from Hoorefoonde to Bokijawe. This is a stretch of village communities, some of which are true towns: the Aañam [Wuro-Moolo, GOLI, Liiduɓe, Coɗay, Wuro-Sira, Siwol, Godo, Tulel-Calle, Ɓaarga], the large grouping of Cilon, Daabia Odeeji, Kobillo, Gudduɗe-Joobbe and Gudduɗe Ndueetɗe, Voki-Jawe.”[2]

Myth of Dooroy and Boda-ngal

The myth of Dooroy and Boda-ngal is still alive in Agnam-Goly: [Site of Dooroy - Boda-ngal]

“Dooroy” is located in the _walo_ and “Boda-ngal” in the _dieri_. These two mythical places are inhabited by the spirit of the legendary “Mbaroodi Dooroy” who migrates back and forth between Dooroy and Boda-ngal with the flooding and receding of the Sénégal River. Whether he is in Dooroy or in Boda-ngal, the Mbaroodi Dooroy can never live anywhere but in a well or spring. The Dooroy contains a little stream running through a dense forest of acacia trees, not far from Tain-ngu pond. The Boda-ngal contains the Biidal pond and the cemetery.

This Mbaroodi Dooroy is a male spirit, who lost his male organs in a fight with the “Mbaroodi Maayel Barga”, taking one of his opponent's eyes in revenge. The two spirits are separated by the Barga pond. During a long dry season, the Mbaroodi Dooroy tried in vain to conquer this pond. And using a dream as an intermediary, he commanded the villagers to dig a well for him in the Dooroy and to pour milk into it as an offering. At the same time, he issued this warning:

“You shall not wash your mats and pots there, newly married and pregnant women shall not approach the well, and above all, you shall not urinate there.”

When the Sénégal River floods, his favorite spot, “Boorti Thioura”, is always in motion: the water moves and its depth is unimaginable.

At times of need, the wise elders of the village invoke the Mbaarodi Dooroy by means of a secret formula that begins with the words “Yaa Dooroy, yaa Boda-ngal...”, and their sacred clay.

Geography

Location

[Agnam-Goly, between tradition and modernity.]

Agnam-Goly is located in north-eastern Senegal, on the southern bank of the Senegal River. It is traversed by the N2 highway, which links Matam (to the southeast) with Dagana (to the northwest), passing between the villages of Thilogne and Pete Ngour.

The village belongs to the rural community and to the district of Agnam Civol, in the Ranérou Ferlo Department of the Matam Region.

The altitude, which ranges from ten to thirteen meters (32 to 42 feet), averages twelve meters (39 feet).

The village is located between the _walo_, a clayey, flood-prone area, to the north and the _dieri_, formed by sand dunes studded with rocks, to the south.

Professor Oumar Kane of the Cheikh Anta Diop University, a Fouta-Toro specialist, describes the importance of water in this region, which draws much of its resources from flood-based agriculture:

“From Duumga to Mbaan, the low floodplain spreads as far as the eye can see, extending over 50 kilometers. This explains the dense concentration of _jeejegol_ villages between Duumga and Hoorefoonde: Vokijawe, Dabia-Koɓvillo, Cilon, Kaaƴe-Pawe, Ɓaarga, Tulel-Calle, Godo, Siwol, Wuro-Siree, Coɗay, GOLI, Wuro-Molo, Liiduɓe, Asnde Balla, Njaakir, Hooƴo, etc.”[3]

Climate

[Sunset in Agnam-Goly]

Agnam-Goly is located in the Sahel region of Senegal. It has a tropical climate with a dry period that divides the year into two seasons, with continuous sunlight throughout.

The dry season lasts from early November to late June. This is when the harmattan, a hot, dry wind from the east, drives back the _alizé_, a cool, humid wind from the south-southwest. The harmattan brings heat – with temperatures above 43 °C (109 °F) – and dryness, so that there is little or no precipitation.

The wet season lasts from early July to late October. During this time, the _alizé_ comes from the southwest, bringing monsoon winds that cool the air, and heavy rain. Wet season temperatures alternate between hot and cool, with lows reaching 21 °C (70 °F).

Almost all of Agnam-Goly's precipitation falls during the wet season, but the rains begin slightly earlier, in August. For many years, rainfall has been decreasing, and the first rains arrive later in the season, which is a source of worry for the local people.

Infrastructure and Public Services

[Diagram of the village]

The village of Agnam-Goly is traversed by the N2 national highway and possesses the following infrastructure and services:

-   A school with twelve classrooms,[4] six of which were built by the village with locally raised funds, with partial connection to electricity;
-   A health clinic equipped with an ambulance that is currently out of service;
-   A borehole and six wells;
-   A credit and savings mutual, managed by the women of Agnam-Goly (DGL MEC Felo Agnam);
-   A soccer field, where the village plans to build a stadium; and
-   A central market and a weekly market.

Remittances from relatives who have emigrated have allowed many of Agnam-Goly's residents to build living quarters on the roof or second floor of their houses.

Demography

[Local young men] In 2003, Agnam-Goly had a population of inhabitants, divided among 318 households.[5]

Religion

[The main mosque] The presence of traditional myths does not interfere with the practice of Islam, which is the principal religion of the village.

Government and Society

The Council of Elders

Governing power belongs to the Council of Elders, which is composed of prominent members of the six traditional quarters of the village. The Council of Elders selects the Chief of the village and removes him in the case of serious incapacity, or if he proves incompetent in his duties of mediating disputes between villagers.

The Council of Elders also has jurisdiction over agriculture, social issues, sanitation, education, etc., and thus serves as the ultimate judge and manages the daily government of the village.

The Chief of the Village

The Chief of the village is traditionally chosen by the Council of Elders from the “royal” Sall family.[6] The Chief serves for life, but in case of incapacity, he is obliged to return his status to the Council of Elders, as the position is not hereditary. The Sarr family organizes the traditional inauguration of the Chief, which is a great ceremony. If there is a dispute over his successor, the chieftainship is turned over to this family until the Council of Elders agrees on the selection of a new Chief. The Chief of the village carries the title “Diagaraph”, and every man of the Sall family carries the title of “Lawahé” or Prince.

The Chief works in concert with the Council of Elders. He represents the village on administrative issues, and can act in its name. The Chief has the right to convoke the Council of Elders, who must respect his summons. He keeps the Great Drum of the village, along with a town crier. The Chief owns great fields of fertile land, and can call upon the work of every villager. He delivers the verdicts of the Council of Elders.

The seasonal village of Ndoussoudji

[The Samba Binta well] Ndoussoudji is an extension of the village that is located in the _dieri_, from Agnam-Goly. Approximately ten families go there in wagons during the wet season to cultivate the land and graze their livestock. Ndoussoudji has now become a small village, with a large well and herds of livestock. The buildings there are made of baked earth thatched with dry grass, except for the mosque which is built in cement. The water tower ensures a supply of potable water for the village.

Culture

Education

[Agnam-Goly school and students]

The elementary school of Agnam-Goly was founded in 1960. It originally had two classrooms. Today, it has twelve classrooms, some of which have electricity; a small library; two large courtyards for recreation; toilets and living quarters for the director of the school. 593 children attended the school in the 2006-2007 school year: 221 girls and 372 boys, divided into twelve classes with one teacher per class. Learning conditions are difficult for many reasons: overcrowding (three students share a bench and a single book), high student/teacher ratio, lack of teaching materials, and limited resources of the Parents Association which supports the school.

[Agnam Goly students]

The village's 67 junior high school students attend the Agnam high school, three kilometers' (1.5 miles') walk from the village, while the 27 high school students attend the high schools of Matam and Thilogne. Most of the village's 21 university students attend the Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar, and study liberal arts, social sciences, law, economics, medicine, natural sciences and engineering. It is often difficult for them to find lodging and participate fully in university life.

The Coranic school also contributes to the education of the young people of the village.

For decades the students of Agnam-Goly have left their studies for migrant work. Nevertheless, the village has many students today thanks to its promotion of education: building classrooms, providing electricity and teaching materials for the school, organizing workshops in Dakar to introduce its students to computers and the Internet, and building a ten-room house for volunteer teachers.

Traditions

Tradition and modernity coexist in Agnam-Goly. Fula literacy teachers are very active in promoting culture through theater, awareness days, and traditional ceremonies.

Economy and Development

[Drip irrigation system]

The villagers of Agnam-Goly cultivate sorghum, corn, beans and watermelons in the _walo_ following the seasonal flooding of the Sénégal River. During the wet season, millet, beans, _bissap_, melon, and sorghum are grown in the _dieri_.

Agriculture in the village is undergoing a crisis, because rainfall has decreased, irrigation is insufficient, the soil is depleted of nutrients, the price of fertilizer is high, and locusts and other pests attack crops. Nevertheless, horticulture gardening is expected to benefit the village over the coming years.

[Cattle at Ndoussoudji]

In addition to agriculture, the villagers engage extensively in livestock herding, consisting mainly of cattle, sheep, and goats. Poultry raising is uncommon, as is commercial trading.

The village depends on migrant labor for its subsistence. These migrants support their families by sending monthly remittances, which are used to buy food and pay for school and health care.

Village Associations

-   Association des ressortissants d'Agnam-Goly en France (ARAGF)
-   Association des jeunes d'Agnam-Goly (AJAG) ;
-   Association des femmes d'Agnam-Goly (AFAG) ;
-   Association des élèves et étudiants ressortissants d'Agnam-Goly (AEERAG) ;
-   Dental Agnam-Goly en France.

[1]

[2] Oumar Kane, _La première hégémonie peule, op. cit._, p. 201

[3] Oumar Kane, _La première hégémonie peule : le Fuuta Tooro de Koli Teŋella à Almaami Abdul_, Paris-Karthala/Dakar-Presses universitaires de Dakar, 2004, p. 46

[4] Mouvement national 2007-Enseignement élémentaire p 36 Site de l'éducation nationale sénégalaise

[5]

[6] Djibril Diop, « Le village et les quartiers », in _Décentralisation et gouvernance locale au Sénégal. Quelle pertinence pour le développement local ?_, Paris, L'Harmattan, 2006, p. 119

title: Agnam-Goly

question: What does the text say about the Mbaroodi Dooroy?

answer: The Mbaroodi Dooroy is a male mythical spirit whom the village elders invoke in times of need. He can only live in a well or spring and so migrates back and forth between the Dooroy, where he lives in a stream, and Boda-ngal, which has a pond. The migration depends on the flooding and receding of the Sénégal River. He is separated from his enemy by a pond. In a fight, he lost his male organs, and took his opponent's eye in revenge.

question: What does the text say about hauntings?

question: What does the text say about the village captain?