Yeah, what's up everyone it's your girl Kenzie here from Layton Sports Guards, and I'm ribbon a personal for Chen Kai W We've got a 2122 top two aphid champions league Merlin chrome soccer hobby. All right. Thanks so much for your order Chen Kai Let's see what we can get out of here Patrick if your coach is an owner would just protect your franchise quarterback in the okay I'm thinking the Bengals would be the winners of the AFC North That's what everyone thought I said Steelers will We'll see about that so far. Hey there in first place right now Along with three out of the other four We've got refractor of edyemi refractor aegis alchemy of uh gas Gasioge gasio for the Rangers It is it is Patrick very true Refractor under 23 stars of elliott mattozzo On the rookie refractor rookie of elliott mattozzo It's early, but I mean two teams that you should have had dubs against I don't know if it's gonna get any easier for y'all Base pack there Color coming up. We've got a messy on the green 23 of 99 Nice one there for you Chen Kai That is beautiful on the green mojo Wow 23 of 99 We'll mag this one for you beautiful messy Very nice We will take a low number of messy in the day Refractor of alexander isak Got um prophecy fulfilled of tren alexander arnold A couple jerseys in q then Nice Refractor under 23 stars of luciala Bruno fernandez refractor Got our auto coming off refractor auto of alex scrimaldo Fizia ben fizia Refractor auto not numbered on that one messy. We've got pink mojo of vandyke. That is 168 of 275 Prophecy fulfilled refractor of hukaku for chelsea Fractor under 23 stars of viny jr. Real matred Never realized that dude It's good to know Refractor in bahoma, bitch pollen base We've got speckle rookie of aster of rancic On his nine out of 150 and last pack here for you Refractor of harry kane for tautanham Alrighty chen Kai that will do it for your box. Congrats again on your hits Thanks so much for hopping in and we will get these right out to you


Our job is making sure that we have the most livable city in America. We oversee how land gets developed, and we oversee that citizens' needs get served, and we have a high quality of life here in the community. But nothing brings us more joy than seeing citizens really using those amenities, and when you go out on the weekends and see all of the people that are out looking at the museums, and playing in the parks, and using the trail system, it really does help you realize that we're doing a great job. We're making Fort Worth the most livable city by a variety of things. We're doing urban village improvements, we're revitalizing our central city, we're reinvesting in the core of our city, and we're making enormous investments in capital all over our city. There are so many measures for being the most livable city. It's quality of life issues, it's cost of living here, it's education, it's clean air, it's all those things. But really what it means to me is, is where do I want to raise my family? What kind of quality type of environment do I want to have to raise a family, and to call home, to put my stakes down and say, this is where I want to be? Well I think the city of Fort Worth, we have a whole lot to offer. We have a hometown feel with a big Metroplex kind of boom about it. We're forward thinking, there's development everywhere. We have great venues, and the people are just spectacular. Fort Worth is the most livable city because we have a safe and reliable water supply. Without water, you don't have a community. And without sanitation, you don't have a community. So our job is to make sure that we are protecting public health and the environment every day. Walking and biking and other forms of transportation make Fort Worth a more livable city because we are giving choices to people so they don't have to get in their car. Livable cities are places where you can have the choice to be outside, to get your exercise, and to also use alternative transportation to get to your destinations. The parks department is doing a lot to make sure that the city is going to be the most livable city. For examples, we have a lot of community centers. We're trying to get the kids involved, we're trying to even get just the community involved to show them that there's a place for them that they can go to. Fort Worth is the best managed city because everyone is accountable, starting from the manager's office on down. Everyone has the ability to give input, everyone's opinions are valued, but everyone is accountable for the job that they're supposed to do and of the job that they've been asked to do. We are making sure that we account for every tax dollar that we receive and that we spend it on the most efficient and effective services that we can provide to our citizens. We're also listening to citizens about what services that they value to make sure that we're only expending resources on those things that really make a difference in their lives. Fort Worth is the best managed city because of accountability. We, I think there's pride and passion in what we do as managers and starting with the city manager from the top. We really care about the city of Fort Worth, the future of the city, development, what the experience is for our guests and the people that actually live here. Fort Worth is the best managed city because it focuses on people. People come first, then the process, then the product comes by itself. When people are first, everything else falls in place. So I think what we're doing on a daily basis matters. It helps promote what the city of Fort Worth is about. People. That's the bottom line, people.


The Damawa State has recorded 60 suspected cholera cases according to the Coordinator Cholera Containment Committee. Dr. Selin Lalouri, who disclosed this at the Primary Healthcare Development Agency stakeholders meeting yesterday, identified seven affected local government areas. Three cholera treatment centres have already been set up in the state to contain the spread of the infection.


In this video, we will explore some of the benefits of studying public speaking so that you can have a better understanding of why improving your public speaking skills is a worthwhile endeavor. So why is it that we study public speaking in the first place? Many of you, if not most of you, are taking this class solely because it's a requirement for your major. So maybe we should ask instead, why is this class a requirement for my major? Well, there are three ways in which public speaking can and likely will benefit your life. Personal benefits, professional benefits, and societal benefits. First, let's focus on you individually and the personal benefits that public speaking can bring. Most immediately, public speaking can help you be successful in college. Studies show that the skills related to effective public speaking increase knowledge and retention of information through research and listening, improve critical thinking, train your brain to think more clearly in a structured way, improve your listening skills, and build confidence in general. Public speaking can also help in other courses that require you to give a presentation or an oral report. And let's not forget that the same elements of communication that make an effective public speaker are the same elements that make effective interpersonal communicators. These skills are transferable to many other areas of your life. As for the professional benefits of public speaking, the skills you develop in this course can help you get and keep a job. Public speaking skills are highly transferable to interviewing skills. Effective communication skills will also enhance your ability to work effectively with supervisors, coworkers, and customers, enabling you to keep your job and possibly even advance within your organization. Communication skills are also universally necessary to be effective in the workplace, regardless of your career field. Take a moment to consider ways in which public speaking can benefit you in your career. Go ahead, I'll wait. If you need more time to answer that question, feel free to pause the video now. Otherwise, let's continue. Public speaking also carries broader societal benefits. First, it's a skill that can help your voice be heard, which is vital in a democratic republic form of government like that of the United States. Secondly, developing effective public speaking skills can help you spread awareness on important issues impacting your organization, town, country, and beyond.  Or you have a passion for supporting a particular non-profit organization and are given an opportunity to address a group or crowd on their behalf? Take a moment to write down a list of all the people that you can think of in your community who regularly give speeches. Don't list specific names, but rather list roles like teachers, politicians, etc. What impact do these people have in the community? How do their public speaking skills assist them? And how might developing more effective public speaking skills allow you to have a similar impact? I'll give you a moment again. If you need more time to answer those questions, feel free to pause the video now. Otherwise, let's continue. In this video we explored some of the benefits of studying public speaking, including personal benefits, professional benefits, and societal benefits, so that you can have a better understanding of why improving your public speaking skills is a worthwhile endeavor. You can check out some of our other videos for more insight into the public speaking process.


Welcome to the Dave Trumbo show. I'm Joe Wombo join now with Dave Trumbo head coach of indoor and beach volleyball Women's volleyball. We're talking about the beach trip I guess the southern circuit if you want to talk about it that way you guys headed down to Florida and got to play a lot of Beach volleyball. Well, we had that first weekend in Texas and then during spring break. We were able to Go down to Florida and we went to a lot of different doesn't they get places Down in Florida. We end up starting at the Fort Lauderdale Miami area and Played 2d2 schools down there and we're very successful every single we won every single match Which and we got so much practice before we left Joe and made such a difference this year competition was pretty good But we played really well Down in Miami and then traveled up to St. Petersburg and played Eckert College Eckert This is their third year of beach Last year they blasted us both times they played them and this year was a little bit different We lost four to one. It was a double duel. So we played them both We played him the morning played him in the afternoon Incredibly windy and cold That day in Florida and our kids played as if the one wasn't even blowing I mean they really did a great job and you say four to one. Well, they beat us pretty good Well, you know one of our Matches went three and we lost 15-12 and another one Katie Leffridge and Lauren Weaver they lost both matches or both sets by two points So maybe it's a little stretch, but we definitely competed Sammy Perlow and Kristen Brooks at number one They went three in their match as well So it could have been a different outcome. It was really really close Have to say that Chelsea Ireland and Deanna Bradbury at the fives Did win both those Eckert matches So that was our one point that we got it at the fives and both of those matches went three So we were there for a long time There was about six and a half seven hours of coaching because they only have two courts unlike us Well, we have three we actually have four courts So it makes it a lot longer because you only can play two matches at a time and so there's three rounds You're six five sixes three fours and one twos so it takes three hours in theory Unless you go three and it's really competitive. So it was more like seven hours of volleyball And some of those pairings were awfully competitive I forget which one that you mentioned that one went eight and one on the weekend Yeah, that was Chelsea Indiana went at number fives went eight and one and they And the match they lost they went it went five. I'm just using it went three I'm thinking five indoor, but then it went three and they just did a phenomenal job We also Darian Hillman and Megan Renet fours. They were six and three and Grace Coleman and Jan Christensen at number three went six and three as well and So after we went to St. Petersburg, then we went to Babson Park, Florida, which is like in the Central Park part of Florida and we played Warner University a team that we had beaten Or excuse me, they had beaten us the year before three to two and We were able to beat them and four to one and we were real pleased and like Sammy Pearl and Kristen Brooks at number One's they beat the team who had beaten them the year before and dog on if it wasn't close like 1715 in the third But at that point the pressure was off them because we had already won the match We won at threes fours and fives. We'd lost at twos, but they already knew we had our three points that we needed to win then we played Weber University on that same day and Weber really had some phenomenal players and I really thought that even though we can I felt like we competed well They beat us five nothing and that was probably the best team we played and that was a little surprising then we drove up to Montgomery, Alabama, and we it was a D3 festival we played Huntington who dedicated their courts on that Friday that we played them and Beat them five to nothing had to say that We had to reshuffle the lineup a little bit. We were missing Kristen Brooks and So Lauren weaver and Katie Leffridge moved up to the ones and they played a phenomenal match winning at ones and it was two really close matches and then and Grace Coleman and Jane Christensen had to move to number twos and Sandy Pearl and Sarah Ballinger played at threes Well, it's just so incredible that the roster size that you had you have 16 girls and you only had nine dates of Competition on this week if you want to say only nine Nine matches nine matches five days, but everybody got to see some action Yes, what do those experiences do when you have something like the small colleges national championship coming up in a few weeks What are those experiences do for those girls? Well, there's no question in my mind here that the strength of our team is our depth There is there is a difference but not a huge difference between our ones and our fives and like when we played Warner And I said that was like the the pivotal match because I was expecting maybe five and four hoping for six and three when we were down They're realistically But when we beat Warner, we won at threes fours and fives ones was really close as I mentioned Tuesday and win but The strength of our team and our sixes are pushing, you know, our sevens are pushing so Like you know Sarah played Sarah Ballinger played with Sammy Pirillo Because they played a little bit last year Sarah's a senior it seemed like a good fit when Kristen wasn't there And so Sarah was you know, she was at sevens with her partner And she came up and she played in the threes and was able to do pretty well You know, she went two and one and that's in that three spot with Sammy against the D3 schools The other D3 school we played with principia who we had played in Texas And we were able to beat them for one to end our trip at six and three So we you know, we were happy with that and we got a lot of playing and we did a lot of traveling But it just the depth on our team is our strength Absolutely agree with you there Getting those many competitions those matches in you guys definitely deserve a rest and you're gonna take one Before you guys get back into competition in North Carolina Yeah, we had this week at this week off the girls It was the first weekend they've had off because we've been practice if it's a nice day We've got a practice on the weekend So this is the first time they've had off since one a weekend since the season started and then we'll travel to UNC Wilmington That will be a difficult weekend. We're all D1s. We're gonna play UNC Wilmington College at Charleston Mercer and coastal Carolina all D1 programs that have had beach for two or more years And that will prepare us for the following week when we go to Florida for the small college national championship The competition is going to be tough having them stick together through probably adverse circumstances Playing against the D1s, but when then we play the D2s that will be that much better and how much we'll learn from playing The D1s I think will be a factor. How well we do in Florida the second time Progress has already been made, you know on an astronomical level is from last season to this season And I imagine the progress will continue as the season progresses through that division one tournament and then into the Small colleges national championship as well. Yeah, even in practice and we are now if it's 45 degrees We're going out, you know, and it's not really that warm but The fact that we have four courts these other teams are practicing in one or two sometimes they like when we go UNC Wilmington, we're not playing on their courts. We're going to dig and dive restaurant and where they have eight courts But we have actual four courts on campus and so with 16 players they can all be playing a match at the same time so it's it's just like indoor it's all about touches and just repetition and reading the game and then and playing and So us having four courts here on campus is made is a big advantage for us And it's also been a big boost to you know to this student body I get to see a lot of students out there from where my office is I get to see a lot of students out there enjoying the weather and and the course as well. So it's not as easy as it looks It's not but it is fun. Yes. Yes, it is it is fun. Well, coach appreciate your time this week I wish you the best of luck and safe travels wherever you're traveling to He's Dave Trumbo. I'm Joe. This has been the Dave Trumbo show


Lift off the Falcon 9. Falcon 9 is clear to tower. My name is Steve Davis and I'm an engineer at SpaceX. I actually started there in 2003 on our first vehicle which was called the Falcon 1. My personal role at the time was to work on the guidance, navigation and control system which is a fancy way of saying make sure the rocket goes straight when it takes off. Imagine balancing a pencil on your finger and kind of going like this. That's pretty much what happens. The rocket is a long pencil and it's going to keep getting hit by wind and other things. See if it just makes sure when it gets hit by those it keeps going the right way. Capture is confirmed. Getting Falcon 9 up into orbit and dragging into the space station. That was a complicated mission and we did it the first time which was an amazing accomplishment. What I want is for SpaceX and hopefully other companies to succeed in building a rocket which is fully and rapidly reusable. The second that happens the cost really comes down. You or I can suddenly afford a rocket and possibly get to go into space and enjoy that. How are you guys doing? Good. Do you guys need any samples or anything today? We're at Misti Ogato, my favorite frozen yogurt store in Washington DC and I am the owner of SED Store. A bunch of my friends were involved in starting the store so we just had brainstorms constantly. These right here are the original eight rules of Ogato. The stamp on the forehead is done pretty often. Here's the trivia, you get it right, discount wrong, price goes up. I like to do something new about every six to nine months and a lot of them fail. There was a Misti Ogato in DC, there's one in Baltimore, I also have a friend open one in Jacksonville and that one in a business which is unfortunate but you know a lot of businesses do. And you say strawberry's Mr. Withen? SpaceX is what I love in life and all the other projects are really fun and just make me really happy but like I said my primary goal is getting into space and I'll keep working towards that.


So what? Did James Gunn direct some kind of Guardians of the Galaxy Squad? Kinda! And it's awesome! The Suicide Squad. Not to be confused with Suicide Squad, the first film of whatever this thing is, a trilogy, a saga, who knows. I mean Fast and the Furious started out with The Fast and the Furious and later went to just Fast and Furious. This is doing the opposite, so now I'm completely confused as how things are named in this world. People have been throwing out the term soft reboot and that's probably kind of appropriate. Although there is some carry-over characters from Suicide Squad, not the Suicide Squad, Suicide Squad that are in this. Margot Robbie of course is back as Harley Quinn. And here I think Margot Robbie truly has perfected this character.  Or because she has a more competent director leading the charge here. I'd like to think it's a combination of both. But unlike her previous outings in Suicide Squad, not the Suicide Squad, Suicide Squad and Birds of Prey, here she's not the only show. She's not the only thing to enjoy about the film. We have ourselves quite the cavalcade of fools on display and they are fantastic. And I appreciate that Gunn goes back to his staples, his bread and butter actors, his alums from Slither. I mean, we got Nathan Fillion in this. We have his brother, of course, Sean Gunn, and then there's old reliable himself, Michael Roker. A few other members return from Suicide Squad, not the Suicide Squad, Suicide Squad. We have Jay Courtney as Captain Boomerang who, until this day, still eludes me how he continues to find work, but we'll just leave it there. And then there's Amanda Waller, played by Viola Davis.  Or whatever stupid-ass line she says. She's back. She's good. She's solid. Why am I just going through the roll call of characters? We know who's in this, right? We've been following the movie. You might not have seen it yet or maybe you did and you just want to hear my thoughts on it. I think I started by saying it's awesome or it's great or whatever take I use, but I loved the film. Okay? I loved it. I'm gonna be doing a movie feud in a few days here against Guardians of the Galaxy 1. I'm also gonna be doing a movie feud against Suicide Squad, the first one. I'm gonna keep correcting it. I'm gonna keep making it known that the naming convention is just a disaster. James Gunn has already proven he's a talented writer and director and this just solidifies that even further. He's juggling over a dozen different unique characters ranging from a super jacked John Cena all the way down to a disgusting looking CG weasel. And then there's my personal go-to of the film, King Shark, voiced by Sylvester Stallone, who is also briefly in Guardians of the Galaxy 2. So James Gunn, he likes his actors. He likes bringing them in. It's not uncommon for directors, but I just find it. I find everything James Gunn does a little bit more fascinating because even his acting choices aren't these A-listers, you know? Some of them are like way down in the D, the D-listing and that's cool. That's great. That wasn't disrespectful to Stallone. Stallone is A-list. He will always be A-list in my mind. That's Rocky Balboa. That's John Rambo. That's Carter or the guy from Get Carter. If you're familiar with James Gunn's more R-rated works like Slither or even Super, the indie superhero film, you'll know that he's not afraid to show blood. He's not afraid to close up on Carnage. He's not afraid to zoom in on body dismemberment. Hell, there's a character that can disattach his arms just on call. And he does not hold back on this film.  There's lots of Carnage and it looks so good from beginning to end. I can't think of a single scene or moment that pulled me out of the film and I thought, man, that's really rough looking. That's just awful. No, there's no shoddy CG work here. And I think it's because he doesn't have that Disney polish to this one. It is grittier. It's grimeier. There's rough edges in this film. It's not a pretty movie by any means yet it is. Carnage revels in its own filth. Let's put it that way. If you're feeling really burnt out about superhero movies too, I got good news for you. This does not feel like a superhero movie. They're doing heroic things, but how it's presented and how it plays out, it just feels more like an action comedy. He grounds it in such a great way.   Idris Elbud looks like he'd rather be sitting at a bar at three in the morning, closing up shop, you know, drinking his life away. And by the way, that dude, I know there was talks like a year ago about him being James Bond. He should absolutely be James Bond. This guy just oozes coolness. This guy just oozes smoothness. He's like a drink. He just goes down real nice. And I think he should be playing James Bond. If you're a parent wondering if your kids can see the film, well, maybe you should ask the parents in front of me at the theater who took their four-year-old and see what that kid had to say. I don't typically judge, but I was having a hard time deciding whether my nine-year-old could see it because he really enjoys the first Suicide Squad called Suicide Squad, not The Suicide Squad. I will not knock him for that. He's nine. He's not a grown adult that can understand the difference between a good, well-made film and a dumpster fire. And I want him to enjoy movies, so more power to him. We own Suicide Squad. We own that thing. And he watches it pretty. He likes Killer Croc. And I really want him to see the new one, but man, he's not ready. He's not mature enough to handle it. I don't really care if my kids hear swearing or excessive violence. As long as they know the difference between right and wrong, what you can appropriately say in public and how you can act, and my nine-year-old's just not mature enough to make that decision. My 12-year-old girl, absolutely. She sees pretty much anything she wants. But if you're on the fence, you should know that there is a good amount of swearing.  Not much. Not enough to get you into the theaters for that. But if you're a perv, you can go for Margot Robbie and be pretty happy with what you get. Lot of action. And it's good stuff. It's violent action. There's heads getting blown off. There's blood everywhere. It's creative. It's violent. It's right up my alley. So if you're going into this preparing for Guardians of the Galaxy, but in the DCEU, you're gonna get that in the sense that James Gunn writes these characters in a way that you can feel like you're relating to them, even if they have these wild powers or just horrible backstories. You still can find a way to connect. They all have their quirks. There's lots of jokes. There's tons of great little tiny twists in the film where James will present something one way and then he'll immediately flip the script or he'll wait a few minutes or ten minutes down the road. It'll come back and he'll be like, Oh, what? I thought you were, uh, wow, you tricked me on that.  I know that was terrible, but I'm trying to be vague. I want you to see the movie however you can. I was giving movies nonsensical scores at the end, but I'm not gonna do that anymore. I think I'll come up with a new system that's more like absolutely must watch or avoid it all sort of a thing and I'll come up with something. I'll flesh it out. But for now, this is an absolutely must watch. How does this play into the DCEU you might be thinking? I don't know. I don't really know what's going on over there. I think that they're just trying to make good movies at this point and then down the road they can start bridging them together.  Those are my thoughts on the Suicide Squad, the sequel kind of to Suicide Squad, the first movie Suicide Squad, the second one's got the duh at the end. If you agreed with me, leave it in the comments. If you disagree, still leave it in the comment. I'd like comments that I think YouTube likes that for the algo, for the algorithm. Like the video if you had some fun, subscribe if you haven't, and I'll hopefully see you around. Oh, hey, you're still here. Sorry, how embarrassing. I guess I could just promote my Patreon if you didn't know. I'm on Patreon at Patreon.com slash AdamDoesMovies. You can join there for as low as a dollar and get access to my hit show, The Cringe. You can also join right here on YouTube via the join button. Hey, it's your decision. It's your life. Either way, I'm here, so see you around.


This is Robin. You've got questions I've got answers. How may I help you? Hey Robin, so today's my last day in the Coast Guard, but I was wondering, can I bring my float coat with me? Oh, we greatly appreciate your service, but I'm afraid that your float coat will have to stay behind in keeping with UCMJ Article 121. Okay. Well, can I bring my dog posters? Absolutely. You just go ahead and pack those precious puppy pictures. Great. Oh, can I take my TSP account with me, too? Great question. You can choose to take the savings in your thrift savings plan with you as you go, or you can choose to leave it right where it is. This is true whether you're enrolled in the Legacy High 3 system or the new BRS. Either way. Perfect. Thank you so much, Robin. You're so very welcome. If you have any more questions... Well, saved another float coat anyway.


I don't like him." Liam says, staring a hole into the ground. Mr. Gallows hurt my sister, and he tried to hurt me too. The kid's young, younger than most subjects I've dealt with. He's witnessed an event, and not just any event, a serious one. It's something that could have massive implications. My bosses are calling it a situation, and they're telling me that I need to get his story, and I need to get it quickly, because people's lives are on the line. I'm an interviewer for an organization known as the Facility. I specialize in working with juveniles who have crossed paths with the supernatural. Liam Hainesworth is one such kid. He's just shy of 12 years old, but he looks worn down. His eyes are framed with heavy bags, and his skin is tight to his cheekbones. He's also missing at least three of his teeth. How did he hurt your sister? I ask. The room we're in is brightly lit, with cartoon animals nailed to the walls, and faded imprints of loony tunes on the carpet. It's designed to calm kids down. He pulled out her teeth. I write down his words on my clipboard. As I do, I record details about Liam, his expression, his tone of voice. It's all important in some way or another. All of it swims together to build a picture of whether what he's saying is true or false. Sometimes it's both, and the minutiae helps determine where reality ends and the lies begin. Why did he do it? I ask. Liam shrugs, rubbing his arm. It's an expression of discomfort, of nervousness. He's not sure he should be talking so much. He's not sure it's safe to say. You want to know why he pulled out her teeth? That's right. I already know Liam's sister is dead. She's been dead for several months, so it seems strange that he would fixate on the monster pulling out her teeth, as opposed to the murder. Do you know why? He shakes his head. There's something there, though, in his eyes. There's something that says he isn't telling me the full story, so I press him. Has he ever talked to you, Liam? This Mr. Gallows. He nods. He still won't look at me. But that's okay. Kids are nervous at the best of times. After what he's been through, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't look at another person in the eye for years. What does he say when he speaks to you?  He tells me, I can't talk about him. That's okay, I say. I'm one of the good guys. I pull out my badge with a howling wolf inlaid in gold and I show it to him. See, I'm like a police officer, except for kids dealing with scary things. I can make that stuff go away. It's a line I've used a hundred times before. I'm not sure it's ever worked. I'm not a kid, Liam says, folding his arms. I'm almost 12, and I don't think anybody can make him go away. Liam's smart for his age, top of his class. According to my preliminary research and the discussion I had with his father, he's never felt at home around other children. They bore him, his father said. What if I can make Mr. Gallows go away though? I lean back in my chair and its legs creak under my weight. Don't you think that's worth a shot? There's a moment of silence between us, and I let it stretch into eons. Time works differently for kids. It feels longer, more tiresome, and soon enough, it stretches on long enough that it wears on Liam too. I guess so, he says at length. Good, I reply, swallowing my smile of satisfaction. I'm here to help, remember, it's my job. He chews his lip for a second, and behind his mop of black hair, I catch sight of him glancing at me. Okay, he says, I just want him to leave me alone. Me too. I run my pencil down the sheet of my clipboard, pausing under the heading that reads, Origin Apparatus. When did all of this begin? A year ago, pretty much, I was ten and a half. That's a long time for a young man. How often does he visit? Lots. Almost every night. Almost. I make specific note of that term. It's a throwaway line, but one potentially valuable. The first time he visited you. What happened? I was sleeping, Liam says. His hands are tugging at the strings of his hoodie, and he's staring at a smiling ostrich on the wall. It was winter. I remember feeling really cold. I had all of my blankets on, but I was still shivering. I got up to turn on the heat, and I noticed my window was open. I nod along with his words, my pencil scribbling across the form. The cold could have been a ghost or a spirit, but the open window is the more likely culprit. I try not to cast judgment quite yet. After all, my bosses seem to think this kid is the genuine article, and his mutilated mother does a good job supporting that. Still, I didn't get this far by cutting corners. Did you leave it open when you went to bed? I ask. I don't think so. I make a note on my clipboard. Please continue. I walk over to close it, Liam says, and his voice starts to stutter and die. And I see something on the other side. He's out there, watching me far away by the fence. Is your bedroom on the ground level? The house is just the one floor. He explains. My bedroom faces the backyard, and I see a man out there just past the garden. He's waving at me. Waving at you? Yeah, just like this. Liam raises his hand and slowly moves it side to side. His expression is deadpan, and his lips are twitching. It makes me uncomfortable, so I go to lock the window, and then the man shuffles forward a bit. I realize there's something weird about him. It's dark, so it's hard to see, but it looks like he's hunched over on all fours. Like a dog? Yeah. As he shuffles forward, he calls out to me. He tells me to wait. Don't close the window, he says. I have something for you. Then I want something for me. Something moves across Liam's face, disgust maybe, self-loathing. It's quick, whatever it is. I listen to him, Liam continues. I don't know why. I think it's because I realize he isn't human, or maybe I'm in shock. All I know is closing the window feels pointless now.  I listen to Liam's words intently. His story is compelling enough, but his vocabulary is more impressive by far. It's no wonder the kids skipped a grade. Standable, I tell him. What happened next? Liam squirms in his seat. As he gets closer to the window, he reaches out a long skeletal hand.  Except his mouth doesn't have any teeth. He tells me he's hungry. He says he really needs something to eat. I'm scared. I've never seen anything like this before, and I don't know what to do. So I tell him I need to ask my mom. I tell him we have some leftover turkey in the fridge, and then I'll be right back. Liam pauses, and it's like his world is falling around him.  The man grabs me by the arm, and it hurts. He tells me my mom doesn't need to know. He says he came to my window for a reason. He pulls me closer, and his grip really hurts, and when he whispers in my ear, it aches. It feels like it's cutting the inside of me. He says I'm special. My eyes glance up to the camera in the corner of the room, and I raise an eyebrow. I know my supervisors are watching. Special, I repeat. Why? Liam shakes his head. He's back to tugging at the strings of his hoodie. I don't know. He asks me again if he can come in, and I tell him I have to ask my mom. But at this point, I'm not planning to ask her anything. I'm just gonna tell her there's a psycho out there, and we need to call dad and the police and wake the neighborhood up. He tells me if I don't invite him inside, though. He's gonna add my blood to his hands. Then he runs a finger across my cheek, and it's cold, searing cold. He asks me if he can come inside again. He says he's hungry, and he just wants a bite to eat, and then he'll leave. Promise, he says. Liam takes a shuddering breath. His eyes are closed. The smiling animals aren't working anymore, if they ever did. He's alone with his thoughts now. They're tearing at him, picking away at his mental state, and in his expression, I see the grimaces of grief and regret. You aren't to blame for this. I remind him what happened was gonna happen whether you were there or not. When he opens his eyes, they're soaked with tears. No, it wasn't. He snaps. It happened because I let him in. It happened because I told him he could get something to eat. I open my mouth and realize there's nothing to say. There are no words that will take away this boy's pain, so instead I look back to my clipboard. I busy myself writing down the details of the man's request and the boy's reaction. When I'm finished, I have to ask him to continue. I hate myself for it. I always do. He does. I tell him he can come inside, but he needs to be quick. I tell him not to steal anything either. He shakes his head. There's doubt in his eyes, disbelief. I thought he was telling the truth. I didn't think his words are lost in sobs. I thought he would leave. It's fine. I say in a soothing voice. I reach out a hand to touch his knee to comfort him, but he winces. So I pull my hand back. You're safe now. She's not. He says she's not and she'll never be safe again. I take a breath. It's hard, these interviews. They always are.  They're meant to be idyllic, fantastical, and too often they're not. I'm sorry to interrupt, I say. Go on. Liam sobs taper off into a frown and then a snarl. Rage replaces despair. That's when he told me his name, Mr. Gallows. He tipped his top hat to me and said, nice to meet you. And then he crawled up through the window. Liam reaches up a hand, wiping away the evidence of tears. It was gross-looking. His bones were snapping and twisting as he hunched over, lurching through the opening. The window's not that big, maybe large enough for me to fit through, or another 12-year-old, but not a full-grown man. And Mr. Gallows was much bigger than anybody I'd ever seen. Mr. Gallows. I mutter, staring at the name on the sheet. It's not an entity I'm familiar with. My preliminary research didn't come up with any leads either. Whoever this legend was in life, he certainly didn't make much of a name for himself. Once more, I raise an eyebrow to the cameras and my supervisors watching from the other room. I wonder why this event is so important to them. How tall was he? I ask. Tall enough that even on all fours, his back scraped along the ceiling. He had to crane his neck down to look at me, and I could just barely see his eyes through the burlap sack he wore over his face. He asked me to show him to the kitchen. So I did. I walked him to the fridge and opened it, and when the light came on, I saw Mr. Gallows was wearing this old, raggedy suit that looked like something from the 1800s covered in dust and moth holes. My hands shook as I pulled out the leftover turkey, but Gallows didn't notice. He was too busy humming. It sounded like an old song, a really old one. I don't remember the tune. Liam pauses before adding, I'm sorry. That's fine, I say, jotting it down onto the clipboard. These are interesting details. The intense cold antique apparel and out of date song certainly lead me to believe we're dealing with a ghost. Is the food to his liking? Liam shrugs. He looks uncomfortable again. He's shaking, shivering. There's something about him that's different, like he's having some kind of reaction. Are you feeling all right? I ask. He nods furiously. Yes, I'm fine. I I give him the plate of turkey and the man asked me how he's supposed to eat it. I tell him I don't know. Can't you just swallow it? He snarls, clacking over the kitchen tile and putting his face right next to mine. He tells me there's more room for blood on his fingers. Lots more. I'm whimpering and I tell him I don't know what he wants. He tells me he wants some teeth so he can eat.  Then he reaches up a hand and forces my mouth open. You've got a nice set. He says, I'm starting to panic. My legs feel wobbly and my head spinning. I think maybe if I can change the subject, I can bite my time long enough for my mom to wake up and then she'll see what's going on and call the cops or dad. I don't want to scream though or be too obvious because I think this guy, this creature doesn't have any qualms about murder. So I keep my mouth shut. Mostly I stick to safe topics. Like what? I ask. Like what he had for me. Ah, yes, I have something for you. Then I want something for me. These were among the first words Mr. Gallows spoke to the boy, a bargain, one innocent enough. Of course, to entities like Gallows, such deals are usually deceptions or a means to an end. They allow the creature to broker for horrors too terrible to put into words. What did he have for you, Liam? Tears slip down the boy's gaunt face. He raises a sweater sleeve, wiping them away before sniffling. He had a message. Liam's nose is running and he looks sickly, unwell. He said it was from somebody he never wanted to meet. How curious, I thought. What was the message? Ask some words. Liam's eyes stare at the floor and he crumples into a ball of hoodie and jeans. He wipes his runny nose on his knees and makes himself small. I, um, I didn't understand him. Some words. I let that roll around in my head for a while. It doesn't mean much now, but when you've been doing this job for as many years as I have, you learn pretty quickly that strange words aren't to be dismissed. Words have power. Were they in another language? I ask. Or were they too quiet to be properly heard? A different language, Liam says. He's squirming like crazy now. I've scarcely seen a kid look so uncomfortable in my entire career. Maybe Latin? He shakes his head. I only know French. That's all right. What happens after he says those words? Mr. Gallows gets angry. He tells me now that I've gotten what I'm owed. He wants what he's owed. I gave something to you, he says, and now I want something for me. I ask him what he wants, but I already know. He opens his toothless mouth, pointing at his gums with a long skeletal finger. I'll take some of these, I think. He laughs a bit and tips his top hat again, adding, please and thank you. He crawls up in front of me and pushes me against the wall. Open up, he says. I try to keep my mouth closed, but I can't. He's too strong and he forces it open. Then he reaches in and Liam gets quiet.  He pulls them out. He just wanted three of your teeth, I ask. Moments pass and Liam's face looks tortured.  I nearly call a break to the interview, but he starts talking before I get the words out. He reaches back inside my mouth to pull out more, but the kitchen door opens. It's my little sister, Lacy. She's bleary-eyed and yawning, and then her eyes adjust, and she realizes what she's looking at. She realizes the nightmare she just walked in on. Liam swallows. She screams from mom, and in the blink of an eye, Mr. Gallo stampedes across the kitchen and wraps a hand around her mouth. Shhh, little girl, he says, using his other long arm to pet her hair. Then he puts his face close to hers, and he opens his mouth again, showing those toothless gums. He whispers to her to be quiet. He says as long as she doesn't scream again.  My pencil flies across the clipboard. This is likely the defining moment of the event, the moment that Mr. Gallo's murders Liam's sister. I keep my ears open and brace for the worst. He moves his hand from her mouth. Liam continues. Lacy silent, and so am I. Part of me is hoping that mom heard Lacy scream, but another part of me knows better. I think Lacy does too. Heck, even if dad were home, I doubted it would make a difference. Mr. Gallo's was too big. We needed a SWAT team. I offer a consoling smile. It's likely a SWAT team would have been equally ineffective. You did what you could, Liam, with what you had. You didn't want anybody to get hurt. It's very brave. He looks down. His expression is despondent, but he doesn't wait for me to prompt him. He keeps talking like I never said a thing. Mr. Gallo's opens Lacy's mouth. He slips a finger inside of it and feels her teeth. He's looking at her through that burlap sack, and he's mumbling to himself, but I can't make out what he's saying. Eventually he turns to me and says, these are new, aren't they? I know he's talking about her teeth. She's a year younger than me, but she's gotten most of her adult teeth by now. He taps on them, and it makes a clicking sound, bone on bone, and then he pulls away. He looks back and says, these will do. And then Liam goes quiet. His body quakes, his eyes bulge. It's like he's trying to contain something, whether it's a furious rage or tumultuous despair. Whatever it is, it's desperate to get out. He doesn't want it to. Mom appears in the doorway, wearing her nightgown. All the color is gone from her face.  She snaps, snatching a knife from the kitchen counter, and runs at Mr. Gallows. I chew on my pencil eraser. It's a foolish gesture, but one I can understand. As a new parent myself, there's very little I wouldn't do to protect my baby.  Liam nods. It takes him a while to get the words out, like he's trying to do it without letting something else slip. I feel for him. It's difficult for children to keep their emotions in check, particularly when recounting traumatic events. She runs at him and starts slashing and hacking at him, screaming at him to let Lacey go or she'll call the police or the church or the FBI. Mr. Gallows grabs her by the hair and smashes her head down on the floor. It hits the linoleum with a thud, and then she gets really still. I remember thinking she was dead.  And I hear something crack and blood starts pooling on the floor. Her leg is twitching. Liam takes a shuddering breath. I want to reach out and give him a hug, but he's already responded adversely to being consoled. Instead, I pay him a look of understanding. Talking about these things is probably tearing him apart inside. His mother survived, of course, but she was irreparably damaged. Mr. Gallows turns back to Lacey. He's crying and shrieking, and he puts his hand into her mouth and she starts gagging. He starts pulling out her teeth, jamming them into his gums one by one, humming as he goes. Liam leans forward and wretches, vomiting onto the floor. Yellow brown bile splatters my shoes. I shoot up out of the chair, indicating to the camera that we need a cleanup crew in here and that the interview is on hold. Liam hurls again and more throw-ups spews from his mouth. I crouch next to him, placing a hand on his back. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. I say the words, but I don't know what they're supposed to do. How do you make a kid feel better after witnessing his mom's skull split open on the kitchen floor? How does anything make that go away? I whisper affirmations into his ear for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. It's not your fault. I say, you're a good person. A knock on the door interrupts me. I rise, unsure why anybody would be knocking. All employees with access should already have a key card granting them entry. Hello? I call out. Clean up, crew. A muffled voice calls back through the thick steel. Can you let us in? I frown, looking from Liam to the door. I move toward the video communicator on the wall, activating it and seeing two janitorial staff on the other side. One of them holds up a mop in exasperation while the other flashes her ID. Our key card isn't working, she says. Can you open it on your end? Nothing about the situation unnerves me, but I shake it off. We're in a secured government compound. Facility agents are swarming the premises. We're as safe as can be, so I disengage the manual lock. The door won't budge. I try again, repeating the process, making sure I did it correctly. Still nothing. I press the communicator. Sorry, I say. It looks like this room's malfunctioning. Can we get a tech team down here to look at it? I can't open it manually. They grumble and turn away, leaving their mop and bucket behind them. I look back to Liam. The smell of fresh vomit is thick in the air, but my focus is singular on him and on him alone. He said Mr. Gallows had visited him almost every night for the past year. That had only been the first day. Liam? I say in a small voice. He's sitting in the chair, head in his hands, weeping with bits of puke still dripping from his chin. I take a step forward. If Mr. Gallows gave you his message and then got his teeth, why did he keep coming back? Liam looks up and his eyes are murky, clouded. He wanted to say sorry.  He kept apologizing, I'm so sorry kid, he'd say, I didn't know. Sorry for what? I ask, killing your sister? A howl envelops the room and Liam breaks into quaking sobs. The lights in the room flicker. There's a clatter to the right of me and I look down and see toy building blocks shifting across the floor. On the wall, the cartoon animals aren't smiling anymore. They're slowly melting away.  He didn't know who I was. He chokes out. He thought I was just another kid. My heart races as steam hisses from Liam's eyes and I realize the tears are evaporating even as they form, dying in the smoldering blaze of his pupils. A wind picks up in the room, tearing the posters from the walls and casting toys into a tornado of color. Hands behind me, I stumble backward and try the door again. It won't budge. I'm trapped. My eyes drift up to the camera on the ceiling, but the red recording light is off. I'm alone. It's just me now. I take a breath, inhaling the fumes of vomit and sulfur, and I wonder if death is going to be half so bad as all these monsters make it seem. Who are you? I ask, and I'm unable to keep the terror from my voice. Are you Mr. Gallows? Perhaps the kid is possessed. I've seen it before. No, Liam whimpers. I'm a bad person, though. I'm an awful person. Why did Mr. Gallows? I'm almost shouting now as the tempest rocks the entire room. Why did he feel the need to keep apologizing? Clearing blocks and toy trucks ricochet off the wall, narrowly missing my face. He was scared, Liam balls. He was scared I would hurt him if he didn't. Why? The gale stops. The toys fall with a clatter, and the animals on the wall aren't melting anymore. They're beaming with the same fake smiles they've always had. My breath heaves in my chest, my legs quiver, and my hair is a mess, but I'm alive. I'm okay. Liam sits quietly in his plastic chair. He's staring at Bugs Bunny on the carpet.  He's just a boy again. The broken, trembling boy. I promised I would save. I'm no longer sure I can. Liam? I say, taking a nervous step forward. Is it okay if we talk? He doesn't say anything, but he nods. Why was Mr. Gallows afraid of you? I do my best to maintain a calm tone, but my voice is all over the place. I can barely keep myself from stuttering. It'd have something to do with what just happened. Silence. He's whimpering again, and his hands are tugging at the strings of his hoodie like his life depends on it. Tears litter the carpet around him. I'm sorry, he says. I didn't mean to. It's okay, I say, moving closer to him. My legs feel like jello, and my mind's still untangling itself from what it just witnessed. I can tell you're a good person, Liam. Liam turns to me, and there's fear in his features. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut, and he wintzes in pain. It's hard, he says. It gets harder every day. I take a few more steps forward, and I'm back to my chair. I sit down in it, brushing hair from my face, and taking a deep breath. My eyes snap up to the camera. It's recording again, and I know they're watching. I wonder if they witnessed the scene that just unfolded. They probably already knew I'd assigned. They were expecting it. Liam, I say, in a careful tone. Why was Mr. Gallows afraid of you? His blue eyes appear one blink at a time. He looks small in his chair, and when he speaks, his words are faint. I barely hear them. He's afraid I'm here to kill him. A smile plays at the corner of his lips, and he grips his face with both hands. Agony fills his eyes, and his next words leave a mark that no response can fill. They crash around me like a carpet bomb. I'm afraid I'm here to kill all of us. Once more, my eyes dart up to the camera. Is this what my supervisors were after? Is this the real event? Am I the one experiencing it? What makes you think that? I say, and my words are clipped, breathless. Fear has warmed its way into me. I'm one of them. Liam says, clutching a fistful of hair, his eyes pulse with blood, and he groans. They told me so. His voice strains against something. It's jagged. Sharp. They told me I was one of them, that I was born to cast the earth into flame and ash. Who? Them, he says, raising his eyes to my own. The gods beyond the veil. He's different now. He's not the boy I knew, and I'm not even sure he's human. There's a darkness to him, a suffocating, mighty abyss that's pulling at me, begging me to join it.  I want to run. I want to get out of here, but I know better. The only way out is through. Your sister, I say, in an uneven voice. Police had found Lacey Hainesworth in six pieces, her arm on one side of the house, her leg on the other. The home was a bloodbath. Liam's mother had witnessed all of it from her wheelchair, and the scene had driven her mad. A monster, she'd repeated.  Did Mr. Gallows kill her? I whisper, Liam's eyes flare, you tell me, he says, Agony replaces everything I've ever known. I feel my arm lurch to the side, and something invisible is pulling at it, heaving while some other force holds me in place. I shriek for help. I scream at Liam to stop. I do everything I can to move and run, but I'm stuck in place. There's a horrible sound of tearing flesh, and my world goes black.  The door crashes open, and six people in robes rush in, casting warding charms and backing Liam into a corner. Somebody jabs a needle into me, and another person starts wrapping me in gauze. A blinding flash fills the room, and then the world fades away. Darkness envelops my thoughts, my memories, my mind. There's nothing to see or hear or think about anymore. It's just the void. Unending. Ceaseless. I call out, but I have no voice. I'm drifting senseless through infinity. It's wonderful. It's terrifying. I open my eyes to the bright lights of the medical bay. I'm in a hospital bed. My body is covered in bandages, and there are doctors and people in suits discussing something near me. They don't seem to realize I'm awake. I try to open my mouth to speak, but it's too hard. So I just listen. He's the one then. The conclusion seems like it. Didn't expect him to go nuclear back there, though. Talk about teenage angst, a laugh, a woman. No kidding. Honestly, it's a wonder this guy survived. Word is, he was right beside the kid when it went down. Looking at him, I'm not surprised. Another voice. Male. I've never seen so much necrosis. You remember Jacob? The dickhead from public affairs? Oh yeah, don't get me started on Jacob. Well, he was by earlier giving us all the rundowns. If anybody asked that damage was caused by a gas leak, that's all, but he slips a few extra details. Oh, spill the beans. There's a clattering sound, steel on steel, surgical instruments being sifted through. I'm still too weak to speak, too weak to move. Apparently, they sent in warlocks to deal with the kid, and all of them ended up piles of salt. Now the compound's just a few bricks and a cloud of asbestos. A woman snorts, then laughs. Were they expecting as if warding charms could hold off an eldritch God? Technically, he's not a God, only a harbinger. A different man. This voice is casual, teasing. I strain my eyes and see the blurry outline of a black suit. The gods come later, Cheryl. More laughter.  I read our patient's file here, and if you can believe it, he was the one who sorted out the boundless whispers. Smart guy. Great with kids, too. I suppose he wasn't smart enough. It's just like I've always said, most people at Compound 7 are inept. That's not fair, Dave. The woman tuts. They had some duds over there, same as we do here. They were doing important work, though. Pass me the scalpel, would ya? Of course. Thanks. Steel cuts into my flesh. It hurts, but I can't move. I can't speak. I'm too weak. Too absent. I should let the two of you get back to it, then. A man says, don't sweat it, Ryan. We're nearly done here, anyway. The steel digs deeper. A piece of me comes free. Anyway, I'm not surprised Compound 7 screwed everything up all over again. With the conclusion's power, we had a real shot at ending this invasion before it started, didn't we, Ryan? We really shouldn't be talking about this out in the open, Dave. I shouldn't even have mentioned it. My brain feels mushy. Slow. More pieces of me are sliced free. I hear the wet slap of my flesh dripping into a metal pan. This is hardly in the open, Ryan. We're well enough alone. Now, the kid is, too. He's lost in the wind, apparently. Oh, he's... Jesus, he's awake. There's hurried movement around me. I see the blur of a face, the white of a surgical gown. Figures swim in front of me. Two of them. A woman and a man. Doctors. Surgeons. They're saying things. They're telling me I've had a bad accident and that I've suffered terrible wounds. They're telling me they're going to give me some more morphine so that I can sleep. I try to tell them no. I try to tell them I want to know what's going on. My world goes dark. The next time I wake up, I'm alone. The hospital room is empty, saved for a desk in the far corner and the buzzing fluorescent light above. I feel stronger now, more conscious. I sit up with some struggle and my body feels different. Alien. It's as though pieces are missing. I glance down and memories flood me. My arm is missing. It feels like my legs are gone, too. I wiggle and squirm using my other arm to prop me up into a seated position. Weak-eyed. I look around for my belongings, for my phone. It's there, on my bedside table. I reach for it. It's too far. Oh, sweetheart, you're awake. I glance back and see my mom, her gray hair wistfully dancing and the air conditioning.  She keeps telling me she loves me. I'm sorry, she says. I'm sorry this happened to you. I tell her it's okay. I tell her I need her to hand me my phone. Why? Because, I tell her, I have to tell the world what I just overheard. I need to dictate all of this before I forget it. She's confused, my mother. She's asking if I'm feeling okay. She keeps talking about things that don't matter. Mom, I say. I heard something earlier that I wasn't supposed to. She gets quiet. She recognizes my tone and she knows I'm not feeling loopy or out of it. She listens. I need you to give me my phone.  He's the most important person in the world right now, and if we don't find him, the world might not be around for much longer. She passes me my phone. I tell it my story. And now, I pass that story to you. I'm asking you to keep an eye out for a missing boy with black hair, a blue hoodie, and crackling pupils. His skin is pale, and his body language is small and nervous. He might be upset. He might be agitated. If you don't see him, don't approach, call the police, contact me here. Tell an elected official you need to get in touch with the facility. The boy is important. He's the conclusion to everything. And he'll write the ending to our story one way or another. Just know that if we don't find him, it won't be a happy one. Hey everyone, remember to like and subscribe if you enjoyed the video. And a special thank you to the author, Born Beach, for letting me narrate such a great story. Remember to check out more of the author's work, there will be a link in the description. If you'd like to support me further, there's a link to my Patreon in the description. And remember, if you see the boy, let us know.


36, 37, 38, 39, box 3, spool 5, x3, 2, x3, 5, 5, little scoundrel, box 3, spool. Mother at rest at last, hmm, a black ball, a dark nurse, slight improvement in bowel condition, hmm, memorable what? Equinox, memorable Equinox? Farewell to love. 39 today, sound as a bell, 39 today, sound as a bell. Apart from my old weakness and intellectually I have now every reason to suspect at the crest of the wave or their abouts. Celebrated the awful occasion as in recent years quietly at the wine house, not a soul sat before the fire with closed eyes, separating the grain from the husks, jotted down a few notes on the back of an envelope. Good to be back in my den, in my old rags, have just eaten, I regret to say, three bananas and only with difficulty refrained from a fourth. Fatal things for a man with my condition, cut them out. The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness round me, I feel less alone, in a way. I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to me, corrupt. The grain, I wonder, do I mean by that? I mean, I suppose I mean those things worth having when all my dust has settled. I close my eyes and try to imagine them. Extraordinary silence this evening. I strain my ears and do not hear a sound. Old Miss MacGlome sings always at this hour, but not tonight. Songs of her girlhood, she says. Hard to think of her as a girl. Wonderful woman though. Carry, I fancy. Shall I sing when I am her age, if I ever am? No. Did I sing as a boy? No. Did I ever sing? Just been listening to an old year, passages at random. I did not check in the book, but it must be at least 10 or 12 years ago. At that time, I think I was still living on and off with Bianca in Kedah Street. Well out of that. Jesus, yes. Hopeless business. Not much about her, apart from a tribute to her eyes. Very warm. I suddenly saw them again. In compere. These old p.m.s are gruesome, but I often find them before embarking on a new retrospect. Hard to believe I was ever that young wellp. The voice. Jesus. And the aspirations. And the resolutions. To drink less in particular. Statistics. 1700 hours out of the preceding 8000 odd consumed unlicensed premises alone.   Last illness of his father. Flagging pursuit of happiness. Unattainable laxation. Sneers at what he calls his youth. And thanks to God that it's over. False rain there. Shadows of the opus magnum. Closing with a yelp to Providence. What remains of all that misery. A shabby green coat on a railway station platform. No. When I look back that is gone. With what I hope is perhaps a glint of the old eye to come. There is of course the house on the canal where mother lay a dying. In the late autumn after her long vejuity. And the dying in the late autumn after her long vejuity. And the vicious. Veduity. State or condition. Of being or remaining. Widow or widower. Or remaining. Deep weeds of veduity. Also of an animal. Especially a bird. The widower or weaver bird. Lack plumage of male. A bird. By the weir from where I could see her window. There I sat in the biting wind wishing she were gone. Hardly a soul. Just a few regulars. Nurse maids. Infants. Old men. Dogs. I got to know them quite well. Or by appearance of course I mean. One dark young beauty I recollect particularly. All white and starch.  Most funereal thing. Whenever I looked in her direction. She had her eyes on me. And yet when I was bold enough to speak to her. Not having been introduced. She threatened to call a policeman. As if I had designs on her virtue. Face she had. The eyes. Like. Crystal light. I was there when. Blind went down.  Throwing a ball for a little white dog as chance would have it. I happened to look up. And there it was. All over and done with. At last. I sat on for a few moments. With the ball in my hand. And the dog yelping and pawing at me. The dog. I held it out to him. And he took it in his mouth. Gently. Gently. A small solid rubber ball. I shall feel it in my hand. Until my dying day. It might have kept it. But I gave it to the dog. Spiritually a year of profound gloom and indigence. Until that memorable night in March. At the end of the jetty. In the howling wind. Never to be forgotten. When suddenly I saw the whole thing. The vision at last. This I fancy is what I have chiefly to record this evening. Against the day when my work will be done. And perhaps no place left in my memory. Warm or cold. For the miracle that. For the fire. That set it alight. What I suddenly saw then was this. That the belief I had been going on all my life. Namely. Great granite rocks. The foam flying up in the light of the lighthouse. And the wind gauge spinning like a propeller. Clear to me at last. That the dark I have always struggled to keep under. Is in reality my most. Unshatterable association. Until my dissolution of storm and night. With the light of the understanding. And the fire. Face in her breasts. And my hand on her. Lay there without move. Up a lake. With the off the bank. Then pushed out into the stream and drifted. She lay stretched out on the floorboards with her hands under her head. And her eyes closed. Son blazing down. Bit of a breeze. Water nice and lively. I noticed a scratch on her thigh. And asked her how she came by it. Picking gooseberries. She said. I said again I thought it was hopeless. No good going on. And she agreed. Without opening her eyes. I asked her to look at me. And after a few moments. Moments she did. But the eyes just slits. Because of the glare. I bent over her. To get them in the shadow. And they opened me in. We drifted in among the flags and stuck. May they went down sighing before the stem. I lay down across her.  And my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us. Alled us. Gently from side to side. Been listening.  Had to believe I was ever as bad as that. A voice. Jesus. Thank God that's all over and done with anyway. She had everything there. Everything on this old muck ball. All the light and dark and famine and feasting of the ages. Let that go.  Jesus. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was right. And to say at a squeak. What's a year now? Sour cards in the iron stool. Revelled in the word spool. Happiest moment of the past half million. 17 copies sold. 11 of which a trade price. To free circulating libraries. Beyond the seas. Getting no. Out once or twice. Before the summer was cold. That shivering in the park. Drowned in dreams and burning to be gone. Last fancies. Scalded the eyes out of me. Reading. Effie again. A page a day. With tears again. Could have been happy with her. Up there on the Baltic. And the pine. And the dew. Fanny came in.  I couldn't do much. But I suppose better than finger and thumb. Last time wasn't so bad. How do you manage it? It's your age. She said. I told her. I've been savin' up for her.  I went to Vespers once. Like when I was in short trousers. Boozed away. And fell off the pew. Sometimes wandered in the night. If a last effort. Finish your booze now. Get to your bed. Go on with that drivel in the morning. Or leave it at that. Leave it at that. And wander. Be again. And the dingle on a Christmas Eve gathering holly. The red barret. Be again uncroken. And a Sunday morning.  Stop. And listen to the bell. And so on. Be again. Be again. All that old misery. Once wasn't it nephria? Lie down across her. Gooseberries she said. I said again. I thought it was hopeless. No good going on. And she agreed. Without opening her eyes. I asked her to look at me. And after a few moments. After a few moments she did. Eyes just slits. Because of the glare. Over her. To get them in the shadow. And they opened. Let me in. We drifted in among the flags and stuck. The way they went down. Sighing before the stem. I lay down across her.  And my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved us gently up and from side to side. Silence. Here I end this real three. Perhaps my best years are gone. There was still a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now.


Welcome. Thank you for being here. My name is Noah Warren. I'm the coordinator of lunch poms, and it's a real real treat for this last lunch poms of the academic year to welcome Brandon Shimoda Yeah, whoo Brandon's really really an original mind and artist Absolutely just an indelible voice. He's coming to us here from Colorado Springs I want to thank you For being here. I want to thank our sponsors which make this possible the library, of course the Dean's office the English department poets and writers and Pegasus books Who with via Patrick are selling Brandon's books today? So if you're tickled, please please buy a book before we get started if you would silence your cell phones I'm going to Jeffrey G O'Brien our director can't be here today So I'm going to read the introduction. He's prepared for Brandon and then Brandon will read I want to talk about Brandon Shimoda's most recent book Hydro Medusa, but Shimoda has designed his poetry such that borders between books unlike those in the world are open a 2019 memoir about his own US citizenship and his grandfather's traumatic struggle to live in the States May be called the grave on the wall an incredible phrase phrase for a photograph But there are several poems called the grave on the wall in his 2011 first collection Portuguese 2018 book of poetry is called the desert and there's either one or many poems called the desert in Hydro Medusa In fact the acknowledgements to this volume insist. It is a continuation of the desert rather than a fully distinct work This is no gimmick or facile form of interrelation But one sign of Shimoda's absolute commitment to the idea the faith that the things that have happened people forms of life atrocities even flowers are not over The grave can move to a wall or become a panoramic grave and the present world the world We think we love is scar tissue The dead in Shimoda's of like his titles and poems and collections Don't stop They become ancestors a key term for him whose descendants. We must learn over and over. We are In an essay in the nation about how the Japanese internment during World War two Functions as a blueprint for the present day incarceration of migrants Shimoda writes. I enter history through its graveyard Unsealing the grave of history is always part of what happens in a Shimoda poem, but in Hydro Medusa Poetry to is unsealed made to share space with essays Including one in on Japanese internment camps, which gives itself over Unable to be a single hermetic topic to the Narration of a murder of a Mexican teenager by a US Border Patrol agent The inclusion of this writing in and among the poems of the collection insists that poetry happens in this often Unfortunate world rather than in some privileged away space of inspired reflection and distillation and sanitization That essay called the descendant starts with a definition of the medieval notion of Cruantation a belief that a murdered corpse would spontaneously Rebleed in the presence of its murderer Shimoda's poetry may sometimes serve that function, but it is also full of the fecundity of ancestry Its desert is far from arid even if also a site of lost life and surveillance The hydra of myth spouts more heads when one is cut off Medusa's look makes stacks makes statues And this is a book full of proliferation and joyous witness alongside its necessary documentary directness His child Yumi appears and gives him the power to recast the world as only children can Such that he can say of her infant site of water her first water dark and fast wigs of silver Yumi's own words at two years old become poetry too and get their own page We're almost closer That's tree sap No, that's a pineapple clearing I hear sign of sirens I wanted a home I wanted and wanted and wanted a home Everything is here a joyful renaming of the matter of the world Alongside having one's own attention disrupted by sirens and the desire for shelter Which is a serial desire in a world of potential and actual dislocation and dispossession Shimoda is not a poet of joy or tragedy, but of joy in tragedy Tragedy during joy for the descendants who inherit this difficult world Please join me in welcoming him and his work. I was terrifying I forgot so that was Jeffrey Jeffrey's intro. Um, thank you so much. Noah and thank you Jeffrey wherever you are. I guess with child um I forgot who you were talking about About midway through that and then you and then you said my daughter's name and I was like, oh, that sounds familiar I think that's me Um Thanks so much everyone for being here Especially my sister and my niece are in the back Hi And I have various friends. Uh, it's really great to see everybody um It's really great to have view of evergreen trees out the window as I read I I haven't really timed my reading, but it's if I read Speedily enough although articulate enough it should take maybe 22 minutes. Is that appropriate? I don't know what happens after that, but I gave my reading a title Which I've never done before but for some reason I felt like I wanted to do that. It's called oranges and it's uh I just noticed putting this reading together that there were a bunch of oranges in it I had a dream last night that a rainbow was burning I had a dream last night That the war fit on the tip of a finger I had a dream last night that a scream Did not need a hill to gather speed to reach the people I had a dream last night that a shrine burned down and was replaced with a shrine identical, but empty Photographs of the dead grimacing from the walls And the aura of a tree in the shape of smoke Keeping keeping cool the dead a perfect instrument Innocence was emptiness The dead thrown into a milk tunnel Could only scratch a simple shrine in a prism A replica of a circumstance Not even the mountain in the sun of which the shrine was once a compliment seemed alive At the end of the tunnel an arch stood alone What it connected disappeared through the arch was a temple Yellow money exploding Shadows that mimicked great grandmother faces People sitting and watching life Pass into a jar Youths for example Eating ice cream I wanted ice cream too To sink into The arch the small battlement The colors on the temple roof The corresponding fears of old women and men With that memorial look Which accompanies then defines the form of ghosthood That haunts the possibility of peace Or the imploring of death The shrine I approached the altar Colorful with photographs of people I did not know Would never but now I had seen them As real to me as people I talked to but do not see Who are alive loved Deserved to be visited strangers go all over the rainbow Never settle Do not situate before the gaze of one particular stranger The dead were not gazing They wanted it to be over Their reflection to be stronger Like a lunar sound materializing a hymn of thanksgiving to the missing I had a dream last night that a man gave a performance in which he visibly aged When the performance began he was young By the end he was old The stage was large The space for the audience was small No seats The man walked to the foot of the stage and said in a low voice My house I had a dream last night By last night this uh this one I mean about five nights ago All the rest of them were last night I had a dream last night that I was visiting a neighborhood the size of a house Or was it a house the size of a neighborhood? It was the most natural place in the ever diminishing earth of this life I could see the sun inside the orange fruits On the thousand-year-old trees I could hear the sound inside the orange fruits Of people who survived were surviving the end of the earth of this life We're older now Free to sit like students again at tables made of tables that had once been broken for fire I went towards the sounds There was a doorway I stopped before the doorway above the doorway It was written in white paint It was the sign that said Rafat Alarir the poet was here It said Rafat Alarir the poet was here If this is a university then right over there He used to sit right over there At that table Is where he read roots Is where he read John Dunn Is where he read footnotes in Gaza Is where he read Othello I know a lady in Venice Would have walked barefoot to Palestine For a touch of his nether lip Amelia says Is where he read Alice in Wonderland Is where he read the autobiography of Malcolm X Three times at that table Is where he held his head Above the poem and his body Underneath the poem And the poem at the height of his heart Of his heart And watched the poem So closely Put the table back together Entire families could fit around it Entire generations Wrapping around the faces of their children Like a clock Tells time and feet Underneath the concrete Where a burnt moon Draws thousand-year-old Orange trees back into infancy To remember The ancestors sit on a hill And talk speachlessly with each other As they watch over the future Each family member gathers The pattern of resistance That will never relinquish their keys You could sit there At a distance, even, but Could you pick up Where the poet left off By imagining the poem growing again Soon enough Inside the body still underneath the city Chewed by one thousand Eight hundred, two thousand And five hundred, five hundred Pound bombs The way it used to be Standing Even though I could see In the dream The edge of the table I stood before the doorway And hesitating to walk Underneath the poet's name Looked up Free Palestine The poet was in the school Evacuate the school A voice from the sky said We are going to bomb the school The voice said from the sky We are going to eliminate The school, the voice said Go home So the poet went home To his brother To his sister To three of his sister's children So they bombed the home The poet fell into the home And through it Is where everyone lives In defiance of the whole That opens when the talents Of history are uprooted Like trees, orange Olive ancient eggs from the future And suddenly life Is transposed Is transparent With no life The training of no life Compulsory no life The personification Of U.S. manufactured chemicals And confessions And bombs like petrified Hearts beating With no life We're trying to stop his poetry We're trying to prevent his Next poetry In which the true voice Would sing plainly But the poet sang it already The words like Knots in a knife coming undone Because Except there was no next Because except for Conditioning the mind To be always on edge And always on time Rematerializing on the other side Of the intensification The fatal identification Of the poem now lives everywhere Excuse me Okay, this is part two That was part one Um This entire section Is based on, uh, is Nancy Okay here? So it's based on A story I think originally My friend Nancy who's in the back told me about Um, well I'll explain it But it's about this phenomenon That occurred in the sky above The Topaz concentration camp In April of 1943 I'm gonna read This first part is Pros and it's from a book That's coming out soonish from City Lights And it's about the afterlife Slash memory of Japanese American incarceration And that's gonna transition into a series Of poems that are about What the pros is Describing the poems you're also Gonna be talking about Hinotama One evening many years ago But not so many years ago A Japanese man Saw a rare and unusual flower On the far side of a barbed wire fence And leaning closer to look at the flower Was shot in the heart Rare and unusual flower That's from Julie Otsuka's When the emperor was divine In the days following the murder By a white military police Officer of James Hatsuaki Wakasa The prisoners in the Topaz concentration camp in Utah Japanese immigrants, Japanese Americans Saw in the sky Above where Wakasa died Hinotama Balls of light 81 years ago Next week April 1943 Kiyoshi Katsumoto Seven at the time Lived in the same block as Wakasa, block 36 On the corner of newly minted Cinnabar Avenue In Greasewood Way He and his friends were playing after dinner In the twilight, he told me When they saw an orange white ball Bouncing around at the sky What did it look like? I asked him It had jagged edges, he said Like flames? No, not like flames Was it translucent? No, it wasn't translucent Was it solid? No, it wasn't solid Was it windy? He said It was perfectly clear And to those who were not there Impossible to see clearly The Hinotama bounced for several minutes Then disappeared The following night, same thing An orange white ball with jagged Edges bouncing for several minutes Around the sky then disappearing More people saw it the third night Several minutes than silence Even more the fourth night Tamashi, the elders said Hinotama were attributed To premonitions of death The presence of ghosts The release of energy after someone died Sometimes a gas is produced When there is no space in which To contain something as voluminous As grief But Kiyoshi and his friends, happy At least momentarily Were not aware, not yet Of grieving Certainly not of contributing their share Of grief to the larger Orchestration Hinotama As anthropologist Marvin Oppler Thanks to Nancy Who introduced me to anthropologist Marvin Oppler notes Grew in time of community distress They were also reported In the Poston and Tule Lake camps And in the camps in Canada too The kids in school said That when old Honma-san Died in Bay Farm There was a ball of fire that came out of the house And then moved off up the mountain Writes Joy Kogawa In her novel Obasan The translation of an individual Life into a collective death Was on the edge of Topaz Immediate, the Japanese-Americans Saw in the Hinotama The violence inherent In what was being delivered To them as safety And were bound to one another In that illusion When Yoshi was talking I could see in his face The face of a boy Three quarters of a century younger It was not only the face of a boy Looking up at an orange-white ball But a face the orange-white ball Was looking at as it bounced Around the sky Bounced, that is With the faith And the affection of that face And I thought In that moment that maybe the Hinotama Was the 2,000-pound stone In the past That the Japanese-Americans Were looking at something like a star That had already burned out And with that They were time-traveling Hinotama The concentrated dawn Of the dead's afterlife A period, an appearance Which often requires the strength However silent and unassuming Of the living to be illuminated Hinotama The celestial manifestation Of the grief of the Japanese-Americans Poetry Hinotama There is a simpler, more pristine life Inside the ball of light Bouncing above the barbed wire fence A small incision made In space Through which an entirely new Fashion of human being Is spying on the people In carceries we are supposed to call them That is the signal of their expendability The striving of the human That makes the ball of light A planet fallen To a simpler, more pristine life Pressing the startled faces Together to describe The ephemeral achievement Of collective entrapment The loss that is constant And rapid Hinotama James Hatsuaki Wakasa Became upon death Emblematic of every person in camp And because the conditions And coordinates of his right to live Were defined by the white man In the tower outside of camp 2 When Japanese-Americans Talk about the murder of James Hatsuaki Wakasa And speculate why and what he was doing He was reaching through the fence To pick a flower He was walking his dog He was running after the dog The dog got caught in the fence He was collecting stones He was looking for fossils He was crawling under the fence to escape No he wasn't, he had no intention of escaping He knew as well as any of us That there's nowhere to go And so on They are trying to understand What they could and could not do They are trying to understand The exposition of their death When white people talk About the murder of the Japanese man They are not outlining The conditions of their freedom They are not imagining themselves In place of that man They are trying to understand Why people are murdered Not why they are the white man In the tower Hinotama The ball of light That bounced above the concentration camp Held in his patience The memory of the unusual flower The Japanese man was reaching for When he was shot He was born to breathe To breathe to give life To breathe to give life To friendship The Japanese man had sensitivity And must have thought In that desolation that he had been Struck by a heart The feeling of wind Watching over him Spring Okay I think this is part three So the The book on Japanese American Carceration that's coming out For a big part of it I interviewed Maybe 250 people Many of them in person Over Zoom And via questionnaire And one of the questions I asked So the people I interviewed Were all survivors And descendants of The prisons and camps And two of the questions I asked were Where do the ancestors Gather And where do you Where do you go to be with them So this next part is just People's responses to that question Where do the ancestors Gather and where do you go to Be with them In the morning Said Seshu Foster When I look in the mirror Said Satsuki Ina Said Emiiko Omori Always within me Said Ken Mochizuki Within myself Said Karli Iketali In myself and outside of myself Said Tiffany Koyama Lane Inside and outside of my mind Said Heather Nagami In my mind or heart Said Brittany Arita In the luminous center My heart said Mike Ishii In my blood Said Sarah Onitsuka In the air Said Chelsea Oda In the ether said Alden Hayashi In our earth Said Esther Honda Alone on a walk Said Jean Sakata Where there is nature and stillness Said Alyssa Kapaona Where there are stones and gardens Said Nancy Yukai In the garden said Mia Summers The ocean Said Darren Wakasa Meditation said Kei Itabe Through reasoning, questioning, looking for meaning Said Maggie Tokuta Hall Answers but more often ways into questions Said Aaron Aoyama Inward thinking Said Kyle Shoji Toyama In my thoughts Said Rick Noguchi In my thoughts and memories Said Nikki Nojima Lewis In our memories In my imagination said Marlene Shigekawa In spaces of ritual and remembrance Said Casey Hidekawa Layne Levinsky The resting places of their bones Said Koji Lao Ozawa During obon when I dance Said Ellen Bepp When I raise a picket sign Said Troy Osaki When I play taiko Said Karine Araki Kawaguchi In music, free improvisation Said Dylan Fujioka Every time I'm about to step on stage Said Nina Yoshida Nilsson Every time I sit down to write Said Ruth Sasaki Incorporating details of their lives into a story Said Cynthia Kadohata In my poems said W. Todd Koneko In historic photographs said Kevin Miyazaki In the frames of photographs and films Said Renee Tajima-Pena In the archives and within my queer speculative films Said Titi Takemoto In dreams said Madeleine Mori In the spiritual world said Patrick Shirayishi In the afterlife said Aaron Tsutsumoto If they sense we need their presence Said Duncan Ryuken Williams When I light green incense said Morgan Ome When I close my eyes at the sound of a deep round bell Said Sean Miura When I touch the beads And the candle goes out said Brian Kome Dempster I am with my ancestors said Masako Takahashi We visit and talk with them more often than when they were alive Said my father Dori Shimoda They try to talk to you but you don't understand Said Karen Ishizuka You listen anyway with all your might Through changes in light said Star Miata Whenever I take time to look at the moon said Donna Nagata I had a dream last night that I took my daughter To visit her great grandfather's grave When he got there his grave was gone And had been replaced with a white obelisk My daughter sat down in front of it And as if knowing exactly how to behave closed her eyes Inscribed on the obelisk were the words Hydra Medusa I had a dream last night that my grandmother On her deathbed Pulled me close to her face And said in a faint half broken voice Give away the one you want Thank you Brandon Rarely is precision more numinous That it is in a room with you or on your pages I think you give us elation And you offer us a kind of perpetual challenge Thank you That was a really moving reading Thank you all for being here Wow If you were challenged or elated by Brandon's reading His books are with Patrick back there And I highly encourage you to pick one up This is the last Lunch Poems reading of the academic year But if you're in a poetry groove now And part of my vision like Adrian vom Is in conversation with Kathy park Hong tonight And then reading tomorrow night both at 5pm I'm unsure if tickets are available But there is a live stream watch party in Mod 5 And Fadi Judah is going to be reading on mod 5 And Wheelar the next Monday On another note this is my last Lollipop reading as a coordinator five years, some of you I saw before the pandemic and then we weathered a couple years on Zoom. But thank you all for keeping this series as vibrant as it is. And as Camille here, Camille Constantine will be taking over as coordinator next year. So thank her and you're in good hands. Thank you all.