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1. Atheist here. Bright light. I knew there were people waiting for me where the light was coming from. Over there. Absolute ecstasy was the feeling. Then I remembered I had a new born baby and was instantly back.
2. I had been very depressed for a while and decided it was time to go. I downed a shit ton of pills and washed them down with a ton of rum. While “dead” I was in a completely dark area all alone. The peace I felt in this area was amazing. I found myself talking to a mysterious voice who told me he was God. We talked for what felt like an entire lifetime. He told me my heaven was this dark secluded area where I could finally be at peace. We also talked about nearly everything that had to do with anything. He ended with telling me that I couldn’t stay because I still had business to take care of. Before I awoke he told me I couldn’t tell anyone of what we spoke about. When I woke up my body felt healthier than I have ever felt and I had this peace about me that hasn’t gone away. I feel like I can remember what we spoke about I just can’t put it in words. I equate it to trying to describe a new color to someone. Anyways I haven’t been nearly as depressed since then and I completely took control of my life for the better.
3. When I was 8 years old, I was run over by a car. Ripped me off my feet, leg got caught in the wheel well, slammed my head into the concrete. Instant blackout. I remember walking (floating?) through this blue tunnel, like a cave that was bright enough to see in. The tunnel wasn’t smooth. It was natural, with overlapping layers. At the end, there was the white light that everyone talks about. Before I knew it, I was in it. A disembodied hand reached out to me, and though it was this warm, welcoming feeling, I knew I didn’t want to go. It wasn’t as if I was scared of what was waiting on the other side, I just felt it wasn’t time to go yet. I remember audibly saying that I wasn’t ready yet.
I woke up in the ambulance, with the EMT hovering over me. Coming back into reality was slow going, and his voice was a groaning mockery of my choice. “Everything’s going to be alright.” Combined with the darkness of the ambulance, I though my refusal to go with whoever offered me their hand led me to a fate far worse than just dying.
To be fair, I was a pretty crappy kid.
4. When I was dead, it was black. I didn’t hear, see, or smell anything. It might be because I was only dead for such a short time. When they restarted my heart, I felt a pull on the center of my chest and it was like I was literally ripped out of the dark.
5. I was about 5, in pain from a migraine. My mother tried to calm me down and then gave me a chewable painkiller of some sort. As soon as that thing touched my tounge I heaved as I had been crying pretty heavy just beforehand and it got caught in my throat.
I was clinically dead for over 6 mins as they tried to dislodge it and had it not been for my grandmother frantically running outside to wave down the ambulance they had called I wouldn’t be here today.
What I saw though, I will never forget. Small golden doors closed to me. Light behind them but no way in. Next to me, however, stood a man in a Black Top with a long tailed suit coat (also black). He has haunted me ever since.
6. Atheist here. I was hit pretty hard by a speeding car near my neighborhood. I had this amazing feeling of energy/ecstacy as this light became brighter. In a way, I felt good to go towards this light because as I got closer, I felt warmth, happiness. But I felt it was wrong to continue. I promptly wake up and I’m in the hospital with my mom crying over me. I don’t feel this has affected my religious views or anything. But I did learn that your body tries to make death the most comfortable it can for you.
7. Failed suicide attempt around age 13.
Once I passed the “point of no return,” all the pain and depression, fueled by anger and a desire to kill (myself), I was overcome by this calm. I saw myself as I floated over my body. Then I sort of “flipped over” and was going down this tunnel of light.
At the end was some kind of barrier like a film. I remember touching this film and I knew I had touched some kind of all-encompassing omnipotence. As i became aware of it, I sort of became it, and a part of it at the same time. I suddenly knew everything, and for a nerd like me, that was all I ever wanted. The concept of all-knowing is hard to recall, but I remembered two things:
The first is when you know everything, you lose the concept of what a question is. You don’t even ask questions; you just know the exact same moment because there is no preface to knowledge anymore. Knowledge is not something you seek, you are the knowledge.
Second, in this state, I knew I had to go back and keep living. I also knew that I would not understand when I woke up alive why I should keep living. But I knew and I carried back to my body the feeling that I had to keep living even if I did not understand why yet. Like I once understood, but what I understood would get lost in the translation. So all I could do was know, at one point, it made sense and I agreed to it. If that makes any sense.
Waking up, I felt so small, like my mind could not fit in this teeny tiny mortal coil. And I was so distraught at being alive, I wailed and mourned that I was forced to endure my utter contempt at self and environmental misery.
My life got better, but sometimes I feel like death is this place in space and time where the ultimate safety and comfort dwells. And I do not fear death because it’s going to be okay. Like, more okay than any okay we know as blobs of walking meat.
8. Its a very odd feeling and somewhat hard to explain. First right after the incident that caused me to be resuscitated(car accident). The whole accident was in slow motion. I remember getting onto the on ramp hitting a huge pot hole and the van I was driving start to spin sideways and hitting the curb that caused my van to flip. The last thing I remember was being upside down in the air before the van finally hit the ground. It literally went from me thinking I’m going to die to nothing. Everything just went black. I had no feelings or thoughts. It was nothingness. Nothingness tends to scare people but you don’t even know that you existed. Its not painful or scary you just simply cease to exist. The one interesting thing about it is it all happens so fast that you have no real idea whats going on. While I was being resuscitated is when things get kind of weird. It went from nothingness not even knowing you existed to me seeing my girlfriend. It was still black but I could see her and then I started hearing her say wake up over and over again until i eventually came too.
9. Not me personally, but my brother-in-law (Catholic) had a severe heart attack and had to be brought back three times on the operating table. Afterwards, during his recovery period, he went through quite a deep depression because he had seen absolutely nothing during those three times.
10. I almost died this past 4th of July. I was ejected from my motorcycle headfirst. My lung collapsed And my collar bone punctured the top half of my lung. I was left for dead on the side of the road. During this time, I had a near death experience. It felt as though I was sinking into a deep dark pool of water. Everything around me was black and the world we live in kept getting smaller and smaller. It was like I was sinking slowly into a world of unknown. Sound began to act as though it was farther and farther away. In a strange way, I felt in peace. My pain was gone and the weight of the world passed me by. I recall having memories of my friends and family. Then next thing you know, I shot back to life. It must have lasted a few minutes, but to me it felt like a few hours. Death is an eventual reality for us all. This experience taught me to cherish today.
11. There’s no excitement or struggle or really any awareness of what’s going on. You just kinda fade and slip away. Everything’s kinda insubstantial, like it’s there but not. You sort of know something’s not quite right, but somehow that’s not important.
You know that feeling you get when you dream yourself awake, and you get up, brush your teeth, make breakfast, and then you wake up for real and find yourself still in bed, disoriented?
Coming back is kinda like that. You know things were different just moments before, and it’s really hard to put a finger on it, but everything’s kinda there… but at the same time, you’re not quite sure that you’re back in the real world, either.
12. About two years ago I was clinically dead for about eight minutes the doctor told me due to a heroin overdose. It was a pleasant feeling however it may have just been because I was insanely high (obviously) but it was scary at the same time. I felt like I no longer had any care in the entire world and I could finally be at peace. My heart was beating fast, my entire body was sweaty, and everything felt like it was going in slow motion. I remember right before I fell out in the ambulance one of the ems guys yelled, “We’re losing him.” I let out my last breath that I can remember then calmly went to rest. When I woke up in the hospital a few hours later everything was spinning. I was very confused and disoriented and couldn’t see straight until the next day. All in all it wasn’t terribly bad but I still wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone else. Also, needless to say I don’t do heroin in anymore.
13. To me it felt a bit like slipping into a dream. Everything in the dream feels and looks bright and colorful, and feels like it lasts hours, but when I came back, I had only been gone for less than 3 minutes. The subject of the dream, or anything about it I didn’t remember. I knew none of it made sense, but it felt peaceful, almost uplifting. When I came to, it sounded like I was in a large crowd for a few seconds, but woke to a nearly silent room. Then my vision came back. It was slow, almost like what an old CRT TV looks like when it turns on. dim at first, very fuzzy, then everything got brighter and more defined. That’s when I noticed my whole body had been numb from the neck down and slowly started gaining feeling in my hands and feet and slowly started radiating towards the center of my body. I was very disoriented. It was very hard to remember what I was doing before I went out, or even who the people around me were, or even where I was. After about 5 minutes,everything had come back to normal, except for the pounding headache.
14. My little brother has type 1 diabetes, and when he was about 10, he went into hypoglycemic shock overnight. I remember waking up to 6 paramedics running up the stairs in my house, and hearing “he stopped seizing. There’s no pulse.” They loaded him up in the ambulance and told my parents at the hospital, that it was a miracle that they were able to resuscitate him on the way. So when I went to go visit him, I asked him how it felt, to which he had replied “Everything was getting louder, and louder, until suddenly, it started fading away and I was just floating on one of those tubes at sportsworld (local waterpark) with no one around. And it was nice. Can we go there once I get out of here?”
15. You feel like you’re going to the deepest sleep (in fact you are) and when waking you’re confused as hell and don’t really understand what happened, just that everyone is SO CONCERNED for you. Extremely unnerving and scary in a detached way. I kept asking what time it was and slipping back ‘down’. No memories of the other side, just that feeling of being so unbelievably tired and that if I just slept everything would be OK.
16. It feels like falling asleep. You start to feel darkness but it isn’t scary and you’re not completely conscious of what’s going on and then all at once you’re gone and you didn’t even realize you slipped away. Ifyou wake up from it though, everything’s hazy and confusing.
17. All I felt prior was the feeling of falling. Just infinitely falling even though I was already on the ground. Then the next thing I know I just felt like I woke up. EMTs were crowded around me and my mom was there and a good friend of mine. When they brought me back all I felt was as if I had been asleep. Not very good sleep, like a shitty 10 minute nap on a pile of rock in July while you’re throwing up everywhere kind of nap.
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“Billy looked at the clock on the gas stove. He had an hour to kill before the saucer came. He went into the living room, swinging the bottle like a dinner bell, turned on the television. He came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this: American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.
The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.
When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground., to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again."
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five
“He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing, and that was how in the ripeness of autumn she began to believe once more in the youthful superstition that poverty was the servitude of love. Both looked back then on the wild revelry, the gaudy wealth, and the unbridled fornication as an annoyance and they lamented that it had cost them so much of their lives to find the paradise of shared solitude. Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of living each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
I have lived nearly fifty years, and I have seen life as it is. Pain, misery, hunger … cruelty beyond belief. I have heard the singing from taverns and the moans from bundles of filth on the streets. I have been a soldier and seen my comrades fall in battle … or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I have held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no gallant last words … only their eyes filled with confusion, whimpering the question, "Why?"
I do not think they asked why they were dying, but why they had lived. When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!
― Miguel de Cervantes, Man Of La Mancha
“For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”
― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of the prisoner marching in front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the lock of hair on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.
It is curious, but till that moment I had never realized what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working – bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming – all toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned – reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone – one mind less, one world less.
― George Orwell, A Hanging
And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter – tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther . . . And one fine morning – So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”
― Gary Provost, 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing
He is right. We are not youth any longer. We don’t want to take the world by storm. We are fleeing. We fly from ourselves. From our life. We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion, burst in our hearts. We are cut off from activity, from striving, from progress. We believe in such things no longer, we believe in war.
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front
“You buy furniture. You tell yourself, this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple years you’re satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you’ve got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the perfect bed. The drapes. The rug. Then you’re trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
“I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska
We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies—all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.”
― Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
“…We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from the another’s vantage point, as if new, it may still take our breath away. Come…dry your eyes. For you are life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg; the clay in which the forces that shape all things leave their fingerprints most clearly. Dry your eyes… and let’s go home.”
― Alan Moore, Watchmen
“We live in time – it holds us and molds us – but I never felt I understood it very well. And I’m not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time’s malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing – until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return.”
― Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
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“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
– Teddy Roosevelt
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Members of the Flat Earth Society claim to believe the Earth is flat. Walking around on the planet’s surface, it looks and feels flat, so they deem all evidence to the contrary, such as satellite photos of Earth as a sphere, to be fabrications of a “round Earth conspiracy” orchestrated by NASA and other government agencies.
The belief that the Earth is flat has been described as the ultimate conspiracy theory.
While writing off buckets of concrete evidence that Earth is spherical, they readily accept a laundry list of propositions that some would call ludicrous. The leading flat-earther theory holds that Earth is a disc with the Arctic Circle in the center and Antarctica, a 150-foot-tall wall of ice, around the rim. NASA employees, they say, guard this ice wall to prevent people from climbing over and falling off the disc. Earth’s day and night cycle is explained by positing that the sun and moon are spheres measuring 32 miles (51 kilometers) that move in circles 3,000 miles (4,828 km) above the plane of the Earth. (Stars, they say, move in a plane 3,100 miles up.) Like spotlights, these celestial spheres illuminate different portions of the planet in a 24-hour cycle. Flat-earthers believe there must also be an invisible “antimoon” that obscures the moon during lunar eclipses.
Furthermore, Earth’s gravity is an illusion, they say. Objects do not accelerate downward; instead, the disc of Earth accelerates upward at 32 feet per second squared (9.8 meters per second squared), driven up by a mysterious force called dark energy. Currently, there is disagreement among flat-earthers about whether or not Einstein’s theory of relativity permits Earth to accelerate upward indefinitely without the planet eventually surpassing the speed of light. (Einstein’s laws apparently still hold in this alternate version of reality.)
As for what lies underneath the disc of Earth, this is unknown, but most flat-earthers believe it is composed of “rocks.”
Then, there’s the conspiracy theory: Flat-earthers believe photos of the globe are photoshopped; GPS devices are rigged to make airplane pilots think they are flying in straight lines around a sphere when they are actually flying in circles above a disc. The motive for world governments’ concealment of the true shape of the Earth has not been ascertained, but flat-earthers believe it is probably financial. “In a nutshell, it would logically cost much less to fake a space program than to actually have one, so those in on the Conspiracy profit from the funding NASA and other space agencies receive from the government,” the flat-earther website’s FAQ page explains.
I had no idea what the difference was between sex and making love until I was 23.
I was with an older gentleman at the time and he asked me “what’s your definition of making love? I replied, rose petals and candlelight. He said that’s your definition of making love? Wow, there is a lot I need to teach you.
Clearly I was missing the emotional experience of sex that’s shared with someone you truly care for and love. As a teenager my only reference to sex was porn, that’s how I learned how to have sex.
As years went on, I now have a very clear understanding of how sex and making love are very different acts.
Sex is bio-mechanical and instinctive, we all know how to do it. Love making is slow, sensual, not goal oriented which allows us to experience the metaphysical being of oneness, this type of love making is truly an art in itself.
Many men I speak to and coach still have no idea what the difference is, because the majority use porn as an educational tool.
For a man becoming a great love – maker is about having the proper attitude and knowing how to use your erection as an instrument of romantic expression.
To become a great lover, you must first understand the difference between ordinary sex and making love.
What’s your motivation?
Do you want to have a physical experience with no emotional connection or do you want to be intimate and express passionate LOVE to reach new depths with your lover?
Sex can be a physical thrill for a night or a few encounters, but lovemaking can be an ecstatic adventure of a lifetime and most women can feel the difference.
Sex is a simple physical act, so simple that even animals do it. But lovemaking is a complex expression of LOVE. It’s a desire to communicate the love you have for the other person non-verbally.
It gives you a chance to express all the good feelings and thoughts you have about your lover. To better explain the difference, lets put them into two categories:
The heights of sex, generally focuses on stimulation and nervous system response. This type of sex is commonly expressed by only a physical experience and is measured by the intensity and quantity of stimulation.
This depths of sex encourages both partners to make use of their minds, bodies, and souls to access each other’s heart.
This type of love – making allows each partner to explore any hidden issues and inhibitions that may arise during a truly intimate experience. Lovemaking allows us to exceed the limits of our physical body, and merge with one another.
Lovemaking is about your lover’s mind, body and soul, the whole person, not just her body.
It’s very easy and ordinary to just have sex, but to know how to connect with a woman on a deeper level, and win over heart, mind and soul takes a little bit of commitment.
Your feelings and thoughts of her will be different everyday, and using those feelings to determine what you do during lovemaking will have an added benefit.
Allow your intuition to guide your gestures and movements, you will find yourself being more creative. You will never have to worry about repeating yourself or thinking about what to do next.
Sex without love is not lovemaking. The best part about lovemaking is that it becomes effortless, because you are not thinking about what Olympic – style performance you should put on.
You become your authentic self at that moment.
Great love-makers spend a lifetime exploring and learning the female sexual anatomy.
Great love-makers have an instinctive knowledge about the inner workings of their body as well as a woman’s sensuality. They learn how to synchronize with their lovers’ movements.
The best part about lovemaking with the right woman is that as your love grows, so does your passion. Just like fine wine, it tastes better when it’s aged. Over time, you learn about each other’s favorite hotspots as months and years pass.
I am not at all saying that having sex is bad, because it’s not. It just depends on what you want from the experience. Be true to your lover, but most importantly be true to yourself.
– Christina Antonyan
In late April 1945, chaos reigned in Berlin. Years of war had turned former superpower Germany into a battleground, and its cities from strongholds into places under siege. The Red Army had completely circled the city, which now called on elderly men, police, and even children to defend it. But though a battle raged on in the streets, the war was already lost. Adolf Hitler’s time was almost up.
The people of Germany had already taken leave of their Führer. Since a public appearance on his birthday, April 20, he had been disconcertingly absent from the public eye. In reality, he was holed up in a bunker near the Brandenburg Gate in the heart of Berlin, surrounded by his command staff and a few private citizens, including his mistress Eva Braun.
For weeks, bad news drifted into Hitler’s hideaway. As American forces advanced from the west, and the relentless Soviet tanks from the east, Hitler’s generals began to lose their heads. Suspicious of a coup by his closest advisors, Hitler raged and planned and raged again. When he learned that Felix Steiner, one of his SS commanders, had ignored his orders to stage a heroic last stand south of the city, he began to rant and cry, declaring the war lost. Later that day, he consulted with Werner Haase, his private doctor, about the best ways to commit suicide.
By April 29, the situation had taken a turn for the worse. Though Hitler married Eva Braun that morning, people were more interested in discussing suicide than celebrating a wedding. Hitler had learned that Heinrich Himmler, leader of the SS, had given the Allies an offer of immediate surrender—an offer they promptly refused. Outraged, Hitler demanded that Himmler—once his close and powerful compatriot—be arrested. Then Hitler heard of the death of Benito Mussolini, his counterpart in Italy. Executed and defiled by an angry mob, the dictator’s end was a powerful warning about what might be in store for the man who had promised his now-devastated country an endless empire. Mussolini’s death set the last 24 hours of life in the bunker into motion.
All times are approximate
1 a.m.: Field Marshal William Keitel reports that the entire Ninth Army is encircled and that reinforcements will not be able to reach Berlin.
4 a.m.: Major Otto Günsche heads for the bathroom, only to find Dr. Haase and Hitler’s dog handler, Fritz Tornow, feeding cyanide pills to Hitler’s beloved German Shepherd, Blondi. Haase is apparently testing the efficacy of the cyanide pills that Hitler’s former ally Himmler had provided him. The capsule works and the dog dies almost immediately.
10:30 a.m.: Hitler meets with General Helmuth Weidling, who tells him that the end is near. Russians are attacking the nearby Reichstag. Weidling asks what to do when troops run out of ammunition. Hitler responds that he’ll never surrender Berlin, so Weidling asks for permission to allow his troops to break out of the city as long as their intention never to surrender remains clear.
2:00 p.m.: Hitler and the women of the bunker—Eva Braun, Traudl Junge, and other secretaries—sit down for lunch. Hitler promises them that he’ll give them vials of cyanide if they wish to use them. He apologizes for being unable to give them a better farewell present.
3:30 p.m.: Roused by the sound of a loud gunshot, Heinz Linge, who has served as Hitler’s valet for a decade, opens the door to the study. The smell of burnt almonds—a harbinger of cyanide—wafts through the door. Braun and Hitler sit side by side. They are both dead. Braun has apparently taken the cyanide, while Hitler has done the deed with his Walther pistol.
4:00 p.m.: Linge and the other residents of the bunker wrap the bodies in blankets and carry them upstairs to the garden. As shells fall, they douse the bodies in gas. Joseph Goebbels, minister of propaganda, will kill himself tomorrow. Meanwhile, he holds out a box of matches. The survivors fumble and finally light the corpses on fire. They head down to the bunker as they burn.
On May 1, Germans who can find time between shells to listen to the radio are greeted with the tones of Wagner’s Götterdämmerung—“The Twilight of the Gods.” Hitler, they are told, has “fallen at his command post in the Reich Chancery fighting to the last breath against Bolshevism and for Germany.” The Führer is dead.
When you’re in a lock-in, you won’t know it at first.
The changes in the pub are subtle. You might look up between sips of your pint to see the blinds drawn tight. The barman, usually standing upright and busying himself behind the bar, might be leaning his elbows on the worn wood talking to regulars, a fresh pint settling in front of him. The music has been lowered or isn’t on at all (was it ever on?). The lights have been lowered. There is no attention called to the deadbolt dropping, the announcement for last call never comes. To the outside world, the shuttered pub looks closed for the evening, but inside conversation is still flowing, pints are still being poured. It all feels a bit lawless.
Many of my best memories in Ireland revolve around the great cultural tradition of the lock-in. Legal drinking hours may be up (in Dublin, last call in pubs is at 11:30pm on weekdays and 12:30am on Fridays and Saturdays), but locals don’t just finish their drink and go home. The barman pours another pint, because you have the look of someone who isn’t going anywhere. You don’t know where your jacket is. You have been in this pub long enough to find yourself in a prime position, whether that be the coveted snug (the separate nook in the pub where, historically, women were separated from the main room to have a drink without being seen) or a central spot at the long wood bar. If you stick it out (this is not an inpatient person’s game), there might be some music and singing, especially if someone brought a guitar or there’s a violin somewhere in the pub.
The best lock-ins occur on the coldest, rainiest nights when there is no reason to leave the warm confines of the pub. One of these frigid evenings, when I lived in Dublin, I dragged my sister visiting from the States to my local pub after dinner. We pulled up our hoods—umbrellas are useless on Dublin’s windy, rainy days—and marched the few blocks to the pub. Musicians were playing in the back, and we stood in the crowd for our first pint. When instruments were placed in their cases, the crowd started to thin, and we found ourselves a couple seats at the bar. This is one of my most treasured lock-in memories, because I didn’t even know it was happening. We lost track of time. We looked down at our watches and for a moment, wondered if they were broken. I never ordered another, but my glass was always full.
When a lock-in begins, you’re usually in the heat of a deep conversation. The fluffy chat about work and family and whatever great TV show is captivating audiences at the moment is done, and the conversation turns to life. At this time of night, you’re trying to make sense of the world. Or perhaps we leave problems aside and talk about nothing at all, because it simply feels good to be with friends.
Is it the effects of the alcohol? Maybe. But regardless, hot political topics are debated. The best stories are saved for the end of the evening. A camaraderie develops between neighboring groups that didn’t even nod hello earlier in the night. If there are no instruments, people may sing anyway. Soulful songs. Or none of this may happen at all, and small conversations may continue without interruption, until people begin to let out big, insuppressible yawns, and head for the door. You must pop the lock, open the door slowly, and look both ways (who are we always looking for? Police don’t typically wait outside neighborhood pubs) before raising the collar of your coat upright to guard against the wind and walk the few blocks home.
Every year around St. Patrick’s Day (Paddy’s day, please, not Patty’s Day), I am asked an inevitable question: what’s your favorite thing about Ireland? My answer probably varies each time I’m asked. Sometimes I might say the food traditions—the brown bread and farmstead cheddar and smoked salmon and bottomless pots of tea—or sometimes I might say the rich literary and storytelling heritage, the way with words, the craft of each sentence or joke that is such a norm in Ireland. I might simply say the Irish themselves.
But the hours in the pub behind locked doors may just top the list. No matter how blustery or rainy it is outside, that’s a worry to worry about later, because inside, behind the drawn blinds, it’s warm, the last embers of a peat fire still glowing.
How to Find a Lock-in When You’re in Ireland:
1. Lock-ins are more common in neighborhoods (or country pubs) than in city center locations. Get outside of the heart of Irish cities and explore the neighborhoods where locals live.
2. Evaluate the exterior of a pub. If it has large, open windows—this is not the kind of place that will host a lock-in. It needs to be able to look closed to the outside world with blinds drawn tightly.
3. Choose a weekday (such as Thursday) over a Saturday night. Lock-ins are for locals, and they happen naturally. If a barman is fed up with drunk college students on a Saturday night, he is likely to close the pub at the proper time.
4. Do your research. Any time you encounter locals—your waiter at a restaurant, a shopkeeper—ask about their “local” pub. Lock-ins are not the norm at trendy bars, but they are common in traditional pubs.
5. Don’t ask the barman if there will be a lock-in that evening. The question looks suspicious—and remember that lock-ins aren’t technically legal and pubs don’t want to be questioned by authorities.
– Jessica Clarke
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I got a call from someone claiming to be from fraud department of my bank over the weekend. The call showed up on my caller ID as US Bank which is how I have it saved in my contacts. He said there was a fraudulent charge from American Airlines and I was on that their website booking a flight about an hour prior to the call. For a moment I thought it was legit but then he asked for a pin #. Just be careful because the caller ID makes it seem real. The actual fraud department said they have seen this multiple times with the caller ID showing as the ban
Never answer this even if it is obvious. At best, you have just admitted guilt. A worse possibility is that you confess something else:
You: “Because I didn’t come to a complete stop / speeding / seatbelt?”
Cop: “No, your tail light is out. But I’ll write that down too.”
2x ticket price, up to $675, for 1-1:59 min hold over, and 4x ticket price, up to $1300, for anything over 2 hours hold over. DO NOT take their free meal or flight vouchers. They must pay upfront in cash if you ask for it.
This is something that I unfortunately didn’t learn until well into adulthood – It may sound obvious when its spelled out, but when you’re in the actual situation its not always so clear. Most of my life I thought if I really cared about somebody a lot, then they must care about me to some degree in return. It always felt like that connection was so strong it had to be mutual, even if the obvious signs showed otherwise. Despite certain people treating me like dirt and rarely reciprocating, I would do everything I could to make them happy. I would go out of my way to help them, say & do nice things for them, encourage them, etc..with the assumption they’d eventually show their appreciation for me being in their lives. I’d think “how could they not care about me when I make it so obvious how much I care about them? If I just keep trying they’ll come around”. This was especially true for people who maybe showed signs they cared at some point in the past, but weren’t anymore.
What I’ve learned over the years is that a lot of times that reciprocal connection is imagined. The amount you love somebody does not always affect how much they love you back. People can and will use you and your emotions. And just because somebody may have once cared about you in the past, doesn’t mean they still do now or ever will again in the future…theres often nothing you can do to change their feelings through any good deeds or kind words.
I’m not talking about classic “nice guy” syndrome. Not the crush who friend-zoned you that you’re desperately trying to win over by being nice when there should have never been any expectation of feelings to begin with…I’m talking about people who you genuinely feel a meaningful connection with. Whether that be friends, family, or romantic partners.
I wasted a lot of time on people expecting them to suddenly start reciprocating my feelings and actions. I’d be convinced I could win people over (or back over)…including bad friends and former relationships…if I was just nice enough to them and let my feelings be known. Looking back I should have cut my loses far sooner. I should have focused more on finding people who not only cared about me, but wanted to make me happy in return.
Its important not to assume somebody appreciates you just because you love them and do good things for them.You can waste a lot of time and energy focusing on people who will never really care no matter what you do.
Most people treat an apology as a way to explain their point of view. But that feels to the listener like making excuses or minimizing their experience.
Say your roommate accidentally ruins your couch by spilling a big cup of coffee on it. Think about which you’d rather hear.
Mediocre apology: “I’m so sorry! I just got startled when my phone buzzed and I accidentally knocked it over. It was totally an accident. I feel terrible.”
Good apology: “I know you really like the look of that couch, and now it’s got a stain on it – you must be really bummed about that. I’m so sorry. I’d be happy to pay for a cleaning, and in the future, I’ll keep my drinks in the kitchen.
You’re also denying yourself the experience of receiving kindness. It’s easy to think that by refusing help you’re not imposing or being a burden. But accepting kindness with gratefulness and appreciation is always the better path.
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The Special Olympics gives those with mental and physical disabilities an opportunity to develop physical fitness, have fun, and come together as a supportive community.
The event is a great way for the over 200 million people with intellectual disabilities around the world to share in something positive and spread awareness about their lives.
It’s safe to say that the Special Olympians’ bravery and willingness to overcome and even embrace the adversity they face is an inspiration to their peers and most anyone who sees the amazing feats these people accomplish.
One such fan is none other than the former governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was in attendance at the Special Olympics World Winter Games in his home country of Austria on March 23, 2017.
The 2017 Winter Special Olympics World Games are currently being held in Austria, where the opening ceremony took place on March 14 and competitors from 169 countries gathered.
Arnold Schwarzenegger stopped by the games in his homeland to meet some athletes and lend his support. He documented the visit on his Facebook with the caption, “These guys inspire me!”
As expected, the public reaction to this meeting was extremely positive, from Facebook users begging “the Terminator” to be their governor, to people reflecting on what an important event the Special Olympics is.
Unfortunately, among all the positivity, there was one user, or “troll” as they’re called, who felt the need to share their negative opinion on the post.
Strong words from a strong man. Strong enough to make that troll delete his original comment, anyway, and it shows once again that Schwarzenegger isn’t scared to take on the country’s most powerful person or the tiniest troll that will never be heard from again.
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The 265 members of Congress who sold you out to ISPs, and how much it cost to buy them – The Verge
Set up a VPN in 10 minutes for free—and yes, Americans urgently need one, thanks to Congress – Quartz
Meet the Shredded Instababe From China Who’s Been Dubbed the World’s ‘Prettiest Bodybuilder’ – Maxim
Bri Teresi Is Back In A Tiny Bikini, Woohoo! – Linkiest
The 10 Most Successful Real-Life Pirates – Ranker
The Russian Kim Kardashian told one modeling agency to shove it and we are so glad she did – Rare
Hump Day is a Happy Day! (47 Photos) – Radass
The Best Part Of Waking Up Is Carlie Jo Howell In Your Cup – Hollywood Tuna
Policeman shoots deranged man armed with HUGE knife – Trending Views
7 Ways Diabetes Affects Your Body – Improved
18 Incredible Inventions That Will Change Our Lives – Leenks
Anne Hathaway’s Colossal Sideboob – G-Celeb
10 Infamous Street Fights Involving UFC Stars – Low Kick
How Flipping The Script Can Help You Meet Hot Girls – Return Of Kings
Can You Reverse the Horrible Long-Term Effects of Drugs with Exercise, Food, and Vitamins? – VICE
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Q: Like what did you do, for example?
Belenko: First of all American super-market, my first visit was under CIA supervision, and I thought it was set-up; I did not believe super-market was real one. I thought well I was unusual guest; they probably kicked everyone out. It’s such a nice, big place with incredible amount of produce, and no long lines! You’re accustomed to long lines in Russia. But later, when I discovered super-market was real one, I had real fun exploring new products. I would buy, everyday, a new thing and try to figure out its function. In Russia at that time (and even today) it’s hard to find canned food, good one. But everyday I would buy new cans with different food. Once I bought a can which said “dinner.” I cooked it with potatoes, onions, and garlic-it was delicious. Next morning my friends ask me, “Viktor, did you buy a cat?” It was a can of chicken-based cat food. But it was delicious! It was better than canned food for people in Russia today. And I did test it. Last year I brought four people from Russia for commercial project, and I set them up. I bought nibble sized human food. I installed a pâté, and it was cat food. I put it on crackers. And they did consume it, and they liked it. So the taste has not changed. By the way, for those who are not familiar with American cat food. It’s very safe; it’s delicious, and sometimes it’s better than human food, because of the Humane Society.
Pharmacologist Gerhard Orzechowski and a group of other researchers were commissioned in Kiel to develop this drug, and by later in the year developed a formula which contained in each tablet: 5 mg of oxycodone (brand name Eukodal), 5 mg of cocaine and 3 mg of methamphetamine (then called Pervitin, now available under the brand name Desoxyn).
“The settlement (and Resolute) was created by the Canadian government in 1953, partly to assert sovereignty in the High Arctic during the Cold War. Eight Inuit families from Inukjuak, Quebec (on the Ungava Peninsula) were relocated after being promised homes and game to hunt, but the relocated people discovered no buildings and very little familiar wildlife. They were told that they would be returned home after a year if they wished, but this offer was later withdrawn as it would damage Canada’s claims to sovereignty in the area and the Inuit were forced to stay.”
Joe Kennedy never publicly revealed his wealth, but the New York Times estimated his net worth at $500,000,000 when he died in 1969
Realizing that the soldiers intended to murder the Vietnamese, Thompson landed his aircraft between them and the villagers. Thompson turned to Colburn and Andreotta and told them that if the Americans began shooting at the villagers or him, they should fire their M60 machine guns at the Americans: “Y’all cover me! If these bastards open up on me or these people, you open up on them. Promise me!”
He touched a living enemy soldier and disarmed him after turning a corner and finding himself face to face with a young German soldier:
The collision knocked the German’s weapon to the ground. Mr. Crow lowered his own weapon and the two fought hand-to-hand. In the end Mr. Crow got the best of the German, grabbing him by the neck and choking him. He was going to kill the German soldier on the spot when the man screamed out ‘momma.’ Mr. Crow then let him go.
He was only caught because he sent a confession letter to the police in which he gave his address and left the remains of 2 victims in his house.
A placard in his home read: “All details of the murders are contained in the diary and the 32-page notebook that have been placed in the room and had also been sent to the authorities. This is my confessional statement.” Another placard read: “The bodies in the house have deliberately not been disposed of so that the authorities will find them after my suicide.”
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