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My Favorite Games (2025 Update)
My best-performing video over the past year has been My Favorite Games. Well, I’ve played a number of new games since I posted that video, so I thought it was time for an update.
Introduction
The games included in this list are ones I have played over the past year since my previous “favorite games” video and they have to be available to pick up as physical copies. So, while I have played a session of a game called Nuts, by Skrat from the A Squirrel Plays channel, it’s not eligible. I also haven’t played a session of one of my favorite games over the past year because I’ve been running other things, so Basic Fantasy RPG doesn’t appear on it. Go check out those games, though, folks, they are way fun—and Basic Fantasy RPG has one of the best communities in the hobby.
10. Monty Python’s Cocurricular Mediaeval Reenactment Programme
I was given a review copy of this game by Exalted Funeral, but was so impressed by it I went out and purchased the Head of Light Entertainment Screen for myself. I’ll also be purchasing another set of their odd dice.
What can you expect in The Programme? You can expect Monty Python. The world is dangerous, the denizens will drive characters loony, and the mechanics are simple. But, the GM will play different personas, which impacts game play, and beshrewments can send the entire table into something completely different. Watch those demerits, and get ready for a good time! You can pick up The Programme at Exalted Funeral for $50, but I recommend also picking up the HoLE screen for $33, as well as a set of their peculiar dice for $25.
9. Land of Eem
The Land of Eem has mechanics which bear a kinship to Powered by the Apocalypse games, with narrative twists and fail forward obstacles so the game is always moving. The world looks like someone combined the Muppets and Lord of the Rings, and it’s as subversive as you’d expect from The Muppets. If you’d like a game that’s light hearted and fast, but still has a good amount of depth, give Land of Eem a try.
There is a free QuickStart guide, but the beautiful Core Rulebook will set you back $40. I’d recommend going for the Deluxe Box Set—which includes a GM screen, a map, a terrific bestiary, and a mind-blowing setting book. That runs for $150.
8. Forbidden Lands
Forbidden Lands has wild lore, robust exploration, fun stronghold building, and a meta-narrative that’s there if a group wants to use it. The game also runs off of Free League’s excellent Year Zero dice pool engine, so game play is fast and dangerous. I ran a crawl of this a few months back because we had an off week and I wanted to toss something from Forbidden Land’s “Book of Beasts” at the group to see what they’d do. One character came out alive, mostly due to poor life-choices, but we had a blast getting to the end. This is a game I have not played enough.
If you want to pick up Forbidden Lands, you can pick up its beautiful box set for about $65. This set comes with a Player’s Handbook, a Gamemaster’s Guide, and a frame-worthy map. I’d have loved to have dice included in the box set but the two A5 books are hardbound stitched binding, have faux leather covers with gold foil imprints, and book ribbons. My only complaint about the game is I want to show off both the box and the books on my shelf.
Check this game out if you enjoy some grit that is challenging and fun. Oh, and it also has a fantastic FoundryVTT system.
7. Tales of Argosa
I just reviewed Low Fantasy Gaming’s successor, Tales of Argosa, on my channel. “Wow.” It carries over the low magic setting of its predecessor, while also incorporating a number of improvements to the system which were made in Pickpocket Press’ second game, Lowlife 20290.
Argosa uses a roll-under check system, which is my favorite way to play a game, but it’s combat system is the same d20 roll high many TTRPG players will find familiar. Despite the familiarity, Tales of Argosa stands out through a phenomenal exploit mechanic that is what 5e bonus actions should have been.
Tales of Argosa is very much an old school game but it’s not a retro-clone. Nor is it simple a distillation of modern mechanics which has old-school potency brought to the fore. It’s familiar, while being its own thing, and I love it. Check out Tales of Argosa if you’re looking for a game that’s fast and dangerous, but where the characters also aren’t overly squishy. You can pick it up at DriveThruRPG, a hard back copy costs about $45.
6. Shadowdark
Shadowdark is, at its core, a distillation of modern mechanics with some twists blended in to give it an old school feel. And the combination is brilliant. Torches run in real-time, so players can’t sit around dithering. Magic is roll-to-cast so a player has to question the wisdom of unleashing a spell in a particular moment. Sheets are spartan, so players need to spend more time interacting with the world instead of paging through their copious abilities. And initiative is always on, so attention seekers have to share the spotlight. I ran a Shadowdark gauntlet of zero-level characters last fall and it was amazing.
Shadowdark is an excellent bridge between old school and new school play. It’s terse presentation is clear and engaging, the artwork is a perfect vibe, and everything you need is in one book. Check this game out if you want to introduce folks who have only ever played Dungeons & Dragons 5e to some old school tropes. You can pick it up from The Arcane Library for $59.00. And if you’re worried about the game being supported, not only is Kelsey Dionne creating additional content, several other creators are following suit. There are new classes, the game’s been shifted to space, and monsters abound. This game is both good and popular. And it’s well deserved. Kelsey Dionne is an amazing person. Had I run Shadowdark more this past year I may have swapped it with the next entry on this list.
5. Into the Odd
When I first read Into the Odd I didn’t get it. It didn’t seem there was enough to it to function as a fun game! But I returned to it later and found I was more ready to comprehend how it’s designed.
The rules are so lite they can be missed with a blink! There are no to hit rolls, HP replenishes in each room, but the strength score drops when any damage taken exceeds HP and that remains. Movement is abstract. Keeping track of time is abstract. Wandering encounters help build an adventure’s fiction. And characters die, a lot. Into the Odd is a game where running and hiding from, tricking, or avoiding danger rewards a party with more dangerous spaces to investigate. Now, it’s not limited to dungeon or wilderness crawling, there are some lite rules for running a business or managing detachments of soldiers, so Into the Odd anticipates a widening experience as play continues. But it starts with crawling. And the lucky ones survive to delve a second time.
Into the Odd has become a favorite one shot game because I can have players roll their characters up at the table and be off and running in minutes. If you’re looking to try out a dungeon crawler, or looking or for some excellent tables to flesh out a world, check this game out. It’s a ton of fun and a nice change of pace. You can pick it up through Free League for around $45.
4. Sentinel Comics RPG
I first picked up Sentinel Comics RPG when it showed up in a Prime Day sale list for a ridiculous price in 2024. Since then it’s been listed for various sale prices, even as low as $9.99. This caused me to fear the system was going to be orphaned, which proved to be true. The game’s publisher, Greater Than Games, was recently shuttered in response to the tariff crisis. This is a shame because the game is phenomenal.
Sentinel comics is the first super hero game I played which felt like a comic book since the old TSR Marvel Game back in the 80s. Everything is narrative. If a player has a teleportation power and wants to use it for an attack they narrate how they do that. They don’t need a feat, there are no power points to spend, and there’s no formulas to tell people how much of an effect they can have. Instead, the player describes how they want to use their teleportation power, connects it to a quality the character has, and then adds in their current status. Each of these elements has a die assigned to them and, if a character does a “basic action” they use the middle value as the result. If they use one of their abilities, which are ways characters may use powers which have a bit of guidance, they use the dice that ability indicates. It really fast.
But what makes Sentinel Comics RPG shine is how barriers to success are dealt with. If a character is faced with any obstacle—a forcefield, a hostage being held, some bystanders standing under a falling building—they must be dealt with through an Overcome action. To deal with the obstacle the collected dice are rolled, and the result is read. But the way the results are designed means players will often have to accept a twist to be successful in the attempted action. A character might teleport through a forcefield, for example, not knowing that it was keyed to their dimensional signature. The character succeeds passing through barrier but it shocks them as they pass through and now they are hindered for a turn or two. The Overcome action is the heart of Sentinel Comics RPG.
If you enjoy Super Hero RPGs pick up Sentinel Comics RGP while you still can! As of this writing it’s on a fire sale for $20 at Greater than Games. Amazon also still has the excellent GM kit on sale for $25. The GM screen alone is worth it.
3. EZD6
EZD6 is a game of gonzo fun, present danger, and ridiculous moments. DM Scotty, who is the brains behind the game, designed it because he wanted a game that didn’t need math. It really is easy, I can have people versed in the rules in a few minutes, and if we forget anything during the briefing we can just tackle it when the situation arises.
For all its simplicity, however, character creation is fun. Different inclinations give the character a leg up in certain situations, hero paths grants some boons and abilities, and character aspects help flesh out their personality. Scotty has also created some additions to the system, including a full post-apocalyptic version, which extends the core ideas while keeping the simplicity intact. He’s currently working on a horror version, which I was able to play in, and it’s awesome.
If you want a game that is “grab and go” and sets the players imaginations free, EZD6 is a game I recommend. I love it. You can pick up a hardback/pdf combo at DriveThruRPG for around $25.
2. Cypher System/Numenera
Imagine a game where all the crunch was done before the roll. Everything in the game has a level, to make the level beatable players apply skills, spend points from their pools to give extra effort, or utilize a tool they have at their disposal. Once the final number is reached, it’s multiplied by 3, and that’s the target on a d20. Oh, and it can be played with any genre and in any setting, with minimal tweaks to the core system.
That’s Cypher System, and it’s amazing. Right now I’m using it to run a lunchtime super hero campaign once a month and have run a couple fantasy-themed one shots as well. I’m also looking forward to testing out more genres using Cypher System in the near future.
The Cypher System Reference Document contains all the mechanical information you need to run the game, and that includes their “white spine” genre books. So you can dive in to Cypher without having to lay down any cash if you want (but the books are beautiful, and look wonderful on a shelf).
Cypher’s publisher, Monte Cook Games, also has some distinct IPs which are not found in the reference document. The best known of these set a billion years in the future in the Ninth World. Numenera is science fantasy at its finest. The world is a weird mix of high technology and mediaeval fantasy. The game is set just as civilization is growing back from whatever caused the last world to collapse, an unknown number of years ago, and there are hints everywhere that the current batch of humans haven’t been around on the planet all that long. My campaign’s been going on for just about two years and I love the weird things the party encounters.
If you want a flexible system with fast mechanics that’s designed to be narrative forward, check out Cypher System. The core rulebook is about $77 for the hardback and PDF. For Numenera I recommend the two book box set, which costs about $130 for the book/PDF combo. There are also some starter sets for both systems, which can be found on Monte Cook Games’ web site. These cost around $30.
1. Dragonbane
Dragonbane is one of the first products Free League sent me as a review copy, but that’s not why it’s on the top spot of this list. It’s in the top spot because Dragonbane is amazing. In fact, I love this game so much I’ve picked up a copy of the box set to give to one my friends.
Sometimes people will call the Dragonbane box set a “starter set,” because that’s what most box sets are these days, but that’s a misnomer. The Dragonbane box set is the entire game. It includes the full rulebook, blank character sheets, creature and character standees, some pre-generated characters so a group can dive right in, a full adventure book, a reversible battle map on which terrain can be placed (but it is paper, don’t draw on it), and a set of lovely emerald-green translucent dice. And how much does this cornucopia of TTRPG goodness cost? The core set can be purchased for about $56!
Why do I love Dragonbane? Well, it’s a skill based system with roll-under mechanics. Magic is rare, but powerful, and combat is fast and dangerous. The game is fair, but it’s unforgiving if players don’t learn to make good choices. Also, monsters are both unpredictable and deadly. All this combines to create a game where negotiation needs to be on the table whenever possible, and retreat needs to be an option. That might not sound fun to folks who are used to a “clear the room” mentality, but I have so much fun seeing what my group gets into. They’ve befriended a troll, gotten swept up into an ancient conflict, and have forgotten that they are just a bunch of armed people and have no actual authority to do any of the things they do.
They’re even beginning to learn how to keep their party alive, well…most of them.
If you want to try something that scratches a fantasy itch, has players roll the familiar d20, but which also breaks away from concepts like armor class or hit point bloat Dragonbane is a terrific go to. My group has been playing it ever since our Basic Fantasy RPG campaign wrapped up and it’s a ton of fun.
#DMing #DnD #DungeonsDragons #dungeonsAndDragons #fantasy #gaming #GMing #Review #RolePlayingGame #RPG #TTRPG
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CW: Fedi meta
no wait im on wafrn. I need to use the power of tags
#According-to-all-known-laws-of-aviation #there-is-no-way-a-bee-should-be-able-to-fly.-Its-wings-are-too-small-to-get-its-fat-little-body-off-the-ground.-The-bee #of-course #flies-anyway-because-bees-don't-care-what-humans-think-is-impossible.-Yellow #black.-Yellow #black.-Yellow #black.-Yellow #black.-Ooh #black-and-yellow!-Let's-shake-it-up-a-little.-Barry!-Breakfast-is-ready!-Coming!-Hang-on-a-second.-Hello?-Barry?-Adam?-Can-you-believe-this-is-happening?-I-can't.-I'll-pick-you-up.-Looking-sharp.-Use-the-stairs #Your-father-paid-good-money-for-those.-Sorry.-I'm-excited.-Here's-the-graduate.-We're-very-proud-of-you #son.-A-perfect-report-card #all-B's.-Very-proud.-Ma!-I-got-a-thing-going-here.-You-got-lint-on-your-fuzz.-Ow!-That's-me!-Wave-to-us!-We'll-be-in-row-118 #000.-Bye!-Barry #I-told-you #stop-flying-in-the-house!-Hey #Adam.-Hey #Barry.-Is-that-fuzz-gel?-A-little.-Special-day #graduation.-Never-thought-I'd-make-it.-Three-days-grade-school #three-days-high-school.-Those-were-awkward.-Three-days-college.-I'm-glad-I-took-a-day-and-hitchhiked-around-The-Hive.-You-did-come-back-different.-Hi #Barry.-Artie #growing-a-mustache?-Looks-good.-Hear-about-Frankie?-Yeah.-You-going-to-the-funeral?-No #I'm-not-going.-Everybody-knows #sting-someone #you-die.-Don't-waste-it-on-a-squirrel.-Such-a-hothead.-I-guess-he-could-have-just-gotten-out-of-the-way.-I-love-this-incorporating-an-amusement-park-into-our-day.-That's-why-we-don't-need-vacations.-Boy #quite-a-bit-of-pomp-under-the-circumstances.-Well #Adam #today-we-are-men.-We-are!-Bee-men.-Amen!-Hallelujah!-Students #faculty #distinguished-bees #please-welcome-Dean-Buzzwell.-Welcome #New-Hive-City-graduating-class-of-9:15.-That-concludes-our-ceremonies-And-begins-your-career-at-Honex-Industries!-Will-we-pick-our-job-today?-I-heard-it's-just-orientation.-Heads-up!-Here-we-go.-Keep-your-hands-and-antennas-inside-the-tram-at-all-times.-Wonder-what-it'll-be-like?-A-little-scary.-Welcome-to-Honex #a-division-of-Honesco-and-a-part-of-the-Hexagon-Group.-This-is-it!-Wow.-Wow.-We-know-that-you #as-a-bee #have-worked-your-whole-life-to-get-to-the-point-where-you-can-work-for-your-whole-life.-Honey-begins-when-our-valiant-Pollen-Jocks-bring-the-nectar-to-The-Hive.-Our-top-secret-formula-is-automatically-color-corrected #scent-adjusted-and-bubble-contoured-into-this-soothing-sweet-syrup-with-its-distinctive-golden-glow-you-know-as...-Honey!-That-girl-was-hot.-She's-my-cousin!-She-is?-Yes #we're-all-cousins.-Right.-You're-right.-At-Honex #we-constantly-strive-to-improve-every-aspect-of-bee-existence.-These-bees-are-stress-testing-a-new-helmet-technology.-What-do-you-think-he-makes?-Not-enough.-Here-we-have-our-latest-advancement #the-Krelman.-What-does-that-do?-Catches-that-little-strand-of-honey-that-hangs-after-you-pour-it.-Saves-us-millions.-Can-anyone-work-on-the-Krelman?-Of-course.-Most-bee-jobs-are-small-ones.-But-bees-know-that-every-small-job #if-it's-done-well #means-a-lot.-But-choose-carefully-because-you'll-stay-in-the-job-you-pick-for-the-rest-of-your-life.-The-same-job-the-rest-of-your-life?-I-didn't-know-that.-What's-the-difference?-You'll-be-happy-to-know-that-bees #as-a-species #haven't-had-one-day-off-in-27-million-years.-So-you'll-just-work-us-to-death?-We'll-sure-try.-Wow!-That-blew-my-mind!-'What's-the-difference?'-How-can-you-say-that?-One-job-forever?-That's-an-insane-choice-to-have-to-make.-I'm-relieved.-Now-we-only-have-to-make-one-decision-in-life.-But #Adam #how-could-they-never-have-told-us-that?-Why-would-you-question-anything?-We're-bees.-We're-the-most-perfectly-functioning-society-on-Earth.-You-ever-think-maybe-things-work-a-little-too-well-here?-Like-what?-Give-me-one-example.-I-don't-know.-But-you-know-what-I'm-talking-about.-Please-clear-the-gate.-Royal-Nectar-Force-on-approach.-Wait-a-second.-Check-it-out.-Hey #those-are-Pollen-Jocks!-Wow.-I've-never-seen-them-this-close.-They-know-what-it's-like-outside-The-Hive.-Yeah #but-some-don't-come-back.-Hey #Jocks!-Hi #Jocks!-You-guys-did-great!-You're-monsters!-You're-sky-freaks!-I-love-it!-I-love-it!-I-wonder-where-they-were.-I-don't-know.-Their-day's-not-planned.-Outside-The-Hive #flying-who-knows-where #doing-who-knows-what.-You-can't-just-decide-to-be-a-Pollen-Jock.-You-have-to-be-bred-for-that.-Right.-Look.-That's-more-pollen-than-you-and-I-will-see-in-a-lifetime.-It's-just-a-status-symbol.-Bees-make-too-much-of-it.-Perhaps.-Unless-you're-wearing-it-and-the-ladies-see-you-wearing-it.-Those-ladies?-Aren't-they-our-cousins-too?-Distant.-Distant.-Look-at-these-two.-Couple-of-Hive-Harrys.-Let's-have-fun-with-them.-It-must-be-dangerous-being-a-Pollen-Jock.-Yeah.-Once-a-bear-pinned-me-against-a-mushroom!-He-had-a-paw-on-my-throat #and-with-the-other #he-was-slapping-me!-Oh #my!-I-never-thought-I'd-knock-him-out.-What-were-you-doing-during-this?-Trying-to-alert-the-authorities.-I-can-autograph-that.-A-little-gusty-out-there-today #wasn't-it #comrades?-Yeah.-Gusty.-We're-hitting-a-sunflower-patch-six-miles-from-here-tomorrow.-Six-miles #huh?-Barry!-A-puddle-jump-for-us #but-maybe-you're-not-up-for-it.-Maybe-I-am.-You-are-not!-We're-going-0900-at-J-Gate.-What-do-you-think #buzzy-boy?-Are-you-bee-enough?-I-might-be.-It-all-depends-on-what-0900-means.-Hey #Honex!-Dad #you-surprised-me.-You-decide-what-you're-interested-in?-Well #there's-a-lot-of-choices.-But-you-only-get-one.-Do-you-ever-get-bored-doing-the-same-job-every-day?-Son #let-me-tell-you-about-stirring.-You-grab-that-stick #and-you-just-move-it-around #and-you-stir-it-around.-You-get-yourself-into-a-rhythm.-It's-a-beautiful-thing.-You-know #Dad #the-more-I-think-about-it #maybe-the-honey-field-just-isn't-right-for-me.-You-were-thinking-of-what #making-balloon-animals?-That's-a-bad-job-for-a-guy-with-a-stinger.-Janet #your-son's-not-sure-he-wants-to-go-into-honey!-Barry #you-are-so-funny-sometimes.-I'm-not-trying-to-be-funny.-You're-not-funny!-You're-going-into-honey.-Our-son #the-stirrer!-You're-gonna-be-a-stirrer?-No-one's-listening-to-me!-Wait-till-you-see-the-sticks-I-have.-I-could-say-anything-right-now.-I'm-gonna-get-an-ant-tattoo!-Let's-open-some-honey-and-celebrate!-Maybe-I'll-pierce-my-thorax.-Shave-my-antennae.-Shack-up-with-a-grasshopper.-Get-a-gold-tooth-and-call-everybody-'dawg'!-I'm-so-proud.-We're-starting-work-today!-Today's-the-day.-Come-on!-All-the-good-jobs-will-be-gone.-Yeah #right.-Pollen-counting #stunt-bee #pouring #stirrer #front-desk #hair-removal...-Is-it-still-available?-Hang-on.-Two-left!-One-of-them's-yours!-Congratulations!-Step-to-the-side.-What'd-you-get?-Picking-crud-out.-Stellar!-Wow!-Couple-of-newbies?-Yes #sir!-Our-first-day!-We-are-ready!-Make-your-choice.-You-want-to-go-first?-No #you-go.-Oh #my.-What's-available?-Restroom-attendant's-open #not-for-the-reason-you-think.-Any-chance-of-getting-the-Krelman?-Sure #you're-on.-I'm-sorry #the-Krelman-just-closed-out.-Wax-monkey's-always-open.-The-Krelman-opened-up-again.-What-happened?-A-bee-died.-Makes-an-opening.-See?-He's-dead.-Another-dead-one.-Deady.-Deadified.-Two-more-dead.-Dead-from-the-neck-up.-Dead-from-the-neck-down.-That's-life!-Oh #this-is-so-hard!-Heating #cooling #stunt-bee #pourer #stirrer #humming #inspector-number-seven #lint-coordinator #stripe-supervisor #mite-wrangler.-Barry #what-do-you-think-I-should...-Barry?-Barry!-All-right #we've-got-the-sunflower-patch-in-quadrant-nine...-What-happened-to-you?-Where-are-you?-I'm-going-out.-Out?-Out-where?-Out-there.-Oh #no!-I-have-to #before-I-go-to-work-for-the-rest-of-my-life.-You're-gonna-die!-You're-crazy!-Hello?-Another-call-coming-in.-If-anyone's-feeling-brave #there's-a-Korean-deli-on-83rd-that-gets-their-roses-today.-Hey #guys.-Look-at-that.-Isn't-that-the-kid-we-saw-yesterday?-Hold-it #son #flight-deck's-restricted.-It's-OK #Lou.-We're-gonna-take-him-up.-Really?-Feeling-lucky #are-you?-Sign-here #here.-Just-initial-that.-Thank-you.-OK.-You-got-a-rain-advisory-today #and-as-you-all-know #bees-cannot-fly-in-rain.-So-be-careful.-As-always #watch-your-brooms #hockey-sticks #dogs #birds #bears-and-bats.-Also #I-got-a-couple-of-reports-of-root-beer-being-poured-on-us.-Murphy's-in-a-home-because-of-it #babbling-like-a-cicada!-That's-awful.-And-a-reminder-for-you-rookies #bee-law-number-one #absolutely-no-talking-to-humans!--All-right #launch-positions!-Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz!-Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz!-Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz!-Black-and-yellow!-Hello!-You-ready-for-this #hot-shot?-Yeah.-Yeah #bring-it-on.-Wind #check.-Antennae #check.-Nectar-pack #check.-Wings #check.-Stinger #check.-Scared-out-of-my-shorts #check.-OK #ladies #let's-move-it-out!-Pound-those-petunias #you-striped-stem-suckers!-All-of-you #drain-those-flowers!-Wow!-I'm-out!-I-can't-believe-I'm-out!-So-blue.-I-feel-so-fast-and-free!-Box-kite!-Wow!-Flowers!-This-is-Blue-Leader #We-have-roses-visual.-Bring-it-around-30-degrees-and-hold.-Roses!-30-degrees #roger.-Bringing-it-around.-Stand-to-the-side #kid.-It's-got-a-bit-of-a-kick.-That-is-one-nectar-collector!-Ever-see-pollination-up-close?-No #sir.-I-pick-up-some-pollen-here #sprinkle-it-over-here.-Maybe-a-dash-over-there #a-pinch-on-that-one.-See-that?-It's-a-little-bit-of-magic.-That's-amazing.-Why-do-we-do-that?-That's-pollen-power.-More-pollen #more-flowers #more-nectar #more-honey-for-us.-Cool.-I'm-picking-up-a-lot-of-bright-yellow #Could-be-daisies #Don't-we-need-those?-Copy-that-visual.-Wait.-One-of-these-flowers-seems-to-be-on-the-move.-Say-again?-You're-reporting-a-moving-flower?-Affirmative.-That-was-on-the-line!-This-is-the-coolest.-What-is-it?-I-don't-know #but-I'm-loving-this-color.-It-smells-good.-Not-like-a-flower #but-I-like-it.-Yeah #fuzzy.-Chemical-y.-Careful #guys.-It's-a-little-grabby.-My-sweet-lord-of-bees!-Candy-brain #get-off-there!-Problem!-Guys!-This-could-be-bad.-Affirmative.-Very-close.-Gonna-hurt.-Mama's-little-boy.-You-are-way-out-of-position #rookie!-Coming-in-at-you-like-a-missile!-Help-me!-I-don't-think-these-are-flowers.-Should-we-tell-him?-I-think-he-knows.-What-is-this?!-Match-point!-You-can-start-packing-up #honey #because-you're-about-to-eat-it!-Yowser!-Gross.-There's-a-bee-in-the-car!-Do-something!-I'm-driving!-Hi #bee.-He's-back-here!-He's-going-to-sting-me!-Nobody-move.-If-you-don't-move #he-won't-sting-you.-Freeze!-He-blinked!-Spray-him #Granny!-What-are-you-doing?!-Wow...-the-tension-level-out-here-is-unbelievable.-I-gotta-get-home.-Can't-fly-in-rain.-Can't-fly-in-rain.-Can't-fly-in-rain.-Mayday!-Mayday!-Bee-going-down!-Ken #could-you-close-the-window-please?-Ken #could-you-close-the-window-please?-Check-out-my-new-resume.-I-made-it-into-a-fold-out-brochure.-You-see?-Folds-out.-Oh #no.-More-humans.-I-don't-need-this.-What-was-that?-Maybe-this-time.-This-time.-This-time.-This-time!-This-time!-This...-Drapes!-That-is-diabolical.-It's-fantastic.-It's-got-all-my-special-skills #even-my-top-ten-favorite-movies.-What's-number-one?-Star-Wars?-Nah #I-don't-go-for-that...-kind-of-stuff.-No-wonder-we-shouldn't-talk-to-them.-They're-out-of-their-minds.-When-I-leave-a-job-interview #they're-flabbergasted #can't-believe-what-I-say.-There's-the-sun.-Maybe-that's-a-way-out.-I-don't-remember-the-sun-having-a-big-75-on-it.-I-predicted-global-warming.-I-could-feel-it-getting-hotter.-At-first-I-thought-it-was-just-me.-Wait!-Stop!-Bee!-Stand-back.-These-are-winter-boots.-Wait!-Don't-kill-him!-You-know-I'm-allergic-to-them!-This-thing-could-kill-me!-Why-does-his-life-have-less-value-than-yours?-Why-does-his-life-have-any-less-value-than-mine?-Is-that-your-statement?-I'm-just-saying-all-life-has-value.-You-don't-know-what-he's-capable-of-feeling.-My-brochure!-There-you-go #little-guy.-I'm-not-scared-of-him.It's-an-allergic-thing.--Put-that-on-your-resume-brochure.-My-whole-face-could-puff-up.-Make-it-one-of-your-special-skills.-Knocking-someone-out-is-also-a-special-skill.-Right.-Bye #Vanessa.-Thanks.-Vanessa #next-week?-Yogurt-night?-Sure #Ken.-You-know #whatever.-You-could-put-carob-chips-on-there.-Bye.-Supposed-to-be-less-calories.-Bye.-I-gotta-say-something.-She-saved-my-life.-I-gotta-say-something.-All-right #here-it-goes.-Nah.-What-would-I-say?-I-could-really-get-in-trouble.-It's-a-bee-law.-You're-not-supposed-to-talk-to-a-human.-I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this.-I've-got-to.-Oh #I-can't-do-it.-Come-on!-No.-Yes.-No.-Do-it.-I-can't.-How-should-I-start-it?-'You-like-jazz?'-No #that's-no-good.-Here-she-comes!-Speak #you-fool!-Hi!-I'm-sorry.-You're-talking.-Yes #I-know.-You're-talking!-I'm-so-sorry.-No #it's-OK.-It's-fine.-I-know-I'm-dreaming.-But-I-don't-recall-going-to-bed.-Well #I'm-sure-this-is-very-disconcerting.-This-is-a-bit-of-a-surprise-to-me.-I-mean #you're-a-bee!-I-am.-And-I'm-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this #Barry?-It's-pretty-big #but-they-were-all-trying-to-kill-me.-And-if-it-wasn't-for-you...-I-had-to-thank-you.-It's-just-how-I-was-raised.-That-was-a-little-weird.-I'm-talking-with-a-bee.-Yeah.-I'm-talking-to-a-bee.-And-the-bee-is-talking-to-me!-I-just-want-to-say-I'm-grateful.-I'll-leave-now.-Wait!-How-did-you-learn-to-do-that?-What?-The-talking-thing.-Same-way-you-did #I-guess.-'Mama #Dada #honey.'-You-pick-it-up.-That's-very-funny.-Yeah.-Bees-are-funny.-If-we-didn't-laugh #we'd-cry-with-what-we-have-to-deal-with.-Anyway...-Can-I...-get-you-something?-Like-what?-I-don't-know.-I-mean...-I-don't-know.-Coffee?-I-don't-want-to-put-you-out.-It's-no-trouble.-It-takes-two-minutes.-It's-just-coffee.-I-hate-to-impose.-Don't-be-ridiculous!-Actually #I-would-love-a-cup.-Hey #you-want-rum-cake?-I-shouldn't.-Have-some.-No #I-can't.-Come-on!-I'm-trying-to-lose-a-couple-micrograms.-Where?-These-stripes-don't-help.-You-look-great!-I-don't-know-if-you-know-anything-about-fashion.-Are-you-all-right?-No.-He's-making-the-tie-in-the-cab-as-they're-flying-up-Madison.-He-finally-gets-there.-He-runs-up-the-steps-into-the-church.-The-wedding-is-on.-And-he-says #'Watermelon?-I-thought-you-said-Guatemalan.-Why-would-I-marry-a-watermelon?'-Is-that-a-bee-joke?-That's-the-kind-of-stuff-we-do.-Yeah #different.-So #what-are-you-gonna-do #Barry?-About-work?-I-don't-know.-I-want-to-do-my-part-for-The-Hive #but-I-can't-do-it-the-way-they-want.-I-know-how-you-feel.-You-do?-Sure.-My-parents-wanted-me-to-be-a-lawyer-or-a-doctor #but-I-wanted-to-be-a-florist.-Really?-My-only-interest-is-flowers.-Our-new-queen-was-just-elected-with-that-same-campaign-slogan.-Anyway #if-you-look...-There's-my-hive-right-there.-See-it?-You're-in-Sheep-Meadow!-Yes!-I'm-right-off-the-Turtle-Pond!-No-way!-I-know-that-area.-I-lost-a-toe-ring-there-once.-Why-do-girls-put-rings-on-their-toes?-Why-not?-It's-like-putting-a-hat-on-your-knee.-Maybe-I'll-try-that.-You-all-right #ma'am?-Oh #yeah.-Fine.-Just-having-two-cups-of-coffee!-Anyway #this-has-been-great.-Thanks-for-the-coffee.-Yeah #it's-no-trouble.-Sorry-I-couldn't-finish-it.-If-I-did #I'd-be-up-the-rest-of-my-life.-Are-you...?-Can-I-take-a-piece-of-this-with-me?-Sure!-Here #have-a-crumb.-Thanks!-Yeah.-All-right.-Well #then...-I-guess-I'll-see-you-around.-Or-not.-OK #Barry.-And-thank-you-so-much-again...-for-before.-Oh #that?-That-was-nothing.-Well #not-nothing #but...-Anyway...-This-can't-possibly-work.-He's-all-set-to-go.-We-may-as-well-try-it.-OK #Dave #pull-the-chute.-Sounds-amazing.-It-was-amazing!-It-was-the-scariest #happiest-moment-of-my-life.-Humans!-I-can't-believe-you-were-with-humans!-Giant #scary-humans!-What-were-they-like?-Huge-and-crazy.-They-talk-crazy.-They-eat-crazy-giant-things.-They-drive-crazy.-Do-they-try-and-kill-you #like-on-TV?-Some-of-them.-But-some-of-them-don't.-How'd-you-get-back?-Poodle.-You-did-it #and-I'm-glad.-You-saw-whatever-you-wanted-to-see.-You-had-your-'experience.'-Now-you-can-pick-out-yourjob-and-be-normal.-Well...-Well?-Well #I-met-someone.-You-did?-Was-she-Bee-ish?-A-wasp?!-Your-parents-will-kill-you!-No #no #no #not-a-wasp.-Spider?-I'm-not-attracted-to-spiders.-I-know-it's-the-hottest-thing #with-the-eight-legs-and-all.-I-can't-get-by-that-face.-So-who-is-she?-She's...-human.-No #no.-That's-a-bee-law.-You-wouldn't-break-a-bee-law.-Her-name's-Vanessa.-Oh #boy.-She's-so-nice.-And-she's-a-florist!-Oh #no!-You're-dating-a-human-florist!-We're-not-dating.-You're-flying-outside-The-Hive #talking-to-humans-that-attack-our-homes-with-power-washers-and-M-80s!-One-eighth-a-stick-of-dynamite!-She-saved-my-life!-And-she-understands-me.-This-is-over!-Eat-this.-This-is-not-over!-What-was-that?-They-call-it-a-crumb.-It-was-so-stingin'-stripey!-And-that's-not-what-they-eat.-That's-what-falls-off-what-they-eat!-You-know-what-a-Cinnabon-is?-No.-It's-bread-and-cinnamon-and-frosting.-They-heat-it-up...-Sit-down!-...really-hot!-Listen-to-me!-We-are-not-them!-We're-us.-There's-us-and-there's-them!-Yes #but-who-can-deny-the-heart-that-is-yearning?-There's-no-yearning.-Stop-yearning.-Listen-to-me!-You-have-got-to-start-thinking-bee #my-friend.-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee.-Thinking-bee.-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-There-he-is.-He's-in-the-pool.-You-know-what-your-problem-is #Barry?-I-gotta-start-thinking-bee?-How-much-longer-will-this-go-on?-It's-been-three-days!-Why-aren't-you-working?-I've-got-a-lot-of-big-life-decisions-to-think-about.-What-life?-You-have-no-life!-You-have-no-job.-You're-barely-a-bee!-Would-it-kill-you-to-make-a-little-honey?-Barry #come-out.-Your-father's-talking-to-you.-Martin #would-you-talk-to-him?-Barry #I'm-talking-to-you!-You-coming?-Got-everything?-All-set!-Go-ahead.-I'll-catch-up.-Don't-be-too-long.-Watch-this!-Vanessa!-We're-still-here.-I-told-you-not-to-yell-at-him.-He-doesn't-respond-to-yelling!-Then-why-yell-at-me?-Because-you-don't-listen!-I'm-not-listening-to-this.-Sorry #I've-gotta-go.-Where-are-you-going?-I'm-meeting-a-friend.-A-girl?-Is-this-why-you-can't-decide?-Bye.-I-just-hope-she's-Bee-ish.-They-have-a-huge-parade-of-flowers-every-year-in-Pasadena?-To-be-in-the-Tournament-of-Roses #that's-every-florist's-dream!-Up-on-a-float #surrounded-by-flowers #crowds-cheering.-A-tournament.-Do-the-roses-compete-in-athletic-events?-No.-All-right #I've-got-one.-How-come-you-don't-fly-everywhere?-It's-exhausting.-Why-don't-you-run-everywhere?-It's-faster.-Yeah #OK #I-see #I-see.-All-right #your-turn.-TiVo.-You-can-just-freeze-live-TV?-That's-insane!-You-don't-have-that?-We-have-Hivo #but-it's-a-disease.-It's-a-horrible #horrible-disease.-Oh #my.-Dumb-bees!-You-must-want-to-sting-all-those-jerks.-We-try-not-to-sting.-It's-usually-fatal-for-us.-So-you-have-to-watch-your-temper.-Very-carefully.-You-kick-a-wall #take-a-walk #write-an-angry-letter-and-throw-it-out.-Work-through-it-like-any-emotion:-Anger #jealousy #lust.-Oh #my-goodness!-Are-you-OK?-Yeah.-What-is-wrong-with-you?!-It's-a-bug.-He's-not-bothering-anybody.-Get-out-of-here #you-creep!-What-was-that?-A-Pic-'N'-Save-circular?-Yeah #it-was.-How-did-you-know?-It-felt-like-about-10-pages.-Seventy-five-is-pretty-much-our-limit.-You've-really-got-that-down-to-a-science.-I-lost-a-cousin-to-Italian-Vogue.-I'll-bet.-What-in-the-name-of-Mighty-Hercules-is-this?-How-did-this-get-here?-cute-Bee #Golden-Blossom #Ray-Liotta-Private-Select?-Is-he-that-actor?-I-never-heard-of-him.-Why-is-this-here?-For-people.-We-eat-it.-You-don't-have-enough-food-of-your-own?-Well #yes.-How-do-you-get-it?-Bees-make-it.-I-know-who-makes-it!-And-it's-hard-to-make-it!-There's-heating #cooling #stirring.-You-need-a-whole-Krelman-thing!-It's-organic.-It's-our-ganic!-It's-just-honey #Barry.-Just-what?!-Bees-don't-know-about-this!-This-is-stealing!-A-lot-of-stealing!-You've-taken-our-homes #schools #hospitals!-This-is-all-we-have!-And-it's-on-sale?!-I'm-getting-to-the-bottom-of-this.-I'm-getting-to-the-bottom-of-all-of-this!-Hey #Hector.-You-almost-done?-Almost.-He-is-here.-I-sense-it.-Well #I-guess-I'll-go-home-now-and-just-leave-this-nice-honey-out #with-no-one-around.-You're-busted #box-boy!-I-knew-I-heard-something.-So-you-can-talk!-I-can-talk.-And-now-you'll-start-talking!-Where-you-getting-the-sweet-stuff?-Who's-your-supplier?-I-don't-understand.-I-thought-we-were-friends.-The-last-thing-we-want-to-do-is-upset-bees!-You're-too-late!-It's-ours-now!-You #sir #have-crossed-the-wrong-sword!-You #sir #will-be-lunch-for-my-iguana #Ignacio!-Where-is-the-honey-coming-from?-Tell-me-where!-Honey-Farms!-It-comes-from-Honey-Farms!-Crazy-person!-What-horrible-thing-has-happened-here?-These-faces #they-never-knew-what-hit-them.-And-now-they're-on-the-road-to-nowhere!-Just-keep-still.-What?-You're-not-dead?-Do-I-look-dead?-They-will-wipe-anything-that-moves.-Where-you-headed?-To-Honey-Farms.-I-am-onto-something-huge-here.-I'm-going-to-Alaska.-Moose-blood #crazy-stuff.-Blows-your-head-off!-I'm-going-to-Tacoma.-And-you?-He-really-is-dead.-All-right.-Uh-oh!-What-is-that?!-Oh #no!-A-wiper!-Triple-blade!-Triple-blade?-Jump-on!-It's-your-only-chance #bee!-Why-does-everything-have-to-be-so-doggone-clean?!-How-much-do-you-people-need-to-see?!-Open-your-eyes!-Stick-your-head-out-the-window!-From-NPR-News-in-Washington #I'm-Carl-Kasell.-But-don't-kill-no-more-bugs!-Bee!-Moose-blood-guy!!-You-hear-something?-Like-what?-Like-tiny-screaming.-Turn-off-the-radio.-Whassup #bee-boy?-Hey #Blood.-Just-a-row-of-honey-jars #as-far-as-the-eye-could-see.-Wow!-I-assume-wherever-this-truck-goes-is-where-they're-getting-it.-I-mean #that-honey's-ours.-Bees-hang-tight.-We're-all-jammed-in.-It's-a-close-community.-Not-us #man.-We-on-our-own.-Every-mosquito-on-his-own.-What-if-you-get-in-trouble?-You-a-mosquito #you-in-trouble.-Nobody-likes-us.-They-just-smack.-See-a-mosquito #smack #smack!-At-least-you're-out-in-the-world.-You-must-meet-girls.-Mosquito-girls-try-to-trade-up #get-with-a-moth #dragonfly.-Mosquito-girl-don't-want-no-mosquito.-You-got-to-be-kidding-me!-Mooseblood's-about-to-leave-the-building!-So-long #bee!-Hey #guys!-Mooseblood!-I-knew-I'd-catch-y'all-down-here.-Did-you-bring-your-crazy-straw?-We-throw-it-in-jars #slap-a-label-on-it #and-it's-pretty-much-pure-profit.-What-is-this-place?-A-bee's-got-a-brain-the-size-of-a-pinhead.-They-are-pinheads!-Pinhead.-Check-out-the-new-smoker.-Oh #sweet.-That's-the-one-you-want.-The-Thomas-3000!-Smoker?-Ninety-puffs-a-minute #semi-automatic.-Twice-the-nicotine #all-the-tar.-A-couple-breaths-of-this-knocks-them-right-out.-They-make-the-honey #and-we-make-the-money.-'They-make-the-honey #and-we-make-the-money'?-Oh #my!-What's-going-on?-Are-you-OK?-Yeah.-It-doesn't-last-too-long.-Do-you-know-you're-in-a-fake-hive-with-fake-walls?-Our-queen-was-moved-here.-We-had-no-choice.-This-is-your-queen?-That's-a-man-in-women's-clothes!-That's-a-drag-queen!-What-is-this?-Oh #no!-There's-hundreds-of-them!-Bee-honey.-Our-honey-is-being-brazenly-stolen-on-a-massive-scale!-This-is-worse-than-anything-bears-have-done!-I-intend-to-do-something.-Oh #Barry #stop.-Who-told-you-humans-are-taking-our-honey?-That's-a-rumor.-Do-these-look-like-rumors?-That's-a-conspiracy-theory.-These-are-obviously-doctored-photos.-How-did-you-get-mixed-up-in-this?-He's-been-talking-to-humans.-What?-Talking-to-humans?!-He-has-a-human-girlfriend.-And-they-make-out!-Make-out?-Barry!-We-do-not.-You-wish-you-could.-Whose-side-are-you-on?-The-bees!-I-dated-a-cricket-once-in-San-Antonio.-Those-crazy-legs-kept-me-up-all-night.-Barry #this-is-what-you-want-to-do-with-your-life?-I-want-to-do-it-for-all-our-lives.-Nobody-works-harder-than-bees!-Dad #I-remember-you-coming-home-so-overworked-your-hands-were-still-stirring.-You-couldn't-stop.-I-remember-that.-What-right-do-they-have-to-our-honey?-We-live-on-two-cups-a-year.-They-put-it-in-lip-balm-for-no-reason-whatsoever!-Even-if-it's-true #what-can-one-bee-do?-Sting-them-where-it-really-hurts.-In-the-face!-The-eye!-That-would-hurt.-No.-Up-the-nose?-That's-a-killer.-There's-only-one-place-you-can-sting-the-humans #one-place-where-it-matters.-Hive-at-Five #The-Hive's-only-full-hour-action-news-source.-No-more-bee-beards!-With-Bob-Bumble-at-the-anchor-desk.-Weather-with-Storm-Stinger.-Sports-with-Buzz-Larvi.-And-Jeanette-Chung.-Good-evening.-I'm-Bob-Bumble.-And-I'm-Jeanette-Ohung.-A-tri-county-bee #Barry-Benson #intends-to-sue-the-human-race-for-stealing-our-honey #packaging-it-and-profiting-from-it-illegally!-Tomorrow-night-on-Bee-Larry-King #we'll-have-three-former-queens-here-in-our-studio #discussing-their-new-book #classy-Ladies #out-this-week-on-Hexagon.-Tonight-we're-talking-to-Barry-Benson.-Did-you-ever-think #'I'm-a-kid-from-The-Hive.-I-can't-do-this'?-Bees-have-never-been-afraid-to-change-the-world.-What-about-Bee-Oolumbus?-Bee-Gandhi?-Bejesus?-Where-I'm-from #we'd-never-sue-humans.-We-were-thinking-of-stickball-or-candy-stores.-How-old-are-you?-The-bee-community-is-supporting-you-in-this-case #which-will-be-the-trial-of-the-bee-century.-You-know #they-have-a-Larry-King-in-the-human-world-too.-It's-a-common-name.-Next-week...-He-looks-like-you-and-has-a-show-and-suspenders-and-colored-dots...-Next-week...-Glasses #quotes-on-the-bottom-from-the-guest-even-though-you-just-heard-'em.-Bear-Week-next-week!-They're-scary #hairy-and-here-live.-Always-leans-forward #pointy-shoulders #squinty-eyes #very-Jewish.-In-tennis #you-attack-at-the-point-of-weakness!-It-was-my-grandmother #Ken.-She's-81.-Honey #her-backhand's-a-joke!-I'm-not-gonna-take-advantage-of-that?-Quiet #please.-Actual-work-going-on-here.-Is-that-that-same-bee?-Yes #it-is!-I'm-helping-him-sue-the-human-race.-Hello.-Hello #bee.-This-is-Ken.-Yeah #I-remember-you.-Timberland #size-ten-and-a-half.-Vibram-sole #I-believe.-Why-does-he-talk-again?-Listen #you-better-go-'cause-we're-really-busy-working.-But-it's-our-yogurt-night!-Bye-bye.-Why-is-yogurt-night-so-difficult?!-You-poor-thing.-You-two-have-been-at-this-for-hours!-Yes #and-Adam-here-has-been-a-huge-help.-Frosting...-How-many-sugars?-Just-one.-I-try-not-to-use-the-competition.-So-why-are-you-helping-me?-Bees-have-good-qualities.-And-it-takes-my-mind-off-the-shop.-Instead-of-flowers #people-are-giving-balloon-bouquets-now.-Those-are-great #if-you're-three.-And-artificial-flowers.-Oh #those-just-get-me-psychotic!-Yeah #me-too.-Bent-stingers #pointless-pollination.-Bees-must-hate-those-fake-things!-Nothing-worse-than-a-daffodil-that's-had-work-done.-Maybe-this-could-make-up-for-it-a-little-bit.-This-lawsuit's-a-pretty-big-deal.-I-guess.-You-sure-you-want-to-go-through-with-it?-Am-I-sure?-When-I'm-done-with-the-humans #they-won't-be-able-to-say #'Honey #I'm-home #'-without-paying-a-royalty!-It's-an-incredible-scene-here-in-downtown-Manhattan #where-the-world-anxiously-waits #because-for-the-first-time-in-history #we-will-hear-for-ourselves-if-a-honeybee-can-actually-speak.-What-have-we-gotten-into-here #isn't-it?-I-can't-believe-how-many-humans-don't-work-during-the-day.-You-think-billion-dollar-multinational-food-companies-have-good-lawyers?-Everybody-needs-to-stay-behind-the-barricade.-What's-the-matter?-I-don't-know #I-just-got-a-chill.-Well #if-it-isn't-the-bee-team.-You-boys-work-on-this?-All-rise!-The-Honorable-Judge-Bumbleton-presiding.-All-right.-Case-number-4475 #Superior-Court-of-New-York #Barry-Bee-Benson-v.-the-Honey-Industry-is-now-in-session.-Mr.-Montgomery #you're-representing-the-five-food-companies-collectively?-A-privilege.-Mr.-Benson...-you're-representing-all-the-bees-of-the-world?-I'm-kidding.-Yes #Your-Honor #we're-ready-to-proceed.-Mr.-Montgomery #your-opening-statement #please.-Ladies-and-gentlemen-of-the-jury #my-grandmother-was-a-simple-woman.-Born-on-a-farm #she-believed-it-was-man's-divine-right-to-benefit-from-the-bounty-of-nature-God-put-before-us.-If-we-lived-in-the-topsy-turvy-world-Mr.-Benson-imagines #just-think-of-what-would-it-mean.-I-would-have-to-negotiate-with-the-silkworm-for-the-elastic-in-my-britches!-Talking-bee!-How-do-we-know-this-isn't-some-sort-of-holographic-motion-picture-capture-Hollywood-wizardry?-They-could-be-using-laser-beams!-Robotics!-Ventriloquism!-Cloning!-For-all-we-know #he-could-be-on-steroids!-Mr.-Benson?-Ladies-and-gentlemen #there's-no-trickery-here.-I'm-just-an-ordinary-bee.-Honey's-pretty-important-to-me.-It's-important-to-all-bees.-We-invented-it!-We-make-it.-And-we-protect-it-with-our-lives.-Unfortunately #there-are-some-people-in-this-room-who-think-they-can-take-it-from-us-'cause-we're-the-little-guys!-I'm-hoping-that #after-this-is-all-over #you'll-see-how #by-taking-our-honey #you-not-only-take-everything-we-have-but-everything-we-are!-I-wish-he'd-dress-like-that-all-the-time.-So-nice!-Call-your-first-witness.-So #Mr.-Klauss-Vanderhayden-of-Honey-Farms #big-company-you-have.-I-suppose-so.-I-see-you-also-own-Honeyburton-and-Honron!-Yes #they-provide-beekeepers-for-our-farms.-Beekeeper.-I-find-that-to-be-a-very-disturbing-term.-I-don't-imagine-you-employ-any-bee-free-ers #do-you?-No.-I-couldn't-hear-you.-No.-No.-Because-you-don't-free-bees.-You-keep-bees.-Not-only-that #it-seems-you-thought-a-bear-would-be-an-appropriate-image-for-a-jar-of-honey.-They're-very-lovable-creatures.-Yogi-Bear #Fozzie-Bear #Build-A-Bear.-You-mean-like-this?-Bears-kill-bees!-How'd-you-like-his-head-crashing-through-your-living-room?!-Biting-into-your-couch!-Spitting-out-your-throw-pillows!-OK #that's-enough.-Take-him-away.-So #Mr.-Sting #thank-you-for-being-here.-Your-name-intrigues-me.-Where-have-I-heard-it-before?-I-was-with-a-band-called-The-Police.-But-you've-never-been-a-police-officer #have-you?-No #I-haven't.-No #you-haven't.-And-so-here-we-have-yet-another-example-of-bee-culture-casually-stolen-by-a-human-for-nothing-more-than-a-prance-about-stage-name.-Oh #please.-Have-you-ever-been-stung #Mr.-Sting?-Because-I'm-feeling-a-little-stung #Sting.-Or-should-I-say...-Mr.-Gordon-M.-Sumner!-That's-not-his-real-name?!-You-idiots!-Mr.-Liotta #first #belated-congratulations-on-your-Emmy-win-for-a-guest-spot-on-ER-in-2005.-Thank-you.-Thank-you.-I-see-from-your-resume-that-you're-devilishly-handsome-with-a-churning-inner-turmoil-that's-ready-to-blow.-I-enjoy-what-I-do.-Is-that-a-crime?-Not-yet-it-isn't.-But-is-this-what-it's-come-to-for-you?-Exploiting-tiny #helpless-bees-so-you-don't-have-to-rehearse-your-part-and-learn-your-lines #sir?-Watch-it #Benson!-I-could-blow-right-now!-This-isn't-a-goodfella.-This-is-a-badfella!-Why-doesn't-someone-just-step-on-this-creep #and-we-can-all-go-home?!-Order-in-this-court!-You're-all-thinking-it!-Order!-Order #I-say!-Say-it!-Mr.-Liotta #please-sit-down!-I-think-it-was-awfully-nice-of-that-bear-to-pitch-in-like-that.-I-think-the-jury's-on-our-side.-Are-we-doing-everything-right #legally?-I'm-a-florist.-Right.-Well #here's-to-a-great-team.-To-a-great-team!-Well #hello.-Ken!-Hello.-I-didn't-think-you-were-coming.-No #I-was-just-late-I-tried-to-call #but...-the-battery.-I-didn't-want-all-this-to-go-to-waste #so-I-called-Barry.-Luckily #he-was-free.-Oh #that-was-lucky.-There's-a-little-left.-I-could-heat-it-up.-Yeah #heat-it-up #sure #whatever.-So-I-hear-you're-quite-a-tennis-player.-I'm-not-much-for-the-game-myself.-The-ball's-a-little-grabby.-That's-where-I-usually-sit.-Right...-there.-Ken #Barry-was-looking-at-your-resume #and-he-agreed-with-me-that-eating-with-chopsticks-isn't-really-a-special-skill.-You-think-I-don't-see-what-you're-doing?-I-know-how-hard-it-is-to-find-the-right-job.-We-have-that-in-common.-Do-we?-Bees-have-100-percent-employment #but-we-do-jobs-like-taking-the-crud-out.-That's-just-what-I-was-thinking-about-doing.-Ken #I-let-Barry-borrow-your-razor-for-his-fuzz.-I-hope-that-was-all-right.-I'm-going-to-drain-the-old-stinger.-Yeah #you-do-that.-Look-at-that.-You-know #I've-just-about-had-it-with-your-little-Mind-Games.-What's-that?-Italian-Vogue.-Mamma-mia #that's-a-lot-of-pages.-A-lot-of-ads.-Remember-what-Van-said #why-is-your-life-more-valuable-than-mine?-Funny #I-just-can't-seem-to-recall-that!-I-think-something-stinks-in-here!-I-love-the-smell-of-flowers.-How-do-you-like-the-smell-of-flames?!-Not-as-much.-Water-bug!-Not-taking-sides!-Ken #I'm-wearing-a-Chapstick-hat!-This-is-pathetic!-I've-got-issues!-Well #well #well #a-royal-flush!-You're-bluffing.-Am-I?-Surf's-up #dude!-Poo-water!-That-bowl-is-gnarly.-Except-for-those-dirty-yellow-rings!-Kenneth!-What-are-you-doing?!-You-know #I-don't-even-like-honey!-I-don't-eat-it!-We-need-to-talk!-He's-just-a-little-bee!-And-he-happens-to-be-the-nicest-bee-I've-met-in-a-long-time!-Long-time?-What-are-you-talking-about?!-Are-there-other-bugs-in-your-life?--No #but-there-are-other-things-bugging-me-in-life.-And-you're-one-of-them!-Fine!-Talking-bees #no-yogurt-night...-My-nerves-are-fried-from-riding-on-this-emotional-roller-coaster!-Goodbye #Ken.-And-for-your-information #I-prefer-sugar-free #artificial-sweeteners-made-by-man!-I'm-sorry-about-all-that.-I-know-it's-got-an-aftertaste!-I-like-it!-I-always-felt-there-was-some-kind-of-barrier-between-Ken-and-me.-I-couldn't-overcome-it.-Oh #well.-Are-you-OK-for-the-trial?-I-believe-Mr.-Montgomery-is-about-out-of-ideas.-We-would-like-to-call-Mr.-Barry-Benson-Bee-to-the-stand.-Good-idea!-You-can-really-see-why-he's-considered-one-of-the-best-lawyers...-Yeah.-Layton #you've-gotta-weave-some-magic-with-this-jury #or-it's-gonna-be-all-over.-Don't-worry.-The-only-thing-I-have-to-do-to-turn-this-jury-around-is-to-remind-them-of-what-they-don't-like-about-bees.-You-got-the-tweezers?-Are-you-allergic?-Only-to-losing #son.-Only-to-losing.-Mr.-Benson-Bee #I'll-ask-you-what-I-think-we'd-all-like-to-know.-What-exactly-is-your-relationship-to-that-woman?-We're-friends.-Good-friends?-Yes.-How-good?-Do-you-live-together?-Wait-a-minute...-Are-you-her-little...-bedbug?-I've-seen-a-bee-documentary-or-two.-From-what-I-understand #doesn't-your-queen-give-birth-to-all-the-bee-children?-Yeah #but...-So-those-aren't-your-real-parents!-Oh #Barry...-Yes #they-are!-Hold-me-back!-You're-an-illegitimate-bee #aren't-you #Benson?-He's-denouncing-bees!-Don't-y'all-date-your-cousins?-Objection!-I'm-going-to-pincushion-this-guy!-Adam #don't!-It's-what-he-wants!-Oh #I'm-hit!!-Oh #lordy #I-am-hit!-Order!-Order!-The-venom!-The-venom-is-coursing-through-my-veins!-I-have-been-felled-by-a-winged-beast-of-destruction!-You-see?-You-can't-treat-them-like-equals!-They're-striped-savages!-Stinging's-the-only-thing-they-know!-It's-their-way!-Adam #stay-with-me.-I-can't-feel-my-legs.-What-Angel-of-Mercy-will-come-forward-to-suck-the-poison-from-my-heaving-buttocks?-I-will-have-order-in-this-court.-Order!-Order #please!-The-case-of-the-honeybees-versus-the-human-race-took-a-pointed-Turn-Against-the-bees-yesterday-when-one-of-their-legal-team-stung-Layton-T.-Montgomery.-Hey #buddy.-Hey.-Is-there-much-pain?-Yeah.-I...-I-blew-the-whole-case #didn't-I?-It-doesn't-matter.-What-matters-is-you're-alive.-You-could-have-died.-I'd-be-better-off-dead.-Look-at-me.-They-got-it-from-the-cafeteria-downstairs #in-a-tuna-sandwich.-Look #there's-a-little-celery-still-on-it.-What-was-it-like-to-sting-someone?-I-can't-explain-it.-It-was-all...-All-adrenaline-and-then...and-then-ecstasy!-All-right.-You-think-it-was-all-a-trap?-Of-course.-I'm-sorry.-I-flew-us-right-into-this.-What-were-we-thinking?-Look-at-us.-We're-just-a-couple-of-bugs-in-this-world.-What-will-the-humans-do-to-us-if-they-win?-I-don't-know.-I-hear-they-put-the-roaches-in-motels.-That-doesn't-sound-so-bad.-Adam #they-check-in #but-they-don't-check-out!-Oh #my.-Could-you-get-a-nurse-to-close-that-window?-Why?-The-smoke.-Bees-don't-smoke.-Right.-Bees-don't-smoke.-Bees-don't-smoke!-But-some-bees-are-smoking.-That's-it!-That's-our-case!-It-is?-It's-not-over?-Get-dressed.-I've-gotta-go-somewhere.-Get-back-to-the-court-and-stall.-Stall-any-way-you-can.-And-assuming-you've-done-step-correctly #you're-ready-for-the-tub.-Mr.-Flayman.-Yes?-Yes #Your-Honor!-Where-is-the-rest-of-your-team?-Well #Your-Honor #it's-interesting.-Bees-are-trained-to-fly-haphazardly #and-as-a-result #we-don't-make-very-good-time.-I-actually-heard-a-funny-story-about...-Your-Honor #haven't-these-ridiculous-bugs-taken-up-enough-of-this-court's-valuable-time?-How-much-longer-will-we-allow-these-absurd-shenanigans-to-go-on?-They-have-presented-no-compelling-evidence-to-support-their-charges-against-my-clients #who-run-legitimate-businesses.-I-move-for-a-complete-dismissal-of-this-entire-case!-Mr.-Flayman #I'm-afraid-I'm-going-to-have-to-consider-Mr.-Montgomery's-motion.-But-you-can't!-We-have-a-terrific-case.-Where-is-your-proof?-Where-is-the-evidence?-Show-me-the-smoking-gun!-Hold-it #Your-Honor!-You-want-a-smoking-gun?-Here-is-your-smoking-gun.-What-is-that?-It's-a-bee-smoker!-What #this?-This-harmless-little-contraption?-This-couldn't-hurt-a-fly #let-alone-a-bee.-Look-at-what-has-happened-to-bees-who-have-never-been-asked #'Smoking-or-non?'-Is-this-what-nature-intended-for-us?-To-be-forcibly-addicted-to-smoke-machines-and-man-made-wooden-slat-work-camps?-Living-out-our-lives-as-honey-slaves-to-the-white-man?-What-are-we-gonna-do?-He's-playing-the-species-card.-Ladies-and-gentlemen #please #free-these-bees!-Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees!-The-court-finds-in-favor-of-the-bees!-Vanessa #we-won!-I-knew-you-could-do-it!-High-five!-Sorry.-I'm-OK!-You-know-what-this-means?-All-the-honey-will-finally-belong-to-the-bees.-Now-we-won't-have-to-work-so-hard-all-the-time.-This-is-an-unholy-perversion-of-the-balance-of-nature #Benson.-You'll-regret-this.-Barry #how-much-honey-is-out-there?-All-right.-One-at-a-time.-Barry #who-are-you-wearing?-My-sweater-is-Ralph-Lauren #and-I-have-no-pants.-What-if-Montgomery's-right?-What-do-you-mean?-We've-been-living-the-bee-way-a-long-time #27-million-years.-Congratulations-on-your-victory.-What-will-you-demand-as-a-settlement?-First #we'll-demand-a-complete-shutdown-of-all-bee-work-camps.-Then-we-want-back-the-honey-that-was-ours-to-begin-with #every-last-drop.-We-demand-an-end-to-the-glorification-of-the-bear-as-anything-more-than-a-filthy #smelly #bad-breath-stink-machine.-We're-all-aware-of-what-they-do-in-the-woods.-Wait-for-my-signal.-Take-him-out.-He'll-have-nauseous-for-a-few-hours #then-he'll-be-fine.-And-we-will-no-longer-tolerate-bee-negative-nicknames...-But-it's-just-a-prance-about-stage-name!-...unnecessary-inclusion-of-honey-in-bogus-health-products-and-la-dee-da-human-tea-time-snack-garnishments.-Can't-breathe.-Bring-it-in #boys!-Hold-it-right-there!-Good.-Tap-it.-Mr.-Buzzwell #we-just-passed-three-cups-and-there's-gallons-more-coming!-I-think-we-need-to-shut-down!-Shut-down?-We've-never-shut-down.-Shut-down-honey-production!-Stop-making-honey!-Turn-your-key #sir!-What-do-we-do-now?-Cannonball!-We're-shutting-honey-production!-Mission-abort.-Aborting-pollination-and-nectar-detail.-Returning-to-base.-Adam #you-wouldn't-believe-how-much-honey-was-out-there.-Oh #yeah?-What's-going-on?-Where-is-everybody?-Are-they-out-celebrating?-They're-home.-They-don't-know-what-to-do.-Laying-out #sleeping-in.-I-heard-your-Uncle-Carl-was-on-his-way-to-San-Antonio-with-a-cricket.-At-least-we-got-our-honey-back.-Sometimes-I-think #so-what-if-humans-liked-our-honey?-Who-wouldn't?-It's-the-greatest-thing-in-the-world!-I-was-excited-to-be-part-of-making-it.-This-was-my-new-desk.-This-was-my-new-job.-I-wanted-to-do-it-really-well.-And-now...-Now-I-can't.-I-don't-understand-why-they're-not-happy.-I-thought-their-lives-would-be-better!-They're-doing-nothing.-It's-amazing.-Honey-really-changes-people.-You-don't-have-any-idea-what's-going-on #do-you?-What-did-you-want-to-show-me?-This.-What-happened-here?-That-is-not-the-half-of-it.-Oh #no.-Oh #my.-They're-all-wilting.-Doesn't-look-very-good #does-it?-No.-And-whose-fault-do-you-think-that-is?-You-know #I'm-gonna-guess-bees.-Bees?-Specifically #me.-I-didn't-think-bees-not-needing-to-make-honey-would-affect-all-these-things.-It's-not-just-flowers.-Fruits #vegetables #they-all-need-bees.-That's-our-whole-SAT-test-right-there.-Take-away-produce #that-affects-the-entire-animal-kingdom.-And-then #of-course...-The-human-species?-So-if-there's-no-more-pollination #it-could-all-just-go-south-here #couldn't-it?-I-know-this-is-also-partly-my-fault.-How-about-a-suicide-pact?-How-do-we-do-it?-I'll-sting-you #you-step-on-me.-That-just-kills-you-twice.-Right #right.-Listen #Barry...-sorry #but-I-gotta-get-going.-I-had-to-open-my-mouth-and-talk.-Vanessa?-Vanessa?-Why-are-you-leaving?-Where-are-you-going?-To-the-final-Tournament-of-Roses-parade-in-Pasadena.-They've-moved-it-to-this-weekend-because-all-the-flowers-are-dying.-It's-the-Last-Chance-I'll-ever-have-to-see-it.-Vanessa #I-just-wanna-say-I'm-sorry.-I-never-meant-it-to-turn-out-like-this.-I-know.-Me-neither.-Tournament-of-Roses.-Roses-can't-do-sports.-Wait-a-minute.-Roses.-Roses?-Roses!-Vanessa!-Roses?!-Barry?-Roses-are-flowers!-Yes #they-are.-Flowers #bees #pollen!-I-know.-That's-why-this-is-the-last-parade.-Maybe-not.-Could-you-ask-him-to-slow-down?-Could-you-slow-down?-Barry!-OK #I-made-a-huge-mistake.-This-is-a-total-disaster #all-my-fault.-Yes #it-kind-of-is.-I've-ruined-the-planet.-I-wanted-to-help-you-with-the-flower-shop.-I've-made-it-worse.-Actually #it's-completely-closed-down.-I-thought-maybe-you-were-remodeling.-But-I-have-another-idea #and-it's-greater-than-my-previous-ideas-combined.-I-don't-want-to-hear-it!-All-right #they-have-the-roses #the-roses-have-the-pollen.-I-know-every-bee #plant-and-flower-bud-in-this-park.-All-we-gotta-do-is-get-what-they've-got-back-here-with-what-we've-got.-Bees.-Park.-Pollen!-Flowers.-Repollination!-Across-the-nation!-Tournament-of-Roses #Pasadena #California.-They've-got-nothing-but-flowers #floats-and-cotton-candy.-Security-will-be-tight.-I-have-an-idea.-Vanessa-Bloome #FTD.-Official-floral-business.-It's-real.-Sorry #ma'am.-Nice-brooch.-Thank-you.-It-was-a-gift.-Once-inside #we-just-pick-the-right-float.-How-about-The-Princess-and-the-Pea?-I-could-be-the-princess #and-you-could-be-the-pea!-Yes #I-got-it.-Where-should-I-sit?-What-are-you?-I-believe-I'm-the-pea.-The-pea?-It-goes-under-the-mattresses.-Not-in-this-fairy-tale #sweetheart.-I'm-getting-the-marshal.-You-do-that!-This-whole-parade-is-a-fiasco!-Let's-see-what-this-baby'll-do.-Hey #what-are-you-doing?!-Then-all-we-do-is-blend-in-with-traffic...-without-arousing-suspicion.-Once-at-the-airport #there's-no-stopping-us.-Stop!-Security.-You-and-your-insect-pack-your-float?-Yes.-Has-it-been-in-your-possession-the-entire-time?-Would-you-remove-your-shoes?-Remove-your-stinger.-It's-part-of-me.-I-know.-Just-having-some-fun.-Enjoy-your-flight.-Then-if-we're-lucky #we'll-have-just-enough-pollen-to-do-the-job.-Can-you-believe-how-lucky-we-are?-We-have-just-enough-pollen-to-do-the-job!-I-think-this-is-gonna-work.-It's-got-to-work.-Attention #passengers #this-is-Captain-Scott.-We-have-a-bit-of-bad-weather-in-New-York.-It-looks-like-we'll-experience-a-couple-hours-delay.-Barry #these-are-cut-flowers-with-no-water.-They'll-never-make-it.-I-gotta-get-up-there-and-talk-to-them.-Be-careful.-Can-I-get-help-with-the-Sky-Mall-magazine?-I'd-like-to-order-the-talking-inflatable-nose-and-ear-hair-trimmer.-Captain #I'm-in-a-real-situation.-What'd-you-say #Hal?-Nothing.-Bee!-Don't-freak-out!-My-entire-species...-What-are-you-doing?-Wait-a-minute!-I'm-an-attorney!-Who's-an-attorney?-Don't-move.-Oh #Barry.-Good-afternoon #passengers.-This-is-your-captain.-Would-a-Miss-Vanessa-Bloome-in-24B-please-report-to-the-cockpit?-And-please-hurry!-What-happened-here?-There-was-a-DustBuster #a-toupee #a-life-raft-exploded.-One's-bald #one's-in-a-boat #they're-both-unconscious!-Is-that-another-bee-joke?-No!-No-one's-flying-the-plane!-This-is-JFK-control-tower #Flight-356.-What's-your-status?-This-is-Vanessa-Bloome.-I'm-a-florist-from-New-York.-Where's-the-pilot?-He's-unconscious #and-so-is-the-copilot.-Not-good.-Does-anyone-onboard-have-flight-experience?-As-a-matter-of-fact #there-is.-Who's-that?-Barry-Benson.-From-the-honey-trial?!-Oh #great.-Vanessa #this-is-nothing-more-than-a-big-metal-bee.-It's-got-giant-wings #huge-engines.-I-can't-fly-a-plane.-Why-not?-Isn't-John-Travolta-a-pilot?-Yes.-How-hard-could-it-be?-Wait #Barry!-We're-headed-into-some-lightning.-This-is-Bob-Bumble.-We-have-some-late-breaking-news-from-JFK-Airport #where-a-suspenseful-scene-is-developing.-Barry-Benson #fresh-from-his-legal-victory...-That's-Barry!-...is-attempting-to-land-a-plane #loaded-with-people #flowers-and-an-incapacitated-flight-crew.-Flowers?!-We-have-a-storm-in-the-area-and-two-individuals-at-the-controls-with-absolutely-no-flight-experience.-Just-a-minute.-There's-a-bee-on-that-plane.-I'm-quite-familiar-with-Mr.-Benson-and-his-no-account-compadres.-They've-done-enough-damage.-But-isn't-he-your-only-hope?-Technically #a-bee-shouldn't-be-able-to-fly-at-all.-Their-wings-are-too-small...-Haven't-we-heard-this-a-million-times?-'The-surface-area-of-the-wings-and-body-mass-make-no-sense.'-Get-this-on-the-air!-Got-it.-Stand-by.-We're-going-live.-The-way-we-work-may-be-a-mystery-to-you.-Making-honey-takes-a-lot-of-bees-doing-a-lot-of-small-jobs.-But-let-me-tell-you-about-a-small-job.-If-you-do-it-well #it-makes-a-big-difference.-More-than-we-realized.-To-us #to-everyone.-That's-why-I-want-to-get-bees-back-to-working-together.-That's-the-bee-way!-We're-not-made-of-Jell-O.-We-get-behind-a-fellow.-Black-and-yellow!-Hello!-Left #right #down #hover.-Hover?-Forget-hover.-This-isn't-so-hard.-Beep-beep!-Beep-beep!-Barry #what-happened?!-Wait #I-think-we-were-on-autopilot-the-whole-time.-That-may-have-been-helping-me.-And-now-we're-not!-So-it-turns-out-I-cannot-fly-a-plane.-All-of-you #let's-get-behind-this-fellow!-Move-it-out!-Move-out!-Our-only-chance-is-if-I-do-what-I'd-do #you-copy-me-with-the-wings-of-the-plane!-Don't-have-to-yell.-I'm-not-yelling!-We're-in-a-lot-of-trouble.-It's-very-hard-to-concentrate-with-that-panicky-tone-in-your-voice!-It's-not-a-tone.-I'm-panicking!-I-can't-do-this!-Vanessa #pull-yourself-together.-You-have-to-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it.-You-snap-out-of-it.-You-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it!-You-snap-out-of-it!-Hold-it!-Why?-Come-on #it's-my-turn.-How-is-the-plane-flying?-I-don't-know.-Hello?-Benson #got-any-flowers-for-a-happy-occasion-in-there?-The-Pollen-Jocks!-They-do-get-behind-a-fellow.-Black-and-yellow.-Hello.-All-right #let's-drop-this-tin-can-on-the-blacktop.-Where?-I-can't-see-anything.-Can-you?-No #nothing.-It's-all-cloudy.-Come-on.-You-got-to-think-bee #Barry.-Thinking-bee.-Thinking-bee.-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Wait-a-minute.-I-think-I'm-feeling-something.-What?-I-don't-know.-It's-strong #pulling-me.-Like-a-27-million-year-old-instinct.-Bring-the-nose-down.-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-What-in-the-world-is-on-the-tarmac?-Get-some-lights-on-that!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee!-Vanessa #aim-for-the-flower.-OK.-Cut-the-engines.-We're-going-in-on-bee-power.-Ready #boys?-Affirmative!-Good.-Good.-Easy #now.-That's-it.-Land-on-that-flower!-Ready?-Full-reverse!-Spin-it-around!-Not-that-flower!-The-other-one!-Which-one?-That-flower.-I'm-aiming-at-the-flower!-That's-a-fat-guy-in-a-flowered-shirt.-I-mean-the-giant-pulsating-flower-made-of-millions-of-bees!-Pull-forward.-Nose-down.-Tail-up.-Rotate-around-it.-This-is-insane #Barry!-This's-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-fly.-Am-I-koo-koo-kachoo #or-is-this-plane-flying-in-an-insect-like-pattern?-Get-your-nose-in-there.-Don't-be-afraid.-Smell-it.-Full-reverse!-Just-drop-it.-Be-a-part-of-it.-Aim-for-the-center!-Now-drop-it-in!-Drop-it-in #woman!-Come-on #already.-Barry #we-did-it!-You-taught-me-how-to-fly!-Yes.-No-high-five!-Right.-Barry #it-worked!-Did-you-see-the-giant-flower?-What-giant-flower?-Where?-Of-course-I-saw-the-flower!-That-was-genius!-Thank-you.-But-we're-not-done-yet.-Listen #everyone!-This-runway-is-covered-with-the-last-pollen-from-the-last-flowers-available-anywhere-on-Earth.-That-means-this-is-our-Last-Chance.-We're-the-only-ones-who-make-honey #pollinate-flowers-and-dress-like-this.-If-we're-gonna-survive-as-a-species #this-is-our-moment!-What-do-you-say?-Are-we-going-to-be-bees #or-just-Museum-of-Natural-History-keychains?-We're-bees!-Keychain!-Then-follow-me!-Except-Keychain.-Hold-on #Barry.-Here.-You've-earned-this.-Yeah!-I'm-a-Pollen-Jock!-And-it's-a-perfect-fit.-All-I-gotta-do-are-the-sleeves.-Oh #yeah.-That's-our-Barry.-Mom!-The-bees-are-back!-If-anybody-needs-to-make-a-call #now's-the-time.-I-got-a-feeling-we'll-be-working-late-tonight!-Here's-your-change.-Have-a-great-afternoon!-Can-I-help-who's-next?-Would-you-like-some-honey-with-that?-It-is-bee-approved.-Don't-forget-these.-Milk #cream #cheese #it's-all-me.--And-I-don't-see-a-nickel!-Sometimes-I-just-feel-like-a-piece-of-meat!-I-had-no-idea.-Barry #I'm-sorry.-Have-you-got-a-moment?-Would-you-excuse-me?-My-mosquito-associate-will-help-you.-Sorry-I'm-late.-He's-a-lawyer-too?-I-was-already-a-blood-sucking-parasite.-All-I-needed-was-a-briefcase.-Have-a-great-afternoon!-Barry #I-just-got-this-huge-tulip-order #and-I-can't-get-them-anywhere.-No-problem #Vannie.-Just-leave-it-to-me.-You're-a-lifesaver #Barry.-Can-I-help-who's-next?-All-right #scramble #jocks!-It's-time-to-fly.-Thank-you #Barry!-That-bee-is-living-my-life!-Let-it-go #Kenny.-When-will-this-nightmare-end?!-Let-it-all-go.-Beautiful-day-to-fly.-Sure-is.-Between-you-and-me #I-was-dying-to-get-out-of-that-office.-You-have-got-to-start-thinking-bee #my-friend.-Thinking-bee!-Me?-Hold-it.-Let's-just-stop-for-a-second.-Hold-it.-I'm-sorry.-I'm-sorry #everyone.-Can-we-stop-here?-I'm-not-making-a-major-life-decision-during-a-production-number!-All-right.-Take-ten #everybody.-Wrap-it-up #guys.-I-had-virtually-no-rehearsal-for-that. -
The built-in assumption that a professor challenged his gifted student to use to prove that #quantum computing will always be "superior" to classical #computing was so bizzare that I cannot quite wrap my mind around the mistake.
Granted, I did work at #Intel for 6 years. And my last group being the AI silicon trying to help mathematicians improve their #AI model's/models' efficiency .... but I suppose my data point just goes to show that theoretical math can stray pretty far from actual machine learning and computing.
Anybody who has ever built a program that can upload a csv to a database knows this intuitively. The "cost" of a parameter-based search ought to include both load time and compute time. One can write helpers that speed-up LLMs that tend to quantize models by key terms and frequency of those key terms in a language.... and then map heavy nodes to higher-memory compute, right? This is why models with "trillions" of parameters tend to be very expensive to compile and run.
The inherent assumption that all the data in a quantum algorithm is already loaded? This seems like a #CS 101 kinda mistake.
I love this field and cannot wait to go back to work, I'm already brainstorming a whitepaper about this topic. Writing and editing whitepapers is one of the things I miss
That being said, Ewin Tang is an astoundingly smart gal, completely deserving of the awards.
-
The built-in assumption that a professor challenged his gifted student to use to prove that #quantum computing will always be "superior" to classical #computing was so bizzare that I cannot quite wrap my mind around the mistake.
Granted, I did work at #Intel for 6 years. And my last group being the AI silicon trying to help mathematicians improve their #AI model's/models' efficiency .... but I suppose my data point just goes to show that theoretical math can stray pretty far from actual machine learning and computing.
Anybody who has ever built a program that can upload a csv to a database knows this intuitively. The "cost" of a parameter-based search ought to include both load time and compute time. One can write helpers that speed-up LLMs that tend to quantize models by key terms and frequency of those key terms in a language.... and then map heavy nodes to higher-memory compute, right? This is why models with "trillions" of parameters tend to be very expensive to compile and run.
The inherent assumption that all the data in a quantum algorithm is already loaded? This seems like a #CS 101 kinda mistake.
I love this field and cannot wait to go back to work, I'm already brainstorming a whitepaper about this topic. Writing and editing whitepapers is one of the things I miss
That being said, Ewin Tang is an astoundingly smart gal, completely deserving of the awards.
-
I’ve Spent My Whole Life Refusing to Break, and It’s Slowly Breaking Everything I Love
8,993 words, 48 minutes read time.
They call me “the rock” at work.
At first, I thought it was a joke. Some intern started it during a brutal deadline last year. Half our team was losing it, one guy had a full-on meltdown in the stairwell, and I just… didn’t. I stayed late, knocked out my part, kept my voice even, answered questions, didn’t yell. Next day in standup, the intern goes, “Ask the rock, he never cracks,” and everyone laughed.
But it stuck.
Now my manager calls me that. “Put it on Matt’s plate, he’s a rock.” People say it like a compliment. Like it’s this badge of honor, being the guy who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cry, doesn’t panic.
I pretended I didn’t like it. “C’mon, I’m just doing my job.” But I liked it. A lot. It felt like proof I’d finally escaped where I came from.
Growing up, the only thing worse than being poor in our neighborhood was being soft. I remember one time, I was probably eight or nine, playing basketball in the driveway, and I tripped. Scraped my knee so bad the skin just peeled back. I started crying, like loud ugly kid-crying—snot, hiccups, the works.
My dad walked out, looked at me, then at my knee, then back at me.
“You done?” he said.
“It hurts,” I blubbered.
He shook his head. “It’s a scrape, not a bullet. Stop crying, be a man.”
He went back inside. That phrase seared itself into my brain: Stop crying, be a man. I stopped crying. Not just that day. In general.
Whole life since then has been me trying to prove I listened.
So yeah, “the rock” fits.
What nobody at the office knows is I had to lock myself in a stall in the men’s room last week because my heart was racing so hard I thought I might pass out. I sat on the toilet lid, head in my hands, breathing like a woman in labor, trying not to make a sound because God forbid someone hears me having a panic attack.
Rocks don’t hyperventilate in bathroom stalls.
But that’s kind of my thing: feel something, shove it down, slap a lid on it, move on. I’m a professional at it now.
Church people call it “being strong.” Clinical people call it “emotional repression.” I just call it survival.
My wife, Emily, calls it “shutting down.” She says it calmly, like she’s reading a weather report, but her eyes get that glossy look that tells me I’m supposed to say something deep right there. I never do. I go for safe. Joke. Change the subject. Or pull the nuclear option: “I’m just tired, can we not do this right now?”
Which is basically our marriage in twelve words.
We’ve been married nine years. We have a seven-year-old daughter, Lily, who looks exactly like Emily except with my eyebrows, which feels unfair to her, but whatever. We met in college at some Christian campus thing I only went to because there were free burritos. She saw through most of my crap from day one, which I think is why I married her and also why I can’t stand her sometimes.
She’s a feeler. Like, professionally. She does counseling with teens at a nonprofit. She comes home wrecked from some kid’s story and wants to sit on the couch and process it for an hour. She cries at TV commercials. She said “I feel” more in the first month I knew her than my dad probably has in his entire life.
First time she cried in front of me, I freaked out internally. Panic, sirens, red lights. Externally, I was smooth. I put my arm around her, said all the right words. I didn’t know what I was doing, but she looked at me like I’d just parted the Red Sea. “I feel safe with you,” she said.
I should’ve told her then: “I don’t do feelings. I just do rescue.” But I liked being the safe guy. The rock.
Now, nine years in, that “safe” guy has turned into something else. A wall. A locked door. A black hole.
She sits at our kitchen table some Tuesday night, wine glass in hand, staring at me over a half-eaten plate of chicken and rice.
“You’re not here,” she says. “I mean, you’re physically here, but you’re not here.”
“I’m literally sitting right in front of you,” I say, stabbing a piece of chicken. “What do you want, a hologram?”
She doesn’t laugh. “Matt, I’m serious. I don’t know what you’re feeling. Ever. I don’t know when you’re scared. Or angry. Or sad. I can’t read you anymore. It’s like there’s this glass wall. I can see you, but I can’t reach you.”
I chew slowly to give myself time. Classic tactic. Delay, defuse, divert.
“I’m just tired,” I say. “Work’s a lot. Dad’s situation’s a lot. This is just… a season.”
Her jaw tightens at the word “season.” She hates Christian clichés, and I use them like shields.
“You said that last year,” she says. “And the year before. ‘It’s just a season.’ When does this season end, Matt? When you burn out? When we’re divorced? When Lily’s grown and doesn’t even bother to call you?”
“Wow,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Okay, that escalated.”
That’s another move: if I make her feel dramatic, I get to feel sane.
She takes a breath, looks down at the table. “I’m asking you to let me in,” she says, softer. “Talk to me. Tell me when you’re drowning instead of pretending you’re fine. You don’t have to be the rock, Matt. Not with me.”
There’s this moment where I actually feel it—the opening, the offer. Like a crack in the armor. I could tell her about the bathroom stall. About how sometimes at two in the morning my heart’s pounding like I’m on mile ten of a run and I can’t sleep, so I scroll my phone until my eyes burn. About the weird chest tightness that makes me think of my dad in the hospital, tubes and machines and beeping, and how I’m still that kid in the driveway trying not to cry.
I even start to say it. “Sometimes at work I—”
The words get stuck in my throat. There’s this primal shame that hits like a wave. If I say it out loud, it’s real. If she hears it, she’ll see I’m not a rock. I’m a scared dude in a grown man’s clothes with a half-charged iPhone and a Bible app he barely opens.
I clear my throat. “Sometimes at work I just need to, like, zone out, you know? Nothing crazy. I just power through.”
She watches me. She knows I pulled up right before the truth. I can see it in her eyes, that flash of disappointment before she buries it. She nods like she’s trying to accept the crumbs.
“Maybe we should go to counseling,” she says.
And there it is. The one word I refuse to let into my story.
“We’re not that bad,” I say, way too fast. “Counseling’s for people who are… like… actually falling apart. We’re just in a stressful patch. Money’s tight, work’s nuts, your job is heavy, my dad almost died. We don’t need to pay someone a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to tell us what we already know.”
“That’s not what counseling is,” she says.
I shrug. “You’re a counselor, obviously you’re pro-counseling. But I—what would I even say? ‘Hi, I’m Matt, things are fine, my wife just wants me to cry more’?”
She closes her eyes like my words physically hurt. “This isn’t about crying,” she says. “This is about you. Letting. Me. See. You.”
“I married you, didn’t I?” I say. “You see me. This is me.”
That’s the line I always throw out when I want to shut the conversation down—“This is just who I am.” It sounds like honesty, like self-awareness, but really it’s defense. A way of saying, “I’m not changing.”
She stares at me for a long time. Then she gets up, takes her plate to the sink without another word.
I tell myself she’s being emotional. That she’ll calm down. That it’s not that bad. That I’m not that bad.
That night, after she goes to bed, I sit on the couch with my laptop. I tell myself I’m going to do a little work, get ahead of tomorrow. Ten minutes in, I’m already opening a second browser window.
It’s funny how my brain knows the path without thinking. A couple keystrokes, a few clicks, and there it is: curated, pixel-perfect nakedness. I scroll, numb. That’s really what it is. Not lust so much as anesthesia. My own private pharmacy.
I justify it. I’m not sleeping with anyone else. I’m not on Tinder. I’m not at a bar hitting on girls who call me “sir.” This is safe. It’s victimless. It’s just… stress relief. And if I ever tried to talk to Emily about how I actually feel, I’d probably scare her. This way, I take care of it myself.
Self-sufficiency, right? That’s what being a man is. Handle your own crap.
I close the laptop an hour later feeling gross, but the guilt is dull. Familiar. Easy to ignore. I tiptoe into the bedroom. She’s already turned away from my side, curled in a C-shape near the edge. I slide into bed, careful not to touch her too much, in case she wants space. Or in case she doesn’t, because if she turns toward me, I might have to be present.
In the dark, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I check it. It’s Marcus.
You good, man?
Marcus is my one semi-real friend from church. Taller than me, quieter. Used to be a cop, now does security at a hospital. He’s the kind of guy who actually listens when you talk. Like, fully. It’s unnerving.
He’s the only one who’s ever looked me in the eye and asked, “How’s your heart?” without smirking. I laughed when he said it the first time. “Bro, what are we, in a Nicholas Sparks movie?” He smiled, but he didn’t take it back.
I stare at his text for a second. My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
I’m fine, just tired, I type.
I delete “just tired.” It sounds weak. I send: I’m good. Busy with work. You?
The truth would be: I’m not sleeping, my wife wants to send me to counseling like I’m broken, I spent an hour watching porn to avoid feeling anything, and my chest hurts more days than not. Also sometimes I want to just drive until I run out of gas and start over somewhere no one knows I’m supposed to be “the rock.”
He replies: Same. Let’s grab lunch this week. Been thinking about you.
Cool, I send. Let me know when.
I set my phone down and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Some random verse I half-remember from a sermon floats through my brain: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.”
I snort quietly. I’m not brokenhearted. I’m just busy.
Work does not care about your feelings. My manager, Jeff, cares about deliverables and client satisfaction scores and how many hours the team can bill without triggering HR. There’s a massive software deployment next month. If we nail it, it’s big for the company. If we blow it, we lose a multi-million-dollar client. No pressure.
We shuffle into the conference room for yet another war room meeting. Screens everywhere, coffee cups, people with that glazed “I’ve been on Zoom for 12 hours” look in their eyes.
Jeff slaps my back. “How’s my rock?” he says, grinning.
“Ready to roll,” I say.
“Good, because if this thing slips again, I’m gonna have to start sacrificing junior devs to the client gods.”
Everyone laughs. I do too, even as that familiar tightness creeps into my chest. I tell myself it’s just caffeine. I’ve had three coffees and a Red Bull. Anyone’s heart would pound.
Halfway through the meeting, someone mentions layoffs. Not directly, but hints. “If this doesn’t go well, upper management’s gonna be asking hard questions.” Translation: people will get cut. People like me. People like the guy who had a meltdown in the stairwell last year and mysteriously “transitioned to new opportunities” two months later.
Rocks don’t get laid off. Weak links do. If I crack, I’m a liability.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mom: Dad had another episode. Doctors want to run more tests. Can you come by tonight?
I swallow, staring at the message.
You okay? Jeff says, noticing my face.
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Family stuff. I’m good.”
I tuck it away. Mental note: hospital. Later. After being the rock at work, I get to be the rock for my mom. Then maybe, if I have any energy left, I’ll toss Emily a pebble and call it connection.
During a break, I slip into the men’s room. I splash water on my face. As I look up, my reflection stares back at me. Thirty-six, a little more gray at the temples than I’d like, dark circles under my eyes. But my expression is neutral. Controlled. Rock-solid. You’d never know that inside, there’s this constant hum of static.
My chest tightens again. The room tilts for a second. I grab the edge of the sink.
Not now. Not here.
I duck into a stall before anyone walks in, sit on the lid, elbows on my knees, hands over my face. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I count my breaths. I feel ridiculous, a grown man hiding in a toilet cubicle trying not to pass out.
Somewhere behind the stall door I hear my dad’s voice: Stop crying, be a man.
“I’m not crying,” I mutter. “I’m breathing.”
Same thing, really. Trying to keep the dam from breaking.
I think, briefly, of all the verses I’ve heard about not being afraid. “Do not be anxious about anything.” “Fear not.” “The Lord is my rock.” It’s funny how I’ve basically replaced God with my own chest. My own calm face. Like, I’m my own Lord and rock. That’s not how I’d say it out loud, but that’s how I live.
After work, I swing by the hospital. Dad’s sitting up in bed, watching some game show with the sound off, wires stuck to his chest. Mom’s in the chair by the window, hands folded, Bible open but unread on her lap.
“Hey,” I say, stepping in. “How’s the party?”
Dad grunts. “Food sucks.”
“That’s how you know it’s a real hospital,” I say. “If they start serving steak, you should worry.”
He smirks. Mom gives me a tired smile. I do the thing I always do in hard rooms: crack jokes, keep it light, distract from the elephant.
“How you feeling?” I ask, even though I can read the chart as well as he can.
“Old,” he says. “Doctors say it’s not as bad as last time. Just gotta ‘take it easy.’ Whatever that means.”
“You gonna listen?” I ask.
He snorts. We both know he won’t. Men in my family don’t “take it easy.” We work until something breaks, then we duct tape it and keep going.
Mom looks at me like she wants to say something spiritual. She’s the only one in our family who does feelings out loud, but years married to my dad trained her to make them small.
“Been praying Psalm 34,” she says softly. “You know that one, honey? ‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’”
She says it like it’s comfort, a warm blanket. I hear it like an accusation. Brokenhearted? Crushed? That’s not allowed. Not for men like us. We’re not brokenhearted, we’re just… busy. Tired. Overworked. Slightly malfunctioning machines.
“I like the one about ‘those who don’t work don’t eat,’” Dad says. “Keeps you honest.”
I laugh, grateful for the deflection.
Mom sighs. “Your father,” she says, half-affection, half-frustration.
On the drive home, the verse keeps replaying in my head. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” If that’s true, then what does that mean for me? Because most days, God feels about as close as the moon. Beautiful, in theory. Useless, in practice.
Maybe the problem is I’m not brokenhearted enough. Or maybe that’s just another way to blame myself for something I don’t understand.
Thursday night is men’s group. I go mostly because it looks good. A married Christian dad who skips men’s group raises eyebrows. A married Christian dad who shows up, brings chips, cracks jokes, and nods thoughtfully during prayer requests gets approved.
We meet in the church basement, twelve guys in folding chairs in a sad circle under fluorescent lights that make everyone look tired and slightly dead. There’s the usual spread: chips, store-brand cookies, a veggie tray no one touches, and a big pot of coffee because apparently we’re all eighty.
Our leader, Dan, is a big guy with a beard that makes him look like a gentle lumberjack. He opens in prayer, then reads a short passage.
“Tonight,” he says, “I thought we’d just… be honest. No study guide. No video. Just us, talking about what’s real.”
That sentence alone makes my skin itch.
He reads Psalm 34:18. Of course. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
I feel it in my chest, right where the anxiety sits. The words are like a hand hovering over a bruise.
Dan looks around. “Who here would say they feel brokenhearted right now?” he asks. “Crushed in spirit? Not in theory. Right now.”
One guy laughs nervously. A couple shift in their chairs. I take a sip of coffee to buy time. No way I’m raising my hand. Brokenhearted is for widowers and addicts and cancer patients. Not white-collar project managers with upgraded iPhones and a leased SUV.
To my left, Jason clears his throat. He’s usually one of the louder guys, all stories about sports and his glory days playing college ball. Tonight, he looks smaller.
“I, uh…” He stares at the floor. His voice cracks. “My wife left last month. Took the kids. I haven’t told anyone ’cause… I’m embarrassed, I guess. I feel like I failed. I’ve been using porn for years. Said I’d stop a hundred times. Didn’t. She found stuff on my phone and just… had enough.”
The room goes quiet. My stomach twists. I keep my face still.
He keeps talking, words spilling now. “I always thought I had it under control, you know? Like, it was my thing. My stress relief. Better than cheating. That’s what I told myself. But she said it was cheating. She said I was choosing pixels over her. I don’t even… I don’t know how to live in my own skin right now. I feel… crushed. I don’t know how else to say it.”
Tears slide down his face. Full-grown man, shoulders shaking, crying in a church basement under bad lighting. Every alarm in my body goes off. Run. Joke. Change the subject.
Instead, something weird happens. Dan gets up, walks over, puts a hand on his shoulder. Another guy kneels and starts praying softly, nothing fancy, just, “God, be close. Help him.” No one mocks. No one rolls their eyes. A couple other guys are wiping their faces too.
I feel this pressure rising in my throat. It scares me more than any panic attack.
This could be you, a voice in my head whispers. You could talk. You could tell them about the stall, the late nights, the way your wife looks at you like a stranger. You could say you’re not okay. You could stop playing the rock.
I picture it for a second. Me, opening my mouth, saying, “Guys, I’m not fine. I’m addicted to being okay. And to porn. And to people thinking I have it together. My wife wants to leave and it’s mostly my fault.” I imagine their faces, their hands on my shoulder, the prayers. I imagine God feeling near instead of abstract.
My heart starts hammering. My palms sweat. My knee bounces.
Dan looks around. “Anybody else?” he says gently. “You don’t have to share. But if you want to, this is a safe place.”
Everyone’s eyes are suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. Shoelaces. Coffee cups. The scuffed tile. No one wants to be next.
I clear my throat.
“I mean…” I say, forcing a smirk. “My biggest sin is I eat too many carbs. So, uh, pray for me, guys.”
A few chuckle. The tension breaks a little. Dan gives me a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Inside, I want to punch myself. That was my out. My shot. I could have been honest. Instead, I threw a joke at the most honest moment I’ve seen in years like a grenade.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of surface-level shares. Work stress. Kids. “I should read my Bible more.” I mumble something about being busy. When we close in prayer, I mumble a safe Christian phrase: “God, thank you that you’re strong when we’re weak.” It sounds holy. It’s a lie coming from my mouth.
After group, as we’re heading to our cars, Marcus falls into step beside me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m good,” I say automatically. “That was… heavy, huh?”
He studies me. “Yeah. But good heavy.” He pauses. “You sure you’re okay? You were twitchy during prayer.”
“Twitchy?” I scoff. “Bro, I had too much coffee. That’s all.”
He doesn’t push. “If you ever want to talk,” he says, “for real… I’m here. No judgment. None of us are as put-together as we look. You know that, right?”
I shrug, unlock my car. “I’m fine, man. Seriously. Just tired.”
That night, Emily’s on the couch when I get home, laptop closed, TV off. That’s never a good sign.
“How was group?” she asks.
“Good,” I say, dropping my keys in the bowl. “You know. Guys. Bibles. Bad coffee.”
“Did you share anything?” she asks.
I bristle. “What is this, a report card?”
She folds her hands. “I just… you’ve been off. For a while. I was hoping you’d talk to someone.”
“Talked to God,” I say. “That counts, right?”
She does that slow blink that means she’s trying not to explode. “You know what I mean.”
I do. I ignore it. I sit in the chair across from her instead of next to her on the couch. It’s a distance of three feet that feels like thirty miles.
She takes a breath. “I called a counselor,” she says.
Something in me snaps. “You what?”
“I called a counselor,” she repeats, voice shaking slightly but steady. “For us. For our marriage. Her name is—”
“We don’t need—”
“—Sarah Stevens,” she says, talking over me, which she almost never does. “She’s highly recommended. She has experience with couples where one partner is emotionally unavailable.”
“Emotionally unavailable,” I repeat, like it’s a slur.
“That’s what you are, Matt,” she says, and now the tears are in her eyes. “You’re unavailable. I’m married to a ghost. You show up physically, you pay bills, you fix things when they break, but you don’t let me see you. I feel like I’m begging you to be my husband.”
My defenses go up so fast I’m dizzy. “That’s not fair,” I say. “I go to work every day. I come home. I spend time with Lily. I go to church. I go to your family stuff even when I don’t want to. I provide. I don’t cheat. I don’t hit you. I don’t drink myself stupid. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do and somehow it’s not enough because I don’t sit around talking about my feelings?”
“You don’t talk about anything real,” she says. “Do you know how alone I feel? I would almost rather you scream at me than stay like this. At least then I’d know there’s something in there.”
“That’s insane,” I say, standing up. “You’d rather I scream at you?”
“I’d rather you be honest,” she fires back.
I pace. “Fine. Here’s honest: I don’t want to sit in a room with some stranger and have you list all the ways I suck while she nods and takes notes.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not doing it,” I say. “I’m not broken. We’re not broken. We’re just stressed.”
“And I’m telling you we are broken,” she says, standing now too, voice rising. “We are so broken, Matt. I’m drowning over here. I lie awake next to you at night and I feel like a widow before I’m even forty.”
The widow line hits harder than I want to admit. My mom in that hospital chair, Bible open, eyes tired. Is that Emily’s future?
I can’t go there. Too much. Shut it down.
“This is drama,” I say, dismissive. “You’re making it worse than it is.”
Her mouth falls open. “Drama,” she repeats. “Okay.”
She walks past me, into the bedroom. I hear drawers opening, the squeak of the closet door. A minute later she comes out with a duffel bag. She starts throwing clothes in it. T-shirts, jeans, underwear, random stuff. No method, just motion.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stomach dropping.
“Going to my sister’s,” she says. “For a while.”
“You’re leaving,” I say, like I can’t process the words.
“I’m not filing for divorce,” she says. “Yet. I’m giving you space. And I’m giving myself a chance to remember what it’s like to breathe.”
“Emily, come on,” I say, moving toward her. “You’re overreacting.”
She stops packing, looks up at me, and laughs. It’s a bitter sound I’ve never heard from her before.
“You keep saying that,” she says. “Anytime I tell you I’m hurting, I’m ‘overreacting.’ Anytime I say we need help, you say I’m ‘making it worse than it is.’ I’m done gaslighting myself into thinking I’m crazy. This is real, Matt. I’m leaving because you already have. You left a long time ago. You’re just… physically present.”
“That’s not fair,” I repeat, because I don’t have any other words.
She zips the bag. “I’m giving you one more chance,” she says, voice trembling. “You call that counselor. You set up an appointment. You show me with actions, not words, that you’re willing to be vulnerable. To let me in. To let anyone in. If you don’t… I don’t know if there’s anything left to save.”
She walks past me, bag over her shoulder. She stops at Lily’s door, pushes it open. Our daughter’s asleep, sprawled sideways, stuffed unicorn under one arm. Emily kisses her forehead, whispers something I can’t hear.
“I’ll bring her back Sunday night,” she says quietly when she returns. “You can have the weekend to… think.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
She meets my eyes. “Stop pretending you’re okay,” she says. “That’d be a start.”
The front door closes behind her. The house is dead quiet.
I stand in the middle of the living room, staring at the door like it might swing back open and she’ll say, “Kidding!” But it doesn’t. She doesn’t.
Instead of collapsing, I do what I always do: I make a list. Dishes. Laundry. Trash. Budget. I straighten the cushions on the couch, because God forbid a pillow be crooked while my marriage implodes.
Later that night, I get a text from Marcus.
Heard Emily and Lily are staying with her sister. You want company?
My heart stutters. News travels fast in church circles.
I stare at the screen. I picture Marcus on my couch, looking at me with those annoyingly kind eyes, asking questions I don’t want to answer. What are you afraid of? How are you really? When did you start disappearing?
I type: Nah man, we’re fine. Just needed some space. Couples fight, you know.
I delete “we’re fine” because even I can’t make my thumbs lie that hard. I send: Just needed some space. All good.
He replies immediately. You sure? I can be there in 15.
I put the phone face down on the coffee table. I pace. I pick it up again.
Come, I type. I delete it.
I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of: him seeing the stack of dirty dishes and empty wrappers that prove I’m not as together as I act, or him seeing through whatever story I spin and calling me on it.
I finally send: I’m good bro. Exhausted. Rain check?
Three dots appear, disappear. Finally: Okay. I’m here if you need me. For real.
I toss the phone onto the couch like it burned me. I grab my laptop instead.
By 1 a.m., the house is dark, the only light the blue glow of my screen. Pop-up after pop-up, tab after tab. My brain is buzzing, my body’s numb. I tell myself it’s better than thinking. Better than feeling. Better than sitting in the silence and hearing my own excuses bounce off the walls.
When I finally crash into bed, the sheets on her side are still warm from when she packed.
The next morning, Lily’s empty room hits me harder than I want to admit. Her bed is made (Emily’s doing), stuffed animals lined up, tiny socks in the hamper. I stand in the doorway, an intruder in my own house.
I go to work like nothing happened. Because that’s what you do. You compartmentalize. You put on the rock mask. You get stuff done.
My performance drops, though. It’s subtle at first. I miss a detail here, forget an email there. Nothing huge. But in this job, death comes by a thousand paper cuts.
A junior dev, Sarah, points out a flaw in my plan in front of the team. Normally, I’d thank her, adjust. Today, raw and sleep-deprived, I snap.
“Maybe if you’d read the full spec before chiming in, you’d understand why we did it this way,” I say, harsher than I mean to.
The room goes quiet. She shrinks back, face flushing. Jeff raises an eyebrow at me.
“Let’s take this offline,” he says.
After the meeting, he pulls me into his office.
“You good?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
He leans back, folds his arms. “Look, I don’t need to know your personal business. But you bit Sarah’s head off in there. That’s not like you.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just… a lot going on at home.”
“Take a day,” he says. “Or a few. Whatever you need. This project’s important, but not as important as you not burning out.”
The irony of my boss telling me not to burn out while I’m actively burning out isn’t lost on me.
“I’m good,” I repeat. “I just need to focus.”
He studies me for a second. “You know,” he says slowly, “you don’t always have to be the rock.”
I actually laugh. “You started that, remember?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Turns out sometimes rocks crack. Just… don’t wait until you blow up to tell someone you’re drowning, okay?”
Everyone keeps using the same metaphors. Drowning. Burning out. Breaking. I keep dodging them like bullets in a video game. If I just keep moving, they can’t hit me.
Days blur. Emily and I text logistics about Lily. Pickup times, homework, dentist appointments. Nothing real. It’s like running a small business together instead of a marriage.
One Friday, I’m supposed to pick up Lily at four for her school’s little talent show thing. She’s been practicing a silly dance for weeks, making me watch it every night I had the energy to pretend I was watching. “You’re coming, right, Daddy?” she asked. “You promise?” I promised.
Friday afternoon, I’m sitting at my desk, headphones in, trying to yank my brain through a spreadsheet, when a familiar tightness clamps my chest. I take a breath. Another. It doesn’t let up. My vision goes a little fuzzy at the edges.
I check the clock. 3:50. If I leave now, I can make it.
I tell myself: Just one more email. Just fix this one thing. Then go.
I look up again and it’s 4:27.
“Crap,” I say aloud, ripping my headphones off. I grab my bag, half-run to the elevator, curse at the slow doors, sprint to my car.
On the drive, my phone buzzes with texts. I don’t check them. I don’t want to see.
I pull into the school lot at 4:58, heart pounding. I jog toward the auditorium. It’s emptying. Parents filing out, kids with glitter on their faces and handmade certificates.
Emily stands near the doors with Lily. Lily’s in a sparkly shirt, hair in two lopsided pigtails, holding a crumpled ribbon. Her eyes are red. When she sees me, her face does this thing—lights up, then falters, like she’s trying to decide whether to be happy or mad.
“Hey!” I say, forcing cheer. “I’m so sorry, traffic was—”
“Traffic?” Emily says, voice flat. “Show started at four.”
“I know, I just—work ran late and—”
“You promised,” Lily says quietly. That hurts way worse than Emily’s tone.
“I know, bug,” I say, kneeling. “I’m sorry. How’d it go?”
“Fine,” she says, shrugging, looking at her shoes. The word is a knife. It’s my own word coming back to kill me. I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.
“Mom filmed it,” she adds. “You can watch it later.”
It’s an offer. A consolation prize. I hate myself for being the kind of dad who has to watch his daughter’s life on a screen because he can’t show up when it counts.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d love to.”
Emily just looks at me. No lecture. Somehow, that’s worse.
On the drive back to my place, Lily hums a bit of her song in the backseat. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles go white. I want to cry. The feeling is so foreign it scares me. I swallow it. It goes down like a rock.
That night, after I drop Lily back at her aunt’s, I sit in my dark living room alone. The quiet isn’t peaceful. It’s accusatory.
On the coffee table, my Bible sits under a pile of mail. I don’t remember the last time I opened it for me, not for a group or to find a verse to toss at someone else.
I push the mail aside, flip it open randomly. It lands in Psalms. My eyes fall on familiar words like they’re highlighted just for me:
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
No escape this time. No sermon. No small group. Just me and a sentence that won’t shut up.
I stare at the page until the letters blur. Something in my chest finally gives. Not a big cinematic break, just a tiny hairline crack.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Fine. I’m… not okay.”
The words feel like ripping duct tape off my soul. My throat burns. My eyes sting. My body, not used to this, fights it. But my arms suddenly feel too heavy to hold up. I slide off the couch onto my knees without meaning to, Bible still open on the cushion.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I mutter. “I don’t know how to be… brokenhearted. Or whatever. I don’t know how to…” I wave a hand vaguely, like God needs me to pantomime emotions.
Tears spill over. Real ones. First time in… I honestly can’t remember. Maybe when Lily was born. Maybe before that.
It feels… ridiculous. A grown man, kneeling by his IKEA couch, crying into old carpet. I half-expect lightning to strike or a worship band to appear in my hallway. Instead, it’s just me and my ragged breathing and an almost-tangible sense that something—Someone—is near.
For a second, I actually feel it. Like a warm weight on my shoulders. An invisible Presence sitting in the mess with me. Not fixing it. Just… close. The verse slams into my chest again: The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.
Maybe this is what they mean. Maybe all the sermons and testimonies and emotional people with their arms raised weren’t just making it up. Maybe God actually shows up in the raw places. Not the polished, rehearsed testimonies, but the ugly middle.
“Okay,” I whisper again. “I’m scared. Is that what you want me to say? I’m scared my dad’s gonna die and I won’t know how to grieve. I’m scared my wife’s never coming back. I’m scared I’ve already ruined my daughter’s life. I’m scared if people see how weak I am they’ll lose respect for me. I’m scared you’re not actually here and I’m just talking to my furniture.”
It all comes out in a rush. Confession, sort of. Not the respectable kind you share in group. The embarrassing kind.
For about thirty seconds, it feels like the safest place in the world.
Then, just as quickly, another voice kicks in. Not literal, not demonic, just… me. The old script.
Stop crying, be a man.
Crying won’t fix your marriage. Emotions won’t get you a raise. Vulnerability won’t put food on the table. You’re kneeling on a stained carpet, talking to someone you can’t see, while your actual life is on fire. Get up. Be practical. Make a plan. God helps those who help themselves. (Which, by the way, isn’t in the Bible, but I quote it like it is.)
I scrub my face with my hands, annoyed at the dampness. The Presence I felt a moment ago suddenly feels distant again. Or maybe I just pushed it away.
“Yeah, okay,” I say out loud, like I’m closing a meeting. “That was… something.”
I stand up, legs stiff. The room looks the same. Couch. TV. Empty picture hooks where our family photo used to hang before Emily took it. No angels. No burning bush. Just my stupid, beating heart and the hum of the fridge.
My phone buzzes on the table. It’s a notification from some Bible app I downloaded months ago and never use: “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3”
The timing is creepy. Or perfect. Or both.
I hover over the notification, feel the temptation to sink back down, to lean in, to actually let myself be wounded in front of God. To admit that I’m not just “off” or “tired” but actually… broken.
Instead, I swipe the notification away.
“I don’t have time to fall apart,” I mutter.
I open a browser and type the same old sites into the search bar. The algorithm knows me well. It feeds me what I want: distraction. Control. A world where nakedness is scripted and no one expects anything from me.
Later, in bed, I stare at the ceiling and tell myself I’ll call the counselor tomorrow. Or the day after. Or after this project. Or after Dad’s next appointment. Or after Emily gives me another ultimatum. There will always be a better time to be honest than now.
Months pass.
The project at work launches. It’s not a disaster, but it’s not the triumph it could’ve been. My performance review is “meets expectations” with a few pointed notes about “needing to delegate better” and “watching interpersonal tone under stress.” Translation: You’re slipping, man.
I don’t get fired. I also don’t get the promotion I’d been quietly gunning for. Jeff gives the lead on the next big project to Sarah—the junior dev I snapped at.
“She’s showed a lot of initiative,” he tells me in his office. “And you, honestly… you seem like you’ve got a lot on your plate. Thought this might be a good time for you to take a step back, catch your breath.”
Step back. Catch my breath. It’s like there’s this conspiracy in the universe to get me to stop pretending I’m okay.
I nod, say the right things. “Totally understand. Happy for her.” Inside, I feel humiliated. Replaced. Useless.
I don’t tell Emily. We barely talk beyond logistics anyway. The counselor’s number is still on a sticky note on my fridge. I move it occasionally when I wipe the counters. I’ve memorized the digits without ever dialing.
Lily spends every other weekend with me. We do what I think dads are supposed to do. We go to the park. We get ice cream. We watch movies. I make sure she’s buckled in right and that she brushes her teeth. I tell myself that’s enough. That love is mostly showing up and making sure they don’t die.
But sometimes, when she’s coloring at the table or building something with Legos on the floor, she’ll look up and just… watch me. Like she’s trying to figure out something she doesn’t have the words for yet.
One Sunday, as I’m dropping her back at her aunt’s place, she hugs me tighter than usual.
“Daddy?” she says into my shirt.
“Yeah, bug?”
“Are you sad?”
The question catches me off guard. I pull back, look at her small face. Her eyes are big, searching.
“Why do you ask?” I say.
“You look sad,” she says simply. “And Mommy looks sad. And Aunt Claire says it’s okay to be sad. But you always say you’re fine.”
The word stings again. Fine. My mask.
“I’m okay,” I say automatically.
She tilts her head. “It’s okay if you’re sad,” she says. “I won’t be scared.”
I should say it. Right there. To my seven-year-old. “Yeah, I’m sad. I miss you when you’re not here. I miss Mommy. I’m scared I messed up.” That would be vulnerability. Not oversharing, just honesty.
Instead, I pat her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, kiddo,” I say. “That’s my job. To worry about you. You just be a kid, okay?”
She nods slowly, like she’s filing away data for later. “Okay,” she says. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, and it’s the one thing I’m absolutely sure of.
After she runs inside, I sit in my car and grip the steering wheel. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at a body of water that might save me or drown me. The jump is admitting weakness. The cliff is made of all the years I spent being told that men don’t cry, don’t talk, don’t crack.
I don’t jump.
Instead, I drive to church.
It’s easier to go when I don’t have Emily giving me side-eye during worship because I’m scrolling my phone under the seat. I can just show up, say hi to people, drink bad coffee, sing words I barely think about, nod through another sermon about some aspect of the Christian life I’m supposedly living.
Today, though, the pastor does something different. He doesn’t preach. He brings a guy up to share his story.
The guy is in his forties, shaved head, tattoos, looks like he could bench-press me. He takes the mic, clears his throat.
“I used to think being a man meant never showing weakness,” he says. My spine goes rigid. “My dad was old-school. ‘Quit crying, tough it out,’ that kind of thing. I brought that into my marriage, my friendships, even my faith. I believed in Jesus, but I didn’t actually trust Him with anything that made me look bad. Or weak.”
People chuckle. I don’t.
He talks about an affair. About losing his job. About almost losing his kids. Then he talks about the night he finally broke down on his kitchen floor, sobbing, telling God he was done pretending. How Psalm 34:18 popped into his head—“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted”—and how, for the first time, he actually felt it.
“I thought vulnerability would make me lose respect,” he says. “But hiding was what was killing me. My secrets hardened my heart. I was a shell. It wasn’t until I got honest—with God, with my wife, with some guys from this church—that anything changed.”
The sanctuary is dead quiet. People are leaning in. A couple of visibly tough dudes are wiping their eyes. I sit there, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
He keeps going. “I still struggle with pride. I still want to put on the strong face. But I’ve tasted what it’s like to let people see the cracks. And I’ve tasted what it’s like to have God meet me there, not when I’ve got it together but when I’m a mess. And I’ll tell you this: there’s more life in that than in all the years I spent playing the rock.”
Somewhere deep inside, something in me is nodding. Yes. That. Do that. Say something. Move.
I don’t.
After service, people swarm him. Thank you for sharing. That was powerful. I walk past, give a noncommittal nod. Inside, I’m seething. Not at him. At myself. At the distance between what I know is true and what I’m willing to live.
In the parking lot, my phone buzzes. Marcus again.
How are you really?
There’s that word. Really.
I stand in the cold air, thumb hovering.
I’m falling apart but pretending I’m not, I type. I delete it.
I’m tired, I type. Delete.
I settle on: I’m good. God’s got me.
Even my lies are wrapped in Christianese.
I don’t hit send yet. I stare at the blinking cursor. Beside me, a guy straps his toddler into a car seat, kisses his wife, laughs at something she says. Normal. Messy. Human.
The phrase from the testimony loops in my head: Hiding was what was killing me. My secrets hardened my heart.
I feel my own heart. Not metaphorically. Literally. My chest. It feels… hard. Numb. Like it should hurt more than it does.
Do I want God that close? Close to the brokenhearted sounds nice until you realize it means you have to admit you’re brokenhearted. Not over business, not over some abstract injustice. Over your own life. Your own choices. Your own refusal to be weak.
I could tell Marcus. Right now. I could say, “I’m not okay. Can we talk?” He’d answer. He’d show up. I know he would.
Instead, I backspace my half-typed message.
I send him a thumbs-up emoji.
That’s my spiritual state in one tiny yellow hand.
I get in my car, close the door, and the world goes quiet again. Just me, the dashboard, the buzz of the engine.
I think about Psalm 34:18. I think about my mom in that hospital chair, whispering it over my dad. I think about Emily at the kitchen table, begging me to let her in. I think about Lily asking if I’m sad and promising she wouldn’t be scared.
I think about the night on my knees by the couch, the fleeting sense that God was actually, tangibly near when I finally let something crack.
And I think about how fast I slammed that door shut.
That’s the thing no one tells you about vulnerability. You can get a glimpse of it, taste it for thirty seconds, and still decide you’d rather be alone in a locked room than risk anyone seeing you naked in your soul.
So that’s where I am.
In the car. In the locked room. Playing the part I’ve played my whole life.
The rock.
From the outside, I still look solid. Steady job. Decent clothes. Church attendance. A few Bible verses I can quote if needed. A daughter who still hugs me. A wife who hasn’t technically divorced me… yet.
Inside, I know the truth.
I’m not a rock. I’m a man-shaped shell built around a frightened kid who learned early that tears equal weakness and weakness equals rejection. I never unlearned it. I baptized it, gave it Bible verses, dressed it up in productivity and moral respectability.
Maybe one day I’ll break for real. Call the counselor. Call Marcus. Call out to God and not shut Him down when He shows up. Maybe I’ll finally let someone see how much I’m not okay and discover that maybe—just maybe—weakness isn’t the end of my story but the door to something like real strength.
But today?
Today I turn the key in the ignition, watch my reflection in the rearview mirror as I back out. My face is calm. Controlled. Unreadable.
Ask anyone who sees me drive away how I’m doing, and they’ll say the same thing.
He’s good. He’s strong. He’s the rock.
They’d be half right.
The other half?
The rock is crumbling. And I’m the only one who can hear it.
Author’s Note
I wrote this story because “I’m fine” has become one of the most dangerous lies men tell.
Not because everything has to turn into a group-therapy overshare, but because a lot of us have learned that being a man means one thing above all: don’t crack. Don’t cry. Don’t need. Don’t ask for help. Just keep performing—at work, at home, at church—and hope nobody notices how much of it is duct tape and denial.
Matt is fictional, but the patterns are not. The late-night anxiety. The quiet porn habit as a pressure valve. The marriage that looks stable from the outside but is running on fumes. The way “being strong” becomes a way to avoid being known. I didn’t want to write a neat testimony with a bow at the end. I wanted to sit in that awful in-between space where a man knows he’s not okay and still chooses to keep hiding.
If you picked up on the tension around Psalm 34:18—“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”—that was intentional. The verse is there like a constant background noise in Matt’s life. He hears it from his mom, at church, in group, on his Bible app. The problem isn’t that God is silent; it’s that Matt refuses to be the kind of man that verse is written for: brokenhearted, crushed, honest.
Underneath all the details, this story is about fear of vulnerability:
- Fear of losing respect if you admit weakness
- Fear of not knowing what to do with your own emotions if you stop stuffing them
- Fear that if you open up to God or other men, you’ll be met with judgment or awkward silence instead of real presence
The tragedy for Matt isn’t a dramatic car crash or public scandal. It’s the slow erosion of his soul and relationships because he clings to the image of “the rock” more than he clings to God or the people who actually love him. He gets glimpses of another way—a raw confession at men’s group, a quiet moment on the carpet where he finally lets himself cry, a daughter asking if he’s sad—and he still pulls back. That’s the haunting part. Nothing changes… and yet everything is slowly falling apart.
If this story resonated with you at all, even uncomfortably, that’s kind of the point. Not to shame you, not to diagnose you, and definitely not to tell you what you “have to” do. Just to hold up a mirror of what it actually looks like when hiding becomes a lifestyle.
Some men crash hard and obvious. Others, like Matt, just slowly harden. Their job title still works. Their faith still has all the right words. Their family still posts decent photos. But the inside is hollow. And the thing about hollowness is that it echoes. It haunts.
The core idea behind this whole series is simple and costly: Vulnerability is not an optional add-on to the Christian life or to healthy masculinity. It’s the doorway. To real brotherhood. To actual intimacy in marriage. To a faith that’s more than performance. To experiencing the God who is “close to the brokenhearted,” not to the perfectly put-together.
What you do with that is up to you. This story doesn’t end with Matt calling the counselor or breaking down in front of Marcus or sprinting back to Emily with a grand apology. It stops where a lot of men actually are: still in the car, still saying “I’m good,” still sending a thumbs-up emoji instead of telling the truth.
If anything in you recognized yourself in that final scene, don’t rush past it. Sit with the discomfort. Ask yourself, honestly, where you’re playing “the rock” and what it’s costing you. And if you decide to talk to God, or to a friend, or to a counselor about it—that’s your story. Not Matt’s. And it doesn’t have to end the way his does.
Call to Action
If this story struck a chord, don’t just scroll on. Join the brotherhood—men learning to build, not borrow, their strength. Subscribe for more stories like this, drop a comment about where you’re growing, or reach out and tell me what you’re working toward. Let’s grow together.
D. Bryan King
Sources
- Psalm 34:18 – The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
- John 11:33-35 – Jesus wept
- 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 – Power made perfect in weakness
- James 5:16 – Confess your sins to each other
- APA – Men and Mental Health: Why Men Are Less Likely to Seek Help
- APA Monitor – The Crisis in Masculinity and Emotional Expression
- Masculinity and Help-Seeking: Implications for Depression and Suicide Risk (PubMed)
- Gottman Institute – How Emotional Withdrawal Destroys Relationships
- Pornography Use and Relationship Satisfaction (NCBI)
- Psychology Today – Why Vulnerability Is Essential for Healthy Relationships
- BibleProject – The Bible and Emotions
- Desiring God – The Power of Admitting Weakness
- The Gospel Coalition – Real Men Cry
- Barna – Masculinity, Identity, and the Church
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.
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The “High and Dry Club”: the thread about 30 years of the Forth car ferries running aground again, and again (and again)
This thread was originally written and published in April 2023.
Talking about ferries running aground, you might think that kind of thing is unfortunate, so spare a thought for the brand new Firth of Forth car ferry Robert the Bruce which ran aground at South Queensferry on Saturday 24th March, after barely 3 weeks in service. The vessel was on its penultimate cross-Firth trip of the day and became stuck fast at South Queensferry at the Hawes pier. It was not until late on the Sunday that she was successfully refloated. “New Ferry Boat Stranded at South Queensferry” said the headline in the Scotsman.
Valentine & Sons postcard of “Robert the Bruce” at North QueensferryBarely a week later, on April 5th, Robert the Bruce suffered the ignominy of grounding once more at South Queensferry, ending up sitting high and dry, perpendicular to the pier. “New Ferry Boat Grounded Again” said the headline in the Scotsman.
Robert the Bruce aground at South Queensferry on April 5th 1934.The hapless vessel was aground again 3 weeks later. It took 5 hours to get the passengers off. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to run aground once in a month may be regarded as a misfortune; to run aground twice in a month looks like carelessness. Three months later? You’ve guessed it. “Robert the Bruce” was aground again. This was getting to be rather common and the local paper hardly gave it a second mention, devoting only a single sentence to the mishap.
The ferry boat Robert the Bruce ran aground on Sunday, but was refloated at high tide without any apparent damage
Linlithgowshire Gazette, 6th July 1934In all, in her first 4 months of service, Robert the Bruce would run aground four times. Her identical sister ship Queen Margaret managed to avoid this awkward habit entirely. For now…
The Forth car ferries were the brainchild of, were built by and were operated by the William Denny & Brothers shipyard in Dumbarton. Sir Maurice Denny had crossed the Forth in the old vessel Dundee one day and had thought to himself that a purpose-built car ferry (or pair of ferries) could provide a much more efficient service. As a captain of industry he had only to pick up the phone to the London and North Eastern Railway to set the wheels in motion. The LNER paid for the ferries and leased them back to Denny, who operated them. This arrangement meant that even if the ferries poached traffic away from the railway, the railway would still profit from them.
Robert the Bruce at North Queensferry, by-NC-ND, Ballast Trust.The design was innovative and Denny had high hopes it would catch on. The vessels had a large, open car deck, with small passenger cabins fore and aft. There were ramps on each side at each end for loading and unloading vehicles. The bridge sat high above the deck on a gantry in the middle of the ship to give a commanding view in all directions. Propulsion was by paddle wheels, an antiquated system on paper, but one which had certain advantages when manoeuvring at slow speed and which was brought up to date with each paddle being independently driven by an electric motor. This, coupled with rudders fore and aft, meant for superb manoeuvrability and the ability to change power and the direction of drive very rapidly. Diesel engines under the car deck drove the generators for the motors, and exhausted through a pair of slender funnels. This arrangement allowed the ferries complete roll-on, roll-off operation for rapid loading and unloading and the ability to move forwards or backwards at the same speed and no loss of handling.
Perhaps in sympathy with and to share in Robert‘s blushes, the older companion Dundee decided to get in on the action and ran aground at South Queensferry in 1939. Again, her passengers and cars were stuck aboard for hours, the Evening News printing an atmospheric night time photo of her with the ghostly outline of one of the piers of the Forth Bridge behind her.
Dundee aground at South Queensferry, 24/1/39, Edinburgh Evening NewsThe Forth ferries survived WW2 without further incidence but on 18th August 1947, perhaps as a late celebration of victory, one of them ran aground again in the mud off South Queensferry. This time however it was the Queen Margaret at fault, and Robert the Bruce redeemed herself by towing her off the mud.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/23666168@N04/37190198854
In 1949, the ancient Dundee was replaced by a new vessel, the Mary Queen of Scots, identical to Robert and Margaret except that post-war economies meant that the electric drive system for the paddles was replaced with a hydraulic one. To welcome the new member to the team, Robert the Bruce decided to show off as only she knew how, and on April 3rd 1950 she ran aground. Again. At South Queenferry. Again. This incident was on account of the mooring rope that should have been thrown to the pier landing short combined with a sudden gust of wind that blew her onto the mud before the engines, idle at the time, could respond.
Robert the Bruce aground at South Queensferry in the 1950s. Credit National World sales.Queen Margaret tried to repay the towing compliment from 1947 back and rescue her stricken sister however the tow rope broke and then the tide receded, making further rescue attempts on that tide impossible. Two hours service was wasted and Robert had to wait to be rescued on the next high tide.
Friday May 23rd 1952. Guess what happened. Go on. I’ll give you one guess… Wrong! It was actually Mary Queen of Scots which grounded this time. Strictly speaking she didn’t run aground, as she found herself stuck when the tide receded while she was both loading vehicles and taking on oil, the additional weight incurred settling her on the mud beneath her keel. Attempts by Robert the Bruce to get her off the mud at South Queensferry proved fruitless and again they had to wait for a high tide to free her
Mary Queen of Scots at North Queensferry, with Queen Margaret behind her. Via University of St. Andrews Collections, © J. A. Weir EstateNever one to be outdone by her sisters, two months later Robert the Bruce managed to run aground 50 yards short of the pier at South Queensferry. Queen Margaret came to the rescue and tower her off the mud before the tide left her high and dry after a 20 minute struggle. It was almost a year before one of the ferries ran aground again. This time it was Mary Queen of Scots: caught by the combination of a westerly wind and an autumn equinox tide “which tends to empty the river” on August 27th 1953. She was left high and dry in the middle of the Firth for an hour and a half until a change in the tide allowed her to come unstuck. This left the passengers of a bus trip sorely disappointed; they had crossed on one ferry while their vehicle followed on the next (Mary Queen of Scots) and got stuck mid-stream. By the time the bus made it over, he found his passengers had given up and headed home to Edinburgh by alternative means.
In 1955, due to booming traffic, the three Forth ferries were joined by a fourth Forth ferry (try saying that in a hurry), when the slightly larger Sir William Wallace joined the fleet.
The Fourth Forth Ferry, “Sir William Wallace”. c. 1960, from THELMA Donor number: 0186-013True to the established tradition, Robert the Bruce welcomed her by running aground! On March 12th 1955, in dense fog, she hit a mudbank some 500 yards short of the pier. This time it was an exceptional spring tide at fault. It took an hour and a half to free her.
The following year, it as Queen Margaret’s turn again and on December 2nd 1956? she was stuck at South Queensferry once more. It would take a whole 3 years in service for Sir William Wallace to join the “High and Dry Club”, which she first managed in February 1958. Again it was at the South Queensferry end and she had 40 cars on board when she got stuck. The passengers were rowed ashore and either bussed to Edinburgh, or waited 5 hours in the Hawes Inn for their cars. One hopes that the refreshments provided were only teas and coffees. She repeated the act at the end of September that year, getting within 20 feet of the pier at South Queensferry and then grounding on the mud. 50 passengers were taken ashore in the lifeboats. She became stuck at 740AM and it was not until a high tide at noon that she floated free.
Sir William Wallace aground at Hawes Pier in February 1958. Picture from The Sphere.Queen Margaret tried something new and rammed one of the piers of the Forth Bridge in February 1961 when the wind and tide conditions conspired against her and made controlled progress impossible. There was one last grounding hurrah for the Forth ferries, when this same vessel took to the Hawes Pier mud for 1 and a ¼ hours on the appropriate date of Friday 13th October 1961. It took the combined efforts of Sir William Wallace and Mary Queen of Scots to free her.
In the final decade of the ferries on the Forth, Sir William Wallace added an additional dimension to the difficulties of running the service; she was bigger than her sisters but had the same engines and same sized loading ramps, so was slower and took longer to load and unload. This made her a logistical pain in the bum for keeping to schedule and her smaller sisters frequently had to slow down when crossing against a tide or current to let her catch up. Her car deck was also slightly differently arranged and her master found out the hard way that if he packed them on tightly the same way as the other ships, then they became wedge in, couldn’t get onto the ramp and thus couldn’t get back off again! The solution was simple but inelegant – the ship sailed around to the other side of the pier and all the cars reversed off instead.
Sir William Wallace – not aground – at Hawes Pier in South Queensferry. Date unknown, credit unknown.The owner-operators of the ferries went into liquidation in August 1963 and so the liquidators continued to run the service for a further 13 months until September 3th 1964 when the last sailed before the Forth Road Bridge was opened. Guests of honour on the last scheduled voyage were HM The Queen and HRH Prince Philip. Queen Margaret had clearly no sense of occasion and humour and refused to run aground with the royal party aboard.
Last Ferry across the Forth. West Lothian Courier – Friday 11 September 1964As a postscript, I should note that nobody was harmed in any of these groundings, beyond the feelings of the ships’ masters. In actual fact, considering the intense scheduling of the route over 30 years hard work, in tricky waters, they actually had a pretty enviable safety record. In the late 1950s, all four ships ran an all-day service at 15 minute intervals, making 40,000 crossings a year, carrying 1,250,000 passengers, 600,000 cars and 200,000 commercial vehicles.
The Forth ferries were laid up at Burntisland after the end of their working lives and the three oldest ones were unceremoniously scrapped. The press were far more interested in the new Road Bridge to be interested in three old ships. The newest and largest, Sir William Wallace, spent a few years service at Islemeer in the Netherlands before being scrapped too in 1970. After 30 years of car ferry service, the scores on the doors for running aground were:
- King Robert the Bruce, 7 times
- Queen Margaret, 3 times
- Joint, Sir William Wallace and Mary Queen of Scots, 2 times each
- Dundee, 1 time
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Anyone Can Be Your NDIS Support Worker. Who Is Keeping You Safe?
Reflections from several years on the scheme.
I have been on the NDIS for several years. A recent re-hiring process clarified something I had long suspected. The scheme has a workforce problem, and participants are the ones bearing the brunt.
There Is No Mandatory Registration Requirement
Under current Australian law, participants who self-manage or plan-manage their NDIS funding can hire any person as a support worker. Independent support Workers require no registration or minimum training standards.
The worker who enters your home, learns your medical history, handles your medications, and has significant authority over your daily life may have no formal preparation for any of it.
The NDIS Quality and Safeguards Commission exists and handles serious complaints, including abuse, neglect, and criminal conduct. Boundary violations, confidentiality breaches, and chronic unpreparedness that fall below that threshold leave participants largely without recourse. Skilled and ethical workers bring those qualities from their own formation and prior training. When those qualities are absent, the participant discovers this after the fact, and any remedy is slow, uncertain, and theirs alone to pursue.
That is the baseline. Everything that follows is built on it.
The Dog
My service dog performs specific medical functions. His effectiveness depends on remaining focused and oriented to me.
Some workers reach for him the moment they walk through the door. They do not ask.
Touching a service animal without permission is a safety violation and, in some contexts, carries legal weight under Australian disability discrimination law. A worker entering the home of a participant with a service animal has a professional obligation to understand what that animal does and what it requires. That preparation belongs to the provider. Its absence transfers the risk to the participant.
This is a professional standard.
What the Certificate III Does Not Cover
The Certificate III in Individual Support is the standard qualification in this sector and takes between six and twelve months. For many workers, it is completed online with minimal supervised practice hours, and it does not prepare them for the clinical and ethical complexity of supporting people with invisible or fluctuating conditions.
A worker with their cert may have no framework for how fatigue functions in ME/CFS or autistic burnout. Why pushing through is sometimes dangerous, why capacity varies day to day in ways that cannot be read from a plan approved six months ago, and why the participant’s account of their own condition is the primary source of accurate information.
Workers who arrive without that preparation fill the gap with assumptions. Correcting those assumptions, educating the person sent to support them, translating their own experience into terms the worker finds legible — this falls to the participant. That work is skilled and exhausting, and no NDIS plan funds it.
A Plan Is Not a Person
An NDIS plan records approved supports, written at a point in time by a planner who may have spent an hour with the participant. What it cannot capture is what a Tuesday looks like after a bad night, or how that changes what Wednesday can hold.
Workers who treat the plan as a complete picture end up supporting the document. When the participant’s actual day diverges from what the plan implies, some workers become confused, inflexible, or subtly sceptical. The participant then carries that response throughout the day.
Confidentiality Is Not Discretionary
Support workers enter your home and learn about your health, medications, finances, and relationships. The ethical obligations around that information are clear. Workers routinely underestimate them.
Information moves in cars and waiting rooms, in casual exchanges during handover. Shared without consent in contexts the participant did not choose, each instance is a breach — and the pattern across a working relationship represents a significant, under-reported ethical problem in the sector.
Providers who do not train explicitly for this are not taking their duty of care seriously. The Commission’s framework addresses the most serious breaches. Below that threshold, the everyday end goes largely unmonitored.
A Diagnosis Is a Starting Point
Workers who arrive having already decided how a participant communicates — based on a diagnostic label rather than a conversation — are making a category error with professional consequences.
Autism produces significant variation across individuals, as do acquired brain injury, cerebral palsy, and many mental health conditions. Experience with one person transfers little to the next. The participant is the authority on their own communication and needs. Workers who approach that through the filter of what they already think they know require the participant to work harder to be accurately seen.
Being Present Is the Job
A worker on their phone during support hours has decided where their attention belongs. That decision reflects on the worker and the provider, and on a regulatory environment that permits it without consequence.
Participant time is funded. Divided attention during that time is a failure of basic professional conduct.
Punctuality Has Clinical Stakes
For participants with fatigue conditions, medication schedules, or appointment windows that cannot flex, a late worker is sometimes no worker at all. The window closes, an appointment is missed, and the energy available at nine o’clock is gone by ten.
Workers who treat punctuality as a matter of general courtesy have not been told what the costs of late arrival are in this context. Providers should tell them, in writing, before they begin.
Handover Exists for a Reason
When workers do not read handover notes, participants repeat themselves. Questions get asked that the notes had already answered. Avoidable errors get made. The first portion of support time becomes unpaid orientation, delivered by the person the support was supposed to serve.
Reading the handover is the floor — it signals that a worker understands preparation begins before they arrive.
The Re-Hiring Process
When a support worker leaves, the participant does not simply wait for a replacement. A position description must be written, applications reviewed, interviews conducted, and a hiring decision made with incomplete information about a person who will have access to their home, their medical records, and significant portions of their daily life.
After that comes orientation, and the contextual knowledge that made the previous support functional has to be rebuilt from the beginning.
None of this is funded. The NDIS has no category for the labour of maintaining access to support, and for participants with high support needs or complex conditions, that labour is substantial.
What Competent Support Looks Like
Workers who are good at this job arrive having read the available documentation, ask before they act, and give more weight to what the participant tells them about their own needs than to any plan or file. When something changes during a shift, the response is immediate and adaptive.
Their presence does not generate additional work for the participant — that is the measure. Support that requires the participant to manage, educate, or compensate for a worker’s preparation gaps has redistributed the load rather than reduced it.
What Needs to Change
Mandatory registration for all NDIS workers, regardless of how a participant’s plan is managed, would create a baseline of accountability. Genuine consequences for ethical breaches — including low-level, chronic ones — would change the conditions under which workers operate.
Revised training requirements are long overdue: supervised hours in complex support settings, explicit coverage of invisible conditions, service animal protocols, confidentiality obligations, and fluctuating capacity. These are the preparations the role demands.
Wages need to rise. Turnover in this sector is directly linked to pay, and the continuity of support is a safety condition for many participants — the relationship carries clinical knowledge that cannot be quickly or cheaply reconstructed.
Participants also need a complaints mechanism they can use without fear of losing their support. Accountability cannot depend on participants absorbing the risk of speaking up.
The Principle and the Practice
Participant choice and control sit at the centre of the NDIS. On paper, participants are experts in their own lives and directors of their own support.
That principle requires a workforce framework capable of supporting it. At present, workers enter participants’ lives with significant authority over their access, safety, and daily functioning, operating under training requirements and accountability mechanisms that do not match the weight of what they are being asked to do.
Positioned at the centre of a scheme designed around their needs, the participant often ends up holding the system together when it fails to hold itself together.
That is worth saying clearly, and worth changing.
Share this with someone who trains support workers, manages a disability provider, or influences workforce policy. The problem is documented. The changes required are known. What is missing is the will to treat this workforce and the people it serves with the seriousness they both deserve. #NDIS #DisabilityRights #DisabilitySupport #SupportWorkers #DisabledPeople #DisabilityAdvocacy #Accessibility #AusPol #Australia
-
Anyone Can Be Your NDIS Support Worker. Who Is Keeping You Safe?
Reflections from several years on the scheme.
I have been on the NDIS for several years. A recent re-hiring process clarified something I had long suspected. The scheme has a workforce problem, and participants are the ones bearing the brunt.
There Is No Mandatory Registration Requirement
Under current Australian law, participants who self-manage or plan-manage their NDIS funding can hire any person as a support worker. Independent support Workers require no registration or minimum training standards.
The worker who enters your home, learns your medical history, handles your medications, and has significant authority over your daily life may have no formal preparation for any of it.
The NDIS Quality and Safeguards Commission exists and handles serious complaints, including abuse, neglect, and criminal conduct. Boundary violations, confidentiality breaches, and chronic unpreparedness that fall below that threshold leave participants largely without recourse. Skilled and ethical workers bring those qualities from their own formation and prior training. When those qualities are absent, the participant discovers this after the fact, and any remedy is slow, uncertain, and theirs alone to pursue.
That is the baseline. Everything that follows is built on it.
The Dog
My service dog performs specific medical functions. His effectiveness depends on remaining focused and oriented to me.
Some workers reach for him the moment they walk through the door. They do not ask.
Touching a service animal without permission is a safety violation and, in some contexts, carries legal weight under Australian disability discrimination law. A worker entering the home of a participant with a service animal has a professional obligation to understand what that animal does and what it requires. That preparation belongs to the provider. Its absence transfers the risk to the participant.
This is a professional standard.
What the Certificate III Does Not Cover
The Certificate III in Individual Support is the standard qualification in this sector and takes between six and twelve months. For many workers, it is completed online with minimal supervised practice hours, and it does not prepare them for the clinical and ethical complexity of supporting people with invisible or fluctuating conditions.
A worker with their cert may have no framework for how fatigue functions in ME/CFS or autistic burnout. Why pushing through is sometimes dangerous, why capacity varies day to day in ways that cannot be read from a plan approved six months ago, and why the participant’s account of their own condition is the primary source of accurate information.
Workers who arrive without that preparation fill the gap with assumptions. Correcting those assumptions, educating the person sent to support them, translating their own experience into terms the worker finds legible — this falls to the participant. That work is skilled and exhausting, and no NDIS plan funds it.
A Plan Is Not a Person
An NDIS plan records approved supports, written at a point in time by a planner who may have spent an hour with the participant. What it cannot capture is what a Tuesday looks like after a bad night, or how that changes what Wednesday can hold.
Workers who treat the plan as a complete picture end up supporting the document. When the participant’s actual day diverges from what the plan implies, some workers become confused, inflexible, or subtly sceptical. The participant then carries that response throughout the day.
Confidentiality Is Not Discretionary
Support workers enter your home and learn about your health, medications, finances, and relationships. The ethical obligations around that information are clear. Workers routinely underestimate them.
Information moves in cars and waiting rooms, in casual exchanges during handover. Shared without consent in contexts the participant did not choose, each instance is a breach — and the pattern across a working relationship represents a significant, under-reported ethical problem in the sector.
Providers who do not train explicitly for this are not taking their duty of care seriously. The Commission’s framework addresses the most serious breaches. Below that threshold, the everyday end goes largely unmonitored.
A Diagnosis Is a Starting Point
Workers who arrive having already decided how a participant communicates — based on a diagnostic label rather than a conversation — are making a category error with professional consequences.
Autism produces significant variation across individuals, as do acquired brain injury, cerebral palsy, and many mental health conditions. Experience with one person transfers little to the next. The participant is the authority on their own communication and needs. Workers who approach that through the filter of what they already think they know require the participant to work harder to be accurately seen.
Being Present Is the Job
A worker on their phone during support hours has decided where their attention belongs. That decision reflects on the worker and the provider, and on a regulatory environment that permits it without consequence.
Participant time is funded. Divided attention during that time is a failure of basic professional conduct.
Punctuality Has Clinical Stakes
For participants with fatigue conditions, medication schedules, or appointment windows that cannot flex, a late worker is sometimes no worker at all. The window closes, an appointment is missed, and the energy available at nine o’clock is gone by ten.
Workers who treat punctuality as a matter of general courtesy have not been told what the costs of late arrival are in this context. Providers should tell them, in writing, before they begin.
Handover Exists for a Reason
When workers do not read handover notes, participants repeat themselves. Questions get asked that the notes had already answered. Avoidable errors get made. The first portion of support time becomes unpaid orientation, delivered by the person the support was supposed to serve.
Reading the handover is the floor — it signals that a worker understands preparation begins before they arrive.
The Re-Hiring Process
When a support worker leaves, the participant does not simply wait for a replacement. A position description must be written, applications reviewed, interviews conducted, and a hiring decision made with incomplete information about a person who will have access to their home, their medical records, and significant portions of their daily life.
After that comes orientation, and the contextual knowledge that made the previous support functional has to be rebuilt from the beginning.
None of this is funded. The NDIS has no category for the labour of maintaining access to support, and for participants with high support needs or complex conditions, that labour is substantial.
What Competent Support Looks Like
Workers who are good at this job arrive having read the available documentation, ask before they act, and give more weight to what the participant tells them about their own needs than to any plan or file. When something changes during a shift, the response is immediate and adaptive.
Their presence does not generate additional work for the participant — that is the measure. Support that requires the participant to manage, educate, or compensate for a worker’s preparation gaps has redistributed the load rather than reduced it.
What Needs to Change
Mandatory registration for all NDIS workers, regardless of how a participant’s plan is managed, would create a baseline of accountability. Genuine consequences for ethical breaches — including low-level, chronic ones — would change the conditions under which workers operate.
Revised training requirements are long overdue: supervised hours in complex support settings, explicit coverage of invisible conditions, service animal protocols, confidentiality obligations, and fluctuating capacity. These are the preparations the role demands.
Wages need to rise. Turnover in this sector is directly linked to pay, and the continuity of support is a safety condition for many participants — the relationship carries clinical knowledge that cannot be quickly or cheaply reconstructed.
Participants also need a complaints mechanism they can use without fear of losing their support. Accountability cannot depend on participants absorbing the risk of speaking up.
The Principle and the Practice
Participant choice and control sit at the centre of the NDIS. On paper, participants are experts in their own lives and directors of their own support.
That principle requires a workforce framework capable of supporting it. At present, workers enter participants’ lives with significant authority over their access, safety, and daily functioning, operating under training requirements and accountability mechanisms that do not match the weight of what they are being asked to do.
Positioned at the centre of a scheme designed around their needs, the participant often ends up holding the system together when it fails to hold itself together.
That is worth saying clearly, and worth changing.
Share this with someone who trains support workers, manages a disability provider, or influences workforce policy. The problem is documented. The changes required are known. What is missing is the will to treat this workforce and the people it serves with the seriousness they both deserve. #NDIS #DisabilityRights #DisabilitySupport #SupportWorkers #DisabledPeople #DisabilityAdvocacy #Accessibility #AusPol #Australia
-
Anyone Can Be Your NDIS Support Worker. Who Is Keeping You Safe?
Reflections from several years on the scheme.
I have been on the NDIS for several years. A recent re-hiring process clarified something I had long suspected. The scheme has a workforce problem, and participants are the ones bearing the brunt.
There Is No Mandatory Registration Requirement
Under current Australian law, participants who self-manage or plan-manage their NDIS funding can hire any person as a support worker. Independent support Workers require no registration or minimum training standards.
The worker who enters your home, learns your medical history, handles your medications, and has significant authority over your daily life may have no formal preparation for any of it.
The NDIS Quality and Safeguards Commission exists and handles serious complaints, including abuse, neglect, and criminal conduct. Boundary violations, confidentiality breaches, and chronic unpreparedness that fall below that threshold leave participants largely without recourse. Skilled and ethical workers bring those qualities from their own formation and prior training. When those qualities are absent, the participant discovers this after the fact, and any remedy is slow, uncertain, and theirs alone to pursue.
That is the baseline. Everything that follows is built on it.
The Dog
My service dog performs specific medical functions. His effectiveness depends on remaining focused and oriented to me.
Some workers reach for him the moment they walk through the door. They do not ask.
Touching a service animal without permission is a safety violation and, in some contexts, carries legal weight under Australian disability discrimination law. A worker entering the home of a participant with a service animal has a professional obligation to understand what that animal does and what it requires. That preparation belongs to the provider. Its absence transfers the risk to the participant.
This is a professional standard.
What the Certificate III Does Not Cover
The Certificate III in Individual Support is the standard qualification in this sector and takes between six and twelve months. For many workers, it is completed online with minimal supervised practice hours, and it does not prepare them for the clinical and ethical complexity of supporting people with invisible or fluctuating conditions.
A worker with their cert may have no framework for how fatigue functions in ME/CFS or autistic burnout. Why pushing through is sometimes dangerous, why capacity varies day to day in ways that cannot be read from a plan approved six months ago, and why the participant’s account of their own condition is the primary source of accurate information.
Workers who arrive without that preparation fill the gap with assumptions. Correcting those assumptions, educating the person sent to support them, translating their own experience into terms the worker finds legible — this falls to the participant. That work is skilled and exhausting, and no NDIS plan funds it.
A Plan Is Not a Person
An NDIS plan records approved supports, written at a point in time by a planner who may have spent an hour with the participant. What it cannot capture is what a Tuesday looks like after a bad night, or how that changes what Wednesday can hold.
Workers who treat the plan as a complete picture end up supporting the document. When the participant’s actual day diverges from what the plan implies, some workers become confused, inflexible, or subtly sceptical. The participant then carries that response throughout the day.
Confidentiality Is Not Discretionary
Support workers enter your home and learn about your health, medications, finances, and relationships. The ethical obligations around that information are clear. Workers routinely underestimate them.
Information moves in cars and waiting rooms, in casual exchanges during handover. Shared without consent in contexts the participant did not choose, each instance is a breach — and the pattern across a working relationship represents a significant, under-reported ethical problem in the sector.
Providers who do not train explicitly for this are not taking their duty of care seriously. The Commission’s framework addresses the most serious breaches. Below that threshold, the everyday end goes largely unmonitored.
A Diagnosis Is a Starting Point
Workers who arrive having already decided how a participant communicates — based on a diagnostic label rather than a conversation — are making a category error with professional consequences.
Autism produces significant variation across individuals, as do acquired brain injury, cerebral palsy, and many mental health conditions. Experience with one person transfers little to the next. The participant is the authority on their own communication and needs. Workers who approach that through the filter of what they already think they know require the participant to work harder to be accurately seen.
Being Present Is the Job
A worker on their phone during support hours has decided where their attention belongs. That decision reflects on the worker and the provider, and on a regulatory environment that permits it without consequence.
Participant time is funded. Divided attention during that time is a failure of basic professional conduct.
Punctuality Has Clinical Stakes
For participants with fatigue conditions, medication schedules, or appointment windows that cannot flex, a late worker is sometimes no worker at all. The window closes, an appointment is missed, and the energy available at nine o’clock is gone by ten.
Workers who treat punctuality as a matter of general courtesy have not been told what the costs of late arrival are in this context. Providers should tell them, in writing, before they begin.
Handover Exists for a Reason
When workers do not read handover notes, participants repeat themselves. Questions get asked that the notes had already answered. Avoidable errors get made. The first portion of support time becomes unpaid orientation, delivered by the person the support was supposed to serve.
Reading the handover is the floor — it signals that a worker understands preparation begins before they arrive.
The Re-Hiring Process
When a support worker leaves, the participant does not simply wait for a replacement. A position description must be written, applications reviewed, interviews conducted, and a hiring decision made with incomplete information about a person who will have access to their home, their medical records, and significant portions of their daily life.
After that comes orientation, and the contextual knowledge that made the previous support functional has to be rebuilt from the beginning.
None of this is funded. The NDIS has no category for the labour of maintaining access to support, and for participants with high support needs or complex conditions, that labour is substantial.
What Competent Support Looks Like
Workers who are good at this job arrive having read the available documentation, ask before they act, and give more weight to what the participant tells them about their own needs than to any plan or file. When something changes during a shift, the response is immediate and adaptive.
Their presence does not generate additional work for the participant — that is the measure. Support that requires the participant to manage, educate, or compensate for a worker’s preparation gaps has redistributed the load rather than reduced it.
What Needs to Change
Mandatory registration for all NDIS workers, regardless of how a participant’s plan is managed, would create a baseline of accountability. Genuine consequences for ethical breaches — including low-level, chronic ones — would change the conditions under which workers operate.
Revised training requirements are long overdue: supervised hours in complex support settings, explicit coverage of invisible conditions, service animal protocols, confidentiality obligations, and fluctuating capacity. These are the preparations the role demands.
Wages need to rise. Turnover in this sector is directly linked to pay, and the continuity of support is a safety condition for many participants — the relationship carries clinical knowledge that cannot be quickly or cheaply reconstructed.
Participants also need a complaints mechanism they can use without fear of losing their support. Accountability cannot depend on participants absorbing the risk of speaking up.
The Principle and the Practice
Participant choice and control sit at the centre of the NDIS. On paper, participants are experts in their own lives and directors of their own support.
That principle requires a workforce framework capable of supporting it. At present, workers enter participants’ lives with significant authority over their access, safety, and daily functioning, operating under training requirements and accountability mechanisms that do not match the weight of what they are being asked to do.
Positioned at the centre of a scheme designed around their needs, the participant often ends up holding the system together when it fails to hold itself together.
That is worth saying clearly, and worth changing.
Share this with someone who trains support workers, manages a disability provider, or influences workforce policy. The problem is documented. The changes required are known. What is missing is the will to treat this workforce and the people it serves with the seriousness they both deserve. #NDIS #DisabilityRights #DisabilitySupport #SupportWorkers #DisabledPeople #DisabilityAdvocacy #Accessibility #AusPol #Australia
-
The States That Will Not Be Commanded
There is a class of human experience that answers to no direct order. You cannot tell yourself to fall asleep. The instruction arrives at a locked door. Sleep refuses the simple transaction of command and execution. Instead, it assembles itself once certain conditions are present, and those conditions include, strangely enough, the act of picturing yourself already inside the state you are trying to enter. Lying down begins it. Closed eyes continue it. Imagining yourself asleep, entering the self who has already arrived, completes the condition, and only then does sleep agree to appear.
This is stranger than it first appears. The imagination precedes the fact. A fiction makes the reality possible. Rehearsal of the self-in-the-state must happen before the state itself will consent to arrive. Once you notice this mechanism operating in sleep, you begin to see it everywhere in human life, running underneath experiences we mistakenly believed we commanded outright.
Aldous Huxley named the pattern in The Perennial Philosophy and called it the law of reversed effort, a phrase Alan Watts later carried into wider circulation. Viktor Frankl, working from the clinic rather than the lecture hall, called it paradoxical intention, and used it to treat patients whose anxieties had swallowed them whole. The insomniac who tries hardest to sleep stays awake longest. The speaker who strains to stop stammering stammers worst. Frankl’s counterintuitive instruction was to command the symptom itself. Try to stay awake. Try to stammer. The paradox broke the grip because it acknowledged a humble fact about voluntary will: the target state cannot be seized. It must be invited, imagined, allowed.
Taoists arrived at the same recognition two thousand years earlier and called it wu-wei, the action that is not action, the doing that happens when the doer gets out of the way. An archer who aims too hard misses. A calligrapher who grips the brush too firmly produces a dead line. Skill of that order lives in a zone the conscious will cannot enter, and the only approach is to imagine yourself having already arrived.
Consider sexual arousal. The physiological response is famously resistant to command. It answers to imagined scenarios, to remembered encounters, to anticipated scenes. Masters and Johnson built an entire clinical practice around this recognition, and their cure for performance anxiety, sensate focus, works by replacing effort with imagined sensation. A man instructed to perform often cannot. The same man, invited to picture the experience without obligation, finds his body following his mind into the state. Arousal answers to conjuring.
Consider crying on cue, the classical actor’s problem. Stanislavski solved it through affective memory. The tears come by indirection. You imagine the dog you lost when you were nine, and water arrives because the body has been invited to the feeling rather than ordered to produce it. Meryl Streep has described her process in interviews as a summoning of remembered feeling. Daniel Day-Lewis has described his as an inhabitation sustained across months. Neither description sounds like command. The actor imagines the self-in-grief, and grief supplies the water.
Consider the act of belief. Pascal, sitting in his Pensées alongside the famous wager, offered an argument about habituation that has been quietly underestimated for centuries. For those seeking faith, he advised acting as if they already believed. Kneel. Take the holy water. Say the prayers. Imagine yourself as a believer, and belief may arrive as a secondary effect of the performance. William James extended the line in “The Will to Believe” and argued that many truths about ourselves only become true after we have imagined them as true. Courage is one such truth. Generosity is another. Love, perhaps most of all.
Athletes at the top of their disciplines understand this mechanism as technical knowledge. Jack Nicklaus, in Golf My Way, said he never hit a shot, even in practice, without first seeing the ball’s flight in his mind. Swimmers rehearse the race in imagination with such precision that brain scans show neural activation patterns overlapping substantially with actual performance. The body runs the course in miniature before it runs the course in fact. Physical execution follows the mental simulation because the state has already been entered once, invisibly, and needs only to be entered again with flesh attached.
Hypnosis is perhaps the cleanest case. An unwilling subject cannot be forced into the hypnotic state, and even a willing one cannot seize it by direct will. The subject must imagine entering the state, going down the staircase, growing heavy in the chair, and that imagining is the mechanism itself. Imaging studies by David Spiegel and colleagues at Stanford, along with related work by Oakley and Halligan, suggest that hypnotic suggestion produces neural patterns distinct from ordinary pretending, patterns more closely aligned with genuine perceptual and motor processing. Imagination has done something to the body. Fiction has produced a physiological effect the subject did not will.
Creative inspiration operates by the same architecture. You cannot command an idea to arrive. You can imagine yourself as receptive, empty, waiting, and the idea tends to arrive into that imagined vacancy. Keats called this negative capability, the capacity to sit inside uncertainty without grabbing for resolution. A poet imagines the listening state, and the poem walks into the room. Composers describe the same choreography. Mathematicians describe it too, with Poincaré’s famous account of the solution arriving as he stepped onto the bus at Coutances. He had imagined himself receptive for weeks. The solution waited until it found him properly prepared to receive it.
Grief resolution belongs in this same family, though we rarely recognize it. Bereaved people move through grief by imagining themselves on the other side of it. Picturing a future morning when the first thought lands somewhere other than the absence. Picturing the moment when the dead person’s name can be spoken without collapse. These acts of imagination are how integration proceeds. George Bonanno’s resilience research and Pauline Boss’s work on ambiguous loss both describe this imaginative prefiguration as the actual mechanism of healing. The sequence matters here. Picturing a survivable future comes first, and resolution begins to assemble around the picture.
At the collective level, Benedict Anderson’s argument about imagined communities rides the same rail. A nation exists first as an imaginative act performed by millions of strangers simultaneously. Citizens picture themselves as a “we” before the institutional “we” coheres. American colonists had to imagine being Americans before they could act as Americans. Thomas Kuhn made a parallel argument about scientific revolutions. A new paradigm must be imaginatively entertained, played with speculatively, inhabited as a thought experiment, before it can be adopted and tested. Discovery through accumulation alone misses the interior work that makes discovery possible. Science imagines a world in which the anomalies make sense, and then searches for evidence that the imagined world is the actual one.
Here is the argument this pattern makes against one of the most persistent myths in the modern self-help industry. The doctrine of pure willpower, of steel discipline, of command-and-execute personal transformation, is largely false where it matters most. The states we most want to inhabit are precisely the states that refuse to be seized. Love, sleep, creative insight, courage, calm, sexual pleasure, athletic flow, artistic voice, faith, grief’s resolution, recovery from trauma, the dissolution of anxiety, the emergence of a new political identity, all of these operate by invitation rather than by conquest. A hard clamp on such a state accelerates its evasion. Accurate, patient rehearsal of the self already inside it increases the odds of arrival, because the state recognizes the address it has been given.
This observation is a claim about where real labor lives, rather than a brief for passivity. The imagination itself is labor. Stanislavski’s affective memory takes years to develop. Nicklaus’s visualization was the product of thousands of hours of prior experience that had furnished his imagination with accurate material to draw on. Negative capability, for the poet, demands a difficult kind of vigilance. Picturing a survivable future, for the mourner, takes courage most days. Real work is being performed in all these cases. That work simply lives somewhere other than where the popular literature keeps telling us to look. It lives in the imagining, in furnishing the mind with a vivid enough rehearsal that the body and the world will follow the script.
There is a political dimension to this that deserves attention. Populations that cannot imagine a different arrangement of their lives will not produce one. Authoritarian regimes understand this perfectly and invest heavily in controlling imagination itself, in prescribing what may be pictured, in criminalizing the mental rehearsal of alternatives. The censor knows the law of reversed effort by heart, and knows in particular that the imagined state of freedom must be interrupted before the political state of freedom can be prevented. Organizers and artists, working from the other direction, understand that their first task is to make the unfamiliar picturable. Once a people can picture themselves free, the mechanics of becoming free start to assemble around the picture.
The craft implication for writers, for dramatists, for anyone whose work involves summoning states in other people’s minds, is that we are running an imagination-furnishing enterprise whose surface resembles persuasion. A good novel gives the reader a vivid enough picture of the inside of another life that the feeling assembles itself inside the reader. A good play stages grief with such precision that the audience’s own grief, resting dormant, recognizes the invitation and walks forward. Argument alone has never moved anyone who was going to stay put. The form of the work becomes a staircase. Descent happens inside the audience’s own imagination. The hypnotic principle and the aesthetic principle are the same principle.
Which returns us to sleep, where we began. The oldest ritual of the human body is the rehearsal that makes becoming possible. Every night of your life you practice the technique that governs almost everything else you will ever want to enter. You picture yourself arriving, and arrival follows the picture. The repetition is so automatic it escapes notice. Seeing the principle for the first time reorders the interior map. The question that has held your energy for years, the question of how to force yourself into the state you want, reveals itself as badly posed. Sharper questions take shape around what you had been missing. What does the inside of that state actually feel like, in specific sensory detail? What would I need to picture accurately enough for my body and my circumstances to follow the picture into becoming?
Less effort, applied through better imagination, answers more of what we want in a human life than the heavier strategies that continue to dominate our self-improvement literature. That reweighting, once genuinely made, reorders a great deal.
#activeImagination #actor #archer #arousal #belief #command #dreaming #effect #human #imagination #medicine #mind #pascal #problem #psychology #sleep #states #theatre #thought -
The States That Will Not Be Commanded
There is a class of human experience that answers to no direct order. You cannot tell yourself to fall asleep. The instruction arrives at a locked door. Sleep refuses the simple transaction of command and execution. Instead, it assembles itself once certain conditions are present, and those conditions include, strangely enough, the act of picturing yourself already inside the state you are trying to enter. Lying down begins it. Closed eyes continue it. Imagining yourself asleep, entering the self who has already arrived, completes the condition, and only then does sleep agree to appear.
This is stranger than it first appears. The imagination precedes the fact. A fiction makes the reality possible. Rehearsal of the self-in-the-state must happen before the state itself will consent to arrive. Once you notice this mechanism operating in sleep, you begin to see it everywhere in human life, running underneath experiences we mistakenly believed we commanded outright.
Aldous Huxley named the pattern in The Perennial Philosophy and called it the law of reversed effort, a phrase Alan Watts later carried into wider circulation. Viktor Frankl, working from the clinic rather than the lecture hall, called it paradoxical intention, and used it to treat patients whose anxieties had swallowed them whole. The insomniac who tries hardest to sleep stays awake longest. The speaker who strains to stop stammering stammers worst. Frankl’s counterintuitive instruction was to command the symptom itself. Try to stay awake. Try to stammer. The paradox broke the grip because it acknowledged a humble fact about voluntary will: the target state cannot be seized. It must be invited, imagined, allowed.
Taoists arrived at the same recognition two thousand years earlier and called it wu-wei, the action that is not action, the doing that happens when the doer gets out of the way. An archer who aims too hard misses. A calligrapher who grips the brush too firmly produces a dead line. Skill of that order lives in a zone the conscious will cannot enter, and the only approach is to imagine yourself having already arrived.
Consider sexual arousal. The physiological response is famously resistant to command. It answers to imagined scenarios, to remembered encounters, to anticipated scenes. Masters and Johnson built an entire clinical practice around this recognition, and their cure for performance anxiety, sensate focus, works by replacing effort with imagined sensation. A man instructed to perform often cannot. The same man, invited to picture the experience without obligation, finds his body following his mind into the state. Arousal answers to conjuring.
Consider crying on cue, the classical actor’s problem. Stanislavski solved it through affective memory. The tears come by indirection. You imagine the dog you lost when you were nine, and water arrives because the body has been invited to the feeling rather than ordered to produce it. Meryl Streep has described her process in interviews as a summoning of remembered feeling. Daniel Day-Lewis has described his as an inhabitation sustained across months. Neither description sounds like command. The actor imagines the self-in-grief, and grief supplies the water.
Consider the act of belief. Pascal, sitting in his Pensées alongside the famous wager, offered an argument about habituation that has been quietly underestimated for centuries. For those seeking faith, he advised acting as if they already believed. Kneel. Take the holy water. Say the prayers. Imagine yourself as a believer, and belief may arrive as a secondary effect of the performance. William James extended the line in “The Will to Believe” and argued that many truths about ourselves only become true after we have imagined them as true. Courage is one such truth. Generosity is another. Love, perhaps most of all.
Athletes at the top of their disciplines understand this mechanism as technical knowledge. Jack Nicklaus, in Golf My Way, said he never hit a shot, even in practice, without first seeing the ball’s flight in his mind. Swimmers rehearse the race in imagination with such precision that brain scans show neural activation patterns overlapping substantially with actual performance. The body runs the course in miniature before it runs the course in fact. Physical execution follows the mental simulation because the state has already been entered once, invisibly, and needs only to be entered again with flesh attached.
Hypnosis is perhaps the cleanest case. An unwilling subject cannot be forced into the hypnotic state, and even a willing one cannot seize it by direct will. The subject must imagine entering the state, going down the staircase, growing heavy in the chair, and that imagining is the mechanism itself. Imaging studies by David Spiegel and colleagues at Stanford, along with related work by Oakley and Halligan, suggest that hypnotic suggestion produces neural patterns distinct from ordinary pretending, patterns more closely aligned with genuine perceptual and motor processing. Imagination has done something to the body. Fiction has produced a physiological effect the subject did not will.
Creative inspiration operates by the same architecture. You cannot command an idea to arrive. You can imagine yourself as receptive, empty, waiting, and the idea tends to arrive into that imagined vacancy. Keats called this negative capability, the capacity to sit inside uncertainty without grabbing for resolution. A poet imagines the listening state, and the poem walks into the room. Composers describe the same choreography. Mathematicians describe it too, with Poincaré’s famous account of the solution arriving as he stepped onto the bus at Coutances. He had imagined himself receptive for weeks. The solution waited until it found him properly prepared to receive it.
Grief resolution belongs in this same family, though we rarely recognize it. Bereaved people move through grief by imagining themselves on the other side of it. Picturing a future morning when the first thought lands somewhere other than the absence. Picturing the moment when the dead person’s name can be spoken without collapse. These acts of imagination are how integration proceeds. George Bonanno’s resilience research and Pauline Boss’s work on ambiguous loss both describe this imaginative prefiguration as the actual mechanism of healing. The sequence matters here. Picturing a survivable future comes first, and resolution begins to assemble around the picture.
At the collective level, Benedict Anderson’s argument about imagined communities rides the same rail. A nation exists first as an imaginative act performed by millions of strangers simultaneously. Citizens picture themselves as a “we” before the institutional “we” coheres. American colonists had to imagine being Americans before they could act as Americans. Thomas Kuhn made a parallel argument about scientific revolutions. A new paradigm must be imaginatively entertained, played with speculatively, inhabited as a thought experiment, before it can be adopted and tested. Discovery through accumulation alone misses the interior work that makes discovery possible. Science imagines a world in which the anomalies make sense, and then searches for evidence that the imagined world is the actual one.
Here is the argument this pattern makes against one of the most persistent myths in the modern self-help industry. The doctrine of pure willpower, of steel discipline, of command-and-execute personal transformation, is largely false where it matters most. The states we most want to inhabit are precisely the states that refuse to be seized. Love, sleep, creative insight, courage, calm, sexual pleasure, athletic flow, artistic voice, faith, grief’s resolution, recovery from trauma, the dissolution of anxiety, the emergence of a new political identity, all of these operate by invitation rather than by conquest. A hard clamp on such a state accelerates its evasion. Accurate, patient rehearsal of the self already inside it increases the odds of arrival, because the state recognizes the address it has been given.
This observation is a claim about where real labor lives, rather than a brief for passivity. The imagination itself is labor. Stanislavski’s affective memory takes years to develop. Nicklaus’s visualization was the product of thousands of hours of prior experience that had furnished his imagination with accurate material to draw on. Negative capability, for the poet, demands a difficult kind of vigilance. Picturing a survivable future, for the mourner, takes courage most days. Real work is being performed in all these cases. That work simply lives somewhere other than where the popular literature keeps telling us to look. It lives in the imagining, in furnishing the mind with a vivid enough rehearsal that the body and the world will follow the script.
There is a political dimension to this that deserves attention. Populations that cannot imagine a different arrangement of their lives will not produce one. Authoritarian regimes understand this perfectly and invest heavily in controlling imagination itself, in prescribing what may be pictured, in criminalizing the mental rehearsal of alternatives. The censor knows the law of reversed effort by heart, and knows in particular that the imagined state of freedom must be interrupted before the political state of freedom can be prevented. Organizers and artists, working from the other direction, understand that their first task is to make the unfamiliar picturable. Once a people can picture themselves free, the mechanics of becoming free start to assemble around the picture.
The craft implication for writers, for dramatists, for anyone whose work involves summoning states in other people’s minds, is that we are running an imagination-furnishing enterprise whose surface resembles persuasion. A good novel gives the reader a vivid enough picture of the inside of another life that the feeling assembles itself inside the reader. A good play stages grief with such precision that the audience’s own grief, resting dormant, recognizes the invitation and walks forward. Argument alone has never moved anyone who was going to stay put. The form of the work becomes a staircase. Descent happens inside the audience’s own imagination. The hypnotic principle and the aesthetic principle are the same principle.
Which returns us to sleep, where we began. The oldest ritual of the human body is the rehearsal that makes becoming possible. Every night of your life you practice the technique that governs almost everything else you will ever want to enter. You picture yourself arriving, and arrival follows the picture. The repetition is so automatic it escapes notice. Seeing the principle for the first time reorders the interior map. The question that has held your energy for years, the question of how to force yourself into the state you want, reveals itself as badly posed. Sharper questions take shape around what you had been missing. What does the inside of that state actually feel like, in specific sensory detail? What would I need to picture accurately enough for my body and my circumstances to follow the picture into becoming?
Less effort, applied through better imagination, answers more of what we want in a human life than the heavier strategies that continue to dominate our self-improvement literature. That reweighting, once genuinely made, reorders a great deal.
#activeImagination #actor #archer #arousal #belief #command #dreaming #effect #human #imagination #medicine #mind #pascal #problem #psychology #sleep #states #theatre #thought -
The States That Will Not Be Commanded
There is a class of human experience that answers to no direct order. You cannot tell yourself to fall asleep. The instruction arrives at a locked door. Sleep refuses the simple transaction of command and execution. Instead, it assembles itself once certain conditions are present, and those conditions include, strangely enough, the act of picturing yourself already inside the state you are trying to enter. Lying down begins it. Closed eyes continue it. Imagining yourself asleep, entering the self who has already arrived, completes the condition, and only then does sleep agree to appear.
This is stranger than it first appears. The imagination precedes the fact. A fiction makes the reality possible. Rehearsal of the self-in-the-state must happen before the state itself will consent to arrive. Once you notice this mechanism operating in sleep, you begin to see it everywhere in human life, running underneath experiences we mistakenly believed we commanded outright.
Aldous Huxley named the pattern in The Perennial Philosophy and called it the law of reversed effort, a phrase Alan Watts later carried into wider circulation. Viktor Frankl, working from the clinic rather than the lecture hall, called it paradoxical intention, and used it to treat patients whose anxieties had swallowed them whole. The insomniac who tries hardest to sleep stays awake longest. The speaker who strains to stop stammering stammers worst. Frankl’s counterintuitive instruction was to command the symptom itself. Try to stay awake. Try to stammer. The paradox broke the grip because it acknowledged a humble fact about voluntary will: the target state cannot be seized. It must be invited, imagined, allowed.
Taoists arrived at the same recognition two thousand years earlier and called it wu-wei, the action that is not action, the doing that happens when the doer gets out of the way. An archer who aims too hard misses. A calligrapher who grips the brush too firmly produces a dead line. Skill of that order lives in a zone the conscious will cannot enter, and the only approach is to imagine yourself having already arrived.
Consider sexual arousal. The physiological response is famously resistant to command. It answers to imagined scenarios, to remembered encounters, to anticipated scenes. Masters and Johnson built an entire clinical practice around this recognition, and their cure for performance anxiety, sensate focus, works by replacing effort with imagined sensation. A man instructed to perform often cannot. The same man, invited to picture the experience without obligation, finds his body following his mind into the state. Arousal answers to conjuring.
Consider crying on cue, the classical actor’s problem. Stanislavski solved it through affective memory. The tears come by indirection. You imagine the dog you lost when you were nine, and water arrives because the body has been invited to the feeling rather than ordered to produce it. Meryl Streep has described her process in interviews as a summoning of remembered feeling. Daniel Day-Lewis has described his as an inhabitation sustained across months. Neither description sounds like command. The actor imagines the self-in-grief, and grief supplies the water.
Consider the act of belief. Pascal, sitting in his Pensées alongside the famous wager, offered an argument about habituation that has been quietly underestimated for centuries. For those seeking faith, he advised acting as if they already believed. Kneel. Take the holy water. Say the prayers. Imagine yourself as a believer, and belief may arrive as a secondary effect of the performance. William James extended the line in “The Will to Believe” and argued that many truths about ourselves only become true after we have imagined them as true. Courage is one such truth. Generosity is another. Love, perhaps most of all.
Athletes at the top of their disciplines understand this mechanism as technical knowledge. Jack Nicklaus, in Golf My Way, said he never hit a shot, even in practice, without first seeing the ball’s flight in his mind. Swimmers rehearse the race in imagination with such precision that brain scans show neural activation patterns overlapping substantially with actual performance. The body runs the course in miniature before it runs the course in fact. Physical execution follows the mental simulation because the state has already been entered once, invisibly, and needs only to be entered again with flesh attached.
Hypnosis is perhaps the cleanest case. An unwilling subject cannot be forced into the hypnotic state, and even a willing one cannot seize it by direct will. The subject must imagine entering the state, going down the staircase, growing heavy in the chair, and that imagining is the mechanism itself. Imaging studies by David Spiegel and colleagues at Stanford, along with related work by Oakley and Halligan, suggest that hypnotic suggestion produces neural patterns distinct from ordinary pretending, patterns more closely aligned with genuine perceptual and motor processing. Imagination has done something to the body. Fiction has produced a physiological effect the subject did not will.
Creative inspiration operates by the same architecture. You cannot command an idea to arrive. You can imagine yourself as receptive, empty, waiting, and the idea tends to arrive into that imagined vacancy. Keats called this negative capability, the capacity to sit inside uncertainty without grabbing for resolution. A poet imagines the listening state, and the poem walks into the room. Composers describe the same choreography. Mathematicians describe it too, with Poincaré’s famous account of the solution arriving as he stepped onto the bus at Coutances. He had imagined himself receptive for weeks. The solution waited until it found him properly prepared to receive it.
Grief resolution belongs in this same family, though we rarely recognize it. Bereaved people move through grief by imagining themselves on the other side of it. Picturing a future morning when the first thought lands somewhere other than the absence. Picturing the moment when the dead person’s name can be spoken without collapse. These acts of imagination are how integration proceeds. George Bonanno’s resilience research and Pauline Boss’s work on ambiguous loss both describe this imaginative prefiguration as the actual mechanism of healing. The sequence matters here. Picturing a survivable future comes first, and resolution begins to assemble around the picture.
At the collective level, Benedict Anderson’s argument about imagined communities rides the same rail. A nation exists first as an imaginative act performed by millions of strangers simultaneously. Citizens picture themselves as a “we” before the institutional “we” coheres. American colonists had to imagine being Americans before they could act as Americans. Thomas Kuhn made a parallel argument about scientific revolutions. A new paradigm must be imaginatively entertained, played with speculatively, inhabited as a thought experiment, before it can be adopted and tested. Discovery through accumulation alone misses the interior work that makes discovery possible. Science imagines a world in which the anomalies make sense, and then searches for evidence that the imagined world is the actual one.
Here is the argument this pattern makes against one of the most persistent myths in the modern self-help industry. The doctrine of pure willpower, of steel discipline, of command-and-execute personal transformation, is largely false where it matters most. The states we most want to inhabit are precisely the states that refuse to be seized. Love, sleep, creative insight, courage, calm, sexual pleasure, athletic flow, artistic voice, faith, grief’s resolution, recovery from trauma, the dissolution of anxiety, the emergence of a new political identity, all of these operate by invitation rather than by conquest. A hard clamp on such a state accelerates its evasion. Accurate, patient rehearsal of the self already inside it increases the odds of arrival, because the state recognizes the address it has been given.
This observation is a claim about where real labor lives, rather than a brief for passivity. The imagination itself is labor. Stanislavski’s affective memory takes years to develop. Nicklaus’s visualization was the product of thousands of hours of prior experience that had furnished his imagination with accurate material to draw on. Negative capability, for the poet, demands a difficult kind of vigilance. Picturing a survivable future, for the mourner, takes courage most days. Real work is being performed in all these cases. That work simply lives somewhere other than where the popular literature keeps telling us to look. It lives in the imagining, in furnishing the mind with a vivid enough rehearsal that the body and the world will follow the script.
There is a political dimension to this that deserves attention. Populations that cannot imagine a different arrangement of their lives will not produce one. Authoritarian regimes understand this perfectly and invest heavily in controlling imagination itself, in prescribing what may be pictured, in criminalizing the mental rehearsal of alternatives. The censor knows the law of reversed effort by heart, and knows in particular that the imagined state of freedom must be interrupted before the political state of freedom can be prevented. Organizers and artists, working from the other direction, understand that their first task is to make the unfamiliar picturable. Once a people can picture themselves free, the mechanics of becoming free start to assemble around the picture.
The craft implication for writers, for dramatists, for anyone whose work involves summoning states in other people’s minds, is that we are running an imagination-furnishing enterprise whose surface resembles persuasion. A good novel gives the reader a vivid enough picture of the inside of another life that the feeling assembles itself inside the reader. A good play stages grief with such precision that the audience’s own grief, resting dormant, recognizes the invitation and walks forward. Argument alone has never moved anyone who was going to stay put. The form of the work becomes a staircase. Descent happens inside the audience’s own imagination. The hypnotic principle and the aesthetic principle are the same principle.
Which returns us to sleep, where we began. The oldest ritual of the human body is the rehearsal that makes becoming possible. Every night of your life you practice the technique that governs almost everything else you will ever want to enter. You picture yourself arriving, and arrival follows the picture. The repetition is so automatic it escapes notice. Seeing the principle for the first time reorders the interior map. The question that has held your energy for years, the question of how to force yourself into the state you want, reveals itself as badly posed. Sharper questions take shape around what you had been missing. What does the inside of that state actually feel like, in specific sensory detail? What would I need to picture accurately enough for my body and my circumstances to follow the picture into becoming?
Less effort, applied through better imagination, answers more of what we want in a human life than the heavier strategies that continue to dominate our self-improvement literature. That reweighting, once genuinely made, reorders a great deal.
#activeImagination #actor #archer #arousal #belief #command #dreaming #effect #human #imagination #medicine #mind #pascal #problem #psychology #sleep #states #theatre #thought -
The States That Will Not Be Commanded
There is a class of human experience that answers to no direct order. You cannot tell yourself to fall asleep. The instruction arrives at a locked door. Sleep refuses the simple transaction of command and execution. Instead, it assembles itself once certain conditions are present, and those conditions include, strangely enough, the act of picturing yourself already inside the state you are trying to enter. Lying down begins it. Closed eyes continue it. Imagining yourself asleep, entering the self who has already arrived, completes the condition, and only then does sleep agree to appear.
This is stranger than it first appears. The imagination precedes the fact. A fiction makes the reality possible. Rehearsal of the self-in-the-state must happen before the state itself will consent to arrive. Once you notice this mechanism operating in sleep, you begin to see it everywhere in human life, running underneath experiences we mistakenly believed we commanded outright.
Aldous Huxley named the pattern in The Perennial Philosophy and called it the law of reversed effort, a phrase Alan Watts later carried into wider circulation. Viktor Frankl, working from the clinic rather than the lecture hall, called it paradoxical intention, and used it to treat patients whose anxieties had swallowed them whole. The insomniac who tries hardest to sleep stays awake longest. The speaker who strains to stop stammering stammers worst. Frankl’s counterintuitive instruction was to command the symptom itself. Try to stay awake. Try to stammer. The paradox broke the grip because it acknowledged a humble fact about voluntary will: the target state cannot be seized. It must be invited, imagined, allowed.
Taoists arrived at the same recognition two thousand years earlier and called it wu-wei, the action that is not action, the doing that happens when the doer gets out of the way. An archer who aims too hard misses. A calligrapher who grips the brush too firmly produces a dead line. Skill of that order lives in a zone the conscious will cannot enter, and the only approach is to imagine yourself having already arrived.
Consider sexual arousal. The physiological response is famously resistant to command. It answers to imagined scenarios, to remembered encounters, to anticipated scenes. Masters and Johnson built an entire clinical practice around this recognition, and their cure for performance anxiety, sensate focus, works by replacing effort with imagined sensation. A man instructed to perform often cannot. The same man, invited to picture the experience without obligation, finds his body following his mind into the state. Arousal answers to conjuring.
Consider crying on cue, the classical actor’s problem. Stanislavski solved it through affective memory. The tears come by indirection. You imagine the dog you lost when you were nine, and water arrives because the body has been invited to the feeling rather than ordered to produce it. Meryl Streep has described her process in interviews as a summoning of remembered feeling. Daniel Day-Lewis has described his as an inhabitation sustained across months. Neither description sounds like command. The actor imagines the self-in-grief, and grief supplies the water.
Consider the act of belief. Pascal, sitting in his Pensées alongside the famous wager, offered an argument about habituation that has been quietly underestimated for centuries. For those seeking faith, he advised acting as if they already believed. Kneel. Take the holy water. Say the prayers. Imagine yourself as a believer, and belief may arrive as a secondary effect of the performance. William James extended the line in “The Will to Believe” and argued that many truths about ourselves only become true after we have imagined them as true. Courage is one such truth. Generosity is another. Love, perhaps most of all.
Athletes at the top of their disciplines understand this mechanism as technical knowledge. Jack Nicklaus, in Golf My Way, said he never hit a shot, even in practice, without first seeing the ball’s flight in his mind. Swimmers rehearse the race in imagination with such precision that brain scans show neural activation patterns overlapping substantially with actual performance. The body runs the course in miniature before it runs the course in fact. Physical execution follows the mental simulation because the state has already been entered once, invisibly, and needs only to be entered again with flesh attached.
Hypnosis is perhaps the cleanest case. An unwilling subject cannot be forced into the hypnotic state, and even a willing one cannot seize it by direct will. The subject must imagine entering the state, going down the staircase, growing heavy in the chair, and that imagining is the mechanism itself. Imaging studies by David Spiegel and colleagues at Stanford, along with related work by Oakley and Halligan, suggest that hypnotic suggestion produces neural patterns distinct from ordinary pretending, patterns more closely aligned with genuine perceptual and motor processing. Imagination has done something to the body. Fiction has produced a physiological effect the subject did not will.
Creative inspiration operates by the same architecture. You cannot command an idea to arrive. You can imagine yourself as receptive, empty, waiting, and the idea tends to arrive into that imagined vacancy. Keats called this negative capability, the capacity to sit inside uncertainty without grabbing for resolution. A poet imagines the listening state, and the poem walks into the room. Composers describe the same choreography. Mathematicians describe it too, with Poincaré’s famous account of the solution arriving as he stepped onto the bus at Coutances. He had imagined himself receptive for weeks. The solution waited until it found him properly prepared to receive it.
Grief resolution belongs in this same family, though we rarely recognize it. Bereaved people move through grief by imagining themselves on the other side of it. Picturing a future morning when the first thought lands somewhere other than the absence. Picturing the moment when the dead person’s name can be spoken without collapse. These acts of imagination are how integration proceeds. George Bonanno’s resilience research and Pauline Boss’s work on ambiguous loss both describe this imaginative prefiguration as the actual mechanism of healing. The sequence matters here. Picturing a survivable future comes first, and resolution begins to assemble around the picture.
At the collective level, Benedict Anderson’s argument about imagined communities rides the same rail. A nation exists first as an imaginative act performed by millions of strangers simultaneously. Citizens picture themselves as a “we” before the institutional “we” coheres. American colonists had to imagine being Americans before they could act as Americans. Thomas Kuhn made a parallel argument about scientific revolutions. A new paradigm must be imaginatively entertained, played with speculatively, inhabited as a thought experiment, before it can be adopted and tested. Discovery through accumulation alone misses the interior work that makes discovery possible. Science imagines a world in which the anomalies make sense, and then searches for evidence that the imagined world is the actual one.
Here is the argument this pattern makes against one of the most persistent myths in the modern self-help industry. The doctrine of pure willpower, of steel discipline, of command-and-execute personal transformation, is largely false where it matters most. The states we most want to inhabit are precisely the states that refuse to be seized. Love, sleep, creative insight, courage, calm, sexual pleasure, athletic flow, artistic voice, faith, grief’s resolution, recovery from trauma, the dissolution of anxiety, the emergence of a new political identity, all of these operate by invitation rather than by conquest. A hard clamp on such a state accelerates its evasion. Accurate, patient rehearsal of the self already inside it increases the odds of arrival, because the state recognizes the address it has been given.
This observation is a claim about where real labor lives, rather than a brief for passivity. The imagination itself is labor. Stanislavski’s affective memory takes years to develop. Nicklaus’s visualization was the product of thousands of hours of prior experience that had furnished his imagination with accurate material to draw on. Negative capability, for the poet, demands a difficult kind of vigilance. Picturing a survivable future, for the mourner, takes courage most days. Real work is being performed in all these cases. That work simply lives somewhere other than where the popular literature keeps telling us to look. It lives in the imagining, in furnishing the mind with a vivid enough rehearsal that the body and the world will follow the script.
There is a political dimension to this that deserves attention. Populations that cannot imagine a different arrangement of their lives will not produce one. Authoritarian regimes understand this perfectly and invest heavily in controlling imagination itself, in prescribing what may be pictured, in criminalizing the mental rehearsal of alternatives. The censor knows the law of reversed effort by heart, and knows in particular that the imagined state of freedom must be interrupted before the political state of freedom can be prevented. Organizers and artists, working from the other direction, understand that their first task is to make the unfamiliar picturable. Once a people can picture themselves free, the mechanics of becoming free start to assemble around the picture.
The craft implication for writers, for dramatists, for anyone whose work involves summoning states in other people’s minds, is that we are running an imagination-furnishing enterprise whose surface resembles persuasion. A good novel gives the reader a vivid enough picture of the inside of another life that the feeling assembles itself inside the reader. A good play stages grief with such precision that the audience’s own grief, resting dormant, recognizes the invitation and walks forward. Argument alone has never moved anyone who was going to stay put. The form of the work becomes a staircase. Descent happens inside the audience’s own imagination. The hypnotic principle and the aesthetic principle are the same principle.
Which returns us to sleep, where we began. The oldest ritual of the human body is the rehearsal that makes becoming possible. Every night of your life you practice the technique that governs almost everything else you will ever want to enter. You picture yourself arriving, and arrival follows the picture. The repetition is so automatic it escapes notice. Seeing the principle for the first time reorders the interior map. The question that has held your energy for years, the question of how to force yourself into the state you want, reveals itself as badly posed. Sharper questions take shape around what you had been missing. What does the inside of that state actually feel like, in specific sensory detail? What would I need to picture accurately enough for my body and my circumstances to follow the picture into becoming?
Less effort, applied through better imagination, answers more of what we want in a human life than the heavier strategies that continue to dominate our self-improvement literature. That reweighting, once genuinely made, reorders a great deal.
#activeImagination #actor #archer #arousal #belief #command #dreaming #effect #human #imagination #medicine #mind #pascal #problem #psychology #sleep #states #theatre #thought -
The States That Will Not Be Commanded
There is a class of human experience that answers to no direct order. You cannot tell yourself to fall asleep. The instruction arrives at a locked door. Sleep refuses the simple transaction of command and execution. Instead, it assembles itself once certain conditions are present, and those conditions include, strangely enough, the act of picturing yourself already inside the state you are trying to enter. Lying down begins it. Closed eyes continue it. Imagining yourself asleep, entering the self who has already arrived, completes the condition, and only then does sleep agree to appear.
This is stranger than it first appears. The imagination precedes the fact. A fiction makes the reality possible. Rehearsal of the self-in-the-state must happen before the state itself will consent to arrive. Once you notice this mechanism operating in sleep, you begin to see it everywhere in human life, running underneath experiences we mistakenly believed we commanded outright.
Aldous Huxley named the pattern in The Perennial Philosophy and called it the law of reversed effort, a phrase Alan Watts later carried into wider circulation. Viktor Frankl, working from the clinic rather than the lecture hall, called it paradoxical intention, and used it to treat patients whose anxieties had swallowed them whole. The insomniac who tries hardest to sleep stays awake longest. The speaker who strains to stop stammering stammers worst. Frankl’s counterintuitive instruction was to command the symptom itself. Try to stay awake. Try to stammer. The paradox broke the grip because it acknowledged a humble fact about voluntary will: the target state cannot be seized. It must be invited, imagined, allowed.
Taoists arrived at the same recognition two thousand years earlier and called it wu-wei, the action that is not action, the doing that happens when the doer gets out of the way. An archer who aims too hard misses. A calligrapher who grips the brush too firmly produces a dead line. Skill of that order lives in a zone the conscious will cannot enter, and the only approach is to imagine yourself having already arrived.
Consider sexual arousal. The physiological response is famously resistant to command. It answers to imagined scenarios, to remembered encounters, to anticipated scenes. Masters and Johnson built an entire clinical practice around this recognition, and their cure for performance anxiety, sensate focus, works by replacing effort with imagined sensation. A man instructed to perform often cannot. The same man, invited to picture the experience without obligation, finds his body following his mind into the state. Arousal answers to conjuring.
Consider crying on cue, the classical actor’s problem. Stanislavski solved it through affective memory. The tears come by indirection. You imagine the dog you lost when you were nine, and water arrives because the body has been invited to the feeling rather than ordered to produce it. Meryl Streep has described her process in interviews as a summoning of remembered feeling. Daniel Day-Lewis has described his as an inhabitation sustained across months. Neither description sounds like command. The actor imagines the self-in-grief, and grief supplies the water.
Consider the act of belief. Pascal, sitting in his Pensées alongside the famous wager, offered an argument about habituation that has been quietly underestimated for centuries. For those seeking faith, he advised acting as if they already believed. Kneel. Take the holy water. Say the prayers. Imagine yourself as a believer, and belief may arrive as a secondary effect of the performance. William James extended the line in “The Will to Believe” and argued that many truths about ourselves only become true after we have imagined them as true. Courage is one such truth. Generosity is another. Love, perhaps most of all.
Athletes at the top of their disciplines understand this mechanism as technical knowledge. Jack Nicklaus, in Golf My Way, said he never hit a shot, even in practice, without first seeing the ball’s flight in his mind. Swimmers rehearse the race in imagination with such precision that brain scans show neural activation patterns overlapping substantially with actual performance. The body runs the course in miniature before it runs the course in fact. Physical execution follows the mental simulation because the state has already been entered once, invisibly, and needs only to be entered again with flesh attached.
Hypnosis is perhaps the cleanest case. An unwilling subject cannot be forced into the hypnotic state, and even a willing one cannot seize it by direct will. The subject must imagine entering the state, going down the staircase, growing heavy in the chair, and that imagining is the mechanism itself. Imaging studies by David Spiegel and colleagues at Stanford, along with related work by Oakley and Halligan, suggest that hypnotic suggestion produces neural patterns distinct from ordinary pretending, patterns more closely aligned with genuine perceptual and motor processing. Imagination has done something to the body. Fiction has produced a physiological effect the subject did not will.
Creative inspiration operates by the same architecture. You cannot command an idea to arrive. You can imagine yourself as receptive, empty, waiting, and the idea tends to arrive into that imagined vacancy. Keats called this negative capability, the capacity to sit inside uncertainty without grabbing for resolution. A poet imagines the listening state, and the poem walks into the room. Composers describe the same choreography. Mathematicians describe it too, with Poincaré’s famous account of the solution arriving as he stepped onto the bus at Coutances. He had imagined himself receptive for weeks. The solution waited until it found him properly prepared to receive it.
Grief resolution belongs in this same family, though we rarely recognize it. Bereaved people move through grief by imagining themselves on the other side of it. Picturing a future morning when the first thought lands somewhere other than the absence. Picturing the moment when the dead person’s name can be spoken without collapse. These acts of imagination are how integration proceeds. George Bonanno’s resilience research and Pauline Boss’s work on ambiguous loss both describe this imaginative prefiguration as the actual mechanism of healing. The sequence matters here. Picturing a survivable future comes first, and resolution begins to assemble around the picture.
At the collective level, Benedict Anderson’s argument about imagined communities rides the same rail. A nation exists first as an imaginative act performed by millions of strangers simultaneously. Citizens picture themselves as a “we” before the institutional “we” coheres. American colonists had to imagine being Americans before they could act as Americans. Thomas Kuhn made a parallel argument about scientific revolutions. A new paradigm must be imaginatively entertained, played with speculatively, inhabited as a thought experiment, before it can be adopted and tested. Discovery through accumulation alone misses the interior work that makes discovery possible. Science imagines a world in which the anomalies make sense, and then searches for evidence that the imagined world is the actual one.
Here is the argument this pattern makes against one of the most persistent myths in the modern self-help industry. The doctrine of pure willpower, of steel discipline, of command-and-execute personal transformation, is largely false where it matters most. The states we most want to inhabit are precisely the states that refuse to be seized. Love, sleep, creative insight, courage, calm, sexual pleasure, athletic flow, artistic voice, faith, grief’s resolution, recovery from trauma, the dissolution of anxiety, the emergence of a new political identity, all of these operate by invitation rather than by conquest. A hard clamp on such a state accelerates its evasion. Accurate, patient rehearsal of the self already inside it increases the odds of arrival, because the state recognizes the address it has been given.
This observation is a claim about where real labor lives, rather than a brief for passivity. The imagination itself is labor. Stanislavski’s affective memory takes years to develop. Nicklaus’s visualization was the product of thousands of hours of prior experience that had furnished his imagination with accurate material to draw on. Negative capability, for the poet, demands a difficult kind of vigilance. Picturing a survivable future, for the mourner, takes courage most days. Real work is being performed in all these cases. That work simply lives somewhere other than where the popular literature keeps telling us to look. It lives in the imagining, in furnishing the mind with a vivid enough rehearsal that the body and the world will follow the script.
There is a political dimension to this that deserves attention. Populations that cannot imagine a different arrangement of their lives will not produce one. Authoritarian regimes understand this perfectly and invest heavily in controlling imagination itself, in prescribing what may be pictured, in criminalizing the mental rehearsal of alternatives. The censor knows the law of reversed effort by heart, and knows in particular that the imagined state of freedom must be interrupted before the political state of freedom can be prevented. Organizers and artists, working from the other direction, understand that their first task is to make the unfamiliar picturable. Once a people can picture themselves free, the mechanics of becoming free start to assemble around the picture.
The craft implication for writers, for dramatists, for anyone whose work involves summoning states in other people’s minds, is that we are running an imagination-furnishing enterprise whose surface resembles persuasion. A good novel gives the reader a vivid enough picture of the inside of another life that the feeling assembles itself inside the reader. A good play stages grief with such precision that the audience’s own grief, resting dormant, recognizes the invitation and walks forward. Argument alone has never moved anyone who was going to stay put. The form of the work becomes a staircase. Descent happens inside the audience’s own imagination. The hypnotic principle and the aesthetic principle are the same principle.
Which returns us to sleep, where we began. The oldest ritual of the human body is the rehearsal that makes becoming possible. Every night of your life you practice the technique that governs almost everything else you will ever want to enter. You picture yourself arriving, and arrival follows the picture. The repetition is so automatic it escapes notice. Seeing the principle for the first time reorders the interior map. The question that has held your energy for years, the question of how to force yourself into the state you want, reveals itself as badly posed. Sharper questions take shape around what you had been missing. What does the inside of that state actually feel like, in specific sensory detail? What would I need to picture accurately enough for my body and my circumstances to follow the picture into becoming?
Less effort, applied through better imagination, answers more of what we want in a human life than the heavier strategies that continue to dominate our self-improvement literature. That reweighting, once genuinely made, reorders a great deal.
#activeImagination #actor #archer #arousal #belief #command #dreaming #effect #human #imagination #medicine #mind #pascal #problem #psychology #sleep #states #theatre #thought -
Biohazard – Divided We Fall Review
By Steel Druhm
Biohazard are one of those bands that held my interest and affection, but only for a small window of my life (1992 through 1996). While their mean street NYC tough guy hardcore-meets-metal sound resonated with me as a dumb, loud 21-year-old, by the time I was approaching 26, it all started to feel too “try hard” and adolescent, like something I should move beyond. After that, I would still enjoy the hits from Urban Discipline and State of the World Address on gym playlists, but I rarely went back to the actual albums or sought out their new stuff. When it was announced that Biohazard had reformed the original lineup for a new album, some 13 years since the last release, I had more than a few reservations. The NYC badass schtick is a perishable one with a definite shelf life, and the idea of a bunch of dudes in their 50s shouting about curb stomping me just wasn’t a selling point. Still, the Cro-Mags pulled it off, so maybe these guys could too. I sampled the early singles, and to my surprise, they were quite entertaining. And here I am reviewing Divided We Fall against my better judgment. Can these Brooklyn goons deliver the burly goods all these years later?
The short answer is…yes. Divided We Fall is a shockingly spry, punchy outing with catchy writing and enough testosterone to power 4 Cam Skattebos. It’s basically the album that could have followed Urban Discipline, with a collection of short, angry anthems about staying hard no matter what life throws at you. Opener “Fuck the System” sounds exactly like you’d expect. It’s enough like classic NYHC to conjure memories of Madball, Agnostic Front and crossover acts like Pro-Pain. They keep that rowdy, pissed-off tone going on bruisers like “Forsaken,” and the uber rugged “Eyes on Six,” which is one of their most catchy and entertaining tracks ever. This one stinks of BO and malt liquor, and it will hit you a pipe and dump you in the Gowanus Canal.
Slower cuts like “Death of Me” blend well with the bouncy, classic hardcore urgency of “Words to the Wise” and “The Fight to Be Free,” and at no point does the machismo drop below mega-toxic levels. There are a few missteps though. “S.I.T.F.O.A” is too rap-centric and ends up sounding like a cross between Anthrax’s “I Am the Man” and one of the godawful raps by SNL in-house comedy act The Lonely Island. Closer “Warriors” mostly works and has cool parts, but Evan Seinfeld singing “the warriors” oh so seriously doesn’t really help. Still, 9 out of 11 tracks landing and delivering more or less vintage Bio-sounds is quite a shocker. And the band smartly keeps every song in the 3-minute window so everything motors by in a sweaty fury. The sound is what you’d expect from this kind of band, and production is credited to Jonathan DeMaio. I’ll assume that’s actually Joey DeMaio from Manowar because that’s way too fucking funny.
Both Billy and Evan sound fine vocally. I’ve always preferred Billy’s rough bellowing, and he still sounds like he could beat your ass. On tracks like “Eyes on Six,” he sounds angry, mean, and murderous, and that’s essential for this kind of music to get over. Evan sounds like Evan, not better or worse, and he only irritates me when he tries that rappy-metal bullshit or tries to sing too much. The guitar work from Billy and Bobby Hambel is sharp and recalls the glory days quite clearly. You get a collection of very NYHC-inspired riffs designed to get you pumped up and into the pit leaping over pizza-rats and comatose hobos. The minimal embellishments work well in the songs, and I even hear traces of Prong at times, so that’s a win. This ain’t prog, folks. It’s simple, fugly noise for the mouth breathers and lunkheads, and that works just fine for me since I’m both.
Divided We Fall has no business being as good as it is, and it’s on close to the stuff Biohazard were churning out during their peak. That means you get rough, confrontational meathead metal for those with fatty beef in their brain, and there’s a demographic for that. I can’t say I will be blasting this one way into the future, but I already moved select cuts to the gym playlist for maximum gainz. Maybe I still needed a few good curb stomps. Maybe you do too. If so, Biohazard want to say hello from the gutter.
Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Fucking STREAM!
Label: BLKIIBLK
Websites: facebook.com/Biohazarddfl | instagram.com/biohazarddfl
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By Carcharodon
15 years ago, on May 19, 2009, Angry Metal Guy spoke. For the very first time as AMG. And he had opinions: Very Important Opinions™. The post attracted relatively little attention at the time, but times change and, over the decade and a half since then, AMG Industries has grown into the blog you know today. Now with a staff of around 25 overrating overwriters (and an entirely non-suspicious graveyard for writers on permanent, all-expenses-paid sabbaticals), we have written more than 9,100 posts, comprising over seven million words. Over the site’s lifetime, we’ve had more than 107 million visits and now achieve well over a million hits each and every month. Through this, we’ve built up a fantastic community of readers drawn from every corner of the globe, whom we have (mostly) loved getting to know in the more than 360,000 comments posted on the site.
We have done this under the careful (if sternly authoritarian) stewardship of our eponymous leader Angry Metal Guy and his iron enforcer, Steel Druhm, while adhering to strict editorial policies and principles. We have done this by simply offering honest (and occasionally brutal) takes, and without running a single advert or taking a single cent from anyone. Ever. Mistakes have undoubtedly been made and we may be a laughing stock in the eyes of music intellectuals, socialites and critics everywhere but we are incredibly proud of what AMG Industries represents. In fact, we believe it may be the best metal blog, with the best community of readers, on the internet.
Now join us as the people responsible for making AMG a reality reflect on what the site means to them and why they would willingly work for a blog that pays in the currency of deadlines, abuse, and hobo wine. Welcome to the 15th Birthdaynalia.
Thou Shalt Have No Other Blogs!
Steel Druhm
AMG and me
I stumbled into the world of AMG Inc. by chance, one day in early 2010 and just never got around to leaving. To put a finer point on it, I’ve been slaving in the AMG salt mines so long, even the extremely sabbaticalized Happy Metal Guy thinks my mind is gone. Over time, I’ve evolved from unpaid assistant to the Founding Overlord Himself to become site overseer and brvtal enforcer of deadlines, and morale (still unpaid). The journey has been a wild one, full of moments I’ll always cherish. It’s also introduced me to a collection of loveable oddballs I care about, even though I want to murderize them most of the time (you would too if you had to deal with their outrageous bullshit daily).1
The site and the extensive work that goes into it have provided me with a satisfaction that my real job often lacks, and even helped me find my soulmate. In short, AMG means the world to me and that’s why I’ve given so much of myself to this little blog these last 14 years. Looking back, I regret nothing (except the staff’s penchant for wildly overrating complete garbage) and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Thank you to the writers past and present who helped make the site possible, and thanks to the readers who make it worth the effort, even though most of you are woefully deficient in the good taste department. Here’s to 15 more years of this burning shitshow of a trainwreck!
AMG gave to me
As I’ve been a part of AMG since the early days, it’s nearly impossible to come up with just three albums the site gave me because it’s given me so many. Instead, I’ll enumerate the biggest non-musical gifts AMG has bestowed upon me over the years.2
Madam X // Be My (Pri)Mate / Down with the Steelness – The best thing AMG gave me by far was the chance to meet my best friend, soulmate and life partner, Madam X. She had read some of my early reviews for AMG and by chance, we happened to run into each other on a now-defunct Facebook metal fan page. She reached out to discuss my reviews and get some recommendations, we started chatting, and the rest, as they say, is history. I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have her and, since she lived in South Africa and I in New York, I highly doubt we ever would have found one another were it not for AMG. For this reason alone, I’ll cherish this little blog until my rusty metal heart explodes in my hairy ape chest. Fun fact: I never had a girlfriend that liked metal, and now I have a wife who listens to stuff that’s so extreme and out there, I end up sounding like my parents and saying shit like “This isn’t music, it’s just crazy noise!” Life is funny sometimes.
The Sadistic Pleasure that Comes from Unicorning Kvlt Strangeo Bands // You Axed for It – One cold, gloomy day back in February 2015, I was reviewing a cold, gloomy release by Danish doom/death act Dwell. Their Vermin and Ashes album didn’t especially thrill me, and I was annoyed that they had opted not to include a band photo in the promo materials. Sure, I get it. They wanted to be dark and mysterious. Who doesn’t? I searched online for a suitable image of them but there were none to be found. I became quite vexed. Where the inspiration came from I cannot say but I decided to bestow upon them a bright, mega-cheesy unicorn image, in place of the non-existent band shot. As I contemplated how the vomit of rainbow colors clashed with the murky gray malaise of the album cover, it looked so wrong that it felt so right! And so a blog protocol was born. Send band photos or face extreme unicorn judgment!
The Joys of Initiating Unsuspecting n00bs into the AMG Meatgrinder // Taste the Skull Pit, Poser – When I joined AMG back in its embryonic, protoplasmic stage, there was no probationary period or brutal abuse (aside from assigning me metalcore albums). Things changed as the blog grew and we started bringing on new writers. Soon, a system of impressment, indoctrination and re-education was put in place, and ruthlessly weaponized in service of internet “fame” and “glory.” Each carefully selected wannabe writer, eyes glistening with the ghosts of their past, would serve a tumultuous probationary term, working in complete isolation under the iron thumbs of AMG management. If they somehow survived this experiment in terror, they would be cast into the general population in the Skull Pit, with a besotted cadre of jaded, glassy-eyed veteran staffers. That’s when the real initiation would begin! Imagine Lord of the Flies mixed with The Hunger Games and The Devil’s Rejects, and you get the general idea. Through ritualized humiliation, unreasonable deadlines, and confrontational teaching methods, we slowly transform these sniveling amateurs into barely functional hack reviewers. Believe in the system or be buried by it me.
I wish I had written …
White Wizzard – The Devil’s Cut Review. Yes, the infamous review that’s hung around our necks like a rotting albatross ever since it saw the light of day in 2013. Had I been tasked with doing the review, I would have given it the rating it truly deserved, which is a big, fat, greasy 3.0. Just like the album that came before, and the one that followed. Now, I have nothing against White Wizzard and I enjoy the retro 80s metal style they play, but let’s face it, nothing they ever did came anywhere near a 5.0 (whether in its “Perfect” or “Iconic” guise). My common sense, real-world review would have spared us all a great deal of embarrassment, as well as saving the effort and bleach it took to scrub the office down after the First Grand Sabbaticaling. If only…
I wish I could do over …
Amon Amarth – Sutur Rising Review. As a relatively new reviewer, I got the unexpected chance to weigh in on a new Amon Amarth platter, while I was at the peak of my feverish AA fanboyism. This proved a deadly combination and, before my better angels could caution restraint and moderation, I stamped this thing with a 4.5, and got the album cover tattooed on my dog. With time (and much hobo wine), I realized that I let the moment get the better of me. Despite the presence of a few killer cuts like “War of the Gods” and “Destroyer of the Universe,” Sutur Rising is far from Amon Amarth’s best work. I dutifully submitted a groveling apology in a Contrite Metal Guy piece and tried to move on with my life. 13 years on, this one still stands as my biggest rating misadventure and a source of bitter regret. I blame society (AKA: you, the reader).
I wish more people had read …
Retro-spective Review: Hall Aflame – Guaranteed Forever. The side project of Metal Church’s Kurdt Vanderhoof, Hall Aflame saw but one release in 1991. But what a party this thing was and still is! Adopting a style somewhere between The Cult and The Four Horsemen, Hall Aflame roar through a collection of wildly catchy, burly rockers, making for a highly replay-able album, with only occasional reminders it’s made by the brain behind Metal Church. Cuts like “Shake the Pain,” Child of Medicine,” and “Money” are absolute monsters, and “Another Heartbeat” is one of my favorite songs of all time across all genres. The hugely ass-kicking vocals by completely unknown (then and now) frontman Ron Lowd alone are worth the effort it will take to track down this rare gem. The world continues to sleep on this killer, as evidenced by my retro-spective review scoring exactly ZERO comments. Don’t let this injustice continue. You need to hear this thing, especially with the recent news that Vanderhoof is releasing the long-awaited (by me at least) follow-up in May. You have my word as a Viking ape that satisfaction is Guaranteed Forever.
AMG is Now a Good Capitalist! In this gap-filler post from 2015, I posited the concept of AMG building a merch empire based upon goods of questionable quality (see our branded Uni-Friend and Sabbatical Sausage Maker pictured above). It got reads but, since I found the concept amusing, I wanted MOAR clicks. I credit this piece with motivating me to finally get a batch of actual AMG t-shirts printed up for the undeserving staff. If you see someone wearing one of these rare treasures and kill them, you take their place in the Skull Pit forevermore. It’s just like The Santa Clause, but much, much worse.
Dr. A.N. Grier
AMG and me
Back in the day, we’d be lucky to get two reviews a day at AMG. This led to me refreshing the site every few hours hoping for a bonus review for the day.3 I was obsessed with the writing and these gems I would never have found otherwise. Before I began writing here, I would do that regularly from 2010-2011. One morning I left the lab of my failing start-up and walked into my office to do some work. The post that morning wasn’t a review. Instead, it was instructions on how to apply to be an AMG writer. Without thinking—because I’d been up for roughly 40 straight hours—I submitted a review of 1349’s lackluster Demonoir. Weeks later, I was a n00b in these decrepit halls. And I’m still here regretting that decision, almost ten years to the day since I submitted my first review. It’s funny, now that I’ve gathered everything for this piece, that I found those early days the fondest of times. Those days when I still loved the writers, the readers, writing about metal, and well… music. Now I’m a broken soul, stalking the halls as a sex-depraved ghost,4 avoiding eye contact with Steel because his ape eyes make my pants tight.
But, in all seriousness, it’s been a wild ride and it’s odd to be one of the lucky few who have contributed to two-thirds of AMG’s existence. I’m proud to have kept the output so rounded, delivering correct scores and takes, and providing X-rated content for the younger generations. So, join me in celebrating AMG’s birthday, as I travel back to those early years when I became part of the family and discovered records that shaped the man known, for today at least, as Dr. All. Nostalgic. Grier.
AMG gave to me …
Mors Principium Est // Dawn of the 5th Era – As a n00b, Angry Metal Guy‘s review of Mors Principium Est’s Dawn of the 5th Era made me realize two things: I needed this band in my life and never release an album in December. Thankfully, AMG caught it (while everyone else was busting their asses to write their year-end lists) because it’s a stunning achievement. From that point on, I consider myself one of MPE’s biggest fans. That continuation of the At the Gates sound results in incredible performances and riff after massive riff. Not a single song on this album goes stale and I’ve been listening to it regularly for ten fucking years. I can never seem to find a melodeath group whose entire catalog I march through from beginning to end.5 But MPE is one of them. And, because you might be wondering, … And Death Said Live is their best album.
Voices // London – Back in 2014, I ranked an album I never reviewed. Weird, right? Not only was it a great album, but it was one of my favorite reviews from the illustrious Jean-Luc Ricard, who opened his thoughts with: “If you’re anything like me, you’re super awesome.” Still makes me laugh my ass off. Beyond that, Ricard conveyed the absolute nightmare that you experience when you listen to London. Though Akercocke has since reunited, Voices was an incredible substitute, which takes you through a journey that, somehow, Ricard was able to describe; because I sure as hell can’t. I was doing an oil change on my truck the first time I span it. Never have I taken so long to do that work but I constantly found myself staring off into space, literally frightened by the sounds erupting in my ears. The band has never been able to top London, but that’s OK. It’s one of the beautiful aspects of music—it’s permanent and will be there forever when you need it.
Trials // This Ruined World – When I joined AMG and worked side-by-side with Dr. Fisting, we hit it off. I love the guy and consider him a close friend (though he might not feel the same). When I found out that he started a band called Trials, I had to check it out. With two decent albums under his belt, 2014 saw the release of Trials’ best—and final—album, This Ruined World. I was hooked. And to imagine that without knowing about this band or this person, I might never have experienced his work in Bear Mace and the (to me, at least) incredible Black Sites. Though I don’t return to Trials often, mostly because I can’t pull myself away from Fisting‘s current work, I have a special place in my heart for This Ruined World. It introduced me to a fantastic musician and a good friend.
I wish I had written …
Origin – Omnipresent Review. When you join the crew, the hope is that you get to write that review for a big band. Those bands you grew up with, that released something at that point in your life, or which have such popularity that every other site overrates them. But, at AMG, you kinda have to earn that. Unless it’s, somehow, a popular dungeon synth group; you can just have that. So, when my most-anticipated album of 2014 dropped, I wanted it. But, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would get my hands on Origin’s Omnipresent. I bet you didn’t know I liked tech death, much less Origin. But, I do. I just know there are other, more qualified writers to cover that material. Thankfully, our wise and wonderful Kronos scored it correctly and wrote a fantastic review that describes it perfectly. Since then, I haven’t been as enamored with their material (mostly because this place has turned me into a hateful prick), but that album holds up and still gets many a spin.
I wish I could do over …
Resumed – Alienation Review. I remember when the review for Resumed’s Alienations was published. It was Thanksgiving 2014 and I was already six sheets to the wind when I realized what I was reading: the first double review in AMG history. It wasn’t a record that merited a double but Steel fucked up and double-booked it, thereby unintentionally beginning a trend. Though I couldn’t believe I wasted my time on this thing6 and subjected myself to uncalled-for ridicule, it started one of our most popular segments. Hell, it even led to our Unsigned Band Rodeö pieces. So, for better or worse (and by worse, I mean that year’s burned turkey), we can thank this worthless piece for contributing to AMG lore.
I wish more people had read …
Thine – The Dead City Blueprint [Things You Might Have Missed 2014]. In the process of writing the review for The Deathtrip’s stellar 2014 release, Deep Drone Master, Metal Archives led me to a release we never received. In walks Thine, a progressive rock outfit led by the same person who convinced Aldrahn to come back from retirement to front Deep Drone Master, not to mention drummer Dan Mullins, who returned for My Dying Bride’s newest release. Representing my first ever Things You Might Have Missed piece, I continue to return to this band’s swansong release: it’s beautiful and engaging, and is everything I ever wanted from an album of this caliber. My unpopularity as a n00b, combined with the new year beginning and everyone moving on to January releases, meant no one seemed to care. But I cared. I care so much, in fact, that I’m dropping Thine’s name again, in the hope that Bandcamp credits will be put to good use. You’re welcome.
Dr. Fisting
AMG and me
As a reader of the site’s earliest incarnation, the first thing that stood out to me was that AMG’s writers were clearly educated. Even back then, the reviews were extremely well-written. I don’t mean just in terms of spelling and grammar, but being able to express ideas coherently. If you’ve ever visited any other metal-related sites, you know that these qualities are rare. More importantly, AMG was clearly an independent operation, with no reliance on ad revenue or cozy relationships with record labels. This meant the site was free to post brutally honest reviews, which occasionally resulted in battles against the metal media’s narrative and even the fans themselves. I always enjoyed when some huge band would put out a half-assed album that got rave reviews everywhere else, and then the AMG writeup would take a well-deserved shit on it.
When I started writing for the site a couple of years later, I did my best to uphold those standards. Eventually, as my life and priorities changed, I chose to step back from reviewing to focus on other things. But it was an honor to ride with these guys for as long as I did. I got to review some fantastic records, talk shit about some terrible ones, and make some friends that I am still in contact with to this day.
AMG gave to me …
Pain of Salvation // Road Salt Pt. 1 – I don’t remember if I discovered this record from reading the site or from The Angry One Himself sending it to me (“here, you’ll like this”), but Road Salt Pt. 1 was a complete game-changer. At a time when I was completely bored of “modern metal” and its trappings, I related strongly to PoS’s new direction, in which chug riffs and rapping were replaced by analog ’70s tones and memorable songs. This record was in heavy rotation in the Fisting household, and became a significant influence on my own music.
Satan // Life Sentence – Having missed out on Satan’s original run, I was unaware of their comeback album until the AMG review heaped praise upon it. Lucky for me it did because Life Sentence is full of intelligent lyrics, clever riffs, and memorable hooks. The band has since made three more records, all of which have been varying degrees of excellent. More importantly, discovering Life Sentence sent me on a path to revisit the band’s earlier works, including the highly influential Court in the Act.
Anacrusis // Screams and Whispers – Anacrusis is another band I was completely oblivious to during their lifespan, but discovered much later via Grymm‘s excellent retrospective writeup. This album is incredibly ambitious for its time (1993), pushing thrash metal into new and more introspective territory. There are hints of industrial influence, occasional goth-y keyboards, and some very angular guitar work, even by 1990s standards. This is a classic record from metal’s lost years, and more people should hear it.
I wish I had written …
King’s X – Three Sides of One Review. Not to suggest that Huck didn’t do a fantastic job on the review, because he absolutely nailed it, but King’s X has held a special place in my cold black heart for many years. I should’ve been there for this. There is no good reason why I didn’t do this review (or the related Angry Metal Primer) other than my own laziness and poor time management. Life gets in the way sometimes. I wish I could do over … I regret nothing.
I wish more people had read …
Various reviews of Voivod and Failure albums. As several readers noticed, I made it a personal mission to preach the virtues of Voivod and Failure. I consider both bands to be absolutely brilliant and worthy of greater attention (particularly Failure, whom I suspect most AMG readers are unfamiliar with). I don’t know how many people read those reviews, but whatever that number is, it needed to be more.
#2024 #AMGTurns15 #AmonAmarth #Anacrusis #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Failure #HallAflame #KingsX #MorsPrincipiumEst #Origin #PainOfSalvation #Resumed #Satan #Thine #Trials #Voices #Voivod #WhiteWizzard
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The Book Lives Three Times: How Seneca Got Reading Wrong by Getting It Right
You finish writing a book and the manuscript sits there, cooling on the screen like bread pulled from an oven. It is done. It is no longer yours. This is the part no one tells you about authorship: the moment the final sentence locks into place, the book begins its first death, because it has stopped being a living negotiation between you and the language and has become, instead, a fixed object. A thing. The writer’s relationship to the finished text is not unlike the relationship a parent has to an adult child who has just walked out the front door with a suitcase. You made this. You cannot unmake it. You are, from this point forward, irrelevant to its survival.
Something strange surfaces in that departure. While you were writing, the book had a voice, and the voice was yours. I mean the silent one, the one that has nothing to do with ordering coffee or arguing with the insurance company, the interior narrator that reads your own thoughts back to you and lives in the cavity between your ears. It has no sound but is louder than anything in the room. Every sentence you wrote was tested against that voice. You heard the book before you read it. The prose rhythm, the paragraph pacing, the places where a sentence needed to land hard or dissolve into the next thought, all of it was conducted by a voice that has no waveform and no frequency but is, for the writer, the most real sound in the world. When the book is finished, that voice goes quiet. The conductor steps off the podium. What remains on the page is the score, but the performance that produced it is already gone.
Then someone picks up the book and reads it in silence, and a different voice appears.
This is the life of the book that is easiest to overlook, because it happens inside the reader’s skull and leaves no evidence. A person sits with your text and their inner voice takes possession of it, and that voice cannot be yours. The reader’s internal narrator carries its own cadence and speed, colored by decades of that person’s accumulated experience with language. Where you heard a sentence as clipped and staccato, the reader may hear it as languid. Where you intended a pause, the reader may barrel through. The reader is performing the text in the only theater that matters, and the performance is entirely their own. Two people can read the same novel in the same afternoon in the same room and hear completely different books, because the voice in one head is never the voice in another. Silent reading is a private staging of the text, unrehearsed, undirected, and unrepeatable.
This is the second life of the book: the one where it exists as pure text and the reader becomes, without knowing it, both audience and performer. The writer is absent. The writer’s voice is gone. What replaces it is whatever voice the reader has cultivated across a lifetime of reading, one that speeds up when the prose is familiar and slows when it is strange, that whispers through some passages and declaims through others, and that the reader has never once thought to question because it has been there since they first learned to decode symbols on a page. This is a genuine performance, as real as any staged production, and it happens billions of times a day in absolute silence.
Then something else happens. Someone else reads the book aloud.
I have listened to narrators perform my work, and the experience is dislocating in ways I did not anticipate. A narrator translates and performs simultaneously, but what a narrator actually does runs deeper than either word suggests. A narrator re-authors the text in real time, filtering every sentence through a different nervous system and a whole separate body of accumulated memory, lungs that breathe in places where you, the writer, never paused. The commas you placed with surgical precision become suggestions. The rhythms you hammered into the prose get bent, sometimes broken, sometimes improved, by a voice that carries its own gravitational field. What emerges from the narrator’s mouth is a separate book that happens to share your words.
The part that haunts you comes afterward: the narrator’s voice replaces yours. Once you have heard your book performed by another person, you cannot unhear it. You go back to the text and try to read it in your own inner voice, the one that built the thing sentence by sentence, and the narrator is already there, squatting in your skull, delivering lines with inflections you never intended. Your book has been colonized. The voice you lived with for months or years of drafting has been overwritten by a voice that arrived after the work was done and claimed it with the confidence of someone who has always lived there. I say this without resentment, only as a witness to the irreversibility of certain experiences. You cannot un-know a melody once it has been attached to lyrics you wrote in silence.
For the listener, the colonization is even more complete, because the listener never had the writer’s voice to begin with. The listener’s first encounter with the text arrives through the narrator’s body and breath, through decisions about emphasis and tempo and the thousand micro-choices that constitute a spoken performance. The narrator’s voice becomes the voice of the book, permanently, the way a film score becomes inseparable from the images it accompanies. Ask anyone who has listened to a well-narrated audiobook to then read the same text in print, and they will tell you: the narrator is still there, still speaking inside their head, overlaying the reader’s own internal voice with a ghost performance that refuses to vacate.
This is the third life of the book: the one where it enters the listener through a voice the writer did not choose and could not have predicted, and becomes something neither the writer nor the narrator intended.
People ask me why I do not narrate my own books. I narrate the Human Meme podcast, so the question is reasonable: if you already sit in front of a microphone and talk for a living, why hand the book to a stranger? I did narrate one, The Wound Remains Faithful, and the experience taught me something about the economics of creative time that I have not forgotten. A book that took months to write takes roughly six hours of studio time to perform as audio. Six hours of recording, plus editing, plus the physical recovery that sustained vocal performance demands. When I look at a free day and ask myself whether I want to spend it re-performing a book I have already written or writing an entirely new one, the new book wins every time. The podcast is different. The podcast is composed in the speaking. The voice and the writing happen simultaneously, and the performance is the first draft. A book has already been performed once, silently, in the writing, and asking me to perform it again aloud is asking me to walk a trail I have already walked when there is an uncut forest next to it.
But the deeper reason is theatrical, and it connects to everything I have been arguing in this essay. If I narrate my own book, the three lives collapse into two. My voice in the writing and my voice in the narration are too close to each other. The gap between them, the productive gap where the book gets re-authored by a second intelligence, closes. The book becomes a one-man show, and much of my life has already been a one-man show: writing, editing, publishing, designing, promoting, all of it carried by one pair of hands. The audiobook is the place where I can finally open the door and let someone else onto the stage. There is a generosity in that, and a relief, and also a creative dividend, because what comes back from the narrator is always more interesting than what I would have produced alone. A second mind in the room changes the room. I know this from decades of directing actors. The playwright who insists on playing every part has misunderstood the purpose of theater.
Seneca understood something about this multiplication, though he never had to endure the experience of hearing a Roman actor perform his prose in a recording studio. In De Brevitate Vitae, he argues that the philosopher lives longest among all people, because through reading, one annexes every preceding age to one’s own. We can, he writes, dispute with Socrates, doubt with Carneades, find peace with Epicurus, and overcome human nature with the Stoics. The years that came before us are not lost. They are available, and through concentrated study, they become ours. A single life becomes many lives. The calendar is a liar.
But Seneca was also suspicious of exactly the kind of expansive reading his own argument seems to invite. In his second letter to Lucilius, he reverses field with the confidence of a man who has caught himself in a contradiction and decided to own it. Do not read everything, he warns. Do not flit from book to book the way a restless traveler moves from city to city, arriving everywhere and settling nowhere. Linger with a few great thinkers. Digest them. Let their ideas become part of your tissue. The person who reads everything absorbs nothing. The person who reads deeply absorbs the author whole.
Seneca’s two positions only appear to contradict each other. Together they form a single, stranger argument: the multiplication of lives he describes in De Brevitate Vitae depends on depth, never on volume. You do not live Socrates’ life by skimming the dialogues. You live it by sitting inside a single passage until Socrates’ way of thinking becomes indistinguishable from your own. The annexation of another life requires the same commitment you would bring to an actual relationship. You have to show up. You have to stay.
Now extend this to the listener, and extend it further to the writer who came up through the theater.
I am a playwright. I have spent decades thinking about what happens when language leaves the page and enters a body that is not the author’s body. In the theater, this transaction is visible. You sit in a darkened house and watch actors inhabit your words in real time, and the text becomes dimensional in a way that no private reading can replicate, because the actor’s physical presence adds information that the page cannot carry: gesture, stance, the way a pause lands differently when an actual human being is standing in an actual room holding the silence. Live theater is synchronous. The audience and the performer share the same moment. The electricity of that shared present tense is what makes theater irreplaceable, and it is also what limits it. A room, bodies, everyone in the same place at the same time.
An audiobook is the redacted version of that staged play.
“Redacted” in the sense of concentrated, the way a reduction in cooking intensifies a flavor by removing the water. An audiobook strips away the visual dimension of performance, the set, the lights, the blocking, the costumes, and leaves only the voice. And the voice, it turns out, is where most of the meaning lived all along. This is something the old radio dramatists understood instinctively: when you remove the visual, the listener’s imagination does not shut down. It accelerates. The listener becomes scenic designer, casting director, and lighting technician in a single act of involuntary creation, building a visual world around the voice that is more personal, more fitted to the listener’s own psyche, than anything a stage crew could construct.
When I write a book now, I hear it as a playwright hears a script. The prose is dialogue spoken by a narrator who does not yet have a name or a face, and the stage is the inside of a stranger’s head. The performance will not happen in a theater on West 44th Street in front of four hundred people at 8:00 on a Thursday evening. It will happen in a car on Interstate 80, or in a kitchen at 6:00 in the morning, or in a hospital waiting room at a time the listener would rather not remember. The audience has been scattered across time zones and years, each person encountering the performance alone, at a moment determined by the private circumstances of their own life rather than by a curtain time. This is asynchronous theater. The playwright writes for a stage that exists everywhere and nowhere, and the result is a more intimate form of drama, because the performance happens inside the listener rather than in front of them.
The old radio plays understood this intimacy. When Orson Welles broadcast The War of the Worlds in 1938, the panic it caused demonstrated something important about the isolated voice. A voice entering the ear without visual accompaniment occupies a different neurological category than a voice attached to a body on a stage. The brain processes an isolated voice as closer and more authoritative, for the simple reason that there is nothing else competing for attention. The listener cannot glance at the set and remember that this is fiction. The listener has only the voice, and the voice is inside them, and the distance between “hearing a performance” and “experiencing an event” collapses to nothing.
This is what thrills me about the audiobook as a form. It is theater without walls. It is a play that runs continuously, starting and stopping at the listener’s discretion, performed for an audience of one in a venue that exists nowhere and everywhere. The book I wrote in silence, hearing it in the voice that lives between my ears, has traveled through the narrator’s larynx and into the listener’s private theater, and at each stage it has been remade by a different human intelligence. The text is the constant. The voice, the pacing, the meaning, all change with each body the book passes through.
Seneca would have approved of this, I think, with one caveat. He would have insisted that the listener not move on too quickly. Stay with this book. Let it work on you. Do not queue up the next title the moment the final chapter ends. The modern compulsion to consume, to track reading goals and annual book counts and to-be-read piles measured in linear feet, is the restless tourism Seneca warned Lucilius against. You do not multiply your life by multiplying your inputs. You multiply your life by refusing to leave a text until it has become part of you, until you can think in its rhythms without trying, until the author’s concerns have become your concerns and you can no longer remember a time when they were not.
The book lives three times. Once in the writing, where the author’s silent voice conducts every sentence. Once in the reading, where a stranger’s inner voice performs the text in a private theater no one else will ever enter. And once in the listening, where a narrator’s physical voice colonizes both the author’s memory and the listener’s imagination, creating something none of them intended and none of them can fully control.
Three lives. Three genuine performances. And the price of admission to any of them is the willingness to stay.
#audiobook #book #listener #narrator #performance #playwright #Podcast #producer #publishing #reader #seneca #tech #watcher #write #writing -
ok here we go
#Scripts.com Bee-Movie By-Jerry-Seinfeld NARRATOR: (Black-screen-with-text;-The-sound-of-buzzing-bees-can-be-heard) According-to-all-known-laws of-aviation #: there-is-no-way-a-bee should-be-able-to-fly. -: Its-wings-are-too-small-to-get its-fat-little-body-off-the-ground. -: The-bee #of-course #flies-anyway -: because-bees-don't-care what-humans-think-is-impossible. BARRY-BENSON: (Barry-is-picking-out-a-shirt) Yellow #black.-Yellow #black. Yellow #black.-Yellow #black. -: Ooh #black-and-yellow! Let's-shake-it-up-a-little. JANET-BENSON: Barry!-Breakfast-is-ready! BARRY: Coming! -: Hang-on-a-second. (Barry-uses-his-antenna-like-a-phone) -: Hello? ADAM-FLAYMAN: (Through-phone) --Barry? BARRY: --Adam? ADAM: --Can-you-believe-this-is-happening? BARRY: --I-can't.-I'll-pick-you-up. (Barry-flies-down-the-stairs) -: MARTIN-BENSON: Looking-sharp. JANET: Use-the-stairs.-Your-father paid-good-money-for-those. BARRY: Sorry.-I'm-excited. MARTIN: Here's-the-graduate. We're-very-proud-of-you #son. -: A-perfect-report-card #all-B's. JANET: Very-proud. (Rubs-Barry's-hair) BARRY= Ma!-I-got-a-thing-going-here. JANET: --You-got-lint-on-your-fuzz. BARRY: --Ow!-That's-me! JANET: --Wave-to-us!-We'll-be-in-row-118 #000. --Bye! (Barry-flies-out-the-door) JANET: Barry #I-told-you #stop-flying-in-the-house! (Barry-drives-through-the-hive #and-is-waved-at-by-Adam-who-is-reading-a newspaper) BARRY== --Hey #Adam. ADAM: --Hey #Barry. (Adam-gets-in-Barry's-car) -: --Is-that-fuzz-gel? BARRY: --A-little.-Special-day #graduation. ADAM: Never-thought-I'd-make-it. (Barry-pulls-away-from-the-house-and-continues-driving) BARRY: Three-days-grade-school #three-days-high-school... ADAM: Those-were-awkward. BARRY: Three-days-college.-I'm-glad-I-took a-day-and-hitchhiked-around-the-hive. ADAM== You-did-come-back-different. (Barry-and-Adam-pass-by-Artie #who-is-jogging) ARTIE: --Hi #Barry! BARRY: --Artie #growing-a-mustache?-Looks-good. ADAM: --Hear-about-Frankie? BARRY: --Yeah. ADAM== --You-going-to-the-funeral? BARRY: --No #I'm-not-going-to-his-funeral. -: Everybody-knows #sting-someone #you-die. -: Don't-waste-it-on-a-squirrel. Such-a-hothead. ADAM: I-guess-he-could-have just-gotten-out-of-the-way. (The-car-does-a-barrel-roll-on-the-loop-shaped-bridge-and-lands-on-the highway) -: I-love-this-incorporating an-amusement-park-into-our-regular-day. BARRY: I-guess-that's-why-they-say-we-don't-need-vacations. (Barry-parallel-parks-the-car-and-together-they-fly-over-the-graduating students) Boy #quite-a-bit-of-pomp... under-the-circumstances. (Barry-and-Adam-sit-down-and-put-on-their-hats) -: --Well #Adam #today-we-are-men. ADAM: --We-are! BARRY= --Bee-men. =ADAM= --Amen! BARRY-AND-ADAM: Hallelujah! (Barry-and-Adam-both-have-a-happy-spasm) ANNOUNCER: Students #faculty #distinguished-bees #: please-welcome-Dean-Buzzwell. DEAN-BUZZWELL: Welcome #New-Hive-Oity graduating-class-of... -: ...9: -: That-concludes-our-ceremonies. -: And-begins-your-career at-Honex-Industries! ADAM: Will-we-pick-our-job-today? (Adam-and-Barry-get-into-a-tour-bus) BARRY= I-heard-it's-just-orientation. (Tour-buses-rise-out-of-the-ground-and-the-students-are-automatically loaded-into-the-buses) TOUR-GUIDE: Heads-up!-Here-we-go. ANNOUNCER: Keep-your-hands-and-antennas inside-the-tram-at-all-times. BARRY: --Wonder-what-it'll-be-like? ADAM: --A-little-scary. TOUR-GUIDE== Welcome-to-Honex #a-division-of-Honesco -: and-a-part-of-the-Hexagon-Group. Barry: This-is-it! BARRY-AND-ADAM: Wow. BARRY: Wow. (The-bus-drives-down-a-road-an-on-either-side-are-the-Bee's-massive complicated-Honey-making-machines) TOUR-GUIDE: We-know-that-you #as-a-bee #have-worked-your-whole-life -: to-get-to-the-point-where-you can-work-for-your-whole-life. -: Honey-begins-when-our-valiant-Pollen Jocks-bring-the-nectar-to-the-hive. -: Our-top-secret-formula -: is-automatically-color-corrected #scent-adjusted-and-bubble-contoured -: into-this-soothing-sweet-syrup -: with-its-distinctive golden-glow-you-know-as... EVERYONE-ON-BUS: Honey! (The-guide-has-been-collecting-honey-into-a-bottle-and-she-throws-it-into the-crowd-on-the-bus-and-it-is-caught-by-a-girl-in-the-back) ADAM: --That-girl-was-hot. BARRY: --She's-my-cousin! ADAM== --She-is? BARRY: --Yes #we're-all-cousins. ADAM: --Right.-You're-right. TOUR-GUIDE: --At-Honex #we-constantly-strive -: to-improve-every-aspect of-bee-existence. -: These-bees-are-stress-testing a-new-helmet-technology. (The-bus-passes-by-a-Bee-wearing-a-helmet-who-is-being-smashed-into-the ground-with-fly-swatters #newspapers-and-boots.-He-lifts-a-thumbs-up-but you-can-hear-him-groan) -: ADAM== --What-do-you-think-he-makes? BARRY: --Not-enough. TOUR-GUIDE: Here-we-have-our-latest-advancement #the-Krelman. (They-pass-by-a-turning-wheel-with-Bees-standing-on-pegs #who-are-each wearing-a-finger-shaped-hat) Barry: --Wow #What-does-that-do? TOUR-GUIDE: --Catches-that-little-strand-of-honey -: that-hangs-after-you-pour-it. Saves-us-millions. ADAM: (Intrigued) Can-anyone-work-on-the-Krelman? TOUR-GUIDE: Of-course.-Most-bee-jobs-are small-ones. But-bees-know-that-every-small-job #if-it's-done-well #means-a-lot. -: But-choose-carefully -: because-you'll-stay-in-the-job you-pick-for-the-rest-of-your-life. (Everyone-claps-except-for-Barry) BARRY: The-same-job-the-rest-of-your-life? I-didn't-know-that. ADAM: What's-the-difference? TOUR-GUIDE: You'll-be-happy-to-know-that-bees #as-a-species #haven't-had-one-day-off -: in-27-million-years. BARRY: (Upset) So-you'll-just-work-us-to-death? -: We'll-sure-try. (Everyone-on-the-bus-laughs-except-Barry.-Barry-and-Adam-are-walking-back home-together) ADAM: Wow!-That-blew-my-mind! BARRY: 'What's-the-difference?' How-can-you-say-that? -: One-job-forever? That's-an-insane-choice-to-have-to-make. ADAM: I'm-relieved.-Now-we-only-have to-make-one-decision-in-life. BARRY: But #Adam #how-could-they never-have-told-us-that? ADAM: Why-would-you-question-anything? We're-bees. -: We're-the-most-perfectly functioning-society-on-Earth. BARRY: You-ever-think-maybe-things work-a-little-too-well-here? ADAM: Like-what?-Give-me-one-example. (Barry-and-Adam-stop-walking-and-it-is-revealed-to-the-audience-that hundreds-of-cars-are-speeding-by-and-narrowly-missing-them-in-perfect unison) BARRY: I-don't-know.-But-you-know what-I'm-talking-about. ANNOUNCER: Please-clear-the-gate. Royal-Nectar-Force-on-approach. BARRY: Wait-a-second.-Check-it-out. (The-Pollen-jocks-fly-in #circle-around-and-landing-in-line) -: --Hey #those-are-Pollen-Jocks! ADAM: --Wow. -: I've-never-seen-them-this-close. BARRY: They-know-what-it's-like outside-the-hive. ADAM: Yeah #but-some-don't-come-back. GIRL-BEES: --Hey #Jocks! --Hi #Jocks! (The-Pollen-Jocks-hook-up-their-backpacks-to-machines-that-pump-the-nectar to-trucks #which-drive-away) LOU-LO-DUVA: You-guys-did-great! -: You're-monsters! You're-sky-freaks! I-love-it! (Punching-the-Pollen-Jocks-in-joy) I-love-it! ADAM: --I-wonder-where-they-were. BARRY: --I-don't-know. -: Their-day's-not-planned. -: Outside-the-hive #flying-who-knows where #doing-who-knows-what. -: You-can't-just-decide-to-be-a-Pollen Jock.-You-have-to-be-bred-for-that. ADAM== Right. (Barry-and-Adam-are-covered-in-some-pollen-that-floated-off-of-the-Pollen Jocks) BARRY: Look-at-that.-That's-more-pollen than-you-and-I-will-see-in-a-lifetime. ADAM: It's-just-a-status-symbol. Bees-make-too-much-of-it. BARRY: Perhaps.-Unless-you're-wearing-it and-the-ladies-see-you-wearing-it. (Barry-waves-at-2-girls-standing-a-little-away-from-them) ADAM== Those-ladies? Aren't-they-our-cousins-too? BARRY: Distant.-Distant. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Look-at-these-two. POLLEN-JOCK-#2: --Couple-of-Hive-Harrys. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: --Let's-have-fun-with-them. GIRL-BEE-#1: It-must-be-dangerous being-a-Pollen-Jock. BARRY: Yeah.-Once-a-bear-pinned-me against-a-mushroom! -: He-had-a-paw-on-my-throat #and-with-the-other #he-was-slapping-me! (Slaps-Adam-with-his-hand-to-represent-his-scenario) GIRL-BEE-#2: --Oh #my! BARRY: --I-never-thought-I'd-knock-him-out. GIRL-BEE-#1: (Looking-at-Adam) What-were-you-doing-during-this? ADAM: Obviously-I-was-trying-to-alert-the-authorities. BARRY: I-can-autograph-that. (The-pollen-jocks-walk-up-to-Barry-and-Adam #they-pretend-that-Barry-and Adam-really-are-pollen-jocks.) POLLEN-JOCK-#1: A-little-gusty-out-there-today #wasn't-it #comrades? BARRY: Yeah.-Gusty. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: We're-hitting-a-sunflower-patch six-miles-from-here-tomorrow. BARRY: --Six-miles #huh? ADAM: --Barry! POLLEN-JOCK-#2: A-puddle-jump-for-us #but-maybe-you're-not-up-for-it. BARRY: --Maybe-I-am. ADAM: --You-are-not! POLLEN-JOCK-#1: We're-going-0900-at-J-Gate. -: What-do-you-think #buzzy-boy? Are-you-bee-enough? BARRY: I-might-be.-It-all-depends on-what-0900-means. (The-scene-cuts-to-Barry-looking-out-on-the-hive-city-from-his-balcony-at night) MARTIN: Hey #Honex! BARRY: Dad #you-surprised-me. MARTIN: You-decide-what-you're-interested-in? BARRY: --Well #there's-a-lot-of-choices. --But-you-only-get-one. -: Do-you-ever-get-bored doing-the-same-job-every-day? MARTIN: Son #let-me-tell-you-about-stirring. -: You-grab-that-stick #and-you-just move-it-around #and-you-stir-it-around. -: You-get-yourself-into-a-rhythm. It's-a-beautiful-thing. BARRY: You-know #Dad #the-more-I-think-about-it #: maybe-the-honey-field just-isn't-right-for-me. MARTIN: You-were-thinking-of-what #making-balloon-animals? -: That's-a-bad-job for-a-guy-with-a-stinger. -: Janet #your-son's-not-sure he-wants-to-go-into-honey! JANET: --Barry #you-are-so-funny-sometimes. BARRY: --I'm-not-trying-to-be-funny. MARTIN: You're-not-funny!-You're-going into-honey.-Our-son #the-stirrer! JANET: --You're-gonna-be-a-stirrer? BARRY: --No-one's-listening-to-me! MARTIN: Wait-till-you-see-the-sticks-I-have. BARRY: I-could-say-anything-right-now. I'm-gonna-get-an-ant-tattoo! (Barry's-parents-don't-listen-to-him-and-continue-to-ramble-on) MARTIN: Let's-open-some-honey-and-celebrate! BARRY: Maybe-I'll-pierce-my-thorax. Shave-my-antennae. -: Shack-up-with-a-grasshopper.-Get a-gold-tooth-and-call-everybody-'dawg'! JANET: I'm-so-proud. (The-scene-cuts-to-Barry-and-Adam-waiting-in-line-to-get-a-job) ADAM: --We're-starting-work-today! BARRY: --Today's-the-day. ADAM: Come-on!-All-the-good-jobs will-be-gone. BARRY: Yeah #right. JOB-LISTER: Pollen-counting #stunt-bee #pouring #stirrer #front-desk #hair-removal... BEE-IN-FRONT-OF-LINE: --Is-it-still-available? JOB-LISTER: --Hang-on.-Two-left! -: One-of-them's-yours!-Congratulations! Step-to-the-side. ADAM: --What'd-you-get? BEE-IN-FRONT-OF-LINE: --Picking-crud-out.-Stellar! (He-walks-away) ADAM: Wow! JOB-LISTER: Couple-of-newbies? ADAM: Yes #sir!-Our-first-day!-We-are-ready! JOB-LISTER: Make-your-choice. (Adam-and-Barry-look-up-at-the-job-board.-There-are-hundreds-of-constantly changing-panels-that-contain-available-or-unavailable-jobs.-It-looks-very confusing) ADAM: --You-want-to-go-first? BARRY: --No #you-go. ADAM: Oh #my.-What's-available? JOB-LISTER: Restroom-attendant's-open #not-for-the-reason-you-think. ADAM: --Any-chance-of-getting-the-Krelman? JOB-LISTER: --Sure #you're-on. (Puts-the-Krelman-finger-hat-on-Adam's-head) (Suddenly-the-sign-for-Krelman-closes-out) -: I'm-sorry #the-Krelman-just-closed-out. (Takes-Adam's-hat-off) Wax-monkey's-always-open. ADAM: The-Krelman-opened-up-again. -: What-happened? JOB-LISTER: A-bee-died.-Makes-an-opening.-See? He's-dead.-Another-dead-one. -: Deady.-Deadified.-Two-more-dead. -: Dead-from-the-neck-up. Dead-from-the-neck-down.-That's-life! ADAM: Oh #this-is-so-hard! (Barry-remembers-what-the-Pollen-Jock-offered-him-and-he-flies-off) Heating #cooling #stunt-bee #pourer #stirrer #: humming #inspector-number-seven #lint-coordinator #stripe-supervisor #: mite-wrangler.-Barry #what do-you-think-I-should...-Barry? (Adam-turns-around-and-sees-Barry-flying-away) -: Barry! POLLEN-JOCK: All-right #we've-got-the-sunflower-patch in-quadrant-nine... ADAM: (Through-phone) What-happened-to-you? Where-are-you? BARRY: --I'm-going-out. ADAM: --Out?-Out-where? BARRY: --Out-there. ADAM: --Oh #no! BARRY: I-have-to #before-I-go to-work-for-the-rest-of-my-life. ADAM: You're-gonna-die!-You're-crazy! (Barry-hangs-up) Hello? POLLEN-JOCK-#2: Another-call-coming-in. -: If-anyone's-feeling-brave #there's-a-Korean-deli-on-83rd -: that-gets-their-roses-today. BARRY: Hey #guys. POLLEN-JOCK-#1-== --Look-at-that. POLLEN-JOCK-#2: --Isn't-that-the-kid-we-saw-yesterday? LOU-LO-DUVA: Hold-it #son #flight-deck's-restricted. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: It's-OK #Lou.-We're-gonna-take-him-up. (Puts-hand-on-Barry's-shoulder) LOU-LO-DUVA: (To-Barry)-Really?-Feeling-lucky #are-you? BEE-WITH-CLIPBOARD: (To-Barry)-Sign-here #here.-Just-initial-that. -: --Thank-you. LOU-LO-DUVA: --OK. -: You-got-a-rain-advisory-today #: and-as-you-all-know #bees-cannot-fly-in-rain. -: So-be-careful.-As-always #watch-your-brooms #: hockey-sticks #dogs #birds #bears-and-bats. -: Also #I-got-a-couple-of-reports of-root-beer-being-poured-on-us. -: Murphy's-in-a-home-because-of-it #babbling-like-a-cicada! BARRY: --That's-awful. LOU-LO-DUVA: (Still-talking-through-megaphone) --And-a-reminder-for-you-rookies #: bee-law-number-one #absolutely-no-talking-to-humans! -: All-right #launch-positions! POLLEN-JOCKS: (The-Pollen-Jocks-run-into-formation) -: Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz!-Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz!-Buzz #buzz #buzz #buzz! LOU-LU-DUVA: Black-and-yellow! POLLEN-JOCKS: Hello! POLLEN-JOCK-#1: (To-Barry)You-ready-for-this #hot-shot? BARRY: Yeah.-Yeah #bring-it-on. POLLEN-JOCK's: Wind #check. -: --Antennae #check. --Nectar-pack #check. -: --Wings #check. --Stinger #check. BARRY: Scared-out-of-my-shorts #check. LOU-LO-DUVA: OK #ladies #: let's-move-it-out! -: Pound-those-petunias #you-striped-stem-suckers! -: All-of-you #drain-those-flowers! (The-pollen-jocks-fly-out-of-the-hive) BARRY: Wow!-I'm-out! -: I-can't-believe-I'm-out! -: So-blue. -: I-feel-so-fast-and-free! -: Box-kite! (Barry-flies-through-the-kite) -: Wow! -: Flowers! (A-pollen-jock-puts-on-some-high-tech-goggles-that-shows-flowers-similar-to heat-sink-goggles.) POLLEN-JOCK: This-is-Blue-Leader. We-have-roses-visual. -: Bring-it-around-30-degrees-and-hold. -: Roses! POLLEN-JOCK-#1: 30-degrees #roger.-Bringing-it-around. -: Stand-to-the-side #kid. It's-got-a-bit-of-a-kick. (The-pollen-jock-fires-a-high-tech-gun-at-the-flower #shooting-tubes-that suck-up-the-nectar-from-the-flower-and-collects-it-into-a-pouch-on-the-gun) BARRY: That-is-one-nectar-collector! POLLEN-JOCK-#1== --Ever-see-pollination-up-close? BARRY: --No #sir. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: (Barry-and-the-Pollen-jock-fly-over-the-field #the-pollen-jock-sprinkles pollen-as-he-goes) -: I-pick-up-some-pollen-here #sprinkle-it over-here.-Maybe-a-dash-over-there #: a-pinch-on-that-one. See-that?-It's-a-little-bit-of-magic. BARRY: That's-amazing.-Why-do-we-do-that? POLLEN-JOCK-#1: That's-pollen-power.-More-pollen #more flowers #more-nectar #more-honey-for-us. BARRY: Cool. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: I'm-picking-up-a-lot-of-bright-yellow. could-be-daisies.-Don't-we-need-those? POLLEN-JOCK-#2: Copy-that-visual. -: Wait.-One-of-these-flowers seems-to-be-on-the-move. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Say-again?-You're-reporting a-moving-flower? POLLEN-JOCK-#2: Affirmative. (The-Pollen-jocks-land-near-the-'flowers'-which #to-the-audience-are obviously-just-tennis-balls) KEN: (In-the-distance)-That-was-on-the-line! POLLEN-JOCK-#1: This-is-the-coolest.-What-is-it? POLLEN-JOCK-#2: I-don't-know #but-I'm-loving-this-color. -: It-smells-good. Not-like-a-flower #but-I-like-it. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Yeah #fuzzy. (Sticks-his-hand-on-the-ball-but-it-gets-stuck) POLLEN-JOCK-#3== Chemical-y. (The-pollen-jock-finally-gets-his-hand-free-from-the-tennis-ball) POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Careful #guys.-It's-a-little-grabby. (The-pollen-jocks-turn-around-and-see-Barry-lying-his-entire-body-on-top-of one-of-the-tennis-balls) POLLEN-JOCK-#2: My-sweet-lord-of-bees! POLLEN-JOCK-#3: Candy-brain #get-off-there! POLLEN-JOCK-#1: (Pointing-upwards) Problem! (A-human-hand-reaches-down-and-grabs-the-tennis-ball-that-Barry-is-stuck to) BARRY: --Guys! POLLEN-JOCK-#2: --This-could-be-bad. POLLEN-JOCK-#3: Affirmative. (Vanessa-Bloome-starts-bouncing-the-tennis-ball #not-knowing-Barry-is-stick to-it) BARRY== Very-close. -: Gonna-hurt. -: Mama's-little-boy. (Barry-is-being-hit-back-and-forth-by-two-humans-playing-tennis.-He-is still-stuck-to-the-ball) POLLEN-JOCK-#1: You-are-way-out-of-position #rookie! KEN: Coming-in-at-you-like-a-MISSILE! (Barry-flies-past-the-pollen-jocks #still-stuck-to-the-ball) BARRY: (In-slow-motion) Help-me! POLLEN-JOCK-#2: I-don't-think-these-are-flowers. POLLEN-JOCK-#3: --Should-we-tell-him? POLLEN-JOCK-#1: --I-think-he-knows. BARRY: What-is-this?! KEN: Match-point! -: You-can-start-packing-up #honey #because-you're-about-to-EAT-IT! (A-pollen-jock-coughs-which-confused-Ken-and-he-hits-the-ball-the-wrong-way with-Barry-stuck-to-it-and-it-goes-flying-into-the-city) BARRY: Yowser! (Barry-bounces-around-town-and-gets-stuck-in-the-engine-of-a-car.-He-flies into-the-air-conditioner-and-sees-a-bug-that-was-frozen-in-there) BARRY: Ew #gross. (The-man-driving-the-car-turns-on-the-air-conditioner-which-blows-Barry into-the-car) GIRL-IN-CAR: There's-a-bee-in-the-car! -: --Do-something! DAD-DRIVING-CAR: --I'm-driving! BABY-GIRL: (Waving-at-Barry) --Hi #bee. (Barry-smiles-and-waves-at-the-baby-girl) GUY-IN-BACK-OF-CAR: --He's-back-here! -: He's-going-to-sting-me! GIRL-IN-CAR: Nobody-move.-If-you-don't-move #he-won't-sting-you.-Freeze! (Barry-freezes-as-well #hovering-in-the-middle-of-the-car) -: GRANDMA-IN-CAR== He-blinked! (The-grandma-whips-out-some-bee-spray-and-sprays-everywhere-in-the-car #climbing-into-the-front-seat #still-trying-to-spray-Barry) GIRL-IN-CAR: Spray-him #Granny! DAD-DRIVING-THE-CAR: What-are-you-doing?! (Barry-escapes-the-car-through-the-air-conditioner-and-is-flying-high-above the-ground #safe.) BARRY: Wow...-the-tension-level out-here-is-unbelievable. (Barry-sees-that-storm-clouds-are-gathering-and-he-can-see-rain-clouds moving-into-this-direction) -: I-gotta-get-home. -: Can't-fly-in-rain. -: Can't-fly-in-rain. (A-rain-drop-hits-Barry-and-one-of-his-wings-is-damaged) -: Can't-fly-in-rain. (A-second-rain-drop-hits-Barry-again-and-he-spirals-downwards) Mayday!-Mayday!-Bee-going-down! (WW2-plane-sound-effects-are-played-as-he-plummets #and-he-crash-lands-on-a plant-inside-an-apartment-near-the-window) VANESSA-BLOOME: Ken #could-you-close the-window-please? KEN== Hey #check-out-my-new-resume. I-made-it-into-a-fold-out-brochure. -: You-see? (Folds-brochure-resume-out) Folds-out. (Ken-closes-the-window #trapping-Barry-inside) BARRY: Oh #no.-More-humans.-I-don't-need-this. (Barry-tries-to-fly-away-but-smashes-into-the-window-and-falls-again) -: What-was-that? (Barry-keeps-trying-to-fly-out-the-window-but-he-keeps-being-knocked-back because-the-window-is-closed) Maybe-this-time.-This-time.-This-time. This-time!-This-time!-This... -: Drapes! (Barry-taps-the-glass.-He-doesn't-understand-what-it-is) That-is-diabolical. KEN: It's-fantastic.-It's-got-all-my-special skills #even-my-top-ten-favorite-movies. ANDY: What's-number-one?-Star-Wars? KEN: Nah #I-don't-go-for-that... (Ken-makes-finger-guns-and-makes-'pew-pew-pew'-sounds-and-then-stops) -: ...kind-of-stuff. BARRY: No-wonder-we-shouldn't-talk-to-them. They're-out-of-their-minds. KEN: When-I-leave-a-job-interview #they're flabbergasted #can't-believe-what-I-say. BARRY: (Looking-at-the-light-on-the-ceiling) There's-the-sun.-Maybe-that's-a-way-out. (Starts-flying-towards-the-lightbulb) -: I-don't-remember-the-sun having-a-big-75-on-it. (Barry-hits-the-lightbulb-and-falls-into-the-dip-on-the-table-that-the humans-are-sitting-at) KEN: I-predicted-global-warming. -: I-could-feel-it-getting-hotter. At-first-I-thought-it-was-just-me. (Andy-dips-a-chip-into-the-bowl-and-scoops-up-some-dip-with-Barry-on-it-and is-about-to-put-it-in-his-mouth) -: Wait!-Stop!-Bee! (Andy-drops-the-chip-with-Barry-in-fear-and-backs-away.-All-the-humans freak-out) -: Stand-back.-These-are-winter-boots. (Ken-has-winter-boots-on-his-hands-and-he-is-about-to-smash-the-bee-but Vanessa-saves-him-last-second) VANESSA: Wait! -: Don't-kill-him! (Vanessa-puts-Barry-in-a-glass-to-protect-him) KEN: You-know-I'm-allergic-to-them! This-thing-could-kill-me! VANESSA: Why-does-his-life-have less-value-than-yours? KEN: Why-does-his-life-have-any-less-value than-mine?-Is-that-your-statement? VANESSA: I'm-just-saying-all-life-has-value.-You don't-know-what-he's-capable-of-feeling. (Vanessa-picks-up-Ken's-brochure-and-puts-it-under-the-glass-so-she-can carry-Barry-back-to-the-window.-Barry-looks-at-Vanessa-in-amazement) KEN: My-brochure! VANESSA: There-you-go #little-guy. (Vanessa-opens-the-window-and-lets-Barry-out-but-Barry-stays-back-and-is still-shocked-that-a-human-saved-his-life) KEN: I'm-not-scared-of-him. It's-an-allergic-thing. VANESSA: Put-that-on-your-resume-brochure. KEN: My-whole-face-could-puff-up. ANDY: Make-it-one-of-your-special-skills. KEN: Knocking-someone-out is-also-a-special-skill. (Ken-walks-to-the-door) Right.-Bye #Vanessa.-Thanks. -: --Vanessa #next-week?-Yogurt-night? VANESSA: --Sure #Ken.-You-know #whatever. -: (Vanessa-tries-to-close-door) KEN== --You-could-put-carob-chips-on-there. VANESSA: --Bye. (Closes-door-but-Ken-opens-it-again) KEN: --Supposed-to-be-less-calories. VANESSA: --Bye. (Closes-door) (Fast-forward-to-the-next-day #Barry-is-still-inside-the-house.-He-flies into-the-kitchen-where-Vanessa-is-doing-dishes) BARRY== (Talking-to-himself) I-gotta-say-something. -: She-saved-my-life. I-gotta-say-something. -: All-right #here-it-goes. (Turns-back) Nah. -: What-would-I-say? -: I-could-really-get-in-trouble. -: It's-a-bee-law. You're-not-supposed-to-talk-to-a-human. -: I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this. -: I've-got-to. (Barry-disguises-himself-as-a-character-on-a-food-can-as-Vanessa-walks-by again) -: Oh #I-can't-do-it.-Come-on! -: No.-Yes.-No. -: Do-it.-I-can't. -: How-should-I-start-it? (Barry-strikes-a-pose-and-wiggles-his-eyebrows) 'You-like-jazz?' No #that's-no-good. (Vanessa-is-about-to-walk-past-Barry) Here-she-comes!-Speak #you-fool! -: ...Hi! (Vanessa-gasps-and-drops-the-dishes-in-fright-and-notices-Barry-on-the counter) -: I'm-sorry. VANESSA: --You're-talking. BARRY: --Yes #I-know. VANESSA: (Pointing-at-Barry) You're-talking! BARRY: I'm-so-sorry. VANESSA: No #it's-OK.-It's-fine. I-know-I'm-dreaming. -: But-I-don't-recall-going-to-bed. BARRY: Well #I'm-sure-this is-very-disconcerting. VANESSA: This-is-a-bit-of-a-surprise-to-me. I-mean #you're-a-bee! BARRY: I-am.-And-I'm-not-supposed to-be-doing-this #(Pointing-to-the-living-room-where-Ken-tried-to-kill-him-last-night) but-they-were-all-trying-to-kill-me. -: And-if-it-wasn't-for-you... -: I-had-to-thank-you. It's-just-how-I-was-raised. (Vanessa-stabs-her-hand-with-a-fork-to-test-whether-she's-dreaming-or-not) -: That-was-a-little-weird. VANESSA: --I'm-talking-with-a-bee. BARRY: --Yeah. VANESSA: I'm-talking-to-a-bee. And-the-bee-is-talking-to-me! BARRY: I-just-want-to-say-I'm-grateful. I'll-leave-now. (Barry-turns-to-leave) VANESSA: --Wait!-How-did-you-learn-to-do-that? BARRY: (Flying-back) --What? VANESSA: The-talking...thing. BARRY: Same-way-you-did #I-guess. 'Mama #Dada #honey.'-You-pick-it-up. VANESSA: --That's-very-funny. BARRY: --Yeah. -: Bees-are-funny.-If-we-didn't-laugh #we'd-cry-with-what-we-have-to-deal-with. -: Anyway... VANESSA: Can-I... -: ...get-you-something? BARRY: --Like-what? VANESSA: I-don't-know.-I-mean... I-don't-know.-Coffee? BARRY: I-don't-want-to-put-you-out. VANESSA: It's-no-trouble.-It-takes-two-minutes. -: --It's-just-coffee. BARRY: --I-hate-to-impose. (Vanessa-starts-making-coffee) VANESSA: --Don't-be-ridiculous! BARRY: --Actually #I-would-love-a-cup. VANESSA: Hey #you-want-rum-cake? BARRY: --I-shouldn't. VANESSA: --Have-some. BARRY: --No #I-can't. VANESSA: --Come-on! BARRY: I'm-trying-to-lose-a-couple-micrograms. VANESSA: --Where? BARRY: --These-stripes-don't-help. VANESSA: You-look-great! BARRY: I-don't-know-if-you-know anything-about-fashion. -: Are-you-all-right? VANESSA: (Pouring-coffee-on-the-floor-and-missing-the-cup-completely) No. (Flash-forward-in-time.-Barry-and-Vanessa-are-sitting-together-at-a-table on-top-of-the-apartment-building-drinking-coffee) -: BARRY== He's-making-the-tie-in-the-cab as-they're-flying-up-Madison. -: He-finally-gets-there. -: He-runs-up-the-steps-into-the-church. The-wedding-is-on. -: And-he-says #'Watermelon? I-thought-you-said-Guatemalan. -: Why-would-I-marry-a-watermelon?' (Barry-laughs-but-Vanessa-looks-confused) VANESSA: Is-that-a-bee-joke? BARRY: That's-the-kind-of-stuff-we-do. VANESSA: Yeah #different. -: So #what-are-you-gonna-do #Barry? (Barry-stands-on-top-of-a-sugar-cube-floating-in-his-coffee-and-paddles-it around-with-a-straw-like-it's-a-gondola) BARRY: About-work?-I-don't-know. -: I-want-to-do-my-part-for-the-hive #but-I-can't-do-it-the-way-they-want. VANESSA: I-know-how-you-feel. BARRY: --You-do? VANESSA: --Sure. -: My-parents-wanted-me-to-be-a-lawyer-or a-doctor #but-I-wanted-to-be-a-florist. BARRY: --Really? VANESSA: --My-only-interest-is-flowers. BARRY: Our-new-queen-was-just-elected with-that-same-campaign-slogan. -: Anyway #if-you-look... (Barry-points-to-a-tree-in-the-middle-of-Central-Park) -: There's-my-hive-right-there.-See-it? VANESSA: You're-in-Sheep-Meadow! BARRY: Yes!-I'm-right-off-the-Turtle-Pond! VANESSA: No-way!-I-know-that-area. I-lost-a-toe-ring-there-once. BARRY: --Why-do-girls-put-rings-on-their-toes? VANESSA: --Why-not? BARRY: --It's-like-putting-a-hat-on-your-knee. VANESSA: --Maybe-I'll-try-that. (A-custodian-installing-a-lightbulb-looks-over-at-them-but-to-his perspective-it-looks-like-Vanessa-is-talking-to-a-cup-of-coffee-on-the table) CUSTODIAN: --You-all-right #ma'am? VANESSA: --Oh #yeah.-Fine. -: Just-having-two-cups-of-coffee! BARRY: Anyway #this-has-been-great. Thanks-for-the-coffee. VANESSA== Yeah #it's-no-trouble. BARRY: Sorry-I-couldn't-finish-it.-If-I-did #I'd-be-up-the-rest-of-my-life. (Barry-points-towards-the-rum-cake) -: Can-I-take-a-piece-of-this-with-me? VANESSA: Sure!-Here #have-a-crumb. (Vanessa-hands-Barry-a-crumb-but-it-is-still-pretty-big-for-Barry) BARRY: --Thanks! VANESSA: --Yeah. BARRY: All-right.-Well #then... I-guess-I'll-see-you-around. -: Or-not. VANESSA: OK #Barry... BARRY: And-thank-you so-much-again...-for-before. VANESSA: Oh #that?-That-was-nothing. BARRY: Well #not-nothing #but...-Anyway... (Vanessa-and-Barry-hold-hands #but-Vanessa-has-to-hold-out-a-finger-because her-hands-is-to-big-and-Barry-holds-that) (The-custodian-looks-over-again-and-it-appears-Vanessa-is-laughing-at-her coffee-again.-The-lightbulb-that-he-was-screwing-in-sparks-and-he-falls-off the-ladder) (Fast-forward-in-time-and-we-see-two-Bee-Scientists-testing-out-a-parachute in-a-Honex-wind-tunnel) BEE-SCIENTIST-#1: This-can't-possibly-work. BEE-SCIENTIST-#2: He's-all-set-to-go. We-may-as-well-try-it. -: OK #Dave #pull-the-chute. (Dave-pulls-the-chute-and-the-wind-slams-him-against-the-wall-and-he-falls on-his-face.The-camera-pans-over-and-we-see-Barry-and-Adam-walking together) ADAM: --Sounds-amazing. BARRY: --It-was-amazing! -: It-was-the-scariest #happiest-moment-of-my-life. ADAM: Humans!-I-can't-believe you-were-with-humans! -: Giant #scary-humans! What-were-they-like? BARRY: Huge-and-crazy.-They-talk-crazy. -: They-eat-crazy-giant-things. They-drive-crazy. ADAM: --Do-they-try-and-kill-you #like-on-TV? BARRY: --Some-of-them.-But-some-of-them-don't. ADAM: --How'd-you-get-back? BARRY: --Poodle. ADAM: You-did-it #and-I'm-glad.-You-saw whatever-you-wanted-to-see. -: You-had-your-'experience.'-Now-you can-pick-out-your-job-and-be-normal. BARRY: --Well... ADAM: --Well? BARRY: Well #I-met-someone. ADAM: You-did?-Was-she-Bee-ish? -: --A-wasp?!-Your-parents-will-kill-you! BARRY: --No #no #no #not-a-wasp. ADAM: --Spider? BARRY: --I'm-not-attracted-to-spiders. -: I-know #for-everyone-else #it's-the-hottest-thing #with-the-eight-legs-and-all. -: I-can't-get-by-that-face. ADAM: So-who-is-she? BARRY: She's...-human. ADAM: No #no.-That's-a-bee-law. You-wouldn't-break-a-bee-law. BARRY: --Her-name's-Vanessa. (Adam-puts-his-head-in-his-hands) ADAM: --Oh #boy. BARRY== She's-so-nice.-And-she's-a-florist! ADAM: Oh #no!-You're-dating-a-human-florist! BARRY: We're-not-dating. ADAM: You're-flying-outside-the-hive #talking to-humans-that-attack-our-homes -: with-power-washers-and-M-80s! That's-one-eighth-a-stick-of-dynamite! BARRY: She-saved-my-life! And-she-understands-me. ADAM: This-is-over! BARRY: Eat-this. (Barry-gives-Adam-a-piece-of-the-crumb-that-he-got-from-Vanessa.-Adam-eats it) ADAM: (Adam's-tone-changes) This-is-not-over!-What-was-that? BARRY: --They-call-it-a-crumb. ADAM: --It-was-so-stingin'-stripey! BARRY: And-that's-not-what-they-eat. That's-what-falls-off-what-they-eat! -: --You-know-what-a-Cinnabon-is? ADAM: --No. (Adam-opens-a-door-behind-him-and-he-pulls-Barry-in) BARRY: It's-bread-and-cinnamon-and-frosting. ADAM: Be-quiet! BARRY: They-heat-it-up... ADAM: Sit-down! (Adam-forces-Barry-to-sit-down) BARRY: (Still-rambling-about-Cinnabons) ...really-hot! (Adam-grabs-Barry-by-the-shoulders) ADAM: --Listen-to-me! -: We-are-not-them!-We're-us. There's-us-and-there's-them! BARRY== Yes #but-who-can-deny the-heart-that-is-yearning? ADAM: There's-no-yearning. Stop-yearning.-Listen-to-me! -: You-have-got-to-start-thinking-bee #my-friend.-Thinking-bee! BARRY: --Thinking-bee. WORKER-BEE: --Thinking-bee. WORKER-BEES-AND-ADAM: Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee! Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee! (Flash-forward-in-time;-Barry-is-laying-on-a-raft-in-a-pool-full-of-honey. He-is-wearing-sunglasses) JANET: There-he-is.-He's-in-the-pool. MARTIN: You-know-what-your-problem-is #Barry? (Barry-pulls-down-his-sunglasses-and-he-looks-annoyed) BARRY: (Sarcastic) I-gotta-start-thinking-bee? JANET: How-much-longer-will-this-go-on? MARTIN: It's-been-three-days! Why-aren't-you-working? (Puts-sunglasses-back-on) BARRY: I've-got-a-lot-of-big-life-decisions to-think-about. MARTIN: What-life?-You-have-no-life! You-have-no-job.-You're-barely-a-bee! JANET: Would-it-kill-you to-make-a-little-honey? (Barry-rolls-off-the-raft-and-sinks-into-the-honey-pool) -: Barry #come-out. Your-father's-talking-to-you. -: Martin #would-you-talk-to-him? MARTIN: Barry #I'm-talking-to-you! (Barry-keeps-sinking-into-the-honey-until-he-is-suddenly-in-Central-Park having-a-picnic-with-Vanessa) (Barry-has-a-cup-of-honey-and-he-clinks-his-glass-with-Vanessas.-Suddenly-a mosquito-lands-on-Vanessa-and-she-slaps-it #killing-it.-They-both-gasp-but then-burst-out-laughing) VANESSA: You-coming? (The-camera-pans-over-and-Vanessa-is-climbing-into-a-small-yellow-airplane) BARRY: Got-everything? VANESSA: All-set! BARRY: Go-ahead.-I'll-catch-up. (Vanessa-lifts-off-and-flies-ahead) VANESSA: Don't-be-too-long. (Barry-catches-up-with-Vanessa-and-he-sticks-out-his-arms-like-ana-irplane. He-rolls-from-side-to-side #and-Vanessa-copies-him-with-the-airplane) VANESSA: Watch-this! (Barry-stays-back-and-watches-as-Vanessa-draws-a-heart-in-the-air-using pink-smoke-from-the-plane #but-on-the-last-loop-the-loop-she-suddenly crashes-into-a-mountain-and-the-plane-explodes.-The-destroyed-plane-falls into-some-rocks-and-explodes-a-second-time) BARRY: Vanessa! (As-Barry-is-yelling-his-mouth-fills-with-honey-and-he-wakes-up #discovering-that-he-was-just-day-dreaming.-He-slowly-sinks-back-into-the honey-pool) MARTIN: --We're-still-here. JANET: --I-told-you-not-to-yell-at-him. -: He-doesn't-respond-to-yelling! MARTIN: --Then-why-yell-at-me? JANET: --Because-you-don't-listen! MARTIN: I'm-not-listening-to-this. BARRY: Sorry #I've-gotta-go. MARTIN: --Where-are-you-going? BARRY: --I'm-meeting-a-friend. JANET: A-girl?-Is-this-why-you-can't-decide? BARRY: Bye. (Barry-flies-out-the-door-and-Martin-shakes-his-head) -: JANET== I-just-hope-she's-Bee-ish. (Fast-forward-in-time-and-Barry-is-sitting-on-Vanessa's-shoulder-and-she-is closing-up-her-shop) BARRY: They-have-a-huge-parade of-flowers-every-year-in-Pasadena? VANESSA: To-be-in-the-Tournament-of-Roses #that's-every-florist's-dream! -: Up-on-a-float #surrounded by-flowers #crowds-cheering. BARRY: A-tournament.-Do-the-roses compete-in-athletic-events? VANESSA: No.-All-right #I've-got-one. How-come-you-don't-fly-everywhere? BARRY: It's-exhausting.-Why-don't-you run-everywhere?-It's-faster. VANESSA: Yeah #OK #I-see #I-see. All-right #your-turn. BARRY: TiVo.-You-can-just-freeze-live-TV? That's-insane! VANESSA: You-don't-have-that? BARRY: We-have-Hivo #but-it's-a-disease. It's-a-horrible #horrible-disease. VANESSA: Oh #my. (A-human-walks-by-and-Barry-narrowly-avoids-him) PASSERBY: Dumb-bees! VANESSA: You-must-want-to-sting-all-those-jerks. BARRY: We-try-not-to-sting. It's-usually-fatal-for-us. VANESSA: So-you-have-to-watch-your-temper (They-walk-into-a-store) BARRY: Very-carefully. You-kick-a-wall #take-a-walk #: write-an-angry-letter-and-throw-it-out. Work-through-it-like-any-emotion: -: Anger #jealousy #lust. (Suddenly-an-employee(Hector)-hits-Barry-off-of-Vanessa's-shoulder.-Hector thinks-he's-saving-Vanessa) VANESSA: (To-Barry) Oh #my-goodness!-Are-you-OK? (Barry-is-getting-up-off-the-floor) BARRY: Yeah. VANESSA: (To-Hector) --What-is-wrong-with-you?! HECTOR: (Confused) --It's-a-bug. VANESSA: He's-not-bothering-anybody. Get-out-of-here #you-creep! (Vanessa-hits-Hector-across-the-face-with-the-magazine-he-had-and-then-hits him-in-the-head.-Hector-backs-away-covering-his-head) Barry: What-was-that?-A-Pic-'N'-Save-circular? (Vanessa-sets-Barry-back-on-her-shoulder) VANESSA: Yeah #it-was.-How-did-you-know? BARRY: It-felt-like-about-10-pages. Seventy-five-is-pretty-much-our-limit. VANESSA: You've-really-got-that down-to-a-science. BARRY: --Oh #we-have-to.-I-lost-a-cousin-to-Italian-Vogue. VANESSA: --I'll-bet. (Barry-looks-to-his-right-and-notices-there-is-honey-for-sale-in-the-aisle) BARRY: What-in-the-name of-Mighty-Hercules-is-this? (Barry-looks-at-all-the-brands-of-honey #shocked) How-did-this-get-here? Cute-Bee #Golden-Blossom #: Ray-Liotta-Private-Select? (Barry-puts-his-hands-up-and-slowly-turns-around #a-look-of-disgust-on-his face) VANESSA: --Is-he-that-actor? BARRY: --I-never-heard-of-him. -: --Why-is-this-here? VANESSA: --For-people.-We-eat-it. BARRY: You-don't-have enough-food-of-your-own?! (Hector-looks-back-and-notices-that-Vanessa-is-talking-to-Barry) VANESSA: --Well #yes. BARRY: --How-do-you-get-it? VANESSA: --Bees-make-it. BARRY: --I-know-who-makes-it! -: And-it's-hard-to-make-it! -: There's-heating #cooling #stirring. You-need-a-whole-Krelman-thing! VANESSA: --It's-organic. BARRY: --It's-our-ganic! VANESSA: It's-just-honey #Barry. BARRY: Just-what?! -: Bees-don't-know-about-this! This-is-stealing!-A-lot-of-stealing! -: You've-taken-our-homes #schools #hospitals!-This-is-all-we-have! -: And-it's-on-sale?! I'm-getting-to-the-bottom-of-this. -: I'm-getting-to-the-bottom of-all-of-this! (Flash-forward-in-time;-Barry-paints-his-face-with-black-strikes-like-a soldier-and-sneaks-into-the-storage-section-of-the-store) (Two-men #including-Hector #are-loading-boxes-into-some-trucks) -: SUPERMARKET-EMPLOYEE== Hey #Hector. -: --You-almost-done? HECTOR: --Almost. (Barry-takes-a-step-to-peak-around-the-corner) (Whispering) He-is-here.-I-sense-it. -: Well #I-guess-I'll-go-home-now (Hector-pretends-to-walk-away-by-walking-in-place-and-speaking-loudly) -: and-just-leave-this-nice-honey-out #with-no-one-around. BARRY: You're-busted #box-boy! HECTOR: I-knew-I-heard-something! So-you-can-talk! BARRY: I-can-talk. And-now-you'll-start-talking! -: Where-you-getting-the-sweet-stuff? Who's-your-supplier? HECTOR: I-don't-understand. I-thought-we-were-friends. -: The-last-thing-we-want to-do-is-upset-bees! (Hector-takes-a-thumbtack-out-of-the-board-behind-him-and-sword-fights Barry.-Barry-is-using-his-stinger-like-a-sword) -: You're-too-late!-It's-ours-now! BARRY: You #sir #have-crossed the-wrong-sword! HECTOR: You #sir #will-be-lunch for-my-iguana #Ignacio! (Barry-hits-the-thumbtack-out-of-Hectors-hand-and-Hector-surrenders) Barry: Where-is-the-honey-coming-from? -: Tell-me-where! HECTOR: (Pointing-to-leaving-truck) Honey-Farms!-It-comes-from-Honey-Farms! (Barry-chases-after-the-truck-but-it-is-getting-away.-He-flies-onto-a bicyclists'-backpack-and-he-catches-up-to-the-truck) CAR-DRIVER: (To-bicyclist) Crazy-person! (Barry-flies-off-and-lands-on-the-windshield-of-the-Honey-farms-truck. Barry-looks-around-and-sees-dead-bugs-splattered-everywhere) BARRY: What-horrible-thing-has-happened-here? -: These-faces #they-never-knew what-hit-them.-And-now -: they're-on-the-road-to-nowhere! (Barry-hears-a-sudden-whisper) (Barry-looks-up-and-sees-Mooseblood #a-mosquito-playing-dead) MOOSEBLOOD: Just-keep-still. BARRY: What?-You're-not-dead? MOOSEBLOOD: Do-I-look-dead?-They-will-wipe-anything that-moves.-Where-you-headed? BARRY: To-Honey-Farms. I-am-onto-something-huge-here. MOOSEBLOOD: I'm-going-to-Alaska.-Moose-blood #crazy-stuff.-Blows-your-head-off! ANOTHER-BUG-PLAYING-DEAD: I'm-going-to-Tacoma. (Barry-looks-at-another-bug) BARRY: --And-you? MOOSEBLOOD: --He-really-is-dead. BARRY: All-right. (Another-bug-hits-the-windshield-and-the-drivers-notice.-They-activate-the windshield-wipers) MOOSEBLOOD== Uh-oh! (The-windshield-wipers-are-slowly-sliding-over-the-dead-bugs-and-wiping them-off) BARRY: --What-is-that?! MOOSEBLOOD: --Oh #no! -: --A-wiper!-Triple-blade! BARRY: --Triple-blade? MOOSEBLOOD: Jump-on!-It's-your-only-chance #bee! (Mooseblood-and-Barry-grab-onto-the-wiper-and-they-hold-on-as-it-wipes-the windshield) Why-does-everything-have to-be-so-doggone-clean?! -: How-much-do-you-people-need-to-see?! (Bangs-on-windshield) -: Open-your-eyes! Stick-your-head-out-the-window! RADIO-IN-TRUCK: From-NPR-News-in-Washington #I'm-Carl-Kasell. MOOSEBLOOD: But-don't-kill-no-more-bugs! (Mooseblood-and-Barry-are-washed-off-by-the-wipr-fluid) MOOSEBLOOD: --Bee! BARRY: --Moose-blood-guy!! (Barry-starts-screaming-as-he-hangs-onto-the-antenna) (Suddenly-it-is-revealed-that-a-water-bug-is-also-hanging-on-the-antenna. There-is-a-pause-and-then-Barry-and-the-water-bug-both-start-screaming) TRUCK-DRIVER: --You-hear-something? GUY-IN-TRUCK: --Like-what? TRUCK-DRIVER: Like-tiny-screaming. GUY-IN-TRUCK: Turn-off-the-radio. (The-antenna-starts-to-lower-until-it-gets-to-low-and-sinks-into-the-truck. The-water-bug-flies-off-and-Barry-is-forced-to-let-go-and-he-is-blown-away. He-luckily-lands-inside-a-horn-on-top-of-the-truck-where-he-finds Mooseblood #who-was-blown-into-the-same-place) MOOSEBLOOD: Whassup #bee-boy? BARRY: Hey #Blood. (Fast-forward-in-time-and-we-see-that-Barry-is-deep-in-conversation-with Mooseblood.-They-have-been-sitting-in-this-truck-for-a-while) BARRY: ...Just-a-row-of-honey-jars #as-far-as-the-eye-could-see. MOOSEBLOOD: Wow! BARRY: I-assume-wherever-this-truck-goes is-where-they're-getting-it. -: I-mean #that-honey's-ours. MOOSEBLOOD: --Bees-hang-tight. BARRY: --We're-all-jammed-in. -: It's-a-close-community. MOOSEBLOOD: Not-us #man.-We-on-our-own. Every-mosquito-on-his-own. BARRY: --What-if-you-get-in-trouble? MOOSEBLOOD: --You-a-mosquito #you-in-trouble. -: Nobody-likes-us.-They-just-smack. See-a-mosquito #smack #smack! BARRY: At-least-you're-out-in-the-world. You-must-meet-girls. MOOSEBLOOD: Mosquito-girls-try-to-trade-up #get-with-a-moth #dragonfly. -: Mosquito-girl-don't-want-no-mosquito. (An-ambulance-passes-by-and-it-has-a-blood-donation-sign-on-it) You-got-to-be-kidding-me! -: Mooseblood's-about-to-leave the-building!-So-long #bee! (Mooseblood-leaves-and-flies-onto-the-window-of-the-ambulance-where-there are-other-mosquito's-hanging-out) -: --Hey #guys! OTHER-MOSQUITO: --Mooseblood! MOOSEBLOOD: I-knew-I'd-catch-y'all-down-here. Did-you-bring-your-crazy-straw? (The-truck-goes-out-of-view-and-Barry-notices-that-the-truck-he's-on-is pulling-into-a-camp-of-some-sort) TRUCK-DRIVER: We-throw-it-in-jars #slap-a-label-on-it #and-it's-pretty-much-pure-profit. (Barry-flies-out) BARRY: What-is-this-place? BEEKEEPER-1#: A-bee's-got-a-brain the-size-of-a-pinhead. BEEKEEPER-#2: They-are-pinheads! -: Pinhead. -: --Check-out-the-new-smoker. BEEKEEPER-#1: --Oh #sweet.-That's-the-one-you-want. -: The-Thomas-3000! BARRY: Smoker? BEEKEEPER-#1: Ninety-puffs-a-minute #semi-automatic. Twice-the-nicotine #all-the-tar. -: A-couple-breaths-of-this knocks-them-right-out. BEEKEEPER-#2: They-make-the-honey #and-we-make-the-money. BARRY: 'They-make-the-honey #and-we-make-the-money'? (The-Beekeeper-sprays-hundreds-of-cheap-miniature-apartments-with-the smoker.-The-bees-are-fainting-or-passing-out) Oh #my! -: What's-going-on?-Are-you-OK? (Barry-flies-into-one-of-the-apartment-and-helps-a-Bee-couple-get-off-the ground.-They-are-coughing-and-its-hard-for-them-to-stand) BEE-IN-APARTMENT: Yeah.-It-doesn't-last-too-long. BARRY: Do-you-know-you're in-a-fake-hive-with-fake-walls? BEE-IN-APPARTMENT: Our-queen-was-moved-here. We-had-no-choice. (The-apartment-room-is-completely-empty-except-for-a-photo-on-the-wall-of the-'queen'-who-is-obviously-a-man-in-women's-clothes) BARRY: This-is-your-queen? That's-a-man-in-women's-clothes! -: That's-a-drag-queen! -: What-is-this? (Barry-flies-out-and-he-discovers-that-there-are-hundreds-of-these structures #each-housing-thousands-of-Bees) Oh #no! -: There's-hundreds-of-them! (Barry-takes-out-his-camera-and-takes-pictures-of-these-Bee-work-camps.-The beekeepers-look-very-evil-in-these-depictions) Bee-honey. -: Our-honey-is-being-brazenly-stolen on-a-massive-scale! -: This-is-worse-than-anything-bears have-done!-I-intend-to-do-something. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-is-showing-these-pictures-to-his-parents) JANET: Oh #Barry #stop. MARTIN: Who-told-you-humans-are-taking our-honey?-That's-a-rumor. BARRY: Do-these-look-like-rumors? (Holds-up-the-pictures) UNCLE-CARL: That's-a-conspiracy-theory. These-are-obviously-doctored-photos. JANET: How-did-you-get-mixed-up-in-this? ADAM: He's-been-talking-to-humans. JANET: --What? MARTIN: --Talking-to-humans?! ADAM: He-has-a-human-girlfriend. And-they-make-out! JANET: Make-out?-Barry! BARRY: We-do-not. ADAM: --You-wish-you-could. MARTIN: --Whose-side-are-you-on? BARRY: The-bees! UNCLE-CARL: (He-has-been-sitting-in-the-back-of-the-room-this-entire-time) I-dated-a-cricket-once-in-San-Antonio. Those-crazy-legs-kept-me-up-all-night. JANET: Barry #this-is-what-you-want to-do-with-your-life? BARRY: I-want-to-do-it-for-all-our-lives. Nobody-works-harder-than-bees! -: Dad #I-remember-you coming-home-so-overworked -: your-hands-were-still-stirring. You-couldn't-stop. JANET: I-remember-that. BARRY: What-right-do-they-have-to-our-honey? -: We-live-on-two-cups-a-year.-They-put-it in-lip-balm-for-no-reason-whatsoever! ADAM: Even-if-it's-true #what-can-one-bee-do? BARRY: Sting-them-where-it-really-hurts. MARTIN: In-the-face!-The-eye! -: --That-would-hurt. BARRY: --No. MARTIN: Up-the-nose?-That's-a-killer. BARRY: There's-only-one-place-you-can-sting the-humans #one-place-where-it-matters. (Flash-forward-a-bit-in-time-and-we-are-watching-the-Bee-News) BEE-NEWS-NARRATOR: Hive-at-Five #the-hive's-only full-hour-action-news-source. BEE-PROTESTOR: No-more-bee-beards! BEE-NEWS-NARRATOR: With-Bob-Bumble-at-the-anchor-desk. -: Weather-with-Storm-Stinger. -: Sports-with-Buzz-Larvi. -: And-Jeanette-Chung. BOB-BUMBLE: --Good-evening.-I'm-Bob-Bumble. JEANETTE-CHUNG: --And-I'm-Jeanette-Chung. BOB-BUMBLE: A-tri-county-bee #Barry-Benson #: intends-to-sue-the-human-race for-stealing-our-honey #: packaging-it-and-profiting from-it-illegally! JEANETTE-CHUNG: Tomorrow-night-on-Bee-Larry-King #: we'll-have-three-former-queens-here-in our-studio #discussing-their-new-book #: Classy-Ladies #out-this-week-on-Hexagon. (The-scene-changes-to-an-interview-on-the-news-with-Bee-version-of-Larry King-and-Barry) BEE-LARRY-KING: Tonight-we're-talking-to-Barry-Benson. -: Did-you-ever-think #'I'm-a-kid from-the-hive.-I-can't-do-this'? BARRY: Bees-have-never-been-afraid to-change-the-world. -: What-about-Bee-Columbus? Bee-Gandhi?-Bejesus? BEE-LARRY-KING: Where-I'm-from #we'd-never-sue-humans. -: We-were-thinking of-stickball-or-candy-stores. BARRY: How-old-are-you? BEE-LARRY-KING: The-bee-community is-supporting-you-in-this-case #: which-will-be-the-trial of-the-bee-century. BARRY: You-know #they-have-a-Larry-King in-the-human-world-too. BEE-LARRY-KING: It's-a-common-name.-Next-week... BARRY: He-looks-like-you-and-has-a-show and-suspenders-and-colored-dots... BEE-LARRY-KING: Next-week... BARRY: Glasses #quotes-on-the-bottom-from-the guest-even-though-you-just-heard-'em. BEE-LARRY-KING: Bear-Week-next-week! They're-scary #hairy-and-here #live. (Bee-Larry-King-gets-annoyed-and-flies-away-offscreen) BARRY: Always-leans-forward #pointy-shoulders #squinty-eyes #very-Jewish. (Flash-forward-in-time.-We-see-Vanessa-enter-and-Ken-enters-behind-her. They-are-arguing) KEN: In-tennis #you-attack at-the-point-of-weakness! VANESSA: It-was-my-grandmother #Ken.-She's-81. KEN== Honey #her-backhand's-a-joke! I'm-not-gonna-take-advantage-of-that? BARRY: (To-Ken) Quiet #please. Actual-work-going-on-here. KEN: (Pointing-at-Barry) --Is-that-that-same-bee? VANESSA: --Yes #it-is! -: I'm-helping-him-sue-the-human-race. BARRY: --Hello. KEN: --Hello #bee. VANESSA: This-is-Ken. BARRY: (Recalling-the-'Winter-Boots'-incident-earlier) Yeah #I-remember-you.-Timberland #size ten-and-a-half.-Vibram-sole #I-believe. KEN: (To-Vanessa) Why-does-he-talk-again? VANESSA: Listen #you-better-go 'cause-we're-really-busy-working. KEN: But-it's-our-yogurt-night! VANESSA: (Holding-door-open-for-Ken) Bye-bye. KEN: (Yelling) Why-is-yogurt-night-so-difficult?! (Ken-leaves-and-Vanessa-walks-over-to-Barry.-His-workplace-is-a-mess) VANESSA: You-poor-thing. You-two-have-been-at-this-for-hours! BARRY: Yes #and-Adam-here has-been-a-huge-help. ADAM: --Frosting... --How-many-sugars? -==BARRY== Just-one.-I-try-not to-use-the-competition. -: So-why-are-you-helping-me? VANESSA: Bees-have-good-qualities. -: And-it-takes-my-mind-off-the-shop. -: Instead-of-flowers #people are-giving-balloon-bouquets-now. BARRY: Those-are-great #if-you're-three. VANESSA: And-artificial-flowers. BARRY: --Oh #those-just-get-me-psychotic! VANESSA: --Yeah #me-too. -: BARRY: Bent-stingers #pointless-pollination. ADAM: Bees-must-hate-those-fake-things! -: Nothing-worse than-a-daffodil-that's-had-work-done. -: Maybe-this-could-make-up for-it-a-little-bit. VANESSA: --This-lawsuit's-a-pretty-big-deal. BARRY: --I-guess. ADAM: You-sure-you-want-to-go-through-with-it? BARRY: Am-I-sure?-When-I'm-done-with the-humans #they-won't-be-able -: to-say #'Honey #I'm-home #' without-paying-a-royalty! (Flash-forward-in-time-and-we-are-watching-the-human-news.-The-camera-shows a-crowd-outside-a-courthouse) NEWS-REPORTER: It's-an-incredible-scene here-in-downtown-Manhattan #: where-the-world-anxiously-waits #because-for-the-first-time-in-history #: we-will-hear-for-ourselves if-a-honeybee-can-actually-speak. (We-are-no-longer-watching-through-a-news-camera) ADAM: What-have-we-gotten-into-here #Barry? BARRY: It's-pretty-big #isn't-it? ADAM== (Looking-at-the-hundreds-of-people-around-the-courthouse) I-can't-believe-how-many-humans don't-work-during-the-day. BARRY: You-think-billion-dollar-multinational food-companies-have-good-lawyers? SECURITY-GUARD: Everybody-needs-to-stay behind-the-barricade. (A-limousine-drives-up-and-a-fat-man #Layton-Montgomery #a-honey-industry owner-gets-out-and-walks-past-Barry) ADAM: --What's-the-matter? BARRY: --I-don't-know #I-just-got-a-chill. (Fast-forward-in-time-and-everyone-is-in-the-court) MONTGOMERY: Well #if-it-isn't-the-bee-team. (To-Honey-Industry-lawyers) You-boys-work-on-this? MAN: All-rise!-The-Honorable Judge-Bumbleton-presiding. JUDGE-BUMBLETON: All-right.-Case-number-4475 #: Superior-Court-of-New-York #Barry-Bee-Benson-v.-the-Honey-Industry -: is-now-in-session. -: Mr.-Montgomery #you're-representing the-five-food-companies-collectively? MONTGOMERY: A-privilege. JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Mr.-Benson...-you're-representing all-the-bees-of-the-world? (Everyone-looks-closely #they-are-waiting-to-see-if-a-Bee-can-really-talk) (Barry-makes-several-buzzing-sounds-to-sound-like-a-Bee) BARRY: I'm-kidding.-Yes #Your-Honor #we're-ready-to-proceed. JUDGE-BUMBLBETON: Mr.-Montgomery #your-opening-statement #please. MONTGOMERY: Ladies-and-gentlemen-of-the-jury #: my-grandmother-was-a-simple-woman. -: Born-on-a-farm #she-believed it-was-man's-divine-right -: to-benefit-from-the-bounty of-nature-God-put-before-us. -: If-we-lived-in-the-topsy-turvy-world Mr.-Benson-imagines #: just-think-of-what-would-it-mean. -: I-would-have-to-negotiate with-the-silkworm -: for-the-elastic-in-my-britches! -: Talking-bee! (Montgomery-walks-over-and-looks-closely-at-Barry) -: How-do-we-know-this-isn't-some-sort-of -: holographic-motion-picture-capture Hollywood-wizardry? -: They-could-be-using-laser-beams! -: Robotics!-Ventriloquism! Cloning!-For-all-we-know #: he-could-be-on-steroids! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Mr.-Benson? BARRY: Ladies-and-gentlemen #there's-no-trickery-here. -: I'm-just-an-ordinary-bee. Honey's-pretty-important-to-me. -: It's-important-to-all-bees. We-invented-it! -: We-make-it.-And-we-protect-it with-our-lives. -: Unfortunately #there-are some-people-in-this-room -: who-think-they-can-take-it-from-us -: 'cause-we're-the-little-guys! I'm-hoping-that #after-this-is-all-over #: you'll-see-how #by-taking-our-honey #you-not-only-take-everything-we-have -: but-everything-we-are! JANET== (To-Martin) I-wish-he'd-dress-like-that all-the-time.-So-nice! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Call-your-first-witness. BARRY: So #Mr.-Klauss-Vanderhayden of-Honey-Farms #big-company-you-have. KLAUSS-VANDERHAYDEN: I-suppose-so. BARRY: I-see-you-also-own Honeyburton-and-Honron! KLAUSS: Yes #they-provide-beekeepers for-our-farms. BARRY: Beekeeper.-I-find-that to-be-a-very-disturbing-term. -: I-don't-imagine-you-employ any-bee-free-ers #do-you? KLAUSS: (Quietly) --No. BARRY: --I-couldn't-hear-you. KLAUSS: --No. BARRY: --No. -: Because-you-don't-free-bees. You-keep-bees.-Not-only-that #: it-seems-you-thought-a-bear-would-be an-appropriate-image-for-a-jar-of-honey. KLAUSS: They're-very-lovable-creatures. -: Yogi-Bear #Fozzie-Bear #Build-A-Bear. BARRY: You-mean-like-this? (The-bear-from-Over-The-Hedge-barges-in-through-the-back-door-and-it-is roaring-and-standing-on-its-hind-legs.-It-is-thrashing-its-claws-and-people are-screaming.-It-is-being-held-back-by-a-guard-who-has-the-bear-on-a chain) -: (Pointing-to-the-roaring-bear) Bears-kill-bees! -: How'd-you-like-his-head-crashing through-your-living-room?! -: Biting-into-your-couch! Spitting-out-your-throw-pillows! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: OK #that's-enough.-Take-him-away. (The-bear-stops-roaring-and-thrashing-and-walks-out) BARRY: So #Mr.-Sting #thank-you-for-being-here. Your-name-intrigues-me. -: --Where-have-I-heard-it-before? MR.-STING: --I-was-with-a-band-called-The-Police. BARRY: But-you've-never-been a-police-officer #have-you? STING: No #I-haven't. BARRY: No #you-haven't.-And-so-here we-have-yet-another-example -: of-bee-culture-casually stolen-by-a-human -: for-nothing-more-than a-prance-about-stage-name. STING: Oh #please. BARRY: Have-you-ever-been-stung #Mr.-Sting? -: Because-I'm-feeling a-little-stung #Sting. -: Or-should-I-say...-Mr.-Gordon-M.-Sumner! MONTGOMERY: That's-not-his-real-name?!-You-idiots! BARRY: Mr.-Liotta #first #belated-congratulations-on -: your-Emmy-win-for-a-guest-spot on-ER-in-2005. RAY-LIOTTA: Thank-you.-Thank-you. BARRY: I-see-from-your-resume that-you're-devilishly-handsome -: with-a-churning-inner-turmoil that's-ready-to-blow. RAY-LIOTTA: I-enjoy-what-I-do.-Is-that-a-crime? BARRY: Not-yet-it-isn't.-But-is-this what-it's-come-to-for-you? -: Exploiting-tiny #helpless-bees so-you-don't -: have-to-rehearse your-part-and-learn-your-lines #sir? RAY-LIOTTA: Watch-it #Benson! I-could-blow-right-now! BARRY: This-isn't-a-goodfella. This-is-a-badfella! (Ray-Liotta-looses-it-and-tries-to-grab-Barry) RAY-LIOTTA: Why-doesn't-someone-just-step-on this-creep #and-we-can-all-go-home?! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: --Order-in-this-court! RAY-LIOTTA: --You're-all-thinking-it! (Judge-Bumbleton-starts-banging-her-gavel) JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Order!-Order #I-say! RAY-LIOTTA: --Say-it! MAN: --Mr.-Liotta #please-sit-down! (We-see-a-montage-of-magazines-which-feature-the-court-case) (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-is-back-home-with-Vanessa) BARRY: I-think-it-was-awfully-nice of-that-bear-to-pitch-in-like-that. VANESSA: I-think-the-jury's-on-our-side. BARRY: Are-we-doing-everything-right #you-know #legally? VANESSA: I'm-a-florist. BARRY: Right.-Well #here's-to-a-great-team. VANESSA: To-a-great-team! (Ken-walks-in-from-work.-He-sees-Barry-and-he-looks-upset-when-he-sees Barry-clinking-his-glass-with-Vanessa) KEN: Well #hello. VANESSA: --Oh #Ken! BARRY: --Hello! VANESSA: I-didn't-think-you-were-coming. -: No #I-was-just-late. I-tried-to-call #but... (Ken-holds-up-his-phone-and-flips-it-open.-The-phone-has-no-charge) ...the-battery... VANESSA: I-didn't-want-all-this-to-go-to-waste #so-I-called-Barry.-Luckily #he-was-free. KEN: Oh #that-was-lucky. (Ken-sits-down-at-the-table-across-from-Barry-and-Vanessa-leaves-the-room) VANESSA: There's-a-little-left. I-could-heat-it-up. KEN: (Not-taking-his-eyes-off-Barry) Yeah #heat-it-up #sure #whatever. BARRY: So-I-hear-you're-quite-a-tennis-player. -: I'm-not-much-for-the-game-myself. The-ball's-a-little-grabby. KEN: That's-where-I-usually-sit. Right... (Points-to-where-Barry-is-sitting) there. VANESSA: (Calling-from-other-room) Ken #Barry-was-looking-at-your-resume #: and-he-agreed-with-me-that-eating-with chopsticks-isn't-really-a-special-skill. KEN: (To-Barry) You-think-I-don't-see-what-you're-doing? BARRY: I-know-how-hard-it-is-to-find the-right-job.-We-have-that-in-common. KEN: Do-we? BARRY: Bees-have-100-percent-employment #but-we-do-jobs-like-taking-the-crud-out. KEN: (Menacingly) That's-just-what I-was-thinking-about-doing. (Ken-reaches-for-a-fork-on-the-table-but-knocks-if-on-the-floor.-He-goes-to pick-it-up) VANESSA: Ken #I-let-Barry-borrow-your-razor for-his-fuzz.-I-hope-that-was-all-right. (Ken-quickly-rises-back-up-after-hearing-this-but-hits-his-head-on-the table-and-yells) BARRY: I'm-going-to-drain-the-old-stinger. KEN: Yeah #you-do-that. (Barry-flies-past-Ken-to-get-to-the-bathroom-and-Ken-freaks-out #splashing some-of-the-wine-he-was-using-to-cool-his-head-in-his-eyes.-He-yells-in anger) (Barry-looks-at-the-magazines-featuring-his-victories-in-court) BARRY: Look-at-that. (Barry-flies-into-the-bathroom) (He-puts-his-hand-on-his-head-but-this-makes-hurts-him-and-makes-him-even madder.-He-yells-again) (Barry-is-washing-his-hands-in-the-sink-but-then-Ken-walks-in) KEN: You-know #you-know-I've-just-about-had-it (Closes-bathroom-door-behind-him) with-your-little-mind-games. (Ken-is-menacingly-rolling-up-a-magazine) BARRY: (Backing-away) --What's-that? KEN: --Italian-Vogue. BARRY: Mamma-mia #that's-a-lot-of-pages. KEN: It's-a-lot-of-ads. BARRY: Remember-what-Van-said #why-is your-life-more-valuable-than-mine? KEN: That's-funny #I-just-can't-seem-to-recall-that! (Ken-smashes-everything-off-the-sink-with-the-magazine-and-Barry-narrowly escapes) (Ken-follows-Barry-around-and-tries-to-hit-him-with-the-magazine-but-he keeps-missing) (Ken-gets-a-spray-bottle) -: I-think-something-stinks-in-here! BARRY: (Enjoying-the-spray) I-love-the-smell-of-flowers. (Ken-holds-a-lighter-in-front-of-the-spray-bottle) KEN: How-do-you-like-the-smell-of-flames?! BARRY: Not-as-much. (Ken-fires-his-make-shift-flamethrower-but-misses-Barry #burning-the bathroom.-He-torches-the-whole-room-but-looses-his-footing-and-falls-into the-bathtub.-After-getting-hit-in-the-head-by-falling-objects-3-times-he picks-up-the-shower-head #revealing-a-Water-bug-hiding-under-it) WATER-BUG: Water-bug!-Not-taking-sides! (Barry-gets-up-out-of-a-pile-of-bathroom-supplies-and-he-is-wearing-a chapstick-hat) BARRY: Ken #I'm-wearing-a-Chapstick-hat! This-is-pathetic! (Ken-switches-the-shower-head-to-lethal) KEN: I've-got-issues! (Ken-sprays-Barry-with-the-shower-head-and-he-crash-lands-into-the-toilet) (Ken-menacingly-looks-down-into-the-toilet-at-Barry) Well #well #well #a-royal-flush! BARRY: --You're-bluffing. KEN: --Am-I? (flushes-toilet) (Barry-grabs-a-chapstick-from-the-toilet-seat-and-uses-it-to-surf-in-the flushing-toilet) BARRY: Surf's-up #dude! (Barry-flies-out-of-the-toilet-on-the-chapstick-and-sprays-Ken's-face-with the-toilet-water) -: EW #Poo-water! BARRY: That-bowl-is-gnarly. KEN: (Aiming-a-toilet-cleaner-at-Barry) Except-for-those-dirty-yellow-rings! (Barry-cowers-and-covers-his-head-and-Vanessa-runs-in-and-takes-the-toilet cleaner-from-Ken-just-before-he-hits-Barry) VANESSA: Kenneth!-What-are-you-doing?! KEN== (Leaning-towards-Barry) You-know #I-don't-even-like-honey! I-don't-eat-it! VANESSA: We-need-to-talk! (Vanessa-pulls-Ken-out-of-the-bathroom) -: He's-just-a-little-bee! -: And-he-happens-to-be the-nicest-bee-I've-met-in-a-long-time! KEN: Long-time?-What-are-you-talking-about?! Are-there-other-bugs-in-your-life? VANESSA: No #but-there-are-other-things-bugging me-in-life.-And-you're-one-of-them! KEN: Fine!-Talking-bees #no-yogurt-night... -: My-nerves-are-fried-from-riding on-this-emotional-roller-coaster! VANESSA: Goodbye #Ken. (Ken-huffs-and-walks-out-and-slams-the-door.-But-suddenly-he-walks-back-in and-stares-at-Barry) -: And-for-your-information #I-prefer-sugar-free #artificial sweeteners-MADE-BY-MAN! (Ken-leaves-again-and-Vanessa-leans-in-towards-Barry) VANESSA: I'm-sorry-about-all-that. (Ken-walks-back-in-again) KEN: I-know-it's-got an-aftertaste!-I-LIKE-IT! (Ken-leaves-for-the-last-time) VANESSA: I-always-felt-there-was-some-kind of-barrier-between-Ken-and-me. -: I-couldn't-overcome-it. Oh #well. -: Are-you-OK-for-the-trial? BARRY: I-believe-Mr.-Montgomery is-about-out-of-ideas. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry #Adam #and-Vanessa-are-back-in-court) MONTGOMERY-- We-would-like-to-call Mr.-Barry-Benson-Bee-to-the-stand. ADAM: Good-idea!-You-can-really-see-why-he's considered-one-of-the-best-lawyers... (Barry-stares-at-Adam) ...Yeah. LAWYER: Layton #you've gotta-weave-some-magic with-this-jury #or-it's-gonna-be-all-over. MONTGOMERY: Don't-worry.-The-only-thing-I-have to-do-to-turn-this-jury-around -: is-to-remind-them of-what-they-don't-like-about-bees. (To-lawyer) --You-got-the-tweezers? LAWYER: --Are-you-allergic? MONTGOMERY: Only-to-losing #son.-Only-to-losing. -: Mr.-Benson-Bee #I'll-ask-you what-I-think-we'd-all-like-to-know. -: What-exactly-is-your-relationship (Points-to-Vanessa) -: to-that-woman? BARRY: We're-friends. MONTGOMERY: --Good-friends? BARRY: --Yes. MONTGOMERY: How-good?-Do-you-live-together? ADAM: Wait-a-minute... -: MONTGOMERY: Are-you-her-little... -: ...bedbug? (Adam's-stinger-starts-vibrating.-He-is-agitated) I've-seen-a-bee-documentary-or-two. From-what-I-understand #: doesn't-your-queen-give-birth to-all-the-bee-children? BARRY: --Yeah #but... MONTGOMERY: (Pointing-at-Janet-and-Martin) --So-those-aren't-your-real-parents! JANET: --Oh #Barry... BARRY: --Yes #they-are! ADAM: Hold-me-back! (Vanessa-tries-to-hold-Adam-back.-He-wants-to-sting-Montgomery) MONTGOMERY: You're-an-illegitimate-bee #aren't-you #Benson? ADAM: He's-denouncing-bees! MONTGOMERY: Don't-y'all-date-your-cousins? (Montgomery-leans-over-on-the-jury-stand-and-stares-at-Adam) VANESSA: --Objection! (Vanessa-raises-her-hand-to-object-but-Adam-gets-free.-He-flies-straight-at Montgomery) =ADAM: --I'm-going-to-pincushion-this-guy! BARRY: Adam #don't!-It's-what-he-wants! (Adam-stings-Montgomery-in-the-butt-and-he-starts-thrashing-around) MONTGOMERY: Oh #I'm-hit!! -: Oh #lordy #I-am-hit! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: (Banging-gavel) Order!-Order! MONTGOMERY: (Overreacting) The-venom!-The-venom is-coursing-through-my-veins! -: I-have-been-felled by-a-winged-beast-of-destruction! -: You-see?-You-can't-treat-them like-equals!-They're-striped-savages! -: Stinging's-the-only-thing they-know!-It's-their-way! BARRY: --Adam #stay-with-me. ADAM: --I-can't-feel-my-legs. MONTGOMERY: (Overreacting-and-throwing-his-body-around-the-room) What-angel-of-mercy will-come-forward-to-suck-the-poison -: from-my-heaving-buttocks? JUDGE-BUMLBETON: I-will-have-order-in-this-court.-Order! -: Order #please! (Flash-forward-in-time-and-we-see-a-human-news-reporter) NEWS-REPORTER: The-case-of-the-honeybees versus-the-human-race -: took-a-pointed-turn-against-the-bees -: yesterday-when-one-of-their-legal team-stung-Layton-T.-Montgomery. (Adam-is-laying-in-a-hospital-bed-and-Barry-flies-in-to-see-him) BARRY: --Hey #buddy. ADAM: --Hey. BARRY: --Is-there-much-pain? ADAM: --Yeah. -: I... -: I-blew-the-whole-case #didn't-I? BARRY: It-doesn't-matter.-What-matters-is you're-alive.-You-could-have-died. ADAM: I'd-be-better-off-dead.-Look-at-me. (A-small-plastic-sword-is-replaced-as-Adam's-stinger) They-got-it-from-the-cafeteria downstairs #in-a-tuna-sandwich. -: Look #there's a-little-celery-still-on-it. (Flicks-off-the-celery-and-sighs) BARRY: What-was-it-like-to-sting-someone? ADAM: I-can't-explain-it.-It-was-all... -: All-adrenaline-and-then... and-then-ecstasy! BARRY: ...All-right. ADAM: You-think-it-was-all-a-trap? BARRY: Of-course.-I'm-sorry. I-flew-us-right-into-this. -: What-were-we-thinking?-Look-at-us.-We're just-a-couple-of-bugs-in-this-world. ADAM: What-will-the-humans-do-to-us if-they-win? BARRY: I-don't-know. ADAM: I-hear-they-put-the-roaches-in-motels. That-doesn't-sound-so-bad. BARRY: Adam #they-check-in #but-they-don't-check-out! ADAM: Oh #my. (Coughs) Could-you-get-a-nurse to-close-that-window? BARRY: --Why? ADAM: --The-smoke. (We-can-see-that-two-humans-are-smoking-cigarettes-outside) -: Bees-don't-smoke. BARRY: Right.-Bees-don't-smoke. -: Bees-don't-smoke! But-some-bees-are-smoking. -: That's-it!-That's-our-case! ADAM: It-is?-It's-not-over? BARRY: Get-dressed.-I've-gotta-go-somewhere. -: Get-back-to-the-court-and-stall. Stall-any-way-you-can. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Adam-is-making-a-paper-boat-in-the-courtroom) ADAM: And-assuming-you've-done-step-29-correctly #you're-ready-for-the-tub! (We-see-that-the-jury-have-each-made-their-own-paper-boats-after-being taught-how-by-Adam.-They-all-look-confused) JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Mr.-Flayman. ADAM: Yes?-Yes #Your-Honor! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Where-is-the-rest-of-your-team? ADAM: (Continues-stalling) Well #Your-Honor #it's-interesting. -: Bees-are-trained-to-fly-haphazardly #: and-as-a-result #we-don't-make-very-good-time. -: I-actually-heard-a-funny-story-about... MONTGOMERY: Your-Honor #haven't-these-ridiculous-bugs -: taken-up-enough of-this-court's-valuable-time? -: How-much-longer-will-we-allow these-absurd-shenanigans-to-go-on? -: They-have-presented-no-compelling evidence-to-support-their-charges -: against-my-clients #who-run-legitimate-businesses. -: I-move-for-a-complete-dismissal of-this-entire-case! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: Mr.-Flayman #I'm-afraid-I'm-going -: to-have-to-consider Mr.-Montgomery's-motion. ADAM: But-you-can't!-We-have-a-terrific-case. MONTGOMERY: Where-is-your-proof? Where-is-the-evidence? -: Show-me-the-smoking-gun! BARRY: (Barry-flies-in-through-the-door) Hold-it #Your-Honor! You-want-a-smoking-gun? -: Here-is-your-smoking-gun. (Vanessa-walks-in-holding-a-bee-smoker.-She-sets-it-down-on-the-Judge's podium) JUDGE-BUMBLETON: What-is-that? BARRY: It's-a-bee-smoker! MONTGOMERY: (Picks-up-smoker) What #this? This-harmless-little-contraption? -: This-couldn't-hurt-a-fly #let-alone-a-bee. (Montgomery-accidentally-fires-it-at-the-bees-in-the-crowd-and-they-faint and-cough) (Dozens-of-reporters-start-taking-pictures-of-the-suffering-bees) BARRY: Look-at-what-has-happened -: to-bees-who-have-never-been-asked #'Smoking-or-non?' -: Is-this-what-nature-intended-for-us? -: To-be-forcibly-addicted to-smoke-machines -: and-man-made-wooden-slat-work-camps? -: Living-out-our-lives-as-honey-slaves to-the-white-man? (Barry-points-to-the-honey-industry-owners.-One-of-them-is-an-African American-so-he-awkwardly-separates-himself-from-the-others) LAWYER: --What-are-we-gonna-do? --He's-playing-the-species-card. BARRY: Ladies-and-gentlemen #please #free-these-bees! ADAM-AND-VANESSA: Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees! BEES-IN-CROWD: Free-the-bees! HUMAN-JURY: Free-the-bees!-Free-the-bees! JUDGE-BUMBLETON: The-court-finds-in-favor-of-the-bees! BARRY: Vanessa #we-won! VANESSA: I-knew-you-could-do-it!-High-five! (Vanessa-hits-Barry-hard-because-her-hand-is-too-big) -: Sorry. BARRY: (Overjoyed) I'm-OK!-You-know-what-this-means? -: All-the-honey will-finally-belong-to-the-bees. -: Now-we-won't-have to-work-so-hard-all-the-time. MONTGOMERY: This-is-an-unholy-perversion of-the-balance-of-nature #Benson. -: You'll-regret-this. (Montgomery-leaves-and-Barry-goes-outside-the-courtroom.-Several-reporters start-asking-Barry-questions) REPORTER-1#: Barry #how-much-honey-is-out-there? BARRY: All-right.-One-at-a-time. REPORTER-2#: Barry #who-are-you-wearing? BARRY: My-sweater-is-Ralph-Lauren #and-I-have-no-pants. (Barry-flies-outside-with-the-paparazzi-and-Adam-and-Vanessa-stay-back) ADAM: (To-Vanessa) --What-if-Montgomery's-right? Vanessa: --What-do-you-mean? ADAM: We've-been-living-the-bee-way a-long-time #27-million-years. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-is-talking-to-a-man) BUSINESS-MAN: Congratulations-on-your-victory. What-will-you-demand-as-a-settlement? BARRY: First #we'll-demand-a-complete-shutdown of-all-bee-work-camps. (As-Barry-is-talking-we-see-a-montage-of-men-putting-'closed'-tape-over-the work-camps-and-freeing-the-bees-in-the-crappy-apartments) Then-we-want-back-the-honey that-was-ours-to-begin-with #: every-last-drop. (Men-in-suits-are-pushing-all-the-honey-of-the-aisle-and-into-carts) We-demand-an-end-to-the-glorification of-the-bear-as-anything-more (We-see-a-statue-of-a-bear-shaped-honey-container-being-pulled-down-by bees) than-a-filthy #smelly #bad-breath-stink-machine. -: We're-all-aware of-what-they-do-in-the-woods. (We-see-Winnie-the-Pooh-sharing-his-honey-with-Piglet-in-the-cross-hairs-of a-high-tech-sniper-rifle) BARRY: (Looking-through-binoculars) Wait-for-my-signal. -: Take-him-out. (Winnie-gets-hit-by-a-tranquilizer-dart-and-dramatically-falls-off-the-log he-was-standing-on #his-tongue-hanging-out.-Piglet-looks-at-Pooh-in-fear and-the-Sniper-takes-the-honey.) SNIPER: He'll-have-nausea for-a-few-hours #then-he'll-be-fine. (Flash-forward-in-time) BARRY: And-we-will-no-longer-tolerate bee-negative-nicknames... (Mr.-Sting-is-sitting-at-home-until-he-is-taken-out-of-his-house-by-the-men in-suits) STING: But-it's-just-a-prance-about-stage-name! BARRY: ...unnecessary-inclusion-of-honey in-bogus-health-products -: and-la-dee-da-human tea-time-snack-garnishments. (An-old-lady-is-mixing-honey-into-her-tea-but-suddenly-men-in-suits-smash her-face-down-on-the-table-and-take-the-honey) OLD-LADY: Can't-breathe. (A-honey-truck-pulls-up-to-Barry's-hive) WORKER: Bring-it-in #boys! -: Hold-it-right-there!-Good. -: Tap-it. (Tons-of-honey-is-being-pumped-into-the-hive's-storage) BEE-WORKER-1#: (Honey-overflows-from-the-cup) Mr.-Buzzwell #we-just-passed-three-cups #and-there's-gallons-more-coming! -: --I-think-we-need-to-shut-down! =BEE-WORKER-#2= --Shut-down?-We've-never-shut-down. -: Shut-down-honey-production! DEAN-BUZZWELL: Stop-making-honey! (The-bees-all-leave-their-stations.-Two-bees-run-into-a-room-and-they-put the-keys-into-a-machine) Turn-your-key #sir! (Two-worker-bees-dramatically-turn-their-keys #which-opens-the-button-which they-press #shutting-down-the-honey-making-machines.-This-is-the-first-time this-has-ever-happened) BEE: ...What-do-we-do-now? (Flash-forward-in-time-and-a-Bee-is-about-to-jump-into-a-pool-full-of honey) Cannonball! (The-bee-gets-stuck-in-the-honey-and-we-get-a-short-montage-of-Bees-leaving work) (We-see-the-Pollen-Jocks-flying-but-one-of-them-gets-a-call-on-his-antenna) LOU-LU-DUVA: (Through-'phone') We're-shutting-honey-production! -: Mission-abort. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Aborting-pollination-and-nectar-detail. Returning-to-base. (The-Pollen-Jocks-fly-back-to-the-hive) (We-get-a-time-lapse-of-Central-Park-slowly-wilting-away-as-the-bees-all relax) BARRY: Adam #you-wouldn't-believe how-much-honey-was-out-there. ADAM: Oh #yeah? BARRY: What's-going-on?-Where-is-everybody? (The-entire-street-is-deserted) -: --Are-they-out-celebrating? ADAM: --They're-home. -: They-don't-know-what-to-do. Laying-out #sleeping-in. -: I-heard-your-Uncle-Carl-was-on-his-way to-San-Antonio-with-a-cricket. BARRY: At-least-we-got-our-honey-back. ADAM: Sometimes-I-think #so-what-if-humans liked-our-honey?-Who-wouldn't? -: It's-the-greatest-thing-in-the-world! I-was-excited-to-be-part-of-making-it. -: This-was-my-new-desk.-This-was-my new-job.-I-wanted-to-do-it-really-well. -: And-now... -: Now-I-can't. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-is-talking-to-Vanessa) BARRY: I-don't-understand why-they're-not-happy. -: I-thought-their-lives-would-be-better! -: They're-doing-nothing.-It's-amazing. Honey-really-changes-people. VANESSA: You-don't-have-any-idea what's-going-on #do-you? BARRY: --What-did-you-want-to-show-me? (Vanessa-takes-Barry-to-the-rooftop-where-they-first-had-coffee-and-points to-her-store) VANESSA: --This. (Points-at-her-flowers.-They-are-all-grey-and-wilting) BARRY: What-happened-here? VANESSA: That-is-not-the-half-of-it. (Small-flash-forward-in-time-and-Vanessa-and-Barry-are-on-the-roof-of-her store-and-she-points-to-Central-Park) (We-see-that-Central-Park-is-no-longer-green-and-colorful #rather-it-is grey #brown #and-dead-like.-It-is-very-depressing-to-look-at) BARRY: Oh #no.-Oh #my. -: They're-all-wilting. VANESSA: Doesn't-look-very-good #does-it? BARRY: No. VANESSA: And-whose-fault-do-you-think-that-is? BARRY: You-know #I'm-gonna-guess-bees. VANESSA== (Staring-at-Barry) Bees? BARRY: Specifically #me. -: I-didn't-think-bees-not-needing-to-make honey-would-affect-all-these-things. VANESSA: It's-not-just-flowers. Fruits #vegetables #they-all-need-bees. BARRY: That's-our-whole-SAT-test-right-there. VANESSA: Take-away-produce #that-affects the-entire-animal-kingdom. -: And-then #of-course... BARRY: The-human-species? -: So-if-there's-no-more-pollination #: it-could-all-just-go-south-here #couldn't-it? VANESSA: I-know-this-is-also-partly-my-fault. BARRY: How-about-a-suicide-pact? VANESSA: How-do-we-do-it? BARRY: --I'll-sting-you #you-step-on-me. VANESSA: --That-just-kills-you-twice. BARRY: Right #right. VANESSA: Listen #Barry... sorry #but-I-gotta-get-going. (Vanessa-leaves) BARRY: (To-himself) I-had-to-open-my-mouth-and-talk. -: Vanessa? -: Vanessa?-Why-are-you-leaving? Where-are-you-going? (Vanessa-is-getting-into-a-taxi) VANESSA: To-the-final-Tournament-of-Roses-parade in-Pasadena. -: They've-moved-it-to-this-weekend because-all-the-flowers-are-dying. -: It's-the-last-chance I'll-ever-have-to-see-it. BARRY: Vanessa #I-just-wanna-say-I'm-sorry. I-never-meant-it-to-turn-out-like-this. VANESSA: I-know.-Me-neither. (The-taxi-starts-to-drive-away) BARRY: Tournament-of-Roses. Roses-can't-do-sports. -: Wait-a-minute.-Roses.-Roses? -: Roses! -: Vanessa! (Barry-flies-after-the-Taxi) VANESSA: Roses?! -: Barry? (Barry-is-flying-outside-the-window-of-the-taxi) BARRY: --Roses-are-flowers! VANESSA: --Yes #they-are. BARRY: Flowers #bees #pollen! VANESSA: I-know. That's-why-this-is-the-last-parade. BARRY: Maybe-not. Could-you-ask-him-to-slow-down? VANESSA: Could-you-slow-down? (The-taxi-driver-screeches-to-a-stop-and-Barry-keeps-flying-forward) -: Barry! (Barry-flies-back-to-the-window) BARRY: OK #I-made-a-huge-mistake. This-is-a-total-disaster #all-my-fault. VANESSA: Yes #it-kind-of-is. BARRY: I've-ruined-the-planet. I-wanted-to-help-you -: with-the-flower-shop. I've-made-it-worse. VANESSA: Actually #it's-completely-closed-down. BARRY: I-thought-maybe-you-were-remodeling. -: But-I-have-another-idea #and-it's greater-than-my-previous-ideas-combined. VANESSA: I-don't-want-to-hear-it! BARRY: All-right #they-have-the-roses #the-roses-have-the-pollen. -: I-know-every-bee #plant and-flower-bud-in-this-park. -: All-we-gotta-do-is-get-what-they've-got back-here-with-what-we've-got. -: --Bees. VANESSA: --Park. BARRY: --Pollen! VANESSA: --Flowers. BARRY: --Re-pollination! VANESSA: --Across-the-nation! -: Tournament-of-Roses #Pasadena #California. -: They've-got-nothing but-flowers #floats-and-cotton-candy. -: Security-will-be-tight. BARRY: I-have-an-idea. (Flash-forward-in-time.-Vanessa-is-about-to-board-a-plane-which-has-all-the Roses-on-board. VANESSA: Vanessa-Bloome #FTD. (Holds-out-badge) -: Official-floral-business.-It's-real. SECURITY-GUARD: Sorry #ma'am.-Nice-brooch. =VANESSA== Thank-you.-It-was-a-gift. (Barry-is-revealed-to-be-hiding-inside-the-brooch) (Flash-back-in-time-and-Barry-and-Vanessa-are-discussing-their-plan) BARRY: Once-inside #we-just-pick-the-right-float. VANESSA: How-about-The-Princess-and-the-Pea? -: I-could-be-the-princess #and-you-could-be-the-pea! BARRY: Yes #I-got-it. -: --Where-should-I-sit? GUARD: --What-are-you? BARRY: --I-believe-I'm-the-pea. GUARD: --The-pea? VANESSA: It-goes-under-the-mattresses. GUARD: --Not-in-this-fairy-tale #sweetheart. --I'm-getting-the-marshal. VANESSA: You-do-that! This-whole-parade-is-a-fiasco! -: Let's-see-what-this-baby'll-do. (Vanessa-drives-the-float-through-traffic) GUARD: Hey #what-are-you-doing?! BARRY== Then-all-we-do is-blend-in-with-traffic... -: ...without-arousing-suspicion. -: Once-at-the-airport #there's-no-stopping-us. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-and-Vanessa-are-about-to-get-on-a-plane) SECURITY-GUARD: Stop!-Security. -: --You-and-your-insect-pack-your-float? VANESSA: --Yes. SECURITY-GUARD: Has-it-been in-your-possession-the-entire-time? VANESSA: --Yes. SECURITY-GUARD: Would-you-remove-your-shoes? (To-Barry) --Remove-your-stinger. BARRY: --It's-part-of-me. SECURITY-GUARD: I-know.-Just-having-some-fun. Enjoy-your-flight. (Barry-plotting-with-Vanessa) BARRY: Then-if-we're-lucky #we'll-have just-enough-pollen-to-do-the-job. (Flash-forward-in-time-and-Barry-and-Vanessa-are-flying-on-the-plane) Can-you-believe-how-lucky-we-are?-We have-just-enough-pollen-to-do-the-job! VANESSA: I-think-this-is-gonna-work. BARRY: It's-got-to-work. CAPTAIN-SCOTT: (On-intercom) Attention #passengers #this-is-Captain-Scott. -: We-have-a-bit-of-bad-weather in-New-York. -: It-looks-like-we'll-experience a-couple-hours-delay. VANESSA: Barry #these-are-cut-flowers with-no-water.-They'll-never-make-it. BARRY: I-gotta-get-up-there and-talk-to-them. VANESSA== Be-careful. (Barry-flies-right-outside-the-cockpit-door) BARRY: Can-I-get-help with-the-Sky-Mall-magazine? I'd-like-to-order-the-talking inflatable-nose-and-ear-hair-trimmer. (The-flight-attendant-opens-the-door-and-walks-out-and-Barry-flies-into-the cockpit-unseen) BARRY: Captain #I'm-in-a-real-situation. CAPTAIN-SCOTT: --What'd-you-say #Hal? CO-PILOT-HAL: --Nothing. (Scott-notices-Barry-and-freaks-out) CAPTAIN-SCOTT: Bee! BARRY: No #no #no #Don't-freak-out!-My-entire-species... (Captain-Scott-gets-out-of-his-seat-and-tries-to-suck-Barry-into-a-handheld vacuum) HAL: (To-Scott) What-are-you-doing? (Barry-lands-on-Hals-hair-but-Scott-sees-him.-He-tries-to-suck-up-Barry-but instead-he-sucks-up-Hals-toupee) CAPTAIN-SCOTT: Uh-oh. BARRY: --Wait-a-minute!-I'm-an-attorney! HAL: (Hal-doesn't-know-Barry-is-on-his-head) --Who's-an-attorney? CAPTAIN-SCOTT: Don't-move. (Scott-hits-Hal-in-the-face-with-the-vacuum-in-an-attempt-to-hit-Barry.-Hal is-knocked-out-and-he-falls-on-the-life-raft-button-which-launches-an infalatable-boat-into-Scott #who-gets-knocked-out-and-falls-to-the-floor. They-are-both-uncounscious.) BARRY: (To-himself) Oh #Barry. BARRY: (On-intercom #with-a-Southern-accent) Good-afternoon #passengers. This-is-your-captain. -: Would-a-Miss-Vanessa-Bloome-in-24B please-report-to-the-cockpit? (Vanessa-looks-confused) (Normal-accent) ...And-please-hurry! (Vanessa-opens-the-door-and-sees-the-life-raft-and-the-uncounscious-pilots) VANESSA: What-happened-here? BARRY: I-tried-to-talk-to-them #but then-there-was-a-DustBuster #a-toupee #a-life-raft-exploded. -: Now-one's-bald #one's-in-a-boat #and-they're-both-unconscious! VANESSA: ...Is-that-another-bee-joke? BARRY: --No! -: No-one's-flying-the-plane! BUD-DITCHWATER: (Through-radio-on-plane) This-is-JFK-control-tower #Flight-356. What's-your-status? VANESSA: This-is-Vanessa-Bloome. I'm-a-florist-from-New-York. BUD: Where's-the-pilot? VANESSA: He's-unconscious #and-so-is-the-copilot. BUD: Not-good.-Does-anyone-onboard have-flight-experience? BARRY: As-a-matter-of-fact #there-is. BUD: --Who's-that? BARRY: --Barry-Benson. BUD: From-the-honey-trial?!-Oh #great. BARRY: Vanessa #this-is-nothing-more than-a-big-metal-bee. -: It's-got-giant-wings #huge-engines. VANESSA: I-can't-fly-a-plane. BARRY: --Why-not?-Isn't-John-Travolta-a-pilot? VANESSA: --Yes. BARRY: How-hard-could-it-be? (Vanessa-sits-down-and-flies-for-a-little-bit-but-we-see-lightning-clouds outside-the-window) VANESSA: Wait #Barry! We're-headed-into-some-lightning. (An-ominous-lightning-storm-looms-in-front-of-the-plane) (We-are-now-watching-the-Bee-News) BOB-BUMBLE: This-is-Bob-Bumble.-We-have-some late-breaking-news-from-JFK-Airport #: where-a-suspenseful-scene is-developing. -: Barry-Benson #fresh-from-his-legal-victory... ADAM: That's-Barry! BOB-BUMBLE: ...is-attempting-to-land-a-plane #loaded-with-people #flowers -: and-an-incapacitated-flight-crew. JANET #MARTIN #UNCLE-CAR-AND-ADAM: Flowers?! (The-scene-switches-to-the-human-news) REPORTER: (Talking-with-Bob-Bumble) We-have-a-storm-in-the-area and-two-individuals-at-the-controls -: with-absolutely-no-flight-experience. BOB-BUMBLE: Just-a-minute. There's-a-bee-on-that-plane. BUD: I'm-quite-familiar-with-Mr.-Benson and-his-no-account-compadres. -: They've-done-enough-damage. REPORTER: But-isn't-he-your-only-hope? BUD: Technically #a-bee shouldn't-be-able-to-fly-at-all. -: Their-wings-are-too-small... BARRY: (Through-radio) Haven't-we-heard-this-a-million-times? -: 'The-surface-area-of-the-wings and-body-mass-make-no-sense.'... BOB-BUMBLE: --Get-this-on-the-air! BEE: --Got-it. BEE-NEWS-CREW: --Stand-by. BEE-NEWS-CREW: --We're-going-live! BARRY: (Through-radio-on-TV) ...The-way-we-work-may-be-a-mystery-to-you. -: Making-honey-takes-a-lot-of-bees doing-a-lot-of-small-jobs. -: But-let-me-tell-you-about-a-small-job. -: If-you-do-it-well #it-makes-a-big-difference. -: More-than-we-realized. To-us #to-everyone. -: That's-why-I-want-to-get-bees back-to-working-together. -: That's-the-bee-way! We're-not-made-of-Jell-O. -: We-get-behind-a-fellow. -: --Black-and-yellow! BEES: --Hello! (The-scene-switches-and-Barry-is-teaching-Vanessa-how-to-fly) BARRY: Left #right #down #hover. VANESSA: --Hover? BARRY: --Forget-hover. VANESSA: This-isn't-so-hard. (Pretending-to-honk-the-horn) Beep-beep!-Beep-beep! (A-Lightning-bolt-hits-the-plane-and-autopilot-turns-off) Barry #what-happened?! BARRY: Wait #I-think-we-were on-autopilot-the-whole-time. VANESSA: --That-may-have-been-helping-me. BARRY: --And-now-we're-not! VANESSA: So-it-turns-out-I-cannot-fly-a-plane. (The-plane-plummets-but-we-see-Lou-Lu-Duva-and-the-Pollen-Jocks #along-with multiple-other-bees-flying-towards-the-plane) Lou-Lu-DUva: All-of-you #let's-get behind-this-fellow!-Move-it-out! -: Move-out! (The-scene-switches-back-to-Vanessa-and-Barry-in-the-plane) BARRY: Our-only-chance-is-if-I-do-what-I'd-do #you-copy-me-with-the-wings-of-the-plane! (Barry-sticks-out-his-arms-like-an-airplane-and-flys-in-front-of-Vanessa's face) VANESSA: Don't-have-to-yell. BARRY: I'm-not-yelling! We're-in-a-lot-of-trouble. VANESSA: It's-very-hard-to-concentrate with-that-panicky-tone-in-your-voice! BARRY: It's-not-a-tone.-I'm-panicking! VANESSA: I-can't-do-this! (Barry-slaps-Vanessa) BARRY: Vanessa #pull-yourself-together. You-have-to-snap-out-of-it! VANESSA: (Slaps-Barry) You-snap-out-of-it. BARRY: (Slaps-Vanessa) -: You-snap-out-of-it. VANESSA: --You-snap-out-of-it! BARRY: --You-snap-out-of-it! (We-see-that-all-the-Pollen-Jocks-are-flying-under-the-plane) VANESSA: --You-snap-out-of-it! BARRY: --You-snap-out-of-it! VANESSA: --You-snap-out-of-it! BARRY: --You-snap-out-of-it! VANESSA: --Hold-it! BARRY: --Why?-Come-on #it's-my-turn. VANESSA: How-is-the-plane-flying? (The-plane-is-now-safely-flying) VANESSA: I-don't-know. (Barry's-antennae-rings-like-a-phone.-Barry-picks-up) BARRY: Hello? LOU-LU-DUVA: (Through-'phone') Benson #got-any-flowers for-a-happy-occasion-in-there? (All-of-the-Pollen-Jocks-are-carrying-the-plane) BARRY: The-Pollen-Jocks! -: They-do-get-behind-a-fellow. LOU-LU-DUVA: --Black-and-yellow. POLLEN-JOCKS: --Hello. LOU-LU-DUVA: All-right #let's-drop-this-tin-can on-the-blacktop. BARRY: Where?-I-can't-see-anything.-Can-you? VANESSA: No #nothing.-It's-all-cloudy. -: Come-on.-You-got-to-think-bee #Barry. BARRY: --Thinking-bee. --Thinking-bee. (On-the-runway-there-are-millions-of-bees-laying-on-their-backs) BEES: Thinking-bee! Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee! BARRY: Wait-a-minute. I-think-I'm-feeling-something. VANESSA: --What? BARRY: --I-don't-know.-It's-strong #pulling-me. -: Like-a-27-million-year-old-instinct. -: Bring-the-nose-down. BEES: Thinking-bee! Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee! CONTROL-TOWER-OPERATOR: --What-in-the-world-is-on-the-tarmac? BUD: --Get-some-lights-on-that! (It-is-revealed-that-all-the-bees-are-organized-into-a-giant-pulsating flower-formation) BEES: Thinking-bee! Thinking-bee!-Thinking-bee! BARRY: --Vanessa #aim-for-the-flower. VANESSA: --OK. BARRY: Out-the-engines.-We're-going-in on-bee-power.-Ready #boys? LOU-LU-DUVA: Affirmative! BARRY: Good.-Good.-Easy #now.-That's-it. -: Land-on-that-flower! -: Ready?-Full-reverse! -: Spin-it-around! (The-plane's-nose-is-pointed-at-a-flower-painted-on-a-nearby-plane) --Not-that-flower!-The-other-one! VANESSA: --Which-one? BARRY: --That-flower. (The-plane-is-now-pointed-at-a-fat-guy-in-a-flowered-shirt.-He-freaks-out and-tries-to-take-a-picture-of-the-plane) VANESSA: --I'm-aiming-at-the-flower! BARRY: That's-a-fat-guy-in-a-flowered-shirt. I-mean-the-giant-pulsating-flower made-of-millions-of-bees! (The-plane-hovers-over-the-bee-flower) -: Pull-forward.-Nose-down.-Tail-up. -: Rotate-around-it. VANESSA: --This-is-insane #Barry! BARRY: --This's-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-fly. BUD: Am-I-koo-koo-kachoo #or-is-this-plane flying-in-an-insect-like-pattern? (The-plane-is-unrealistically-hovering-and-spinning-over-the-bee-flower) BARRY: Get-your-nose-in-there.-Don't-be-afraid. Smell-it.-Full-reverse! -: Just-drop-it.-Be-a-part-of-it. -: Aim-for-the-center! -: Now-drop-it-in!-Drop-it-in #woman! -: Come-on #already. (The-bees-scatter-and-the-plane-safely-lands) VANESSA: Barry #we-did-it! You-taught-me-how-to-fly! BARRY: --Yes! (Vanessa-is-about-to-high-five-Barry) No-high-five! VANESSA: --Right. ADAM: Barry #it-worked! Did-you-see-the-giant-flower? BARRY: What-giant-flower?-Where?-Of-course I-saw-the-flower!-That-was-genius! ADAM: --Thank-you. BARRY: --But-we're-not-done-yet. -: Listen #everyone! -: This-runway-is-covered with-the-last-pollen -: from-the-last-flowers available-anywhere-on-Earth. -: That-means-this-is-our-last-chance. -: We're-the-only-ones-who-make-honey #pollinate-flowers-and-dress-like-this. -: If-we're-gonna-survive-as-a-species #this-is-our-moment!-What-do-you-say? -: Are-we-going-to-be-bees #or-just Museum-of-Natural-History-keychains? BEES: We're-bees! BEE-WHO-LIKES-KEYCHAINS: Keychain! BARRY: Then-follow-me!-Except-Keychain. POLLEN-JOCK-#1: Hold-on #Barry.-Here. -: You've-earned-this. BARRY: Yeah! -: I'm-a-Pollen-Jock!-And-it's-a-perfect fit.-All-I-gotta-do-are-the-sleeves. (The-Pollen-Jocks-throw-Barry-a-nectar-collecting-gun.-Barry-catches-it) Oh #yeah. JANET: That's-our-Barry. (Barry-and-the-Pollen-Jocks-get-pollen-from-the-flowers-on-the-plane) (Flash-forward-in-time-and-the-Pollen-Jocks-are-flying-over-NYC) -: (Barry-pollinates-the-flowers-in-Vanessa's-shop-and-then-heads-to-Central Park) BOY-IN-PARK: Mom!-The-bees-are-back! ADAM: (Putting-on-his-Krelman-hat) If-anybody-needs to-make-a-call #now's-the-time. -: I-got-a-feeling-we'll-be working-late-tonight! (The-bee-honey-factories-are-back-up-and-running) (Meanwhile-at-Vanessa's-shop) VANESSA: (To-customer) Here's-your-change.-Have-a-great afternoon!-Can-I-help-who's-next? -: Would-you-like-some-honey-with-that? It-is-bee-approved.-Don't-forget-these. (There-is-a-room-in-the-shop-where-Barry-does-legal-work-for-other-animals. He-is-currently-talking-with-a-Cow) COW: Milk #cream #cheese #it's-all-me. And-I-don't-see-a-nickel! -: Sometimes-I-just-feel like-a-piece-of-meat! BARRY: I-had-no-idea. VANESSA: Barry #I'm-sorry. Have-you-got-a-moment? BARRY: Would-you-excuse-me? My-mosquito-associate-will-help-you. MOOSEBLOOD: Sorry-I'm-late. COW: He's-a-lawyer-too? MOOSEBLOOD: Ma'am #I-was-already-a-blood-sucking-parasite. All-I-needed-was-a-briefcase. VANESSA: Have-a-great-afternoon! -: Barry #I-just-got-this-huge-tulip-order #and-I-can't-get-them-anywhere. BARRY: No-problem #Vannie. Just-leave-it-to-me. VANESSA: You're-a-lifesaver #Barry. Can-I-help-who's-next? BARRY: All-right #scramble #jocks! It's-time-to-fly. VANESSA: Thank-you #Barry! (Ken-walks-by-on-the-sidewalk-and-sees-the-'bee-approved-honey'-in Vanessa's-shop) KEN: That-bee-is-living-my-life!! ANDY: Let-it-go #Kenny. KEN: --When-will-this-nightmare-end?! ANDY: --Let-it-all-go. BARRY: --Beautiful-day-to-fly. POLLEN-JOCK: --Sure-is. BARRY: Between-you-and-me #I-was-dying-to-get-out-of-that-office. (Barry-recreates-the-scene-near-the-beginning-of-the-movie-where-he-flies through-the-box-kite.-The-movie-fades-to-black-and-the-credits-being) [--after-credits;-No-scene-can-be-seen-but-the-characters-can-be-heard talking-over-the-credits--] You-have-got to-start-thinking-bee #my-friend! -: --Thinking-bee! --Me? BARRY: (Talking-over-singer) Hold-it.-Let's-just-stop for-a-second.-Hold-it. -: I'm-sorry.-I'm-sorry #everyone. Can-we-stop-here? SINGER: Oh #BarryBARRY: I'm-not-making-a-major-life-decision during-a-production-number! SINGER: All-right.-Take-ten #everybody. Wrap-it-up #guys. BARRY: I-had-virtually-no-rehearsal-for-that.#scriptscombeemoviebyjerryseinfeldnarratorblackscreenwithtextthesoundofbuzzingbeescanbeheardaccordingtoallknownlawsofaviation #thereisnowayabeeshouldbeabletoflyitswingsaretoosmalltogetitsfatlittlebodyoffthegroundthebee #ofcourse #fliesanywaybecausebeesdontcarewhathumansthinkisimpossiblebarrybensonbarryispickingoutashirtyellow #blackyellow #blackooh -
Study Finds Signs of “Functional Limb Weakness” in Patients Not Reporting Actual Limb Weakness
By David Tuller, DrPH
A recently published study about functional neurological disorder (FND) has reported some perplexing data. Of almost 300 patients diagnosed with Long Covid, 100 were identified as demonstrating one or more “positive signs” for “functional limb weakness,” a form of FND. Yet only 14 of those 100 patients reported experiencing limb weakness in the first place; the other 84 did not.
Hm. What does it mean to identify positive signs of functional limb weakness in the absence of reported limb weakness? Who knows? Certainly the investigators themselves make no credible attempt to explain this conundrum.
The study—“Contemporary positive signs of functional limb weakness in post-acute sequelae of SARS-CoV-2: an exploratory analysis of their utility in diagnosis and follow-up”–was published in June by BMJ Neurology Open, a major joural. It is retrospective, with data drawn from the medical records of Long Covid patients who attended a neurology clinic in Tokyo, Japan, from 2021 to 2014. At the clinic, they received comprehensive neurological exams, including testing for positive signs for functional limb weakness. (According to current practice, FND diagnoses require affirmative clinical indications, often referred to as “positive signs” or “rule-in signs,” such as intact reflexes in a limb said to be weak or paralyzed, that are purportedly incompatible with known pathophysiological processes.)
During the exams, the neurologists tested for functional limb weakness using six different signs, described in detail in a supplementary file. Apparently, the discrepancy between the number of patients found to have these positive signs and the much smaller number who actually reported limb weakness during these exams did not raise any particular concerns among the investigators.
Instead, they seem to have assumed that positive signs for functional limb weakness in people with Long COVID indicate cases of FND–even in the absence of evidence that patients are experiencing the relevant symptom. The investigators then suggest that these alleged cases of FND are likely implicated in generating and/or perpetuating Long Covid symptoms like fatigue and headache. “Some of the most common neurological symptoms of long COVID may be caused by FND,” they conclude.
Given that five in six of those with positive signs of functional limb weakness did not report limb weakness, this line of argument is kind of bonkers. The most urgent question arising from this study is: Do these signs mean anything at all? (Several of the signs have long been used in neurology; a couple of them were much more recently identified. As I have previously discussed, the evidence for the overall accuracy of these various signs is shaky.)
I suppose it is possible that some patients in the study might not have been that specific and might have referred to limb weakness as “fatigue.” But it seems highly unlikely this would have occurred in 84 out of 100 cases. After all, these patients underwent comprehensive neurological exams that included tests for functional limb weakness. Presumably, the neurologists conducting these exams asked questions that would have, or should have, elicited an accurate accounting of a distinctive symptom like limb weakness.
FND is the current name for the psychiatric condition formerly called conversion disorder, in which psychological distress was said to have been “converted” into physical symptoms. Experts in the FND field assert categorically that is a “brain network” disorder, but that is a theory, not a fact. The reality is that the etiology and pathophysiological processes causing the symptoms remain unknown. What is clear is that people with FND suffer from extremely distressing and disabling symptoms that resist easy explanation. Those with the condition are ill-served by research that fails to abide by basic rules of scientific reasoning.
My UC Berkeley colleague, infectious disease physician and professor emeritus John Swartzberg, shared my low opinion of this piece of work. That this deeply flawed paper passed through a BMJ journal’s peer review process, he said, was “very disappointing.”
The paper is marred by sentences like this: “Assuming that patients with positive signs had FND, the prevalence of FND coexisting with long COVID is likely to not depend on which variant of COVID patients were infected with but solely on the number of patients infected with COVID-19, as observed in this study.” Since those with positive signs of functional limb weakness were much more likely not to have reported any limb weakness than to have reported it, the assumption that “patients with positive signs had FND” is hard to justify. And any further claims built on that unjustifiable assumption cannot be taken seriously.
And there are passages in which, given the uninterpretable results on the positive signs, the argument reads like a parody:
“In summary, our study showed that long COVID, accompanied by positive signs, is not rare and that this phenomenon indicates the possibility of the coexistence of long COVID and FND. Therefore, some patients with long COVID may present with symptoms of FND. If positive signs are observed in long COVID patients, they are a useful indicator of the coexistence of FND in those with long COVID.”
The paper is a house of cards built on unwarranted assertions and pirouettes of logic. (I’ve addressed a core concern in this post but not the only one.) In any event, BMJ journals have not distinguished themselves when it comes to ME/CFS and Long COVID. This latest problematic publication is not remotely surprising.
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Alekhines Gun’s, ClarkKent’s and Owlswald’s Top Ten(ish) of 2025 By Steel Druhm
Alekhines Gun
It’s genuinely surreal to be writing this article. This Gun found his whole life flipped upside down literally on New Year’s Eve, in a new town, a new state, unemployed, and with nothing to do but review. By God’s grace, I’ve managed to find an actual career in my new town, walking into a new industry with nothing on my resume but exuberance and enthusiasm.1 This blog, with its incredible set of writers who inspire me daily, and readership who prove endearing and exasperating in equal measure, has been a rare moment of consistency in a year filled with professional and personal uncertainty. I didn’t get to listen to nearly as many albums as I’d hoped to, thanks to this being such a transitional year for my life, and perhaps in years to come, I’ll look back on this list in annoyance. But for the moment, it stands as a monument of achievement; of personal growth and practical accomplishment, and I’m immensely grateful to every reader and commenter for being along with me on this journey.
My thanks to The Angry One for giving me a second chance in my n00b days when it became clear I didn’t understand the assignment; I hope you don’t regret your choice too much.2 Thanks to the main AMG staff for being so friendly and welcoming, especially Mystikus Hugebeard, Dear Hollow, Twelve, and Kenstrosity. My eternal fealty to Steel for enduring what I imagine was an unbearable amount of stupid questions and formatting issues as I got my sea legs under me, and continue to see how much I have yet to grow as a writer.
And lastly, all my love and an Eternal Hails to my Freezer Freak brethren – Tyme, Killjoy, Owlswald, and Clark Kent. You guys were the best n00b class a guy could ask to come up with, and it has been such a privilege to have been formally writing alongside the four of you this year and call you friends as well as colleagues. Cheers to many more.
#Ish: Phobocosm // Gateway – Late release or no, it only took one listen to know this was something I needed in my life. Unrelenting in its atmosphere and with a tone like being devoured by vampire bats, Gateway doesn’t want for a plethora of oppressive moments and maintains its bleakness with admirable consistency. With interludes that function more like proper instrumentals between the more heavy cuts, Phobocosm rotate between blunt force trauma and existential despair in equal measure, flattening brain marrow with kaiju-sized stomptastic riffs only to throw you haplessly into depressive and gloom-drenched melodies the next. The rare kind of death metal peak for a rainy day, open up the gate and let it take you on a journey you might not come back from.
#10: Ancient Death // Ego Dissolution – Ancient Death is a testimony to why you should always read our foul filter excavations. Boasting a styling of, dare I say, classier old school deathisms with a healthy dollop of melody and chuggathons for days, Ego Dissolution is a mighty slab indeed. Kenstrosity quite correctly heaped praise on this release for its rare tonal fusion of Death and The Chasm, and beyond that, it has excellently implemented clean vocals, subtle synth work to bolster doomier moments, and riffs which transition from bludgeoning to esoteric in a heartbeat. Solos are peak, as all good death requires, atmospheres are coated in muck and mire without being underproduced, and even the instrumental stands out as a solid step in the journey on offer. Ego Dissolution deserves better than being a footnote in the annals of filter history, representing a highbrow slab of quality in mood-setting while still offering up violence at every turn.
#9: Teitanblood // From the Visceral Abyss – These void-worshipers have crafted an album that straddles the line of black, death, and war metal so flawlessly that every trip to their abyss leaves me exhausted and battered, but utterly enthralled. A flawless fusion of riff and atmosphere in equal measure, every ingredient from the militant drumming to the cacophonous vocals is a means to an end, and whether you’re in it more for the former or the latter is entirely irrelevant. Few albums manage to transcend being a collection of tracks into being a completed whole body of work so smoothly, and From the Visceral Abyss does so with blackened bile pouring through pounding through its poisoned veins. Disconcerting in its antagonism yet enthralling in the exactness of its vision, Teitanblood remains an auditory scrying mirror into the deepest pits that we were never meant to gaze upon.
#8: Imperial Triumphant // Goldstar – Goldstar is exactly what I had hoped for after the excessively out-there of their previous release: A more riff-centric album, which only just scales down the weird to let the approachability shine through like bait on the unsuspecting listener. To be sure, the alien Gorguts and Voivodisms remain, but this album takes a flavor similar to Alphaville3 and it builds its progressivism on the bones of licks and riffs which don’t take twenty listens to decipher before their foundation is made clear. Virtuoso musicianship remains at a peak, but as the tagline “Nine Class ‘A’ Songs” suggests, Imperial Triumphant have opted less to overwhelm the listener as much as flex on them, with fantastic results. A great introduction if you’re new to the band, and an enthralling listen for the jazz enthusiast and avant-garde black metal fan alike.
#7: Kalaveraztekah // Nikan Axkan – I underrated this a bit during the initial rodeo. While my complaints about the treble-heavy lack of bottom end remain, this is a masterfully composed record which continues to reveal new moments of wonder with each spin. Riffs designed to evoke thematic atmosphere and crush skulls in equal measure abound (“Nikan Axkan”) while remembering to summon the native beauty of the Aztec backdrop (“Yowaltekuhtli”) with skill. Lurching into Morbid Angel flirtations laced with delightful indigenous beats one minute and having haunting clean vocals drenched with horror and ritualism the next, this album is a whirlwind of a listen, a journey through primal soundscapes and human history meshed with technical prowess and grace. Hopefully someone picks them up soon, as they are well deserving of a bigger spotlight, and if you missed our rodeo on this release (shame on you) then you owe it to yourself to give it a listen.
#6: Labryinthus Stellarum // Rift in Reality – When I was very young, trancecore was one of the first “heavy” sounds I cut my teeth on, and consequently, my earballs feel right at home in these rifts. Impossibly catchy without being so simple as to offend my intelligence, and featuring electronics that have as much diversity and life in them as any guitar tone, Rift in Reality is a testimony that you can make techno and metal work on albums not named The Key. The blackened production stands in sharp contrast to the piercing, cosmic-echo cleanliness of the electronics, which are always spearheading the melodies but never at the cost of the full band’s heft and power. Spreading their songwriting wings a bit from the last release in more intricate melodies, a smattering of breakdowns, and heavier use of cleans has afforded Labryinthus Stellarum more personality than gimmickries, and I can’t wait to see where they go from here.
#5: Oskoreien // Hollow Fangs – It’s been a decent year for the more raw elements of black metal, but these fangs poisoned all who stood in their way. Somehow catchy in its simplicity yet not devoid of moving melodies, Hollow Fangs isn’t as much an innovation of the thing as much as the thing done at peak quality and skill. The cold tones reinforce the melancholy on display in the chord progressions, while the occasional leads sound more introspective than meandering despite their lack of raw noodlage. While I agree with the spirit of Owlswald‘s criticisms, I cannot deny that I continue to be drawn to this record despite its warts. Hollow Fangs has managed to set itself apart this year while not doing much out of the ordinary, containing that X factor that finds me reaching out to it over and over again.
#4: Blut Aus Nord // Ethereal Horizons – Like all good Blut Aus Nord albums, I had to let this album come to me, but once it did, it shows no signs of letting up. Somehow sidestepping the melodic trappings of the Memoria Vetusta series into something far more hypnotic yet no less deep in scope, Ethereal Horizons places all its stock on triumphant hypnosis. With nods to several chapters towards the band’s era in composition and production alike, the French kings use the building blocks of their dissonant works and claustrophobic atmospheres to construct something liberating and uplifting, with even the momentary bouts of darkness more atmospheric than truly grueling. I suspect we will find Ethereal Horizons to be an important stepping stone for the next chapter of blackened adventure. For now, adjust expectations away from whatever sequel you were hoping for in their litany of journeys and accept the new horizons showing just past the dawn.
#3: Cryptopsy // An Insatiable Violence – I was an admitted latecomer to the Cryptopsy brand, stumbling upon their excellent Book of Suffering EPs some years ago. Consequently, I’ve been a staunch defender of their modern era even as I dove backward into the classics and peculiarities. An Insatiable Violence smacks with a validation of all my affections, keeping the technical might while continuing to grow in groovy, melodic directions. True, I should have been a tad harder on the production of the drum tones than I was in my initial review, but tough tiddlywinks. From the sky-piercing beauty of the solo in the opening track “The Nimis Adoration” to the bookending body blow of “Malignant Needs,” this album remains a quality offering of the most elite of brutal death. Succinct in length but with twice the riff-to-minute factor, Cryptopsy stands supreme at the top of the more violent end of the musical spectrum this year.
#2: Messa // The Spin – While part of me deeply misses the droning elements and slightly crustier tone of Belfry, there’s no denying the spiritual journey this album takes me on with each listen. The embodiment of a grower, what begins as a somewhat underwhelming (compared to previous efforts) listen slowly unfurls itself to be an excellently realized, meticulously composed release. Look no further than album highlight “The Dress” for riffs that border more on twangy than “crushing” and yet pack the spirit of the doomiest doom in each measure. Vocalist Sara continues to up her harmonization game with double and triple-tracked melodies that reach right into my soul. Though The Spin is relatively light in guitar tone, each listen reveals a weight and power hidden from track to track, and the fantastic album closer “Thicker Blood” instinctively has me reaching out to replay the album as soon as it ends. Truly gorgeous.
#1: Aran Angmar // Ordo Diabolicum – Since plucking this record at random with no prior knowledge or expectations from the pit, Aran Angmar has stuck with me through professional and personal challenges and victories, tragedies and triumphs, in a manner befitting the greatest of Greek black metal. The harmonized leads in “Chariots of Fire” still dwell rent-free in my head, and the wailing clean vocals of the kickoff track “Dungeons of the Damned” still get my blood pumping every time. Excellent for cleaning your impossibly filthy house, working on a long overdue job project, or slaughtering your enemies by the hundreds in equal measure, Ordo Diabolicum is the sound of perseverance rewarded, of effort given and blood shed for a higher purpose, and actually witnessing the payoff with your own eyes. Sidestepping the tropes of evil for something so supremely triumphant is a move that has paid big dividends for this outfit, and while blackened to its core, few soundtracks have encouraged me to keep on keepin’ on like this has. A monstrous record to declare war on whatever oppresses you.
Honorable Mentions:
- Mutagenic Host // The Diseased Machine – Designed to reduce one’s gluteus maximus into a shape far more concave, this is a youthful release wise beyond its years in bringing the pain and infecting all in its wake.
- Qrixkuor // The Womb of the World – Bringing in an actual symphonic performance has somehow rendered this cavernous sound even more daunting. At once engaging and uncomfortable, this is an album for those who find beauty in the most repulsive of darkened shrines.
ClarkKent
When I first discovered the Angry Metal Guy blog back in 2021,4 it was during a period of transition in my life, as COVID spurred a career transition out of teaching and, eventually, into data analytics. At the time, my metal tastes were limited to more well-known acts like Metallica and Iron Maiden, with forays into Opeth, Enslaved, and Ayreon. Boy, did this blog expand my horizon. Between taking online classes and staying home with my two kids, I devoured AMG reviews and dove into the vast ocean of metal acts that both the writers and commenters introduced me to. And then, when Angry Metal Guy put out the casting call later that year, I was out of a job and always wanted to be a writer, so I thought, Why not? Little did I know this decision would see me stored in a freezer for four long years. Thankfully, when I thawed out last year, it was with four great guys who all kept each other sane during our n00bship: Alekhines Gun, Tyme, Killjoy, and Owlswald. I’m happy to have had their camaraderie and friendship, and I’m stoked that all five of us were demoted to staff writers. I am also grateful to Steel Druhm and Angry Metal Guy for bringing me aboard, despite my horrid taste, and to Dolphin Whisperer and Maddog for their helpful tips and feedback on my drafts. As Steel would say, you guys were gentle, yet brutal, and in the best possible way. With 2025 proving a stressful year, largely due to increasing work demands, listening to promos and writing reviews has proven a helpful outlet. I’m looking forward to an awesome 2026.
#ish. Bloodletter // Leave the Light Behind — While staying true to their melothrash sound, Bloodletter continues to improve in their songwriting year after year. This is easily their best and my favorite thrash record of the year, in a year where not much thrash really stood out to me. The tight songwriting, the energy, and the melodic leads are all top-notch, and this one stands up even after repeated spins.
#10. Wings of Steel // Winds of Time — This was one of my favorite reviews to write in 2025. Not just because the album was big and fun, with big bombastic numbers like the opening song “Winds of Time,” or tight and speedy cuts like “Saints and Sinners,” or ballads like “Crying,” or my song of the year, “Flight of the Eagle.” It gave me the rare opportunity to write fart jokes and the even rarer chance to “steal” a promo from Steel. So many throwback classic metal bands sound like they belong in that older time, but Wings of Steel sound timeless—they could belong in the new and the then all at the same time.
#9. Besna // Krásno — While I’m not typically drawn to post-metal, Besna’s Krásno proves an exception. The harsh guitar tones and vocals provide an alluring contrast with the catchy melodic tremolos. Despite its brief length, this is a surprisingly progressive album. Each song reveals a beauty to Besna’s songwriting and musicianship, and that album art is gorgeous, to boot. I love everything Besna does here, and this proved to be just the beginning of what was a strong start to 2025.
#8. Green Carnation // A Dark Poem Part I: The Shores of Melancholia — I’m glad Doc Grier introduced Green Carnation to me when Leaves of Yesteryear topped his 2020 list. I love this band, and this record is no exception. It has six tracks of pure earworm and ends up being one of the catchiest albums of the year. These guys know how to write songs that make you feel good and want to dance and sing along to. What’s more exciting is that this is the first of a planned trilogy, so hopefully that means we don’t have to wait long for the next one.
#7. Phantom Spell // Heather and Hearth — Heather and Hearth is like a time machine, one taking you back to ’70s era prog. Man, it’s a lot of fun. It’s catchy and bright—a shining beacon amidst a horde of brutal, violent metal. This is packed to the gills with hooks, from spry riffs to feel-good synths to memorable choruses. Metal rarely puts a smile on your face without sounding like cheesy power metal à la Fellowship, but Phantom Spell does it here. Apparently, this kind of bright and cheery metal was just what I needed this year, and it proved a nice summer balm.
#6. Atlantic // Timeworn — When I first listened to this earlier in the year, I just assumed it was the work of an established, well-known band. So it was a surprise to learn Timeworn was actually the debut from a relative newcomer in Callan Hoy. Something about 2025 has drawn me towards these uplifting albums that burst with good feelings and catchy melodies. For the 34 minutes I spend with this, I just get lost in the currents of the tremolos and blast beats and, at least for a moment, live in a world of calm and bliss.
#5. In the Woods… // Otra — This sort of melodic, catchy metal is my kryptonite. In the Woods… plays the kind of songs that get lodged in my brain, and I start whistling them while doing my grocery shopping, drawing funny looks. I’d never heard of these guys until Grier’s review earlier this year, and now I’m thinking maybe I should dive into their back catalog. More worryingly, this is the second album on my list that Grier gave a glowing review for. That means either he actually has good taste, or my taste is just as bad as his.
#4. Oromet // The Sinking Isle — If I had a time machine, I’d go back and rate this one a little higher. This isn’t a “marathon” like some of Bell Witch’s records, nor a piece of crushing funeral doom, nor one that makes extensive use of silence. It is introspective, full of surprises, and melodic. It also came at a period in my life when work was particularly stressful. Playing this helped provide me with some solace and calm as I took in the beautiful compositions. These guys have a bright future ahead of them.
#3. Deafheaven // Lonely People with Power — After the misstep that was Infinite Granite, it’s nice to see Deafheaven back to form. I was ready to write them off, but thanks to Doom_et_Al’s impassioned words, I excitedly dove in. I’m glad I did. I now know their form of shoegaze-y black metal is divisive among metal fans (I was clueless about this fact when I first discovered them), but I don’t care, and I still love it. It’s just so easy to get lost in those lush guitar tones and harsh rasps. It’s tough to pick out any one tune as a standout because it’s the experience of the record as a whole that is so rewarding.
#2. In Mourning // The Immortal — This is a remarkable piece of melodic progressive death. I hadn’t heard of In Mourning until Kenstrosity and the other AMG staffers started talking them up ahead of this release. It seems I’ve really missed out and need to fix that. The Immortal is just about perfect. From song craft to musical performances, these guys nail it. From the beautiful guitar tones to the excellent combo of clean and harsh vox to the memorable melodies, The Immortal is an emotional tour de force that grows more majestic with each spin.
#1. Tómarúm // Beyond Obsidian Euphoria — When I first moved away from more mainstream metal acts, it was progressive death bands like Tómarúm that drew me in. Opeth, Between the Buried and Me, Enslaved, and Ayreon opened up my ears to the reward of listening to songs that reveal new layers and depth with repeated listening. Each year, one or two prog death records climb high in my rankings, and this year that mantle belongs to Tómarúm. This record is massive, and the more time I spend with it, the more depths I plumb, and I find that it contains never-ending riches. There are just so many surprises—the technicality, the speed, the melodies—even some flutes! As great as the debut was, these guys have only gotten better and have earned a spot as one of my current favorites in the genre, along with Iotunn and Dvne. This is the kind of album I love to get lost in—it’s pure bliss.
Honorable Mentions
- Empyrean Sanctum // Detachment from Reality — This passion project from Justin Kellerman may not have impressed my Rodeo-mates as much as me, but I strongly connected with it due to dynamic songwriting and inspired performances.
- Skaldr // Samsr — This was initially a lot higher on my list, but it didn’t hold up as well as it did back in January. Still, it’s a remarkable bit of melodic black metal and good enough to rank as among the best of 2025.
- Aephenamer // Utopie — Melodic and symphonic metal with superb songwriting? Sign me up. This latest from Aephenamer is just so dynamic and fun, and it’s another great effort from a reliably high-quality group. The last couple of songs are absolute beauties.
- An Abstract Illusion // The Sleeping City — This may not be as strong as their older stuff, but it’s still incredibly moving. The introduction of synths charts a new direction for the band, but they make it work with some gorgeous atmospherics.
Songs o’ the Year
1. Wings of Steel — “Flight of the Eagle” 2. Lord of the Lost — “One of Us Will Be Next” 3. In the Woods — “Let Me Sing” 4. Hanging Garden — “Morgan’s Trail” 5. Fer de Lance — “Fires on the Mountainside” 6. Tómarúm — “Shed this Erroneous Skin” 7. Green Carnation — “In Your Paradise” 8. Structure — “Will I Deserve It?” 9. Atlantic — “Voyages” 10. In Mourning — “Staghorn” 11. Dolven — “You’ve Chosen”
Owlswald
I’ve finally made it to the end of my first year on staff, culminating with my inaugural list. This time last year, I was deep in the throes of my n00bdom and watched from the dark confines of the dungeon as many of my Freezer Crew brethren shared their initial staff lists. And as stoked as I was for my mates, I couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous that I was still toiling with cleanup detail as an unnamed shadow. But the wheel of ascent turns for us all. After a few more months surviving on table scraps and standing water, our Managing Ape unlocked my cage, releasing me at last into the aviary and the promised start of my pledged service bound labor.
Though my escape from the rookery took longer, that extended time was not without its merits. Reviewing is a skill that must be honed like any other, and although metal—and music generally—has been an essential part of my life since I was young, it has admittedly taken longer for me to truly articulate the “why.” Anyone can declare an album “good” or “bad,” but developing and communicating the rationale is an entirely different discipline. A discipline that I believe I have improved over my first year as a writer here, and one that I look forward to developing further with more time in the seat.
My thanks go out, first and foremost, to Steel and AMG Himself for granting me the opportunity to contribute to this very special, longstanding community and for the monumental trust they have placed in me. Specifically, the trust that I wouldn’t utterly trash the place—a faith I’ve done my best to test (More on one attempt below). I must also thank my fellow writers—both old and new, including those now in the annals of AMG—who I’ve read for years and whose work continues to inspire me. And last, but certainly not least, I thank all of you who read, comment and visit the site regularly. The reality that my thoughts command even a sliver of your precious time remains utterly surreal. For that connection, I am truly honored.
Taking this good energy and running with it, let’s get to the list!
#ish. Harvested // Dysthymia – I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told me at the start of the year that my first list would be kicked off by an unsigned band. But here we are, and Harvested’s self-released debut, Dysthymia, deserves the honor because it fucking rules. Operating in the sweet spot between Decapitated and Cattle Decapitation, the album boasts one of the best guitar tones of the year. These Canadians flaunt a songwriting maturity that many veteran groups twice their age still haven’t found—a sound that is as bone-crushingly heavy as it is technically brutal. I have been spinning Dysthymia regularly since its release, and highlight tracks like “Unending Madness” and “Gathered and Deluded” make primo Heavy Moves Heavy additions.
#10. Jade // Mysteries of a Flowery Dream – Some albums demand the right conditions and the listener’s utmost attention to enjoy fully, and Jade’s Mysteries of a Flowery Dream is such a record. Though it took a while for their sophomore effort to envelop me in its dark, murky, and oscillating guise, I’m glad I remained patient because the payoff was huge. This Barcelonian quartet has created a sensory-rich listening experience that is as immersive as it is complex and dynamic, featuring superb songwriting intertwined with recurrent themes and soaring leads that ensure the album’s 43 minutes feel unified and purposeful. Achieving this level of cohesive, complex dynamism is a feat that is incredibly hard to execute well, which makes Mysteries of a Flowery Dream all the more impressive.
#9. Pillars of Cacophony // Paralipomena – Each year, one tech-death record usually carves out a spot on my list. Last year, Apogean’s Cyberstrictive set an incredibly high bar, taking album of the year honors with its near-perfect blend of hook-laden guitar maneuvers and groove-focused rhythms. While tech-death won’t be repeating as champion in 2025, Pillars of Cacophony are nonetheless representing the genre in a major way with Paralipomena. The album showcases multi-instrumentalist Dominik’s talents in crafting unsettling, unpredictable soundscapes filled with propulsive fretwork, dissonant phrases, and kinetic rhythmic patterns. Drawing directly from Dominik’s own research as a bioscientist, Paralipomena coils science with the aural might of death metal to create a record that is as conceptually authentic as it is musically captivating.
#8. King Witch // III – Doom—and more specifically stoner—has always been hit-or-miss to these ears. But on III, Scotland’s King Witch grabbed the best parts of the genre and compressed them into a Seattle-made mold of hard rock and grunge that immediately won me over. The album is the culmination of the group’s artistic evolution, combining the strong songwriting of their debut with the dynamic shifts of their follow-up. Guitarist Jamie Gilchrist and bassist Rory Lee assemble a sophisticated foundation of earthmoving, genre-bending riffs that perfectly augment the star power of vocalist Laura Donnelly, whose Chris Cornell-like range and Janis Joplin grit give the material undeniable power and command. The result is a sound that elevates III far beyond typical doom boundaries into one of the year’s best records.
#7. Agriculture // The Spiritual Sound – I initially missed Agriculture’s self-titled debut and follow-up EP, so The Spiritual Sound was my first introduction to this Californian black metal outfit. But after months of having this record on constant rotation—and seeing their live show—I can confidently conclude they are one of the most innovative and unique black metal groups operating right now. Self-dubbed as “ecstatic black metal,” Agriculture shatters convention by challenging the dark extremity of the genre with a patchwork of math rock, shoegaze, noise, and folk influences. Powered by Leah Levinson’s manic, shifting vocals and inventive guitar work from Dan Meyer and Richard Chowenhill, The Spiritual Sound is a genre-defying record that is both unpredictable and intensely authentic.
#6. Cryptopsy // An Insatiable Violence – Outside of my admiration for fellow drummer extraordinaire Flo Mounier, I have to admit that I had more or less forgotten about Cryptopsy after 2012’s self-titled album. Thanks to my fellow Freezer Crew brother Alekhines Gun, I gave them another go, and An Insatiable Violence hit me like a ton of bricks, forcing me to quickly figure out how to start begging these Canadians for forgiveness. From Matt McGachy’s unique, manic screams to Mounier’s pummeling gravity blasts and double-bass to Christian Donaldson’s “waltz-rooted chuggathons” and fret noises, every aspect of An Insatiable Violence is crystal clear, full of groove and hits like a fucking tank. Needless to say, I won’t be making the same mistake twice, and these death metal legends now have my full attention again.
#5. …and Oceans // The Regeneration Itinerary – Being a longtime fan of these multifarious Finns, I rejoiced when they returned from an extended hiatus in 2020 with Cosmic World Mother. Yet, as strong as that album—and follow-up As in Gardens, So in Tombs—was, it didn’t have the same symphonic and eclectic oomph as The Dynamic Gallery of Thoughts or The Symmetry of I – The Circle of O. Much to my pleasure, The Regeneration Itinerary is a riveting return to form for …and Oceans, returning to their symphonic, frenetic and blackened sound of yore while maintaining the incisiveness of their modern form. This album is peppered with their classic trademarks, and “Prophetical Mercury Implement” is the best song the group has written in decades. After taking a couple of albums to get their groove back, The Regeneration Itinerary is evidence that …and Oceans has found it again.
#4. Messa // The Spin – Messa’s fourth full-length marks the second doom record on my list (and the second led by a badass frontwoman). On The Spin, Messa continues to evolve their progressive identity, imbuing their sound with flavors of 80’s dark post-punk and gothic rock that evoke the haunting architecture of early Killing Joke. While Sara’s vocals may not possess the same boisterous power as Laura Donnelly’s, her spellbinding presence and seductive delivery make The Spin simply irresistible. Guitarist Alberto complements Sara’s bewitching and buttery croons with sparkling arpeggios and overdriven solos steeped heavily in the classic occult groups of the ’70s. It’s clear Messa is operating on a completely different level than their peers, and I can’t get enough of The Spin.
#3. Buried Realm // The Dormant Darkness – You always remember your first. Buried Realm’s The Dormant Darkness was my first full review on staff, a record that I am forever grateful Twelve decided to waive his seniority over and allow my newly-clipped wings to review because it ended up surprising the hell out of me. Josh Dummer’s technical melodeath project came out firing on all cylinders with its third album, upping the virtuosity with a slew of new guests. It is full of highlights, memorable hooks, and technically impressive solos and is a non-stop blast. In fact, I loved The Dormant Darkness so much that I committed the cardinal sin of breaking the score counter immediately—an action that can quickly get one thrown into the woodchipper of despair. Luckily, I am still here to tell the tale, and now I have my love of The Dormant Darkness to show for it.
#2. Tómarúm // Beyond Obsidian Euphoria – If there was ever a year for me to look for a #1A/#1B scenario, this would have been it, as I floundered back and forth between this album and my #1 pick. Chalk it up to indecision or whatever you must, but ultimately, one can’t go wrong with either in this instance. In short, Tómarúm’s Beyond Obsidian Euphoria is long-form progressive death metal greatness. Razor-sharp technicality, sparkling melodicism, and excellent songwriting form a weighty spirit that counterbalances crushing heft with airy refrains that move and flow seamlessly across its rewarding 70-minute runtime. There isn’t much more I can say here that Sponge-fren Ken‘s aptly penned review didn’t capture already, outside of stating that Tómarúm‘s opus is as close to perfect in both structure and execution as one can get. To put it simply, it’s a triumph.
#1. In Mourning // The Immortal – Speaking of perfection, In Mourning have achieved such a standard with their latest melodeath offering, The Immortal. After our Almighty Overlord listened to The Immortal following the flurry of votes the record received for August’s Record O’ the Month, he responded with a few choice words that captured my thoughts about the album succinctly: “Damn…” he said. “They nailed this. Well, that’s easy.” But I think that is even an understatement for how incredibly awesome this album is, and, doing one better, I don’t think many have grasped it yet, either. With their seventh album, these Swedes have found the perfect combination of their patented Opethian death metal chuggery, sadboi melodies, and creative dynamism, resulting in a sound rich in emotional depth with more digestible hooks than one can handle. I’m talking hooks—both riffs and vocal melodies—that dig deep into your psyche and never let go. They connect on a different level—a telltale sign we’re dealing with a classic. A decade from now, when In Mourning has hopefully amassed an even deeper discography, should the question arise—”What is the most essential melodeath album of the last ten years?”—I’m willing to bet The Immortal will be the resounding answer.
Honorable Mentions
- Mutagenic Host // The Diseased Machine – I miss Edge of Sanity with a passion, but Mutagenic Host’s The Diseased Machine is helping stem my longing—at least temporarily. These newcomers kicked off 2025 with an absolutely filthy dose of death metal that hasn’t stopped invading my playlist.
- Abigail Williams // A Void Within Existence – While 2019’s Walk Beyond the Dark was one hell of a record, A Void Within Existence may very well surpass it. Drummer Mike Heller codifies the attack, as Ken Sorceron and company unleash an all-out assault of crushing weight and unrelenting groove.
- Bianca // Bianca – Despite its late arrival hindering its consideration for a higher ranking, these Italians clearly have something special brewing with their self-titled debut. An enchanting mix of ethereality and chilling blackened soundscapes that is worth hearing immediately.
- Ambush // Evil in All Dimensions – Heavy metal group Ambush lived up to their name when they absolutely ambushed my ears and eyes with their nostalgic blend of 80’s Maiden, Priest, and Helloween, replete with their oh-so-tight fashion. Vocalist Oskar Jacobsson is poised to be the genre’s next colossal talent. Remember—you heard it here first.
- Fallujah // Xenotaph – Following the heavily criticized 2019 effort, Undying Light, it took six years for these tech-death masters to regroup and recalibrate. But Fallujah delivered a massive surprise with Xenotaph, easily one of their strongest—and best sounding—records to date. Here’s to hoping this reinvigorated momentum holds true.
Song o’ the Year
Ambush // “Bending the Steel” – This surprise pick eventually knocked …and Oceans’ “Prophetical Mercury Implement” from the top spot. It’s a brilliant piece of songwriting that would have immediately launched this act to superstardom had it only been released four decades earlier. 100% nostalgia and cold, hard steel.
#AndOceans #2025 #AbigailWilliams #Aephenamer #Agriculture #AlekhinesGunS #Ambush #AnAbstractIllusion #AncientDeath #AranAngmar #Atlantic #Besna #Bianca #BlogLists #Bloodletter #BlutAusNord #BuriedRealm #ClarkKentSAndOwlswaldSTopTenIshOf2025 #Cryptopsy #Deafheaven #EmpyreanSanctum #Fallujah #GreenCarnation #Harvested #ImperialTriumphant #InMourning #InTheWoods #Jade #Kalaveraztekah #KingWitch #LabryinthusStellarum #Lists #Messa #MutagenicHost #Oromet #Oskoreien #PhantomSpell #Phobocosm #PillarsOfCacophony #Skaldr #Teitanblood #Tómarúm #WingsOfSteel -
The Cognitive Bargain Has Ended: A Generation Born Without Comparative Advantage
The claim circulating in policy papers, venture capital essays, and parental anxiety threads runs like this: no child born this year will grow up to be smarter than artificial intelligence. The line gets used as a slogan, which is the first sign it deserves examination. Slogans that move easily through dinner parties usually carry hidden machinery. The machinery here is a definition of intelligence narrow enough to fit on a benchmark and broad enough to terrify a parent. Both functions are intentional, and both deserve to be unbundled before the consequences can be argued honestly.
A six-year-old can pour milk without spilling, recognize her grandmother by the sound of her walk on the stairs, and read her father’s mood from a quarter-second facial flicker before he speaks. No current AI does these reliably, which is why the warehouse, the construction site, and the elder-care ward continue to employ humans at rising wages while law firms cut their summer associate classes. What machines do well, with present technology, is symbol manipulation at scale: text, code, formal reasoning, pattern completion across enormous corpora of written human output. The honest version of the claim is narrower than the slogan and still consequential. No child born this year will outperform machines at symbol manipulation, retrieval, or formal reasoning across most of the tasks that currently pay a salary in an office. The slogan compresses that into a panic, which is bad rhetoric and bad policy, and the underlying observation remains true. What follows from the observation is the actual subject of the analysis below.
The Credentialed Class Loses Its Logic
The first casualty is the credentialed professional class, roughly the top 20 percent of American earners by household income. This stratum organized itself across the twentieth century around cognitive screening. The SAT in 1926, refined through the GI Bill expansion. The LSAT in 1948. The MCAT in its modern multiple-choice form in 1962. The USMLE consolidated in 1992. Each gate selected for a particular form of paid cognition: rapid pattern recognition under time pressure, short-term retention of densely structured information, formal reasoning across domain-specific symbol systems. The gates were effective because the cognitive work they screened for was scarce, expensive to develop, and economically valuable.
Three conditions held the system together. Scarcity was the first: only humans could perform the cognitive work, and only some humans, after long training. Expense was the second: the training cost time and money and required institutional infrastructure no individual could replicate. Value was the third: the market rewarded the work because nothing cheaper could produce equivalent output. All three conditions are now eroding simultaneously. A subscription that costs less than a Manhattan dinner produces legal memos, differential diagnoses, and tax planning at a level competent enough to embarrass the junior tier of every paid profession.
Embarrassment falls short of replacement. The senior partner still signs the brief. The attending physician still admits the patient. The accounting principal still files the return. What has collapsed is the economic logic of the apprentice tier, the rung at which young people once learned the trade by performing the work that AI now performs faster and at a thousandth of the cost. Without the apprentice tier, the senior tier has no successors, and the senior tier itself ages out within twenty years. The professions are not being replaced. They are being denied a generation, which is the same outcome on a longer clock.
The lawyer keeps courtroom presence, client relationship, and signature liability. For the doctor, what survives is touch, witness, legal accountability, and judgment under stakes. The architect’s irreducible work happens in the kitchen, in conversation with the homeowner about how the family actually lives. Three of those four functions are not why medical school costs $300,000. The training, the credentialing, the expensive cognitive certification, was effective because it produced the rare commodity. When the commodity is no longer rare, the price of training cannot hold. Either tuition collapses, which would gut the universities that have leveraged themselves on that revenue, or graduates default on debt for credentials that no longer command premium wages. Both outcomes are visible in early data. Neither has yet been admitted by the institutions whose survival depends on denying it.
The same compression is hitting working-class employment, particularly in transportation, customer service, and routine clerical work, and the human stakes there are larger in absolute terms. The reason this analysis concentrates on the credentialed class is that this class produced and sustained the public sphere through which the broader transition will be argued, named, and contested. When that class loses its grip on its own coherence, the conversation about every other displacement becomes harder to organize.
The Parental Project Loses Its Currency
The second consequence is psychological and reaches beyond economics into the structure of family life. American parenting in the educated class has run for at least three generations on a transmission model. Cultivate the child’s mind, secure the child’s place. The cultivation produced status, the status produced security, and the bargain held because each generation could roughly verify the prior one’s judgment. A father who tutored his daughter in algebra in 1995 watched her, twelve years later, take a meeting with someone who had been tutored similarly by similarly anxious parents. The investment paid out in a recognizable currency.
The currency has been redenominated without warning. A father in 2026 watches his daughter receive better tutoring, free, from a machine that has read every algebra textbook ever written and never tires. The democratization is real and worth celebrating. The disappearance of his comparative advantage is also real, and both arrive on the same Tuesday. He had counted on that advantage. Greed had nothing to do with it. The entire architecture of middle-class American parenting had encoded the cognitive premium as the path, and he was a competent parent walking the path his own parents had walked. The consolation that “my child will think for a living” has lost its meaning. What replaces it has not arrived. The vacuum is producing the parental anxiety that fills bookstores, podcast feeds, and pediatric psychiatry waiting rooms, and producing it faster than the helping professions can absorb the demand.
The School System Confronts Its Cover Story
The third consequence runs through the school itself. American schooling has carried at least four functions through the twentieth century: childcare for working parents, social formation, cognitive training, and credentialing for the labor market. The cognitive training and credentialing functions are the two AI most directly displaces, and they happen to be the two schools advertise in their mission statements as the reason for existing. Childcare and social formation remain, untouched and irreplaceable, and no school district raises a tax levy on those grounds.
The honest reckoning is one administrators are not yet willing to give. We run schools mostly to keep parents working and to teach children how to negotiate the social geometry of a room full of other children. The cognitive content has always been somewhat ornamental, a respectable cover story for an institution whose deeper functions were custodial and socializing. AI is forcing the cover story to retire. At least a decade of denial will follow. Curriculum committees will add “AI literacy” units that are structurally indistinguishable from the typing classes of 1985, the computer lab visits of 1995, and the laptop initiatives of 2010, each of which functioned as institutional reassurance rather than pedagogical substance. After the denial, a slow and reluctant rewriting of mission statements will move toward something more honest about what schools actually do, which is gather children safely while their parents earn a living and teach them to sit in rooms with people they did not choose. Both functions are valuable. Neither justifies the per-pupil expenditure of the current system, and the public will eventually discover that the math no longer works.
The Political Bargain Loses Its Foundation
The fourth consequence is political and may be the most important one in the medium term. Technocratic liberal democracy, the regime under which most readers of this essay have lived their entire lives, rested on a quiet bargain. Experts would govern the complicated parts. Voters would govern the simple parts. The experts held position because they knew more than the voters, and the voters tolerated the experts because the system, on average, delivered rising material conditions. The bargain frayed before AI arrived, evident in the populist movements of the past fifteen years, but AI removes the bargain’s foundation outright. If a machine knows more than the expert and the voter alike, the expert has no remaining claim that distinguishes her from any other citizen. She becomes one more citizen with opinions. The voice of trained competence has gone elsewhere, into the model and the dataset, where no human can claim it as her own.
Two political responses follow, and both are visible in the present. The populist response decides that if no human is more qualified than any other, then will, identity, and tribal allegiance settle the question. This is the shape of politics in much of Europe, the Americas, and parts of Asia at the moment of writing, and the authoritarian movements within that response are gaining institutional ground rather than losing it. The technocratic response in a new key hands the decisions to the machine itself, which is the direction parts of finance, military targeting, and judicial sentencing are already moving. The first response sustains the form of democracy while emptying its substance. The second response abandons even the form. Neither response preserves democratic self-rule as the founding generations understood it, and there is no third response visibly forming. The honest political forecast is that what we have called liberal democracy will continue to use its old vocabulary while operating on different machinery, and the gap between the vocabulary and the machinery will widen until the vocabulary collapses, probably within a generation. Whether the collapse opens onto a new democratic form or onto its successor is the open question of the next twenty years.
The Cultural Layer Has Absorbed Shocks Like This Before
The fifth consequence is cultural and harder to predict, because culture has absorbed previous shocks of this kind. Photography arrived in 1839 and was widely expected to end painting. Painting survived by abandoning the territory photography claimed and inventing impressionism, then cubism, then abstraction. Recorded music arrived around 1900 and was expected to end live performance. Live performance survived by becoming an experience economy where presence, not fidelity, was the product. Chess engines surpassed human grandmasters in the late 1990s and were expected to kill the game. Online chess is now larger than at any point in its history, with more humans playing more games against more opponents than the pre-engine era could imagine.
The pattern across these examples is consistent. Mechanical reproduction shifts the value of the human version from product to presence. A handmade chair is no longer a better chair than a factory chair, and it costs ten times more, because the value lives in the maker’s hand and the buyer’s relationship to it. Live theatre does not compete with film on visual spectacle and does not need to, because the live audience pays for the breath in the room. Human writing, if AI writing becomes competent and ubiquitous, will likely become a luxury good signaling effort, time, and personal stake. The author’s life will count for more, and the work without an author behind it will lose value as it becomes plentiful. Whether that economy supports as many writers as the previous one is a separate question, and the answer is no. The professional middle of the writing trade, the working journalist, the staff editor, the workmanlike novelist, will thin out. The top will hold and the amateur base will expand. The middle was always the most vulnerable layer in any cultural economy, and AI accelerates a contraction that began with the collapse of newspaper revenue around 2007.
The Counter-Case Worth Holding
A counter-case deserves to be kept in view, because the foregoing analysis can slide into a fatalism the evidence does not support. Intelligence, as humans have meant the word for most of recorded history, has always carried more than symbol manipulation. The fuller meaning includes desire, mortality, embodiment, the capacity to lose, the capacity to refuse. A chess engine plays better chess than any human and cares about nothing. A writing engine produces fluent prose and risks no humiliation when the prose fails. The child born this year will live in a body that ages, will love people who die, will choose between options under genuine uncertainty about her own future, will know what it is to be afraid without being shut down for it. All of that registers as full-weight human activity, equal in importance to whatever the machine produces. The category is different from symbol manipulation, and the question of which category we will continue to honor with the word intelligence is a political question more than a technical one. The answer will be settled by what the courts protect, what the schools teach, what the markets pay for, and what the surviving institutions of self-government decide to defend.
The Hardest Truth
The hardest truth, the one this site has been documenting across a decade of work on institutional collapse, is that societies do not adjust gracefully to shifts of this size. Institutions built on one logic do not refactor themselves when the logic changes. They hollow out, keep their letterhead, draw their salaries, and lose their function while everyone with standing to name the loss benefits from its concealment. The American university, the credentialing professions, the editorial gatekeepers of the legacy press, the expert commentariat on broadcast television, each is running on borrowed legitimacy at this moment. None of these institutions will announce its own obsolescence. Each will continue to charge tuition, bill hours, issue credentials, and accept underwriting for some years past practical relevance, then collapse when a critical mass of clients notices they have been paying for what is now free.
The collapse will look like the late stages of American public broadcasting documented in the third volume of the Institutional Autopsy trilogy: a long, dignified fade that no one with authority is willing to name in real time, followed by a sudden insolvency event that surprises no one in retrospect. The next fifteen years will involve a generation-long restructuring of who has standing to speak, who deserves to be paid, and what humans are for once the symbol work has been outsourced. Some of that restructuring will be fair. Much of it will be brutal. Almost none of it will be planned, because the institutions in best position to plan are also the institutions with most to lose by acknowledging the situation.
What Is Left for the Child
The children in question will inherit the result without having known the previous arrangement. They will not mourn what they never had. That is the only mercy on offer, and it is offered only to them. The rest of us, who knew the cognitive bargain when it functioned and built our lives on its assumptions, will spend the remainder of our working lives attending its funeral while pretending it is still in business. The pretense will be socially mandatory, professionally protective, and personally corrosive.
The honest response is to name what is happening, refuse the pretense, and locate value where it is actually moving, which is into presence, judgment, embodiment, and the kind of human authorship that machines cannot fake because they have no stake in the result. The child born this year, if she is lucky, will grow up in a world that has finished the funeral and started building the next thing. The question is whether her parents and grandparents can endure the funeral with enough dignity to leave her something to build on.
#ai #brain #child #cognitive #credentials #culture #knowing #logic #mind #parenting #politics #schooling #tech #truth #writing -
AMG Turns 15: Middle Management Speaks
By Carcharodon
15 years ago, on May 19, 2009, Angry Metal Guy spoke. For the very first time as AMG. And he had opinions: Very Important Opinions™. The post attracted relatively little attention at the time, but times change and, over the decade and a half since then, AMG Industries has grown into the blog you know today. Now with a staff of around 25 overrating overwriters (and an entirely non-suspicious graveyard for writers on permanent, all-expenses-paid sabbaticals), we have written more than 9,100 posts, comprising over seven million words. Over the site’s lifetime, we’ve had more than 107 million visits and now achieve well over a million hits each and every month. Through this, we’ve built up a fantastic community of readers drawn from every corner of the globe, whom we have (mostly) loved getting to know in the more than 360,000 comments posted on the site.
We have done this under the careful (if sternly authoritarian) stewardship of our eponymous leader Angry Metal Guy and his iron enforcer, Steel Druhm, while adhering to strict editorial policies and principles. We have done this by simply offering honest (and occasionally brutal) takes, and without running a single advert or taking a single cent from anyone. Ever. Mistakes have undoubtedly been made and we may be a laughing stock in the eyes of music intellectuals, socialites and critics everywhere but we are incredibly proud of what AMG Industries represents. In fact, we believe it may be the best metal blog, with the best community of readers, on the internet.
Now join us as the people responsible for making AMG a reality reflect on what the site means to them and why they would willingly work for a blog that pays in the currency of deadlines, abuse, and hobo wine. Welcome to the 15th Birthdaynalia.
Thou Shalt Have No Other Blogs!
Carcharodon
AMG and me
I lurked quietly on AMG for about five years, reading daily, discovering great records, but never entering the fray. Not so much as a single comment. I didn’t feel qualified to get involved. Until that is, I inexplicably decided—I’m still not sure why—to answer the 2018 casting call. To my surprise, I got a shot and, under the threatening (but surprisingly fair) tutelage of Steel Druhm, I evolved from nameless_n00b_17 to become Carcharodon Sharkboi. I figured it would be a fun hobby for a year or two.
Coming up six years and more than 250 posts later, AMG Industries is so much more than a hobby. It’s become part of my daily life. And that is because of the people and the culture here, not just the staff, but also the regular readers and commenters. Although there’s a wry humor to nearly everything we do, and more in-jokes than even the seasoned staffers can keep up with, people actually care. They care. About the music. About our editorial standards. About the quality of our output. About each other. And, apparently, about Yer Mom. Caring and having standards are rare commodities on the internet, and it makes the AMG community a special place to be a part of. Are we perfect? No. Mistakes have been made. We Melvins that make up AMG are a dysfunctional family, but you love your family and you’re always a part of it. This adoptive family helped me get through some really tough times as a new(ish) dad during the COVID lockdowns and exposed me to some really impressive people, I would likely never have met otherwise. Thanks AMG for starting this place and, along with Steel, Grier and other key players, ensuring that it remains what it’s always been: a place for appreciating the music we love, free from adverts, clickbait, and dicks. I’m proud to have played my small part in it.
AMG gave to me …
Gorguts // Colored Sands – I couldn’t tell you exactly when I started perusing AMG but I remember this being one of the first reviews I stumbled across. Today, it’s not a record I reach for often but it completely changed my perception of death metal. Until I heard Colored Sands, death metal to me fell into either the Cannibal Corpse school, or the progressive Opeth and late-era Death camp. The former wasn’t for me, the latter very much was. Gorguts ripped my preconceptions apart. The band was completely unknown to me but the technical precision and dissonance they channeled into this record blew me away. And having heard it, it’s impossible not to hear Gorguts’ influence on dozens of other bands. As Noctus opined, the “riffs are absorbing, dizzying and uncompromisingly heavy … [while the] mix is dynamic, well-balanced and above all, crushing.” But it’s more than that. It’s such a complete package and, together, all the elements are simply transcendent.
Mistur // In Memoriam – It pains me to say it but Grier was right. Okay, so it was once, about eight years ago but he was still right: Mistur’s In Memoriam is an absolute banger. It does deserve a 4.5. And I did miss it. And it’s absolutely in my top-5 black metal records of the 2010s. Would I have found it without him? Perhaps. Perhaps not. After all, I didn’t know their 2009 debut, Attende. But I didn’t need to do the work because Grier did it for me. He was also right to say that In Memoriam is packed full of highlights but that the “record is impossible to appreciate unless listened to from beginning to end.” It’s a perfectly crafted piece of Windir-inspired melodic black metal, with absolutely no fat on its “magnificently structured” carcass. Every track is excellent in its own way (the duo of “Matriarch’s Lament” and “The Sight” being my personal highlights), but the album is undoubtedly greater than the sum of its parts. As a general rule of thumb, do not trust Grier but he was right on the money about Mistur.
Gazpacho // Demon – Demon is in my top ten records of all time. From the yawing note, fragile vocal line, and keys that open the record on “I’ve Been Walking, Pt. 1a” to the final notes of “Death Room”, it gives me chills every time. I’m not someone who has overly emotional reactions to music, as a rule. But I love Demon. There is something about this record’s dark vulnerability that haunts me. And given the band’s shitty name, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with it were it not for the review here. Sitting right on the intersection of alt-rock and prog, with a few heavier riffs, I could say that it has all the progressive chops of Radiohead’s OK Computer and that there’s something of Thom Yorke in Gazpacho frontman Jan-Henrik Ohm’s quiet, emotive power. I could point to the excellent use of violin (the polka that closes “The Wizard of Altai Mountains” is just fun). I could, as AMG did in the review that hooked me in, praise the fantastic production. He also, rightly, said that “[e]very listen to brings forth new experiences, new ideas, new emotions”. But it’s more than that. Demon just has that undefinable something. It’s heart-wrenching, somber and I never tire of it.
I wish I had written …
Grymm Comments: On Mental Health Awareness and Our Favorite Music. Okay, I don’t actually wish I had written this. Nor should I have been allowed to. However, I am extremely glad that Grymm, Kenstrosity and The Artist Formerly Known As Muppet took on this project. In any space, it’s an incredibly important subject but mental health struggles seem to have an outsize impact on people in our (still relatively niche) scene, as the engagement with this piece showed. The number of incredibly personal and moving stories people felt able to share in response to Grymm‘s post made me very proud to be part of this place and I like to think that, perhaps, it helped a few people, who felt they had nowhere else to turn, feel a little less alone. Chapeau gentlemen.
I wish I could do over …
Kanonenfieber – Menschenmühle [Things You Might Have Missed 2021]. In the write-up of my favorite record of 2021, I opened with a disclaimer, setting out what this record categorically was not. It was an effort to head off what I predicted would inevitably become an issue for a German band, writing and singing about war in German … you figure it out. To be fair, when I interviewed its creator, Noise, a couple of years later, it seems I was right. Still, I don’t think my efforts helped. If anything, they sparked a pointless debate in the comments (of which I was part). I should have left well alone and just focused on this outstanding record.
I wish more people had read …
The Art of Labelling – Part I and Part II. All the way back in early 2020, while locked up in my house, I penned a two-part feature looking at three great, independent record labels—Hypnotic Dirge, Naturmacht and Transcending Obscurity. I wanted to understand the challenges, and opportunities, facing them and their founders. I found these fascinating to write and I learned a lot. Part I did ok numbers, not great but ok; Part II … less so. Given the huge amounts of time Nic, Robert and Kunal gave up to help me with these pieces, I had hoped to get more exposure for these excellent labels.
GardensTale
AMG and me
It’s hard to overstate the impact AMG has had on my life. When I found the site, checking out reviews for Book of Souls, I wasn’t listening to that much metal anymore. The quality of the writing drew me in, I got caught up on recent big releases, and the writing bug sank its teeth in me. Soon, metal had become a big part of my life again. Not long after, my partner expressed an interest as well and I introduced her to the various types and subgenres of metal, and we started going to more concerts and festivals, which is our favorite shared experience to this day. We started going to Roadburn, met and befriended several bands. We made friends from Wales at Graspop. During the pandemic, the staff started doing Zoom calls,1 and I got to know many of my fellow writers. After the pandemic, we made more friends through Roadburn and Angry Metal Days. We’ve been to Brutal Assault, with people we met at other festivals. One even moved to our city and has become a close companion since then. How much smaller would our world be without these friendships and experiences! This one shared interest—the love of music—is a wonderful, ongoing journey, that has enriched our lives in ways I can scarcely describe, and the match that set the fire was a click on a link while I was bored at work. AMG has brought my partner and me incalculable joy. Here’s to 15 more years!
AMG gave to me …
King Goat // Conduit – Conduit is important to me for several reasons. It was my first Album of the Year at AMG, with the title track a well-deserved Song of the Year. But it was also the album that showed me how wrong I was about doom metal. I had this notion that Swallow the Sun levels of drudgery were the standard for the genre, something I could (at the time) only tolerate in small amounts. Having just begun my AMG career in August that year, I was keen to unearth as much as I could from 2016, and King Goat blew my mind wide open, an obliteration of preconceptions that has served me well since. Despite the cataclysmic recalibration, I have not yet discovered a doom album to top Conduit. The mighty vocals, the colossal riffs, the cosmic scale of it all … it is a truly monumental album. Just thinking of the anthemic duet of the title track’s bridge still sends chills down my spine.
Disillusion // The Liberation – If you didn’t see this coming, welcome to AMG! I have made no secret of how much I love The Liberation.2 It is, quite literally, my all-time favorite album. The first time I heard it, it was overwhelming. The second time, “Time To Let Go” got its powerful hooks into me. Third time round, the sheer scope of “Wintertide” began to land. Every time I span it, I discovered more depth, more hooks, more intricate details, which connected all the tracks like a perfect web. It’s a bold treatise on dying and letting go, emotionally charged not just through the vocals but with every chord. I love progressive music principally for its storytelling ability, as the freedom from structure allows the music to emulate the endless ways to build a narrative arc. It’s why I love Pink Floyd and, more recently, Major Parkinson so much, and it’s the reason Edge of Sanity’s Crimson is one of the only albums I’ve done a YMIO for. But none do it better than Disillusion, and they’ve never done it better than on this album.
Madder Mortem // Red in Tooth and Claw – I’d heard Madder Mortem before, back in their Desiderata days. Although I enjoyed that album, it hadn’t stuck with me somehow. Red in Tooth and Claw brought me back into the fold in a big way, and Madder Mortem’s become one of my favorite bands since, owing to its unique sound and peerless emotional acuity. This album’s closer, “Underdogs,” remains one of the most effective and affecting tracks in the stellar discography of Norway’s best-kept secret. A disastrously scheduled and attended gig during the Marrow tour allowed my partner and me hours of drinks and conversations with the band, especially with vocalist extraordinaire Agnete Kirkevaag, and it remains the best and most personal experience I’ve had with any band. Madder Mortem will always hold a special place in my heart, and I would likely never have gone back to them if I hadn’t read Jean-Luc Ricard‘s review and decided to give a long-forgotten band another shot.
I wish I had written …
Alcest – Kodama Review. We have some mighty fine writers here at AMG, each with their own style and voice. But few could match the poetry of Roquentin. Starting out here, this was the review that made me sigh dreamily and wish for the ability to write such extraordinary prose. When you’ve been writing reviews for a while, you often find yourself trying new ways to phrase the same things; this is good, that is bad, etcetera. The Kodama piece is a masterclass in melding these points into a beautifully phrased flow, which never feels repetitive or perfunctory. Roquentin, you are missed.
I wish I could do over …
Hemina – Venus Review. I’m only human, and humans make mistakes. My biggest mistake, though, was the framing of Hemina’s Venus. A lengthy, winding progressive metal album from my early AMG career, I found the love-themed concept album trite and too cheesy. And though I may have been able to defend that musically, I was completely wrong about the concept, which dealt with the happiness love brings, as well as the drama and destruction. And the band called me out on it in the comments, in the worst way: with polite kindness. One more memory for the ‘lie awake at night’ bank, I suppose.
I wish more people had read …
Wills Dissolve – Echoes Review and Album Premiere. We don’t do a lot of premieres around here, so when we run one, it’s a special event. Hypnotic Dirge is not an unknown label, Wills Dissolve had a very good album with a great Burke cover. All the ducks in a line, right? Crickets. 3 comments, 2 of which talked about the lack of comments. Just a strange fluke, it seems, but certainly one of my bigger AMG disappointments.
Kenstrosity
AMG and me
When I first applied to write for AMG, I felt terribly unconfident that I would get anywhere with it. A certain commenter’s (Septic, you scoundrel, you) and my meatspace friends’ constant, and sometimes irritating, encouragement and support conspired to keep me from chickening out. Lo and behold, I jammed my foot into the Hall door. Just. Brutal though that training was, now that I’m here and somewhat seasoned, I can say that this gig represents one of the most rewarding and meaningful hobbies in my life. I’ve learned a ridiculous amount, both about metal at large and about writing—and made an unprecedented number of great friends along the way—in the last six years (this November), and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. I’m not the same person I was when I applied, of that there’s no doubt. But, I like to think that, with the support of the staff, the commentariat, the silly goofy Discordians, and all of the readers that keep this place vibrant and burgeoning with views, I’m better for it. I owe this place and the people in it a huge debt, one I can never repay. Thank you everyone, for everything!
AMG gave to me …
Sulphur Aeon // Gateway to the Antisphere – Up until discovering this review, back when I first encountered AMG in 2017, I listened almost exclusively to metalcore, Evanescence, and operatic symphocheese. Then I hit play on this incredible record, and my life forever changed. I’d heard snippets of death metal and other extreme fare before, but it never clicked. Sulphur Aeon, on the other hand, had me swooning within seconds, initiating what was, effectively, the musical equivalent of the Big Bang in my brain. A whole universe of metal, extreme and otherwise, expanded exponentially before me in an instant. Those cosmic wonders revealed to me in the process, provided endless hours of joy, excitement, and vigor, the likes of which I could never anticipate. With time, I only grew fonder of Gateway to the Antisphere, until it eventually became a Ken icon, the standard by which I judge all other records of its ilk, even today.
Slugdge // Esoteric Malacology – If you asked me to curate a Top 10 metal records of the 2010s, Esoteric Malacology easily hits my Top 3. If you asked me to curate a Top 10 metal records of all time, Esoteric Malacology easily hits my Top 5.[Um … what?! – Carcharodon] Much like Gateway to the Antisphere before it, Slugdge’s fourth LP clicked immediately and, all these years later, shines just as bright, if not brighter. Rarely does a week go by without me picking this back up for some quirky, proggy death metal fun. Esoteric Malacology even transcends the trend of clumsy lyrics endemic to metal writ large, instead showcasing devilishly clever prose and subversive messaging that conveys meaningful themes, and compelling emotional depth. Then you have the stellar performances of this dynamic duo (now trio), perhaps most effectively portrayed in Song o’ the Decade contender “Putrid Fairytale,” which remains to this day my favorite piece of progressive death metal of the modern era. Needless to say, I love this record. HAIL MOLLUSCA!!!
Unfathomable Ruination // Finitude – Brutal tech death doesn’t get better than this. Easily my most cherished Kronos find, Unfathomable Ruination’s unbelievable triumph of crushing artistry left me speechless when I first span it. Considering this was my first foray into the dense, challenging extremities of more technical music, I expected Finitude to fly way over my head. I found myself bewildered that its impenetrable density and ridiculously high level of detail were so effortless for me to access. Blame that on the record’s immense groove and flawlessly structured writing. With enough time to acclimate to the intense environment conjured by Unfathomable Ruination, I found greater appreciation for its nuanced detailing and deeply satisfying tones. Hell, that perfect snare alone brings enough aural pleasure to overwhelm even the coldest spirit. At the end of the day, you should just go read Kronos‘ review of this beast, as it explains, more eloquently than I ever could, why this should be on everyone’s essential listening schedule.
I wish I had written …
In This Moment – A Star-Crossed Wasteland Review. Boy was I mad when I found this piece for one of my favorite metalcore albums. While my confounding taste is the butt of many a joke for my colleagues and our readers alike, seeing a 1.0 for this record truly hurt my soft baby heart at the time. Given the chance, my assessment would’ve likely precluded me from being hired by AMG Inc in the first place, but nothing could change how dear this record is to me. Even now, over a decade since its release, I still regularly reach for these romantic, adventurous, and theatrical tunes.
I wish I could do over …
Ascend the Hollow – Echoes of Existence Review. I’ll be frank, this review is bad. Like, really bad. Partly due to the last minute nature of the piece and partly due to my unbridled enthusiasm for the record itself, I unleashed a tidal wave of unhinged band comparisons, more than half of which don’t make any sense in retrospect. An insane density of passive voice further plagues this write-up. It’s actually kind of embarrassing. The only things that wouldn’t change much are the overall score and some of the hard points of my analysis. Otherwise, this post desperately needs an overhaul.
I wish more people had read …
Into the Obscure: Straight Line Stitch – When Skies Wash Ashore. While I’m over the moon that one of the band members unexpectedly dropped by in the comments to offer kind words for my coverage of Straight Line Stitch’s excellent When Skies Wash Ashore, I do wish more readers had given this album a chance. Many didn’t bother to even read this article because of the tags, unwilling to spend even five minutes of their time. For an album personally significant to me, that felt pretty lame.
Holdeneye
AMG and me
What does Angry Metal Guy mean to me? Honestly, this is a question that I’m constantly trying to answer. As life goes on, and my kids enter their busy teen years, my hunger to listen to, and write about, new music has definitely waned. But there was a time when this music blog was exactly what I needed in my life. I’ve never felt totally fulfilled by my job as a firefighter, and I went through a period where I questioned whether it was actually the career for me. I considered going back to school or switching professions in order to be able to better use some of my seemingly untapped skills. I’d been reading AMG off and on for years at that point and had already fantasized about joining the roster of talented writers when a casting call came about. I answered the call, forever marring the Angry Metal archives with my questionable taste and questionable humor—and forever changing my life. Put simply, Angry Metal Guy is where I found my voice; it’s where I realized that no matter what it is that I want to say, I have a natural ability to say it in a way that seems to resonate with people. I may have dreams of writing something a little more meaningful than a heavy metal review filled with potty humor, but if that dream should one day come to fruition, all those poop, fart, and penis jokes will have been instrumental in bringing it about.
AMG gave to me …
Anaal Nathrakh // The Whole of the Law – When I first heard this record, it was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Grymm‘s review and the album’s subsequent success during List Season 2016 convinced me to give this thing a whirl, despite it lying way outside my wheelhouse. Sure, I’d enjoyed some extreme metal before, but Anaal Nathrakh was in a whole different league for me. Until The Whole of the Law, I never dreamed I could actually like something so insanely … well … insane. The project’s brand of philosophical violence hit me at a time when I was struggling to reshape my worldview after deconstructing my inherited Christian faith, and just about everything about the album’s aesthetic clicked with me. This record has fueled many a sweaty therapy session in Holdeneye‘s Iron Dungeon of Pain and Enlight(dark)enment™, and it opened me up to a whole new world of musical brutality.
Sabaton // Carolus Rex – This one will probably shock a lot of people. I was a late adopter when it came to Sabaton, and I never really gave their early records a shot because I felt the whole history-metal thing was too gimmicky. But when Angry Metal Guy and Steel Druhm gave Carolus Rex the old tag-team tongue bathing, I took notice. I think the conceptual nature of the album really helped the band’s schtick resonate with me. It was the first time an album had me running to Wikipedia to learn more about the events described in the music, and this combination of learning history and enjoying heavy metal has become the best part of every new Sabaton release since. It’s no exaggeration to say that Sabaton has become one of my favorite bands of all time, and I’ll always be grateful to this site’s malevolent dictators for showing me the way.
Candlemass // Epicus Doomicus Metallicus – If I had to choose a feature that solidified Angry Metal Guy as my go-to metal blog, it would have to be when Angry Metal Guy and Steel Druhm each curated their personal top 50 heavy metal songs of all time back in 2011.3 These features reveal a lot of each of their personalities and their tastes in music, and I found a lot in common with both lists. I used them as tools for broadening my musical horizons, but no other new-to-me album hit me as hard as Candlemass’ EDM. Steel recommended “A Sorcerer’s Pledge” as a ‘doom odyssey akin to Rainbow’s “Stargazer,”‘ and that was all the nudge I needed to give the full album a try. As far as I know, EDM was the first full-fledged doom album I ever loved, and it has grown into a personal desert-island record. Thanks, Boss!
I regret nothing! But I wish I could do over …
Scardust – Strangers Review. While I don’t actually wish I could do this one over, I wish I would have done it harder. Strangers is a world-class album, and it’s only gotten better in the years since its release. This should have been a 4.5, minimum, and it should have been my Album o’ the Year for 2020. I took so much delight in how divisive the album was for our beautiful commenters, and I can only imagine how much more fun it would have been to watch you guys lose it over an even higher score. Scardust is a uniquely talented band, and I really wish I could have helped insert that glowing eggplant into even more earholes.
Sentynel
AMG and me
AMG landed in my life at a pivotal time for my music taste. I stumbled into 70s classic rock and prog in my early teens, and on to Nightwish, Blind Guardian then Isis by my late teens. Searching for more, I found the Skyforger review here and, unwittingly, an endless deluge of new music. I am terribly novelty-seeking, and AMG has kept me interested in music – not for me the endless adulthood of listening to one’s teenage favorites. I’ve picked three highlights I haven’t already written anything about anywhere below, but choosing was a brutal process and I had over a dozen Desert Island Discs-worthy choices shortlisted. But the music is only part of it. Ten years of running the servers here has taught me a lot, and it’s also a source of pride how stable it’s been over that time.4 Eventually, I was talked into trying my hand at reviewing. It’s been rewarding and great for my writing more generally, even if I don’t have time to write as much as I’d like. Huge, huge thanks to Dr. Wvrm‘s editorial help and support. Finally: there’s a weird, worldwide crew of friends behind this site, and I’m proud to be a part of it.
AMG gave to me …
The Ocean // Pelagial – This is the obvious choice for this spot; my favorite record of the 2010s and possibly ever. I never tire of listening to Pelagial, over a decade later. From the opening piano to the last guitar line fading into electrical noise I am transfixed. Sitting on the boundary between prog and post-metal, it’s rich, melodic, even catchy at times, crushing at others. Each of its moods and styles hits perfectly, while the narrative and thematic arc of a descent into the deep gives it an enduring coherence. It’s taken me a few attempts to actually write this piece because I keep getting distracted just listening to it. I’ll never stop seeking out new music, but contenders to Pelagial’s throne are few and far between.
Esben and the Witch // Older Terrors – Perhaps the record I reference the most while trying to explain my specific music taste. This is an incredibly me album. Sparse, hypnotic, atmospheric, Older Terrors does an awful lot with very little. The balance here is incredibly delicate. Getting music this minimalist to have real impact is hard, and the albums where it works are some of my all-time favorites. Here, the folk stylings—the sense of forests, rituals and magic—are key to its success. I associate this album with its cover art much more viscerally than anything else I listen to. It’s genuinely transportive; pressing play feels like stepping into that starlit forest.
Vienna Teng // Aims – Ah, how can I pass up an opportunity to write about an album that only tangentially qualifies for this section on a bunch of axes? I mentioned my love of Teng’s work in my 2023 AotY list, but I think Aims is particularly special. It’s at once incredibly catchy and poppy, yet also very experimental, and really shows off her lyrical and thematic flair. “The Hymn of Acxiom” casts an internet marketing database as a choral hymn, more relevant now than ever; “Landsailor” is a love duet between humanity and capitalism.5 These songs sit alongside more traditional themes of love and loss. They’re heavy subjects handled in a way that’s sensitive and moving. None feel out of place, and I still get them stuck in my head out of the blue regularly. Metal isn’t completely devoid of meaningful lyrics—last year’s Wayfarer did a good job here, for example—but it’s rare that I would describe anything as poetic, or that it makes me think to this degree.
I wish I could do over …
Mitochondrial Sun – Mitochondrial Sun Review. When I penned this review, I was very new to actually writing here, and hadn’t quite figured out my voice or a writing process that really worked for me. I don’t think I did a terrible job by any means, and this isn’t the only thing I’ve underrated here either (looking at you, Musk Ox), but this record is really something special and deserved both a better review and more attention generally.
Huck N Roll
AMG and me
I am olde, and I am stuck in my ways. I only ever read reviews at two sites, and the first of those was AMG. When I applied to write here, I knew for sure I would not get the gig. But by some stroke of luck, AMG Himself missed my application and Steel—perhaps just wanting an equally olde curmudgeon on staff—brought me in. I loved every minute of it. Hopefully, I became a better writer, thanks to all the talented miscreants I was with. What a great group of people – the writers and the regular (and irregular) commenters. It’s certainly a regret of mine that life got in the way and I had to leave the team.
It was the actual reviews on AMG that got me hooked. They were irreverent, entertaining, and always, always brutally honest. Hands down AMG could (and still can, even with 4.0ldeneye)6 be counted on more than any other site for the TRVE review. No 5.0-pandering to labels and bands: if it sucked, it sucked, and if it was good, well, it sucked less.
You might also be surprised to learn what great people these AMG writers are because, once you get behind the review curtain, they are a bunch of sweethearts. I miss them all!7
AMG gave to me
Darkher // Realms – The year I started with AMG, I was a deer in the headlights. Thankfully, I didn’t have to do a full year-end list, just a quick Top Ten(ish). And tops for me was Realms, from Darkher. Thanks to my good friend Grymm’s amazing writeup, I jumped on this album and never jumped off. This album got me more into doom than I’d ever been, and it’s a genre I still go to quite often (although more in the dark of winter than other times). I still spin the vinyl quite a bit. Thanks Grymm!
The Night Flight Orchestra // Amber Galactic – Another of my albums of the year that I discovered thanks to the undying admiration of my (still) good friend Dr. Fisting. Such fun. And when the guy from Bear Mace says he loves it, well, you take him seriously folks! I always read all the reviews here (still do!) and sample anything highly-rated. Amber Galactic is a big reason why.
A whole bunch of super friends // Whether they know it or not – Yes, even you, Grier!8
I wish I had written …
More YMIO features on Kiss. I did manage one for Love Gun but still, the site is sorely lacking in Kiss material.9 There should be two dozen YMIO features now.10 There should be an album ranking.11 There should be … well, maybe that’s enough.
But seriously, I wish I had written a lot more than I did in my final days. Having to cut down to two reviews a month sucked. I love finding new bands (Sermon) and writing about them, and doing it half as much, meant I was also way less engaged with the rest of the staff. So it was a double whammy. Less new music, and less camaraderie.
I wish I could do over …
Raven – Metal City. If I had known the olde feller from Raven was going to pounce on the comments because I said his album was a 2.5, I would have gone lower just to get him going even more. Nothing in my AMG days made me prouder than “Off you fuck, chief” becoming the catchphrase of the year. And Steel, I never bothered listening to All Hell’s Breaking Loose but I know for a fact you overrated it!12
#2024 #Alcest #AMGTurns15 #AnaalNathrakh #AscendTheHollow #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Candlemass #Darkher #Disillusion #EsbenAndTheWitch #Gazpacho #Gorguts #GrymmCommentsOn #Hemina #HypnoticDirgeRecords #InThisMoment #Kanonenfieber #KingGoat #Kiss #MadderMortem #MentalHealthAwareness #Mistur #MitochondrialSun #NaturmachtProductions #Raven #Sabaton #Scardust #Slugdge #StraightLineStitch #SulphurAeon #TheNightFlightOrchestra #TheOcean #TranscendingObscurity #UnfathomableRuination #ViennaTeng #WillsDissolve
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DATE: May 13, 2026 at 08:00AM
SOURCE: PSYPOST.ORG** Research quality varies widely from fantastic to small exploratory studies. Please check research methods when conclusions are very important to you. **
-------------------------------------------------TITLE: Your eyes reveal how strongly you believe fake news before you even make a choice
A recent study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences suggests that our preexisting beliefs deeply influence how we learn new information in our daily lives. By tracking eye movements and decision-making during a simulated news evaluation game, scientists found that people readily learn from rewards that match their existing views but struggle to adapt when rewards challenge their preconceived notions.
These findings provide evidence for the cognitive pathways that allow misinformation to persist in the modern digital landscape. This dynamic explains why simply presenting factual corrections often fails to change minds.
People increasingly rely on social media platforms for their daily news consumption, where automated algorithms tend to filter content to match users’ existing preferences. This digital environment provides a fertile ground for disinformation to spread rapidly across large populations, raising the question of why individuals continue to believe false content even when objective fact-checking is readily available.
“I began seriously considering this line of research in 2021, after witnessing firsthand the damage misinformation caused during the COVID-19 pandemic, particularly in relation to the vaccination campaign,” said study author Stefano Lasaponara, an associate professor in the department of psychology at Sapienza University of Rome. “That experience led me to wonder to what extent fake news might affect not only what people believe, but also how they learn from feedback and experience.”
Lasaponara and his colleagues sought to understand how a person’s preexisting judgments and internal confidence interact with the way they learn from external feedback. They designed the study to test whether our tendency to favor belief-consistent information might be rooted in basic, everyday learning mechanisms. By examining these fundamental learning processes, the authors hoped to uncover why people find it so difficult to update their opinions when faced with misleading news stories.
To explore these questions, the scientists recruited a final sample of 28 healthy young adults, aged between 18 and 36, to participate in a detailed three-part experiment. In the first phase, participants viewed a set of 324 news headlines that had recently circulated on popular social media platforms. Half of these selected headlines contained real news events, and the other half contained entirely false information. Participants had to read each headline on a computer screen and judge whether it was true or fake.
They also wagered a virtual amount of money, ranging from zero to 99 cents, on their provided answer. This financial bet served as a measurable indicator of their internal confidence regarding each specific news item. Based on these answers, the scientists grouped the headlines into four personalized categories for each individual participant. These customized categories included news judged as true with high confidence, true with low confidence, fake with high confidence, and fake with low confidence.
During this phase, the researchers used specialized eye-tracking glasses to measure the participants’ pupil dilation as they read. Pupil dilation is an involuntary physical response that indicates mental effort, focused attention, and physiological arousal. Measuring this subtle response allowed the team to track brain engagement in real time without interrupting the participants.
In the second phase, the researchers tested how well participants could learn new rules based on their previous judgments. Participants played a computer game where they had to choose between pairs of the headlines they had just rated in the first phase. The goal was to select the specific headline that would win them a 20-cent virtual monetary reward. Unknown to the participants, the rewards were not randomly assigned throughout the game.
In different rounds of the game, the 83 percent chance of winning a reward was tied to specific categories established during the initial evaluation. For example, in one round, picking headlines the participant had previously judged as true provided the reward. In another round, picking headlines judged as fake gave the reward. Other rounds rewarded choices based on high or low confidence, and one single round gave rewards entirely at random to serve as a baseline comparison.
The third and final phase tested whether the learning game had changed the participants’ minds regarding the news items. The scientists showed the participants the original headlines again, along with their initial true or false judgments and their associated confidence wagers. Participants were given the option to either confirm their original judgment or change their mind completely. If their final answer matched the actual real or fake status of the news, they kept their wagered money as a final payout.
The outcomes of the learning phase showed that participants learned very differently depending on the hidden rules of the computer game. When the game rewarded participants for choosing headlines they already believed to be true, they learned the winning strategy quickly and earned high scores. On the other hand, performance dropped when the game rewarded them for picking headlines they believed were fake. Participants also struggled to figure out the game’s hidden rules when rewards were tied to their confidence levels rather than their beliefs about truth.
“One important takeaway is that our prior beliefs can begin shaping our decisions even before we explicitly express a judgment,” Lasaponara said. “In our study, these pre-existing convictions were strong enough to influence learning itself. More broadly, this suggests that we should approach new information as critically and as openly as possible, trying, when we can, to evaluate it without immediately filtering it through our preconceptions.”
To understand the underlying mental strategies at play, the scientists used computational modeling, which involves creating mathematical simulations of human decision-making processes. The models revealed that when the rewards matched a participant’s belief in the truth, they used broad, generalized rules to make their choices.
When the rewards no longer matched their sense of truth, the participants abandoned these broad generalization strategies. Instead, they reverted to simply reacting to positive and negative feedback on a trial by trial basis, which proved to be a much less effective way to navigate the game.
The eye-tracking data provided physical evidence that our beliefs engage our nervous systems before we even make a conscious choice. In the initial phase, participants’ pupils dilated more when they were looking at headlines they would later judge with high confidence. This noticeable dilation suggests that strong subjective beliefs trigger an early physical arousal response within the body. During the learning phase, pupils dilated when participants faced a mental conflict, such as having to choose between a strongly held belief and a competing reward signal.
“I expected to find pupillary effects related to the moment of decision itself, but I did not expect to observe them at an earlier stage, during the formation of a belief-consistent choice tendency,” Lasaponara noted. “That was particularly interesting because it suggests that the influence of prior beliefs may begin unfolding before an overt response is made.”
When participants received feedback that went against their established beliefs, their pupils also widened, indicating cognitive surprise and an increased mental load. In the final feedback phase, participants showed a strong tendency to stick to their original opinions about the headlines. They rarely changed their minds, especially if they had placed a high confidence wager during the very first phase of the experiment.
Interestingly, high confidence made people resistant to changing their minds regardless of whether the headline was actually true or false in reality. Participants were slightly more willing to update their beliefs if they had initially expressed low confidence in their judgment. While the study provides detailed evidence on how subjective beliefs shape learning, there are potential misinterpretations and limitations to keep in mind.
Because the study required participants to experience all the different reward rules back to back, the learned rules from one round might have affected how they behaved in the next round. “An important caveat is that this study does not yet allow us to make strong claims about correcting misinformation, or about when and how people truly change their minds after learning,” Lasaponara explained. “Our results show that prior beliefs can bias reinforcement learning, but they do not yet tell us how to reliably undo that bias. This is something we are currently addressing in follow-up work.”
The experiment also relied exclusively on political and social news headlines, meaning these learning patterns might look different if the topics were neutral or completely unrelated to current events. Future research could expand on these physiological findings by using different types of information to see if this learning behavior applies to other areas of human life.
“Our broader goal is not only to better understand why people believe fake news, but also to identify the conditions under which misinformation becomes less effective,” Lasaponara added. “In follow-up studies, we are investigating whether different reinforcement structures can lead to varying degrees of belief updating and how computational models can help explain when people remain resistant to correction and when they become more flexible.”
Scientists could also design experiments that explicitly present participants with direct evidence contradicting their beliefs, rather than just changing a computer game’s reward rules. This alternative approach would help map out the exact conditions that might finally encourage people to update their most stubborn opinions.
“The title is also a small nod to Metallica, whom I am a big fan of,” Lasaponara added. “More importantly, this work would not have been possible without my co-authors, especially Valentina Piga and Silvana Lozito, whose contributions were fundamental to the project.”
The study, “Eye of the beholder: Pupillary response reflects how subjective prior beliefs shape reinforcement learning with fake news,” was authored by Silvana Lozito, Valentina Piga, Sara Lo Presti, Angelica Scuderi, Fabrizio Doricchi, Massimo Silvetti, and Stefano Lasaponara.
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#psychology #counseling #socialwork #psychotherapy @psychotherapist @psychotherapists @psychology @socialpsych @socialwork @psychiatry #mentalhealth #psychiatry #healthcare #depression #psychotherapist #FakeNews #BeliefDrivenLearning #EyeTracking #PupillaryResponse #Misinformation #ReinforcementLearning #CognitiveBias #MediaLiteracy #FactCheck #NewsResearch
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The Psychology of Visual Aesthetics: Why Your Brain Decides What’s Beautiful Before You Do
Beauty isn’t a mystery. It’s a calculation — one your brain runs in milliseconds, without asking for your input. You glance at a logo, or scroll past an image, and something registers immediately. You either feel drawn in or you don’t. That instant pull is the psychology of visual aesthetics at work. And it’s far more precise, more predictable, and more powerful than most people realize.
This matters right now because we live in the most visually saturated environment in human history. Every surface competes for attention. Every brand fights for emotional resonance. Every interface is engineered to trigger a response. Understanding why we find certain colors and shapes instinctively beautiful — and how that shapes our daily decisions — is no longer just an academic question. It’s a design problem, a business problem, and ultimately, a human problem.
So let’s get into it. Not with tired color theory charts or recycled branding advice, but with the actual neuroscience, the evolutionary logic, and a few original frameworks, I think, give this topic the precision it deserves.
What Happens in Your Brain When You See Something Beautiful?
The moment your eyes land on something visually compelling, three neural systems activate almost simultaneously. Researchers at the intersection of cognitive neuroscience and aesthetics — a field now known as neuroaesthetics — describe this as a tripartite response: sensory-motor processing, emotion-valuation, and meaning-knowledge activation.
In plain terms, your brain first reads the raw visual data — color, contrast, edge, form. Then it runs an emotional appraisal. Then it cross-references memory and meaning. All three happen within a fraction of a second. What you consciously experience as “beautiful” is actually the output of that layered computation.
Neuroscientific imaging has confirmed that attractive stimuli activate the brain’s reward centers, triggering dopamine release. This isn’t metaphorical. Looking at something you find beautiful produces a measurable neurochemical response — the same kind associated with pleasure, motivation, and reinforcement learning. In other words, your aesthetic preferences are literally rewarding your brain.
This is why visual aesthetics and decision-making are inseparable. If beauty triggers the reward system, then aesthetically pleasing design nudges behavior just as reliably as a well-crafted argument. It operates below the level of rational deliberation. That’s both fascinating and, frankly, a little unsettling.
The Three-System Aesthetic Response (3-SAR Framework)
I want to introduce what I call the Three-System Aesthetic Response (3-SAR) as a working editorial framework. It maps the three neural layers involved in aesthetic judgment onto a practical design lens:
Layer 1 — Sensory Capture: The brain detects basic visual properties — hue, saturation, brightness, symmetry, edge sharpness. This happens preconsciously. Your eyes are simply scanning, and your visual cortex is categorizing.
Layer 2 — Emotional Appraisal: The limbic system assigns valence. Does this feel safe or threatening? Warm or cold? Energizing or calming? This layer is where color psychology lives. Warm hues like red and yellow often trigger energy and arousal. Cool hues like blue and green signal calm and trust.
Layer 3 — Meaning Integration: The prefrontal cortex and memory systems bring context. A shade of blue means one thing in a hospital and something entirely different on a luxury watch. Meaning isn’t in the color itself — it’s in the relationship between the color and everything you already know.
When designers talk about “visual hierarchy” or “brand consistency,” they’re really talking about managing all three layers simultaneously. Most fail to think past Layer 1.
Why Do We Instinctively Prefer Certain Colors?
Color preference is one of the most studied — and most misunderstood — topics in visual psychology. The popular notion that “red means danger, blue means trust” is a dramatic oversimplification. The truth is both more nuanced and more interesting.
Color perception operates across three primary dimensions: hue, saturation, and brightness. Research consistently shows that these dimensions influence emotional valence independently of each other. Highly saturated colors generally register as more positive — they feel vivid, alive, energized. Darker tones tend to read as heavier, more serious, or even threatening. But these aren’t universal rules. Their tendencies break down quickly when context, culture, and expertise enter the equation.
Here’s a finding worth sitting with: studies comparing trained artists to general populations show significant divergence in color emotional response. Non-artists tend to rate highly saturated colors more positively. Trained artists, by contrast, develop more nuanced preferences — often favoring desaturated, complex combinations that untrained viewers find flat or dull. Expertise literally rewires aesthetic response.
This points to something important: visual aesthetic preference isn’t fixed. It’s learned, refined, and culturally mediated. At the same time, there are evolutionary baselines that cut across all of that.
Evolutionary Color Signals: Why Blue Feels Calming, and Red Feels Urgent
Evolutionary biology offers a compelling explanation for some of our most consistent color responses. Researchers have argued that human trichromatic vision — our ability to distinguish red from green — evolved specifically to read subtle changes in skin coloration. A flush of red signals anger, arousal, or exertion. A greenish or bluish tint signals illness or poor health. These color cues carry survival-relevant information. Your brain learned to read them fast because reading them slowly had consequences.
This framework explains why red commands attention so reliably. It’s not arbitrary. Red literally signaled biologically important information to your ancestors. Your visual system still treats it with urgency. Blue, conversely, maps onto open skies, clean water, and spatial distance — environments that signal safety and resource availability. That’s why blue tends to produce calm rather than alarm.
I’d call this the Chromatic Survival Map — the idea that our baseline color responses are calibrated to ancient environmental signals, not cultural conventions. Culture layers meaning on top. But the evolutionary substrate is there first.
The Shape of Beauty: Symmetry, Proportion, and the Golden Ratio
Color is only half the story. Form — the geometry of what we see — drives aesthetic response just as powerfully. And here, the science gets genuinely surprising.
Psychological and neuroscientific studies consistently show that humans have an implicit preference for symmetrical patterns. This holds across abstract designs, natural compositions, and human faces. The preference appears spontaneously and doesn’t require deliberate thought. You don’t decide to prefer symmetrical faces. You just do. And you do so within milliseconds of seeing them.
The leading explanation is perceptual fluency. Symmetrical forms are easier for the brain to process. They require less cognitive effort. And because the brain tends to associate ease of processing with accuracy and safety, fluent visual objects feel more pleasant. Beauty, in this sense, is the emotional signature of cognitive efficiency.
Infants show a preference for symmetrical faces within months of birth, before cultural conditioning could possibly account for it. This suggests the preference is innate rather than learned. Evolutionary psychology frames this as an adaptation: symmetrical features correlate with genetic health, developmental stability, and immune robustness. Symmetry, then, is beauty as a biological signal.
The Golden Ratio and Processing Fluency
The golden ratio — approximately 1.618:1, denoted by the Greek letter phi — appears across natural structures, from nautilus shells to sunflower spirals to the proportions of the human face. Researchers have argued that the brain processes proportions that approximate phi more efficiently than arbitrary ratios. This aligns with the perceptual fluency theory: phi-aligned compositions feel right because your visual cortex handles them with minimal friction.
Neuroscience research using fMRI shows that faces with golden ratio proportions activate reward centers more strongly than faces with different proportional relationships. This isn’t just cultural bias toward conventional attractiveness. It’s a measurable neural preference with real-world consequences — in social interactions, professional settings, and even first impressions that happen before a word is spoken.
I want to be careful here, though. The golden ratio is not a magic formula. Many deeply compelling faces and compositions deviate significantly from phi. What the ratio captures is a tendency toward proportional harmony, not a fixed template. Unique features can create memorable beauty precisely because they break expected proportions. The brain responds to surprise as much as to efficiency.
Aesthetic Preference and Daily Decision-Making
Here’s where the psychology of visual aesthetics stops being theoretical and starts being personal. Your aesthetic responses aren’t just passive reactions to the world. They actively shape your choices — what you buy, where you eat, who you trust, how you vote.
Research in neuroaesthetics has established that aesthetic evaluations influence decisions in mate selection, consumer behavior, art appreciation, and potentially even moral judgment. Your brain doesn’t cleanly separate “is this beautiful” from “should I engage with this.” The two questions get processed through overlapping neural circuits. Beauty becomes a heuristic — a fast signal that tells the brain whether something is worth further attention and trust.
This is the Aesthetic Trust Transfer effect: when something looks beautiful, we unconsciously attribute other positive qualities to it — competence, reliability, quality, safety. A more attractive product package activates stronger reward responses in the brain. A more symmetrical face reads as more trustworthy and competent, regardless of actual competence. We know this is happening. We still can’t stop it.
Visual Aesthetics in Consumer Behavior
For brands, this is everything. The aesthetics of a product, package, or interface don’t merely set a mood — they pre-load expectations that influence satisfaction before a single feature is evaluated. Research has shown that more aesthetically designed packaging activates stronger neural reward responses, shaping perceived value before the product is even touched.
Context modulates this effect. The same artwork, presented in a gallery versus on a screen, activates different neural responses in the medial orbitofrontal cortex. The same product, presented with intentional design versus generic packaging, triggers different purchasing behavior. Aesthetic context isn’t decorative. It’s functional.
Personality also shapes aesthetic response in measurable ways. Extroverts show greater attraction to warm, saturated hues. Introverts tend to favor cool, desaturated palettes. This isn’t a trivial observation — it suggests that truly effective visual communication has to account for who’s looking, not just what’s being shown.
The Perceptual Fluency Principle and Why It Predicts Viral Content
One of the most useful — and underappreciated — concepts in aesthetic psychology is perceptual fluency. The idea is straightforward: when a visual stimulus is easy to process, we rate it as more pleasant, more true, and more beautiful. Ease of perception gets misread as quality of content.
This has profound implications for content creation, branding, and communication design. Clean layouts, high contrast, clear visual hierarchy, and familiar compositional structures all increase fluency. And increased fluency increases positive response — without the viewer understanding why.
I call this the Fluency Dividend: the measurable boost in perceived quality, credibility, and appeal that well-organized visual communication generates beyond its literal content. A mediocre idea in a clean design beats a brilliant idea in a cluttered one, at least in first impressions. That’s uncomfortable. And it’s true.
This is also why certain types of content spread more readily on social media. High-contrast imagery, strong compositional balance, and emotionally legible color palettes all reduce cognitive load. Reduced cognitive load means faster emotional response. Faster emotional response means faster sharing behavior. Visual aesthetics literally accelerates social contagion.
When Aesthetic Familiarity Becomes Aesthetic Fatigue
There’s a counterforce, though. The mere exposure effect — the well-documented tendency to prefer things we’ve seen before — operates within a range. Repeated exposure increases liking up to a point. Beyond that threshold, familiarity collapses into predictability, and predictability triggers boredom.
This is why aesthetic trends cycle. Minimalism gave way to maximalism. Flat design created an appetite for texture and depth. Every visual language eventually becomes overused, and the brain — always hunting for novelty alongside pattern — starts rejecting what it once rewarded.
The most enduring visual identities navigate this tension deliberately. They build on familiar structural cues — symmetry, proportion, clear hierarchy — while introducing controlled doses of unexpected color, form, or compositional choice. They play the fluency game and the surprise game simultaneously. That’s harder to pull off than it sounds, and rarer than it should be.
Cultural Conditioning and the Limits of Universal Aesthetics
All of this needs a caveat. The evolutionary and neurological baselines I’ve described are real — but they don’t operate in a vacuum. Culture, personal history, and expertise all modify aesthetic response in significant ways. What reads as elegant in one visual tradition reads as empty in another. What signals quality in one market signals coldness in another.
Cross-cultural studies show remarkable consistency in some preferences — symmetry and certain proportional harmonics appear near-universal. But specific color associations, compositional conventions, and aesthetic ideals vary enormously across populations and contexts. The Chromatic Survival Map is a baseline. Cultural code is layered on top, often overwriting it entirely.
This is why purely algorithmic approaches to beauty — the current wave of AI beauty scoring tools — need scrutiny. Optimization against culturally specific training data encodes those biases as if they were biological facts. The technology is real. The neutrality claim isn’t.
What Neuroaesthetics Predicts for the Future of Design
Neuroaesthetics is, as researchers in cognitive neuroscience have noted, at a historical inflection point. The tools for measuring aesthetic response — EEG, fMRI, eye tracking, galvanic skin response — are becoming cheaper and more accessible. The data generated by those tools is becoming trainable. AI systems are already learning to predict aesthetic preferences and adapt visual interfaces in real time based on individual response patterns.
My prediction — and I hold this with real conviction — is that the next decade will produce a discipline I’d call Adaptive Aesthetic Intelligence: design systems that continuously calibrate color, form, layout, and proportion to individual neurological and psychological profiles. Not in a manipulative sense, but in the same way typography evolved from arbitrary marks to a system of principles optimized for human reading. Design will evolve from static visual choices to dynamic aesthetic environments.
That’s exciting. It’s also risky. When aesthetic optimization becomes automated and personalized, the line between design that serves the viewer and design that exploits the viewer becomes very thin. The field will need an ethical framework that keeps pace with its technical capability. That work isn’t finished. It’s barely started.
What This Means for You, Practically
If you’re a designer, the takeaway is this: your instincts about what “looks right” are not arbitrary. They’re drawing on a sophisticated internal model shaped by evolutionary biology, cultural exposure, and trained expertise. Trust those instincts — but examine them. Ask which layer of the 3-SAR framework your choices are operating on, and whether they account for all three.
If you’re a communicator, a marketer, or anyone creating visual content: aesthetics isn’t decoration. It’s argument. Every visual choice is making a claim about quality, trustworthiness, and relevance before a single word is read. Design that claim deliberately.
And if you’re simply a person who finds themselves drawn to certain colors, shapes, and visual environments without knowing why — that’s not irrational. That’s your brain running a calculation that took millions of years to develop. It’s worth understanding. Because once you understand why beauty works, you start to see it — and use it — very differently.
Frequently Asked Questions About the Psychology of Visual Aesthetics
What is the psychology of visual aesthetics?
The psychology of visual aesthetics studies why humans find certain visual stimuli — colors, shapes, compositions, and forms — more attractive or pleasing than others. It draws on neuroscience, evolutionary biology, cognitive psychology, and cultural theory to explain aesthetic preference and its effects on behavior and decision-making.
Why do we find symmetrical faces more attractive?
Symmetrical faces are processed more efficiently by the brain — a phenomenon called perceptual fluency. Evolutionary psychology adds that facial symmetry signals genetic health, developmental stability, and immune robustness, making it a reliable biological marker. Research confirms that this preference appears in infants before cultural conditioning takes hold, suggesting it is partly innate.
How does color affect decision-making?
Color activates the limbic system — the brain’s emotion center — before conscious evaluation occurs. Warm colors like red and orange tend to increase arousal and urgency. Cool colors like blue and green promote calm and trust. These responses influence purchasing decisions, brand perception, interface behavior, and even interpersonal trust. Context and culture significantly modulate these baseline effects.
What is neuroaesthetics?
Neuroaesthetics is an emerging discipline within cognitive neuroscience that studies the biological bases of aesthetic experience. It examines how the brain processes and responds to visual, auditory, and environmental stimuli, and how those responses shape behavior in domains including art, design, consumer behavior, and mate selection.
Is beauty subjective or objective?
The honest answer is both. Certain aesthetic preferences — for symmetry, specific proportional relationships, and particular color dynamics — appear cross-culturally and even in infants, suggesting a biological substrate. At the same time, cultural context, personal history, and expertise strongly modify these baseline preferences. Beauty has objective structural tendencies and subjective experiential layers, and separating them cleanly is harder than either camp typically admits.
What is perceptual fluency, and why does it matter for design?
Perceptual fluency is the ease with which the brain processes a visual stimulus. Research shows that higher fluency — easier processing — produces more positive aesthetic judgments. For design, this means clean layouts, clear visual hierarchy, and coherent compositional structure don’t just look better; they actively make content feel more credible, trustworthy, and appealing. Fluency is a measurable design variable, not just an aesthetic opinion.
How does the golden ratio relate to visual beauty?
The golden ratio (approximately 1.618:1) describes a proportional relationship that appears frequently in nature and has been used in art and architecture for millennia. Neuroscientific research indicates that compositions and faces approximating this ratio activate reward centers more strongly. The likely mechanism is again perceptual fluency — phi-aligned proportions are particularly easy for the visual system to parse. However, the golden ratio is a tendency, not a rule, and many compelling designs deviate from it deliberately.
Can aesthetic preferences be changed or learned?
Yes, significantly. Research comparing trained artists to general populations shows that aesthetic expertise changes color preference, compositional judgment, and emotional response to visual stimuli. Artistic training develops more nuanced, context-sensitive preferences. Cultural exposure, repeated exposure to specific visual languages, and deliberate study all reshape aesthetic response. Preferences have a biological floor and a very high cultural ceiling.
Further Reading
These peer-reviewed sources informed this article and are worth exploring if you want to go deeper on the neuroscience and psychology of visual aesthetics.
- Chatterjee & Vartanian: Neuroaesthetics — Trends in Cognitive Sciences
- Elliot, A.J.: Color and Psychological Functioning — Frontiers in Psychology
- Hue, Saturation, and Brightness in Color Emotional Perception — BMC Psychology
- Iosa et al.: Symmetry and the Golden Ratio in Beauty Perception — European Journal of Neuroscience
- Palmer & Schloss: Visual Aesthetics and Human Preference — Annual Review of Psychology
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I'm taking Real Analysis at uni this semester and I really enjoyed the first part, where we learned to read and write proofs, and lots of different proof methods. It was very black & white, explicit, rules-based, and puzzle-y, which suited my brain well.
But now that we're into the actual analysis part it's very calculus-y and I find it super boring. Functions and limits and sequences are really not my thing. (I'm only taking this subject because it's a prerequisite for 3rd year maths subjects I do want to take, like discrete maths.)
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Anyone Can Be Your NDIS Support Worker. Who Is Keeping You Safe?
Reflections from several years on the scheme.
I have been on the NDIS for several years. A recent re-hiring process clarified something I had long suspected. The scheme has a workforce problem, and participants are the ones bearing the brunt.
There Is No Mandatory Registration Requirement
Under current Australian law, participants who self-manage or plan-manage their NDIS funding can hire any person as a support worker. Independent support Workers require no registration or minimum training standards.
The worker who enters your home, learns your medical history, handles your medications, and has significant authority over your daily life may have no formal preparation for any of it.
The NDIS Quality and Safeguards Commission exists and handles serious complaints, including abuse, neglect, and criminal conduct. Boundary violations, confidentiality breaches, and chronic unpreparedness that fall below that threshold leave participants largely without recourse. Skilled and ethical workers bring those qualities from their own formation and prior training. When those qualities are absent, the participant discovers this after the fact, and any remedy is slow, uncertain, and theirs alone to pursue.
That is the baseline. Everything that follows is built on it.
The Dog
My service dog performs specific medical functions. His effectiveness depends on remaining focused and oriented to me.
Some workers reach for him the moment they walk through the door. They do not ask.
Touching a service animal without permission is a safety violation and, in some contexts, carries legal weight under Australian disability discrimination law. A worker entering the home of a participant with a service animal has a professional obligation to understand what that animal does and what it requires. That preparation belongs to the provider. Its absence transfers the risk to the participant.
This is a professional standard.
What the Certificate III Does Not Cover
The Certificate III in Individual Support is the standard qualification in this sector and takes between six and twelve months. For many workers, it is completed online with minimal supervised practice hours, and it does not prepare them for the clinical and ethical complexity of supporting people with invisible or fluctuating conditions.
A worker with their cert may have no framework for how fatigue functions in ME/CFS or autistic burnout. Why pushing through is sometimes dangerous, why capacity varies day to day in ways that cannot be read from a plan approved six months ago, and why the participant’s account of their own condition is the primary source of accurate information.
Workers who arrive without that preparation fill the gap with assumptions. Correcting those assumptions, educating the person sent to support them, translating their own experience into terms the worker finds legible — this falls to the participant. That work is skilled and exhausting, and no NDIS plan funds it.
A Plan Is Not a Person
An NDIS plan records approved supports, written at a point in time by a planner who may have spent an hour with the participant. What it cannot capture is what a Tuesday looks like after a bad night, or how that changes what Wednesday can hold.
Workers who treat the plan as a complete picture end up supporting the document. When the participant’s actual day diverges from what the plan implies, some workers become confused, inflexible, or subtly sceptical. The participant then carries that response throughout the day.
Confidentiality Is Not Discretionary
Support workers enter your home and learn about your health, medications, finances, and relationships. The ethical obligations around that information are clear. Workers routinely underestimate them.
Information moves in cars and waiting rooms, in casual exchanges during handover. Shared without consent in contexts the participant did not choose, each instance is a breach — and the pattern across a working relationship represents a significant, under-reported ethical problem in the sector.
Providers who do not train explicitly for this are not taking their duty of care seriously. The Commission’s framework addresses the most serious breaches. Below that threshold, the everyday end goes largely unmonitored.
A Diagnosis Is a Starting Point
Workers who arrive having already decided how a participant communicates — based on a diagnostic label rather than a conversation — are making a category error with professional consequences.
Autism produces significant variation across individuals, as do acquired brain injury, cerebral palsy, and many mental health conditions. Experience with one person transfers little to the next. The participant is the authority on their own communication and needs. Workers who approach that through the filter of what they already think they know require the participant to work harder to be accurately seen.
Being Present Is the Job
A worker on their phone during support hours has decided where their attention belongs. That decision reflects on the worker and the provider, and on a regulatory environment that permits it without consequence.
Participant time is funded. Divided attention during that time is a failure of basic professional conduct.
Punctuality Has Clinical Stakes
For participants with fatigue conditions, medication schedules, or appointment windows that cannot flex, a late worker is sometimes no worker at all. The window closes, an appointment is missed, and the energy available at nine o’clock is gone by ten.
Workers who treat punctuality as a matter of general courtesy have not been told what the costs of late arrival are in this context. Providers should tell them, in writing, before they begin.
Handover Exists for a Reason
When workers do not read handover notes, participants repeat themselves. Questions get asked that the notes had already answered. Avoidable errors get made. The first portion of support time becomes unpaid orientation, delivered by the person the support was supposed to serve.
Reading the handover is the floor — it signals that a worker understands preparation begins before they arrive.
The Re-Hiring Process
When a support worker leaves, the participant does not simply wait for a replacement. A position description must be written, applications reviewed, interviews conducted, and a hiring decision made with incomplete information about a person who will have access to their home, their medical records, and significant portions of their daily life.
After that comes orientation, and the contextual knowledge that made the previous support functional has to be rebuilt from the beginning.
None of this is funded. The NDIS has no category for the labour of maintaining access to support, and for participants with high support needs or complex conditions, that labour is substantial.
What Competent Support Looks Like
Workers who are good at this job arrive having read the available documentation, ask before they act, and give more weight to what the participant tells them about their own needs than to any plan or file. When something changes during a shift, the response is immediate and adaptive.
Their presence does not generate additional work for the participant — that is the measure. Support that requires the participant to manage, educate, or compensate for a worker’s preparation gaps has redistributed the load rather than reduced it.
What Needs to Change
Mandatory registration for all NDIS workers, regardless of how a participant’s plan is managed, would create a baseline of accountability. Genuine consequences for ethical breaches — including low-level, chronic ones — would change the conditions under which workers operate.
Revised training requirements are long overdue: supervised hours in complex support settings, explicit coverage of invisible conditions, service animal protocols, confidentiality obligations, and fluctuating capacity. These are the preparations the role demands.
Wages need to rise. Turnover in this sector is directly linked to pay, and the continuity of support is a safety condition for many participants — the relationship carries clinical knowledge that cannot be quickly or cheaply reconstructed.
Participants also need a complaints mechanism they can use without fear of losing their support. Accountability cannot depend on participants absorbing the risk of speaking up.
The Principle and the Practice
Participant choice and control sit at the centre of the NDIS. On paper, participants are experts in their own lives and directors of their own support.
That principle requires a workforce framework capable of supporting it. At present, workers enter participants’ lives with significant authority over their access, safety, and daily functioning, operating under training requirements and accountability mechanisms that do not match the weight of what they are being asked to do.
Positioned at the centre of a scheme designed around their needs, the participant often ends up holding the system together when it fails to hold itself together.
That is worth saying clearly, and worth changing.
Share this with someone who trains support workers, manages a disability provider, or influences workforce policy. The problem is documented. The changes required are known. What is missing is the will to treat this workforce and the people it serves with the seriousness they both deserve. #NDIS #DisabilityRights #DisabilitySupport #SupportWorkers #DisabledPeople #DisabilityAdvocacy #Accessibility #AusPol #Australia
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Colonel Tilghman H. Good, commanding officer, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, circa 1863 (public domain image).
They were steady, true and brave. If heavy losses may indicate gallantry, the palm may be given to Col. Good’s noble regiment, the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers. Upon this command the brunt of battle fell. Out of 600 who went into action, nearly 150 were killed or wounded. All of the Keystone troops did splendidly….
– Newspapers across America, October and November 1862
Although reports penned by senior military officials immediately following the combined Union Army-Navy Expedition to Pocotaligo provide an important overview of the incidents leading up to the Battle of Pocotaligo, South Carolina on October 22, 1862, it is the individual reports penned by the brigade and regimental commanding officers on site which provide the most detailed accounts of how this Union military engagement changed from an “expedition” to a raging battle.
Perhaps the most important of these front-line accounts come from members of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry themselves because the regiment’s founder, Colonel Tilghman H. Good, served that day as both commanding officer of his own regiment and as the commanding officer of the U.S. Tenth Army’s First Brigade, to which the 47th Pennsylvania was attached, and because the enlisted men and their direct superiors were involved in the most heated parts of this particular battle.
Highlighted version of the U.S. Army’s map of the Pocotaligo-Coosawhatchie Expedition, South Carolina, October 22, 1862. Blue Arrow: Mackay’s Point, where the U.S. Tenth Army debarked and began its march. Blue Box: Position of Union troops (blue) and Confederate troops (red) in relation to the Pocotaligo bridge and town of Pocotaligo, the Charleston & Savannah Railroad, and the Caston and Frampton plantations (blue highlighting added by Laurie Snyder, 2023; public domain; click to enlarge).
Colonel Good’s first account of the battle was written on October 24, 1862, two days after the engagement with the enemy occurred, and was penned at his desk at the headquarters of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry in Beaufort, South Carolina.
SIR: I have the honor to submit the following report of the part taken by the Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers in the action of October 22:
Eight companies, comprising 480 men, embarked on the steamship Ben De Ford [sic, Ben Deford], and two companies, of 120 men, on the Marblehead, at 2 a.m. October 21. With this force I arrived at Mackays Landing before daylight the following morning. At daylight I was ordered to disembark my regiment and move forward across the first causeway and take a position, and there await the arrival of the other forces. The two companies of my regiment on board of the Marblehead had not yet arrived, consequently I had but eight companies of my regiment with me at this juncture.
At 12 [noon]. I was ordered to take the advance with four companies, one of the Forty-seventh and one of the Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania Volunteers, and two of the Sixth Connecticut, and to deploy two of them as skirmishers and move forward. After moving forward about 2 miles I discerned some 30 or 40 of the enemys [sic] cavalry ahead, but they fled as we advanced. About 2 miles farther on I discovered two pieces of artillery and some cavalry, occupying a position about three-quarters of a mile ahead in the road. I immediately called for a regiment, but seeing that the position was not a strong one I made a charge with the skirmishing line. The enemy, after firing a few rounds of shell, fled. I followed up as rapidly as possible to within about 1 mile of Frampton Creek. In front of this stream is a strip of woods about 500 yards wide, and in front of the woods a marsh of about 200 yards, with a small stream running through it parallel with the woods. A causeway also extends across the swamp, to the right of which the swamp is impassable. Here the enemy opened a terrible fire of shell from the rear, of the woods. I again called for a regiment, and my regiment came forward very promptly. I immediately deployed in line of battle and charged forward to the woods, three companies on the right and the other five on the left of the road. I moved forward in quick-time, and when within about 500 yards of the woods the enemy opened a galling fire of infantry from it. I ordered double-quick and raised a cheer, and with a grand yell the officers and men moved forward in splendid order and glorious determination, driving the enemy from this position.
Lieutenant-Colonel George Warren Alexander, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, circa 1861 (public domain).
On reaching the woods I halted and reorganized my line. The three companies on the right of the road (in consequence of not being able to get through the marsh) did not reach the woods, and were moved by Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander by the flank on the causeway. During this time a terrible fire of grape and canister was opened by the enemy through the woods, hence I did not wait for the three companies, but immediately charged with the five at hand directly through the woods; but in consequence of the denseness of the woods, which was a perfect matting of vines and brush, it was almost impossible to get through, but by dint of untiring assiduity the men worked their way through nobly. At this point I was called out of the woods by Lieutenant Bacon, aide-de-camp, who gave the order, ‘The general wants you to charge through the woods.’ I replied that I was then charging, and that the men were working their way through as fast as possible. Just then I saw the two companies of my regiment which embarked on the Marblehead coming up to one of the companies that was unable to get through the swamp on the right. I went out to meet them, hastening them forward, with a view of re-enforcing the five already engaged on the left of the road in the woods; but the latter having worked their way successfully through and driven the enemy from his position, I moved the two companies up the road through the woods until I came up with the advance. The two companies on the right side of the road, under Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander had also worked their way up through the woods and opened fire on the retreating enemy. At this point I halted and reorganized my regiment, by forming close column by companies.
This image of Captain Edwin G. Minnich is being presented here through the generosity of Chris Sapp and his family, and is being used with Mr. Sapp’s permission. This image may not be reproduced, repurposed, or shared with other websites without the permission of Chris Sapp.
I then detailed Lieutenant Minnich, of Company B, and Lieutenant Breneman, of Company H, with a squad of men, to collect the killed and wounded. They promptly and faithfully attended to this important duty, deserving much praise for the efficiency and coolness they displayed during the fight and in the discharge of this humane and worthy trust.
The casualties in this engagement were 96. Captain Junker of Company K; Captain Mickley, of Company I [sic, “G”], and Lieutenant Geety, of Company H, fell mortally wounded while gallantly leading their respective companies on.
I cannot speak too highly of the conduct of both officers and men. They all performed deeds of valor, and rushed forward to duty and danger with a spirit and energy worthy of veterans.
The rear forces coming up passed my regiment and pursued the enemy. When I had my regiment again placed in order, and hearing the boom of cannon, I immediately followed up, and, upon reaching the scene of action, I was ordered to deploy my regiment on the right side of the wood, move forward along the edge of it, and relieve the Seventh Connecticut Regiment. This I promptly obeyed. The position here occupied by the enemy was on the opposite side of the Pocotaligo Creek, with a marsh on either side of it, and about 800 yards distant from the opposite wood, where the enemy had thrown up rifle pits all along its edge.
On my arrival the enemy had ceased firing; but after the lapse of a few minutes they commenced to cheer and hurrah for the Twenty-sixth South Carolina. We distinctly saw this regiment come up in double-quick and the men rapidly jumping into the pits. We immediately opened fire upon them with terrible effect, and saw their men thinning by scores. In return they opened a galling fire upon us. I ordered the men under cover and to keep up the fire.
Excerpt from the U.S. Army map of the Pocotaligo-Coosawhatchie Expedition, October 22, 1862, showing the Caston and Frampton plantations in relation to the town of Pocotaligo, the Pocotaligo bridge and the Charleston & Savannah Railroad (public domain).
During this time our forces commenced to retire. I kept my position until all our forces were on the march, and then gave one volley and retired by flank in the road at double-quick about 1,000 yards in the rear of the Seventh Connecticut. This regiment was formed about 1,000 yards in the rear of my former position. We jointly formed the rear guard of our forces and alternately retired in the above manner.
My casualties here amounted to 15 men.
We arrived at Frampton (our first battle ground) at 8 p.m. Here my regiment was relieved from further rear-guard duty by the Fourth New Hampshire Regiment. This gave me the desired opportunity to carry my dead and wounded from the field and convey them back to the landing. I arrived at the above place at 3 o’clock the following morning.
* Note: All of this unfolded without two of the 47th Pennsylvania’s more seasoned officers: Major William H. Gausler, Colonel Good’s third-in-command, and Captain Henry S. Harte, the commanding officer of Company F. Both had been ordered to return home to Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley in July to resume their recruiting efforts, which ran through early November 1862. Major Gausler persuaded fifty-four new recruits to join the 47th Pennsylvania while Harte rounded up an additional twelve. Meanwhile, back in the Deep South, Captain Harte’s F Company men were commanded by Harte’s direct subordinates, First Lieutenant George W. Fuller and Second Lieutenant August G. Eagle. As a result, neither Gausler, nor Harte participated in their regiment’s first truly significant military engagements at Saint John’s Bluff and Pocotaligo.
First State Color, 47th Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry (presented to the regiment by Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin, September 20, 1861; retired May 11, 1865, public domain).
In a second letter to his superiors, Colonel Good presented his “report of the part taken by the First Brigade in the battles of October 22,” which included further details about the 47th Pennsylvania’s role that day:
After meeting the enemy in his first position he was driven back by the skirmishing line, consisting of two companies of the Sixth Connecticut, one of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania, and one of the Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania, under my command. Here the enemy only fired a few rounds of shot and shell. He then retreated and assumed another position, and immediately opened fire. Colonel Chatfield, then in command of the brigade, ordered the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania forward to me, with orders to charge. I immediately charged and drove the enemy from the second position. The Sixth Connecticut was deployed in my rear and left; the Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania on my right, and the Fourth New Hampshire in the rear of the Fifty-fifth, both in close column by divisions, all under a heavy fire of shell and canister. These regiments then crossed the causeway by the flank and moved close up to the woods. Here they were halted, with orders to support the artillery. After the enemy had ceased firing the Fourth New Hampshire was ordered to move up the road in the rear of the artillery and two companies of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania to follow this regiment. The Sixth Connecticut followed up, and the Fifty-fifth moved up through the woods. At this juncture Colonel Chatfield fell, seriously wounded, and Lieutenant-Colonel Speidel was also wounded.
The casualties in the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania amounted to 96 men. As yet I am unable to learn the loss of the entire brigade.
“The Commencement of the Battle near Pocotaligo River” (Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, October 1862, public domain).
The enemy having fled, the Fourth New Hampshire and the Fifty- fifth Pennsylvania followed in close pursuit. During this time the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania and the Sixth Connecticut halted and again organized, after which they followed. On coming up to the engagement I assumed command of the brigade, and found the forces arranged in the following order: The Fourth New Hampshire was deployed as skirmishers along the entire front, and the Fifty-fifth deployed in line of battle on the left side of the road, immediately in the rear of the Fourth New Hampshire. I then ordered the Sixth Connecticut to deploy in the rear of the Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania and the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania to deploy on the right side of the road in line of battle and relieve the Seventh Connecticut. I then ordered the Fourth New Hampshire, which had spent all its ammunition, back under cover on the road in the woods. The enemy meantime kept up a terrific fire of grape and musketry, to which we replied with terrible effect. At this point the orders were given to retire, and the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania and Seventh Connecticut formed the rear guard. I then ordered the Thirty-seventh Pennsylvania to keep its position and the Sixth Connecticut to march by the flank into the road and to the rear, the Fourth New Hampshire and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania to follow. The troops of the Second Brigade were meanwhile retiring. After the whole column was in motion and a line of battle established by the Seventh Connecticut about 1,000 yards in the rear of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania I ordered the Forty-seventh to retire by the flank and establish a line of battle 1,000 yards in the rear of the Seventh Connecticut; after which the Seventh Connecticut moved by the flank to the rear and established a line of battle 1,000 yards in the rear of the Forty seventh, and thus retiring, alternately establishing lines, until we reached Frampton Creek, where we were relieved from this duty by the Fourth New Hampshire. We arrived at the landing at 3 o’clock on the morning of the 23d instant.
The casualties of the Sixth Connecticut are 34 in killed and wounded and the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania 112 in killed and wounded. As to the remaining regiments I have as yet received no report.
The Post-Battle Confederate Response
In the days following the Battle of Pocotaligo (known today as the Second Battle of Pocotaligo or the Battle of Yemassee due to its proximity to the town of Yemassee, South Carolina), newspapers across the Confederate States carried comments attributed to Confederate Brigadier-General Pierre Gustave Toutant de Beauregard on October 23:
The enemy advanced yesterday morning in two columns, one against Coosawhatchie and the other against Pocotaligo. They were repulsed from Pocotaligo by our forces, but at Coosawhatchie they succeeded in gaining the Railroad, yet, before they could do it much damage, our troops came up and drove them off.
The Railroad and Telegraph lines have been mended and are again in working order.
The enemy’s gunboats are anchored below Coosawhatchie.
Intent on leaving no doubt as to what the Confederate States Army was actually fighting for, General Beauregard then wrote:
The Abolitionists attacked in force Pocotaligo and Coosawhatchie yesterday. They were gallantly repulsed to their gunboats at Mackey’s Point and Bee’s Creek Landing, by Col. W. S. Walker commanding the District, and D. P. Harrison, commanding the troops sent from here. The enemy had come in thirteen transports and gunboats. The Charleston and Savannah Railroad is uninjured. The Abolitionists left their dead and wounded on the field, and our cavalry is in hot pursuit.
Among the Confederate regiments that battled the U.S. Tenth Army Corps that day, according to southern newspaper accounts, were the Virginia Artillery, Captain J. N. Lampkin, commanding, the Beaufort Volunteer Artillery, Captain Stephen Elliott, Jr., commanding, the Charleston Light Dragoons, and the Rutledge Mounted Riflemen.
Commendations Received by Members of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers
Captain John Peter Shindel Gobin, Co. C, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, shown here circa 1863, went on to become Lieutenant Governor of Pennsylvania after the war (public domain).
Praise for the performance of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers quickly followed after the regiment returned to Hilton Head. Brigadier-General Brannan praised Colonel Good twice, noting:
Col. T. H. Good, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers (Colonel Chatfield being wounded early in the day), commanded the First Brigade during the latter part of the engagement with much ability. Nothing could be more satisfactory than the promptness and skill with which the wounded were attended to by Surg. E. W. Bailey [sic, Baily], Forty-seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers, medical director, and the entire medical staff of the command.
He then added this update:
I herewith transmit the reports of Brig. Gen. A. H. Terry and Col. T. H. Good, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers, who commanded brigades during the late expedition, under my command, to Pocotaligo, S.C., and would beg respectfully to bring them to the favorable notice of the department for their gallant and meritorious conduct during the engagement of October 22….
In addition to those officers mentioned in my report of the expedition I have great pleasure, on the recommendation of their respective commanders, in bringing to the favorable consideration of the department the following officers and men, who rendered themselves specially worthy of notice by their bravery and praiseworthy conduct during the entire expedition and the engagements attending it: First Lieut. E. Gittings, wounded, lieutenant Company E, Third U.S. Artillery, commanding section, who served his pieces with great coolness and judgment under the heavy fire of a rebel battery; Lieutenant Col. G. W. Alexander, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; Maj. J. H. Filler, Fifty-fifth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; Capt. Theodore Bacon, Seventh Regiment Connecticut Volunteers, acting assistant adjutant-general Second Brigade; First Lieut. Adrian Terry, Seventh Connecticut Volunteers, and Second Lieut. Martin S. James, Third Regiment Rhode Island Volunteer Artillery, staff of Brigadier-General Terry; Capt. J. P. Shindel Gobin, Company C, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; Capt. George Junker, killed, Company K, Forty-seventh Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers; Captain Mickley, killed, Company G, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; First Lieut. W. H. R. Hangen, adjutant, wounded, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; First Lieutenant Minnich, Company B, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; First Lieut. W. W. Geety, severely wounded, commanding Company H, Forty-seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers; Second Lieutenant Breneman, Company H, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers; Private Michael Larkins, wounded, Company C, Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers….
Brigadier-General Alfred H. Terry, commanding officer of the U.S. Tenth Army’s Second Brigade that day, had this to say about the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers:
The Forty-seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers was for a short time under my immediate command, and, although they are not a portion of my brigade, I cannot forbear mentioning the steadiness and discipline by this admirable regiment during our movements to the rear.
47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry Casualty Reports by Officers of the Regiment
Captain Charles Mickley, Company G, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, circa 1862 (public domain).
Losses for the 47th at Pocotaligo were statistically significant. Two officers and eighteen enlisted men died; an additional two officers and one hundred and fourteen enlisted men from the 47th were wounded.
Der Lecha Caunty Patriot, an Allentown-based German-language newspaper, reported that Captain Charles Mickley, the commanding officer of Company G, had suffered a fatal head wound during the Battle of Pocotaligo on “the railway between Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia.” His “remains were brought immediately after his death to his home in Allentown.” Captain Mickley’s subsequent funeral service, which was officiated by the Reverands Derr and Brobst at the local Reformation Church, was widely attended by a “suffering entourage.”
Also among the G Company casualties were Privates Benjamin Diehl, James Knappenberger, John Kuhns (alternate spelling: Kuntz), and George Reber. Privates Knappenberger and Kuhns were killed in action during the 47th’s early engagement at the Frampton Plantation; George Reber, a resident of Thorntown, Pennsylvania, sustained a fatal gunshot wound to his head. Private Franklin Oland subsequently died from his wounds at the Union Army’s general hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina on October 30, and Private John Heil, who had sustained a gunshot wound (termed “Vulnus Sclopet” in his medical records), succumbed to his own battle wound-related complications at Hilton Head on November 2, 1862.
Daniel K. Reeder, former corporal, Company H, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers (National Republican, December 1, 1887, public domain).
On October 25, 1862, Captain James Kacy of Company H penned the following letter to his company’s hometown newspaper, The Perry County Democrat. Writing from the regiment’s headquarters at Beaufort, he asked for the community’s help in reaching a decedent’s family:
Jason Robinson, a printer, joined my company, from your place and was killed at the battle of Pocotaligo on 22d inst. I do not know his relations or where to write to them. Probably you do. The following is a list of killed and wounded in my company:
COMPANY H. – Killed – Henry Stambaugh, Jefferson Waggoner, Peter Deitrick, Jason P. Robinson. – Wounded—First Lieutenant W. W. Geety, mortally, Orderly Sergeant, George Reynolds; Sergeant Reuben S. Gardner, in head and leg; Corporals Daniel Reeder, David H. Smith, Peter W. Stockslager; privates Jerome Briner [sic], Henry Bolinger, Augustus Rupp, Samuel Huggins, Comley Idall, Patrick Mullen, Jefferson Haney.
We did not lose a prisoner but took some. Total loss in the 47th Reg. 99 wounded, 23 killed. Several have died since. Our boys fought like Turks. We ran out of ammunition and had to leave the field.–We are going back soon.
The effects of Robinson will be sent home as soon as I can put up and forward by express.
Reeder, who had been shot in the arm, was wounded so severely that surgeons were forced to amputate his damaged limb above the elbow. After convalescing briefly at the Union Army’s General Hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina, he was discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability on November 24, 1862, and sent home to Pennsylvania.
Geety’s survival was nothing short of miraculous, according to accounts by physicians who provided follow-up treatment for him in 1863 Harrisburg, where he had been reassigned to recruiting duties for the 47th Pennsylvania and quartermaster duties for Camp Curtin. (See Geety’s bio on our website for details.)
Idall, Reynolds and Huggins, however, were less fortunate. Idall died from gunshot-related complications eight days after the battle, while undergoing care at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina. Reynolds also succumbed to complications there on November 8 while Private Huggins, who had sustained a wound to his leg (also described on his Army death ledger entry as “Vulnus Sclopet”) died there from his wounds on December 16, 1862.
Captain Daniel Oyster, Company C, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, circa 1864 (public domain).
The losses within Company C were higher, in many cases, than those of other companies within the regiment, largely due to one simple fact—Company C was the color-bearer unit. As such, it came under heavier fire than many of the 47th’s other units because the red, white, and blue American flag carried by the company was easy to spot for sharpshooters and artillerymen, even through the smoky air of battle. In one heartbreaking “twist of fate” tragedy, Sergeant Peter Haupt and his brother, Private Samuel Y. Haupt, initially were counting their lucky stars after being hit—Samuel sustaining a wound to his chin and Peter sustaining a wound to his foot, only to learn later that Peter’s foot injury was resisting the best treatment efforts of regimental and division medical personnel. In a stunning turn, Peter Haupt died at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, just over three weeks later. According to an affidavit submitted to the Commissioner of Pensions, United States by Second Lieutenant Daniel Oyster at Fort Taylor, Key West, Florida on August 14, 1863, and certified at Fort Taylor on August 20, 1863 by Captain John Peter Shindel Gobin in his acting capacity as Judge Advocate:
This is to certify that Sergeant Peter Haupt of Company (C) 47th Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers died at Hilton Head South Carolina November 14th 1862 of wounds received at Pocotalico [sic] South Carolina;
That the said wounds were received by the said Peter Haupt during an engagement with the enemy at the place aforesaid and were caused by a Rifle or Musket ball having entered his left foot and which resulted in his death at the time and place aforesaid that I was present and have personal knowledge of the facts.
The actual cause of Sergeant Peter Haupt’s death, which was listed by his physician on the Union Army hospital’s death ledger, was “traumatic tetanus.” His remains were subsequently returned home; he was then laid to rest at the Sunbury Cemetery in Sunbury, Northumberland County, Pennsylvania.
Also on the roster of C Company wounded was Private Timothy Matthias Snyder. Unlike so many others in the 47th, Tim survived, recuperated and returned to duty, serving with the regiment until its final muster out on Christmas day in 1865. His son, John Hartranft Snyder, grew up to become a pioneer in the telephone industry.
Among the Company E injured was Corporal Reuben Weiss. Wounded in both legs (including a gunshot to the left leg), he returned to duty after convalescing, and served for another two years until being honorably discharged on a surgeon’s certificate.
One of the Company I casualties was Edwin Dreisbach, who also survived and continued to serve for the duration of the war. Sadly, though, his later life was altered by mental illness (possibly “Soldier’s Heart,” which is more commonly known today as post-traumatic stress disorder).
As hard as this battle was on Company C, though, it was Company K that suffered many of the regiment’s most severe casualties. Private John McConnell died on the field of battle while Captain George Junker was mortally wounded by a minie ball fired from a Confederate rifle during the intense fighting near the Frampton Plantation. Also mortally wounded were Privates Abraham Landes (alternate spelling: “Landis”) and Joseph Louis (alternate spelling: “Lewis”). All three died the next day while being treated at the Union Army’s General Hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina.
Private John Schuchard, who was also mortally wounded at Pocotaligo, died at the same hospital on October 24. Private Edward Frederick lasted a short while longer, finally succumbing on February 16, 1863 at Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, Florida to brain fever, a complication from the personal war he had waged with his battle wounds. He was initially buried at the fort’s parade grounds.
Private Gottlieb Fiesel, who had also sustained a head wound, initially survived. Although his skull had been fractured and the left side of his head badly damaged by shrapnel from an exploding artillery shell, physicians were hopeful that Fiesel might still recover since surgeries to remove bone fragments from his brain had been successful—but then he contracted meningitis while recuperating. He passed away at Hilton Head on November 9, 1862, and was one of those interred at the Beaufort National Cemetery.
Private Jacob Hertzog, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers – Co. K, successfully recovered from a gunshot wound to his right arm, circa 1866 (U.S. Surgeon General’s Office, public domain).
K Company’s Corporal John Bischoff and Privates Manoah J. Carl, Jacob F. Hertzog, Frederick Knell, Samuel Kunfer, Samuel Reinert, John Schimpf, William Schrank, and Paul Strauss were among those wounded in action who rallied. Private Strauss survived an artillery shell wound to his right shoulder, recuperated, and continued to serve with the regiment. Private Hertzog, who had been discharged two months earlier on his own surgeon’s certificate, on February 24, 1863, had sustained a gunshot wound to his right arm; his treatment, like that of the aforementioned Private Fiesel, was detailed extensively in medical journals during and after his period of service. (See his bio on our website for more details.)
In late October and early November, newspapers nationwide began publishing more detailed casualty lists. Even just as partial tallies, they were still jaw-dropping, in terms of numbers and in terms of the severity and types of battle wounds sustained by members of the regiment:
Regimental Officers:
- Hangen, Regimental First Lieutenant and Adjutant Washington H. R.: Severely wounded in the knee; narrowly avoided amputation; survived and returned to duty after lengthy convalescence period;
Company A:
- Ferer (alternate spelling: Fever), Sergeant William: Slight wound;
- Fraunfelder (alternate spelling of surname: Trumpfelder), Corporal Levi: Slight wound;
- Strauss, Corporal David: Severe thigh wound;
Company B:
- Fink, Corporal Aaron: Sustained gunshot wounds to both legs, below the knees; died from wounds at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina, November 5, 1862;
- Gaumer, Sergeant Allen: Killed, Frampton Plantation;
- George, Private Nathan: Died from battle wounded-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital, Hilton Head, South Carolina, November 14, 1862;
- Kern (alternate spelling: Hern), Private William: Sustained service-related wound the day before the Battle of Pocotaligo, South Carolina; died from military wound-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina, October 23, 1862;
- Leisenring, Private Martin: Unspecified wound;
- Pfeifer, Private Obadiah: Leg amputated after being wounded in action during the Battle of Pocotaligo, South Carolina, October 22, 1862; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, March 16, 1865, due to loss of leg;
- Raymond, Private Haldeman: Gunshot wound to left arm;
- Ruttman, Private Ernst (alternate spelling: Rothman, Earnest): Unspecified wound;
- Savitz, Private Charles J.: Finger shot off;
- Wieand (alternate spellings: Weiand, Wiand), Private Benjamin: Unspecified wound;
- Wieand (alternate spelling: Wiand), Private John: Leg amputated after sustaining gunshot or shrapnel wound; discharged on surgeon’s certificate of disability, December 3, 1862;
Company C:
- Bartlow, Private John: Leg wound;
- Billington, Private Samuel H.: Leg wound;
- Deibert, Private Seth: Killed;
- Finck, Corporal William F.: Leg wound;
- Haas, Private Jeremiah: Breast and face wounds;
- Haupt, Corporal Samuel S.: Chin/face wound;
- Haupt, Sergeant Peter: Ankle/foot wound;
- Holman, Private Conrad: Face wound;
- Horner, Private George: Killed;
- Kiehl, Private Theodore: Face wound;
- Larkins, Private Michael: Hip and side wounds;
- Leffler, Private Charles: Leg wound;
- Lothard, Private Thomas (also known as Marshall, Charles): Body wound;
- O’Rourke, Private Richard: Side wound;
- Rhine, Private James R.: Leg wound;
- Snyder, Private Timothy: Unspecified wound;
- Wolf, Private Peter: Killed;
Company D:
- Baltozer (alternate spelling: Balltager), Private Jacob: Arm wound;
- Crownover, Corporal James: Slight breast wound;
- Musser (alternate spelling: Muiser), Private Alex: Killed;
- Sheaffer, Private Benjamin: Slight breast wound;
- Stewart, Corporal Cornelius: Severe side wound;
Company E:
- Adams, Private William: Leg wound;
- Bachman (alternate spelling: Bauchman), Private Henry A.: Killed (possibly killed at the actual Pocotaligo bridge; military affidavits for his mother’s U.S. Civil War Pension stated that his death occurred at “the battle of Pocotaligo Bridge, South Carolina”);
- Coult, Private George: Hip wound;
- Derr, Private Nathan: Shoulder wound;
- Force (alternate spelling: Farce), Private William H.: Wrist wound;
- Hahn, Private George: Leg wound;
- Harkins, Private Daniel F.: Arm wound;
- Jacoby (alternate spelling of surname: Jacobs), Private Moses: Hand wound;
- Kirkendall (alternate spelling: Kerkendall), Private Jacob: Unspecified wound;
- Lind, Private John: Wounds to both legs;
- Minnick (alternate spelling: Minnich), Private Samuel: Killed;
- Munday (alternate spelling: Monday), Private John: Neck wound;
- Rose, Private George: Killed;
- Stem (alternate spellings: Stein, Stern), Private Samuel: Shoulder wound;
- Weiss, Corporal Reuben: Wounds to both legs;
Company F:
- Eberhard (alternate spellings: Eberhart, Everhart), Corporal Augustus: Wounds to both legs;
- Fink, Private William: Thigh wound;
- King (alternate spelling: Ping), Private Charles: Arm wound;
- Moser (alternate spelling: Morser), Private Peter: Arm wound;
- O’Brien (alternate spelling: O’Brian), Private John: Gunshot wound to face;
Company G:
- Ambrum (alternate spellings: Ambron, Arnbrunn), Private Richard: Unspecified wound;
- Beidleman (alternate spelling: Beidelman), Private Jacob: Unspecified wound;
- Diehl, Private Benjamin: Killed at the Frampton Plantation;
- Fornwald, Private Reily M. (alternate spelling: Reilly Fernwald): Sustained shrapnel wounds to the head and groin; spent four weeks recuperating at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina before returning to duty;
- Hallmeyer, Private Max Joseph: Wounded in the right leg and back; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability October 28, 1862; died from wound-related complications at home in 1869;
- Heil, Private John: Died from gunshot wound-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina, November 2, 1862;
- Hensler (alternate spelling: Hansler), Private William: Unspecified wound;
- Hoffert (alternate spelling: Huffert), Private Franklin: Unspecified wound;
- Kemmerer, Private Allen: Sustained gunshot wound(s), possibly to his right leg and/or left foot;
- Knappenberger, Private Jonas: Killed at the Frampton Plantation;
- Kramer, Private William H.: Unspecified wound;
- Kuhns (alternate spelling: Kuntz), Private John Henry: Killed at the Frampton Plantation;
- Moser (alternate spelling: Mazer), Private Franklin: Unspecified wound;
- Mickley, Captain Charles: Killed by fatal head shot;
- Oland, Private Franklin: Unspecified wound; died at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina, October 30, 1862;
- Raber (alternate spelling: Reber), Private George: Unspecified wound;
- Wieder (alternate spelling: Weider), Private David: Unspecified wound;
Company H:
- Bigger, Private Alexander: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, November 18, 1862;
- Bollinger (alternate spelling: Bolinger), Private Henry: Unspecified wound;
- Bupp (alternate spelling: Rupp), Private Augustus: Unspecified wound;
- Bryner, Private Jerome (alternate: Briner, James): Unspecified wound;
- Deitrick (alternate spellings: Deitrich), Private Peter: Killed near the Frampton Plantation;
- Gardner, Sergeant Reuben Shatto: Head and thigh wounds; recovered after a long period of convalescence and returned to duty;
- Geety, First Lieutenant William W. Geety: Initially listed as mortally wounded due to a severe head wound, he survived, following multiple surgeries; assigned to recruiting duty for the remainder of his military career so that he could continue his medical treatment;
- Handy, Private Jefferson (possibly: Haney, Thomas J.): Unspecified wound;
- Huggins (alternate spelling: Higgins), Private Samuel: Sustained gunshot wound to leg; died from wound-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, December 16, 1862;
- Idall, Private Comley: Sustained gunshot wound; died from wound-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, October 30, 1862;
- Johnson, Private Cyrus: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, December 16, 1862;
- Kingsborough, Private Robert Reid: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, October 26, 1862;
- Mullen, Private Patrick: Unspecified wound;
- Reeder (alternate spelling: Ruder), Corporal Daniel: Wounded in the arm, resulting in the amputation of that arm above the elbow and subsequent discharge on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, November 24, 1862;
- Reynolds, Orderly Sergeant George: Unspecified severe wound; died from wound-related complications at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, November 8, 1862;
- Robinson: Private Jason F.: Killed near the Frampton Plantation;
- Smith, Corporal David H.: Unspecified wound;
- Stambaugh, Private Henry: Killed near the Frampton Plantation;
- Stockslager, Corporal Peter W.: Unspecified wound;
- Waggoner, Private Jefferson: Killed near the Frampton Plantation;
Company I:
- Baudenschlager (alternate spellings: Bartenslager, Bondenschlager), Private John: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, October 29, 1862;
- Cole, Private James B.: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, November 15, 1862;
- Dreisbach, Private Edwin: Unspecified slight wound;
- Druckenmiller, Private Lewis (alternate given name: Daniel): Killed;
- Kramer, Private Daniel Joseph: Leg wound;
- Metz (alternate spelling; Mertz), Private Jeremiah: Killed;
Company K:
- Bischoff (alternate spelling: Bishop), Corporal John: Leg wound;
- Carl, Private Manoah: Foot wound;
- Fiesel, Private Gottlieb: Left side of head damaged and skull fractured by shrapnel from exploding artillery shell; physicians at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina were hopeful that he might recover since surgeries to remove bone fragments from his brain had been successful, but he contracted meningitis while recuperating and died at Hilton Head on November 9, 1862;
- Frederick (alternate spelling: Fredericks), Private Edwin: Head wound;
- Hertzog, Private Jacob: Sustained severe gunshot wound (“Vulnus Sclopet”) to his right elbow joint; treated initially in the field and at his regiment’s hospital before being admitted to the U.S. Army’s Hospital No. 1 at Beaufort, South Carolina for more advanced care; underwent surgery of his right arm October 26, 1862, his sutures were removed November 15; by December 15, 1862, he was dressed and walking around the grounds of the Beaufort hospital; sent north via the steamer Star of the South December 28, 1862; discharged from Fort Wood in the New York Harbor via a surgeon’s certificate of disability February 24, 1863;
- Junker, Captain George: Mortally wounded in action by a minie ball fired from a Confederate Army soldier’s rifle; died October 23, 1862 at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina; his remains were returned to his family in Hazleton, Luzerne County, Pennsylvania for reburial;
- Knell, Private Frederick: Unspecified wound; discharged on a surgeon’s certificate of disability, May 9, 1863;
- Kolb (alternate spellings: Holb, Kolp), Private Hiram: Finger shot off; sent north for more advanced care, ultimately hospitalized at the Union Army’s general hospital in York, Pennsylvania;
- Kunfer (alternate spelling: Cunfer), Private Samuel: Unspecified wound;
- Landes, Private Abraham: Gunshot wound to breast; died from battle wounds, October 23, 1862, while being treated at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina;
- Louis (alternate spelling: Lewis), Private Joseph: Mortally wounded by gunshot; died October 23, 1862, while being treated at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina;
- Marder, Private Jacob (possibly Matter, Jacob): Stomach wound;
- McConnell, Private John: Killed;
- Miller, Private Louis: Wounded in both thighs;
- Reinert, Private Samuel: Right shoulder wound;
- Schiff (possibly Schimpf), Private John: Thigh wound;
- Schrank, Private William: Arm wound;
- Schuchard (alternate spelling: Shuckard), Private John: Mortally wounded; died from battle wounds October 24, 1862 while being treated at the Union Army’s post hospital at Hilton Head, South Carolina; and
- Strauss, Private Paul: Sustained artillery shell wounds to his right shoulder and back.
Battered, But Not Cowed
Described as “shattered” by one newspaper correspondent, the 47th Pennsylvania rested, recuperated, regrouped, and they soldiered on in their fight to preserve America’s Union and eradicate slavery nationwide. The only regiment from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to participate in the Union Army’s 1864 Red River Campaign, the 47th Pennsylvanians helped turn the tide of war firmly in the Union’s favor by re-engaging with the enemy time and again during Sheridan’s Shenandoah Valley Campaign in the fall of that same year.
But they would always remember the cost of that terrible day in 1862. Surviving veterans of the 47th Pennsylvania never failed to honor the memory of their friends who never made it home, paying tribute through annual reunions of the regiment, which were typically held in October to mark the anniversaries of the Battle of Pocotaligo (October 22, 1862) and the Battle of Cedar Creek (October 19, 1864).
For the remainder of their lives, they continued to be steady, true and brave.
Surviving members of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry at their 1923 reunion, Odd Fellows Hall, Allentown, Pennsylvania (public domain).
Sources:
- Burial Ledgers, in Record Group 15, The National Cemetery Administration, and Record Group 92, U.S. Departments of Defense and Army (Quartermaster General). Washington, D.C.: U.S. National Archives and Records Administration: 1861-1865.
- Civil War Muster Rolls, in Records of the Department of Military and Veterans’ Affairs (Record Group 19, Series 19.11). Harrisburg: Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission.
- Peter and Freeman Haupt, in Card Records of Headstones Provided for Deceased Union Civil War Veterans, in Records of the Office of the Quartermaster General (Record Group 92, Microfilm M1845). Washington, D.C.: U.S. National Archives.
- Peter and Mary Haupt, in U.S. Civil War Widows’ Pension Files. Washington, D.C.: U.S. National Archives and Records Administration.
- Report of Col. Tilghman H. Good, Forty-seventh Pennsylvania Infantry and Report of Col. Tilghman H. Good, Forty-seventh Pennsylvania Infantry, commanding First Brigade, Tenth Army Corps, in The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies. Prepared Under the Direction of the Secretary of War, By Lieut. Col. Robert N. Scott, Third U.S. Artillery, and Published Pursuant to Act of Congress Approved June 16, 1880, Series I, Vol. XIV. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1885.
- “The Killed and Wounded in the Battle” (casualty list from the Battle of Pocotaligo). New York, New York: The New York Herald, October 29, 1862.
- “The Latest Telegraphic News: Advance of the Enemy to Pocotaligo—Repulsed by Our Forces.” Raleigh, North Carolina: The North Carolina Standard, October 28, 1862.
- “The Fight at Pocotaligo—Further Particulars.” Camden, South Carolina: The Camden Confederate, October 31, 1862.
- “The Recent Battles Near Charleston—The Rebels Driven to Pocotaligo Bridge,” in “The War News.” Baltimore, Maryland: The Baltimore Sun, October 30, 1862.
#003366 #47thPennsylvaniaInfantry #47thPennsylvaniaVolunteers #America #AmericanHistory #Army #CivilWar #History #Infantry #LehighCounty #Military #Pennsylvania #PennsylvaniaHistory #Pocotaligo #SouthCarolina #Union
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Brigadier-General John Milton Brannan, U.S. Army (public domain).
“It is hardly necessary to point out to you the extreme military importance of the two works now intrusted [sic, entrusted] to your command. Suffice it to state that they cannot pass out of our hands without the greatest possible disgrace to whoever may conduct their defense, and to the nation at large. In view of difficulties that may soon culminate in war with foreign powers, it is eminently necessary that these works should be immediately placed beyond any possibility of seizure by any naval or military force that may be thrown upon them from neighboring ports….
Seizure of these forts by coup de main may be the first act of hostilities instituted by foreign powers, and the comparative isolation of their position, and their distance from reinforcements, point them out (independent of their national importance) as peculiarly the object of such an effort to possess them.”
— Excerpt from orders issued by Brigadier-General John Milton Brannan, commanding officer, United States Army, Department of the South, to Colonel Tilghman H. Good, commanding officer of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry in December 1862
Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida, view from the sea, 1946 (vacation photograph collection of President Harry Truman, November 1946 U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, public domain).
Having been ordered by Union Brigadier-General John Milton Brannan to resume garrison duties in Florida in December 1862, after having been badly battered in the Battle of Pocotaligo, South Carolina two months earlier, the officers and enlisted members of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry were also informed in December that their regiment would become a divided one. This was being done, Brannan said, not as a punishment for their performance, which had been valiant, but to help the federal government to ensure that the foreign governments that had granted belligerent status to the Confederate States of America would not be able to aid the Confederate army and navy further in their efforts to move troops and supplies from Europe and the Deep South of the United States to the various theaters of the American Civil War.
As a result, roughly sixty percent of 47th Pennsylvanians (Companies A, B, C, E, G, and I) were sent back to Fort Taylor in Key West shortly before Christmas in 1862 while the remaining members of the regiment (from Companies D, F, H, and K) were transported by the USS Cosmopolitan to Fort Jefferson, the Union’s remote outpost in the Dry Tortugas, which was situated roughly seventy miles off the coast of Florida. They arrived there in late December of that same year.
Life at Fort Jefferson
Union Army Columbiad on the Terreplein at Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida (George A. Grant, 1937, U.S. National Park Service, public domain).
Garrison duty in Florida proved to be serious business for the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers. Per records of the United States Army’s Ordnance Department, the defense capabilities of Fort Jefferson in 1863 were impressive—thirty-three smoothbore cannon (twenty-four of which were twenty-four pounder howitzers that had been installed in the fort’s bastions to protect the installation’s flanks, and nine of which were forty-two pounders available for other defensive actions); six James rifles (forty-two pounder seacoast guns); and forty-three Columbiads (six ten-inch and thirty-seven eight-inch seacoast guns).
Fort Jefferson was so heavily armed because it was “key in controlling … shipping in the Gulf of Mexico and was being used as a supply depot for the distribution of rations and munitions to Federal troops in the Mississippi Delta; and as a supply and fueling station for naval vessels engaged in the blockade or transport of supplies and troops,” according to historian Lewis Schmidt.
Large quantities of stores, including such diverse items as flour … ham … coal, shot, shell, powder, 5000 crutches, hospital stores, and stone, bricks and lumber for the fort, were collected and stored at the Tortugas for distribution when needed. Federal prisoners, most of them court martialed Union soldiers, were incarcerated at the fort during the period of the war and used as laborers in improving the structure and grounds. As many as 1200 prisoners were kept at the fort during the war, and at least 500 to 600 were needed to maintain a 200 man working crew for the engineers.
With respect to housing and feeding the soldiers stationed here:
Cattle and swine were kept on one of the islands nearest the fort, called ‘Hog Island’ (today’s Bush Key), and would be compelled to swim across the channel to the fort to be butchered, with a hawser fastened to their horns. The meat was butchered twice each week, and rations were frequently supplemented by drawing money for commissary stores not used, and using it to buy fish and other available food items from the local fishermen. The men of the 7th New Hampshire [who were also stationed at Fort Jefferson] acquired countless turtle and birds’ eggs … from adjacent keys, including ‘Sand Key’ [where the fort’s hospital was located]. Loggerhead turtles were also caught … [and] were kept in the ‘breakwater ditch outside of the walls of the fort’, and used to supplement the diet [according to one soldier from New Hampshire].
Second-tier casemates, lighthouse keeper’s house, sallyport, and lean-to structure, Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida, late 1860s (U.S. National Park Service and National Archives, public domain).
In addition, the fort’s “interior parade grounds, with numerous trees and shrubs in evidence, contained … officers’ quarters, [a] magazine, kitchens and out houses,” as well as a post office and “a ‘hot shot oven’ which was completed in 1863 and used to heat shot before firing,” according to Schmidt.
Most quarters for the garrison … were established in wooden sheds and tents inside the parade [grounds] or inside the walls of the fort in second-tier gun rooms of ‘East’ front no. 2, and adjacent bastions … with prisoners housed in isolated sections of the first and second tiers of the southeast, or no. 3 front, and bastions C and D, located in the general area of the sallyport. The bakery was located in the lower tier of the northwest bastion ‘F’, located near the central kitchen….
According to H Company Second Lieutenant Christian Breneman, the walk around Fort Jefferson’s barren perimeter was less than a mile long with a sweeping view of the Gulf of Mexico. Brennan also noted the presence of “six families living [nearby], with 12 or 15 respectable ladies.”
Balls and parties are held regularly at the officers’ quarters, which is a large three-story brick building with large rooms and folding doors.
Lieutenant-Colonel George Warren Alexander, second-in-command, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, standing next to his horse, with officers from the 47th, Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida, circa 1863 (public domain; click to enlarge).
Shortly after the arrival of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers at Fort Jefferson, First Lieutenant George W. Fuller was appointed as adjutant for Lieutenant-Colonel George Warren Alexander, who had been placed in command of the fort’s operations. Assistant Regimental Surgeon Jacob Scheetz, M.D. was appointed as post surgeon and given command of the fort’s hospital operations, responsibilities he would continue to execute for fourteen months. In addition, Private John Schweitzer of the 47th Pennsylvania’s A Company was directed to serve at the fort’s baker, B Company’s Private Alexander Blumer was assigned as clerk of the quartermaster’s department, and H Company’s Third Sergeant William C. Hutchinson began his new duties as provost sergeant while H Company Privates John D. Long and William Barry were given additional duties as a boatman and baker, respectively.
When Christmas Day dawned, many at the fort experienced feelings of sadness and ennui as they continued to mourn friends who had recently been killed at Pocotaligo and worried about others who were still fighting to recover from their battle wounds.
1863
Unidentified Union Army artillerymen standing beside one of the fifteen-inch Rodman guns installed on the third level of Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, Florida, circa 1862. Each smoothbore Rodman weighed twenty-five tons, and was able to fire four-hundred-and-fifty-pound shells more than three miles (U.S. National Park Service, public domain).
The New Year arrived at Fort Jefferson with a bang—literally—as the fort’s biggest guns thundered in salute, kicking off a day of celebration designed by senior military officials to lift the spirits of the men and inspire them to continued service. Donning their best uniforms, the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers assembled on the parade grounds, where they marched in a dress parade and drilled to the delight of the civilians living on the island, including Emily Holder, who had been living in a small house within the fort’s walls since 1860 with her husband, who had been stationed there as a medical officer for the fort’s engineers. When describing that New Year’s Day and other events for an 1892 magazine article, she said:
On January 1st, 1863, the steamer Magnolia visited Fort Jefferson and we exchanged hospitalities. One of the officers who dined with us said it was the first time in nine months he had sat at a home table, having been all that time on the blockade….
Colonel Alexander, our new Commander, said that in Jacksonville, where they paid visits to the people, the young ladies would ask to be excused from not rising; they were ashamed to expose their uncovered feet, and their dresses were calico pieced from a variety of kinds.
Two days later, the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers’ dress parade was a far less enjoyable one as temperatures and tempers soared. The next day, H Company Corporal George Washington Albert and several of his comrades were given the unpleasant task of carrying the regiment’s foul-smelling garbage to a flatboat and hauling it out to sea for dumping.
As the month of January progressed, it became abundantly clear to members of the regiment that the practice of chattel slavery was as ever present at and beyond the walls of Fort Jefferson as it had been at Fort Taylor and in South Carolina. It seemed that the changing of hearts and minds would take time even among northerners—despite President Lincoln’s best efforts, as illustrated by these telling observations made later that same month by Emily Holder:
We received a paper on the 10th of January, which was read in turns by the residents, containing rumors of the emancipation which was to take place on the first, but we had to wait another mail for the official announcement.
I asked a slave who was in my service if he thought he should like freedom. He replied, of course he should, and hoped it would prove true; but the disappointment would not be as great as though it was going to take away something they had already possessed. I thought him a philosopher.
In Key West, many of the slaves had already anticipated the proclamation, and as there was no authority to prevent it, many people were without servants. The colored people seemed to think ‘Uncle Sam’ was going to support them, taking the proclamation in its literal sense. They refused to work, and as they could not be allowed to starve, they were fed, though there were hundreds of people who were offering exorbitant prices for help of any kind—a strange state of affairs, yet in their ignorance one could not wholly blame them. Colonel Tinelle [sic, Colonel L. W. Tinelli] would not allow them to leave Fort Jefferson, and many were still at work on the fort.
John, a most faithful boy, had not heard the news when he came up to the house one evening, so I told him, then asked if he should leave us immediately if he had his freedom.
His face shone, and his eyes sparkled as he asked me to tell him all about it. He did not know what he would do. The next morning Henry, another of our good boys, who had always wished to be my cook, but had to work on the fort, came to see me, waiting until I broached the subject, for I knew what he came for. He hoped the report would not prove a delusion. He and John had laid by money, working after hours, and if it was true, they would like to go to one of the English islands and be ‘real free.’
I asked him how the boys took the news as it had been kept from them until now, or if they had heard a rumor whether they thought it one of the soldier’s stories.
‘Mighty excited, Missis,’ he replied….
Henry had been raised in Washington by a Scotch lady, who promised him his freedom when he became of age; but she died before that time arrived, and Henry had been sold with the other household goods.
The 47th Pennsylvanians continued to undergo inspections, drill and march for the remainder of January as regimental and company assignments were fine-tuned by their officers to improve efficiency. Among the changes made was the reassignment of Private Blumer to service as clerk of the fort’s ordnance department.
Three key officers of the regiment, however, remained absent. D Company’s Second Lieutenant George Stroop was still assigned to detached duties with the U.S. Army’s Signal Corps aboard the Union Navy’s war sloop, Canandaigua, and H Company’s First Lieutenant William Wallace Geety was back home in Pennsylvania, still trying to recruit new members for the regiment while recovering from the grievous injuries he had sustained at Pocotaligo, while Company K’s Captain Charles W. Abbott was undergoing treatment for disease-related complications at Fort Taylor’s post hospital.
Disease, in fact, would continue to be one of the Union Army’s most fearsome foes during this phase of duty, felling thirty-five members of its troops stationed at Fort Jefferson during the months of January and February alone. Those seriously ill enough to be hospitalized included twenty men battling dysentery and/or chronic diarrhea, four men suffering from either intermittent or bilious remittent fever, and two who were recovering from the measles with others diagnosed with rheumatism and general debility.
Fort Jefferson’s moat and wall, circa 1934, Dry Tortugas, Florida (C. E. Peterson, U.S. Library of Congress; public domain).
The primary reason for this shocking number of sick soldiers was the problematic water quality. According to Schmidt:
‘Fresh’ water was provided by channeling the rains from the fort’s barbette through channels in the interior walls, to filter trays filled with sand; and finally to the 114 cisterns located under the fort which held 1,231,200 gallons of water. The cisterns were accessible in each of the first level cells or rooms through a ‘trap hole’ in the floor covered by a temporary wooden cover…. Considerable dirt must have found its way into these access points and was responsible for some of the problems resulting in the water’s impurity…. The fort began to settle and the asphalt covering on the outer walls began to deteriorate and allow the sea water (polluted by debris in the moat) to penetrate the system…. Two steam condensers were available … and distilled 7000 gallons of tepid water per day for a separate system of reservoirs located in the northern section of the parade ground near the officers [sic, officers’] quarters. No provisions were made to use any of this water for personal hygiene of the [planned 1,500-soldier garrison force]….
Consequently, soldiers were forced to wash themselves and their clothes using saltwater hauled from the ocean. As if that were not difficult enough, “toilet facilities were located outside of the fort.” According to Schmidt:
At least one location was near the wharf and sallyport, and another was reached through a door-sized hole in a gunport, and a walk across the moat on planks at the northwest wall…. These toilets were flushed twice each day by the actions of the tides, a procedure that did not work very well and contributed to the spread of disease. It was intended that the tidal flush should move the wastes into the moat, and from there, by similar tidal action, into the sea. But since the moat surrounding the fort was used clandestinely by the troops to dispose of litter and other wastes … it was a continuous problem for Lt. Col. Alexander and his surgeon.
When it came to the care of soldiers with more serious infectious diseases such as smallpox, soldiers and prisoners were confined to isolation roughly three miles away on Bird Key to prevent contagion. The small island also served as a burial ground for Union soldiers stationed at the fort.
On February 3, 1863, the regiment’s founder and commanding officer, Colonel Tilghman H. Good, paid a visit to Fort Jefferson, accompanied by the newly re-formed Regimental Band (band no. 2). Conducted by Regimental Bandmaster Anton Bush, the ensemble was on hand to perform the music for that evening’s officers’ ball.
Sometime during this phase of duty, Corporal George W. Albert was reassigned to duties as camp cook for Company H, giving him the opportunity to oversee at least one of the formerly enslaved Black men who had enlisted with the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry while the regiment was stationed in Beaufort, South Carolina. Subsequently assigned to duties as an “Under-Cook,” that Black soldier who fell under his authority was most likely Thomas Haywood, who had been entered onto the H Company roster after enrolling with the 47th Pennsylvania on November 1, 1862.
* Note: This was likely not a pleasant time for Thomas Haywood. One of the duties of his direct superior, Corporal George Albert, was to butcher a shipment of cattle that had just been received by the fort. Both men took on that task on Saturday, February 24—a day that Corporal Albert later described as hot, sultry and plagued by mosquitoes.
Based on Albert’s known history of overt racism, their interpersonal interactions were likely made worse that day by his liberal use of racial epithets, which were a frequent component of the diary entries he had penned during this time—hate speech that has all too often been wrongly attributed to the regiment’s entire membership by some mainstream historians and Civil War enthusiasts without providing actual evidence to back up those claims. There were a considerable number of officers and enlisted members of the 47th Pennsylvania who strongly supported the efforts of President Lincoln and senior federal government military leaders to eradicate the practice of chattel slavery nationwide with at least several members of the regiment known to be members of prominent abolitionist families in Pennsylvania.
Officers’ quarters and parade grounds, interior of Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida, 1898 (U.S. National Park Service and National Archives and Records Administration, public domain).
During this same period, Private Edward Frederick of the 47th Pennsylvania’s K Company was readmitted to the regimental hospital for further treatment of the head wound he had sustained at Pocotaligo. As his condition worsened, his health failed, and he died there late in the evening on February 15 from complications related to an abscess that had developed in his brain. He was subsequently laid to rest on the parade grounds at Fort Jefferson.
In a follow-up report, Post Surgeon Jacob H. Scheetz, M.D., the 47th Pennsylvania’s assistant regimental surgeon, provided these details of the battle wound and treatment that Frederick had endured:
Private Edward Frederick, Co. K, 47th Pennsylvania Vols, was struck by a musket ball at the battle of Pocotaligo, South Carolina, October 22, 1862. The ball lodged in the frontal bone and was removed. The wound did well for three weeks when he had a slight attack of erysipelas, which, however, soon subsided under treatment. The wound commenced suppurating freely and small spiculae of bone came away, or were removed, on several occasions. Cephalgia was a constant subject of complaint, which was described as a dull aching sensation. The wound had entirely closed on January 1, 1863, and little complaint made except the pain in the head when he exposed himself to the sun. About the 4th of February he was ordered into the hospital with the following symptoms: headache, pain in back and limbs, anorexia, tongue coated with a heavy white coating, bowels torpid. He had alternate flashes of heat; his pupils slightly dilated; his pulse 75, and of moderate volume. He was blistered on the nape of the neck, and had a cathartic given him, which produced a small passage. Growing prostrate, he was put upon the use of tonics, and opiates at night to promote sleep; without any advantage, however. His mind was clear til [sic] thirty-six hours before death, when his pupils were very much dilated, and he gradually sank into a comatose state until 12 M. [midnight] on the night of the 15th of February when he expired.
Another twelve hours after death: Upon removing the calvarium the membranes of the brain presented no abnormal appearance, except slight congestion immediately beneath the part struck. A slight osseus deposition had taken place in the same vicinity. Upon cutting into the left cerebrum, (anterior lobe) it was found normal, but an incision into the left anterior lobe was followed by a copious discharge of dark colored and very offensive pus, and was lined by a yellowish white membrane which was readily broken up by the fingers. I would also have stated that his inferior extremities were, during the last four days, partially paralyzed.
Lieutenant-Colonel George Warren Alexander, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, circa 1861 (public domain).
As Private Frederick’s body was being autopsied, the unceasing routine of fort life continued as members of the regiment went about performing their duties and the USS Cosmopolitan arrived with a new group of prisoners. On February 25, 1863, Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander issued Special Order No. 17:
I. Company commanders are hereby ordered to instruct the chief of detachment in their respective companies to see that all embrasures in the lower tier, both at and between their batteries, are properly closed and bolted immediately after retreat.
II. As the safety of the garrison depends on the carrying out of the above order, they will hold chiefs of detachments accountable for all delinquencies.
In addition, orders were given to company cooks to relocate their operations to bastion C of the fort, which was a much cooler place for them to do their duties—a change that was likely appreciated as much or more by the under-cooks as the higher-ranking cooks who oversaw their grueling work.
This was the first of several initiatives undertaken by Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander who, according to Schmidt, “was having some difficulty in exercising proper control over Fort Jefferson as it related to the Engineering Department and persons in their employ.”
It was his duty to train the garrison, guard the prisoners, and provide the necessary protection for the fort and its environs, a situation fraught with many problems not always understood by other military and non-military personnel on station there. It was during this period that relationships between the various interests began to deteriorate, as overseer George Phillips, temporarily filling in for Engineer Frost, refused the request of Lt. Col. Alexander to have as many engineer workmen removed from the casemates as could be comfortably accommodated inside the barracks outside the walls of the fort. Phillips lost the argument and the quarters were vacated, but the tone of the several letters exchanged between the two commands left much to be desired. Differences were aired concerning occupations of the prisoners and their possible use by the engineers; the amount of water used by the workmen as Alexander limited them to one gallon per day per man; Engineer Frost arriving and reclaiming for his department the central Kitchen, and another kitchen near it that had been used by Capt. Woodruff and others; stagnant water in the ditches which involved the post surgeon [Jacob H. Scheetz, M.D.] in the controversy; uncovering of the ‘cistern trap holes’ located in the floors of the first or lower tier, which allowed the water supplies to become contaminated; who exercised jurisdiction over the schooner Tortugas of the Engineering Department; depredations of wood belonging to the engineers; and many other conflicts….
Around this same time, Corporal George Nichols, who had piloted the Confederate steamer, the Governor Milton, behind Union lines after it had been captured by members of the 47th’s Companies E and K in October, was assigned once again to engineering duties—this time at Fort Jefferson—but he was not happy about it, according to a letter he wrote to family and friends:
So I am detailed on Special duty again as Engineer. I cannot See in this I did not Enlist as an Engineer. But I get Extra Pay for it but I do not like it. So I must get the condencer redy [sic, condenser ready] to condece [sic, condense] fresh water. Get her redy [ready] and no tools to do it with.
Corporal Nichols’ reassignment was made possible when the contingent of 47th Pennsylvanians at Fort Jefferson was strengthened with the transfer there of members of Companies E and G from Fort Taylor on February 28. That same day, the men of F Company received additional training with both light and heavy artillery at the fort while the men from K Company gained more direct experience with the installation’s seacoast guns. In addition, members of the regiment finally received the six months of back pay they were owed.
Rev. William DeWitt Clinton Rodrock, chaplain, 47th Pennsylvania Volunteers, Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas, Florida, 1863 (courtesy of Robert Champlin, used with permission).
It was also during this latest phase of duty that Regimental Chaplain William DeWitt Clinton Rodrock was transferred from Fort Taylor to Fort Jefferson—possibly to render spiritual comfort after what had been a brutal month in terms of hospitalizations. Among the seventy members of the 47th Pennsylvania who had been admitted to the post’s hospital in the Dry Tortugas were fifty-four men with dysentery and/or diarrhea, four men with remittent or bilious remittent fevers, three men suffering from catarrh, one man who had contracted typhoid fever, one man who had contracted tuberculosis and was suffering from the resulting wasting away syndrome known as phthisis, and three men suffering from diseases of the eye (two with nyctalopia, also known as night blindness, and one with cataracts).
One of the additional challenges faced by the men stationed in the Dry Tortugas (albeit a less serious one) was that there was no camp sutler available to them at Fort Jefferson, as there was for the 47th Pennsylvanians who were stationed at Fort Taylor. So, it was more difficult, if not impossible, to obtain their favorite foods, replacements for worn-out clothing, tobacco, and other items not furnished by the quartermasters of the Union Army—making their lives more miserable with each passing day as they depleted the care packages that had been sent to them by their families during the holidays.
Stationed farther from home than they had ever been, they could see no end in sight for the devastating war that had torn their nation apart.
Sources:
- Bates, Samuel P. History of Pennsylvania Volunteers, 1861-5, vol. 1. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: B. Singerly, State Printer, 1869.
- “Florida’s Role in the Civil War: ‘Supplier of the Confederacy.’” Tampa, Florida: Florida Center for Instructional Technology, College of Education, University of South Florida, retrieved online January 15, 2020.
- Holder, Emily. “At the Dry Tortugas During the War.” San Francisco, California: Californian Illustrated Magazine, 1892 (part four, retrieved online, March 28, 2024, courtesy of Lit2Go, the website of the Educational Technology Clearinghouse at the Florida Center for Instructional Technology, College of Education, University of South Florida).
- “History: Crops (Historic Florida Barge Canal Trail).” Historical Marker Database, retrieved online December 30, 2023.
- Malcom, Corey. “Emancipation at Key West,” in “The 20th of May: The History and Heritage of Florida’s Emancipation Day Digital History Project.” St. Petersburg, Florida: Florida Humanities, retrieved online March 28, 2024.
- Owsley, Frank Lawrence, and Harriet Fason Chappell. King Cotton Diplomacy: Foreign Relations of the Confederate States of America. Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press, 1959.
- “Preventing Diplomatic Recognition of the Confederacy, 1861–1865,” and “The Alabama Claims, 1862–1872,” in “Milestones: 1861–1865.” Washington, D.C.: Office of the Historian, Foreign Service Institute, United States Department of State, retrieved online December 30, 2023.
- Schmidt, Lewis G. A Civil War History of the 47th Regiment of Pennsylvania Veteran Volunteers. Allentown, Pennsylvania: Self-published, 1986.
- Staubach, Lieutenant Colonel James C. “Miami During the Civil War: 1861-65,” in Tequesta: The Journal of the Historical Association of Southern Florida, vol. LIII, pp. 31-62. Miami, Florida: Historical Museum of Southern Florida, 1993.
- Wharton, Henry D. Letters from the Sunbury Guards. Sunbury, Pennsylvania: Sunbury American, 1861-1868.
#003366 #47thPennsylvaniaInfantry #47thPennsylvaniaVolunteers #AbrahamLincoln #America #AmericanCivilWar #AmericanHistory #Army #Artillery #CivilWar #Florida #FortJefferson #FortTaylor #History #Infantry #JohnMiltonBrannan #KeyWest #Military #Pennsylvania #PennsylvaniaHistory #Pocotaligo #Slavery #Union
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Cover Your Story Scaffolding, Or, Grumbling About Monarch Season 2
“Never let your readers hear the dice roll.”
It’s common advice from genre writers at gaming conventions, and it’s good advice.
It’s not a prohibition from using the framework or scaffolding of a game system — Honor Among Thieves uses initiative order and D&D’s time pacing during its combat scenes. It’s done well and feels natural even if you’ve never heard of the game before. While that stands out to D&D players, that scaffolding is not obvious, even though it is present.
The principle applies more broadly; when the scaffolding shows, the story suffers.
Plot stupidity, deus ex machinas, anything where it leads the reader (or viewer) to suddenly realize that the only reason certain things are happening is “because there has to be a plot.” (The variant “Only the Author Can Save Them Now” is definitely what I mean here.)
I’m only three episodes into season two of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, and it seems determined to strip away the facade and show off that scaffolding.
Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoyed the first season of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters; it was nuanced, layered, and smart. While characters made occasional stupid choices, it made sense within the context of the story and the nature of that character. The hotheaded military guy is aggressive when that’s not a smart move? Makes sense. The idealistic person is blindsided by humans being awful? That tracks. The burned-by-the-system cynical character doesn’t trust anyone enough to share information? Of course not.
In season two, a world where Godzilla is known to exist, Monarch is still ill-funded and ineffectual. A few real examples from the same episode: It absolutely makes sense that corporations would try to profit from Titans (thank you Pacific Rim), but a third of a way through the second season seems like a strange place for a group you’ve never heard of before suddenly be ultra-influential and an outsized factor. Ah, there’s giant billboards showing some of your party’s faces as wanted fugitives? Let’s have them go run a simple errand instead of laying low, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Oh, you just happen to have an old “prototype” of the exact doohickey we need? How convenient.
Of course we all know that, yes, it IS convenient for the authors and writers. Those things drive the plot. You need scaffolding to give the story structure and shape. But when those convenient coincidences (or lapses in judgment or memory) are too large or too common, your readers and viewers are having to mentally duck and weave around that scaffolding to follow the story.
See also Whether AI Can Write A Story Is The Wrong Question.They are paying more attention to the structure than to the story itself.
There are outliers — House of Leaves immediately comes to mind — where the structure is very obvious, but rather than detracting from the experience, helps draw one into it. I found Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories compelling, not because I just wanted to “win” and get the best ending, but seeing how the story changed with those decisions. Even my pet peeve of “clap for Tinkerbell” — in the stage versions, at least — increases the immersion for the young audience it’s meant for.
If you’re thinking about your work in progress, TTRPG campaign, or what you’ll write in the future, there is a fairly easy solution. You know what decision you want the characters to make. You know where the next scenario or scene should happen. You know they’ve got to survive this unsurvivable fight somehow.
All you have to do is to rationalize it. And if you can’t rationalize it right away, add small details until you can.
One more actual example from the same episode of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters:
Our protagonists are being pursued by primitive religious zealots at night. It is a poorly lit night, and in some kind of wilderness, so everyone is just fast-walking. The zealots, who are maybe 100-200 meters back, want the protagonist’s camera, but are probably going to kill our protagonists as well. Ah, take the film out of the camera! That way we can keep the film and … leave the camera on the ground which may “buy them some time”. Immediate hard cut to one of the zealots walking carefully and examining the ground…and the camera pans down to show us our protagonists crouched in a small depression only 4 meters away.
See also When Your Brain Is The Butt Of The Joke: SNLs Sunday Supper SketchObviously they wanted this tense, life-in-danger scene. Across three different “will they be revealed” moments it both tense and provides a character moment for one of the zealots as well.
But to get to this scene, our protagonists had to wait for the zealots to catch up. They had to just…twiddle their thumbs instead of using the time the camera supposedly bought.
It would be easy to fix.
The ditch might be the only place to hide they could get to. One of them could have the classic “twisted ankle”. They argue too long about whether or not to give up the camera. Then they have a reason to be in the situation they’re in.
The same story beats can happen. The same scenes.
It just takes a little more effort and thoughtfulness.
This may seem like a small, unimportant quibble, and to a degree it is. We’re all aware there has to be some degree of scaffolding. There will be small imperfections here and there.
It’s what I said above, though. All those examples above are from a single episode. Even if any of them wasn’t big enough to kick me out of the story completely, having it happen over and over again was just too much.
See also How To Betray Your Source Material: A Review of Apple TV's FoundationYou want the ways you get the story from one scene to another, or get your characters from one location to another, to at least try to make sense within the fictional universe.
It shows that you care enough about the story to make sure the scaffolding doesn’t show.
(1) Yes, I know there are some times that is acceptable or expected, work with me here.
Featured Image by Bruno from Pixabay
#godzilla #plot #story #tropes #writing -
⚡ Burnout isn’t just “stress”: human body cannot run a marathon at a sprint pace ⚡
A few years ago, I hit a wall. As an engineer, I prided myself on solving the unsolvable, taking on complex challenges, and never backing down. But somewhere along the way, I crossed a threshold I didn’t see coming.
The signs were subtle at first: fatigue, brain fog, impatience, apathy about work I once loved. Before long, even the smallest tasks felt like climbing a mountain. My creativity dipped. My confidence wavered. My balance at home frayed. The impact wasn’t just professional; it was deeply personal.
Engineers are especially vulnerable to burnout. We often work in high-stakes environments with tight deadlines, shifting requirements, and pressure to be “always-on.” Our minds are our tools, and when those tools are strained, everything else suffers.
👉 Prevention must come first. It is far better to recognise the early warning signs and intervene than to wait until the damage is done and try to rebuild.
Here are a few strategies I’ve learned (the hard way):
- Set boundaries: say no when your plate is full (I’m still working on this)
- Block time for rest (yes, actual breaks)
- Delegate or outsource non-core tasks
- Stay connected with peers, mentors, or mental-health advocates
- Reflect regularly (daily or weekly) to catch warning signs earlyAlso, I strongly encourage everyone to watch this documentary: “Burnout - When does work start feeling pointless?” https://youtu.be/raVms8w61No?si=-d_qpOgYICfG5UJu
It offers powerful perspectives on burnout: how it develops, how it affects lives, and what can be done.
Let’s shift the conversation: let’s talk preventive care, not just crisis management. If you’ve ever experienced burnout (or are going through it), you’re not alone. Sharing our stories can be the first step toward change.
#Burnout #EngineerLife #MentalHealth #WorkLifeBalance #PreventiveCare