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Meet the Winners of Startups in North and Central America

Ping Ping Ping That is the sound of my phone alerting me to overnight snowfall at the various Hokkaido ski resorts I monitor. While this sound brings me immense joy in January and February, in March, it brings only FOMO. I decamped from Hokkaido in early March for the past few ski seasons. My recent experience taught me that Mother Nature turns on the heat circa March 1st. I’m a primadonna skier who only likes the driest and deepest pow. However, this season, Gaia changed up big time. There was a brutal warm spell in February that rekt the snow back. The cold weather only returned towards the end of the month. But frigid temperatures came back in March, accompanied by 10 to 30cm dumps of freshie pow pow every night. Hence, the reason why my phone was blowing up. Sitting in various South East Asian hot and humid countries throughout March, I kept foolishly checking the app and ruing my decision to leave the slopes. The April thaw finally occurred in earnest, and with it, the end to my FOMO. As readers know, my ski experiences act as metaphors for my macro and crypto trading book. I previously wrote that the cessation of the US Bank Term Funding Program (BTFP) on March 12th would cause a global market rout. The BTFP was cancelled, but a vicious sell-off in crypto specifically did not occur. Bitcoin broke $70,000 decisively and topped out around $74,000. Solana kept pumping alongside various doggie and kitty meme coins. My timing was wrong, but like the ski season, the unexpected favorable March conditions will not be repeated in April. While I love winter, summer brings joy as well. The onset of northern hemispheric summer brings sporting bliss as I reorient time towards playing tennis, surfing, and kiteboarding. Summer will usher in a renewed gusher of fiat liquidity due to the policies of the US Federal Reserve (Fed) and Treasury. I will briefly outline my mental map on how and why April will experience extreme weakness in risky asset markets. For those intrepid enough to short crypto, the macro setup is favorable. While I will not outright short the market, I have closed in profit several shitcoin and memecoin trading positions. From now until May 1st, I will be in a no-trade zone. I hope to return in May with dry powder ready to deploy to position myself for the bull market to begin in earnest. Tricksters The Bank Term Funding Program (BTFP) ended a few weeks ago, but no US, non-Too-Big-to-Fail (TBTF) banks have subsequently faced any real stress. That is because high priests of fugazi finance have a bag of tricks they will use to surreptitiously print money in order to bail out the financial system. I will peek behind the curtain and explain how they are expanding the USD fiat money supply, which will underpin the general rise of crypto and stonks until the end of the year. While the end result is always money printing, the journey is not without periods where liquidity growth slows, providing a negative catalyst for risk markets. By going through the bag of tricks and estimating when the rabbit will be pulled from the hat, we can guestimate when there will be periods where the free market is allowed to operate. The Discount Window The Fed and most other central banks operate a facility known as the discount window. Banks and other covered financial institutions who are in need of funds can pledge eligible securities to the Fed in exchange for cash. By and large, the discount window, for now, only accepts US Treasuries (UST) and mortgage-backed securities (MBS). Assume that a bank is fucked because a bunch of Pierce & Pierce boomer muppets runs it. The bank holds a UST that was worth $100 when purchased but is currently worth $80. The bank is in need of cash to satisfy deposit outflows. Rather than declaring bankruptcy, the dogshit insolvent bank can tap the discount window. The bank swaps the $80 UST for $80 of dolla dolla bills because under the current rules the bank receives the market value of pledged securities. To deprecate the BTFP and remove the associated negative stigma without increasing the risk of bank failures, the Fed and US Treasury now encourage troubled banks to tap the discount window instead. However, under the current collateral terms, the discount window is not as attractive as the recently expired BTFP. Let’s go back to our example above to understand why. Remember that the UST’s value declined from $100 to $80, which means the bank has an unrealized loss of $20. Initially the $100 of UST was funded with $100 of deposits. But now the UST is worth $80; therefore, the bank would be short $20 if all the depositors fled. Under the BTFP rules, the bank receives par for underwater USTs. That means a UST worth $80, when delivered to the Fed, is swapped for $100 of cash. This restores the solvency of the bank. But the discount window only gives $80 for a UST worth $80. The $20 loss is still there, and the bank remains insolvent. Given that the Fed can unilaterally change the collateral rules to equalize the treatment of assets by the BTFP and discount window, by greenlighting the use of the discount window by the insolvent banking system, the Fed continued the stealth banking bailout. Therefore, the Fed has essentially solved the BTFP problem; the entire UST and MBS balance sheet of the insolvent US banking system (I estimate at $4 trillion) will be supported when needed by money printed to finance loans through the discount window. This is why I believe the markets haven’t forced any non-TBTF banks into bankruptcy post-March 12th, when the BTFP ended. Bank Capital Requirements Banks are often called upon to finance governments who offer bonds at yields less than nominal GDP. But why would private for-profit entities buy something that features a negative real yield? They do it because the banking regulators allow banks to purchase government bonds with little to no money down. When the banks, who hold an insufficient capital cushion against their government bond portfolio, inevitably blow up because inflation appears and bond prices fall as yields rise, the Fed allows them to use the discount window in the manner described above. As a result, banks would rather buy and hold government bonds than lend to businesses and individuals in need of capital. When you or I buy anything using borrowed money, we must pledge collateral or equity against potential losses. That is prudent risk management. But the rules are different if you are a vampire squid zombie bank. After the 2008 Global Financial Crisis (GFC), the world’s banking regulators attempted to force banks globally to hold more capital, thus creating a more robust and resilient global banking system. The system of rules that codified these changes are called Basel III. The problem with Basel III is that government bonds are not treated as riskless. Banks must put a small amount of capital behind their gargantuan portfolio of sovereign bonds. These capital requirements have proven problematic during times of stress. During the COVID March 2020 market crash, the Fed decreed that banks could hold USTs with no collateral backing. This allowed banks to step in and warehouse trillions of dollars worth of USTs in a riskless fashion … at least in terms of their accounting treatment. When the crisis abated, the supplemental leverage ratio (SLR) exemption for USTs was reinstated. Predictably, as UST prices fell due to inflation, banks went bust due to an insufficient capital cushion. The Fed rode to the rescue with the BTFP and now the discount window, but that only covers losses from the last crisis. How can banks step up and slurp down more bonds at the current unattractively high prices? The US banking system loudly proclaimed in November 2023 that due to Basel III forcing them to hold more capital against their government bond portfolios, Bad Gurl Yellen could not stuff them with more bonds. Therefore, something had to give because the US government has no other natural buyers of its debt at these negative real yields. Below is the polite way the banks phrased their precarious situation. Demand for US Treasuries may have softened among several traditional buyers. Bank security portfolio assets have been declining since last year, with bank holdings of Treasuries down $154 billion compared to one year ago. Source: Report to the Secretary of the Treasury from the Treasury Borrowing Advisory Committee Again, the Fed – led by Powell – saved the day. Out of nowhere, at a recent , Powell proclaimed that banks would not be subject to higher capital requirements. Remember that many politicians called for banks to hold more capital so that the regional banking crisis of 2023 would not repeat itself. Obviously, the banks lobbied hard to nullify these higher capital requirements. They had a good argument –  if you, Bad Gurl Yellen, want us to buy dogshit government bonds, then we can only do it profitably with infinite leverage. Banks around the world run every flavour of government; the US is no different. US Senate Banking hearing The icing on the cake was a recent letter from the International Swaps Dealer Association (ISDA) advocating for an exemption of USTs from the SLR I spoke about earlier. In essence, banks can only hold USTs in the trillions of dollars needed to finance the US government deficit on a go-forward basis if they are required to put no money down. I expect as the US Treasury ramps up debt issuance, the ISDA proposal will be accepted. This excellent chart from clearly shows how wasteful the US Government is, as evidenced by the record-high deficit. The two recent periods where deficit spending was higher were due to the 2008 GFC and the boomer-led COVID lockdowns. The US economy is growing, but the government is spending money like it's an economic depression. Bianco Research Taken together, the relaxation of capital requirements and a likely future exemption of USTs from the SLR are a covert way of money printing. The Fed doesn’t print the money, rather the banking system creates the credit money out of thin air and purchases the bonds which then appear on their balance sheet. As always, the goal is to ensure that government bond yields do not rise to a level above the nominal GDP growth rate. As long as real rates remain negative, stonks, crypto, gold, etc., will continue advancing in fiat currency terms. Bad Gurl Yellen My essay “ ” spoke in depth about how the US Treasury, led by Bad Gurl Yellen, increased the issuance of short-term Treasury bills (T-bills) in an effort to drain the trillions of dollars locked in the Fed’s Reverse Repo Program (RRP). As expected, the RRP decline coincided with a rip higher in stonks, bonds, and crypto. But now that the RRP is down to $400 billion, the market is wondering what the next source of fiat liquidity will be that bolsters asset prices. Don’t you worry, Yellen ain’t done yet, shout ‘bout to booty drop. Bad Gurl RRP Balance (white) vs. Bitcoin (yellow) The flow of fiat funds I will discuss focuses on US tax payments, the Fed’s Quantitative Tightening (QT) program, and the Treasury General Account (TGA). The timeline in question is from April 15th (the day tax payments are due for the 2023 tax year) to May 1st. Let me provide a quick guide on their positive or negative impact on liquidity to help you understand the implications of these three things. remove liquidity from the system. That is because payers must remove cash from the financial system by selling securities for example, in order to pay their taxes. Analysts expect tax payments for the 2023 tax year to be on the high side because of the large amounts of interest income received and a solid performance in the stock market. Tax Payments removes liquidity from the system. As of March 2022, the Fed allows roughly $95 billion worth of UST and MBS to mature without reinvesting the proceeds. This causes the Fed’s balance sheet to fall, which we all know reduces dollar liquidity. However, we are not concerned about the absolute level of the Fed’s balance sheet but the pace at which it declines. Analysts, like Joe Kalish of Ned Davis Research, expect the Fed to reduce the pace of QT by $30 billion per month at its May 1st meeting. The reduction in the pace of QT is positive for dollar liquidity as the Fed’s balance sheet rate of decline slows. QT When the balance rises, it removes liquidity from the system, but when it falls, it adds liquidity to the system. When the Treasury receives tax payments, the TGA balance rises. I expect the TGA balance to swell well above the current ~$750 billion level as tax payments are processed on April 15th. This is dollar liquidity negative. Don’t forget it's an election year. Yellen’s job is to get her boss, US President , reelected. That means she must do all she can to juice the stock market to make voters feel rich and ascribe this great outcome to the slow “genius” of Bidenomics. When the RRP balances finally go to zero, Yellen will spend down the TGA, releasing, most likely, an additional $1 trillion of liquidity into the system, which will pump markets. TGA Jeo Boden The precarious period for risky assets is April 15th to May 1st. This is when tax payments remove liquidity from the system, QT rumbles on at the current elevated pace, and Yellen has yet to start running down the TGA. After May 1st, the pace of QT declines, and Yellen gets busy cashing checks to jack up asset prices. If you are a trader looking for an opportune time to put on a cheeky short position, the month of April is the perfect time to do so. After May 1st, it’s back to regular programming … asset inflation sponsored by Fed and US Treasury financial shenanigans. Bitcoin Halving The Bitcoin block reward is forecast to halve on April 20th. This is seen as a bullish catalyst for crypto markets. I agree that it will pump prices in the medium term; however, the price action directly before and after could be negative. The narrative of the halving being positive for crypto prices is well entrenched. When most market participants agree on a certain outcome, the opposite usually occurs. That is why I believe Bitcoin and crypto prices in general will slump around the halving. Given that the halving occurs at a time when dollar liquidity is tighter than usual, it will add propellant to a raging firesale of crypto assets. The timing of the halving adds further weight to my decision to abstain from trading until May. To date I took full profit on these positions, MEW, SOL, and NMT. The proceeds were placed into and staked to earn that phat yield. Before Ethena, I would have held USDT or USDC and earned nothing while Tether and Circle captured the entire T-bill yield. Ethena’s USDe Could the market defy my bearish inclinations and continue higher? Fuck yeah. I’m perennially long as fuck crypto, so I welcome being wrong. Do I really want to babysit my most speculative shitcoin positions while I’m two-stepping at Token2049 Dubai? Hell no. Therefore, I dump. There is no need to be upset. If the dollar liquidity scenarios I discussed above come true, I will have that much more confidence to ape into all manner of dogshit. If I miss a few percentage points of gains but definitely avoid losses for my portfolio and lifestyle, that is an acceptable outcome. With that, I bid you adieu. Please remember to put your dancing shoes on, and I will see you in Dubai for a celebration of the crypto bull market.

Heatwave

তাপপ্রবাহ

Hitzewelle

Ola de calor

Vague De Chaleur

हीटवेव

熱波

폭염

Onda de calor

Волна тепла

Sıcak hava dalgası

Đợt nắng nóng

热浪

The fall and rise of have been nothing short of astonishing in recent years. After shedding more than 70% of its value amid 2022’s tech stock sell-offs, the stock surged 180% in 2023–and the tech giant is far from finished. Meta It’s difficult to find the right superlatives for Meta [NASDAQ: META]. The stock became one of the best performers on the global stage last year, and the company’s measured approach to embracing artificial intelligence formed a key component of its impressive growth. Today, Meta has almost recovered all of its losses amid severe economic headwinds in late 2021 and 2022 and has recaptured a market capitalization of almost $1 trillion. The stock’s impressive movements throughout the past 12 months have seen it become one of the stars of the ‘Magnificent Seven,’ a collective of leading tech stocks including Apple, Microsoft, Alphabet, Amazon, Nvidia, Meta, and Tesla. But as the generative AI boom rumbles on and ideation shifts towards implementation for the emerging technology, can Meta continue to facilitate its growth throughout 2024? Let’s take a deeper look at why Meta has become the stock that investors are coveting most this year: Finding Strength in Fundamentals It’s impossible to ignore Meta’s underlying financial strength as a key attribute to 2023’s impressive Wall Street growth. “The company has demonstrated strong financial performance, with a 23% growth in revenue to $34.1 billion in the third quarter of 2023, surpassing expectations,” highlights Maxim Manturov, head of investment research at . Freedom Finance Europe “Meta's vision for the effectiveness of the company has translated into reality, and its diverse user base supports profitable, targeted advertising, a significant revenue driver.” In addition to its impressive revenue growth, Meta is an attractive proposition for advertisers, thanks to its extensive data reservoirs that pave the way for more targeted campaigns. As a result, the firm’s advertising revenue has increased 23% in Q3 to $33.6 billion. However, it appears to be Meta’s inroads in the field of artificial intelligence that will help to leverage growth in 2024. Meta’s AI offerings currently include Quest 3, AI-powered Ray-Ban Stories, and the AI Studio platform. With a significant free cash flow (FCF) balance of $13.6 billion by the end of Q3 2023, analysts are expecting AI investments to improve stock performance in the new year, anticipating revenue rising 13% year-over-year to $151 billion, while earnings are expected to rise 21% over the same time frame. According to a team of , there could be three catalysts to push Meta’s stock higher in 2024. The first comes in the form of a conservative consensus for sales growth, which may prove to be stronger thanks to better monetization of Reels short videos and growing interest from Chinese advertisers. Mizuho Securities analysts led by James Lee Secondly, the analysts believe that guidance on operating expenditures could fall over the financial year, which is a trend with some precedence. Finally, WhatsApp messaging performance may contribute to the revenue base by as much as a third due to the implementation of AI for automated customer service. Finding Strength in AI So far, much of the positive sentiment surrounding Meta in 2024 stems from optimism surrounding generative AI. There’s a good reason for this. While Meta has long utilized AI within its businesses in the form of identifying faces posted on Facebook and delivering curated content and ads for its users, the future of the company lies in its utility of generative AI services. In early 2023, Meta launched a for firms to bolster their social media advertising. Through an Ads Manager, images and text can be adapted from user to user to target their products more effectively. suite of free AI-powered marketing tools Crucially, this launch of AI tools has helped to make Facebook an even more attractive prospect for companies seeking to improve their marketing ROI. For Meta CTO Andrew Bosworth, the arrival of generative AI was an opportunity for Meta to ramp up its operations. “AI has always been a major component of our thinking,” . “But like all technologies, you’re in these S curves. We’ve known for three or four years that these generative AI, large language models were a big deal, but they still felt like infrastructure. That’s why I think the OpenAI introduction of ChatGPT is so interesting.” Bosworth explained “I’m not trying to say we were prescient. We had been investing, and we believed in this technology. For all of that belief, it still snuck up on us. It was like, ‘Oh my god, it’s here. We’ve got to do things differently. We’ve got to change it up.’” Will Meta Lead the ‘Magnificent Seven’ in 2024? To better understand Meta’s position among the Magnificent Seven, it’s worth exploring its PEG ratio, which refers to the stock’s price/earnings in comparison to the company’s growth. With a , Meta features the second-best ratio of the seven Wall Street leaders, falling behind Nvidia with an impressive 0.95 PEG. PEG ratio of 1.2 As another stock that’s heavily exposed to generative AI, Nvidia’s growth in 2024 will hinge on the development of the emerging technology and the success of the implementation process as more enterprises seek to embrace the GenAI boom. Meta, on the other hand, will rely on its rich history of innovation to harness the power of generative AI based on its products and services. With Meta’s history of resilience and strategic acumen in often unpredictable tech markets, we could see the stock outpacing its Magnificent Seven rivals in 2024, and with solid fundamentals continuing to drive growth, there’s no reason why Meta shouldn’t be at the top of investor priority lists for the year ahead.

Meta’s Meteoric Rise in 2023 Shows No Sign of Slowing This Year

2023 সালে মেটার উল্কা উত্থান এই বছর ধীর হওয়ার কোন লক্ষণ দেখায় না

Metas kometenhafter Aufstieg im Jahr 2023 zeigt in diesem Jahr keine Anzeichen einer Verlangsamung

El meteórico ascenso de Meta en 2023 no muestra signos de desaceleración este año

L’ascension fulgurante de Meta en 2023 ne montre aucun signe de ralentissement cette année

2023 में मेटा की उल्कापिंडीय वृद्धि इस वर्ष धीमी होने का कोई संकेत नहीं दिखाती है

2023 年のメタの流星的上昇は今年も衰える兆しなし

2023년 메타의 급격한 상승세는 올해도 둔화될 조짐을 보이지 않습니다

A ascensão meteórica do Meta em 2023 não mostra sinais de desaceleração este ano

Метеоритный взлет Меты в 2023 году не покажет никаких признаков замедления в этом году

Meta'nın 2023'teki Meteorik Yükselişi Bu Yıl Yavaşlama İşareti Göstermiyor

Sự gia tăng thiên thạch của Meta vào năm 2023 không có dấu hiệu chậm lại trong năm nay

Meta 在 2023 年的迅速崛起今年没有放缓的迹象

Dedicated to the MIT Press Bookshop

Dedicated to Amazon.com

The Story-book of Science by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . CLOUDS CHAPTER XLI. CLOUDS TO finish his talk on lightning, the next morning Uncle Paul told them about clouds. The occasion, moreover, was very favorable. In one part of the sky great white clouds like mountains of cotton were piled up. The eye was delighted with the soft outlines of that celestial wadding. “You remember,” he began, “all those fogs that on damp autumn and winter mornings cover the earth with a veil of gray smoke, hide the sun, and prevent our seeing a few steps in front of us!” “Looking into the air, you could see something like fine dust of water floating,” said Claire; and Jules added: “We played hide and seek with Emile in that kind of damp smoke. We could not see each other a few steps away.” “Well,” resumed Uncle Paul, “clouds and fog are the same thing; only fog spreads about us and shows for what it is, gray, damp, cold; while clouds keep more or less above us and take on, with distance, a rich appearance. There are some of dazzling whiteness, like those you see over there; others of a red color, or golden-hued, or like fire; still others of the color of ashes, and others that are black. The color changes, too, from moment to moment. At sunset you will see a cloud begin with being white, then turn scarlet, then shine like a pile of embers, or like a lake of melted gold, and finally become dull and turn gray or black, according as the sun’s rays strike it less and less. All that is a matter of illumination by the sun. In reality, clouds, however splendid in appearance, are formed of a damp vapor like that of fog. We can assure ourselves of this by a near approach.” “People can then mount as high as the clouds, Uncle?” Emile asked. “Certainly. All one needs is a pair of legs stout enough to climb to the top of a mountain. Often then clouds are under one’s feet.” “And you have seen clouds underneath you?” “Sometimes.” “That must be a very beautiful sight.” “So beautiful that words cannot express it. But it is not exactly a pleasure if the clouds mount and envelop you. You can be very much embarrassed by the obscurity of the fog alone. You lose your way; you become confused, without suspecting any danger in the most dangerous places, at the risk of falling into some abyss; you lose sight of the guides, who alone know the way and could save you from a false step. No, all is not roses up among the clouds. You will perhaps learn that some day to your cost. Meanwhile let us transport ourselves in imagination to the top of a cloud-capped mountain. If circumstances are favorable, here is what we shall see: “Above our heads the sky, perfectly clear, presents no unusual appearance; the sun shines there in all its brilliancy. Down there at our feet, almost in the plains, white clouds spread themselves out. The wind sweeps them before it and drives them toward the summit. There they are, rolling and mounting up the side of the mountain. One would think they were immense flocks of cotton pushed up the slope by some invisible hand. Now and then a ray of sunlight penetrates their depths and gives them the brilliancy of gold and fire. The beautiful clouds behind which the sun disappears at its setting are not richer. What brilliant tints, what soft suppleness! They mount higher and higher. Now they roll up like a shining white band around the top of the mountain, and hide the view of the plain from us. Only the point where we are projects above the cloud-curtain, like an islet above the sea. At last this point is invaded, we are in the bosom of the clouds. Warm tints, soft outlines, striking views—all have disappeared. It is now only a dark fog that saturates with moisture and makes us feel depressed. Ah, if some breath of wind would make haste and sweep away these disagreeable clouds! “That, my little friends, is what one does not fail to wish when one is in the clouds, which, so beautiful at a distance, are nothing but gloomy fog when close at hand. The spectacle of the clouds should be seen from afar. When in our curiosity we wish to examine certain appearances too closely, we sometimes find them deceptive; but we also find that, under a secondary brilliancy, which serves to adorn the earth, they hide realities of the first importance. The marvels of the clouds are only an appearance, an illusion of light; but under this illusion are concealed the reservoirs of rain, source of the earth’s fecundity. God, by whom the smallest details of creation have been ordered, willed that the most common but also most necessary substances should serve as an ornament to the earth in spite of their really humble aspect; and he clothes them with a prestige dependent on the distance from which we are to contemplate them. The gray vapor of the clouds gives us rain. That is its chief utility. The sun illuminates it, and that suffices to transform it into a celestial tapestry in which the astonished eye finds the splendor of purple, gold and fire. That is its ornamental function. Cirrus “The height maintained by clouds is very variable and is generally less than you might suppose. There are clouds that lazily trail along the ground; they are the fogs. There are others that cling to the sides of moderately high mountains, and still others that crown the summits. The region where they are commonly found is at a height varying from 500 to 1500 meters. In some rather rare instances they rise to nearly four leagues. Beyond that eternal serenity reigns; clouds never mount there, thunder never rumbles, and snow, hail, and rain never form. “Those clouds are called ‘cirrus’ that look sometimes like light flocks of curly wool, sometimes like drawn-out-filaments of dazzling whiteness, sharply contrasting with the deep blue of the sky. They are the highest of all the clouds. They are often a league high. When cirrus clouds are small and rounded and closely grouped in large numbers, so as to look like the backs of a flock of sheep, the sky thus covered is said to be dappled. It is usually a sign that the weather is going to change. Cumulus “The name ‘cumulus’ is given to those large white clouds with round outlines which pile up, during the heat of summer, like immense mountains of cotton-wool. Their appearance presages a storm.” “Then the clouds we see over there next to the mountains,” queried Jules, “are cumulus? They look like piles of cotton. Will they bring us a storm?” “I think not. The wind is driving them in another direction. The storm always takes place in their neighborhood. There! Hear that!” A sudden light had just flashed through the flocks of the cumulus. After rather a long wait the noise of the thunder reached them, but greatly weakened by distance. Questions came quickly from Jules’s and Emile’s lips: “Why does it rain over there, and not here? Why does the noise of the thunder come after the lightning? Why—” “We are going to talk about all that,” said Uncle Paul; “but first let us learn the other forms of clouds. ‘Stratus’ is applied to clouds disposed in irregular bands placed in tiers on the horizon at sunrise or sunset. They are clouds that, in the fading daylight, especially in autumn, take the glowing tints of melted metals and of flame. The red stratus of the morning are followed by rain or wind. Stratus “Finally, we give the name ‘nimbus’ to a mass of dark clouds of a uniform gray, so crowded together that it is impossible to distinguish one cloud from another. These clouds generally dissolve into rain. Seen from a distance, they often look like broad stripes extending in a straight line from heaven to earth. They are trails of rain. “Now Emile may ask his questions.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2018). The Story-book of Science. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/56795/pg56795-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

Uncle Paul told them about clouds

Another collection of Prosody/Poetry Floaters and Sinkers, or An Ode to Politicians Some are floaters, Some are sinkers. Some are smelly, Some are stinkers! don't get caught here is exactly what i been taught justice ain't cheap, but it can be bought and it ain't a crime if you don't get caught that's the freedom the yahoos all sought but it ain't all turning out like it ought and that pretty much sums my passing thought Ode for Donald Trump well the science boys from every clime, yeh they all pitched in with overtime. the evidence was indeed conclusive, donald trump is most certainly abusive. hard to believe he could make such a climb being covered as he is in feces and slime. but i don't think his campaign will end well, in fact i suspect someone will blow him to hell. and while such nasty violence would be a crime, his speech seems to invite it time after time. if that happens well i will really be quite sad, for sure it'd make me less than glad; but i see the whole damn country has gone mad. Haiku you do Haiku do you do? Five, seven, and five Syllables will do. We try in that form To get across a feeling Of some emotion revealing... through fire for you I said it and it'll always be true - Yeh I'd walk through fire for you, Baby I'll do anything you ask me too, And for you I'll be glad to do it too. a bad road in the pouring rain well i got my green, i got my grain, don't do nothing to kill this old pain. nothing you can say will ever explain, you're a bad road in the pouring rain, one i driven down again and again. down by the creek down by the creek, my knees got weak. i wanted to speak, but being too meek, i could only squeak. then she said geek - get on down the creek! lips and hips, lover's trips I adore you like the moon and the stars, the sun and the sky. Forever and ever my sweet baby dear, always just you and I. the taste I love the taste of your charming kiss, the way you use your lips. And wow baby i really gotta say this, love how you move your hips! all i really Baby all I ever really wanna do Is make the sweetest love to you, And with everything I say and do, It's only for you I'm gonna be true. awesome love i got me a truly awesome love, baby was sent by heaven above! i count my blessings every day, and for her in gratitude i pray. i am such a blessed lucky boy, she brings me some of heaven's joy! green eyed girl in all of this Great God A'mighty world, nothin' i love more'n my green eyed girl! yeh how i love my sweet darlin' baby G, ain't no other girl anywhere i rather see. my green eyed girl is the only one for me! first time the first time i kissed you yeh that is when i knew no other lover would ever do and baby i love you true oh yes sweet Lord i do i've never----------------- i've never loved anyone like i love you, you may have heard it before too, but baby i swear to you it is true. being with you i never feel blue, there's nothing for you i wouldn't do. i've never loved anyone like i love you! sometimes sometimes i wonder, do you ever think of me? do you think of me and the way it used to be, before the crash and burn when you went free? in days so long ago and past we built a love that would last, before our love died and passed. sweet baby the future ain't what it used to be, yeh before you had to run away from me. can you tell me, what was it made you flee? can you hear me call your name? you know i'll never be the same, you're the only one ever lit my flame. ps. yeh, itz a country tune.... Hot Wired baby you know that i've got your line - i have your number and you have mine, please give me a call, that would be fine. so dial the number, let's use that wire, you know we both have that desire, yeh let's set this connection on fire! Golden Apples Don't be tempted by the shining apple of gold, It isn't very warm, neither to have nor to hold, And it will never protect you from that bitter cold You'll feel if your soul has been bought and sold. my love yes the first time ever that i lay with you made me want forever to stay with you, to play endless lovers games with you, to spend all of eternity's time with you. no one else could ever love me like you. downtown brown oooh baby, hey baby didja go downtown? and didja bring me some mexican brown? you know i really like to have the china white, but baby oooh baby the brown'd be alright. baby you and me could run together all night if you'll just do me good and treat me right. so best go on take it out and throw it down, cause honey, i know who you saw downtown. Cold city's beast Cold city's beast rumbles in the East. Stumbles. Falls, crawls. Goetz up. Beast rumbles in the East. For youths bored, cold city's beast. Four youths board city's cold beast. Some trade to ply, they have tools. Drivers of the screw. Four loosening dollars, true. Some trade to ply, a cheap peace. Of conversation for funds. Easy mark. Five dollars? For each of you? A cheap piece. For conservation of funds. Conversation for fun. Four each of you. The iron dog barks, makes sparks. Easy marks. True. Four each of you, shot through. Goetz off. For youths bored, city's cold piece. Easy to See Oh yeah any fool can see, you could do better'n me. Yeah it's easy to see, you're way to good for me. But it's more than clear When I hold you warm and near, kiss your cheek and nuzzle your ear, and whisper "I love you dear" In the middle of the night When you hold me warm and tight, Sharing your earthly delight, I know it's gonna be alright. Oh yeah any fool could see, you got eyes for me. Yeah it's plain to me, I'm the only one you see. Copyright 2011 by bobby b. wright winking eye winking eye soft lover's sigh, winking eye sweet lips silk glove, soft winking eye, winked its eye lover's trips soft like a sigh too shy, winked its eye lover's trips soft like a sigh, never no til ya try smooth hips lover's trips winked its eye, soft lover's thigh smooth lipped love, before the sigh, winked its eye soft, like a sigh too shy, winked its eye lover's trips soft love, never know til ya try, winked its eye smooth hips, lover's trips before the sigh winked its eye sweet lips winked its thigh before the sigh, sweet eye lover's trips like a cry before the sigh, soft thigh lover's trips soft, love, too shy to sigh, winked its eye smooth hips lover's trips soft lover's thigh, soft silk glove never no til ya try before the sigh winked its eye lover's trips soft lover's sigh, never know til ya try sweet lips, lover's trips a computer wrote this one (c) 1985 by Bobby B. Wright All Rights Reserved In My Mystic Forest In my mystic forest With just me and Mary Behind the locked door, I squat on my haunches And pull one toke more. Sitting here in the dark The only reality the floor, Closed secure in this womb. A construction of silence And a darkened room. Stoned solo late at night High here in this half light, And nobody with me any more. Just my shadow on the floor And it ain't the same as before. moisture i make you wet, you make me sweat. What are we gonna get? The best thing yet! torn up i got it bad you leave me sad, like i've been had; makes me damn mad! if i tore out my heart and threw it on the floor, would you dance around it? would you ask for more? or would you turn and walk out the door like you have a thousand times before? asscons: ( ) a regular ass ( ) a fat ass (!) a tight ass ( ) a flat ass ( ) a bubble ass ( ) a sore ass ( ! ) an ass that's been around ( ) an ass that's been around even more ( ) kiss my ass ( ) leave my ass alone ( ) a tired ass ( ) a wise ass ( ) an unlucky ass ($ ?_) Dumb Ass ! ! . ^ * !__) a lop-sided ass { } a swishy ass (o O x X zzz o^o 13 ) Money coming out of his ass ( fix------------------ on the sleazy side of town looking for a fix to get down english avenue in the bluff that where i get my stuff yeh the place is rough but hey i am tough got my needle got my spoon be lookin for more very soon they say you could die down here but that's not somethin i fear there ain't no doubt about it i'm quite addicted to the shit and it's easy to see shit got its hooks in me some haiku hard to hack, haiku --------- Hard to hack, haiku. Fitting some form ain't my norm, Poetry by rule. Haiku you do -------------- Be provocative, of feeling evocative, syllabically. some sweet sylph ------------------ Some sweet sylph strolling such symmetric synthesis, svelte synergism. by the bottle bye ------------- Drinking and dying by the bottle by and by, suicide on rye. There are some women ------------- There are some women, take your soul if you let them; best you forget them. Just forget this fight ----------------- Just forget this fight, smile and walk away from you; wish I knew how to. Bob Wright, 2012 daydream the cessation of digression for the possession of progression. there was a name for this. --- "it is well to know these things." the familiar litany broke Ceri's daydream, and he snapped back to the present reality. Moshe, the Elder, had just finished tasting the scents riding the evening air, and the litany signified completion of his olfactory examination. And more importantly his determination that everything smelled satisfactorily. They were well out into the scrub plains now, where danger was likely to be smelled before it was seen. Everywhere was the same drab vegetation, uniformly monotonous to the untrained eye. lamentation Midnight sweat, Soaking wet. Worst one yet, Can't forget. Vietnam vet. Also published . here

From Bad To Verse

Shiny Side Up, Sticky Side Down: A Collection of Poems

The Beasts of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Dance of Death The Dance of Death Through the luxuriant, tangled vegetation of the Stygian jungle night a great lithe body made its way sinuously and in utter silence upon its soft padded feet. Only two blazing points of yellow-green flame shone occasionally with the reflected light of the equatorial moon that now and again pierced the softly sighing roof rustling in the night wind. Occasionally the beast would stop with high-held nose, sniffing searchingly. At other times a quick, brief incursion into the branches above delayed it momentarily in its steady journey toward the east. To its sensitive nostrils came the subtle unseen spoor of many a tender four-footed creature, bringing the slaver of hunger to the cruel, drooping jowl. But steadfastly it kept on its way, strangely ignoring the cravings of appetite that at another time would have sent the rolling, fur-clad muscles flying at some soft throat. All that night the creature pursued its lonely way, and the next day it halted only to make a single kill, which it tore to fragments and devoured with sullen, grumbling rumbles as though half famished for lack of food. It was dusk when it approached the palisade that surrounded a large native village. Like the shadow of a swift and silent death it circled the village, nose to ground, halting at last close to the palisade, where it almost touched the backs of several huts. Here the beast sniffed for a moment, and then, turning its head upon one side, listened with up-pricked ears. What it heard was no sound by the standards of human ears, yet to the highly attuned and delicate organs of the beast a message seemed to be borne to the savage brain. A wondrous transformation was wrought in the motionless mass of statuesque bone and muscle that had an instant before stood as though carved out of the living bronze. As if it had been poised upon steel springs, suddenly released, it rose quickly and silently to the top of the palisade, disappearing, stealthily and cat-like, into the dark space between the wall and the back of an adjacent hut. In the village street beyond women were preparing many little fires and fetching cooking-pots filled with water, for a great feast was to be celebrated ere the night was many hours older. About a stout stake near the centre of the circling fires a little knot of black warriors stood conversing, their bodies smeared with white and blue and ochre in broad and grotesque bands. Great circles of colour were drawn about their eyes and lips, their breasts and abdomens, and from their clay-plastered coiffures rose gay feathers and bits of long, straight wire. The village was preparing for the feast, while in a hut at one side of the scene of the coming orgy the bound victim of their bestial appetites lay waiting for the end. And such an end! Tarzan of the Apes, tensing his mighty muscles, strained at the bonds that pinioned him; but they had been re-enforced many times at the instigation of the Russian, so that not even the ape-man’s giant brawn could budge them. Death! Tarzan had looked the Hideous Hunter in the face many a time, and smiled. And he would smile again tonight when he knew the end was coming quickly; but now his thoughts were not of himself, but of those others—the dear ones who must suffer most because of his passing. Jane would never know the manner of it. For that he thanked Heaven; and he was thankful also that she at least was safe in the heart of the world’s greatest city. Safe among kind and loving friends who would do their best to lighten her misery. But the boy! Tarzan writhed at the thought of him. His son! And now he—the mighty Lord of the Jungle—he, Tarzan, King of the Apes, the only one in all the world fitted to find and save the child from the horrors that Rokoff’s evil mind had planned—had been trapped like a silly, dumb creature. He was to die in a few hours, and with him would go the child’s last chance of succour. Rokoff had been in to see and revile and abuse him several times during the afternoon; but he had been able to wring no word of remonstrance or murmur of pain from the lips of the giant captive. So at last he had given up, reserving his particular bit of exquisite mental torture for the last moment, when, just before the savage spears of the cannibals should for ever make the object of his hatred immune to further suffering, the Russian planned to reveal to his enemy the true whereabouts of his wife whom he thought safe in England. Dusk had fallen upon the village, and the ape-man could hear the preparations going forward for the torture and the feast. The dance of death he could picture in his mind’s eye—for he had seen the thing many times in the past. Now he was to be the central figure, bound to the stake. The torture of the slow death as the circling warriors cut him to bits with the fiendish skill, that mutilated without bringing unconsciousness, had no terrors for him. He was inured to suffering and to the sight of blood and to cruel death; but the desire to live was no less strong within him, and until the last spark of life should flicker and go out, his whole being would remain quick with hope and determination. Let them relax their watchfulness but for an instant, he knew that his cunning mind and giant muscles would find a way to escape—escape and revenge. As he lay, thinking furiously on every possibility of self-salvation, there came to his sensitive nostrils a faint and a familiar scent. Instantly every faculty of his mind was upon the alert. Presently his trained ears caught the sound of the soundless presence without—behind the hut wherein he lay. His lips moved, and though no sound came forth that might have been appreciable to a human ear beyond the walls of his prison, yet he realized that the one beyond would hear. Already he knew who that one was, for his nostrils had told him as plainly as your eyes or mine tell us of the identity of an old friend whom we come upon in broad daylight. An instant later he heard the soft sound of a fur-clad body and padded feet scaling the outer wall behind the hut and then a tearing at the poles which formed the wall. Presently through the hole thus made slunk a great beast, pressing its cold muzzle close to his neck. It was Sheeta, the panther. The beast snuffed round the prostrate man, whining a little. There was a limit to the interchange of ideas which could take place between these two, and so Tarzan could not be sure that Sheeta understood all that he attempted to communicate to him. That the man was tied and helpless Sheeta could, of course, see; but that to the mind of the panther this would carry any suggestion of harm in so far as his master was concerned, Tarzan could not guess. What had brought the beast to him? The fact that he had come augured well for what he might accomplish; but when Tarzan tried to get Sheeta to gnaw his bonds asunder the great animal could not seem to understand what was expected of him, and, instead, but licked the wrists and arms of the prisoner. Presently there came an interruption. Some one was approaching the hut. Sheeta gave a low growl and slunk into the blackness of a far corner. Evidently the visitor did not hear the warning sound, for almost immediately he entered the hut—a tall, naked, savage warrior. He came to Tarzan’s side and pricked him with a spear. From the lips of the ape-man came a weird, uncanny sound, and in answer to it there leaped from the blackness of the hut’s farthermost corner a bolt of fur-clad death. Full upon the breast of the painted savage the great beast struck, burying sharp talons in the black flesh and sinking great yellow fangs in the ebon throat. There was a fearful scream of anguish and terror from the black, and mingled with it was the hideous challenge of the killing panther. Then came silence—silence except for the rending of bloody flesh and the crunching of human bones between mighty jaws. The noise had brought sudden quiet to the village without. Then there came the sound of voices in consultation. High-pitched, fear-filled voices, and deep, low tones of authority, as the chief spoke. Tarzan and the panther heard the approaching footsteps of many men, and then, to Tarzan’s surprise, the great cat rose from across the body of its kill, and slunk noiselessly from the hut through the aperture through which it had entered. The man heard the soft scraping of the body as it passed over the top of the palisade, and then silence. From the opposite side of the hut he heard the savages approaching to investigate. He had little hope that Sheeta would return, for had the great cat intended to defend him against all comers it would have remained by his side as it heard the approaching savages without. Tarzan knew how strange were the workings of the brains of the mighty carnivora of the jungle—how fiendishly fearless they might be in the face of certain death, and again how timid upon the slightest provocation. There was doubt in his mind that some note of the approaching blacks vibrating with fear had struck an answering chord in the nervous system of the panther, sending him slinking through the jungle, his tail between his legs. The man shrugged. Well, what of it? He had expected to die, and, after all, what might Sheeta have done for him other than to maul a couple of his enemies before a rifle in the hands of one of the whites should have dispatched him! If the cat could have released him! Ah! that would have resulted in a very different story; but it had proved beyond the understanding of Sheeta, and now the beast was gone and Tarzan must definitely abandon hope. The natives were at the entrance to the hut now, peering fearfully into the dark interior. Two in advance held lighted torches in their left hands and ready spears in their right. They held back timorously against those behind, who were pushing them forward. The shrieks of the panther’s victim, mingled with those of the great cat, had wrought mightily upon their poor nerves, and now the awful silence of the dark interior seemed even more terribly ominous than had the frightful screaming. Presently one of those who was being forced unwillingly within hit upon a happy scheme for learning first the precise nature of the danger which menaced him from the silent interior. With a quick movement he flung his lighted torch into the centre of the hut. Instantly all within was illuminated for a brief second before the burning brand was dashed out against the earth floor. There was the figure of the white prisoner still securely bound as they had last seen him, and in the centre of the hut another figure equally as motionless, its throat and breasts horribly torn and mangled. The sight that met the eyes of the foremost savages inspired more terror within their superstitious breasts than would the presence of Sheeta, for they saw only the result of a ferocious attack upon one of their fellows. Not seeing the cause, their fear-ridden minds were free to attribute the ghastly work to supernatural causes, and with the thought they turned, screaming, from the hut, bowling over those who stood directly behind them in the exuberance of their terror. For an hour Tarzan heard only the murmur of excited voices from the far end of the village. Evidently the savages were once more attempting to work up their flickering courage to a point that would permit them to make another invasion of the hut, for now and then came a savage yell, such as the warriors give to bolster up their bravery upon the field of battle. But in the end it was two of the whites who first entered, carrying torches and guns. Tarzan was not surprised to discover that neither of them was Rokoff. He would have wagered his soul that no power on earth could have tempted that great coward to face the unknown menace of the hut. When the natives saw that the white men were not attacked they, too, crowded into the interior, their voices hushed with terror as they looked upon the mutilated corpse of their comrade. The whites tried in vain to elicit an explanation from Tarzan; but to all their queries he but shook his head, a grim and knowing smile curving his lips. At last Rokoff came. His face grew very white as his eyes rested upon the bloody thing grinning up at him from the floor, the face set in a death mask of excruciating horror. “Come!” he said to the chief. “Let us get to work and finish this demon before he has an opportunity to repeat this thing upon more of your people.” The chief gave orders that Tarzan should be lifted and carried to the stake; but it was several minutes before he could prevail upon any of his men to touch the prisoner. At last, however, four of the younger warriors dragged Tarzan roughly from the hut, and once outside the pall of terror seemed lifted from the savage hearts. A score of howling blacks pushed and buffeted the prisoner down the village street and bound him to the post in the centre of the circle of little fires and boiling cooking-pots. When at last he was made fast and seemed quite helpless and beyond the faintest hope of succour, Rokoff’s shrivelled wart of courage swelled to its usual proportions when danger was not present. He stepped close to the ape-man, and, seizing a spear from the hands of one of the savages, was the first to prod the helpless victim. A little stream of blood trickled down the giant’s smooth skin from the wound in his side; but no murmur of pain passed his lips. The smile of contempt upon his face seemed to infuriate the Russian. With a volley of oaths he leaped at the helpless captive, beating him upon the face with his clenched fists and kicking him mercilessly about the legs. Then he raised the heavy spear to drive it through the mighty heart, and still Tarzan of the Apes smiled contemptuously upon him. Before Rokoff could drive the weapon home the chief sprang upon him and dragged him away from his intended victim. “Stop, white man!” he cried. “Rob us of this prisoner and our death-dance, and you yourself may have to take his place.” The threat proved most effective in keeping the Russian from further assaults upon the prisoner, though he continued to stand a little apart and hurl taunts at his enemy. He told Tarzan that he himself was going to eat the ape-man’s heart. He enlarged upon the horrors of the future life of Tarzan’s son, and intimated that his vengeance would reach as well to Jane Clayton. “You think your wife safe in England,” said Rokoff. “Poor fool! She is even now in the hands of one not even of decent birth, and far from the safety of London and the protection of her friends. I had not meant to tell you this until I could bring to you upon Jungle Island proof of her fate. “Now that you are about to die the most unthinkably horrid death that it is given a white man to die—let this word of the plight of your wife add to the torments that you must suffer before the last savage spear-thrust releases you from your torture.” The dance had commenced now, and the yells of the circling warriors drowned Rokoff’s further attempts to distress his victim. The leaping savages, the flickering firelight playing upon their painted bodies, circled about the victim at the stake. To Tarzan’s memory came a similar scene, when he had rescued D’Arnot from a like predicament at the last moment before the final spear-thrust should have ended his sufferings. Who was there now to rescue him? In all the world there was none able to save him from the torture and the death. The thought that these human fiends would devour him when the dance was done caused him not a single qualm of horror or disgust. It did not add to his sufferings as it would have to those of an ordinary white man, for all his life Tarzan had seen the beasts of the jungle devour the flesh of their kills. Had he not himself battled for the grisly forearm of a great ape at that long-gone Dum-Dum, when he had slain the fierce Tublat and won his niche in the respect of the Apes of Kerchak? The dancers were leaping more closely to him now. The spears were commencing to find his body in the first torturing pricks that prefaced the more serious thrusts. It would not be long now. The ape-man longed for the last savage lunge that would end his misery. And then, far out in the mazes of the weird jungle, rose a shrill scream. For an instant the dancers paused, and in the silence of the interval there rose from the lips of the fast-bound white man an answering shriek, more fearsome and more terrible than that of the jungle-beast that had roused it. For several minutes the blacks hesitated; then, at the urging of Rokoff and their chief, they leaped in to finish the dance and the victim; but ere ever another spear touched the brown hide a tawny streak of green-eyed hate and ferocity bounded from the door of the hut in which Tarzan had been imprisoned, and Sheeta, the panther, stood snarling beside his master. For an instant the blacks and the whites stood transfixed with terror. Their eyes were riveted upon the bared fangs of the jungle cat. Only Tarzan of the Apes saw what else there was emerging from the dark interior of the hut. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Edgar Rice Burroughs (1993). The Beasts of Tarzan. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/85/pg85-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

The Dance of Death

Grimm's Fairy Tales by Jacob and Milhelm Grimm, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS There was once on a time, an old Goat who had seven little Kids, and loved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day, she wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all seven to her and said, “Dear Children, I have to go into the forest. Be on your guard against the Wolf. If he come in, he will devour you all—skin, hair, and all. The wretch often disguises himself; but you will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.” The Kids said, “Dear Mother, we will take good care of ourselves. You may go away without any anxiety.” Then the old one bleated, and went on her way with an easy mind. It was not long before some one knocked at the house-door, and cried, “Open the door, dear Children! Your mother is here, and has brought something back with her for each of you.” But the little Kids knew that it was the Wolf, by his rough voice. “We will not open the door,” cried they; “you are not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but your voice is rough. You are the Wolf!” Then the Wolf went away to a shopkeeper, and bought a great lump of chalk, ate this and made his voice soft with it. Then he came back, knocked at the door of the house, and cried, “Open the door, dear Children! Your mother is here and has brought something back with her for each of you.” But the Wolf had laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them, and cried, “We will not open the door, our mother has not black feet like you. You are the Wolf!” Then the Wolf ran to a baker, and said, “I have hurt my feet, rub some dough over them for me.” And when the baker had rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and said, “Strew some white meal over my feet for me.” The miller thought to himself, “The Wolf wants to deceive some one,” and refused. But the Wolf said, “If you will not do it, I will devour you.” Then the miller was afraid, and made his paws white for him. Yes! so are men! Now, the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at it, and said, “Open the door for me, Children! Your dear little mother has come home, and has brought every one of you something from the forest with her.” The little Kids cried, “First show us your paws that we may know if you are our dear little mother.” Then he put his paws in through the window. And when the Kids saw that they were white, they believed all that he said, and opened the door. But who should come in but ! the Wolf THE LITTLE KIDS CRIED, “FIRST SHOW US YOUR PAWS” They were terrified and wanted to hide themselves. One sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the third into the stove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the sixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the clock-case. But the Wolf found them all and made no delay, but swallowed one after the other down his throat. The youngest in the clock-case was the only one he did not find. When the Wolf had satisfied his appetite, he took himself off, laid himself down under a tree in the green meadow outside, and began to sleep. Soon afterward, the old Goat came home again from the forest. Ah! what a sight she saw there! The house-door stood wide open. The table, chairs, and benches were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces, and the quilts and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her children, but they were nowhere to be found. She called them one after another by name, but no one answered. At last, when she called the youngest, a soft voice cried, “Dear Mother, I am in the clock-case.” She took the Kid out, and it told her that the Wolf had come and had eaten all the others. Then you may imagine how she wept over her poor children! At length, in her grief she went out, and the youngest Kid ran with her. When they came to the meadow, there lay the Wolf by the tree and he was snoring so loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and saw that something was moving and struggling in his stomach. “Ah!” said she, “is it possible that my poor children, whom he has swallowed down for his supper, can be still alive?” Then the Kid had to run home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread, and the Goat cut open the monster’s stomach. Hardly had she made one cut, than a little Kid thrust its head out, and when she had cut farther, all six sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered no hurt whatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them whole. What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother, and jumped like a tailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said, “Now go and look for some big stones. We will fill the wicked beast’s stomach with them, while he is asleep.” Then the seven Kids dragged the stones thither with all speed, and put as many of them into his stomach as they could get in. And the mother sewed him up again in the greatest haste; so that he was not aware of anything and never once stirred. When the Wolf had had his sleep out, he got on his legs, and as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to go to a well to drink. But when he began to walk and to move about, the stones in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried he: “What rumbles and tumbles Against my poor bones? I thought ’twas six Kids, But it’s only big stones!” And when he got to the well and stooped over the water and was just about to drink, the heavy stones made him fall in. There was no help for it, but he had to drown miserably! When the seven Kids saw that, they came running to the spot and cried aloud, “The Wolf is dead! The Wolf is dead!” and danced for joy round about the well with their mother. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm (2016). Grimm's Fairy Tales. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022, https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/52521/pg52521-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS

Astounding Stories of Super-Science April 1931, by Astounding Stories is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Exile of Time - Chapter VII: The Vengeance of Tugh Myriad individual scenes of horror were enacted. Metal travesties of the human form ran along the city streets, overturning stalled vehicles, climbing into houses, roaming dark hallways, breaking into rooms. There was a woman who afterward told that she crouched in a corner, clutching her child, when the door of her room was burst in. Her husband, who had kept them there thinking it was the safest thing to do, fought futilely with the great thing of iron. Its sword slashed his head from his body with a single stroke. The woman and the little child screamed, but the monster ignored them. They had a radio, tuned to a station in New Jersey which was broadcasting the events. The Robot seized the instrument as though in a frenzy of anger, tore it apart, then rushed from the room. No one could give a connected picture of the events of that horrible night. It was a series of disjointed incidents out of which the imagination must construct the whole. The panics were everywhere. The streets were stalled with traffic and running, shouting, fighting people. And the area around Greenwich Village brought reports of continued horror. The Robots were of many different forms; some pseudo-human; others, great machines running amuck—things more monstrous, more horrible even, than those which mocked humanity. There was a great pot-bellied monster which forced its way somehow to a roof. It encountered a crouching woman and child in a corner of the parapet, seized them, one in each of its great iron hands, and whirled them out over the housetops. By dawn it seemed that the Robots had mounted several projectors of the giant red beam on the roofs of Patton Place. They held a full square mile, now, around Tugh's house. The police and firemen had long since given up fighting them. They were needed elsewhere—the police to try and cope with the panics, and the firemen to fight the conflagrations which everywhere began springing up. Fires, the natural outcome of chaos; and fires, incendiary—made by criminals who took advantage of the disaster to fatten like ghouls upon the dead. They prowled the streets. They robbed and murdered at will. The giant beams of the Robots carried a frigid blast for miles. By dawn of that June 10th, the south wind was carrying from the enemy area a perceptible wave of cold even as far as Westchester. Allen, flying over the city, saw the devastated area clearly. Ice in the streets—smashed vehicles—the gruesome litter of sword-slashed human bodies. And other human bodies, plucked apart; strewn.... Alten's plane flew at an altitude of some two thousand feet. In the growing daylight the dark prowling figures of the metal men were plainly seen. There were no humans left alive in the captured area. The plane dropped a bomb into Washington Square where a dozen or two of the Robots were gathered. It missed them. The plane's pilot had not realized that they were grouped around a projector; its red shaft sprang up, caught the plane and clung to it. Frigid blast! Even at that two thousand feet altitude, for a few seconds Alten and the others were stiffened by the cold. The motor missed; very nearly stopped. Then an intervening rooftop cut off the beam, and the plane escaped. All this I have pictured from what Dr. Alten subsequently told me. He leaves my narrative now, since fate hereafter held him in the New York City of 1935. But he has described for me three horrible days, and three still more horrible nights. The whole world now was alarmed. Every nation offered its forces of air and land and sea to overcome these gruesome invaders. Warships steamed for New York harbor. Soldiers were entrained and brought to the city outskirts. Airplanes flew overhead. On Long Island, Staten Island, and in New Jersey, infantry, tanks and artillery were massed in readiness. But they were all very nearly powerless to attack. Manhattan Island still was thronged with refugees. It was not possible for the millions to escape; and for the first day there were hundreds of thousands hiding in their homes. The city could not be shelled. The influx of troops was hampered by the outrush of civilians. By the night of the tenth, nevertheless, ten thousand soldiers were surrounding the enemy area. It embraced now all the mid-section of the island. The soldiers rushed in. Machine-guns were set up. But the Robots were difficult to find. With this direct attack they began fighting with an almost human caution. Their bodies were impervious to bullets, save perhaps in the orifices of the face which might or might not be vulnerable. But when attacked, they skulked in the houses, or crouched like cautious animals under the smashed vehicles. Then there were times when they would wade forward directly into machine-gun fire—unharmed—plunging on until the gunners fled and the Robots wreaked their fury upon the abandoned gun. The only hand-to-hand conflicts took place on the afternoon of June 10th. A full thousand soldiers were killed—and possibly six or eight of the Robots. The troops were ordered away after that; they made lines across the island to the north and to the south, to keep the enemy from increasing its area. Over Greenwich Village now, the circling planes—at their highest altitude, to avoid the upflung crimson beams—dropped bombs. Hundreds of houses there were wrecked. Tugh's house could not be positively identified, though the attack was directed at it most particularly. Afterward, it was found by chance to have escaped. The night of June 10th brought new horrors. The city lights failed. Against all the efforts of the troops and the artillery fire which now was shelling the Washington Square area, the giant mechanisms pushed north and south. By midnight, with their dull-red beams illumining the darkness of the canyon streets, they had reached the Battery, and spread northward beyond the northern limits of Central Park. It is estimated that by then there were still a million people on Manhattan Island. The night of the 11th, the Robots made their real attack. Those who saw it, from planes overhead, say that upon a roof near Washington Square a machine was mounted from which a red beam sprang. It was not of parallel rays, like the others; this one spread. And of such power it was, that it painted the leaden clouds of the threatening, overcast night. Every plane, at whatever high altitude, felt its frigid blast and winged hastily away to safety. Spreading, dull-red beam! It flashed with a range of miles. Its light seemed to cling to the clouds, staining like blood; and to cling to the air itself with a dull lurid radiance. It was a hot night, that June 11th, with a brewing thunderstorm. There had been occasional rumbles of thunder and lightning flashes. The temperature was perhaps 90° F. Then the temperature began falling. A million people were hiding in the great apartment houses and homes of the northern sections, or still struggling to escape over the littered bridges or by the paralyzed transportation systems—and that million people saw the crimson radiance and felt the falling temperature. 80°. Then 70°. Within half an hour it was at 30°! In unheated houses, in midsummer, in the midst of panic, the people were swept by chilling cold. With no adequate clothing available they suffered greatly—and then abruptly they were freezing. Children wailing with the cold; then asleep in numbed, last slumber.... Zero weather in midsummer! And below zero! How cold it got, there is no one to say. The abandoned recording instrument in the Weather Bureau was found, at 2:16 A.M., the morning of June 12, 1935, to have touched minus 42° F. The gathering storm over the city burst with lightning and thunder claps through the blood-red radiance. And then snow began falling. A steady white downpour, a winter blizzard with the lightning flashing above it, and the thunder crashing. With the lightning and thunder and snow, crazy winds sprang up. They whirled and tossed the thick white snowflakes; swept in blasts along the city streets. It piled the snow in great drifts against the houses; whirled and sucked it upward in white powdery geysers. At 2:30 A.M. there came a change. The dull-red radiance which swept the city changed in color. Through the shades of the spectrum it swung up to violet. And no longer was it a blast of cold, but of heat! Of what inherent temperature the ray of that spreading beam may have been, no one can say. It caught the houses, and everything inflammable burst into flame. Conflagrations were everywhere—a thousand spots of yellow-red flames, like torches, with smoke rolling up from them to mingle with the violet glow overhead. The blizzard was gone. The snow ceased. The storm clouds rolled away, blasted by the pendulum winds which lashed the city. By 3 A.M. the city temperature was over 100° F—the dry, blistering heat of a midsummer desert. The northern city streets were littered with the bodies of people who had rushed from their homes and fallen in the heat, the wild winds and the suffocating smoke outside. And then, flung back by the abnormal winds, the storm clouds crashed together overhead. A terrible storm, born of outraged nature, vent itself on the city. The fires of the burning metropolis presently died under the torrent of falling water. Clouds of steam whirled and tossed and hissed close overhead, and there was a boiling hot rain. By dawn the radiance of that strange spreading beam died away. The daylight showed a wrecked, dead city. Few humans indeed were left alive on Manhattan that dawn. The Robots and their apparatus had gone.... The vengeance of Tugh against the New York City of 1935 was accomplished. (To be continued.) About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Various. 2009. Astounding Stories of Super-Science, April 1931. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved May 2022 from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30452/30452-h/30452-h.htm#Page_26 . This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

CHAPTER VII. The Vengeance of Tugh

Moby-Dick; or The Whale, by Herman Melville is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here: . Chapter 85: The Fountain [LINK TO TABLE OF LINK] CHAPTER 85. The Fountain. That for six thousand years—and no one knows how many millions of ages before—the great whales should have been spouting all over the sea, and sprinkling and mistifying the gardens of the deep, as with so many sprinkling or mistifying pots; and that for some centuries back, thousands of hunters should have been close by the fountain of the whale, watching these sprinklings and spoutings—that all this should be, and yet, that down to this blessed minute (fifteen and a quarter minutes past one o’clock P.M. of this sixteenth day of December, A.D. 1851), it should still remain a problem, whether these spoutings are, after all, really water, or nothing but vapor—this is surely a noteworthy thing. Let us, then, look at this matter, along with some interesting items contingent. Every one knows that by the peculiar cunning of their gills, the finny tribes in general breathe the air which at all times is combined with the element in which they swim; hence, a herring or a cod might live a century, and never once raise its head above the surface. But owing to his marked internal structure which gives him regular lungs, like a human being’s, the whale can only live by inhaling the disengaged air in the open atmosphere. Wherefore the necessity for his periodical visits to the upper world. But he cannot in any degree breathe through his mouth, for, in his ordinary attitude, the Sperm Whale’s mouth is buried at least eight feet beneath the surface; and what is still more, his windpipe has no connexion with his mouth. No, he breathes through his spiracle alone; and this is on the top of his head. If I say, that in any creature breathing is only a function indispensable to vitality, inasmuch as it withdraws from the air a certain element, which being subsequently brought into contact with the blood imparts to the blood its vivifying principle, I do not think I shall err; though I may possibly use some superfluous scientific words. Assume it, and it follows that if all the blood in a man could be aerated with one breath, he might then seal up his nostrils and not fetch another for a considerable time. That is to say, he would then live without breathing. Anomalous as it may seem, this is precisely the case with the whale, who systematically lives, by intervals, his full hour and more (when at the bottom) without drawing a single breath, or so much as in any way inhaling a particle of air; for, remember, he has no gills. How is this? Between his ribs and on each side of his spine he is supplied with a remarkable involved Cretan labyrinth of vermicelli-like vessels, which vessels, when he quits the surface, are completely distended with oxygenated blood. So that for an hour or more, a thousand fathoms in the sea, he carries a surplus stock of vitality in him, just as the camel crossing the waterless desert carries a surplus supply of drink for future use in its four supplementary stomachs. The anatomical fact of this labyrinth is indisputable; and that the supposition founded upon it is reasonable and true, seems the more cogent to me, when I consider the otherwise inexplicable obstinacy of that leviathan in having his spoutings out, as the fishermen phrase it. This is what I mean. If unmolested, upon rising to the surface, the Sperm Whale will continue there for a period of time exactly uniform with all his other unmolested risings. Say he stays eleven minutes, and jets seventy times, that is, respires seventy breaths; then whenever he rises again, he will be sure to have his seventy breaths over again, to a minute. Now, if after he fetches a few breaths you alarm him, so that he sounds, he will be always dodging up again to make good his regular allowance of air. And not till those seventy breaths are told, will he finally go down to stay out his full term below. Remark, however, that in different individuals these rates are different; but in any one they are alike. Now, why should the whale thus insist upon having his spoutings out, unless it be to replenish his reservoir of air, ere descending for good? How obvious is it, too, that this necessity for the whale’s rising exposes him to all the fatal hazards of the chase. For not by hook or by net could this vast leviathan be caught, when sailing a thousand fathoms beneath the sunlight. Not so much thy skill, then, O hunter, as the great necessities that strike the victory to thee! In man, breathing is incessantly going on—one breath only serving for two or three pulsations; so that whatever other business he has to attend to, waking or sleeping, breathe he must, or die he will. But the Sperm Whale only breathes about one seventh or Sunday of his time. It has been said that the whale only breathes through his spout-hole; if it could truthfully be added that his spouts are mixed with water, then I opine we should be furnished with the reason why his sense of smell seems obliterated in him; for the only thing about him that at all answers to his nose is that identical spout-hole; and being so clogged with two elements, it could not be expected to have the power of smelling. But owing to the mystery of the spout—whether it be water or whether it be vapor—no absolute certainty can as yet be arrived at on this head. Sure it is, nevertheless, that the Sperm Whale has no proper olfactories. But what does he want of them? No roses, no violets, no Cologne-water in the sea. Furthermore, as his windpipe solely opens into the tube of his spouting canal, and as that long canal—like the grand Erie Canal—is furnished with a sort of locks (that open and shut) for the downward retention of air or the upward exclusion of water, therefore the whale has no voice; unless you insult him by saying, that when he so strangely rumbles, he talks through his nose. But then again, what has the whale to say? Seldom have I known any profound being that had anything to say to this world, unless forced to stammer out something by way of getting a living. Oh! happy that the world is such an excellent listener! Now, the spouting canal of the Sperm Whale, chiefly intended as it is for the conveyance of air, and for several feet laid along, horizontally, just beneath the upper surface of his head, and a little to one side; this curious canal is very much like a gas-pipe laid down in a city on one side of a street. But the question returns whether this gas-pipe is also a water-pipe; in other words, whether the spout of the Sperm Whale is the mere vapor of the exhaled breath, or whether that exhaled breath is mixed with water taken in at the mouth, and discharged through the spiracle. It is certain that the mouth indirectly communicates with the spouting canal; but it cannot be proved that this is for the purpose of discharging water through the spiracle. Because the greatest necessity for so doing would seem to be, when in feeding he accidentally takes in water. But the Sperm Whale’s food is far beneath the surface, and there he cannot spout even if he would. Besides, if you regard him very closely, and time him with your watch, you will find that when unmolested, there is an undeviating rhyme between the periods of his jets and the ordinary periods of respiration. But why pester one with all this reasoning on the subject? Speak out! You have seen him spout; then declare what the spout is; can you not tell water from air? My dear sir, in this world it is not so easy to settle these plain things. I have ever found your plain things the knottiest of all. And as for this whale spout, you might almost stand in it, and yet be undecided as to what it is precisely. The central body of it is hidden in the snowy sparkling mist enveloping it; and how can you certainly tell whether any water falls from it, when, always, when you are close enough to a whale to get a close view of his spout, he is in a prodigious commotion, the water cascading all around him. And if at such times you should think that you really perceived drops of moisture in the spout, how do you know that they are not merely condensed from its vapor; or how do you know that they are not those identical drops superficially lodged in the spout-hole fissure, which is countersunk into the summit of the whale’s head? For even when tranquilly swimming through the mid-day sea in a calm, with his elevated hump sun-dried as a dromedary’s in the desert; even then, the whale always carries a small basin of water on his head, as under a blazing sun you will sometimes see a cavity in a rock filled up with rain. Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise nature of the whale spout. It will not do for him to be peering into it, and putting his face in it. You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away. For even when coming into slight contact with the outer, vapory shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it. And I know one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek and arm. Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they try to evade it. Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will blind you. The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to me, is to let this deadly spout alone. Still, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis is this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to this conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him no common, shallow being, inasmuch as it is an undisputed fact that he is never found on soundings, or near shores; all other whales sometimes are. He is both ponderous and profound. And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional argument for the above supposition. And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For, d’ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved April 2022 from Melville, Herman, 2001. Moby-Dick: or The Whale. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm#link2HCH0085 This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Moby-Dick; or The Whale: Chapter 85 - The Fountain

France has announced its intention to embrace blockchain and cryptocurrencies, and in a couple of months, it may be the first to regulate ICOs and tax their profits. While France has so far been quiet in the blockchain industry with a small number of ICOs, 2019 could be a completely different crypto environment! The French government aims to transform what are called “laws of vagueness” into clear regulations so investors can feel comfortable moving their entities into the country. French Regulations are Moving Forward Thanks to the PACTE law and the “Projet de Loi de Finances 2019” (2019 Financial Law Project) passed in September of 2018, the upcoming months will be key to France becoming a fertile territory to grow blockchain projects by offering protection to investors that current IPOs enjoy. “ The Action Plan will provide companies with the resources they need in order to innovate. It will enable researchers to set up companies with the minimum of difficulty and simplify patent filing procedures for SMEs.” The French financial regulator, AMF, and the government have developed great expertise on the topic and aim to help France lead this crypto revolution. The French crypto ecosystem is growing fast, uniting crypto believers, including developers, lawyers, consulting companies such as PWC, and enthusiasts of this decentralized world. Companies can benefit from the help of universities such as Polytechnique and incubator programs focused on excellence. France wants to invest in innovation and technologies that will shape its future, as well as the entrepreneurs who are eager to test the French financial markets. Already “Station F” is becoming Paris’ Silicon Valley. France has already taken the necessary steps to place itself at the crypto forefront and will soon be poised to set an example for the rest of Europe. Though other countries such as Korea and the US have seen great interest and adoption, their legislation is still unsteady and therefore it distances founders from operating from there. Eastern European countries have been opening their arms to crypto for a while with low taxes and clear and stable regulations that assist its economy in attracting more crypto businesses. France can have an advantage over countries with grey regulations, like the US and Britain, and those with outright bans on cryptocurrencies, like China and South Korea. The Current Crypto Scene in France The French Crypto ecosystem is moving at an unprecedented pace! Its startups, such as Ledger, Tezos, ARK, IExec or ACINQ, are well-known internationally in the industry. Consensys recently expanded to Paris, and other large French companies, such as Carrefour and Trecento Capital, are implementing blockchain technologies. The first French blockchain association was created in June, 2017 — way before Crypto Winter! The French Association for Crypto Currencies’ Management (AFGC) was founded by 10 early adopters, and they showed the way for their government to become a welcoming blockchain country. The true potential of blockchain and crypto has yet to be unleashed, and Paris could benefit from its already established reputation and professionalism to become the European capital for ICOs and STOs. After the crypto crash and the rise of more stability, critics have been swayed and the future is bright, even though the question of adoption rumbles beneath all debates, most people agree with the potential. Switzerland has benefitted from being one of the first countries to take steps to welcome crypto, and is now housing many groundbreaking projects thanks to its legislation. France has taken slower steps but now feels ready to open to the world. France will host more conferences and definitely need to present itself to the blockchain world as a more secure place in which to profit. France, with the 6th largest economy in the world and one of the highest tax rates, is ironically poised to win over the crypto community’s hearts with the draw of regulation and security to investors. If the French government is ready to bring cryptocurrencies out of the shadows and help ICOs thrive under a legal framework, maybe this match is not so odd, because cryptocurrencies need the promise of stability right now. To sweeten the pot, the government has offered a reduced tax rate of 30% on cryptocurrency sales. In the midst of the continuing Yellow Vest protests and the Cold Crypto Winter, the French need to attract crypto business and revenue. Could France become the new Crypto Capital of Europe? Will the Libertarian ideals of the crypto crowd mesh well with a socialist government? Say bonjour to the coming French crypto wave, because it may be too lucrative to miss out on! By Solene Feuillu for Paris Blockchain Week.

Will France Emerge As A Leader in the Blockchain Space?

Roblox survival games are almost as old as the platform itself. This genre takes Roblox’s flexible game engine and mixes it with a variety of interesting special situations ranging from the expected to the absurd. Finding survival games on Roblox isn’t hard but finding the best ones can be difficult given how long this type of game has been around. So if you’re looking to get a taste of these games, stick around and read what we think are the five best Roblox survival games available on the platform today. 1. Survive a Plane Crash This game challenges you to survive a plane crash, either when it begins to fall out of the sky or while a player acting as the pilot fails to navigate the aircraft through a mountain range. Like many of the survival games on this list, the premise and task are simple enough. However, actually getting out of the plane is a challenge. Each round progresses from takeoff to sudden crash with the plane’s status being reflected in rumbles, shakes and explosions from each event that leads to the aircraft’s destruction. When experienced with this game’s surprisingly good music, it’s easy to feel tension as the engines blow out one by one and oxygen masks fall out of the overhead compartments. Survival isn’t easy and you’re likely to die. Still, it can be a lot of fun to experience. Play it here! 2. 🚁Disaster Hotel: Remastered This is one of the older survival games on Roblox and is pretty simple as things go. Players choose to spawn in various areas around the hotel and will have to play until the map is reset, usually with the hotel in ruins. Any number of random events will play over the course of a round. At the start, a flying, exploding boat may slam into the hotel and blow a good chunk of it out. Later on, a meteor might punch through the hotel, spreading fire through its structure. Or a fire itself might slowly spread through it, killing players it traps. Like many survival games, this one is a little morbid but is fascinating to see the hotel slowly crumble as one disaster hits it after another. By the end of one match, I had to dodge falling chunks as a typhoon ripped it apart before it collapsed for good. Play it here! 3. Natural Disaster Survival This is a newer, fancier version of Disaster Hotel that has incredibly varied gameplay. It draws on a wide pool of disasters and pairs them with maps that can lead to interesting combinations. A theme park could be engulfed in flame, spreading flames across the rides. A race track could find itself in a blizzard, forcing racers to scramble for whatever shelter they can find. This game’s randomness keeps things fresh, though some interactions between disasters and maps can make it easy to cheese. Play it here! 4. TSUNAMI SURVIVAL Unlike the other Roblox survival games, this one keeps things simple. There will always be a tsunami coming to wipe everyone out but the players will always be somewhere different. One instance sees players scramble on jet skis frantically outrunning the tsunami. Another has them scramble for high ground as progressively higher waves surge through the map. Like Natural Disaster Survival, some levels can be laughably easy to clear when the map is just right. If there aren’t too many players, it can be quite easy to climb up trees and the like. This game is also not as exciting to play as other survival games as the tsunamis don’t destroy scenery in the same ways. Play it here! 5. Survive the Night This is more of a horror game but is still quite a bit of fun to play. This Roblox survival game is all about surviving a night in a haunted estate, hiding from a supernatural killer. The game is reminiscent of Phasmophobia except that players don’t need to hunt down the monster. It’s incredibly complex for a Roblox game, forcing the player into the first person. It has custom sounds such as creaky doors, loud footsteps, and a heartbeat that gets louder as the monster gets closer. It’s effective, tense, and more than a little frightening. It definitely gets the heart pumping. The map itself is well designed with plenty of places to hide in with an oppressive darkness that makes it hard to make a safe decision. Play it here! Final thoughts on the best Roblox Survival Games Overall, this is a varied genre with plenty of interesting choices. The ones included on this list were chosen based on how well they fit the term “survival”. Others, like one that has players survive an anime-infested Area 51 (which we discussed on our best ), are still a lot of fun. You should try to find them. Roblox anime games More in gaming: Game Engines Aren't Just for Gaming Anymore Where to Sell Pokémon Cards Online: 3 Options TimeSplitters is Coming Back via a New Development Studio Keep up with all the latest in gaming. Subscribe to our newsletter in the footer below!

5 Best Roblox Survival Games

I spent the past few years learning how to pull the levers and rotate the knobs that use your data to extract clicks from you online. I started to understand how these systems work, and I started to realize I was also addicted to these systems myself. To improve, I conducted research and made changes to my behavior over the course of two and a half years. Now that I am in control, I am trying to bring out the information that will help others understand and improve their digital lives. I wrote a book on digital addiction. Get a copy from Barnes and Noble or Kobo This post reveals one of my most important realizations, informed by my field research, that has most helped me better understand and correct my digital life. We have over time become addicted to a continuum of digital sexual stimulation, with continual production and reduction of digital sexual anxiety and stimulation, through use of both social media and porn. The first step is looking at content on social media, which is often sexualized because of our want to be sexually desirable. This creates sexual stimulation, and thus sexual anxiety, from not having an immediate channel for that stimulation. This leads us to porn to streamline the release of that sexual anxiety — through the same digital medium that created the anxiety. The access to endless novelty in porn leads to maximal use, and a heightened frequency of masturbation and orgasm. The high depletion of sexual energy causes young adults to go on social media the next day looking for sexual stimulation for more sexual energy: the energy we need to motivate ourselves and increase our receptivity to stimulation and engagement in life. But this artificial stimulation then leads to sexual anxiety that leads back to porn, draining us of energy, and fueling this cycle to social media to get sexual stimulation throughout the day, through intermittent profile and news feed browsing while working. It is only by abstaining from the consumption of digital sexual stimulation that we abstain from this vortex, thus warranting us to make changes to both sides: social media and porn. For social media we should avoid consuming digital sexual stimulation on the news feed or profile browsing, and on porn, well, we should completely abstain from porn, so that we are not excessively drained. We should use social media in a minimalistic way: simply to upload content and maintain a profile simply to not signal detachment from the community, allow oneself to be connected to others through Messenger, and to maximize visibility for dating and social opportunities. We should not use it to consume sexual stimulation on the news feed or profile browsing, and we should eliminate the consumption of notifications. There is another feedback loop driving this continuum, from machine learning that’s used to show you more and more appealing content. The more time spent on social networks like Instagram, the more data, based on what you’ve been looking at, that the algorithms have to predict what to show you. This increases the pleasure of consuming content on those services, leading to more use, which leads to more data, which leads to more desirable content. While this optimization makes use of these social networks more pleasureful, it makes it hard to resist the temptation to use them excessively throughout the day because of how easily they can — always — be accessed. Because people often use these services for sexual stimulation throughout the day, the algorithms show more and more sexually stimulating content. This is particularly true on Instagram, where the global feed has access to a wide array of people to curate depending on the sexual tastes you demonstrate. With that vortex, it becomes important to develop self-control. The self-learning algorithms of Facebook and Instagram make it continually easier to escalate to irrational, self-destructive use. To make matters worse, when trying to work on a device, having watched porn on that device creates a sexual, fetishized relationship with your device that rumbles in the back of your head, making it difficult to fully concentrate in front of a lit screen- and making it tempting to distract yourself. When trying to work on the same screen that we use to watch porn, the screen activates a pavlovian association with sex, perhaps sexually stimulating you, making it difficult to work and easier to use digital media to distract ourselves in sexualized ways, like viewing girls on Instagram. Devices that have become fetishized through use of porn make it hard for people to work. The mind is luring you to watch porn, because the screen light’s association with the pleasure of porn. This is part of the reason why it is tempting to view content on Instagram or Facebook when working on your computer: your mind is becoming subconsciously sexually stimulated by the interaction with the device, and your mind then tries to subconsciously direct you to a path of least resistance towards porn, to satisfy the subconscious sexual stimulation. But by bringing you to consuming content on social media, which is often sexualized, you can get sexual stimulation in public. The machine learning algorithms, in tandem with our fetishization of our devices, may explain the difficulty we have. What happens is as follows. The more and more you derive sexual stimulation through pornography through an electric screen, the greater the potency of the distractions to consume sexualized content on the same screen after ejaculation because of the Pavlovian sexual association and the desire to restore sexual energy. The greater potency of distraction results in greater difficulty resisting those temptations for distraction, resulting in greater use of distractions like Instagram, which then fuels the machine learning algorithms that cause Instagram in particular to become better and better at showing you what content you want to see based on inferences from your past behavior, which often results in a more and more custom tailored sexualized experience that produces more stimulation and makes it easier and easier to use Instagram more and more, which powers the machine learning algorithms even more, and as a result of the sexual stimulation, increases the temptation to watch pornography, increasing the Pavlovian association that increases the potency of the temptations to use social media, inflaming this addictive cycle. The machine learning algorithms of social media, paired with a fetishized relationship with a device, results in a feedback loop where the technology becomes more and more powerful while our ability to exert control and defend distraction becomes more and more weak. We become caught, between porn and social media, in the continuum of digital sexual stimulation.

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