Galaxy (a story)

Galaxy (a story)

Many eons ago, an advanced race came to earth and taught the primitive people there all they needed to know to grow into a civilized land. They taught them some moral lessons and wisely said that these codes would help their people have a better quality of life. They lifted a stone platform so the people would be reminded of their covenant.
For many centuries, the people remembered the visitors and followed their sage advice. But then they became more arrogant. When a people think they have grown, they stop thinking there is someone who knows more. They think they are gods. It had been so long since they had seen the visitors.

The people forgot the visitors and thought their ancestors had been telling camp fire stories and the visitors were just a tale to keep their children in check. So they started to go their own way.
They broke up family homes, they stopped going to the temples to pray, they believed that money had more power than faith. And they began to build… build… build. Concrete and steel took the place of red woods. Cement and tar took the place of rivers.

Instead of thinking that other people were children of gods, they thought of them as enemies and started building weapons and isolation centers. They looked to the stars and dreamed of living and traveling there. The odd people were put into warehouses and given drugs to placate them, instead of being respected.

And they began warring with their neighbours. Withholding basic necessities and destroying villages. Killing and raping the women and children and disrespecting the elders.

When the visitors heard what was going on, they returned and tried to clean up the mess. But the people were too stubborn. Most of them anyway. Those who had been mistreated or isolated in the centers were happy to hear there was another way to live.They were taken onto the ships of the visitors and removed to their planet. The visitors created a chimera so the people there couldn’t see where their journey took them away and couldn’t follow. The visitors put warning signs thru the galaxy for other species, so they would know that the people there were running amok. So they had the choice to veer away from the planet.

The warring people were left well alone to kill themselves off if they chose to. And those who were freed by the arrival of the visitors flourished under their support and tutilage. Life became good for them.

The visitors told them that their variances were in fact signs of the new evolution and had the people followed their code, they would have been revered. Now they would be. As intended.

. . . .

## . . . .

influences for this piece

[I’m a Stranger Here- 5 man electric band][]

[Calling Occupants  – Carpenters][]

[Space Oddity –  David Bowie][]

[Rocket Man  – Elton John][]

{The Final Countdown – Europe][]
[Yellow Moon  –  Pearl Jam][]
[Cygnus X-1  –  Rush][]
[Heart of the Sunrise  –  Yes][]
[Black Hole Sun –  Soundgarden][]
[Supernaut  –  Black Sabbath][]
## . . . .
[A C Clarke  – 2001 A Space Odyssey][

NRE – that “new car smell” in dating

NRE – that “new car smell” in dating

Whatever the relationship, the beginning of it is full of hope, romance and people on their best behaviour. So it’s sexy, exciting and fresh. What more could you ask for? Your day and night are full of passion and you are sharing your stories; getting to know each other; laughing at each other’s jokes. And you haven’t heard them all a kagillion times (would you just stfu already about that time you…!!)
There’s no history and standing feuds between you, which has good and bad to it. The bad of history is that you know each other and can get bored. And you have no more mystery. Or so it seems. You are a hunter, an animal and the last thing you want is a relationship where there’s no more chase to it. The good of history is you know you have the strength to get thru stuff, together. Because you have.
This person you are now exploring may indeed have all the same bits and bobs your past and current partners have. But they might wear a different perfume or have a different fave colour. Or their skin is more mocha than peaches and cream. Maybe their hair is short, or brown rather than blond like your current partner. Just enough that you see someone new.
And you get to explore different things, be a different person when you are with them. Reinvent yourself and your relationships. Wear different clothes, get a new hair cut, lose weight,… That’s often how a partner knows their SO is cheating. Because their partner has changed recently. They have a new dynamic to test out, to bounce off. And they change. Which can be enormously annoying to their old partner, esp if they had been asking for changes that the new lover is getting just by being new. And they sit, remembering all the fights they had and the adament sameness. And now they resent the changes they had asked for, because it wasn’t done for them.
As they change, there is a push back from those already in their life, who want this person they’ve known awhile to stay the same. Even if it is boring, even if it was a change they wanted, now it’s safe and trustworthy. But their partner wants new. Or at least some of them do.
And isn’t new exciting?
And isn’t current trusted and true?
Which do you want?

If the dynamic is one of open relationship, or poly, the new relationship often takes precedence over the old. That’s where the passion, exploration and interest lie. And each feels a bit selfish. The partner who wants a new relationship and the one who is pushing back because they feel left out. And the new one who feels unsure where they fit into things. How friendly should they be with their lover’s other? How much affection should they show to their new lover in front of them? Only variable by whether or not the three are all lovers, or one is left out. But still, they stack toward the new lovers being drawn to exploring, which leaves the known lover feeling left out. And much as you might be attracted to both genders (if there is that inclination?), don’t you have fluxes in when you are more one than the other? (So friends tell me anyway) Are they alligned to what you need now?
Bottomline, one feels they get less and need reassurance. even if they are all lovers. And that changes over and over again. Which causes hurt feelings too.
So there is conflict. There are hurt feelings, and sometimes you aren’t sure now is the best time to have a new or old relationship. And you have to figure out which relationship is your priority. How many people will be affected by the choices you make and the conflict?
At this point, the new car smell is mixed with salt for tears; upset tummies from anxiety and maybe puke in the back seat; and the eau de conflict in your memory banks. Will the relationships (any of them) withstand this trial? Do you want them to? (Cuzz puke is gross, j/s!)
If you had a do-over, would you choose to go over to the new lover’s house? Would you wrap up the old first? Or is it the people who are wrong for this attempt? Maybe having more than two just isn’t possible with these people.
I know some people want to portray this all as an exciting thing, but dependant on self esteem, respect and trust, there are going to be at least moments of hell in the honeymoon. There have to be. After all, it’s at times of transition that more addictions, abuse and murder take place in a relationship.
So how do you safeguard yourself during a moment of what should be just fun and exciting? How do you protect those in your charge?
Or do you just push thru, hoping that the people you are surrounded by are worth being with at all? And go till there’s a scorched earth that you cannot come back from?
Well you could just play “let’s pretend” and buy a deodorizer that smells like the new car smell you were going for and pray that everything works out, instead of working for it. Or instead of trying anything, just buy the deodorizer and to heck with any relationships. After all they all have risks, right? Let’s just dream instead of loving anyone.

practical poly – the scarcity principle

Practical Poly – The Scarcity Principle

Let’s think of this for a minute…

Time and attention factors

  • Most ppl sleep between 6-8 hrs a day.
  • Most ppl shower and use the toilet, so let’s say they get 2 hrs for that. Including hair and possibly makeup (for women and some men)
  • Most ppl have a job and here in Canada min hrs a week are 50 as of now. that’s @10 hrs a day 5 days a week
  • Some ppl have to upgrade to keep a license or practical job req current,

so 1-2 eves a week for 2-3 hrs in class plus studying which is usually 4-5 hrs

  • Many ppl have minor children. Usually 1-2 so kids are up in the eves and @ more on the weekends, unless they have a parent who they visit for alt custody arrangements.
  • Some have animals to wrangle. Dogs need walks, cats need their litter changed and both req attention or they get depressed. So let’s give them an active 1-2 hrs a day.
  • If you are active in your “community”, going to the dungeon or a munch can take a good eve up so 3-4 hrs x 1 per week.
  • If you’re fit you need to exercise to keep that up. So 1 hr a day maintenance.
  • Prep a healthy meal or take out can use up 1/2 hr per meal, never mind eating and socializing during it. Which can take @ 2 hrs per.
  • House or apt cleaning (variance by size and members using/helping clean not really able to calculate it)
  • Many ppl have some illness or injury to deal with. So they have a doctor’s appt, meds to take, therapies to endure and then there’s the spoons they have or don’t to manage a relationship that day, that week. Min time is @ 3-4 hrs a week
  • warm up and cool down from your time with a partner eats at the quality and can equal the actual time. (Too variable to calculate – self esteem, ability to communicate and express needs, independence)
  • Many are in D/s, M/s relationships and have tasks their dominant expects of them on a daily basis. So let’s give 1-2 hrs for that.

Have I forgotten anything?

So once you have calculated the actual time and attention they can give you a week,
How emotionally available are they?

  • How well do you get along?
  • Is it mostly sex when you can get together or are you actually talking and working on your relationship as well?
  • How superficial is your exchange? (If given a questionnaire about your partner, what could you answer about their hopes, dreams, struggles, past hurts, family dynamics…?)

How big is your poly group?

  • Do you feel you get an equal or fair share of their time and emotional support?
  • Do you get time on days that are important to you? (ie you and your kids’ b-days)
  • Can you count on them in an emergency?

Do you get along with your metamours?

It’s complex, and only you can decide if the arrangement you have or want to enter is enough for you.

  • Do you have an obvious entrance and exit strategy that sees to you being supported and safe?

code name Medea (a female spy story)

Code Name: Medea (a female spy story)


Medea Medea witch of wonder
who brought down a cheat
once a hero of plunder
just by making him eat
flesh so tender and innocent
so loved by him then
by the gods a punishment
Jason fell to her ken

She had nothing but beauty and domestic skills going for her. But one day, a captain of the army came and asked her if she would consider becoming a spy for her country. She was offered a place in the house of a dignitary of the enemy.

  • her backstory:

She was to tell the seneschal that she was a poor lass on the run from an abusive uncle who was made guardian of her after her parents died tragically. She had no one to protect her. But she was a good cook, and could serve a big house quite easily. She was used to cooking at her father’s public house. The punters had loved her food.

So she went to the house and applied to be a junior cook. Till she could prove her skills to the lady of the house and the seneschal.
She was tested by cooking an egg. I know it seems so simple. But master chefs baulk at this simple thing. She made a lovely soft boiled egg and a fluffy plate of scrambled eggs as well. They were delicious. So she was hired.
Her day was spent in the kitchens, but she wandered the garden at night. So the master was likely to see her. One night he did. The chase was on. She played innocent and yet let herself be seduced. She cried and wailed about her future. No decent man would have her. The master gave her baubles as gifts to soother her tender nerves and made false promises. So she let him keep seducing her.
Though she had taken measures to be sure of no pregnancy, she soon let him know that he was a potent steed. He moved her to an upstairs bedroom and surrounded her with fripperies. She started padding her bra and slip appropriately. She no longer had to cook, as the work and heat of the kitchen were deemed unsafe for the master’s child. Even if it was a bastard. His wife was sterile and they planned to adopt the infant, when it was born.The babe would be their heir if it was a boy.
The master began to trust her and allowed her to stay in the room, even during important meetings of his agents. She would sit and yawn and say nothing. But now and then, she said she was bored and became petulent. But the master said he wanted her pretty face near him. He gave her bonbons to soothe her during the meetings.
When each meeting was over, she went to her room and wrote a missive to her handler and put it under a bench in the garden when she went for an evening walk, for the health of the babe. No one suspected her.
But one kitchen maid, who had been the master’s previous paramour watched her. She had been made to work again when the master lost interest in her.
The maid watched and learned and soon found a missive. She took it to the master and he fell to his knees in despair. His country was in danger, due to his lust. His wife took the spy to her rooms and stripped her. She found the padding, instead of a babe.
They had a few soldiers to guard their house as they were important people. The wife went to them and told them the story and showed them the missive.
The spy was taken out to a field away from the house and suffered several rapes. Then she was shot by each gun they had and left to breathe her last. Buried the next day.
But the information she had managed to sneak out was well used by her side of the conflict. She was given posthumous awards for serving her country well.

a lady pirate’s story

A Lady Pirate’s Story

It was in the 1700s. At that time, the life of a woman was to marry for security, or be a governess or maid. Most of my crew and I would rather be dead than have that life. So we were willing to risk it.. To become a pirate.
My friends and I had been refused space on most boats because duh we are women. Superstitious, sanctimonious pricks the lot of them!
So we got an old boat and fixed it up and flew our own flag. Instead of the traditional red flag, we had a white background with a red rose on it. And our black flag had two crossed swords with blood on the one tip. The tiniest spot of red on black and white.
We wore red patches over one eye when we were boarding ships, instead of black. Our skirts were red and we had a white peasant blouse and a red waist sincher. We tried to keep them clean and pretty. I bet we did better than most of the men did!
Some of the local women started wearing our garb when they heard about us. Partly in sympathy and partly to aid us. To act as decoys when the soldiers came looking for us. The chance they took was being hanged as a pirate, so we didn’t encourage it at all. But they thought we were romantic.
Considering the time and the fact they were pressed into service, the men we collected from other boats really didn’t object to coming with us. Well not at first. They were pretty sure they were getting a chance to have their way with us. So they helped us gather supplies from the navy ships and carry it to ours. The pressed men thought they would be staying on our ships as sex slaves. LOL Nope, we sold them as slaves in foreign lands. It was hard to see the look in their eyes when they realized. We were just as cautious about having men on the boats as other pirates were about having women on theirs. Not happening in the long run. Didn’t mean we couldn’t have a bit of fun with them while they were there though. 🙂
We chained them in the galley and used them as rowers by day. And chained them in a few spare cabins, so we could tease and torture them for part of the night. In ways that didn’t wreck their value when they were sold. Their muscles and limbs had to remain strong enough to work in the fields after all. So fun things like needles in the scrotum. Now and then we castrated them, if we planned to sell them in lands that prized eunuchs. If we were close enough to make that worthwhile. No harm in scarring them with burns and cuts, so long as they were superficial. And there was a place for the owners’ tattoos and brands.
One of our ladies was really good with a knife. She had grown up on a farm and was used to dealing with animal castration.. She also was good at caring for the incisions. We only ever lost two men due to infections. Not that the men were ever happy with the results, but they mostly survived it.
Between the soldiers, the male pirates and the slave dealers who at times wanted us more than our slaves, we had a hard time keeping ahead of the men. We were on a clock, and sooner or later, our time had to run out. Not to mention storms at sea. And scurvy.
But we valued our unusual lives and the freedom. So we risked getting our neck stretched with a rope choker. And most of us stayed free. Most of my crew retired to a small island where the few coins we could give them would give them a nice life. A small cottage with a garden. Independence.
But not me… I was dragged before the lord and sentenced to death. A few of my jailors had their fun with me. But my girls were able to bargain for a decent cell, good bedding and good food. Till I was hung.
On the day of my death, there was quite a crowd. Many ladies from the area wore a red pirate’s patch to show me support. It made me smile, despite my nervous state. It was a sweet thing to do. Not that it made the lord very happy. If he hadn’t known most of them, they could have gotten jailed as a pirate. He ripped the patch off his own wife’s face and slapped her really hard for her impertinance.
Finally the time came. The executioner moved toward me, put a hood over my head. I felt the rope against my throat, and my clock ran out.

Lady Carlotta

the dance between Merlin and Morgan (a story)

The Dance Between Merlin and Morgan (a story)

So many things between them; some love, some faith, some hate. All power shifting and changing over the head of a crown. A fight between the old gods and the new one for a kingdom.
A fight between a camdion and a water nymph for a soul. One as champion and one as a curse, both full of sorcery and passion. So caught up in the magic that they lost the soul they fought for in the end. Incest and falsity it’s stones.
And the castle and kingdom fell. Though they say that loss is only temporary.
Whisper the sorceror’s name and they appear. But is the name you cry out Merlin or Morgan? Does your quest lead you to the sacred male or female? Is the cross Celtic or Christian?
In the evolution of time though, the kingdom will rise again, if it ever was. You’ll find it among the trees of the Druids, that protect the lady of the lake and the dragon that sleeps in the mountain.
The round table will rise and chivalry will be profound again. But when it does, will the gods be Christian or pagan? Either way, power weighs heavy on Camelot’s Crown. Intrigue separates the knights from the throne and the round table.

Power dances thru the wands of sorcery
Merlin races to the throne’s side
And Morgan smashes the sword’s stone
Merlin teaches the young king
And Morgan plots for his downfall
Camdion and nymph at war
For the throne of Camelot.
Which may be lost forever
when father and son kill each other.
All that’s left in Camelot for now is
the dance of Merlin and Morgan.

Dear Lady Marian

Dear Lady Marian, (a story)

  • remaking a Sherwood Forest story

Since I saw you in the woods one day, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You are so gorgeous! So hot and you were so sweet and nice to little me. Meaningless me. I’ve replayed our conversation over and over in my head several times a day since then.
I know I bowed and scraped before you, till you were blushing. I know I stammered when I should have been clear about what I wanted from you.
But you were a young chaperoned lady, and I presumed an innocent. For all I knew, you had an iron belt under your skirts. If only I knew for sure… Had you and your maid found a way to remove the belt between the priest’s fumbling checks? Was one of your guards (or more) your lover? Or did you prefer to tumble with the stable boys? Maybe you and your maids were playing together? Had someone defiled you, or had you gone to a lover’s bed willingly? I had so many hot scenes going thru my mind, that I couldn’t concentrate and it was making my crew a bit crazy. But we all had a bit of a crush on you, so they were nice about their impatience. How could they not be when they felt the same way?
We were sparring with each other, to see who would be sent to town to find out more about you. I won. How could I not? I’m the leader of the crew!
Finally the day arrived. There was a joust and I was sent as a challenger against the castle’s guards.
I pulled on my trousers, overshirt and a hat that covered my hair, so no one would know who I was. I pulled on a pair of boots that were so huge, it made it hard to walk. I was worried about how I’d fight with them on. My own mother would have difficulty seeing her child in this outfit. Good thing, because I happened to walk right by her at the gates.
I took my turn in the tournaments and won every contest I was in. I fought my way to you and slipped this letter inside your cloak’s pocket.
If you are open to being with me, then please put this flower on your lapel when I am given my championship award. And please keep my secret, at least till I am outside the castle walls. Till we meet again.
Your heroine.
Robin, Lady Thief of the Sherwood Forest.

Gramma’s Rules for the faerie forest

Gramma’s Rules For the Faerie Forest (a story)

Gramma was getting tired and she wasn’t feeling well. She had been taking care of me when mom and dad were at work. So she decided I was old enough to go wandering in the woods. Alone. She gave me a red cloak and told me it was magic. No beast could see me as long as I kept it on. So I wore it. All. the. time… It was HOT in that cloak.
She sat me down when she realized that I actually followed that one rule and told me the other rules that belonged to the faerie forest.

  • don’t go into the three pigs’ cottages. The wolf can huff and puff them down. Afterall, what kind of builder can a pig possibly be?
  • don’t go into the bears’ house and eat their porridge or sleep in their beds or they’ll chase you till they can have you for dinner.
  • don’t accept beans and scatter them or a stalk will grow and there’s a giant’s castle above it.
  • don’t climb a stalk and take a golden goose or the giant will follow you and try to eat you, singing “fee fi fo fum” all the while.
  • don’t let the wolf follow you home, or the wolf will eat up gramma and no one wants that! Right?
  • don’t go outside the faerie forest or the bull in the field will chase you down cuzz bulls hate red cloaks!
  • don’t be alone with a boy and let him kiss you or you’ll have a baby to carry around all day.
  • don’t let the red queen see you, or she’ll cut off your head!
  • always say nice things to the woodcutter and the huntsman if you meet them, because one day they might want to marry you and you’d have a good life.

I asked her how I was supposed to remember all those rules…
Gramma gave me a list and said keeping the cloak on would help me remember. So I went tramping thru the woods.
On my own.
I was excited by the flowers, I was thrilled by the birds and deer. The squirrels and I had quite the chatter. Even the racoons were a great conversationalist with me. We really enjoyed our chats.
I walked on and saw the bean stalks. I gave them such a wide berth that I ended up under a tree I’d never seen before. I sat under it and had a nap. I woke up because I felt creepy and saw a pair of eyes in a bush. So I ran and ran, but not in the direction of home. I was sure it was the wolf!
I saw the pig’s houses. But remembered the rule. So I just asked for a drink of water from the well.
I ran on further and saw the bears’ house. I grabbed a pear from a tree near it, because i was hungry and thirsty.
I saw the edge of the faerie forest, so I circled around and stayed inside the treeline. No bull for me!
I saw a boy, so I waved to be polite, but ran in another direction. What girl wants to carry a baby around all day??
I saw a soldier and a carriage, so I hid under a bush till the queen went on her way.
I was so tired, hot and hungry, I sat again and napped. I woke up to see those eyes again. So I ran. I accidentally bumped into the huntsman and apologized profusely to him. He offered to escort me home to safety. I said yes. I told him the wolf was following me. He beat the bushes and didn’t find him anywhere. So we went to my place.
Gramma thanked him for his escort and offered him tea and cookies. We had a lovely chat. Then he left.
I had the weirdest feeling that Gramma and I were being watched. She said she didn’t notice anything. She asked if I had followed the rules. I said yes and went to bed after she reassured me we’d be fine then.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of … nothing? But something had woken me. So I went looking thru our home. The coals on the fire were warm still. The kitchen was cleaned up after supper and the bedroom doors were all closed. Ok, so I went back to bed.
I was almost asleep again, when I remembered the paw print on the floor in front of the fireplace. But I had followed all of gramma’s rules!! I started up and went to look again. There it was. It was all my fault!!
I woke up to my own screams and mom, dad and gramma banging their way into the room. It took awhile before I calmed down again.

voices of consent

Voices of Consent

I want to have your body to use for my will. I’ll take it whether or not you want me to, you’ll love it or at least endure. Scream for me baby! Scream! Oh yes, that’s so good!

I was just living my life, minding my own business, when along came a monster and fell on top of me. I lay there crying till he was done. Then went home and bathed myself.

I asked all the right questions, I shared fantasies. I left safe calls and did everything right. We dated vanilla for weeks. Then finally went to his place and got it on. You’d think that would make me safe, right?

I didn’t go into a dungeon or a bar. I picked a good college and good street to live on. I mostly hang out with family and women.

Victim Blamer
What were you wearing? Did you have makeup on? Where did you meet him? Did you scream or struggle? You’re so pretty! I mean, how do you expect him to control himself? Did you press charges? NO? Then it never happened!

Oh sister! It’s the culture these perpetrators are raised in. Sheep to the slaughter they are. And we’re their victims. I pray it won’t always be so, but how else can it be unless we become an island of Amazons, just women you know. You just cannot trust a man!

It costs a fortune to keep these men incarcerated. And it’s just this one. We can’t afford to find, arrest, try and jail or treat (and we’ve tried them both!!) And what if she’s lying? All that money! Wasted out of the mouths of taxpayers!

Yeah what if she’s a whore, a liar? You’ve wrecked a good man’s life for a thing that is over reported in the name of feminism! Those fucking butches oughtta get laid. Then they wouldn’t be controlling everyone else’s sex life! Men rule!

News Reports
1) A 90 year old woman was found in her nursing home bed, having been raped, sodomized and the word “whore” was etched into her back with a knife….

2) A newborn was sent to the ER today with a shattered pelvis and internal bleeding after being raped. The baby isn’t likely to live…

(author’s note – yes these actually did occur)

So how do we resolve this?

greenhouse (a story)

Greenhouse (a story)

I knew there were rats or mice in the greenhouse, because I heard them scurrying around. So I’d leave some cheese out for them. I didn’t mind them being there. I never put any traps out, but every now and then I heard a squeal and snap. I hunted high and low for the trap. I hated the thought of the poor rodent being killed. I wanted as close to an ecosphere as I could get. And killing the pests didn’t help with that.
I knew there were spiders there as well. But no matter how many webs I saw, I never saw a spider.
I knew there were snails, slugs and loam worms as well. I had put a few there myself. They really helped the soil. But after about a week, I never saw any evidence of them again.
I knew there were small birds, snakes and tiny toads and frogs in there, but after a few days, they and all their shufflings and noises were gone.
But worst of all, every time I stepped inside the greenhouse, I felt like someone was watching. I never saw any garbage or foot prints. Not even scuffles, like something had shifted their butt or feet. But in case there was a homeless person camping out there, I left a sandwich and candy bar on my desk for them. They stayed where I had put them. So either they weren’t hungry, or they weren’t there. So I stopped leaving them.
I’d get the heebie-jeebies almost every day. And it stumped me that I couldn’t find an explanation.
But I began to take it as just the greenhouse being the greenhouse. Maybe there was some weird kind of energy field?
And then I began to take my naps on the couch in my office. Then on the couch in the back area where we potted plants. It was right inside the door to the area where we kept the parasitic plants. Every now and then, there’d be a tail or thread into the room where I napped. I just shoved it out with my toe on my way out and thought nothing more of it than maybe there was a breeze that moved them about.
Until one day when I was feverish and congested, nothing ever came of my naps…
I dozed off for hours and woke up to what at first seemed like a blanket over me. But I didn’t have any in there. Then it struck me that the cover seemed more like leaves than any material I ever knew. But just as that struck me as impossible, I started to feel the cover tighten around me. Till it squeezed, and really really got hard to handle. Hard to move. Hard to breathe.
Then all I saw was dark and it felt like I was being squeezed down a tube of some sort?
I tried to make myself wake up, sure it was a nightmare. But the air left that I could breathe smelled more like loam than anything and was dank. I must have passed out…