text:
Our generation has been drowned in a fairytale of love and romance. We grew up on a healthy diet of Disney princesses and perfect endings where Katherine Heigl always ends up with the man of her dreams.

But what happens when the fairytale becomes a screeching nightmare, complete with a villain in disguise and blood on everyone’s hands?

You should have known that night, the first time he said “I love you.” There were no butterflies, no fireworks, not even a Seamless dinner served with candles. It was screamed like a threat, hanging thick in the air, lingering like a bad smell. The lovers in question standing on opposite sides of the bed, thumping their fists and reaching desperately for whatever words might cut through the fight.  But you tell yourself it’s okay, special even, because the words were finally said.

What about the night he took you to dinner to celebrate his new job? A night for celebration between partners. But the words vomited from his mouth aren’t on script, it’s not what you planned. I accepted a new job in San Francisco. I’m moving out of NYC within the month. It’s too late, I’ve already given notice.

The world stops spinning and your hand flies to your cheek, feeling the sting of that verbal slab. But you recover and remember your lines. I’ll come with you, of course. We’ll start our lives over, tackle this together, how exciting it will all be. You’re so caught up in the act that you don’t notice the halfhearted smile on his face, his sudden silence. It’s not until later when you lay in bed and close your eyes that you realize he never said his line- he never asked you to come. Your hand inches across the blanket to find his, but it’s not there. He’s already asleep.

Two months and 3000 miles later, your life in San Francisco appears to be magical. You call your friends and family back home and regale them with stories of adventures, day trips and watching the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. But then you hang up the phone and realize you’re in the apartment alone, again. You flinch at every noise, praying that it’s the sound of his keys in the lock, finally home.

As time goes on the expectations build. Every time he bends to tie his shoe or holds your hand, you think this is it. This is when he’s going to propose. Little did you know that while you were watching him out of the corner of your eye with love in your heart, his mind was somewhere, anywhere else.

It’s an average Tuesday night. You went to the gym and ran side-by-side on the treadmill. He made the salad and poured you a glass of wine while you grilled the burgers outside. But then suddenly he’s standing in your living room, looking down at you on the couch. You see his mouth moving but can’t hear the words. Not happy anymore. Needs space. Isn’t working. It’s like he’s miles away and you’re squinting at him in the distance, trying to understand the smoke signals and desperate, waving arms.

But it’s okay, everyone knows that a real love story has to hit rock bottom before the clouds break. You’re still living together, and of course you are, because how could two people who sold everything to move across the country end it all now? The sex is better than ever and you interpret, misinterpret, every kind word as a hint that he’s going to take you back any moment. He’s going to come home from work with flowers in hand and a lone tear running down his cheek. You’re going to run to him, kiss him and finish your movie.

But then he doesn’t come home. It’s 12, then 3 and finally 5 a.m., and he’s still not home. But you tell yourself he’s out with friends, he’s having one last night out on the town before your romantic reunion. His absence could mean nothing more, of course.

To prove this to yourself, you read his text messages. You look for evidence that he’s “reconsidering,” “changing his mind” or “can’t stand looking at her without his heart breaking.”

But then the script goes off course. You find things you never meant to see, you read words that you can hardly comprehend.  Went home with her from the bar. Hooked up. Scroll back farther and there are more names, more dates.  Suddenly there’s a hand gripping your heart, your chest. You can’t breathe.

There’s denial, of course. But then the story peels back like the layers of an onion. There was one, no two. Actually three. It was nothing. No I’m sorry, it was sex. You can’t breathe. As recently as last week. The hand grips tighter. As far back as Christmas. The hand won’t let go.

Suddenly, you’re the heroine in your movie and you know exactly what has to be done. You have to pack your bags and buy your ticket back to New York. Each shirt that’s thrown in the suitcase is vindication, a show. You lay in wait for him to come home so this movie can reach its grand finale. You know that when you tell him you’re leaving, that this is the last night he’ll ever see you, he’ll be the Ross to your Rachel. He’ll throw himself at you and tell you he regrets everything, that he’s sorry and can’t imagine his life without you. And because you’re the beautiful heroine and this is your moment, you’ll take him back and be the bigger person, because how else could you achieve your fairytale ending?

And then he’s crying, he’s hugging you and saying how much he misses you. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way. Wait. He’s sad to see you go. No. It’s for the best. This wasn’t the script.

Even these final moments are a desperate, fruitless attempt at a dramatic scene. You announce that you can’t watch him leave because it would hurt too much. It’s the perfect line.

Then the door closes, and you’re sitting alone in the apartment one last time. The final image you have in your mind isn’t of his face or the sorrow in his eyes, because you couldn’t look. All you see now is his naked body tangled in another woman’s bed, the character who was never meant to be cast in this movie.  And it’s burned in your mind forever.

title: [NF] When Reality Fails to be a Rom-Com

question: What does the title of this article signify?

answer: The title of this article signifies how easy it is to just imagine a romantic fairytale coming to life, but in reality it can be a nightmare.

question: What emotions does this story evoke?

answer: This story evokes all the emotions of a difficult break up, and moving on with life. It makes one feel anger, sadness, and even loneliness.

question: What phrase in the story really encapsulates how the author feels about their break up?

answer: The phrase "everyone knows that a real love story has to hit rock bottom before the clouds break" encapsulates the author's feelings in the story.

question: How does the author feel about cheating?

answer: It can be inferred that the author sees cheating as the worst thing that one can do, and is an act that no one expects or is ready for. It provides pain that no one can imagine and in one second ruins your fairytale ending that you had imagined.


split: test

text:
JUST HØG (8 September 1584 - 25 May 1646) was a Danish statesman and landowner. He served as the first _Hofmeister_ of Sorø Academy from 1629 to 1640 and then as Chancellor of the Realm from 1640 to 1646. He was the owner of Ghorslev Manor on Stevns.

Early life and education

Høeg was born on 8 September 1584 at Vang, Nørresundby, the son of Stygge Høeg (ddied c. 1630) og Anne Gregersdatter Ulfstand (død 1627). He went to school in Aalborg and Aarhus and was in 1601 sent to Hamburg before studying at the universities in Wittenberg (1606), Angers (1609), Siena (1611) and Padua (1617). In 1612, he served on a Florentine eskadre against the Ottoman Navy. In 1613, he visited Constantinople, Cyprus, Rhodes and Alexandria onboard a Venetian ship. He then returned to Denmark by way of Spain and England.[1]

Career

[_La vue de l'Academie de Soröe du tems du Sgr. Just Höeg_ ] Høg was appointed _hofjunker_ in 1615 and _drabanthøvedsmand_ in 1618. He then spent a few years in Bremen after in 1519 being granted a prebend at the cathedral chapter by Christian IV, He worked for Duke John Frederick's appointment to coadjutor and Administrator successor.[2]

In 1623, Høg was appointed as the first _Hofmeister_ of the new Sorø Academy. The office holder was granted the archdeaconship of Roskilde (1629-). In 1627, Christian IV made him a Privy Counsellor. In 1629, he accompanied the king to his conference with Gustav Adolf at Ulfsbäck.[3]

In 1630 and 1531, Høg acted as Chancellor of the Realm (Rigskansler) during Christen Thomesen Sehested's hiourneys abroad. When Thomesen was appointed as Royal Chancellor (Kongens Kansler) in 1640, Høg succeeded him as Chancellor of the Realm. Ge resigned as hoffmeister at Sorø Academy and was granted Kalø Fief as a replacement of the fiefs that his former office had been associated with. In 1643, together with Gregers Krabbe and Christopher v. d. Lippe, Høg represented Denmark at the Osnabrück Congress.. In 1645, he was part of the negotiations with the British envoy.[4]

Property

Høg bought Gjorslev from Vincens Bille in 1630. He expanded the estate with land from the associated village. The smaller of the two side wings was probably constructed by him.[5]

Personal life

Høg married Anne Lunge (1 February 1610 - 6 August 1652), a daughter of _rigsmarsk_ Jørgen Ovesen L. of Odden (1577–1619) and Sophie Brahe (1588–1659), on 9 March 1628. He was the father of Just Høg (1640–94)[6] and Stygge Høg.[7] He died on 25 May 1646.

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title: Just Høg (1584–1646)

question: What does the article say about the places Høg saw?

answer: He was born in Denmark and sent to Hamburg when he was fifteen. He studied at universities in Wittenberg, Angers, Siena, and Padua. He served on a Florentine eskadre, visited Constantinople, Cyprus, Rhodes, and Alexandria on a Venetian ship. He visited Spain and England on his way back to Denmark. He also spent a few years in Bremen, starting from 1619. He visited Ulfsbäck with the king for his conference with Gustav Adolf. He represented Denmark at the Osnabrück Congress.

question: What does the text say about Vikings?


text:
Memory

“Buy the ticket, take the ride” - Hunter S. Thompson

Beep. Beep. Beep. The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and cleanliness. The IV dripped in time, liquid sliding down the tube, and an old man’s family gathered around him. The old man, Adam Nemo, was resting on the uncomfortable hospital mattress. The plastic bed was propped up on a 45 degree angle so that he could better see everyone around him - his grandchildren, his son, and his daughter.  On the stand next to him was a half eaten hospital meal. His prepackaged applesauce not even opened.

The hospital staff walked through the halls with purpose, carrying patients to operating rooms or delivering dry hospital meat or medicine. The only time the clutter stopped was at night and even that silence was sometimes broken up by a heart attack or a new arrival.

Adam Nemo had been admitted during the daytime after weeks of feeling ill.

“Dad....how are you feeling?” A woman, about 45, kneeled, holding his hands. “Hm? What’d you say? I’m not as young as I once was, dear.” He smiled gently, dentures glinting from saliva and the room’s fluorescent lighting. “She asked how you were feeling, Grandpa.” “Oh, well, I’m doing better than before. I do think that I could go for a walk.” “Dad, you know you can’t do that. The doctor said no walking around until you’re better.” The man who had just spoken stepped out of the corner. “You just need to rest.” “Well, you know what they say. No rest for the wicked!” The
old man laughed. His laugh filled up the entire room, warming it. No one else joined in.

A woman in blue scrubs walked in on the family. “I hope I’m not interrupting anyone!” The whole family turned to see the nurse, carrying a tray with three pills on it. A glass of water perched on top of the tray. “Mr. Nemo, it’s time for your medicine.” “Oh boy, I just love passing out and not waking up for 15 hours.” “Dad, you know you have to take the medicine. Just swallow the pills and drink some water.” “I know, I know. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

Adam Nemo took the pills, and floated into sleep. The white of the hospital room faded. First his family was gone, then the IV’s stuck into his veins.  He slept long and he slept nervously. His sleep was filled with memory. He remembered the past, when he wasn’t confined to a hospital bed.

The shifting colors resolved, and he was young again.

The room was distraught, unkempt. In the corner hung a ratty Irish flag. Beneath the flag, three guitars were leaned against the wall. A thick shag carpet covered the middle of the common space. Against the back wall, a legless couch sat close to the floor. Two lost boys sat on it and passed a joint back and forth. One of his friends, a dropout like him, stood by the door and collected whatever spare change anyone coming over had. Somedays it was rent money, but tonight it was to fix the dilapidated toilet. A sign hung on the bathroom door: “Please, nothing solid in the toilet. No vomit.”

The front of the space was a large, makeshift stage. Wooden slats like you see in storage facilities covered the floor. A conga and some drums huddled in the back corner with some more guitars and a synth. On the other side, a record player scratched bumped as it reached the end of a record. Adam Nemo walked flipped it over. “Any suggestions?” No one answered, so he put the same record back on.

Adam’s friend, Paul, walked in the building. He handed over two dollars and threw his faux leather jacket on the chair beside the door. “Yo, Adam. What you drinkin?” He walked  over. “PBR. Here, take the rest of mine.” Adam handed over the half empty beer bottle and thought of what his mother would think of him right now.

“Adam! I told you never to drink!” He laughed to himself as her shrill voice rattled through his skull.

Adam and Paul relaxed in the corner for a while, talking.

“Yeah, my old man told me I either go off to college or come work with him at the shop. I told him to fuck off. I’m movin’ out next week.” “Man, I wish I could do that.” “Dude, not that hard. Just do it.” Adam thought about Paul. He had a devil may care attitude and generally did not give a fuck about anything. Off in the stage corner, some guys were setting up for that night’s show. “Check, check one, check two.” Paul yelled. “I’m checkin’ you out!” Some people roared in agreement.

Groups walked in, guys and girls, dropouts and students and underage disappointments.  . Their eyes were blood red and they were salivating for nothing more than a good time. LSD and mushrooms - the 1960’s was 50 years gone, but no one had told them. The doorman collected the money and they passed through the gates into a castle of drugs and booze and sex. Pretension filled the air. Adam heard flirts quote Naruda: “Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos, I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” Pills popped into mouths and tabs were placed onto tongues.

“Hey hey hey! Can you all hear us all right?” the lead singer asked. Raucous shouts emanated from the crowd, giving her the answer. “We’re the Black Sails, get ready to fuckin’ wail.” A guitar shrieked and drums crashed down. The crowd got wild. 5, 6 minutes went by and Adam fought for his life. He ducked as a fist rounded towards him and he pushed back. Adam couldn’t hear the vocals, no one could. The guitar was distorted beyond recognition. The song settled and the rest of the crowd did. They took it slower, then faster, then slower again, and again faster.

“Alright yall, it’s been great. Here’s our last song.” Drums crash. Bass walks. The music floated through Adam Nemo’s head. He wasn’t paying attention. Heads bobbed along like boats on the sea. He was treading water, staying motionless. The song ended with a flourish, a quick flip of the drummer’s wrist. “Next up, the Valleros!” Takedown began and the band started to unplug. “Adam, you want something?” Paul yelled from next to him. Nothing, the sound went through his then deaf ears. “Adam, listen to me!” “Huh?” “I asked if you wanted something.” “Yeah yeah yeah, grab me another beer.” Paul walked over to the makeshift bar. Two stolen construction barrels with a plank across the top held a few beers and an ashtray with some cigarettes.

Adam stood there, hands in pockets, waiting for the next band to come on. His eyes drifted towards the floor, towards cigarette butts and spit. He looked up as some girls crossed in front of him. He recognized one of them. He had met her three weeks before, at an open mic night in the very same room. She had read a poem about herself. “Lover, dreamer, dyed hair, feminist”, she  declared to the half empty space.

The other girl fascinated him. She had punk rock hair, half shaved off and half combed right up, and was wearing a dress straight from the 1950’s. 2012 meets 1955. Punk rock meets housewife. His eyes followed her across the room.

He didn’t know why, but he felt that she was different than everyone else in the room. There was an aura of fakeness surrounding everyone else. She seemed real. She seemed actually raw, not the raw that these people put on to impress other fakers. He had to talk to her, had to know who she was.

“Paul, who is that?” “Who?” “Punk rock hair. Green housewife dress.” “What?” “Just look behind you.” Paul turned around. “I have no fucking clue”. “Well, I’m going to go talk to her anyways.” Adam edged his way through the crowd to the other side of building. The girl was chatting with two guys. They passed a flask in between the three of them, taking sips.

Paul overheard her talk. “Man that last band blew. When are we gonna hear some real music?” She took a swig from the flask. Paul stepped in. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Total shit.” “I mean, give me something with an edge anyday.” “Totally, right? Like, I’m here to listen to good music, not stuff that’s two amps removed from some pop princess.” “Haha, totally. What’s your name?” “I’m Elizabeth.” She sarcastically curtsied. “Well, Liz. You?” One of the two guys reached his hand out for the flask. “Paul. I’m Paul. Who are these guys?” “No idea. But I like whatever’s in that flask.”

Adam Nemo spent the rest of the night with Liz. They talked and laughed and drank and smoked and Adam Nemo fell in love.

Then, Adam Nemo slept. When he awoke, on the beat up couch, he looked around at the others who had crashed there. She was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know her phone number or even her last name.

Colors shifted again and Adam Nemo returned to the waking world. His family had gone home. The nurses had changed shifts and the business of the daytime had died down. It seemed that there were no emergencies tonight.

Maybe sometimes, Adam Nemo thought, sleep wasn’t such a bad thing.

title: Memory [Original piece]

question: How does young Adam Nemo feel about authority?

answer: He wants to rebel, but he feels some inclination to conform.

question: Did the scene with the band playing actually happen?

answer: Nemo's dreams are filled with "memory. He remembered the past." So this is a scene from his past.


text:
>This is part five of an eleven-part novella that I wrote about a year >ago. They all work as stand-alones as well, so I thought I'd test the >reddit waters first by posting this (this is my first post), then if >there's interest, I'll start from the beginning.

            “See that man on the bench? The one who keeps checking his watch?”

            “Yeah, I see him. Think I should aim for him? Because I was thinking more that bus of school children that passes by here every day around this time. Could you imagine man, all those little kids watching something like that? If only we were exposed to such things at their age.”

            “Well, as good for them as it may be, trust me. Go for the old man. He comes by here almost every day and he needs this more than any piece of shit kid.”

            “I trust you, so old man it is. How much longer?”

            “Few minutes, give or take how much of impact you plan to make.”

            “Ha. I’m sure you’ll know just as well as I will.”

            “You know what kind of impact we’re speaking of, right? You could change a lot of opinions if you don’t screw this up.”

            “What kind of opinions are we talking about here? The kinds of opinions that are swayed by an act as simple as what I’m about to do? We don’t need those kinds of people. If they don’t believe in it themselves and don’t arrive there on their own terms after whatever hardships they’ve traversed, then it’s useless anyway. Don’t follow the leader who jumps off of a building.”

            With those last words, I run to the edge and after seven well-placed steps, I leap towards the sky below, 80 stories down. I did it. I finally did it. Oh shit I did it, I jumped. I jumped. Shit shit shit I jumped why did I jump SHIT I JUMPED. Ok, ok, just…just…remember. Why am I doing this? To better myself and no one else. Why no one else? Because every single entity I’ve encountered thus far has only been an extension of me and by denying myself a couple decades spent living, I’m presenting a gift to the whole of my species, the gift of a clean mental slate.

                                                            **-755ft to Destination-**

            *So I’m about to die. Well, I’ve been about to die ever since I was born, but this is simply the closest I’ve come. No, wait, now this is the closest I’ve come. No, now. Now. Now. No, stop, I can’t thought-loop my psyche when every misplaced image can’t be painted over. Death…the detachment of the personality from the corpse, the awkward pauses in conversation where I can feel my eyes grow just that much heavier; the ultimate lucid dream. Being so close to it now, I can understand at the same level as I did when I first gave my life ending any serious thought; that complete, yet incomplete notion of existing while non-existing, the essence of white space, the daydream that lasts into the night.

            My way of imagining it has always correlated to a recurring dream that I’ve had since I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. In this dream, I exist in a realm of utter nothingness. In this realm, no matter what direction you take or whatever actions lead your limbs, the effect is about as apparent as the cause is discernible. In this state of existence, time has no beginning and has no end. Everything around me is blank and the best way to describe it would be empty space. I am here for a reason and this reason comes to me in a complete thought, as if I experienced the idea all at once; in a realm without time, surely not inconceivable. The thought consists of a person who I haven’t met yet at that point in my life but I now recognize as someone close to me who needs my help. I attempt to speak and no words come out, but the blanket of space that has been keeping me docile is slightly rumpled and what is revealed is a bio-dome of sorts. Don’t get me wrong, the empty space remains and it feels alone, but a few bushes and trees exist alongside me in this new mental world. I begin to run and I can see numbers in my head counting down from ten. The first few seconds seem to take a lifetime, yet each individual nano-second is split into the mere act of breathing and non-breathing until everything is so sped up that my life is lived and re-lived multiple times.

            Whatever I’m moving towards could represent multiple things now that I look back on it, but at the time, it was just a person. Perhaps it was the attention or simply the act of looking my way; perhaps it represented a too- ignored side of me; but with this person seeming to be at risk for something grave, the strain on my psyche during the dream was staggering. So I’m attempting to run to this person because I need to save them no matter what and everything begins to slow down. My screams echo throughout the void and a bush catches my leg, causing me to trip. I can’t stand up and all I can hear are thousands upon thousands of numbers crashing through my mind. Once zero is reached, everything becomes still and my blood ceases circulation. Someone starts to cry and I no longer exist as a human being. I become part of the whiteness, part of the nothingness one could say. To be there while not being there simultaneously is a fascinating place to be.

            Coming out of the dream, I was always left in the same state for sometimes days. Time has no meaning and there’s this pressure that’s alleviated from my thought process. Over the years, I explored that place and each visit became a little more distant, a little less focused until eventually, I could achieve that bliss by closing my eyes and blocking out all thought.*

            Something hits me in the arm and tears right through it. I can feel the muscles tear as follicles and pores are ripped apart and my blood starts to stain the windows that pass me by on my descent. I think I hit a bird. Yes. I jumped off of a building and the first thing I hit isn’t the ground, but a bird.

                                                            **-620ft to Destination-**

            *Better to hit a bird than be shit on one during my fall. I couldn’t even imagine, being shit on right after I die. Actually, I would very much like that. Surely something I would brag about to friends if I woke up. What am I thinking, ‘if I woke up’. That’s the kind of thinking that led to a developed world and a developed world is what led to the death of everything else. Earth would’ve been heavily changed by the dominant species no matter what and even though the newspapers and anchormen always say that we’re killing the planet, no, we’re not. We’re making it unsuitable for human life and evidently, much more than that. The planet will be just fine. We will be just fine. In the over-arching outline of all that ever is, we were dead much longer than we were alive and a return to normalcy may be what the current civilization needs.

            To kill a planet- to assume that once all human life is gone, all life stops until someone is there to observe it. The conscious observer is just as bad as the conscientious objector and with both out of the way, maybe a pair of eyes will be able to appreciate something, anything, without either martyring it or attempting to organize an intrinsically chaotic system. Order comes from chaos and chaos from order; man from society and society from man. In both cases, one seems to be in control of the other. In both cases, that one is what spends a majority of its span as the unwilling, sleeping guise of the other.*

                                                            **-560ft to Destination-**

            *Someone must be watching me right now. Someone is seeing this body fall to the street. I’m sure that there has to be at least one parent covering the eyes of a child. I hope my body bounces and hits that parent in the face. Yes, I know that parents think they reserve the right to shield their children from the horrors of this world, but children need just as much violence and terror exposure as they need tenderness and love. The kids that I’ve seen grow up since I’ve been aware enough to observe with patience have been all but blocked out from seeing anything worthwhile. This is almost certainly not true worldwide and if it is, then I thank the lack of morality in the past few years for leading us to this, but children in this day and age lack almost every universally accepted attribute that make up for a stable, future-privileged human being. The people who grew up into leaders, thinkers, builders, artists, were not told to sit inside all day and watch someone who’s paid to entertain them. The technological advances that have been made within a generation have essentially changed the way that humans are raised in every single way. Humans aren’t raised in any way similar to what once passed for culturing a being.

            Everyone who can’t read or write is looked down upon; everyone who is without basic computer literacy is labeled backwards, obsolete; everyone who is without a job and an education, ostracized to the point where it’s a sub-culture on its own. The thing is, that describes almost the entire human species. Instead of being raised to develop into a healthy person with creative outlets chosen by the individual and paths taken at will, we’re all on mood-altering something or other and the outlets chosen are the outlets bought. We just plug in and absorb, whether it be the musings of Bukowski or the tales of Serling. No matter how high in regard the medium is kept, it is still nothing more than a medium, there to meet you half-way and keep you there until you create for yourself or imitate other imitators.*

            Feathers are pulled by the wind and out of my outstretched arms. From the ground, I must look like some sort of falling angel.

                                                            **-415ft to Destination-**

            *Out of everyone I’ve ever met, I wonder how many of them will realize that their last time seeing me was the last time that they’d ever see me. I’ve personally never been to a funeral, but I might as well show up to my own.*

                                                            **-350ft to Destination-**

            The open cut on my arm is being lacerated by the air flowing around it.

            *It doesn’t pain me at all. Not much pains me at this point. My mind is clear and my sympathetic nervous system – as calm as it’s ever been. At my rate of descent, I should be hitting the ground any second now. The old man better have stayed on that bench; he’ll be needing this. This all feels too surreal. If time as we understand it is truly a fundamental law that governs us, then I should have hit the ground ages ago. As much control as I have over the rate at which I perceive the world around me, it seems almost implausible that one could fall for this long. A single step, followed by a long fall; a single dream followed by a long awakening.*

                                                            **-235ft to Destination-**

            *This is it, any moment now and it will be complete. The wind resistance can only resist me for so long. Try as hard as anyone may, for to stop something this long in the making, one would need to reset humanity itself. In my most optimistic reasoning, would that necessarily be such a bad thing? Sure, the road moving towards me may not exist, but neither would the workers who built the road, the parents who raised the workers. The immigrants who wanted something better and the ones set on making something worse for the better.*

                                                            **-110ft to Destination-**

            *Where will these thoughts go once I hit the pavement? They can’t be lost to the clouds or oceans; can’t be found by the travelers or the beggars. If I regard myself as no more than an idea, then I will spend the rest of eternity lingering with my internal voice. My thoughts aren’t just spawned within myself and forgotten once I’m gone; it can’t be as simple as that. They must exist elsewhere, a place where the ideas that bring about species-wide revolutions in cognitive-ability and mutual understanding go to await the next cycle of patience-enabled statues. Some call it the collective unconscious and others just refer to it as deep-space, but I prefer to imagine the place where my concepts and ideas go to live out their usefulness as a realm readily available to anyone able to tap into potential, tap into my limited awareness and expand it beyond recognition. If what I’ve learned is still able to grow long after I’m dead, then maybe they won’t be Event #4. Maybe they’ll prosper.*

title: To Ponder

question: Explain the rationale behind the narrator's intent to commit suicide.

answer: The narrator hopes his death would spark a conversation about how they are currently, inspiring them to a more healthy and clean mental state. The narrator, speaking with an unknown character, is aiming for older people to be impacted by his incoming death.

question: Summarise the narrator's thoughts as he plummets to his death from 755ft.

answer:
The narrator realizes he is about to die and refuses to panic. He views himself in the third person and accepts that his life would end soon. His falling body hits a flying bird, snapping him out of his thoughts. He reckons hitting a bird is better than being hit by a bird's shit.

The narrator wonders what anyone would think if they are watching him as he falls. He believes if it is a child, then a nearby parent might shield such a child's eyes from the gruesome sight. The narrator, however, hopes they don't as children deserve to see the ugliness of this world. He believes children are shielded from too much these days.

The narrator thinks about everyone he's ever met and how they might not have realized they would never see him alive again. He gazes at the cut on his arm, the one made by the bird he hit. He realizes it isn't painful. The narrator feels the wind's resistance and knows that it can only resist him for so long. He wonders where all his thought would go when he hits the pavement. He hopes they go another dimension and live out their usefulness until someone is able to tap into them and make good use of them.


text:
Dato' ABANG ISKANDAR BIN ABANG HASHIM (Jawi: أبانغ إسكندر بن أبانغ هاشم; born 3 July 1959)[1] is a Malaysian lawyer and judge who serves as the sixth Chief Judge of Sabah and Sarawak (CJSS).

Early life and education

Abang Hashim was born on 3 July 1959 in Sibu, Crown Colony of Sarawak (present-day Sarawak, Malaysia).[2][3] He graduated from the University of Malaya with a Bachelor of Laws (LL.B.).

Career

Abang Hashim’s career in the Judicial and Legal Service began on 1 August 1983 when he was appointed as a magistrate in Miri, Sarawak.[4][5][6][7] In the same year, he also served in the magistrates' court of Limbang before being transferred to the equivalent court in his hometown of Sibu in the 1984.

In 1989, Abang Hashim crossed to serve in the Sarawak Legal Aid Bureau.[8] Nevertheless, he was to return to the judicial service the following year having being made a Sessions Court judge at the national capital of Kuala Lumpur.

In the following years between 1992 and 1994, Abang Hashim took the opportunity to join various government departments in his service including serving as the Legal Advisor of the Fisheries Department in the Malaysian Ministry of Agriculture.[9] This was then followed with tenures in various divisions of the Attorney General’s Chambers (AGC) concluding in 2000 at which time he had become head of the Commercial Crime Unit in the Prosecution Division based in Malaysia's administrative capital of Putrajaya. Upon leaving the AGC, Abang Hashim was then appointed as the chairman of the Department of Cooperative Development Malaysia Tribunal for a period of one year.[10] This was quickly followed by a position as the Head of Prosecution Unit/Deputy Public Prosecutor (DPP) in the Central Bank of Malaysia. Two years later, Abang Hashim returned to the AGC and resumed his previous posting as the Head of the Commercial Crime Unit from the year 2003 until 2004.[11] In 2004, he was seconded to the Securities Commission Malaysia (SC), Bukit Kiara as its Director of Enforcement Division until 2007.

On 1 March 2007, Abang Hashim was appointed as a judicial commissioner.[12][13][14] In the same year, he was also appointed as the chairman of the Appeal Board, Board of Engineers Malaysia (BEM). As judicial commissioner, Abang Hashim served at the High Courts of Shah Alam, Selangor from 1 March 2007 until 31 April 2009 before being transferred to Kuala Lumpur High Court on 1 May 2009.[15]

On 14 October 2009, Abang Hashim was confirmed as a full High Court judge and continued to serve in Kuala Lumpur until the end of 2012.[16][17][18] He would then be transferred to serve in the High Court in Penang in 2013.

On 30 September 2013, Abang Hashim was elevated as a judge of the Court of Appeal of Malaysia.[19][20][21][22][23][24]

On 26 November 2018, Abang Hashim was elevated to Malaysia's apex court and took office as a Federal Court judge.[25][26][27]

As senior most judge from East Malaysia in the Federal Court, Abang Hashim was appointed as David Wong Dak Wah's successor in an acting capacity as CJSS on 20 February 2020.[28][29] On 25 February 2020, he received the instrument of appointment from the Yang di-Pertuan Agong (King of Malaysia) at the Istana Negara (Malaysian National Palace) to permanently ascend to Malaysia's fourth highest judicial office.[30][31][32]

Honours

-   :

    -   [] Officer of the Order of the Defender of State (DSPN) - DATO' (2013)[33][34]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23]

[24]

[25]

[26]

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[28]

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[30]

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[34]

title: Abang Iskandar Abang Hashim

question: What does the article say about ABANG ISKANDAR BIN ABANG HASHIM's family life


text:
The TENNESSEE REPUBLICAN PARTY (TRP) is the affiliate of the United States Republican Party in Tennessee. It is often called the Tennessee Grand Old Party or the TNGOP.

[Governor Bill Lee ]

History

Upon its entry into the Union in 1796 Tennessee was strongly Democratic-Republican. Tennessee became a two-party system for more than 20 years during the Jacksonian era. The Democratic Party was formed by Jackson followers and this party was dominant against the rival Whig Party led by Henry Clay. But in 1835, there was a turn in power of party and a Whig governor was elected. Tennessee after the Civil War was part of the Democratic South for about a century. East Tennessee however remained strongly Republican. Even though the state was predominantly Democratic two different presidential elections won the state of Tennessee in 1920 and 1928. In the 1960s and 1970s Republicans made a push into the Democratic power when in 1966, Howard Baker was elected US senator. Then again Republicans made another push, when Winfield Dunn was elected governor, the first Republican Governor in over 50 years.[1]

Leadership and staff

The Tennessee Republican Party has had five chairmen since 2005. On December 11, 2004, the State Executive Committee unanimously elected Bob Davis[2] as Chairman of the Tennessee Republican Party to serve for the calendar years 2005 and 2006. He was subsequently elected to a second two-year term, 2007 and 2008, but resigned from the chairmanship in August 2007 to become Senior Adviser to presidential candidate Fred Thompson. The party's State Executive Committee then chose Robin Smith,[3] former chairman of the Hamilton County Republican Party and vice chairman of the Tennessee GOP under Davis, to complete Davis's two-year term.

Republicans won a historic victory in Tennessee's 2008 elections, when the party won majorities in both houses of the Tennessee General Assembly for the first time since the Reconstruction Era election of 1868. Smith was unanimously re-elected at the end of 2008 to a full two-year term as chairman for calendar years 2009 and 2010. In April 2009, Smith announced her resignation in order to run for Congress in Tennessee's 3rd congressional district in the August 2010 Republican primary.[4]

Staff

-   The Chairman of the Republican Party of Tennessee is Scott Golden, who was elected on December 3, 2016.[5] Michael Sullivan serves as Executive Director and Candice Dawkins as Operations Director.

Current elected officials

The Tennessee Republican Party controls the governor's office and a majority in the Tennessee Senate and the Tennessee House of Representatives. Republicans hold both of the state's U.S. Senate seats and 7 of the state's 9 U.S. House seats.

Members of Congress

U.S. Senate

-   Marsha Blackburn
-   Lamar Alexander

U.S. House of Representatives

-   Phil Roe, 1st District
-   Tim Burchett, 2nd District
-   Chuck Fleischmann, 3rd District
-   Scott DesJarlais, 4th District
-   John Rose, 6th District
-   Mark Green, 7th District
-   David Kustoff, 8th District

Statewide offices

-   Governor: Bill Lee
-   Lieutenant Governor: Randy McNally

Legislative leadership

-   Speaker of the Senate/Lt. Governor: Randy McNally
-   Speaker of the House: Cameron Sexton

Tennessee state senate

-   Steve Southerland, District 1
-   Art Swann, District 2
-   Rusty Crowe, District 3
-   John Lundberg, District 4
-   Lt. Gov. Randy McNally, District 5
-   Becky Duncan Massey, District 6
-   Richard Briggs, District 7
-   Frank Niceley, District 8
-   Mike Bell, District 9
-   Todd Gardenhire, District 10
-   Bo Watson, District 11
-   Ken Yager, District 12
-   Bill Ketron, District 13
-   Jim Tracy, District 14
-   Janice Bowling, District 16
-   Mark Pody, District 17
-   Ferrell Haile, District 18
-   Steven Dickerson, District 20
-   Rosalind Kurita, District 22
-   Jack Johnson, District 23
-   John Stevens, District 24
-   Kerry Roberts, District 25
-   Dolores Gresham, District 26
-   Joey Hensley, District 28
-   Brian Kelsey, District 31

Tennessee state house

-   Jon Lundberg - District 1
-   Tony Shipley - District 2
-   Timothy Hill - District 3
-   David Hawk - District 5
-   James (Micah) Van Huss - District 6
-   Matthew Hill - District 7
-   Art Swann - District 8
-   Michael Harrison - District 9
-   Tilman Goins - District 10
-   Jeremy Faison - District 11
-   Dale Carr - District 12
-   Eddie Smith - District 13
-   Ryan Haynes - District 14
-   Bill Dunn - District 16
-   Andrew Farmer - District 17
-   Steve Hall - District 18
-   Harry Brook - District 19
-   Bob Ramsey - District 20
-   Jimmy Matlock - District 21
-   Eric Watson - District 22
-   John Forgety - District 23
-   Kevin Brooks - District 24
-   Cameron Sexton - District 25
-   Gerald McCormick - District 26
-   Richard Floyd - District 27
-   Mike Carter, District 29
-   Vince Dean - District 30
-   Ron Travis - District 31
-   Kent Calfee - District 32
-   John Ragan - District 33
-   Rick Womick - District 34
-   Dennis E. Roach - District 35
-   Dennis Powers - District 36
-   Dawn White, District 37
-   Kelly Keisling - District 38
-   David Alexander - District 39
-   Terri Lynn Weaver - District 40
-   Ryan Williams - District 42
-   Paul Sherrell - District 43
-   William Lamberth, District 44
-   Courtney Rogers - District 45
-   Mark Pody - District 46
-   Judd Matheny - District 47
-   Bryan Terry - District 48
-   Mike Sparks - District 49
-   Speaker Beth Harwell - District 56
-   Susan Lynn - District 57
-   Charles Michael Sargent - District 61
-   Pat Marsh - District 62
-   Glen Casada - District 63
-   Sheila Butt - District 64
-   Sam Whitson, District 65
-   Joshua Evans - District 66
-   Curtis Johnson - District 68
-   Michael Curcio - District 69
-   Barry Doss - District 70
-   Vance Dennis - District 71
-   Steve McDaniel - District 72
-   Jimmy Eldridge - District 73
-   Jay Reedy - District 74
-   Tim Wirgau - District 75
-   Andy Holt - District 76
-   Bill Sanderson - District 77
-   Mary Littleton - District 78
-   Curtis Halford - District 79
-   Debra Moody, District 81
-   Mark White - District 83
-   Roger Kane, District 89
-   Billy Spivey, District 92
-   Barrett Rich - District 94
-   - District 95
-   Jim Coley - District 97
-   Ron Lollar - District 99

Current structure

Here is the structure of the party as of December 2011[6]

Elected officers of the state committee

-   State Chairman
-   Vice-Chairman
-   Secretary
-   Treasurer
-   Vice-Treasurer
-   National Committeewoman
-   National Committeeman
-   General Counsel

State executive committee

The state executive committee (SEC) operates as the governing body for the state party. They establish rules and measures that best promote the success of the Republican Party and broadening of its base. The SEC serves as the TRP's state primary board and establishes to guide and direct County Republican Parties. One man and one woman are elected from each state senate district.[7]

-   33 districts
-   66 total representatives of the TRP
-   33 are male
-   33 are female

Notable Tennessee Republicans

-   Fred Thompson
-   Bill Frist
-   Don Sundquist
-   Howard Baker
-   Bill Brock
-   Winfield Dunn
-   Lamar Alexander
-   Bob Corker

Controversial comment

In 2008, the Tennessee Republican Party issued a press release that featured a photo of Senator Obama dressed in traditional Kenya clothing that the TN GOP called “Muslim attire” and used Obama's middle name “Hussein.” Both Senator John McCain and State Democratic Chairman Gray Sasser decried the press release.[8][9]

Corruption

-   In July 2009 state senator Paul Stanley resigned after being caught in a sexual relationship with a 22-year-old intern. Paul Stanley was known for running for family values.[10] Stanley resigned because he wanted to focus more on his family and better that since his indiscretions. He was quoted saying “And just because I fell far short of what God's standard was for me and my wife, doesn't mean that that standard is reduced in the least bit.”[11]
-   Keith Westmoreland a Republican Tennessee State Representative was arrested on 7 felony counts of lewd and exposing himself to girls under the age 16. He committed suicide before he could be prosecuted.[12]
-   Operation Tennessee Waltz was a statewide bribery sting, where 3 Democratic Senators and 1 Republican Representative were either convicted or plead guilty. 8 other people also either pleaded guilty or were convicted.[13]

Past elections

In 2008 the Republican won a historic victory, when the party won majorities in both houses of the Tennessee General Assembly for the first time since the reconstruction era election of 1868.[14]

Presidential elections

Like other Southern states, before 1960s Tennessee was a solid state of the Democratic Party. Since 1972 the Republican Party has won Tennessee in 7 out of 11 elections. It won Tennessee only except 1976, 1992 and 1996.

Past Republican governors

-   Edward H. East 1865
-   William G. Brownlow 1865-1869
-   Dewitt C. Senter 1869-1871
-   Alvin Hawkins 1881-1883
-   Ben W. Hooper 1911-1915
-   Alfred A. Taylor 1921-1923
-   Winfield Dunn 1971-1975
-   Lamar Alexander 1979-1987
-   Don Sundquist 1995-2003
-   Bill Haslam 2011–2019
-   Bill Lee 2019–Present

Coalitions

-   African American Development Council
-   College Republicans
-   Republican Jewish Coalition
-   Republican National Hispanic Assembly of Tennessee
-   Teenage Republicans
-   Young Republicans
-   Tennessee Federation of Republican Women

Former Chairmen

-   Thomas W. Beasley, from 1977 to 1981.[15]
-   Jim Burnett, from 1995 to 1999.
-   Chip Saltsman, from 1999 to 2001.
-   Beth Harwell, from 2001 to 2004.
-   Bob Davis, from 2005 to August 2007.[16]
-   Robin Smith, from August 4, 2007 to May 30, 2009.[17]
-   Chris Devaney, from 2009 to 2015[18]
-   Ryan Haynes, from 2015 to 2016.

[1] 1,_History of Tennessee Politics_.

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] 2, Current Structure.

[7] 3, SEC.

[8]

[9]

[10] 4, Immorality of Tennessee state senator.

[11] 5, Paul Stanley,

[12] 6, Immorality of Tennessee state Representative.

[13] 7, Operation Tennessee Waltz.

[14] 8, Historic state election.

[15] Bill Haslam, State of Tennessee House Joint Resolution No. 248, April 21, 2011

[16]

[17]

[18]

title: Tennessee Republican Party

question: What does the text say about President Donald Trump?

question: Summarize the history of the Tennessee Republican Party.

answer: Tennessee was Democratic-Republican in 1796 when it entered the Union and became a two-party system for more than 20 years during the Jacksonian era. Jackson and his followers formed the Democratic Party and they were dominant against the rival Whig Party led by Henry Clay. However, the balance of power shifted to the Whig party in 1835 when a Whig governor was elected. After the Civil War, Tennessee was part of the Democratic South for around a century, but East Tennessee remained strongly Republican. Like other Southern states before the 1960s, Tennessee was a Democratic Party stronghold, winning the presidential elections in 1920 and 1928. In the 1960s and 70s, however, Republicans made a push into the state when Howard Baker was elected US senator in 1966. The Republicans made another push when Winfield Dunn was elected governor in 1971, the first Republican Governor in over 50 years. Since 1972 the Republican Party has won Tennessee in 7 out of 11 presidential elections.

question: What does the text say about controversies that rocked the Tennessee Republican Party?

answer: In 2008, the Tennessee Republican Party issued a controversial press release that showed a photo of then-Senator Obama dressed in traditional Kenyan clothing, which the TN GOP called "Muslim attire" and used Obama's middle name "Hussein." Senator John McCain and State Democratic Chairman Gray Sasser decried the press release. In July 2009, state senator Paul Stanley resigned after being caught in a sexual relationship with a 22-year-old intern. He was known for his family values platform. Republican State Representative Keith Westmoreland was arrested on 7 felony counts of lewd behavior, exposing himself to girls under the age of 16. He committed suicide before he could be prosecuted. Operation Tennessee Waltz, a statewide bribery sting, caught several people, including 1 Republican Representative.


text:
[] Author Topic: An Alternative UI? (Moving away from 4:3 to get larger fonts)  (Read 2695 times)

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It's finally here, a dedicated blog post looking at the history behind Cogmind's 4:3 UI, and considering whether and how to provide a separate layout more suitable for smaller screens (so that we can increase the font size a bit).

Anyone who has trouble with the fonts being too small on their screen should check it out.

And technically everyone else, too ([:P]), because as discussed this proposal would impact everyone.

_Edit/Update: This issue is now closed, and you can read about the final decision and reasoning in the following posts:_
http://www.gridsagegames.com/forums/index.php?topic=389.msg3591#msg3591
http://www.gridsagegames.com/forums/index.php?topic=389.msg3619#msg3619
_(The thread is still open if you want to continue dropping comments, though! Just know that the decision has been made and will not be changed for this project.)_

« _Last Edit: February 13, 2016, 09:33:58 PM by Kyzrati_ »

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I'm prepared to beg for the bigger fonts if necessary.  Comparing the two images one after the other on my 1366x768 laptop, I find the larger font so much more readable.  Legibility is probably the only barrier to my not spending ungodly amounts of time playing the game currently... and I SO want to spend ungodly amounts of time playing the game.  [:)]

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Haha, I don't know, you're tempting me to not want to take ungodly amounts of time away from you [:P]. I don't want to be sabotaging your own projects, now! It'd be nice if you could hook up to an external monitor.

Thanks for the comparison and feedback--desire noted and I'm still collecting opinions to see what happens...

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I picked this up after hearing about it in the roguelike games thread on Something Awful.  I did not try the demo, because I was so impressed with your website.  The presentation of your goals, your honesty about limitations and prices, and so on.

So far I am very impressed, but I would probably pay another $30 to have everything look bigger on my 1920x1080 setup.  The smallness of the everything was by far my primary thought at all times while playing.  Thanks for even considering addressing this.  (I don't think I have my badge yet, as I just registered this account within the last hour, but I promise I am an alpha supporter, haha)

Good luck with everything.

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Hi Chinook, thanks for the support!

I forgot to update this particular thread (there are discussions about this spread all over the place since I was trying to collect feedback from as many sources as possible), but after several weeks in the main discussion under the blog post itself I concluded that the effect of the proposed changes would be too small to warrant the amount of work it would require, especially given the lukewarm support for this change [:(]

I've no doubt it's going to be a source of more complaints down the road with an expanded audience, but this was how the game was designed from the ground up and it makes more sense to take it into consideration with a sequel rather than doubling back on so much of the UI.

However, I'm trying my best to work in some alternatives--for the next version I've added even more font choices, some of which will show up better at all sizes, though they won't technically be larger. (The default font is also changing.)

For now I recommend using a font other than the default, probably 18/Terminus, since that at least helps improve readability.

In general I need (and try) to stress that Cogmind is really a desktop game... last month I added a UI preview feature to the buy page, but I'm sure plenty of people miss it.

  (I don't think I have my badge yet, as I just registered this account within the last hour, but I promise I am an alpha supporter, haha)

Yeah, I go through the registration forms every couple days or so, just make sure you've signed up via the emailed link and it'll be added soon [:)]

Thanks! (And I hope you also have a chance to play on a physically larger screen...)

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First off, I'm usually more of a lurker; not one to register and comment on forums, and so probably not well suited as an alpha tester. However in this case, I felt compelled to register and post before this topic gets backburnered and filed away due to lack of feedback.

I'm on a PC with a 23" monitor running 1920x1080 resolution and no vision problems, and I have some UI suggestions / requests within the scope of an alternate UI.

a) In fullscreen with 18/Terminus I find it OK, but the bright green on black background does get hard on the eyes after a while. Might it be possible to add support for menu & UI themes/color schemes? For example, I could read text on this forum's gray theme all day.

2) I would love to see a larger font & tile size in the future. Something closer to DCSS font & tile sizes would be amazing.

I realize you would lose some range of vision and it would affect some of the scanning parts, but i wonder if there isn't an alternative solution than just neutering their function to suit larger tiles.
- Maybe a toggle-able mini map?
- or when you hold a key to pan around the map it might zoom out while you're holding it?
- What about binding the numpad +/- keys to a zoom function, allowing you to zoom in/out at will. If something enters your vision outside of your zoom level, show an icon and the edge of the map window -- prompting you to zoom out and see what's there.

I made a couple mockups and uploaded them here: http://imgur.com/a/kYqQ3
And here as a gif: https://i.imgur.com/zRcP9UM.gifv

d) Finally, one smaller concern. I like to play windowed mode, but I don't want to sacrifice my 18/Terminus to fit the whole game on my screen. Even if I move my taskbar to the side, i still lose enough of the screen that I can't see the inventory hotkeys on the bottom edge of the screen (t\m\i). It may be a minor annoyance but it is one nonetheless.

This might be solved by reducing the vertical tile count by a few (as you mentioned elsewhere as possible). Alternatively, an option for a borderless window? I'm not sure how that might affect anything.

To close, I think Cogmind is a fun and unique take on a unique genre, and some user experience improvements in the above areas could go a long way to broaden its appeal; not only for people with some visual impairment or a smaller screen, but also everyone else.

« _Last Edit: February 13, 2016, 02:05:51 PM by rabbit_ »

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Hi rabbit, welcome and thanks for putting so much effort into your feedback!

I have to start by saying that

  before this topic gets backburnered and filed away due to lack of feedback.

this has unfortunately already happened. (That's why I went ahead and finally implemented the world map UI which was waiting on the backburner for a while since like many other parts of the UI it, too, would be developed based on fundamental assumptions surrounding the UI dimensions and layout.)

There simply wasn't enough feedback or desire to justify the investment. In fact, there were about as many players/followers speaking out _against_ a change. (And to put it in context, thousands of people, both current and potential players, were informed of this analysis and asked to comment, after which I waited a month to collect feedback from a dozen different social media platforms, so it's not like this flew under the radar or anything [:P])

To address your points: Aside from the design issues mentioned in the OP/analysis, Cogmind is unlike most other games in that it adheres to a traditional roguelike terminal window (_not_ just aesthetically but also in terms of architecture!) and therefore features like selective zooming and minimaps don't work.

I certainly agree that ideally Cogmind would have smaller grid dimensions, which is why I took this under serious consideration in the first place, though it's too late for the required changes to the game's fundamental structure that would ripple throughout the source and put it even further behind schedule.

  Might it be possible to add support for menu & UI themes/color schemes? For example, I could read text on this forum's gray theme all day.

It's possible and already partially supported, though won't happen in the near term. I've written about it before here. Not sure how far I'll go with that, and it'll likely not be until after 1.0 before I look at it again. The main thing I worry about is that development won't be sustainable indefinitely, so I have to prioritize features by importance relative to the core game... (If money weren't an issue, sure we could guarantee everything [:P])

About the t/m/i, note that you can press 't' 'm' and 'i' to access those, which is quicker than clicking on those small buttons. Not ideal for someone who wants to take advantage of full mouse control, of course. Since you bring it up, I'll eventually look into potential support for an alternative fullscreen mode that uses a borderless window. Most players prefer true fullscreen as opposed to windowed fullscreen, so that's what the engine was built on.

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question: What does the text say about the Helvetica font?

question: What is the purpose of the blog post?

answer: The blog post is dedicated to the history behind Cogmind's 4:3 UI. It considers how to provide a separate layout that is more suitable for smaller screens so that font size can be increased. Everyone should check out the post because it would impact all, especially anyone who has trouble with the fonts being too small on their screen.


text:
Nimblud was a hub for traders and travelers who wished to cross the seas to the west.  The people there built mostly white buildings made of sharp straight angles to long thin points up into the sky.  The rest of the land was fairly flat which made it look like a pin cushion from a distance.  But when it was night the multicolored lights would make the city glow a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors.  This also was a pleasant help to sailors as they came into the city.
A beast who used to be a man walked into the city.  He was larger than any man and barrel chested.  His skin was orange and he had an under-bite and two wide-but short horns growing from the front of his forehead.  His beard was long but missing the hair on top of his head.

The brute wandered into the city and the townsfolk of humans, spirits, and gnomes all strayed away from him.  He walked straight to the local tavern and sat an empty seat at the dice game currently in progress.  “You buying in big fella?” Asked an older man in a robe currently shaking some dice in his hand.  The brute said nothing and just sat staring at him.

“Okay……” the old man dropped the dice into a bowl and everyone watched the dice spin waiting to see if the man had won or lost.  The old man could feel the brute staring at him still but kept his eyes on the dice.

Suddenly the brute smashed the dice table with one of his hands and grabbed the old man up by the front of his robe and slammed him against the opposite wall.  “Remember me?” the brute growled.  Pulling his face closer to the old man and displaying his sharp teeth.

The other players at the table were enraged and went to draw their swords onto the brute but he simply backhanded them and knocked them through the tables behind them.  Then he punched the wall next to the old man’s head creating a fist sized hole in the wall.

“I swear I think you have the wrong person!”  The old man said.

“You made me like this!”  The brute said and threw him back into the other men right as they were getting up.  He stomped towards them all when a man from the corner stabbed him in side.  The brute just stared at him and squashed his head with one of his hands.  Then the pulled the sword out and bite into the blade shattering it.  His wound began to emit a black smoke but then his wound slowly sealed up.

Soon the town guards came in and rushed to attack him.  He caught their glaives in his hands and shattered those blades too.  Stunned the guards stood in shock until the brute ran up and dove into them feet first sending them hurtling outside to smash into a wall and shattering a few of their bones.  When he got up he turned to see the old man running out the back door.

The brute charged after him.  In his pursuit he killed one of the gamblers when his huge foot crushed him in his path.  He leapt through the wall and landed close enough to the old man to grab him by the leg and hold him upside down in front of his face.

“Okay I’m sorry okay!  I did not know it would be permanent!  I didn’t mean to do it!”  The old man pleaded.

He had convinced the brute to try some magical pixie powder he had bought from a traveling mage.  The old man did not want to try it on himself so he convinced a local teenager in the village he was at from across the western villages.  It had transformed that boy into an ogre like creature and wiped his mind of his memories.  At the time he slinked away hoping the brute would never remember what he had did and moved to this village to start a new life.

“Cure me!!!” the brute roared!  “Give me my life back!!”  His thunderous voice echoed into the alleyways.  The rest of the towns guards had surrounded him and the old man during the shouting.  The old man hung there covering his face and trembling.

“I can’t!  I can’t!  I’m not a mage!  I was told it would give me power but I didn’t know how to use it!  I’m sorry!!  I’m sorry!!”

The brute’s anger disappeared from his face and he closed his eyes and looked down at the ground.

Then he swung the old man hard into the ground smashing his face like a watermelon onto the street.  They turned in disgust giving the brute enough time to swing the old man one more time into the guards and clearing a path for him to escape.  He leapt past them and jumped onto a large brick platform that had been resting outside of the town.   It began to rise into the air and once it had gotten off the ground it began to fly away off into the starry night between the desert pyramids.

A figure in the corner sat cross legged with its back towards the brute.  “I told you it was a waste of time.  Once I found out your past I could tell he was just a fool.”

“I know…. But I lost everything and once you gave me back my memories it broke my heart in ways you could never imagine.  I’m no longer Dash the man or Gorrak the damned.  Now I am someone else entirely and I wanted just one more chance to be the person I was originally supposed to be.  Now I have nothing.”

“Then we will call you something different.  Perhaps Korrash is fitting?  Regardless I gave you back your memories and helped you find the man who did this to you.  Are you ready to pledge yourself to me?”  The creature slowly got up and turned around.  Its head and face was wrinkled beyond human capacity.  Like a naked mole rate.  When it flipped up its hood all you could see were two small white pupiless eyes and a tiny mouth with big fish like lips.

“I do.  I pledge my servitude to you Mordid”.  Korrash said as he slumped down to sit down on the floor.  He had lost his past and his future.  All he had now was the present and his promise to Mordid.

They rode in silence atop the levitating brick platform in silence.  The cool wind was refreshing as they passed under the starts in the black night sky.  Mordid thought back pleasantly to day he had sold that transformative powder to that poor old man.

title: [FN] The lost life

question: What does the brute mean when he says he "was just trying to get [back to being] the man he was supposed to be"?

answer: On the surface, it seems like the brute just wanted to be transformed back physically so he could model the cosmetic likeness of how he used to look. However, another interpretation is that he has a different perception of himself-he thinks he is fair, for example, along with other "good" traits-when the reality is that his inner self mirrors his current outer self.

question: Do you think that the man really had been the one to transform the brute, and why or why not?

answer: If the man had been the one to transform the brute, that lines up with what the brute assumed, and what the man confirmed. However, because there was bloodshed and the brute did not seem to care about the bystanders he was turning into casualties, there's a chance the man answered affirmatively because he was frightened and wanted the gore to end. Maybe he thought the brute would then allow him time to "undo" the spell or whatever it is called, and then he and others could avoid violence and possibly escape. Ultimately, it cannot be known by the details in this story.

question: How does the brute know that the man who gave him back his memories is not lying? He could have planted false memories.

answer: Mordid-the man who gave the brute back his memories-does not seem to have any ulterior motives in having befriended the brute. However, outside of the context of the story, it's next to impossible to deduce Mordid's motives. One could guess that perhaps he wants the Brute to do his bidding, and get rid of some people who have been obstacles in Mordid's path. Mordid does seem a bit shady.

question: How do we come to find out Mordid has been engineering this scheme and manipulating the brute for a very long time?

answer: At the end, Mordid thinks back "pleasantly" to when he sold the transformative powder to the old man. Also, he is keen to practically demand that the brute pledge his loyalty to Mordid. It is therefore not a far stretch to imagine that Mordid was at least aware of the existence of the brute, possibly when he was known as Dash the man, or Gorrak the damned.


text:
For the last few hours, Alan hadn’t paid attention to the highway signs since he had traveled back and forth between Montana and South Dakota multiple times. The same yellow markers were just colored reminders of the route back home. Yet it had never occurred to him that he missed some worn-out exit until just a few minutes ago, being misled by almost exact copies of the regular route’s signs. Not knowing where he was, Alan decided it would be best to stop at the nearest gas station to refuel and get his bearings, possibly in the form of a roadmap or verbal directions. He wasn’t the most social individual, but he knew that asking a local was the only way to find his way back onto the highway and, eventually, home.

*Just a bump in the road*, he thought to himself. *I’ll be home soon enough*.

Pulling into the florescent-lit gas station, which sat right off the highway exit, in his compact Optra SRV, Alan rubbed his eyes. The lines of a parking spot close to the building’s entrance were begging to blur from his somewhat dry eyes and the frosted windshield. One night the car’s heating system crapped out and hadn’t been able to fully heat up ever since. Another thing he hadn’t fixed, lost among the list of things Alan was trying to fix, personally and physically. Regardless of the lukewarm setback, Alan slowly pulled his salt-whipped vehicle into the second closest space to the only entrance to the building and turned off the engine.

The winds outside had picked up, wielding a marrow-freezing chill and occasional blusters of snow. As he emerged from his den of warmth on wheels, Alan noticed that the only other vehicles at the station were a rusted minivan, probably belonging to the station clerk, and a large semi-truck in the back bearing a logo covered by a layer of weathered snow. From the truck, Alan saw a faint puff of smoke come from the main cab, as the lights turned off and rumbling of the diesel engine faded into the howling wind.

One disgustingly plump hand reached through the driver’s side window and pulled open the door. As the rusty truck squeaked and shifted, a bulbous man slowly wriggled his way out from his tight driver’s seat. His pig-like nostrils released long puffs of warm air between wheezy breaths, which seemed to blend in with the trailing smoke from his poorly rolled cigarette.

To Alan, this man was the patron saint of truck drivers; a cult of men who didn’t have much else going for them in life besides their abilities to sit in a bouncing seat for hours on end. However, to Alan, there were some among them that were noble in their pursuit of on-time delivery. Alan remembered a show his father used to watch ad-nauseum back home; something to do with truckers in Canada and Alaska who delivered goods to communities that would otherwise die without them. But the truckers on this show were a rare breed among their diesel-bound compatriots; this man was definitely not one of them.

The truck driver shook his thick coat and tightened his small cap as he walked towards the station entrance. Wanting to avoid social interaction, Alan took out his phone and pretended to be busy reading something, even though the screen was completely black. He looked for something in his car that he knew wasn’t there and decided to get back inside of it to give it a better look. Through the howling wind, Alan heard the deep crunch of each of the trucker’s steps until they were silenced by a faint *ding* of a doorbell. Looking up from his false distraction, Alan noticed an older woman at the counter look up from reading the paper and give the new customer a fake smile. Even though he couldn’t hear what was said, he noticed the woman give a second look in the trucker’s direction. A strange glint filled her eyes as the trucker laid down a small pile of bills on the counter. After a few moments of staring at them, she quickly snatched them up and gave a quick look something in the far corner of the room. Alan couldn’t see how much each bill was, due to his fogged windshield and the lack of time they laid on the counter.

*Odd. He didn’t even put anything on the counter to buy.*

The trucker, once the woman stuffed the money away somewhere below the counter, began to slowly back away from the counter, turning towards the other end of the room at the same time. His sagging, salt-stained jeans were barely held up by a hidden belt as he began to walk away from the attendant. The thin lips of the large man were curled in a fiendish smirk, as his beady dark eyes darted across the rows of miscellaneous snacks and beverages until they homed in on one small corner of the building.

As the trucker rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Alan was overcome with guttural dread. Paralyzed by a deep fear of what lied around the corner, Alan couldn’t help but watch the older woman take a deep breath and then follow the piggish trucker’s path out of sight. Beads of sweat began to grow cold on Alan’s forehead.

*Maybe I’m thinking too into it. This ain’t my business. I just need to find a map or something and get outta here.*

Mustering enough courage, Alan emerged from his car once again and walked into the station. A familiar jingle went off as he entered, but an eerie silence followed.

Looking in the direction of where the two ventured off to, Alan only saw a single-stall restroom. The fear returned, and he quickly diverted his eyes from the white-turned-grey unisex sign in the corner of the room. After a moment of scanning the shelves, an inter-state roadmap caught his eye. Snatching it as soon as he realized what it was, Alan made his way up to the counter.

A counter without a clerk.

Behind him, Alan heard the sound of a door unlocking and closing with a metallic thump. He dared not move nor turn around. The sound of a wet boot struck the linoleum floor, followed by a handful more. Slowly, they drew closer with each squish of rubbery leather. Sudden crinkling, most likely from a bag of chips being grabbed, was the only break in the near-stampede behind Alan. With a final squeak of leather, the bootsteps ceased. A coarse hack of flem, and subsequent landing on the floor, emanated behind him. After a moment, a curt grumble followed: “She’ll be out in a second, don’t worry.”

Nevertheless, Alan worried.

title: [RF] Pit Stop

question: Where does Alan make a pit stop?

answer: At a gas station somewhere between Montana and South Dakota.

question: Where is Alan headed?

answer: Either to Montana or South Dakota. It isn't stated which is his destination.

question: What kind of vehicle does Alan drive?

answer: A compact Optra SRV

question: Describe the truck driver.

answer: He is a bulbous man with pig-like nostrils. He wears a thick coat, a small cap, and sagging, salt-stained jeans. He has thin lips and beady dark eyes.

question: Why is Alan worried at the end of the piece?

answer: Because the older woman went into the restroom stall with the truck driver. He emerges and she does not.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Alan is traveling between South Dakota and Montana when he decides to pull over for a pit stop at a gas station. He watches a truck driver enter the station, place some money on the counter, and then head off somewhere with the older woman behind the counter. When he goes inside to investigate, he realizes they went into the station's only restroom. The truck driver emerges and tells Alan the woman will be out shortly and not to worry.


text:
I am breakfast's baron.
I am the fluffy flat flapjack master.
I am the panned pastry prince.
I am Jacob Greenfield, but you may call me The Pancake God.
I stood in my royal house at the corner of Lafayette and Duncan, waiting for the fated ring of the bell.

"Tttttrrrrrrrrrrring," sounded the door.

Visitors had entered my sacred realm. Hiding myself in the protective darkness of the kitchen, I listened to the familiar poem that falls upon all visitor's ears.

"Welcome to IHop. Just two?"

I moved closer hopeful to hear the response.

"Yes please," replied a chirpy northern voice.

A mischievous grin spread across my face. Northerners were often more appreciative of my unique art. Perhaps The Pancake God's skills would be required soon.
I watched keenly as strangers were led to their seats and fake smiles were exchanged with my frontman, Rodger.

Rodger was always the raisin to my cookie, rain to my parade, or poop to my party. Never satisfied and ever unpleasant, his advice was often taken to sore and ignorant ears of mine. Bearing the nickname Rapscallion Rodger, a name of my own choosing, he had taught me the ways of patience.

Rodger placed two menus before our new guests and turned to return to his typical post before the doors, but atypically turned to the entrance of my domain.
The gray kitchen doors swung open, and I hurried to busy myself with the tedious task of readying my tools, as if to seem not to have heard of our visitant's arrival.

"Okay buddy, lets talk."

I turned to Rodger bearing a surprised look on my face.

"Rodger, what a delight it is to unexpectedly host you. Do we have guests?"

Rodger stared at me, visibly trying not to roll his eyes.

"Cut the shit, Jacob. I know that you watch every person who comes in. All I'm asking is that you behave, alright?"
I nodded politely.

"No more of this creepy God of Breakfast or whatever it is, okay? Don't get me wrong, man. You're a great cook, but stop putting random crap in our food, and don't destroy the kitchen again."

"Rodger," I began to explain, "The battles held during the creation of the perfect pancake are beyond my control. I cannot pro-"

"Dude, shut the hell up," Rodger cut in, "All I'm saying is if you wreck the kitchen one more time you're fired, okay?"
I nodded politely once more.

"Roger that, Rodger."

This time Rodger actually rolled his eyes, He vacated my kitchen-like kingdom muttering under his breath.

"Swear to God, I'll flay him with his own spatula if he tries to-"

The gray kitchen door swung shut cutting him off.
I turned my ear once more to Rodgers's transaction with the transients.

"Okay, ya'll ready to order?" he asked as he approached.

"Yeah, I'll have a ham cheese and spinach omelet," said a low gruff voice. I winced.

What kind of man orders an omelet?
While I did not know this person, nor know his appearance, I could say one thing with absolute certainty. This poor man suffered a terrible disability. He surely had no tastebuds.
There was a long pause filled with only "ums" and "uhs" from the northern woman.

"I guess I'll have the chocolate chip pancakes, please."

Those words sounded like music to my ears. It was my clarion call to arms. I manned my spatula and spoon like a warrior mans his sword and shield. They would serve me well, and I would serve our guest the same.
It was time for war.

I danced in my kitchen with the confidence beauty and ability akin to an artist. Like a madman, I whipped around the kitchen, letting my trained hands lead me to the ingredients. I painted my bowl with precision and prestige only compareable to great artists like Van Gough, Beethoven, and Shakespeare. Explosions of flour, sugar and other mysterious and personal ingredients colored the counters.
The gray doors separating my joyful empire and the cruel outside world were breached as Rodger emerged from his unholy bubble of dissatisfaction.

"Okay, one omelette and one choc- JESUS WHAT HAPPENED IN HERE?" Rodger cried out.

He stalked around my kitchen with an unappreciative and frankly horrified gaze.
I watched him and whisked a wondrous whirlpool of batter while sprinkling in chocolate and a few favorite flavors of my own. I will not disclose them to you now for neither I nor a magician shall explain his greatest trick.

"Jacob, I told you not to ruin the kitchen, man," Rodger said, in the most calm and collected tone he could muster.

I ignored him and turned on the pancake hot pad.

"Dude, I'm not cleaning this up. You have to clean after our shift," he pointed out, growing more frustrated.

I continued ignoring him and spooned a sizable circle of batter onto the flat hot stove top. I watched as the white creamy batter cooked and browned into a golden pancake. I gazed upon it with a father's pride. My little babycake had grown into a risen johnnycake.
It almost brought a tear to my eye.

I wasted no time. I delicately flipped my flapjack, and baked its bottom. I gently placed it on a plate to add additional decorations. This had grown from a mere makings of a pancake to the hotcake that was forming in my masterful finger. With last touches completed, I stepped back for a final observation.
It was a masterpiece.
I was truly The Pancake God.

I grabbed the batter bowl, still full of supplementary dough, and turned it over onto my head. It oozed into my hair and over my face. I wore it like a crown. I deserved this. I was a king today.

"What the fuck, Jacob?" sounded a voice to my right.

Rodger stared at me with a dumbfounded look splattered across his face. I grabbed a handful of the batter and splattered it across his face to cover it up.

After a short flurry of curse words and the assistance of a towel to reveal a scowling Rapscallion Rodger, he turned his attention back to my plate.

"Alright, I'll take this out, and you clean up this mess."

I had done so well ignoring him until now, I felt it only natural to continue.
I walked past Rodger and through the gray push doors, plate in hand. Time almost slowed as I approached the table. Rodgers vain desperate calls to usher me back into the kitchen seemed distant and mute, like a vague memory. I wanted to show our guests my craftsmanship and see their joyous reaction.
They stared mortified up at me. They watched as a wild madman wearing a mixing bowl of pancake batter for a hat arrived holding a grotesque plate of chocolate chip pancakes. I set it before the horrified woman, and gave her a crazed smile. I opened my mouth and heard a dark devilish voice speak.

"Breakfast is served. Pancakes."

Super-cool pro writer's subtext:
I haven't really shared my stories much, so I wasn't sure where to post this.
Sorry for existing lol

title: [HM] Pancakes

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: Jacob Greenfield, Rodger

question: Where does the story take place?

answer: IHop on the corner of Lafayette and Duncan.

question: Who is the Pancake God?

answer: Jacob thinks he is.

question: What is wrong with Jacob?

answer: He has delusions that he's a Pancake God and is probably insane.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Jacob Greenfield works at the IHop on the corner of Lafayette and Duncan flipping pancakes. He's an odd fellow and believes he is the Pancake God. Jacob is a good cook, but his methods are sloppy and he makes a mess of the kitchen. Rodger, his coworker (and possible supervisor) has already warned him about these issues and threatens to fire Jacob for one more infraction. When a couple walks in and orders chocolate chip pancakes, Jacob goes nuts in the kitchen and wears the bowl full of batter when he's done cooking. Rodger can't stop Jacob from serving the pancakes with a bowl on his head like a madman, and the woman is horrified.


text:
[Kyūdai Main Line] [KiHa 58 DMU between Yufuin and Minami-Yufu] The is a railway line in Kyushu, Japan, operated by the Kyushu Railway Company (JR Kyushu). It connects Kurume Station, Kurume in Fukuoka Prefecture and Ōita Station, Ōita in Ōita Prefecture. It is also known as the YUFU KŌGEN LINE.

The line crosses the whole of Kyushu, approximately paralleling the Chikugo River and its tributary the Kusu River near Kurume, and along the Ōita River close to Ōita. It also traverses popular tourist resorts such as Hita (known as Little Kyoto) and spa resorts around Yufu.

Line data

-   Operator: JR Kyushu
-   Distance: 141.5 km
-   Gauge:
-   Stations: 36
-   Multiple track section: None
-   Electrification: None
-   Railway signalling: Automatic
-   Maximum service speed: 95 km/h (59 mph)

Stations

+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Station         | Distance        | Transfers       | Location        |
|                 | (km)            |                 |                 |
+=================+=================+=================+=================+
| Kurume          | 0.0             | Kagoshima Main  | Kurume          |
|                 |                 | Line, Kyushu    |                 |
|                 |                 | Shinkansen      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
|                 | 3.4             |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Minami-Kurume   | 4.9             |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Kurume          | 6.8             |                 |
| Daigaku-mae     |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Mii             | 8.0             |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Zendōji         | 12.6            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Chikugo Kusano  | 15.7            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Tanushimaru     | 20.8            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Chikugo Yoshii  | 26.4            |                 | Ukiha           |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Ukiha           | 30.0            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Chikugo Ōishi   | 33.0            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Yoake           | 39.1            | Hitahikosan     | Hita            |
|                 |                 | Line            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Teruoka         | 45.2            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Hita            | 47.6            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Bungo Miyoshi   | 49.4            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Bungo Nakagawa  | 55.3            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Amagase         | 59.5            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Sugikawachi     | 63.6            |                 | Kusu            |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Kita Yamada     | 67.8            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Bungo Mori      | 73.2            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Era             | 77.3            |                 | Kokonoe         |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Hikiji          | 80.7            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Bungo Nakamura  | 83.1            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Noya            | 88.2            |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Yufuin          | 99.1            |                 | Yufu            |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Minami Yufu     | 102.5           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Yunohira        | 109.6           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Shōnai          | 114.5           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Tenjinyama      | 118.1           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Onoya           | 119.6           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Onigase         | 124.6           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Mukainoharu     | 127.7           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Bungo Kokubu    | 131.7           |                 | Ōita            |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Kaku            | 133.9           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Minami Ōita     | 136.6           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Furugō          | 138.9           |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Ōita            | 141.5           | Nippō Main      |
|                 |                 | Line, Hōhi Main |
|                 |                 | Line            |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+

History

In 1915, the Daito Railway Co. opened the 22 km Oita - Onoya section. The company was nationalised in 1922, and westerly extensions were undertaken in stages from 1923 until Amagase was reached in 1933. The Kurume - Chikugoyoshi opened in 1928, and easterly extensions to Amagase opened between 1931 and 1934.

CTC signalling was commissioned over the entire line in 1984, and freight services ceased in 1987.

Typhoon damage

In 2012, a landslide disrupted services for 6 weeks.

On 5 July 2017, torrential rainfall washed out the bridge over the Oita River between Chikugo Oisha and Teruoka, resulting in the closure of the section. According to the Japanese language Wikipedia article, the line was fully re-opened on 14 July 2018.

Previous connecting/transfer lines

[Higo-oguni station, ~1962]

-   Era Station: the 27 km Miyanoharu Line to Higo-oguni opened between 1937 and 1954. Freight services ceased in 1971, and the line closed on 1 December 1984.
-   Kurume Station: the 46 km gauge Chigoku Line to Mameda opened between 1904 and 1916, and was electrified at 600 V DC in 1919. It had three short branch lines (1 to 4 km long). The entire system closed in 1929.

title: Kyūdai Main Line

question: What does the article say about the stations on the Kyūdai Main Line?

answer: The line connects Kurume Station in Fukuoka Prefecture and Ōita Station in Ōita Prefecture. There are 36 stations on the line. The first section was opened in 1915, from Oita to Onoya. It was extended westward in stages from 1923 to 1933, eastward from 1931 to 1934.

question: What does the article say about the passenger density in Japan?