Giants co-owner John Mara recently conceded what has been painfully obvious for three years.
“We definitely made some miscalculations in a number of areas in 2018,” Mara said after the Giants wrapped up the 2020 season.
Mara pinned Dave Gettleman’s 15-33 record in three seasons as general manager on those 2018 miscalculations. As a result, Mara is sticking with Gettleman for a fourth season due to greatly improved personnel moves last offseason.
Despite Mara’s clean slate, the Giants are still feeling the effects of the 2018 offseason. Every decision in roster building has a lasting impact and it has taken years to dig out from some of the misses Gettleman made in his first year on the job.
The Giants made a number of franchise-altering moves in 2018 and Mara didn’t specify which ones he viewed as miscalculations. So here’s an examination of the big moves from the 2018 offseason, why they didn’t work and how their impact has been felt in subsequent years.
• Sticking with Eli Manning
Quarterback Eli Manning was 37 years old and clearly in decline when Gettleman was hired. Manning had two years remaining on his contract, but the Giants could have cut him to create $9.8 million in cap savings while eating $12.4 million in dead money in 2018.
That was always a long shot and Gettleman made it clear that Manning was part of the plans in his introductory news conference, referencing a big game the quarterback had against the Eagles late in the 2017 season as evidence that the two-time Super Bowl MVP could still get the job done.
Would ownership have hired a general manager who advocated dumping Manning? Probably not. But Mara was adamant that there was no ownership mandate for Gettleman to make decisions geared toward one last run with Manning.
“That’s absolute nonsense,” Mara said last week.
In hindsight, cutting ties with Manning before the 2018 season would have been best for the future but it obviously would have been difficult to dump a franchise icon. But without even adding a successor in 2018, the Giants stuck with Manning again in 2019.
Cutting Manning in the 2019 offseason would have created $17 million in cap savings with just $6.2 million in dead money. The Giants, of course, took Daniel Jones with the sixth pick in the 2019 draft and he took over as the starter in Week 3 of his rookie season. Carrying Manning’s $23.2 million cap hit as a backup quarterback in 2019 was a poor use of resources.
• Signing Nate Solder
Even if there was pressure to build around Manning, Gettleman bears responsibility for the moves made with that objective in mind. Mara isn’t hands-on to the point where he dictates which specific players must be signed.
Signing left tackle Nate Solder to a four-year, $62 million contract with $34.8 million guaranteed was a gross miscalculation.
The Giants had a dire need at left tackle and Solder was the best option on the market. Anyone with a wi-fi connection knew that. But general managers don’t make seven-figure salaries for giving the biggest contracts to the biggest available names.
General managers earn their keep by evaluating all of the options and making decisions that give their team an advantage. Just look at what Solder’s former team did.
The Patriots determined Solder wasn’t worth the contract offered by the Giants despite seven solid seasons in New England. So the Patriots let Solder walk in free agency and traded a third-round pick to the 49ers for Trent Brown and a fifth-round pick. Brown counted just $1.9 million against the cap in 2018 and the Patriots didn’t miss a beat when he was plugged in at left tackle. In the process, the Patriots got a third-round compensatory pick in 2019 for Solder.
The takeaway: There’s always another option, so saying, “What else was Gettleman supposed to do?” isn’t an excuse for the Solder signing. And Gettleman had to have a Plan B at left tackle since the Giants’ top offensive line target in 2018 was guard Andrew Norwell, who signed a five-year, $66.5 million contract with the Jaguars. Once the Giants missed out on Norwell, they went all-in on Solder, which obviously hasn’t worked out.
Solder’s contract leaves the Giants in a tough spot after two disappointing seasons and an opt out for 2020. The Giants compounded the financial consequences by restructuring Solder’s contract before the 2019 season to create cap space. That move created $5 million in cap space in 2019 but added $2.5 million to the cap in the final two years of his deal.
Solder counted $5.6 million against the cap in 2020 during his opt out. He has cap hits of $16.5 million in 2021 and $18 million in 2022. The Giants can cut Solder this offseason to create $6 million in cap savings while eating $10.5 million in dead money.
The bottom line is the Solder contract was a major miscalculation and it continues to be a drain on the Giants’ finances.
• Other free agent signings
Whereas Solder was grossly overpaid, Gettleman’s other notable free agent signings in 2018 were simply poor evaluations.
Signing guard Patrick Omameh to a three-year, $15 million contract seemed reasonable. But the veteran was such a disaster that he was benched after six games and cut in Week 10 of his first season.
Linebacker Kareem Martin, who had familiarity with defensive coordinator James Bettcher from their time together in Arizona, was signed to a three-year, $15 million contract. Martin failed to make an impact in two seasons and was cut last offseason.
Giving running back Jonathan Stewart a two-year, $6.8 million contract wasn’t a big deal in terms of the cap implications. But Gettleman’s obstinate defense that the 31-year-old back hadn’t lost a step chipped away at his credibility when Stewart clearly had nothing left and was cut after one season.
In an ideal world, Omameh and Martin would have been established veteran starters on the 2020 roster. Instead, both were long gone. Misses happen in free agency. But it hurts that Gettleman signed them rather than keeping better players like Devon Kennard and Romeo Okwara, who have been far more productive with other teams since 2018.
• Trading for Ogletree
Like with the Solder signing, the Giants had a need at middle linebacker. So Gettleman took a big swing, sending 2018 fourth and sixth-round picks to the Rams for Alec Ogletree and a 2019 seventh-round pick.
It should have been a red flag that the Rams were looking to deal the 26-year-old Ogletree within a year of giving him a four-year, $42.75 million extension. Ogletree’s five interceptions in 2018 masked otherwise poor play. He struggled again in 2019 and was a cap casualty last offseason.
In all, Ogletree cost the Giants $20 million against the cap for two subpar seasons and a mid-round draft pick. Rebuilding teams shouldn’t give away draft picks and they should be cautious about adding high-priced veterans. The Giants violated both of those tenets with the Ogletree trade.
The Giants got it right at middle linebacker last offseason by signing Blake Martinez to a three-year, $30.75 million contract. If Gettleman had found a similar player in 2018, the Giants would have had better linebacker play in 2018 and 2019 plus an additional mid-round draft pick to develop.
• Trading JPP
The lone move Gettleman made during the 2018 offseason with the future in mind was trading defensive end Jason Pierre-Paul to the Buccaneers for a third-round pick. The trade came a year after former GM Jerry Reese gave Pierre-Paul a four-year, $62 million contract.
The trade left $15 million in dead money on the 2018 cap, but cleared a combined $37 million in cap charges off the books in 2019 and 2020. The Giants used the third-round pick on B.J. Hill, who had 5.5 sacks as a rookie and remains a solid rotational defensive tackle.
This trade looks worse in hindsight since Pierre-Paul has 30.5 sacks in the three seasons since the trade, which is tied for eighth-most in the NFL during that stretch. But dumping an aging player with a big contract for a draft pick wouldn’t have been a bad move if the Giants were rebuilding. The bigger problem is Gettleman’s inability to find a comparable replacement over the past three years.
• Picking Saquon
Using the No. 2 pick in the 2018 draft on running back Saquon Barkley is the decision that had the greatest impact on the franchise. The second pick is an incredibly valuable commodity that can make a seismic impact on a franchise, like when the Giants took Lawrence Taylor at No. 2 in 1981.
As Gettleman said, everyone saw him “drool all over myself” when evaluating Barkley in the pre-draft process. Barkley is supremely talented, but one of the main arguments against using a premium resource on a running back has been realized, since injuries have limited Barkley to just 31 of 48 career games.
The obvious alternative was taking a quarterback. It’s impossible to know how that would have turned out. No. 3 pick Sam Darnold has been a disappointment for the Jets, who may move on this offseason. No. 7 pick Josh Allen was a second-team All-Pro this season after a breakout Year 3 for the Bills. No. 10 pick Josh Rosen has been a complete flop and is already on his fourth team. So clearly there were a wide range of outcomes if the Giants took a quarterback instead of Barkley.
If the Giants took Allen and built a strong supporting cast around him like Buffalo has, maybe they’d be playing in the divisional round this weekend. And if they took Rosen, they’d probably already be back in the market for another quarterback.
The other option was trading back. We’ll never know if Gettleman could have received the package the Jets sent the Colts for the No. 3 pick (the No. 6 pick, two second-round picks in 2018, one second-round pick in 2019). Maybe if Gettleman had a better poker face about his commitment to Manning and infatuation with Barkley, the Jets would have been compelled to trade up to No. 2 to avoid having the Giants beat them to Darnold. But Gettleman admitted to never seriously considering offers for the pick because he was so dead set on taking Barkley.
The Colts took a three-time first-team All-Pro guard (No. 6 pick Quenton Nelson) and an excellent right tackle (No. 37 pick Braden Smith) with the first two picks from the Jets. They then traded the other second-round pick (No. 49) to the Eagles for the 52nd pick (edge rusher Kemoko Turay) and the 169th pick (running back Jordan Wilkins). They then used the 2019 second-round pick from the Jets (No. 34 overall) on cornerback Rock Ya-Sin. Turning the No. 3 pick into two stud offensive linemen, a starting cornerback, a rotational pass rusher and a backup running back is a master class in maximizing value.
Gettleman and Mara don’t view the Barkley pick as a mistake.
“I’m still happy that we have him,” Mara said last week. “I certainly expect him to be a Giant for a very long time.”
Again, we’ll never know if Gettleman could have secured the same offer or something similar to what the Colts landed for the third pick. But it’s tough to stomach how the team directly behind the Giants in the 2018 draft got so much more out of their premium pick.
• Extending Odell
Giving wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. a five-year, $90 million extension during training camp was the last big move of the 2018 offseason. There were rumors that the Giants could trade Beckham during the 2018 offseason, but they didn’t have much of a choice regarding an extension once they kept him.
Beckham had been a good soldier throughout the 2018 offseason so they rewarded him with the monster contract. Playing hardball with the team’s best player would have made for a rough start to first-year head coach Pat Shurmur’s tenure.
The Giants clearly had regrets, as they dealt Beckham to the Browns for safety Jabrill Peppers, a first-round pick and third-round pick after the season. Ultimately, the failed marriage resulted in the Giants paying Beckham $20 million for 12 games in the 2018 season. Even if the trade is viewed as a positive for the Giants now, the financial impact of the extension was significant.
Gettleman has acknowledged multiple times that his plan to win while rebuilding was flawed.
“As I’ve already admitted, ‘18 was not a stellar year, personnel-wise,” Gettleman said last week. “We’ve learned from our mistakes.”
If only it were that easy. There are consequences for such mistakes. The Giants just went 6-10 this season and have numerous holes to fill, yet they’re only projected to have the 19th-most cap space this offseason despite the benefit of having a quarterback on his rookie contract. Decisions like keeping Manning through the end of his contract and giving Solder a megadeal have financial implications that can’t be swept under the rug.
Mara and Gettleman both view the 2019 offseason as a step in the right direction. That’s debatable. The Giants certainly feel good about the Beckham trade despite the offense’s glaring lack of a No. 1 receiver. The lone big-ticket free-agent addition of the 2019 offseason — four years, $37.5 million for 30-year-old wide receiver Golden Tate — went about as poorly as the Solder signing. The evaluation of the 2019 offseason hinges on quarterback Daniel Jones, and the jury is still out on the sixth pick in last year’s draft.
“Our processes are better,” Gettleman said. “I think this past year showed the fruits of that, both in free agency and in the draft. I really believe strongly we’ll continue in that way.”
No one can dispute that Gettleman nailed free agency last offseason, while it’s too early to judge the draft. The Giants need a similar offseason this year as they continue to dig out of the hole created by the miscalculations of 2018.

This guide aims to outline all of the best gambling cashback offers available over a range of sites, following this guide you should be able to make over £500 in cashback
Note - Cashback often takes a while to payout, bear this in mind when completing offers as you may have to wait to cashout your earnings
When completing these offers don't chase any loses as the cashback will give you a profit with nerly every offer
A short review of each site and some referral links
Topcashback - Cashback will show as tracked within a few days, can take a few weeks to become payable, in some cases even longer, asides from gambling they have great offers for car insurance and mobile phone contracts, worth taking a look to save some extra money!
Ref - Extra £5 when you make £10 cashback
Non-Ref - No reward
Quidco - Much the same as Topcashback
Ref
Non-Ref
Minimum payment - £10
Ohmydosh - Faster Payouts but less offers
Ref - Extra £1
Non-Ref - No reward
Minimum payout - Any
Cashback Earners - A lesser known site in need of a fresh look, this site also has some bad reviews, referal income is paid to the site on a monthly basis with the dates for each site being different, offers don't seem to show as tracked until the website receive their payment, cashback should appear in your account within 1 month of completing an offer. Cashout amounts are specific, its best to build up a balance and then withdraw. Payment takes around 3 weeks.
Ref - Sign up bonus £6.5
Non-Ref - Sign up bonus £6.5
Minimum payout is £20
Payment Proof - Payments for all sites can be seen here, quidco isn't shown as i have signed up for all the casinos on offer through topcashback

How to Maximize Profit - IMPORTANT - READ THIS

For the majority of these offers you want to play blackjack following the chart found here
Any blackjack game will do, look for a normal version of the game at the site you are playing on and make sure it is a non live game as the hand sizes will be lower.
When playing blackjack there will often be more than one spot that you can bet on, allowing the player to bet more than one hand at a time, Its important to only bet on one spot at a time as it reduces the variance of the game and will ensure you get the maximum return possible from the game, stick to £1 hand sizes when playing and dont be tempted to bet larger amounts as you will be getting a nice amount of cashback from every offer
Through playing blackjack this way the player will get a return of around 98%, meaning for every £100 staked you will lose around £2. If you make a loss on a casino site after completing the required wagering amount, withdraw your remaining balance, don't chase loses as the cashback will make up for loses and give you a profit in most cases.
All offers are updated fairly regularly, make sure to check the terms for each offer as information in this post may become outdated. Also check for other offers every now and then as new casinos are added!

TopCashBack Offers - £400+ Profit

Topcashback Referral - Get an extra £5 - See the Ref Link at the top of the page!
If you dont already have an account at top cashback, you can sign up through my referral to get an extra £5 added to you account once you make £10 cashback
Lottoland - Cashback £15
Add £11 and play 11 separate £1 hands, following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Betfair Casino - Cashback £70
Note this is not the poker offer
Add £50 to your account and play 50 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Quidco are offering £100 for this offer
Party Casino - Cashback £26.5
Deposit and play 30 single £1 hand son blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Tombola - Cashback £24.5
Deposit £10 and open the tombola roulette game, choose a £1 chip size and choose 5 spots, repeat this twice, withdraw any remaining balance, you will likely lose money here but the cashback will give you a profit
Coral - Cashback £46
Add £10 and play 10 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Bingoport - Cashback £3
Sign up to bingoport to get an easy £3
Ladbrokes - Cashback £42
Add £10 to your account and play 10 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Pokerstars - Cashback £32
Add £25 and play 25 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
STS - Cashback £21
Add £30 to your account and play 30 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
William Hill - Cashback £54
add £25 and play 25 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Megacasino - £15.75
Add £25 - Play 25 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
LottoGo - Cashback £3.18
Buy a euromillions ticket
Slingo - Cashback £24.75
Add £10 play 10 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
PaddyPower Games - Cashback £20
Add £10 play 10 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
The Football Pools - Cashback £24.75
Sign up for the £10 a month subscription, cancel this after 30 days
Lottomart - Cashback £18
Add £10 - Play 10 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Genting Slots - Cashback £25
Add £30 play 30 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
OhMyDosh - Cashback £40+
Referral gives an extra £1, sign up through the ref link at the top of the post to get the bonus!
Gala Bingo - Cashback £17.50
Deposit at least £5, you'll get a £10 slots bonus and 100 free spins, these carry hefty wagering requirements, Open any slot and play the minimum spin size, play until you lose all of the money in your account or complete the wagering requirements on the bonus funds. Withdraw any remaining balance.
BGO - £10 Cashback
Deposit at least £15. Play 15 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance. DONT ACCEPT the welcome bonus from BGO.
Lottosocial - Cashback £4
Sign up to Lotto Social - Use your correct phone number when joining as it is the only way to login to your account. Purchase 10 lines for £1, after making a purchase go to your account page and find the list of syndicates your are in, leave the syndicates to avoid making any more payments.
Cheeky Bingo - £10 Cashback
Deposit £10 and get a £40 welcome bonus, just play bingo with all of your funds and hope to get some wins, bonus has 4x wagering requirements.

Quidco - Cashback £100+

Quidco don't offer a sign up bonus, find my ref link at the top of the post if you want to help me out!
All of the offers on quidco are much the same as topcashback, the only offer worth noting is the betfair casino offer which pays £100
Betfair - £100 cashback
Add £100 and play 100 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.

Cashbackearners - Cashback £180+

Sign up Bonus
Get a £6.5 sign up bonus, think this works with or without the ref link, links are at the top of the post!
To find these offers just search for casino on the site.
All of these offers state that you only need to make a deposit, its best to play through the deposit 1x to ensure that the cashback is paid.
LuckyMeSlots - Cashback £15
Add £15 and play 15 single £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Spin Genie - Cashback £12.5
Add £12.5 and play 12.5 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Cashmo - Cashback £10
Add £10 and play through £10 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
Ice36 -Cashback £15
Add £15 and play 15 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Spinhill Casino - Cashback £15
Add £15 and play 15 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Galacasino - Cashback £30
add £30 and play 30 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Casino765 - Cashback £12.5
Add £12.5 and play 12.5 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
Casinosuperwins - Not recommended, bad site, awful support
Casino2020 - Cashback £15
Add £15 and play through £15 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Keep track of spins and quit the slot after wagering the required amount. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
Pocketwin - Cashback £10
Add £10 and play through £10 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Keep track of spins and quit the slot after wagering the required amount. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
The Sun Vegas - Cashback £15
Add £15 and play 15 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
DrSlot - Cashback £10
Add £10 and play through £10 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Keep track of spins and quit the slot after wagering the required amount. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
MrSpin - Cashback £10
Add £10 and play through £10 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Keep track of spins and quit the slot after wagering the required amount. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
PrimeCasino - Cashback £15
Add £15 and play 15 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
ConquestAdor - Cashback £10
Add £10 play 10 £1 hands on blackjack following the strategy outlined at the top of the post, withdraw any remaining balance.
MFortune - Cashback £10
Add £10 and play through £10 on any slot staking the minimum amount per spin. Keep track of spins and quit the slot after wagering the required amount. Don't spin the wheel that pops up after signing up or accept any other bonuses.
Thanks for reading, hope this of use to some people, happy earning!

Warning this is a long tale of many prisoners, starting with me, getting hooked on KKC while serving time. Also a tale of friendship and running a gambling empire behind bars as well as my theory that the games corners and spades are one in the same.
So I have a history with drugs and it got me on probation which ended me in jail several times bc I didnt quit. The legal system isn't great at getting ppl off drugs but it's super good at putting us nonviolent offenders in jail where private jails can make money from the taxpayers for keeping us locked up. I've completed my probation now and had my record expunged so it's all behind me now but here's the story of how I found the Kingkiller Chronicle.
So I was in jail and I had a super whiney older guy as a cellmate. He seriously wouldn't stop whining and crying about having to be in jail for 2 more weeks. I knew I would be there at least 6 months and I thought I was going to prison for a couple years after that since this was my 4th probation violation. Luckily the judge liked me and let me off super easy. Well my whiney cell mate had 3 books sent in. I didnt have anyone to send me books, write, visit or put money on my books. It sucked. I tried telling my cellmate jails not so bad, I'd been a bunch. It's mostly like a really boring camp with awful food. He was scared of the other inmates. I told him I'd protect him lol. Even tho I was new there were a couple of people i knew from other places and they'd introduced me to all the cool people and I'd made friends with the important ppl to make friends with. I did my very best to keep my short timer cellmate calm while listening to him talk about how he cant do 2 weeks while i had years hanging over me.
Then one day my cellmate does something extremely dumb. He went to the guard and said he couldnt take it anymore. That he was losing it. I'd warned him about this. Told him how they wouldn't take him somewhere nice and comfortable and hold his hand and make him some relaxing warm tea. The damage was done though and so they got him and took him to the mental health pod. The kind of place with such nice amenities as non stop 24 hour screaming, throwing and smearing feces as well as the unpredictable violently insane. Oh well. I warned him.
When he left he left his books though. Score. 2 of these books were junk but hmm what's this? The Name of The Wind. This looks cool. I'll give it a try. I was hooked. On free time when everyone's allowed out of their cells I asked some of the guys about it and no one had heard of it except a guy we will call H. H was a big guy and quite feared. I liked him and would sometimes talk to him about game of thrones, wheel of time, red rising and other nerdy stuff. The vast majority of ppl in our unit were terrified of H tho. He was big but it was more his attitude. I once saw him get into an argument with a member of the bloods. H challenged him to fight and walked over to a place where the guard and cameras couldnt see. The gang member was scared and said something about having to "talk to his people." H without missing a beat told him "bring your people!" He was ready to fight them all. There were like 4 or 5 bloods in that unit and H would've wrecked them. Aside from being bigger than any 2 of them combined you could just tell he was the last guy in there to mess with. He was like a modern day viking berserker. The bloods sent 1 of their ppl to go apologize to him. Was hilarious. Another reason everyone feared him was bc when he was in prison 3 men with knifes came into his cell to rob him of his commissary. He was stabbed multiple times but gouged one mans eye out and literally beat another to death by getting him down and punching his throat multiple times. He also didnt lose his commissary. H wouldn't talk about this until I'd known him for months. I originally heard the story from another guy who had been at that prison. When we were finally close enough for me to ask he told me the whole story, every detail, with a far off glassy look in his eyes and he showed me where they'd stabbed him up.
Anyway, he had read NOTW and WMF both and said they were incredible. Since we had discussed books a bunch I knew we had the same taste in them. I read NOTW on lockdowns and played a card game called spades on free time when we were allowed out of our cells. Spades is very serious business in jail and prison. Surprisingly H barely knew how to play and he was very bad. I however was as good as anyone in there. I was definitely a candidate for best player, if not best then top 3 for sure. I started teaching H to play well and training him to be my cards partner. Then something very sad happened. I finished the Name of the Wind.
The next free time I brought out TNOTW and gave it to H bc he wanted to reread it. I told him how empty my life had become since finishing it. He said "hold on" and went to his cell and came back with a brand new copy of Wise Mans Fear!! Even though he had read it he was such a bro he had his ppl send him a copy bc they'd send him as many books as he requested. I was elated. Those 2 books made my time so much better when I read them. I'd read straight from lockdown at 10 30pm until breakfast at 3 30 am then go to sleep after breakfast.
By this point H was a very good spades partner and wed taken to calling it "corners" like in the books. I think spades may have been the inspiration for corners bc they seemed very similar. After H finished Name of the Wind he asked if another fantasy book nerd could read it. I was happy to let them. From there the book traveled all around the unit with everyone loving it. Hardened criminals talking about Kvothe or how much they hate Denna. I once heard a member of the Mexican mafia explaining to his homeboys how badass Bast is and quoting what he told Chronicler. The "I'll make a game out of you" threat. It was crazy. If you asked around what the best book in the unit was the answer youd get was NOTW and WMF.
I finished WMF and it started making its travels around the dorm also. H had ordered slow regard for silent things but I didnt like it as much. Still glad I read it. H also started ordering this series called the Gray Man which i really liked but i had several of the gambling inmates come to me with an offer. They wanted me to be in charge of all the gambling for the unit. Basically I'd hand out poker chips and keep up with how much each person had lost or won. I'd make sure losers paid and winners got paid. Everyone recommends staying away from stuff like this bc if you get caught you go to the hole (the 3 before me were caught), ppl could lose a lot and then say they weren't going to pay so youd either have to fight them or look weak and once you look weak in there it's over for you and also you become the person with the most commissary items of anyone in the unit so you can pay the winners which makes you the very best person to rob, you are basically a 1 man casino after all. The benefit is every hand of poker played I earned 2 poker chips. 10 poker chips was worth a pack of ramen noodles/65 cents. These guys played poker for 8 hours a day 7 days a week. I made $25 to $40 worth of food every day 2 poker chips at a time.
I had no reason to hoard this stuff since i only had 5 weeks left before release when i got put in charge of poker. I also was slick with it. I was good friends with the 2 biggest meanest dudes in there and so if anyone acted like they wouldn't pay their debt I'd say "that's fine, I'll cover your debt out of my pocket and you'll just owe me but I'm going to send you to collections" then I'd point out H and the other huge guy "and if they have to go in your cell, beat your ass and take your shit they're taking everything. Not just what you lost at poker. Then they're probably going to keep doing it every week bc you cant stop them and you tried to fuck over their good friend (me)" everyone paid after that warning.
One day I even overheard the crips talking about "robbing the poker game" aka robbing me. This was laughable. By this time H and I were cellmates. There were only 3 crips in the unit and as H was fond of saying "none of them weigh more than 90lbs soaking wet that's why they joined gangs". I told them any time they want to run into me and Hs cell they were welcome. Just lmk I'll leave the door open. They later came and apologized and said they were just talking shit. Running the poker game was stressful but worth it. Myself, H and a few other ppl who looked out for me when I had nothing lived like kings with what I earned off the table. We feasted everyday and had unlimited coffee. I also helped out other ppl who didnt get any store bc they feed you dinner at 3 30pm and you dont eat again til 3 30 am so if you cant buy food you starve all evening and most of the night. They fed us very little and the food was only edible if you had to eat it to live.
I never got caught running gambling. A long time ago I learned the Masonic code that freemasons used to use bc I was a really weird kid (it's super easy) so I just kept my records in that. Not a single person refused to pay their debt to me (and risk collections lol) and I made sure winners were paid out at the start of each day. And I knew which items each player liked the most and made sure they got them. Previous ppl in my position kept all the best items and paid out BS. There was a fight once when one guy got paid with 2 bottles of water. I didnt accept bottled water and envelopes and dumb stuff like that lol. By the time I left 75% of the unit had read the kkc. None of us knew book 3 wasnt out yet so you often heard ppl saying they were going to get it as soon as they got out. Alas I said this myself. The rumor was that it was only out on hardback and we weren't allowed to get hardbacks.
Well that's my wacky story of how I got introduced to the KKC and it lead to me becoming great friends with the guy even the guards were scared of. Hes in prison now but I write him every couple of months. He was such an awesome dude bc he would say whatever he thought like "oh you're in that gang? I think they're all a bunch of pussies" and "oh you're friends with so and so? Yea I know him I beat his ass and took his dope. Knocked him out cold. Hope that's not your homeboy". I later found out he just didnt like most people bc he thought they were fake and scared to be themselves and always obsessed with appearing tough. He said my immediate willingness to nerd out about fantasy books showed I had no problem just being me and thats why he warmed up to me and not many others. I was the same book loving nerd in jail as out lol. He gets out in January. I intend to hang out with him. I still haven't broke it to him about book 3 lol.
Also let me clear up that with my history and all my trips behind bars I can definitely defend myself though I'm an average sized guy. I've never backed down from a fight in jail and always refused to show weakness but having H as my best friend definitely made life easier on me bc to fight me they would've had to have fought him also. He would tell ppl that he and I were brothers and it was us against the world. Kinda a joke since all gang members call other members their brothers. Also gang members have these intricate dumb secret handshakes so we made our own which was just doing a fist bump but as soon as our fists hit we would both put our thumbs up. It was dumb and really must've pissed off the gang members. Looking back I'm lucky he didnt get out before me or they wouldve beat the shit out of me hahaha unlike him I cant take on 3 or 4 ppl lol or 2.
It was really cool seeing groups of tattood up hardened criminals sitting around talking about how they'd break out of the jail if they could use sympathy and all kinds of crazy kkc convos hahaha.
If anyone knows how to play spades how close to the game of corners do you think it is?
Sorry if yall read this and considered it a horrible loss of time you'll never get back. Just wanted to share how I found these great books.
TLDR Went to jail and was given the Name of the Wind and loved it and it lead me to making friends that made my stay in jail much better and 75% of the guys I was locked up with read and loved KKC. Also how I ran an illegal casino in jail. Also I think corners and spades are the same games.

Air bubbles explode inside the water cooler, jolting him out of castles he built in the air. At 9 pm, the office is ghost-quiet except for the overworked air conditioner struggling to live up to its 3-star reputation. On his laptop screen, a newsletter email draft lies unfinished. "Who the hell is going to read this?" he whimpers, scratching his forehead. He makes an attempt to change the headings and design elements, but he knows that they will get him to adhere to the brand guidelines. An 'electronic focus' playlist plays in his headphones, but in vain.
The desk chair squeals after every sentence he types. Accepting his indifference, he copy-pastes text from a used draft. Sends it in. And bangs the laptop shut. He packs up and goes to the pantry for a protein bar, which would be the one thing that made him glad about his daily fiber intake. Unfortunately, someone has had his share of fiber. When will they start respecting labels here? He stomps out, hoping to grab a chicken roll in time before the eatery closes. He waves a labored goodbye to his senior colleagues who have made themselves at home on their desks.
"I need to get out of this place," he remembers whining to Salina this afternoon. The office becomes a tolerable place in her presence. A gentle pat on the shoulder followed by cheery morning wishes from her is a remedy for facing the monotonous day. He admired that they didn't need small talk to have a conversation. 'How are you doing? How's it going? How was your weekend?', none of that crap. "You need to take a break," she reminds him every day as she brings two cups of coffee, and they head out for a walk.
She talks about how she'd rather be on a beach, go for a trek or play the piano at a café than be here. She reveals a little more about how she ended up in this place each day. The scanty shocks that sprout up when their hands brush against each other validate his futile existence. Walking with Salina on blazing concrete around the corporate neighborhood is the highlight of his day. "If only I could walk with her forever..." Since he is learning to lower expectations these days, he promptly puts an end to his wishful thinking. Asking her out would be a swift ax to a treasured friendship, he assumes. Why are they stuck together in the same place, escaping their stale present while coping with their distressful pasts?
Trap songs about money, drugs, and bitches play in his earphones as he shoulders through a huddle of white collars on the pavement. "I could use a smoke. It's been a long day," he assures himself, avoiding the gaze of the loosie seller on the corner. "No, not again. Can't give in every other day." He acknowledges the loosie seller with a faint smile and hurries past him.
Through the cuboid canyons of skyscrapers and shopping malls larger than factories, he walks in compliance with his navy blue formal attire whenever the glass panes reflect him. The retina-burning halogens on billboards illuminate the poker-faced barbie models of elite fashion brands. Dating apps and condoms have replaced advertising spaces once reserved for chips, biscuits, and sodas. ATMs outnumber dustbins at every corner.
He crosses the road and heads under the overpass where lost vehicles and forgotten people sleep, wrapped in the dust. The other side of the town fades in and engulfs him in its chaos. The pallor of the chawls in juxtaposition with the warm hues of hawker stalls develops into an eerie ambiance of despair. Yellow tungsten bulbs dangle inside stores, and the odor of overused cooking oil lingers. Dirt and sweat clothe everyone here, and one cannot tell the immigrants apart from the natives. He notices the miniature temple built below an enormous and friendless banyan tree. Islamic prayers echo above the never-ending urban noise. The people here, albeit their misery, have time for God. They make the food that gets delivered to the offices on the other side of the overpass. The masses help each other survive, and the classes remain in check.
The chicken roll eatery being on this side of town does put its hygiene standards in question. But it's something he looks forward to after an awful day at work. When it comes to street food, ignorance is bliss.
He glances at his watch to calculate the hours of sleep he will be getting tonight. The lack of it doesn't surprise him anymore. Once home, getting ready for bed is another strenuous routine.
That reminds him of the discussion the guys were having in the smoking-room this morning: deepfakes, which, in a matter of minutes, became a gabble about deepfake porn. As immoral as it sounds, it piqued his interest. Maybe he will check it out tonight; another attempt to spice up jerking off to sleep every night. Which hasn't been great either because every time he achieves the point of sweet release, his ex-girlfriend's face pops up in his head. And she happens to be getting hideous with each passing day. He doesn't remember her being repulsive, or he didn't realize it then. "Good riddance, I guess?"
At this late hour, the eatery has a dense, diverse crowd upfront. The eatery owner, a stout, middle-aged man, welcomes him with a familiar smile. The owner hands him a menu card with its laminated corners crumpled up. He pretends to go through it, then orders a chicken roll with cheese and chilies, pays the owner, and steps away from the booth.
A friend from university who gives company for dinner is conveniently absent when smoking weed isn't involved. Fuck fake friends, sure. However, getting stoned by yourself suggests that you have a problem. He checks his cellphone: no new notifications or messages. "I wish I could just quit tonight and disappear." What will he do after leaving his job? He doesn't know that yet. He plans to paint every weekend. Years of delaying and hesitation later, he is now oblivious to the liberating sentiment of creating art.
A furry waggle against his shin startles him; a ginger-spotted cat marks its territory. When he decides to take in the scenery around him, the eatery owner going about his business intrigues him. The owner addresses his work with impressive gusto, makes a lasting impression on customers, introduces new flavors to the menu, manages his kitchen without a slip in quality. In a way, they both share the same job: marketing. Except, the owner has an immense passion for his work.
A server calls out his name, and he proceeds to grab his roll. He takes out a decent piece of meat and tosses it to the cat; it meows back with gratitude. A deep inhale, a huge bite, and - an explosion of flavors. The soft, grilled flatbread crumbles as the blended sauces flood his taste buds. The cool veggies bring the extra crunch, the chilies and cheese tickle the roof of his mouth. The zesty, peppery, slow-cooked chicken with all its juicy tenderness melts in, filling his parched soul. Worth every penny spent, another terrible day saved.
In her overbleached nightgown, a middle-aged woman emerges from the back of the booth. She places her cellphone over the owner's ear. She must be his wife. The owner expresses annoyance for being disturbed from his work, but the voice on the other end gets his attention. The owner's wife rests her hand on his shoulder as his face loses its color. Maintaining his composure, the owner gestures to the jumpy customers to excuse him.
"Oh...What stage is it?... What did the doctor say?... Don't worry; everything will be fine. I'll be there soon."
The owner and his wife share a brief gaze, eyes filled with sanguine hope. The kitchen comes to a halt, and the assistants stare at their boss with concern.
"It's my sister," the owner answers, "She's diagnosed with cancer, pancreatic."
Before he can gauge their reactions, the owner turns to his wife, nods at her, and leaves the booth. The owner's wife takes over, gets the kitchen up and running, and attends to the swarm of customers with the same commitment.
Having eavesdropped on their private conversation, he stands appalled, and his self-centered musings come to a pause. At that moment, his life shrinks down to a freckle in time. Why does fate strike its rusted sword and inflict irreparable wounds on us all? His appetite vanishes, and he gives the leftover bits to the cat. Does being at that place, time, and listening in on their conversation mean anything for him?
A heartfelt impulse ignites, which propels him towards the booth. He scans the QR code sticker of a payment app and transfers a few thousand bucks. Before the owner's wife figures out the unusual transaction, he disappears into the throng heading towards the train station.
When the rush of spontaneous action fades away, he understands that his well-intended offering won't be a notable contribution. But it was worth having this occasional feeling of contentment. This disease had robbed him of his aunt and wrecked the lives of quite a few of his friends. The people living in these chawls, how do they handle being diagnosed with cancer? Despite their chances of survival, one foot's always in the grave without the necessary funds and healthcare.
He walks on a narrow and sludge ridden alleyway, surrounded by a sequence of putrefied wooden planks, cobalt-blue aluminum sheets, and chipped brick walls. He turns around for a peek; there is no horizon, but more people, more vehicles, and a curtain of concrete elevations. Above this cityscape, however, the ethereal moon shimmers in the inky skies. Pleased about catching its glimpse, he looks forward to appreciating it some night.
Reaching the train station, he collapses on the first bench he finds. "I can't believe I'm panting like a bitch from that walk." The dreadful realization of your health slipping out of control. He recalls his university days of admirable stamina, appetite, and libido. Aware of their absence now, he rubs his eyes. A long weary sigh. Followed by a blaring horn, the train whooshes by the platform; the gust cools the sweat off from the eager commuters. He trots towards a first-class compartment and hops in.
In the compartment, men play cards and mobile games, eat rice puffs, sleep like invertebrates, and watch raunchy movies on their phones. Amidst them, he sits pondering over the events of the day against the railroad noise. "There isn't enough luck for everyone out here." The train seems full of mindless zombies, existing in their constricted, conformed lifestyles, innocently diverted from their realities. Drooping heads, slouching shoulders, and protruding bellies. But who's he to judge, for he belongs to the same spectrum of the living dead. Alas, a self-aware zombie doesn't cease to be an abomination.
An automated voice announces his destination over corroded speakers. He gets down at a deserted platform; the indicator for visually impaired passengers beeps with an unsettling tempo. As he heads home, chirping crickets and dogs howling afar welcome him. The air here is crisp, with trees arching above him. Streetlights make dainty amber halos, and he walks under them ruminating over the absurdities of his life. A quarter of his presumed lifespan has passed by him with nothing to show for it. If he dies tonight, who would care to attend his funeral, and who would miss him years later?
The error of his ways begins to froth his spirit. Why does he sabotage the chances of getting his shit together by procrastinating? Why does he give in to distractions instead of getting better at things that matter? Why does he fail to check up on his loved ones until it's too late? Why does he spend money on stuff he doesn't need? Why does he comply with peoples' opinions who don't have their own lives figured out? Why does he fall into relationships only to become desperate to end them? And expect them to solve all his problems and fix him? Why doesn't he realize valuable lessons right away and avoid this perpetual regret?
Why don't epiphanies occur when you need them?
Keys turn a rusted door lock open, and he steps into his studio apartment. He drops his laptop bag and sinks into the sofa. His house appears to be what a failed minimalist would have, but there's some niceness about it. He stretches his swollen toes that pop out of socks' holes. While he garners the strength to shower and call it a day, his eyes land on a puffed-up spot on the ceiling. The longer he stares at it, a crack in the paint becomes visible to him.
He stands engulfed by steam as the warm water hits his body and rejuvenates him. Newfound courage courses through his veins to break out of this self-built prison and get back on track. He must live on his own terms. Life is about the choices we make, and hence he's going to make the right ones from now onwards.
He opens up his laptop and emails a sick leave, the well-deserved break he needs. "I should draft my resignation letter as well...Maybe too soon for that. Better to wait for a few months' worth of paychecks."
And now, to end this night on a high note, he's going back to his calling. His passion. His art. A wide drawer hoards brushes, palettes, paint tubes and bottles, canvases, and other tools wrapped in plastic with cobwebs surrounding them. Taking them out, he dusts them and assembles the set up in a nook. He adjusts the lighting of the room to his desire. He takes a seat in front of the canvas, his fingers tingling with hope. His prowess is coming back to him.
It's a new beginning. What will he paint tonight? Should he paint something that pays homage to the surrealists that inspired him? Or pour out his emotions through colors to create an abstract composition? Or should he focus on forms using a monochromatic color scheme? There are plenty of options. A little too many.
The fatigue of a long day starts kicking in. An empty canvas is intimidating; his anticipatory anxiety magnifies. Legs bounce with unease. A fluttering heart; sweat cascading inside his nightwear. "This looks harder than I thought." If only there were a way to calm his nerves down.
Memory serves to be a curse when he remembers - deepfake porn. Like a moth to a flame, he grabs his cellphone and advances to the bedroom. Smack! A frail hand clasps his neck from behind and holds him down. Slender arms reveal a pale, sickly woman; struggling to hold herself up on the floor. Her sapped eyes mirror what once used to be her alluring figure. "Resist, you fucker!" she wails, clawing into him.
It's been quite a while since she showed up. She is his muse. They used to be at one with each other as she guided him through chaos and nurtured his gifts with innocence. Her breathtaking charm inspired works of art. She was an embodiment of his creative expression and ambition.
He can't stand watching her starved to the brink of death. It's a lost cause. With no effort, he shakes her arm off of him and leaves the room for his frivolities. Her bones crack as she drops to the floor. Blood trickles out of her nose.
Minutes turn into hours. Unrequited, she waits. Silvery hair soaked in blood, her chest wheezing.
She rests in peace, at last. Her existence dissipates from the room. The paints remain caked, and the canvas lies barren.
A momentary relapse for gratification foreshadows his continual turmoil, and another 'could have been' artist bites the dust.
​
Written By: Purple.Musings

Air bubbles explode inside the water cooler, jolting him out of castles he built in the air. At 9 pm, the office is ghost-quiet except for the overworked air conditioner struggling to live up to its 3-star reputation. On his laptop screen, a newsletter email draft lies unfinished. "Who the hell is going to read this?" he whimpers, scratching his forehead. He makes an attempt to change the headings and design elements, but he knows that they will get him to adhere to the brand guidelines. An 'electronic focus' playlist plays in his headphones, but in vain.
The desk chair squeals after every sentence he types. Accepting his indifference, he copy-pastes text from a used draft. Sends it in. And bangs the laptop shut. He packs up and goes to the pantry for a protein bar, which would be the one thing that made him glad about his daily fiber intake. Unfortunately, someone has had his share of fiber. When will they start respecting labels here? He stomps out, hoping to grab a chicken roll in time before the eatery closes. He waves a labored goodbye to his senior colleagues who have made themselves at home on their desks.
"I need to get out of this place," he remembers whining to Salina this afternoon. The office becomes a tolerable place in her presence. A gentle pat on the shoulder followed by cheery morning wishes from her is a remedy for facing the monotonous day. He admired that they didn't need small talk to have a conversation. 'How are you doing? How's it going? How was your weekend?', none of that crap. "You need to take a break," she reminds him every day as she brings two cups of coffee, and they head out for a walk.
She talks about how she'd rather be on a beach, go for a trek or play the piano at a café than be here. She reveals a little more about how she ended up in this place each day. The scanty shocks that sprout up when their hands brush against each other validate his futile existence. Walking with Salina on blazing concrete around the corporate neighborhood is the highlight of his day. "If only I could walk with her forever..." Since he is learning to lower expectations these days, he promptly puts an end to his wishful thinking. Asking her out would be a swift ax to a treasured friendship, he assumes. Why are they stuck together in the same place, escaping their stale present while coping with their distressful pasts?
Trap songs about money, drugs, and bitches play in his earphones as he shoulders through a huddle of white collars on the pavement. "I could use a smoke. It's been a long day," he assures himself, avoiding the gaze of the loosie seller on the corner. "No, not again. Can't give in every other day." He acknowledges the loosie seller with a faint smile and hurries past him.
Through the cuboid canyons of skyscrapers and shopping malls larger than factories, he walks in compliance with his navy blue formal attire whenever the glass panes reflect him. The retina-burning halogens on billboards illuminate the poker-faced barbie models of elite fashion brands. Dating apps and condoms have replaced advertising spaces once reserved for chips, biscuits, and sodas. ATMs outnumber dustbins at every corner.
He crosses the road and heads under the overpass where lost vehicles and forgotten people sleep, wrapped in the dust. The other side of the town fades in and engulfs him in its chaos. The pallor of the chawls in juxtaposition with the warm hues of hawker stalls develops into an eerie ambiance of despair. Yellow tungsten bulbs dangle inside stores, and the odor of overused cooking oil lingers. Dirt and sweat clothe everyone here, and one cannot tell the immigrants apart from the natives. He notices the miniature temple built below an enormous and friendless banyan tree. Islamic prayers echo above the never-ending urban noise. The people here, albeit their misery, have time for God. They make the food that gets delivered to the offices on the other side of the overpass. The masses help each other survive, and the classes remain in check.
The chicken roll eatery being on this side of town does put its hygiene standards in question. But it's something he looks forward to after an awful day at work. When it comes to street food, ignorance is bliss.
He glances at his watch to calculate the hours of sleep he will be getting tonight. The lack of it doesn't surprise him anymore. Once home, getting ready for bed is another strenuous routine.
That reminds him of the discussion the guys were having in the smoking-room this morning: deepfakes, which, in a matter of minutes, became a gabble about deepfake porn. As immoral as it sounds, it piqued his interest. Maybe he will check it out tonight; another attempt to spice up jerking off to sleep every night. Which hasn't been great either because every time he achieves the point of sweet release, his ex-girlfriend's face pops up in his head. And she happens to be getting hideous with each passing day. He doesn't remember her being repulsive, or he didn't realize it then. "Good riddance, I guess?"
At this late hour, the eatery has a dense, diverse crowd upfront. The eatery owner, a stout, middle-aged man, welcomes him with a familiar smile. The owner hands him a menu card with its laminated corners crumpled up. He pretends to go through it, then orders a chicken roll with cheese and chilies, pays the owner, and steps away from the booth.
A friend from university who gives company for dinner is conveniently absent when smoking weed isn't involved. Fuck fake friends, sure. However, getting stoned by yourself suggests that you have a problem. He checks his cellphone: no new notifications or messages. "I wish I could just quit tonight and disappear." What will he do after leaving his job? He doesn't know that yet. He plans to paint every weekend. Years of delaying and hesitation later, he is now oblivious to the liberating sentiment of creating art.
A furry waggle against his shin startles him; a ginger-spotted cat marks its territory. When he decides to take in the scenery around him, the eatery owner going about his business intrigues him. The owner addresses his work with impressive gusto, makes a lasting impression on customers, introduces new flavors to the menu, manages his kitchen without a slip in quality. In a way, they both share the same job: marketing. Except, the owner has an immense passion for his work.
A server calls out his name, and he proceeds to grab his roll. He takes out a decent piece of meat and tosses it to the cat; it meows back with gratitude. A deep inhale, a huge bite, and - an explosion of flavors. The soft, grilled flatbread crumbles as the blended sauces flood his taste buds. The cool veggies bring the extra crunch, the chilies and cheese tickle the roof of his mouth. The zesty, peppery, slow-cooked chicken with all its juicy tenderness melts in, filling his parched soul. Worth every penny spent, another terrible day saved.
In her overbleached nightgown, a middle-aged woman emerges from the back of the booth. She places her cellphone over the owner's ear. She must be his wife. The owner expresses annoyance for being disturbed from his work, but the voice on the other end gets his attention. The owner's wife rests her hand on his shoulder as his face loses its color. Maintaining his composure, the owner gestures to the jumpy customers to excuse him.
"Oh...What stage is it?... What did the doctor say?... Don't worry; everything will be fine. I'll be there soon."
The owner and his wife share a brief gaze, eyes filled with sanguine hope. The kitchen comes to a halt, and the assistants stare at their boss with concern.
"It's my sister," the owner answers, "She's diagnosed with cancer, pancreatic."
Before he can gauge their reactions, the owner turns to his wife, nods at her, and leaves the booth. The owner's wife takes over, gets the kitchen up and running, and attends to the swarm of customers with the same commitment.
Having eavesdropped on their private conversation, he stands appalled, and his self-centered musings come to a pause. At that moment, his life shrinks down to a freckle in time. Why does fate strike its rusted sword and inflict irreparable wounds on us all? His appetite vanishes, and he gives the leftover bits to the cat. Does being at that place, time, and listening in on their conversation mean anything for him?
A heartfelt impulse ignites, which propels him towards the booth. He scans the QR code sticker of a payment app and transfers a few thousand bucks. Before the owner's wife figures out the unusual transaction, he disappears into the throng heading towards the train station.
When the rush of spontaneous action fades away, he understands that his well-intended offering won't be a notable contribution. But it was worth having this occasional feeling of contentment. This disease had robbed him of his aunt and wrecked the lives of quite a few of his friends. The people living in these chawls, how do they handle being diagnosed with cancer? Despite their chances of survival, one foot's always in the grave without the necessary funds and healthcare.
He walks on a narrow and sludge ridden alleyway, surrounded by a sequence of putrefied wooden planks, cobalt-blue aluminum sheets, and chipped brick walls. He turns around for a peek; there is no horizon, but more people, more vehicles, and a curtain of concrete elevations. Above this cityscape, however, the ethereal moon shimmers in the inky skies. Pleased about catching its glimpse, he looks forward to appreciating it some night.
Reaching the train station, he collapses on the first bench he finds. "I can't believe I'm panting like a bitch from that walk." The dreadful realization of your health slipping out of control. He recalls his university days of admirable stamina, appetite, and libido. Aware of their absence now, he rubs his eyes. A long weary sigh. Followed by a blaring horn, the train whooshes by the platform; the gust cools the sweat off from the eager commuters. He trots towards a first-class compartment and hops in.
In the compartment, men play cards and mobile games, eat rice puffs, sleep like invertebrates, and watch raunchy movies on their phones. Amidst them, he sits pondering over the events of the day against the railroad noise. "There isn't enough luck for everyone out here." The train seems full of mindless zombies, existing in their constricted, conformed lifestyles, innocently diverted from their realities. Drooping heads, slouching shoulders, and protruding bellies. But who's he to judge, for he belongs to the same spectrum of the living dead. Alas, a self-aware zombie doesn't cease to be an abomination.
An automated voice announces his destination over corroded speakers. He gets down at a deserted platform; the indicator for visually impaired passengers beeps with an unsettling tempo. As he heads home, chirping crickets and dogs howling afar welcome him. The air here is crisp, with trees arching above him. Streetlights make dainty amber halos, and he walks under them ruminating over the absurdities of his life. A quarter of his presumed lifespan has passed by him with nothing to show for it. If he dies tonight, who would care to attend his funeral, and who would miss him years later?
The error of his ways begins to froth his spirit. Why does he sabotage the chances of getting his shit together by procrastinating? Why does he give in to distractions instead of getting better at things that matter? Why does he fail to check up on his loved ones until it's too late? Why does he spend money on stuff he doesn't need? Why does he comply with peoples' opinions who don't have their own lives figured out? Why does he fall into relationships only to become desperate to end them? And expect them to solve all his problems and fix him? Why doesn't he realize valuable lessons right away and avoid this perpetual regret?
Why don't epiphanies occur when you need them?
Keys turn a rusted door lock open, and he steps into his studio apartment. He drops his laptop bag and sinks into the sofa. His house appears to be what a failed minimalist would have, but there's some niceness about it. He stretches his swollen toes that pop out of socks' holes. While he garners the strength to shower and call it a day, his eyes land on a puffed-up spot on the ceiling. The longer he stares at it, a crack in the paint becomes visible to him.
He stands engulfed by steam as the warm water hits his body and rejuvenates him. Newfound courage courses through his veins to break out of this self-built prison and get back on track. He must live on his own terms. Life is about the choices we make, and hence he's going to make the right ones from now onwards.
He opens up his laptop and emails a sick leave, the well-deserved break he needs. "I should draft my resignation letter as well...Maybe too soon for that. Better to wait for a few months' worth of paychecks."
And now, to end this night on a high note, he's going back to his calling. His passion. His art. A wide drawer hoards brushes, palettes, paint tubes and bottles, canvases, and other tools wrapped in plastic with cobwebs surrounding them. Taking them out, he dusts them and assembles the set up in a nook. He adjusts the lighting of the room to his desire. He takes a seat in front of the canvas, his fingers tingling with hope. His prowess is coming back to him.
It's a new beginning. What will he paint tonight? Should he paint something that pays homage to the surrealists that inspired him? Or pour out his emotions through colors to create an abstract composition? Or should he focus on forms using a monochromatic color scheme? There are plenty of options. A little too many.
The fatigue of a long day starts kicking in. An empty canvas is intimidating; his anticipatory anxiety magnifies. Legs bounce with unease. A fluttering heart; sweat cascading inside his nightwear. "This looks harder than I thought." If only there were a way to calm his nerves down.
Memory serves to be a curse when he remembers - deepfake porn. Like a moth to a flame, he grabs his cellphone and advances to the bedroom. Smack! A frail hand clasps his neck from behind and holds him down. Slender arms reveal a pale, sickly woman; struggling to hold herself up on the floor. Her sapped eyes mirror what once used to be her alluring figure. "Resist, you fucker!" she wails, clawing into him.
It's been quite a while since she showed up. She is his muse. They used to be at one with each other as she guided him through chaos and nurtured his gifts with innocence. Her breathtaking charm inspired works of art. She was an embodiment of his creative expression and ambition.
He can't stand watching her starved to the brink of death. It's a lost cause. With no effort, he shakes her arm off of him and leaves the room for his frivolities. Her bones crack as she drops to the floor. Blood trickles out of her nose.
Minutes turn into hours. Unrequited, she waits. Silvery hair soaked in blood, her chest wheezing.
She rests in peace, at last. Her existence dissipates from the room. The paints remain caked, and the canvas lies barren.
A momentary relapse for gratification foreshadows his continual turmoil, and another 'could have been' artist bites the dust.
Written By: Purple.Musings

Air bubbles explode inside the water cooler, jolting him out of castles he built in the air. At 9 pm, the office is ghost-quiet except for the overworked air conditioner struggling to live up to its 3-star reputation. On his laptop screen, a newsletter email draft lies unfinished. "Who the hell is going to read this?" he whimpers, scratching his forehead. He makes an attempt to change the headings and design elements, but he knows that they will get him to adhere to the brand guidelines. An 'electronic focus' playlist plays in his headphones, but in vain.
The desk chair squeals after every sentence he types. Accepting his indifference, he copy-pastes text from a used draft. Sends it in. And bangs the laptop shut. He packs up and goes to the pantry for a protein bar, which would be the one thing that made him glad about his daily fiber intake. Unfortunately, someone has had his share of fiber. When will they start respecting labels here? He stomps out, hoping to grab a chicken roll in time before the eatery closes. He waves a labored goodbye to his senior colleagues who have made themselves at home on their desks.
"I need to get out of this place," he remembers whining to Salina this afternoon. The office becomes a tolerable place in her presence. A gentle pat on the shoulder followed by cheery morning wishes from her is a remedy for facing the monotonous day. He admired that they didn't need small talk to have a conversation. 'How are you doing? How's it going? How was your weekend?', none of that crap. "You need to take a break," she reminds him every day as she brings two cups of coffee, and they head out for a walk.
She talks about how she'd rather be on a beach, go for a trek or play the piano at a café than be here. She reveals a little more about how she ended up in this place each day. The scanty shocks that sprout up when their hands brush against each other validate his futile existence. Walking with Salina on blazing concrete around the corporate neighborhood is the highlight of his day. "If only I could walk with her forever..." Since he is learning to lower expectations these days, he promptly puts an end to his wishful thinking. Asking her out would be a swift ax to a treasured friendship, he assumes. Why are they stuck together in the same place, escaping their stale present while coping with their distressful pasts?
Trap songs about money, drugs, and bitches play in his earphones as he shoulders through a huddle of white collars on the pavement. "I could use a smoke. It's been a long day," he assures himself, avoiding the gaze of the loosie seller on the corner. "No, not again. Can't give in every other day." He acknowledges the loosie seller with a faint smile and hurries past him.
Through the cuboid canyons of skyscrapers and shopping malls larger than factories, he walks in compliance with his navy blue formal attire whenever the glass panes reflect him. The retina-burning halogens on billboards illuminate the poker-faced barbie models of elite fashion brands. Dating apps and condoms have replaced advertising spaces once reserved for chips, biscuits, and sodas. ATMs outnumber dustbins at every corner.
He crosses the road and heads under the overpass where lost vehicles and forgotten people sleep, wrapped in the dust. The other side of the town fades in and engulfs him in its chaos. The pallor of the chawls in juxtaposition with the warm hues of hawker stalls develops into an eerie ambiance of despair. Yellow tungsten bulbs dangle inside stores, and the odor of overused cooking oil lingers. Dirt and sweat clothe everyone here, and one cannot tell the immigrants apart from the natives. He notices the miniature temple built below an enormous and friendless banyan tree. Islamic prayers echo above the never-ending urban noise. The people here, albeit their misery, have time for God. They make the food that gets delivered to the offices on the other side of the overpass. The masses help each other survive, and the classes remain in check.
The chicken roll eatery being on this side of town does put its hygiene standards in question. But it's something he looks forward to after an awful day at work. When it comes to street food, ignorance is bliss.
He glances at his watch to calculate the hours of sleep he will be getting tonight. The lack of it doesn't surprise him anymore. Once home, getting ready for bed is another strenuous routine.
That reminds him of the discussion the guys were having in the smoking-room this morning: deepfakes, which, in a matter of minutes, became a gabble about deepfake porn. As immoral as it sounds, it piqued his interest. Maybe he will check it out tonight; another attempt to spice up jerking off to sleep every night. Which hasn't been great either because every time he achieves the point of sweet release, his ex-girlfriend's face pops up in his head. And she happens to be getting hideous with each passing day. He doesn't remember her being repulsive, or he didn't realize it then. "Good riddance, I guess?"
At this late hour, the eatery has a dense, diverse crowd upfront. The eatery owner, a stout, middle-aged man, welcomes him with a familiar smile. The owner hands him a menu card with its laminated corners crumpled up. He pretends to go through it, then orders a chicken roll with cheese and chilies, pays the owner, and steps away from the booth.
A friend from university who gives company for dinner is conveniently absent when smoking weed isn't involved. Fuck fake friends, sure. However, getting stoned by yourself suggests that you have a problem. He checks his cellphone: no new notifications or messages. "I wish I could just quit tonight and disappear." What will he do after leaving his job? He doesn't know that yet. He plans to paint every weekend. Years of delaying and hesitation later, he is now oblivious to the liberating sentiment of creating art.
A furry waggle against his shin startles him; a ginger-spotted cat marks its territory. When he decides to take in the scenery around him, the eatery owner going about his business intrigues him. The owner addresses his work with impressive gusto, makes a lasting impression on customers, introduces new flavors to the menu, manages his kitchen without a slip in quality. In a way, they both share the same job: marketing. Except, the owner has an immense passion for his work.
A server calls out his name, and he proceeds to grab his roll. He takes out a decent piece of meat and tosses it to the cat; it meows back with gratitude. A deep inhale, a huge bite, and - an explosion of flavors. The soft, grilled flatbread crumbles as the blended sauces flood his taste buds. The cool veggies bring the extra crunch, the chilies and cheese tickle the roof of his mouth. The zesty, peppery, slow-cooked chicken with all its juicy tenderness melts in, filling his parched soul. Worth every penny spent, another terrible day saved.
In her overbleached nightgown, a middle-aged woman emerges from the back of the booth. She places her cellphone over the owner's ear. She must be his wife. The owner expresses annoyance for being disturbed from his work, but the voice on the other end gets his attention. The owner's wife rests her hand on his shoulder as his face loses its color. Maintaining his composure, the owner gestures to the jumpy customers to excuse him.
"Oh...What stage is it?... What did the doctor say?... Don't worry; everything will be fine. I'll be there soon."
The owner and his wife share a brief gaze, eyes filled with sanguine hope. The kitchen comes to a halt, and the assistants stare at their boss with concern.
"It's my sister," the owner answers, "She's diagnosed with cancer, pancreatic."
Before he can gauge their reactions, the owner turns to his wife, nods at her, and leaves the booth. The owner's wife takes over, gets the kitchen up and running, and attends to the swarm of customers with the same commitment.
Having eavesdropped on their private conversation, he stands appalled, and his self-centered musings come to a pause. At that moment, his life shrinks down to a freckle in time. Why does fate strike its rusted sword and inflict irreparable wounds on us all? His appetite vanishes, and he gives the leftover bits to the cat. Does being at that place, time, and listening in on their conversation mean anything for him?
A heartfelt impulse ignites, which propels him towards the booth. He scans the QR code sticker of a payment app and transfers a few thousand bucks. Before the owner's wife figures out the unusual transaction, he disappears into the throng heading towards the train station.
When the rush of spontaneous action fades away, he understands that his well-intended offering won't be a notable contribution. But it was worth having this occasional feeling of contentment. This disease had robbed him of his aunt and wrecked the lives of quite a few of his friends. The people living in these chawls, how do they handle being diagnosed with cancer? Despite their chances of survival, one foot's always in the grave without the necessary funds and healthcare.
He walks on a narrow and sludge ridden alleyway, surrounded by a sequence of putrefied wooden planks, cobalt-blue aluminum sheets, and chipped brick walls. He turns around for a peek; there is no horizon, but more people, more vehicles, and a curtain of concrete elevations. Above this cityscape, however, the ethereal moon shimmers in the inky skies. Pleased about catching its glimpse, he looks forward to appreciating it some night.
Reaching the train station, he collapses on the first bench he finds. "I can't believe I'm panting like a bitch from that walk." The dreadful realization of your health slipping out of control. He recalls his university days of admirable stamina, appetite, and libido. Aware of their absence now, he rubs his eyes. A long weary sigh. Followed by a blaring horn, the train whooshes by the platform; the gust cools the sweat off from the eager commuters. He trots towards a first-class compartment and hops in.
In the compartment, men play cards and mobile games, eat rice puffs, sleep like invertebrates, and watch raunchy movies on their phones. Amidst them, he sits pondering over the events of the day against the railroad noise. "There isn't enough luck for everyone out here." The train seems full of mindless zombies, existing in their constricted, conformed lifestyles, innocently diverted from their realities. Drooping heads, slouching shoulders, and protruding bellies. But who's he to judge, for he belongs to the same spectrum of the living dead. Alas, a self-aware zombie doesn't cease to be an abomination.
An automated voice announces his destination over corroded speakers. He gets down at a deserted platform; the indicator for visually impaired passengers beeps with an unsettling tempo. As he heads home, chirping crickets and dogs howling afar welcome him. The air here is crisp, with trees arching above him. Streetlights make dainty amber halos, and he walks under them ruminating over the absurdities of his life. A quarter of his presumed lifespan has passed by him with nothing to show for it. If he dies tonight, who would care to attend his funeral, and who would miss him years later?
The error of his ways begins to froth his spirit. Why does he sabotage the chances of getting his shit together by procrastinating? Why does he give in to distractions instead of getting better at things that matter? Why does he fail to check up on his loved ones until it's too late? Why does he spend money on stuff he doesn't need? Why does he comply with peoples' opinions who don't have their own lives figured out? Why does he fall into relationships only to become desperate to end them? And expect them to solve all his problems and fix him? Why doesn't he realize valuable lessons right away and avoid this perpetual regret?
Why don't epiphanies occur when you need them?
Keys turn a rusted door lock open, and he steps into his studio apartment. He drops his laptop bag and sinks into the sofa. His house appears to be what a failed minimalist would have, but there's some niceness about it. He stretches his swollen toes that pop out of socks' holes. While he garners the strength to shower and call it a day, his eyes land on a puffed-up spot on the ceiling. The longer he stares at it, a crack in the paint becomes visible to him.
He stands engulfed by steam as the warm water hits his body and rejuvenates him. Newfound courage courses through his veins to break out of this self-built prison and get back on track. He must live on his own terms. Life is about the choices we make, and hence he's going to make the right ones from now onwards.
He opens up his laptop and emails a sick leave, the well-deserved break he needs. "I should draft my resignation letter as well...Maybe too soon for that. Better to wait for a few months' worth of paychecks."
And now, to end this night on a high note, he's going back to his calling. His passion. His art. A wide drawer hoards brushes, palettes, paint tubes and bottles, canvases, and other tools wrapped in plastic with cobwebs surrounding them. Taking them out, he dusts them and assembles the set up in a nook. He adjusts the lighting of the room to his desire. He takes a seat in front of the canvas, his fingers tingling with hope. His prowess is coming back to him.
It's a new beginning. What will he paint tonight? Should he paint something that pays homage to the surrealists that inspired him? Or pour out his emotions through colors to create an abstract composition? Or should he focus on forms using a monochromatic color scheme? There are plenty of options. A little too many.
The fatigue of a long day starts kicking in. An empty canvas is intimidating; his anticipatory anxiety magnifies. Legs bounce with unease. A fluttering heart; sweat cascading inside his nightwear. "This looks harder than I thought." If only there were a way to calm his nerves down.
Memory serves to be a curse when he remembers - deepfake porn. Like a moth to a flame, he grabs his cellphone and advances to the bedroom. Smack! A frail hand clasps his neck from behind and holds him down. Slender arms reveal a pale, sickly woman; struggling to hold herself up on the floor. Her sapped eyes mirror what once used to be her alluring figure. "Resist, you fucker!" she wails, clawing into him.
It's been quite a while since she showed up. She is his muse. They used to be at one with each other as she guided him through chaos and nurtured his gifts with innocence. Her breathtaking charm inspired works of art. She was an embodiment of his creative expression and ambition.
He can't stand watching her starved to the brink of death. It's a lost cause. With no effort, he shakes her arm off of him and leaves the room for his frivolities. Her bones crack as she drops to the floor. Blood trickles out of her nose.
Minutes turn into hours. Unrequited, she waits. Silvery hair soaked in blood, her chest wheezing.
She rests in peace, at last. Her existence dissipates from the room. The paints remain caked, and the canvas lies barren.
A momentary relapse for gratification foreshadows his continual turmoil, and another 'could have been' artist bites the dust.
​
Written By: Purple.Musings

Hi Folks,
Throwaway account here providing the full Article: https://theathletic.com/2115449/2020/10/06/manchester-united-jadon-sancho-transfer-window/ since it's behind a paywall.

United’s hopeless pursuit of Jadon Sancho – the real story
^{Laurie Whitwell, David Ornstein and more} (Other contributor: Raphael Honigstein)
Ole Gunnar Solskjaer identified Jadon Sancho as his principal target this summer in what was seen as a vital opportunity for squad enhancement following Champions League qualification.
But after 10 weeks of opportunity for talks, Sancho remains a Borussia Dortmund player and the simple truth is that United never got close.
The Athletic has been told that Solskjaer urged Ed Woodward to keep trying, and financial concerns meant other signings were pushed to the periphery until the final 48 hours of the window.
Donny van de Beek arrived on September 2 but sources say United waited to pull the trigger on other purchases until it became clear Sancho was not arriving.
So for the third window in a row, United were active on deadline day, completing the signings of Edinson Cavani, Alex Telles, Amad Diallo and Facundo Pellistri. In January, it was Odion Ighalo, hot on the heels of Bruno Fernandes. Last summer, the club were trying to sign Mario Mandzukic or Paulo Dybala.
The cause for this year’s unedifying sense of late freneticism appears to centre on the priority given to the Sancho move and, fundamentally, a misunderstanding by United of Dortmund’s intentions.
Essentially, United did not believe Dortmund would stay firm on the price-tag of €120 million or their deadline of August 10, embarking on a long-running game of poker without realising that the Bundesliga club weren’t even at the table. United effectively sat still in the hope Dortmund would blink first and place the call they were ready to do business. Intermediaries attempted to broker a deal but were waiting on United to move, which did not happen.
Some sources felt Woodward was holding until the last moment to place an all-in bet, giving the impression of resistance in the ambition of driving the price down. But instead, United kept their chips and stayed true to their valuation. By never ruling themselves out of the deal though, United’s actions seriously annoyed Dortmund’s executives, who became even more entrenched in their position as the weeks went on.
When Dortmund sporting director Michael Zorc stood at the side of their training pitches on August 10, the first day of pre-season, and said the decision on Sancho staying was “final”, one alarmed United director made a call to check whether the statement was genuine. The response was along the lines of, “What did you expect? You knew the terms.”
Hans-Joachim Watzke, Dortmund’s chief executive, is said to have personally phoned United at the start of the summer and explained very clearly how much the deal would cost and when it needed to be done by.
United privately argue that the continued conversations after that point, conducted via intermediaries Emeka Obasi and Marco Lichtsteiner, were evidence of Dortmund remaining open to a sale. But the reason for the involvement of agents is hotly disputed.
United insist Dortmund wanted talks done through Obasi and Lichtsteiner, and some believe this was so Dortmund could stick to their public stance while having a backchannel to a potential resolution. United held lengthy discussions and made known what they were willing to pay, which held a firm limit given the current economic environment.
Sources say Dortmund reject that idea and deny they ever appointed agents. Previous deals with Arsenal and Barcelona for Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang and Ousmane Dembele respectively were based on face-to-face meetings with club counterparts.
On this occasion, they believed that they had provided the fee to United and since Woodward failed to match it by August 10, there was no need for further direct discussion.
United felt there was tacit encouragement to keep lines of communication going but the only way they could have got the deal on after that date was with a “crazy” offer along the lines of Neymar’s £200 million transfer to Paris Saint-Germain. Sources told The Athletic that if United had come in with an offer of €140-£150 million then Dortmund might have done business. Conscious of their reputation having set their position out so publicly, Dortmund would have been able to sell that as a turnaround made in extraordinary circumstances.
United argued that the €120 million price tag did not take into account the financial hit caused by the pandemic. Executives genuinely felt it should come down, given the full total of the transfer was potentially enormous. The Athletic has been told initial calculations rose to €250 million including wages and agent fees. United made what has been described as a “calm decision” to refuse that amount and felt vindicated when the government postponed the return of fans to stadiums costing the club another £50 million in lost revenue.
But it is understood that Dortmund originally planned for the €120 million as a “minimum” — and ideally wanted nearer the €147 million fee that Barcelona paid for Dembele — so it was an adjustment to even consider a bid that could reach that figure in installments.
In any case, United never got near to that guaranteed sum. One offer, submitted by chief negotiator Matt Judge through the agents in the final week of September, amounted to £80 million, plus add-ons. Once passed to Watzke, it was immediately rejected as too little too late. There was a sense at the Westfalenstadion that United did not take Dortmund’s demands seriously or were acting without full intentions to actually complete the signing.
All proposals were said to have been relayed to Dortmund via the agents knowing full well they would be turned down.
Sancho himself is believed to have felt undervalued by the offers and even if United had placed the right bid late on, it is understood he would have questioned why it did not come earlier.
Sancho was never going to agitate for a move unless United came close to Dortmund’s demands. Illness kept him out of the squad for Saturday’s 4-0 win over Freiburg but Sancho then attended a house party in London with Tammy Abraham and Ben Chilwell, in breach of lockdown rules, and will join up late with England as a result. He has since apologised.
The forward was prepared to join United but not “desperate” to move this summer. He was relaxed either way. That was the sense drawn by England team-mates at the September camp.
That being said, others close to United were under the impression he “would walk to Old Trafford”. Sancho texted Marcus Rashford about United, and the pair were said to be excited at the prospect of linking up. Sancho has many friends in Manchester from his time at Manchester City.
Other United players were in touch too and so was Solskjaer, who as long ago as January wanted to ascertain Sancho’s willingness to join and to get a personal sense of his character. Having privately acknowledged the possibility of a sale, Dortmund were aware of the conversations, which are standard for most transfers.
There had actually been dialogue with Sancho’s representatives dating back to when he left Manchester City for Dortmund in 2017, but talks commenced in earnest this year once United had secured Champions League football on July 26.
United’s exit from the Europa League was disappointing, but some close to the club felt it would at least reinforce the impetus for signings — a reminder to the Glazer family that funding was required to take the next step. “But extending the window to October 5 is probably the worst thing for Solskjaer,” said a source. “I can see United taking talks to the wire again.”
There were some raised eyebrows at United over reports of Sancho’s lateness to training and fines for breaching lockdown regulations in Germany. But United viewed the indiscretions as attributable to a desire to move on from Dortmund. “We’ll make Carrington a place where he wants to come to work every day,” one member of staff told a colleague.
Solskjaer had determined Sancho would be his main target, with one source saying in April: “We are ready to go, we know who we want, the people at the top are now certain.”
But that conviction was not found in the pursuit, with Dortmund soon frustrated at United’s reluctance to commit to a fee or structure. There were allegations of “freestyling”, a refusal to provide a top line, and when pushed for answers, Judge suggested the issue lay with “the owners”. Agents proposing other players were told of a £50 million net spend budget. Executives feel they have a responsibility to protect the long-term strength of the club by not over-paying.
The Athletic has previously reported how Joel Glazer, in daily contact with Woodward, is involved in all major signings and paid particularly close attention to the Sancho deal. There were accusations of a split in opinion between the pair over the price to be sanctioned, with Woodward advocating a higher fee, but United insist board members were united on their view that €120 million was too much in the post-COVID-19 climate. Recruitment staff were told about a significant budget being allocated to Sancho but later the internal line back from Woodward was that the deal was “too much money”.
Privately United suggested the €120 million figure could be reached including some unrealistic bonuses, which may have allowed Dortmund to save face with a headline figure. Dortmund were resolute in their stance though and believed a higher price could be achieved next summer. The cause for their confidence was revealed when Zorc announced a previously unknown extension to Sancho’s contract, meaning it did not run out until 2023.
United insist they knew all those details and were for a long time frustrated by what they perceived to be the slow process of dealing with Dortmund through Obasi, Sancho’s agent, and Lichtsteiner, the brother of former Arsenal player Stephan. The two intermediaries are described as “very close”. Lichtsteiner previously assisted on the departures of Aubameyang and Dembele to Arsenal and Barcelona respectively, and has vast experience of difficult transfers. He is said to be well-regarded and very discreet with information.
United have in the past worked on deals through agents, and last summer placed an offer for the Newcastle United midfielder Sean Longstaff in this manner. Sources at Newcastle suspected this was so United had deniability if unsuccessful.
On other occasions, the technique has worked well. Woodward conducted the purchase of Juan Mata from Chelsea without one word to his counterparts at Stamford Bridge to block any chance of Wayne Rooney being brought into the conversation. Chelsea wanted to buy Rooney that window.
Before any fee could be finalised this time, there were difficulties over wages and agent fees.
It has been suggested to The Athletic that the opening contract offer to Sancho was actually slightly lower than his Dortmund salary. As is customary in Germany, Sancho’s contract was heavily incentivised and contained bonus payments for each point Dortmund achieved.
Conscious of maintaining a certain wage structure, United’s initial proposal was less than Sancho’s total pay packet at Dortmund. Van de Beek joined on £110,000 a week, for instance, and his representatives were told that was in line with a refined structure given Fernandes signed for £150,000 a week.
A second offer to Sancho, in early August, is said to have achieved parity with his Dortmund deal, with the potential for a fractional increase based on performance. This was not accepted. Sancho’s representatives, who carefully organised a move away from City in 2017, were clear in their view of Sancho’s worth and expected to be recompensed as such.
Though not asking for money equitable to David De Gea, who signed a deal worth more than £375,000 a week within the final 12 months of becoming a free agent, the terms desired were thought to be in the region of Paul Pogba’s £250,000 a week.
There were reports that wages had been sorted in the first week of August but this was not the case. United believed leaks to that end emanating from Germany were an attempt to “put pressure” on the process.
Still, there was positivity about a solution. Sources say the Liverpool manager Jurgen Klopp was keeping himself abreast of Sancho’s situation and around this stage told friends he believed the player would end up at Old Trafford.
There was eventually a breakthrough on Sancho’s salary in the second week of September.
Running parallel were negotiations over agent fees. Some have suggested an initial proposal for a payment to the agents put United on the back foot. After negotiations, a lower sum was agreed. But that still left the transfer fee and, as the gap remained, other options were considered. A prospective loan deal for Gareth Bale was set up but the Wales international declined to wait as a reserve for Sancho. He had the emotional pull of Tottenham Hotspur in any case.
Watford’s Ismaila Sarr, previously not regarded as a genuine option, came into the reckoning in the final fortnight of the window when United explored a loan move. With Watford in the Championship, Sarr has until the domestic deadline of October 16 to join a Premier League club.
Talks also commenced over Dembele. An original inquiry for the Barcelona forward was made in July but at that stage, Dembele was not interested. Sources say Liverpool also made a check back then.
But while Liverpool instead signed Diogo Jota on September 19, it was United returning in the dying embers of the market to investigate whether Dembele might join on loan. It was a late move. A source close to the Barcelona dressing room said at the time: “He intended to stay at Barcelona. In pre-season, his attitude was really different and the players were super happy to see how he was training and how involved in the routine. Therefore, everything has to have changed a lot for him to have decided to go to United.”
In the end, United only wanted a loan. Barcelona demanded a sale, so the situation looked unlikely to develop until a late change of stance by the La Liga club on Monday evening. Barcelona indicated they would agree to a loan but only if Dembele extended his contract at the Nou Camp, and the deal was off.
Industry insiders reported numerous other inquiries and proposals put to the club by representatives, such as Real Madrid’s Luka Jovic, Inter Milan’s Ivan Perisic and Juventus’ Douglas Costa. There was exasperation among some at Carrington that United were leaving business so late again and having to work down their list to second and third options. “Looks like a panic buy,” was the assessment by one source close to the dressing room of the Cavani signing.
United did ask Bayer Leverkusen for Kai Havertz in January but were put off by the €100 million fee and never made a follow-up call this summer, clearing the path to Chelsea.
Meanwhile, the Sancho failure represents the third time Dortmund have got their way over United this year, after the signings of Erling Haaland and Jude Bellingham — two episodes that have caused lingering frustration.
Some agents who have worked with United on other deals believe the club should have halted talks on Sancho much earlier if €120 million was seen as too much and pursued alternatives. There are accusations the delay speaks to a fundamental issue in recruitment, which sources call a paralysis of decision-making. But given how much Solskjaer wanted Sancho, United wanted to try for their No 1 target for as long as possible.
United accept they have missed out on a top player but insist they have not over-extended their finances. The signings of Diallo and Pellistri, both 18-year-old wingers, are regarded as viable options for the first-team once bedded into England through the under-21s side. Diallo’s cost of €21 million plus €20 million is not insignificant, however, inevitably inviting questions about why United refused the extra money for Sancho. Diallo has been scouted since 2016 and is considered one of the most exciting prospects in Italy. There are echoes when Anthony Martial signed for big expense and little experience and became Joel Glazer’s favourite player.
Sancho will stay in the crosshairs, for the next time trading opens. It’s understood he long since shifted his focus to a future transfer rather than moving in the current window. But it is anticipated more clubs will be in the reckoning for his signature by then.

Air bubbles explode inside the water cooler, jolting him out of castles he built in the air. At 9 pm, the office is ghost-quiet except for the overworked air conditioner struggling to live up to its 3-star reputation. On his laptop screen, a newsletter email draft lies unfinished. "Who the hell is going to read this?" he whimpers, scratching his forehead. He makes an attempt to change the headings and design elements, but he knows that they will get him to adhere to the brand guidelines. An 'electronic focus' playlist plays in his headphones, but in vain.
The desk chair squeals after every sentence he types. Accepting his indifference, he copy-pastes text from a used draft. Sends it in. And bangs the laptop shut. He packs up and goes to the pantry for a protein bar, which would be the one thing that made him glad about his daily fiber intake. Unfortunately, someone has had his share of fiber. When will they start respecting labels here? He stomps out, hoping to grab a chicken roll in time before the eatery closes. He waves a labored goodbye to his senior colleagues who have made themselves at home on their desks.
"I need to get out of this place," he remembers whining to Salina this afternoon. The office becomes a tolerable place in her presence. A gentle pat on the shoulder followed by cheery morning wishes from her is a remedy for facing the monotonous day. He admired that they didn't need small talk to have a conversation. 'How are you doing? How's it going? How was your weekend?', none of that crap. "You need to take a break," she reminds him every day as she brings two cups of coffee, and they head out for a walk.
She talks about how she'd rather be on a beach, go for a trek or play the piano at a café than be here. She reveals a little more about how she ended up in this place each day. The scanty shocks that sprout up when their hands brush against each other validate his futile existence. Walking with Salina on blazing concrete around the corporate neighborhood is the highlight of his day. "If only I could walk with her forever..." Since he is learning to lower expectations these days, he promptly puts an end to his wishful thinking. Asking her out would be a swift ax to a treasured friendship, he assumes. Why are they stuck together in the same place, escaping their stale present while coping with their distressful pasts?
Trap songs about money, drugs, and bitches play in his earphones as he shoulders through a huddle of white collars on the pavement. "I could use a smoke. It's been a long day," he assures himself, avoiding the gaze of the loosie seller on the corner. "No, not again. Can't give in every other day." He acknowledges the loosie seller with a faint smile and hurries past him.
Through the cuboid canyons of skyscrapers and shopping malls larger than factories, he walks in compliance with his navy blue formal attire whenever the glass panes reflect him. The retina-burning halogens on billboards illuminate the poker-faced barbie models of elite fashion brands. Dating apps and condoms have replaced advertising spaces once reserved for chips, biscuits, and sodas. ATMs outnumber dustbins at every corner.
He crosses the road and heads under the overpass where lost vehicles and forgotten people sleep, wrapped in the dust. The other side of the town fades in and engulfs him in its chaos. The pallor of the chawls in juxtaposition with the warm hues of hawker stalls develops into an eerie ambiance of despair. Yellow tungsten bulbs dangle inside stores, and the odor of overused cooking oil lingers. Dirt and sweat clothe everyone here, and one cannot tell the immigrants apart from the natives. He notices the miniature temple built below an enormous and friendless banyan tree. Islamic prayers echo above the never-ending urban noise. The people here, albeit their misery, have time for God. They make the food that gets delivered to the offices on the other side of the overpass. The masses help each other survive, and the classes remain in check.
The chicken roll eatery being on this side of town does put its hygiene standards in question. But it's something he looks forward to after an awful day at work. When it comes to street food, ignorance is bliss.
He glances at his watch to calculate the hours of sleep he will be getting tonight. The lack of it doesn't surprise him anymore. Once home, getting ready for bed is another strenuous routine.
That reminds him of the discussion the guys were having in the smoking-room this morning: deepfakes, which, in a matter of minutes, became a gabble about deepfake porn. As immoral as it sounds, it piqued his interest. Maybe he will check it out tonight; another attempt to spice up jerking off to sleep every night. Which hasn't been great either because every time he achieves the point of sweet release, his ex-girlfriend's face pops up in his head. And she happens to be getting hideous with each passing day. He doesn't remember her being repulsive, or he didn't realize it then. "Good riddance, I guess?"
At this late hour, the eatery has a dense, diverse crowd upfront. The eatery owner, a stout, middle-aged man, welcomes him with a familiar smile. The owner hands him a menu card with its laminated corners crumpled up. He pretends to go through it, then orders a chicken roll with cheese and chilies, pays the owner, and steps away from the booth.
A friend from university who gives company for dinner is conveniently absent when smoking weed isn't involved. Fuck fake friends, sure. However, getting stoned by yourself suggests that you have a problem. He checks his cellphone: no new notifications or messages. "I wish I could just quit tonight and disappear." What will he do after leaving his job? He doesn't know that yet. He plans to paint every weekend. Years of delaying and hesitation later, he is now oblivious to the liberating sentiment of creating art.
A furry waggle against his shin startles him; a ginger-spotted cat marks its territory. When he decides to take in the scenery around him, the eatery owner going about his business intrigues him. The owner addresses his work with impressive gusto, makes a lasting impression on customers, introduces new flavors to the menu, manages his kitchen without a slip in quality. In a way, they both share the same job: marketing. Except, the owner has an immense passion for his work.
A server calls out his name, and he proceeds to grab his roll. He takes out a decent piece of meat and tosses it to the cat; it meows back with gratitude. A deep inhale, a huge bite, and - an explosion of flavors. The soft, grilled flatbread crumbles as the blended sauces flood his taste buds. The cool veggies bring the extra crunch, the chilies and cheese tickle the roof of his mouth. The zesty, peppery, slow-cooked chicken with all its juicy tenderness melts in, filling his parched soul. Worth every penny spent, another terrible day saved.
In her overbleached nightgown, a middle-aged woman emerges from the back of the booth. She places her cellphone over the owner's ear. She must be his wife. The owner expresses annoyance for being disturbed from his work, but the voice on the other end gets his attention. The owner's wife rests her hand on his shoulder as his face loses its color. Maintaining his composure, the owner gestures to the jumpy customers to excuse him.
"Oh...What stage is it?... What did the doctor say?... Don't worry; everything will be fine. I'll be there soon."
The owner and his wife share a brief gaze, eyes filled with sanguine hope. The kitchen comes to a halt, and the assistants stare at their boss with concern.
"It's my sister," the owner answers, "She's diagnosed with cancer, pancreatic."
Before he can gauge their reactions, the owner turns to his wife, nods at her, and leaves the booth. The owner's wife takes over, gets the kitchen up and running, and attends to the swarm of customers with the same commitment.
Having eavesdropped on their private conversation, he stands appalled, and his self-centered musings come to a pause. At that moment, his life shrinks down to a freckle in time. Why does fate strike its rusted sword and inflict irreparable wounds on us all? His appetite vanishes, and he gives the leftover bits to the cat. Does being at that place, time, and listening in on their conversation mean anything for him?
A heartfelt impulse ignites, which propels him towards the booth. He scans the QR code sticker of a payment app and transfers a few thousand bucks. Before the owner's wife figures out the unusual transaction, he disappears into the throng heading towards the train station.
When the rush of spontaneous action fades away, he understands that his well-intended offering won't be a notable contribution. But it was worth having this occasional feeling of contentment. This disease had robbed him of his aunt and wrecked the lives of quite a few of his friends. The people living in these chawls, how do they handle being diagnosed with cancer? Despite their chances of survival, one foot's always in the grave without the necessary funds and healthcare.
He walks on a narrow and sludge ridden alleyway, surrounded by a sequence of putrefied wooden planks, cobalt-blue aluminum sheets, and chipped brick walls. He turns around for a peek; there is no horizon, but more people, more vehicles, and a curtain of concrete elevations. Above this cityscape, however, the ethereal moon shimmers in the inky skies. Pleased about catching its glimpse, he looks forward to appreciating it some night.
Reaching the train station, he collapses on the first bench he finds. "I can't believe I'm panting like a bitch from that walk." The dreadful realization of your health slipping out of control. He recalls his university days of admirable stamina, appetite, and libido. Aware of their absence now, he rubs his eyes. A long weary sigh. Followed by a blaring horn, the train whooshes by the platform; the gust cools the sweat off from the eager commuters. He trots towards a first-class compartment and hops in.
In the compartment, men play cards and mobile games, eat rice puffs, sleep like invertebrates, and watch raunchy movies on their phones. Amidst them, he sits pondering over the events of the day against the railroad noise. "There isn't enough luck for everyone out here." The train seems full of mindless zombies, existing in their constricted, conformed lifestyles, innocently diverted from their realities. Drooping heads, slouching shoulders, and protruding bellies. But who's he to judge, for he belongs to the same spectrum of the living dead. Alas, a self-aware zombie doesn't cease to be an abomination.
An automated voice announces his destination over corroded speakers. He gets down at a deserted platform; the indicator for visually impaired passengers beeps with an unsettling tempo. As he heads home, chirping crickets and dogs howling afar welcome him. The air here is crisp, with trees arching above him. Streetlights make dainty amber halos, and he walks under them ruminating over the absurdities of his life. A quarter of his presumed lifespan has passed by him with nothing to show for it. If he dies tonight, who would care to attend his funeral, and who would miss him years later?
The error of his ways begins to froth his spirit. Why does he sabotage the chances of getting his shit together by procrastinating? Why does he give in to distractions instead of getting better at things that matter? Why does he fail to check up on his loved ones until it's too late? Why does he spend money on stuff he doesn't need? Why does he comply with peoples' opinions who don't have their own lives figured out? Why does he fall into relationships only to become desperate to end them? And expect them to solve all his problems and fix him? Why doesn't he realize valuable lessons right away and avoid this perpetual regret?
Why don't epiphanies occur when you need them?
Keys turn a rusted door lock open, and he steps into his studio apartment. He drops his laptop bag and sinks into the sofa. His house appears to be what a failed minimalist would have, but there's some niceness about it. He stretches his swollen toes that pop out of socks' holes. While he garners the strength to shower and call it a day, his eyes land on a puffed-up spot on the ceiling. The longer he stares at it, a crack in the paint becomes visible to him.
He stands engulfed by steam as the warm water hits his body and rejuvenates him. Newfound courage courses through his veins to break out of this self-built prison and get back on track. He must live on his own terms. Life is about the choices we make, and hence he's going to make the right ones from now onwards.
He opens up his laptop and emails a sick leave, the well-deserved break he needs. "I should draft my resignation letter as well...Maybe too soon for that. Better to wait for a few months' worth of paychecks."
And now, to end this night on a high note, he's going back to his calling. His passion. His art. A wide drawer hoards brushes, palettes, paint tubes and bottles, canvases, and other tools wrapped in plastic with cobwebs surrounding them. Taking them out, he dusts them and assembles the set up in a nook. He adjusts the lighting of the room to his desire. He takes a seat in front of the canvas, his fingers tingling with hope. His prowess is coming back to him.
It's a new beginning. What will he paint tonight? Should he paint something that pays homage to the surrealists that inspired him? Or pour out his emotions through colors to create an abstract composition? Or should he focus on forms using a monochromatic color scheme? There are plenty of options. A little too many.
The fatigue of a long day starts kicking in. An empty canvas is intimidating; his anticipatory anxiety magnifies. Legs bounce with unease. A fluttering heart; sweat cascading inside his nightwear. "This looks harder than I thought." If only there were a way to calm his nerves down.
Memory serves to be a curse when he remembers - deepfake porn. Like a moth to a flame, he grabs his cellphone and advances to the bedroom. Smack! A frail hand clasps his neck from behind and holds him down. Slender arms reveal a pale, sickly woman; struggling to hold herself up on the floor. Her sapped eyes mirror what once used to be her alluring figure. "Resist, you fucker!" she wails, clawing into him.
It's been quite a while since she showed up. She is his muse. They used to be at one with each other as she guided him through chaos and nurtured his gifts with innocence. Her breathtaking charm inspired works of art. She was an embodiment of his creative expression and ambition.
He can't stand watching her starved to the brink of death. It's a lost cause. With no effort, he shakes her arm off of him and leaves the room for his frivolities. Her bones crack as she drops to the floor. Blood trickles out of her nose.
Minutes turn into hours. Unrequited, she waits. Silvery hair soaked in blood, her chest wheezing.
She rests in peace, at last. Her existence dissipates from the room. The paints remain caked, and the canvas lies barren.
A momentary relapse for gratification foreshadows his continual turmoil, and another 'could have been' artist bites the dust.
​
Written By: Purple.Musings

CE Meh QQ has become one of the most popular chat rooms on the Internet. You may also have heard of it by its former name, Chateau Prague. The team behind this amazing online poker room has put in a lot of hard work and dedication to bring you great cemen qq software that will allow you to play poker online at your level, and improve your game. When you join any cemen a room, you are given a small code to enter into your online poker account, which then allows you to play against many other players at the same skill level as yourself.
It is actually very easy to get started and make money from cemen Quay. If you are familiar with basic poker rules, all you need to do is click on the search button and type in "ceme qq". The results will be over 50 pages worth of different poker sites where you can choose from. If you are new to playing poker, I highly recommend you start off with one of the beginner poker rooms. These sites offer great beginner poker strategies that will help you learn the ins and outs of the game.
When you first start learning to play, you should probably concentrate on learning the most basic hands or those that deal with both flops and hands. There are usually a lot of experienced players on these smaller tables so you won't have to worry about losing money unless someone makes a huge bet and there aren't many other good players. Once you've mastered the basics of cemen you can then focus on getting a better understanding of the actual game of poker by studying the correct playing techniques. That's where a lot of the fun comes in for me.
There are three game variations of cemen poker. The full tilt game is the fastest paced of the three. There you must be able to decide whether it is in your best interest to fold, raise, or bluff your way to a win. Full Tilt is a lot of fun to play and the action can get really fast. The downside is that you must be able to manage your time well if you want to be successful at playing this version of the game.
The slow paced Full Tilt style is much more relaxed. You will spend a lot more time watching the other people play than you will playing. This slower paced game requires you to be observant and also to have some idea of how the pot will break down. I prefer playing slow and medium paced full tilt games as it allows me to better determine when to make the right plays. I will also generally fold when I have already committed to the bet and I have a feeling I will lose money if I stay in.
You can also find other variations of the game such as the mini-play or the Texas Holdem. Mini-plays are a great way to learn how to play without spending any money until you feel comfortable enough to move up to more challenging poker games. The rules for these are usually the same as regular full tilt games, but you may end up taking more risks because the stakes are smaller. Texas Holdem games are also a lot of fun to play and often a good venue to develop a poker chip collection!

The Book of Doom
Living the Dream
Intro
Story of a time traveller trapped in a world where everything is backwards.
I’ve possibly never had an original thought. Everything is already written. I’m just discovering. I’ve lived my life and been manipulated left right and centre.
I love everyone.
I think I’ve rarely been conscious. My friends say i day dream more than participate in thought.
I think I’ve mastered life though & people in power know & are following me.
My whole life is a lie.
The whole world is a stage.
From genocide, world war & Jesus.
I’ve lived life just letting life take me.
It feels real but none of it feels like my own.
I’m writing this in a mental hospital for my own sanity maybe this will help you if you have gone through an awakening
The population to resources is a shambles but with technology and everyone working together we could turn the world green :)
They’re going to implement change through a world war where we will have no choice but to work together.
I’ve pretty much lived life for my mother and father, followed them all my life. My next job could be at the Chatsworth house. Working for the Duke of Devonshire.
I was stressed working with my mum, she ran a catering business and my Gran has moved to Greece. Alls I did from 15-17 was play video games. Outdoors had got violent and territorial. Xbox multiplayer came out and the introverts stayed in.
I played a pc game called Visual Utopia. It was an mopg, 2D map with around 200 players. A turn based strategy game, like hunger games, chess, fort nite, RISK & C&C all in one. You landed with 50 soldiers in a unit & had to find a place to settle, find friends & create a kingdom to survive. I hated it and loved it at the same time.
At 17 I moved to Greece with intensions of staying or coming back after a summer like I did. I convinced Gay to come with me before hand, I went but he couldn’t because of his dad. He came over a month later though. Damon was on holiday there with lads from work, he’d already booked before the idea and said he’d stay when I came over. Damon stayed two months and Gay stayed 1 month. Gav came back and got a job in Livingstones. I came back five months later and my neighbour got me a job in Bar Centro working for Noah the next week. I said to my mum, give me a year I’ll be manager. I was supervisor trainee manager after six months, after a year, Noah offered me managers job and a shit salary so I turned it down. He took me on holiday, now I black out when I’m drunk and I remember nothing of the holiday but I have a memory of him threatening to kill me if the truth gets out.
I’ve spent many family holidays with my mum in Greece. Me & mum loved to travel. She also took me to Paris twice, which a fell in love with but I was most fascinated by Greece, their history & architecture. From what I heard, Greek Mafia had their hands in bit coin & some of the common folk had ancestors from Zimbabwe which when I asked them about they was shady and avoided the question, as if they we’re wondering how I knew.
Here my life pretty much begins. My parents split at the age of seven. My mum and dad worked in bars, Bradbury Club, which has been torn down now. My dad was all round handy man pretty much managing the place, my mum worked the bars.
The split was rough. Me and dad moved to a flat in Grangewood then to Brimington where my Nan lived. My dads mum.

• Contents :)

Chapter One - Age Seven
Chapter Two - Age Eight to Fourteen
Chapter Three - Age Fifteen to Sixteen.
Chapter Four - Age Seventeen
Chapter Five - Age Eighteen to Nineteen
Chapter Six - Age Twenty
Chapter Seven - Age Twenty One
Chapter Eight - Age Twenty Two to Twenty three
Theory of everything contents
The more wisdom and philosophy we attain the more heavenly life is
Wisdom is the truth known consciously
Truth is what has consistent value
We are all connected
We are the centre of the universe
We are an accumulation of our ancestors
Consciousness is the manifestation of interactions
We are a sum total of our experiences
Free will is a form of self control
Frustration is the door to perception
Hell is the burning desire for this moment to be different. Heaven is the present moment
Gratitude is the state of mastership
Everything is a phase
Good is to do love onto another; out of love for yourself, to make one love oneself. Evil is to inflict suffering on to another; out of hate for yourself, to make one hate oneself
We attract what we fear, we become what we hate
Unconditional love does not mean unconditional behaviour
Karma is when you don’t learn your lesson the same situation repeats until you accept your mistakes & make the changes.
The universe; inner and outer, is a spiral, what goes around comes back around
Change your mind, change the world around you
Our purpose is to express ourselves in order to understand ourselves and the universe
Alls life is is a story going back in time to understand creation
We are time travellers
Knowledge is power

• Chapter one. - Age seven

My dad was an all round handy man. He was a carpenter in his spare time to earn us extra cash. We loved building things together or, I loved copying him.
I met Tricky, Gay & Alan at Brimington Junior School. Me and Tricky lived on the same street. We became friends when two girls stole his shoe and I just happened to be there. We became very good friends. We loved playing with action figures & watching Dragon Ball Z. Tricky was a bit mardy, hated playing outdoors and hated PC but I loved playing Age of Empires at his. With Gay & Alan, we loved to play outdoors & have tea at each other’s houses, throughout life we have loved building things together. I joined cubs with Tricky & I went to karate with Tricky.
I also gained three step brothers from my mums side. Daniel, Mathew & Liam. My brothers always stuck up for me and I looked up to Daniel, he was awesome :) we all loved building things together, playing blind mans bluff & man hunt. We also played for our local Rugby team & was learning to box at the local boxing club. Me and Liam played in the same team at rugby, under 11’s because I was small enough to be a back and get away with it even though I was 13 :) Me and Mathew was too big for me at boxing and Liam was too small for me so I never really got a fair fight. Mathew also joined the choir at the Crooked Spire :)
My Gran was amazing to me. Now let’s get to her. :) She was a very faithful woman, adored by the church and had great piano skills. She was well respected and played piano for the church. She used to get tons of Christmas cards. I loved learning to play piano with her, well, a little. :) she used to always play classical music and we’d drink orange juice and elderflower which is still a favourite, thanks Nan :) We could never say the Lords name in vein, my dad and her friend are the one’s that got me and Tricky into cubs :)
A rough part of my life in general this was. It was rough on the streets, fighting and territorial gangs of kids. I had baby sitters from a young age. Even before the break up. After the break up. I had mark bottoms who came from my street. He was still a kid really. Probably only 15. He used to bully me and beat me up. I blocked out most of my memory but I remember being trapped under a table being hit with poles. After one night another one of the baby sitters kicked him out, I called him a ginger twat down the street then he chased me to the shops and tripped me over. Fun :)
In Boythorpe I wasn’t having much more luck at my mums either. We was just being kids, taunting shop keepers when one dragged me into the shop. They then grabbed an arm each and started beating me, lovely stuff :) The shop keepers fled the country.
So I had a rough family break up that resulted in police tearing us apart and I was being beaten left right and centre :)

• Chapter two - Age Eight to Thirteen.

By age thirteen I’d made lots of new friends and felt more comfortable. School was fun, the work was not. I’d took up ju jitsu as a hobby, I was a natural and stuck at it two years. :) I remember learning to draw in perspective, 3D in the younger years, creating a tin can alley to raise money for charity and having the dinner lady steal the earnings, lovely stuff. :) We’d play army with our imagination, we’d play pokemon cards & bulldog, the usual stuff kids we’re playing :)
I met a bunch of other more friends along the way, Ryan Turner, Luke Spyra, Damon Shaw, Daniel Stirling, Daniel Wood etc... I met Luke Spyra on the parks through Ryan Turner I met in school through girls we used to associate with. I fancied the girl that fancied Turner so I clung to Turner to learn everything I could from him. He’s still a close friend now. I met Stirling & Woody through school. I met Damon on the streets. He came from Manchester and his uncle was once the head of defence :)
I don’t remember doing any work during school because I basically didn’t do it. :) I was very lazy & unimaginative when it came to writing, I could never produce more than three lines worth of writing. I wasn’t made for school. I remember playing something maybe called the game of life where we all had to pretend to be adults and work out our expenses, what we could afford and couldn’t afford, that was fun :) I remember in nursery my favourite thing to do was build with the blocks & I built a small bird house out of wood for my nursery teacher when I left because me loved her :) 13-15 was the good life after that where we just played and paid no attention to school. I spent most of my time day dreaming not bothering other kids so I got away with doing nothing :) At 15 I said I’d get 3 GCSE’s just incase and I got myself. Maths, Science & Electronics. I had a passion for business :)
Around this age, we moved twice and my dad had met Jean, we spent some time on Somerset drive where we’d play football, be more building & fighting. Jean was wonderful to us, she studied at university, loved classical music and would help me out with my english gcse :) we loved camping holidays. Unfortunately Jean died of cancer, along side my dad’s best friend who was like an uncle to us and joined us on holidays. My Dad’s life wasn’t getting much better :(
If I wasn’t at school I was at work :) I got my first wage packet at about 9 years or younger, cleaning with my aunt for £2.50. I used to work paper rounds with my brother at eleven and at 13 I had my own paper round. At 15 I was skipping school to labour for my step father plastering :)
I learned for a while and owned a drum kit & a electric Guitar at this time. We’d also all love playing Warhammer & getting eight players linked up to two Xbox’s in my shed & having BBQ’s in the summers
I was accident prone too, by this time I had broken my arm three times & my fingers once. One time at band camp my arm actually snapped in half, I stood up and immediently snapped it back in to place after my older brother threw my over his shoulders :) Proud moment. Aha

• Chapter three. - Age Fifteen to Sixteen

At fifteen we we’re pressured into making life choices, internet is becoming more popular. Streets are getting rougher and Xbox bought an online console out with Halo. Things got weird. We all started playing VU. I was mardy because Xbox had taken everyone indoors. But at-least I had VU. It had took a grasp on me and I became addicted. I played along side Turner, Gav, Adam, Damon, Straw, Stirlin & Woody. This was a rare time the game got a good flow of players.
I felt like there was a strange secret kept from me. I remember at one point in my life not being able to know something because I’m ginger as a joke. I linked it to VU lol.
Everyone but me and stirlin stopped playing, Stirlin was the founder. I became obsessed. I thought it was the most simple intelligent fun game there was on offer & I still do aha.
There was a kingdom called Legacy, pretty much like our illuminati of the world, all the veterans together undefeated. Well, I was determined to defeat them aha :) I set out on my own on a lower world to them where the noobs roam, Mantrax. I found two other players and created a kingdom called Trio, The Three Musketeers. All for one, one for all was our motto :) we became legendary in three era’s on the lower world. I had gathered about 20 noobs and was leading them all, teaching them how to play at the same time. We dominated every Era. On the fourth Era we went to the top world, Fantasia, where LGC roam and we defeated them :) Each era, Armageddon is cast by the winning kingdom and we all reincarnate again.
I wrote guides on this game. I was bar shit passionate about it, I felt like I was mastering life and Visual Utopia at the same time. I’ve met from the game probably around 200 people from all around the world and been trolled by nearly all of them :D I never felt respected by LGC but I felt respected and loved by other players. They mostly loved me :)
This game took over my life and I became depressed though between 15 & 17 whilst playing I was also working.
At Fifteen I started working for a company with my mum, it was silver service, waiting on for the three masons, on a steam train & weddings at Eyam Hall where the Black Plague started.
I was also working with my step dad plastering. I was working with Daniel Straw’s step dad landscaping & mechanics. I was left to change a gear box by myself lol. I did some bricklaying with Scott, my mum’s neighbour and with Damon Shaw’s Uncle Chris a couple of times.
I was also at College part time as well as school doing a bricklaying & painting & decorating City & Guilds
By 17 came I was out of work & stuck in just college not satisfied with my earnings or the fact I failed my driving test five times so, I moved to Greece :)

• Chapter Four - Age 17

At seventeen Greece was the time of my life. Bars. Booze. Boobs. Beach parties & work :) I started at a bowling alley for a Greek Australian friend of my Nans with Damon. We had accommodation right on the beach next door to Mac Donald’s. Atleast 15 units of alcohol a night for 5 months :)
It was legendary. Gav came and by then we’d been kicked out of our first apartment and had an upgrade. It had a separate kitchen and bathroom with two massive bedrooms each. When Damon and Gav left, I had one of these to myself :)
I started smoking weed with my new manager and became supervisor of a night club and hosted poker nights in my kitchen after work.
I still believe Faliraki was the best place for British workers because of the community we all had. I spent the first two weeks with my Nan by myself, once Damon arrived it was all go :)
We lived off Mac Donald’s, Subway, chips & cheese or a Gyros, one meal a day aha We spent our days adventuring the island, sun bathing and go karting :)
I got back just before my eighteenth birthday. I caught up with everyone and the drinking continue’d :) Gav loved vodka and so did Straw. I got a job in Bar Centro and Gav got a job in Livingstones. I remember we would down half a bottle of vodka each before we went out. I never drank around town until my eighteenth birthday. It was drinking at parks, houses and the streets from fifteen up until now but I could get away with drinking in Brimington pubs before I was legal :)
I continue’d playing vu throughout this and we had now all started using Skype :)

• Chapter Five - Age Eighteen to Nineteen

I loved my job at Bar Centro. I was getting paid for a social life. Sunday BBQ’s became a thing. Unfortunately Noah was married and sleeping with a girl that had friend zoned me, even told me she wants someone like me but not me. I learnt about the affair and this caused problems at work in the end. I was close to Laura, I never let it effect work until about twelve months in. I was taken on holiday to a fake maga reunion, at one point they was posing as night club owners to Ultra Beat and introducing me as manager as if we had a club big enough lol. I remember very little of the holiday, it’s all a blur but I remember being by a pool at one point. They sent me home at night once so they could have fun with women. I remember Nick telling me in the car if his wife found out I’m dead and he doesn’t care who my dad’s are.
A few more months of working and I’m offered salary and managers job. I was expected to work 50 hours a week, clean, manage the cellar & bar for 200 a week plus ten cash. I turned it down and I didn’t leave quick enough so they put a ban on phones then drew lines around my phone to see if I move and when I moved it they sacked me or I walked out there and then.
Lauren Whittaker joined in mid game and was sleeping with me and Nick.
I quickly got myself a job at escapade where I met Joe Mosley, Kirk Bytheway & Daniel Drew who became friends for years. I had a short fling with Hannah sellars I knew from Daniel Straws sister. Town had an awesome gang of workers, we was a little community, we often merged up with other bar workers for parties at each other’s houses. Summer peaked I became less interested in work, more interested in women & having sex. I got sacked at escapade for not taking the job seriously and spending more time dancing than working before my trial ended. I had also picked up another job at Vesuvius, a factory. So I didn’t care.
I got another job in brand new bar in town. I was also offered a job to run the bar and take a % with Gary Gee. I turned it down because Gary Gee was very Un organised and I’d have had to do all the work to turn the bar around. It was a failure. He framed me for stealing a tenner then sacked me lol.
I’m 19-20 now and round about this I met Leanne Moore :)

• Chapter Six - Age Nineteen to Twenty One

Leanne knew Beck who was the sister of a girl I worked worked with. I was sleeping with Beck for a month before Leanne attached herself to me, we had sex in the night clubs, neither of them we’re happy when they found out I was sleeping with them both. I saw this as a way out and a start at a fresh life. I dropped Beck for Leanne and she became my everything. I was hopelessly in love. We lasted twelve to eighteen months on and off planning life and she wanted out in the end, I spent most of my time telling her to wake up and getting stressed at all the pressure she was putting on me.
I was made redundant at Vesuvius a few months in & I started working at Dominoes as a delivery driver with Luke Spyra as manager. Leanne has been going to university at Hull and I have been spending my time working full time and partying with Leanne in Hull. We loved each other too much to be apart, we went together like two peas in a pod, we was both dreamers and hard workers, very passionate people and we both clashed and argue’d a lot.
Her dad worked at Royal Mail and we decided it would be a good idea for me to get a job there. Me and her dad we’re pretty similar, both computer geeks & fiercely competitive. They used to call me stupid together and taunt me, her mum would stick up for me. They made me feel like family and bullied me at the same time
So I applied at Royal Mail a few times & got a job at Chesterfield, the head office of Royal Mail. I knew privatisation was coming and I was warned it was the worst office in the UK. I knew although we had broke up in the end I had made it, I had a job for life, I had unlimited possibility.
Leanne was inspiring though, she had come back from university and made a promotion in two jobs before we split
Leanne wanted to rush things, get married and have babies, I wanted to take my time and she couldn’t trust me, we was looking at houses to buy and I was walking a tightrope for her trying to keep her happy. I had to get a back bone and stopped having sex her at times, she gave me a black eye at one point and we just kept falling apart.
Gavin in the mean time had setup a business called Bespoke Bartenders with Rick. I was working and partying with them. I was working 50 + hours a week. I couldn’t keep my managers at work happy and my girl happy. I cheated. We ended. My managers told me to get out more so I went and slept with three girls and realised quickly it wasn’t the answer but my ego was back and I was a now a poser :)
I’m 21 now. :)

• Chapter Seven - Age Twenty One

Danny Swan came into the picture. He appeared at Gav’s once and we started drinking together. Danny Swan was the most popular in town who hung around with the rich kids & got all the girls. I couldn’t compete with them so I didn’t even try lol. I believed I was stupid and ugly. Always had trouble with women. Had issues with my hair & weight. We started drinking together every weekend, it was fun just dancing, smoking drinking and getting attention from girls.
I’ve always been constantly criticised & called stupid and ugly by friends. My step dad used to say I was gay and point at me saying look at him he’s thinking, he knows what you’re thinking, that stuck with me. Girls used to call me ugly and say it was because I was ginger. Lad mates would all call me stupid and put me down on everything I did, idea I had or what I owned, nothing was ever good enough. I have often been flabbergasted at everyone, noticed people’s insecurities stop them from being themselves. I’ve always felt like everyone expects us to prove something. I hate it.
I was being used by Danny for a good time and my car. I didn’t mind, I just found it strange his need to steal fifty p from me once. Danny rarely had a job and always wanted to go out. We started smoking weed. I was paying for most things but I didn’t mind because I was in with the popular kids.
Danny introduces me to Mat Wood, Dan Malloy & Tom Smith. May wood was a tattoo artist. Dan was the leader singer of a band & Tom had just slept with everyone in town. I knew about them all previously from Laura Dawes. They all loved making fun of me and wanted me around all the time. The single life had began. I slept with three girls and realised this wasn’t the answer. I was looking for something meaningful. I just set to live & have a good time minus the sex. I made lot’s of new friends & reunited with old friends. Life was simple until point. Everyone wanted a piece of me and wanted to know what I was doing. I’d always just yolo’ it. I’d probably met 50 new people in a year.
I was a man in demand. Me and Ricky had caught up again and he always wanted me round his. Ricky and his friends all worked and I had a lot of good to say about them. They looked to Ricky as the what would Ricky do kinda guy.
Tom Smith was depressed and I was a sucker that couldn’t say no so I was also catering to him and hanging around with him to keep him happy
I made time for everyone & everyone started getting weird around me. I started questioning everyone and everyone was calling me stupid.
I had changed & I wanted to find out what was going off.
I’m now 22 and it’s 2012 :)

• Chapter Eight - Age Twenty Two to Twenty Three

Danny introduces me to Mat Wood. He was very keen to give me advice and thought I was going through an awakening. He told me to concentrate on my breath. I was very angry at this point. I wanted to know why everyone was being shady around me at the same time I was trying to gain respect from everyone. This drove me made trying to get respect.
I was having trouble at work also. They noticed I had changed. I blamed them for the break up putting pressure on me to work too much. They would punish me every time I said no. I clicked on to their methods and started making them look stupid. The managers didn’t find it funny but all I wanted was respect. One postman said at a Christmas party I was the future of Royal Mail. People knew I knew something.
A year went by with all the stress from work and friends, I’d given up, I just wanted to settle down and find a woman. I was trying to say no to everyone. I wanted control of my life.
I’m 23 now and it’s 2012.
Mat Wood and Jaydee introduce me to zeitgeist. I become obsessed with it and watch it slowly. Watch a piece, meditate on it, concentrated on my breath and let the thoughts flow.
Suddenly bam. I had awoken. I had mastered life. All the dots connected in my life from past present to future. I was petrified I was going to destroy the world and everyone was out to get me for it. I was watching the whole world spiral around me from that point onwards.
I remember when my mind eclipsed I thought I was the last point in time.
This is my theory of everything :)

• Theory of everything :)

The secret to philosophy is, it is true if you believe it to be true. Philosophy is like taking the tomato and making tomato sauce. Wisdom is knowing it is a tomato. By these means, philosophy keeps getting closer to the tomato. We make purée then we make slices and eventually we find our tomato, wisdom. Basically all philosophy is bull**** around what could be true. Wisdom is the result of good philosophy, which stands the time until another cycle begins. Philosophy is the love of wisdom.
So for example, we look at a chair and can see it is a chair, wisdom, philosophy, we can see it is nails and wood. :)
Wisdom is the truth known consciously. Wisdom is basically what is with the times; what the crowd can agree upon, what has consistent value. As for philosophy, we wouldn’t pick an in coherent philosophy out of the air but, someone may have an experience that gives them a philosophy that is ahead of the times. It only works if we truly believe it. :)
So basically psychosis = differently sane. :)
Their’s layers to truth but everything is built on truth. Truth can have more than one answer but a limited amount of answers. Meaning it is possible to understand the universe. :)
We are unlimited awareness but what we are materialistically is limited so, in other words. Wisdom is limited. Philosophy is unlimited.
So therefore, a plastic chair cannot be a plastic chair because that’s philosophy, the chair is plastic or a chair.
ID = Our wisdom
Ego = Our philosophy
So, we are our actions.
What we have done in our past is what creates the Angels & Demons that surround us.
Angels & Demons are also manifest by the things done onto us.
So for example we sacrifice people to summon a Demon.
This creates our karma, Karma is when we don’t learn our lesson the same situation repeats until we accept our mistakes & make the changes.
Angels and Demons can be also described as what makes up consciousness. Angels being consciousness. Demons being subconsciousness, so, until we make our demons conscious we will continue to be controlled by them from our subconscious. Preventing us from being ourselves. What we have not made conscious is our shadow.
Angels & Demons are what create our personality We can think of the ego as presence and that be all our demons playing together.
Life is about growth, holding on and letting go. We gain wisdom from angels and demons.
To create a Demon we go experience something and start a ritual*, then we simply let our Demons out to play and let them possess someone else. Talk about them, write poetry, a short story or a lesson we learned. This way they lose their power. The karma is released. * A ritual is taking the long way home around an action to create a better result, we apply method to the madness, and take small steps into creating bigger actions. Like gathering ingredients to empty our minds of all the questions and gain the power to manifest something we want :)
This is us creating the capacity to fulfil our dreams. We take the steps towards our dreams. This is creating more space inside ourself for them to happen. Whilst we are doing this; we are attracting the reality we want, by implementing our intension we create a ripple that spirals back to us. This is how our thoughts create our reality. We’re forcing the universe to conspire in our favour until we master what we are doing and gain the wisdom from the ritual. “I am” is the beginning of all wisdom, what we say after these words is what creates our reality.
We are god, Demons are our imperfections we fear being seen by the crowd, the fears that control us, this is how we attract what we fear, we become what we hate.
Demons will always stay with us, they are out to get us, Angels are their to save us. Demons give us the challenges in life, Angels give us the wisdom to get through them. Demons be like our children, frenemies, we have to give them something to look up to. We can think of Angels as our higher self, the elders.
So, we are the sins of our fathers. In this sense we are an accumulation of our ancestors. Each generation naturally practices self control and has had a sense of good and evil. Meaning, we inherit less & less Demons and we’re acquiring more & more wisdom through generations over time until we enter heaven.
In other words we have to go through hell and defeat all the demons to get to heaven.
There must be an alternate universe running backwards. One where philosophy comes first we are drawing all our energy from, the void must be a wormhole our imagination is trapped in eager to be discovered.
Wisdom = time
Philosophy = space 🙂
Dimensions:
3rd dimension = action, material world
4th dimension = thought, dream world
5th dimension = no thought, spirit world
The universe is a mirror so there would be ten dimensions, because we are in the middle of the middle looking in at the middle
They say life is better understood backwards so, the universe manifest from one point, the 1st dimension but, the universe also manifest from the higher dimensions. The higher dimensions are bigger, so, we go down the middle and we would say the 5th dimension is the centre of the universe. This is where the universe started but, this is not true. This creates dimension zero which is the egg, so, we have the 5th dimension down the middle of the spectrum which is the sperm. The 1st and the tenth, all this this creates you, a little spec, a special creation, a little miracle, a 5D, 3D hologram but, we’re not alone. We was shattered at the start. We mirror again, meaning the universe started with a twin flame in the 6th dimension. Each spec is going across distance is flat, each made of 3 points so, each spec is made up of zero, the fifth and the 3rd. Space, time & matter, creating a 3,6,9 pattern in every direction. This is the 3,6,9 method. This means everything that’s possible that could be manifest, manifest at the start of the universe with unlimited possibility 🙂
This would mean each universe is contracting or expanding. That there is only beginnings. All life is game, the universe is like a Russian doll.
This would mean we are all born at the centre of the universe. We are born with all the wisdom of the universe and life is a journey moving closer or further away from the centre of the universe as we develop, discovering wisdom or not. We are the singularity. This makes us creation & creator. :)
We all have the Ontic Sphere,
“ Deep inside the being of a human life there's a secret connection to powers and forces, the refined and raw energies of the world and the cosmos beyond it, all funneling down and inward to that secret connection and flowing through the entire ontic sphere* of the human being, bringing more reality to the reality than it had before it was fed the true foods of existence, the blending of experiences and the feelings, and from the ontic sphere spreading out to all the world, radiating like a microscopic star the rays and beams of a formative influence, making the human being more than a consumer or a parasite, but a symbiote, a producer even of the transformation flows through the topologies shaping reality everywhere. This is a good purpose for human beings, enriching the very planet and it's planes themselves, and between them, even more special the magick, the sorcery, the craft, the very tales of love and drama, the majestic other dimensions of the being of the human family. Consciousness is more than a trip, it's a vital part of our present cosmos & chaos alike. *An Ontic sphere, to the best of my understanding, is the world which you live interplaying with your psyche and it's organic expressions, creating an almost ultrafractal and transfractal appearance and relevance to life.” - written by Jerry David Rosenberger
So in theory. Each solar system is like a little universe. There are possibly little you’s running around with one leg missing. Our imagination is a portal. All the chaos happening here right now, is all the chaos happening everywhere in the universe. We could be the first to leave the planet and it’s probably already happened. Our realist us would be immortal and complete all challenges in life. All life across the universe shares the 3D 5D realm.
Everything that exists inside the mind has already happened somewhere or is about to happen. Everything is a phase. Everything is a figment of our imagination. Life is but a dream.
We could say we all share the same dream and it’s a dream within a dream. Meaning we all share the same wisdom with unlimited paths of getting there.
This means we are all connected. Meaning we all have attachments, demons. This causes frustration & frustration is the door to perception. We all desire happiness & the more wisdom & philosophy we attain the more heavenly life is. We can take these steps, (Compassion > self control > reason) on the way to attaining wisdom.
We have the question do we have free will? On one side we say everything happens for a reason. On the other side we say everything is random. If we go down the middle we say, self control is a form of free will. Yes, the universe is determined but the more awareness we have the more choice we have. The middle path is useful for philosophy. The middle path may mean going a hard right to balance a weak left.
Gratitude is the state of mastership, so, we rather ask what is this trying to teach me? instead of why me? in moments of frustration. It’s important not to play the victim.
And then there’s the eightfold path.

1. Right understanding (Samma ditthi)
2. Right thought (Samma sankappa)
3. Right speech (Samma vaca)
4. Right action (Samma kammanta)
5. Right livelihood (Samma ajiva)
6. Right effort (Samma vayama)
7. Right mindfulness (Samma sati)
8. Right concentration (Samma samadhi)

As you can see consciousness is a manifestation of interactions. Our soul is an accumulation of our ancestors, all our and Angels and Demons. We are one soul, wisdom, philosophy, we are all different souls. We came here with lessons to learn passed down through generations already so, an old soul is wise, every generation is more advanced than the next. Children are the wisest on the planet, children know they know but don’t know what they know until they are older.
So, Alls life is is a story going back in time to understand creation. We are an accumulation of the past, future and present. Souls can come from other planets as well as this as we are time travellers. We all have the ordinance of the entire universe limited by our awareness.
Everything has its place and we want everything in it’s fitting place. Good and evil can be seen as a spectrum. Intentions come into play and even the observer so, there can be a greater good and a lesser evil. When a crowd come together we all get on a level, you get what you give, for some direction I suggest:
To do love onto another is good; out of love for yourself, to make one love oneself. Evil is to inflict suffering on to another; out of hate for yourself, to make one hate oneself.
We have three forces pulling us. We all have god, we are god, wisdom. We all have our demons, our path, our philosophy and we all have our idea of perfection that haunts us.
Everything is spiralling us :)
The 5th dimension is where we are all heading. Where we are all connected at the heart and have empty minds, experiencing things like telepathy.
This would be heaven. This is where we become free spirits. This is where all our wisdom & philosophy comes from. Everthing has a spirit, all matter and thought are a manifestation of spirit.
Archons are what set the limits on our wisdom & philosophy.
The greys are the Devine perfect beings from the future that we will all metamorphosis into. They can shape shift, time travel & take hostage in our mind like a parasite. Everything get’s smaller and closer to perfection. These are what create our negative thoughts the beings preventing us from completing our challenges. They feed off of negative energy; if there’s no imperfection, they can’t exist.
if we don’t pay attention to spirits, spirits lose their power, so, we can kill death. Fear is a virus, the root of all evil.
I assume you know what to do. Our purpose is to express ourselves in order to understand ourselves and the universe. I suggest you be yourself.
This is how habits create the man. :)
We are a result of our life choices.
Knowledge is power.
Bonus:
Ten Commandments
Rule one Trust no one
Rule two Serve a brew
Rule three Dance with me
Rule four Don’t ask for more
Rule five Learn to dive
Rule six No quick fix
Rule seven Love comes second
Rule eight Always be straight
Rule nine Do not wine
Rule ten Master your zen