The redoubtable Gene Wolfe weighs in on a forgotten scandal.
This is a map - of tunnels under a nursery, the existence of which had 'been debunked'. Remember that next time someone uses that phrase.
The Satanic Panic of the 80s is a byword of mass hysteria, where innocent people were victimised by Christians on a (literal) witch-hunt. Unfortunately, according to his research, it seems they were right!
Read the whole horrible thing here.
Alas, Minds.com is now lost to me.
After making a change to my user profile, I got repeated reminders to 'confirm my email address'.
I did so - multiple times! It got to the point last week where I just clicked on the 'Send confirmation email' link whenever it appeared. Each time the email failed to appear, I wrote to their Info and Security addresses, saying, Please Fix This Problem.
Eventually, after 3 days of no replies, I thought stuff this, and deleted my account. I couldn't make any posts or even comment on anything until the email was confirmed... which I couldn't... and no-one was answering my calls for help. So I decided to cut my losses and trashed it.
The following day, I got an email. No 'Sorry it took so long to reply', not even a 'Hello, Jim!' All it said was 'What is your login ID?' - and that was it.
I replied, 'Nothing. I've deleted my account... You're never going to compete with anyone with support like this.'
After a day or two, I thought, Maybe I can try again, using a different ID. I tried it, using the same email address (the one I use for all my creative-type communications). A red error message said, 'This domain has been blocked as spam'.
I'm done with that lot.
I suppose it's better that it happened now, rather than somewhere down the line when I already had crypto accumulated.
TL;DR - don't bother with Minds.com. Their support is useless.
I have had someone wondering about the name of this blog. It's named after a tree species I loved in South Africa, Celtis africana. It's commonly known as the White Stinkwood, due to the pungent smell given off by the bark when the wood is cut. While the name of the tree isn't flattering, they are beautiful trees. In the Magaliesberg range they dominate the riparian (riverine) forests, especially on south-facing slopes. I seldom saw them at home, but they were very common in the club my dad belonged to in the Skeerpoort district.
Once upon a time, when the trees in my neighbourhood had reached a certain size, we started to get forest birds from that area in our gardens. They brought with them the seeds of these trees, and one sprouted at the bottom of the garden, in what had been a vegetable patch. I transplanted it to the front lawn, where as far as I know, it's still growing.
The trees feature in my first book The Ironwood Staff, which is on Amazon, and free on Prime!
On Minds.com, I have a post in response to a writing competition. The prompt was as follows:
Write a microfiction or flashfiction story (around 500 words) about HEAT. This can be funny, sad, exciting, lethargic, a theme, social commentary, fiction, non-fiction, or anything else.
So, in between everything else (I seem to do a lot of writing that way!), I came up with this
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| Shutterstock.com |
‘Zombies are attracted to heat,’ Gerry pointed out.
I hushed him with a frantically understated gesture. I whispered, ‘We’re in public, you idiot!’ You don’t shout “Fire” in a crowded theatre, and you don’t say “Zombies” in Starbucks.
‘Shut up, you two,’ growled the boss. ‘Jim, see if you can get the staff to show you the back room. Gerry, go outside and look for a gate round the back.’
Gerry grumbled, but went back outside into the freezing rain. I went to the counter. No-one was free. I called out to the guy at the sink. ‘’Scuse me, mate! I need to have a word with the manager?’
The guy looked worried. I must have looked a bit odd, with my long jacket hiding the hardware and a wide-brimmed hat. ‘The manager’s not here,’ he said.
Typical, I thought. I needed to get past this one. The customers were already giving me the stinkeye. ‘Well, get me someone who’s responsible…’ I beckoned him over. He came close, and I said in a low voice, ‘There may be a public health problem with this building, I need to see the rooms in the back.’
The barista looked a little green. He ushered me through, without question – nice one! The facilities for the staff in the place were pathetic. I think the stock was kept in nicer conditions. There was a single toilet in the back, with a tiny basin. The room had a fair-sized window, taller than it was wide, of frosted glass, light shining from above, deep green shadow below.
‘What’s on the other side of that window, do you know?’ I asked.
The barista shook his head. I looked at the window. There was a handle to open a small pane above the main one. I froze. There had been a sound. The silence suddenly became very thick. I listened: there it was again! I turned to the barista, now a lighter shade of pale: ‘I think you should get out of here,’ and reached into the lining of my coat for my snawnoff.
‘Are you packing heat?’ the barista demanded.
I raised my voice to a police crowd-handling level: ‘Sir, please vacate the premises! We are professionals, you have to leave now!’
He fled. I keyed my com, ‘Boss, we have a possible contact in the alley.’
‘I need more than that, Jim. Do you have visual?’
‘Not yet, boss.’
‘Get it.’
I closed the toilet lid and stood on it. I opened the little hatch window as far as it would go, which wasn’t very. Gerry’s voice came over the com: ‘I’m at the entrance to the alley, boss. It’s overgrown with these weeds, and there’s snow everywhere.’
‘Visibility low?’
‘Yes, boss… I’ve got visual!’
I craned my neck as far as I could. Shit! It was standing right there! ‘So have I!’ I announced. The zombie heard me, and shambled towards me. From experience, I knew if I didn’t kill it, it would be on me in seconds. I manoeuvred my sawnoff through the window, but I couldn’t see the target and use the gun at the same time. I was going to have to guess! I squeezed the trigger. There was a bang and a flash, but nothing sounded like it fell. I pulled my arm back in and peered out. I was greeted by the sight of a zombie face, too close! I’d missed completely. Its lidless eyes gazed out of a face missing the lower jaw, teeth hanging into space. It was coated with a thin film of dry snowflakes. It reached for me, but it was much slower than I’d have expected.
Before I had too long to ponder my good fortune, Gerry’s subgun crackled loud behind the zombie. There was the sound of a falling body, and soft footfalls approaching down the alley. I stuck my gun through the window, blasting the zombie right in the face. It fell with a dry crack and rattle. I peeped out again, confirming the kill.
‘Two of them, boss!’ Gerry’s voice came from right in front of me, in the alley, and in my ear from the com. ‘They were moving slow, must have been freezing here all night.’
‘Thank God for that,’ I said. I’d never seen a Zombie’s face so damn close in my life! ‘Clear?’
‘Clear!’ Gerry confirmed.
‘Nice going, lads! Get yourselves out here, and let’s leave before the Bill gets here.’
Saved by snow. Who’d have thought it? The undead needed heat even worse than we did.
‘Can’t we get a coffee, boss?’ Gerry pleaded.
‘Van first, coffee when debriefed.’ I caught up with the boss in the front of the shop.
‘I’m bloody freezing! I need to heat up!’ Gerry whinged over the com.
‘I know, Gerry, but if we stick around there’ll be another kind of heat coming, and we’re not equipped for that. Let’s go.’
