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54 vote; Actor Talia Ryder, Ryan Eggold; Review Never Rarely Sometimes Always is a movie starring Ryan Eggold, Théodore Pellerin, and Talia Ryder. A pair of teenage girls in rural Pennsylvania travel to New York City to seek out medical help after an unintended pregnancy; ; Countries UK; year 2020. As soon as a guy says “Im a nice guy” you know they are lying... First | Previous Those who deride the food of the Sauvain as simple fail to appreciate the savor and quality added by contrast. Begin with a simmering desert stock, add sand to taste and garnish with ash. Serve in a cool evening under the cerein, and oh - you would weep to taste it, had you the water. Tasjadre Ra Novo, Jehamyn Sadedrem Despite Arjun’s exhortations, the consensus seemed to be that Mosidhu would take at least a couple of days to reach Ademen Tacen. They were given water and flatbread, bland but filling, and told that Tesvaji would host them at a meal in the evening. After that the locals dispersed and left them alone, their curiosity apparently sated. For the first time in weeks, all four travelers were faced with the prospect of an afternoon where they could simply… relax. For Mark and Jesse, there was no question of what to do next - they laid out the truck’s solar array, then played an immediate and intense series of rock-paper-scissors to determine who got to nap. Jesse, victorious, bounded to the M-ATV and lay out flat in the back compartment. He was asleep in seconds. Arjun would hear nothing of resting, enthusing over everything from the magnificent tree to the thatching atop the village’s huts. His eyes were alight as he flitted around the village, sketching and scribbling in his notebook. Jackie and Mark stopped trying to keep up with him after the first hour, instead finding themselves drawn to a benchlike ridge of bark protruding from one of the tree’s mammoth roots. The shade of the branches far overhead left the base of the tree cool, even a touch humid. A light breeze swirled around them as they sat and looked out over the village below. The green fields spread out beyond the tight cluster of huts around the tree, trailing away into the vastness of the desert beyond. “This is nice, ” Jackie commented, stretching her hands above her head. “Air conditioning is a blessing from heaven, don’t get me wrong, but it’s so much better not to need it. ” Mark didn’t reply, letting the wind brush through his hair and stream across his upturned face. Swatches of the dull blue sky peeked through the tree cover above, shifting as the wind slowly pushed the colossal branches to and fro. Several minutes passed in silence, and eventually Mark let out a long, long sigh. “So, do you have any idea what we should do? ” The question hung in the air for several moments more, the light breeze buffeting it in playful circles around their heads. “You’re not talking about the bandits, are you? ”, Jackie sighed. Mark shook his head. “I’m not sure, ” she admitted, sitting upright with a resigned look. “I’ll be honest, I’m trying not to think about it, ” she said. “There’s food and water, there’s angry bandits, there’s this damn endless desert - there are so many other things to think about besides the fact that we can’t go home. ” She grimaced and slumped forward. “I don’t even like saying it out loud, ” she muttered. “I’m supposed to fly out places, there’s a fancy dinner when you get there and then you spend a week or three in the bush doing surveys until you figure out where the oil is. Then there’s a fancier dinner in the city and you go back home. That’s my life. ” She shook her head. “Was my life. Now there’s no airplane, no surveys, no god-damned oil - and I don’t have a clue where to go from here. ” Mark leaned back and closed his eyes. “Focus on the dinner, ” he advised, yawning. “Home had dinner. This place apparently has it too. The fundamental constant. ” He cracked open an eye at Jackie’s miserable laugh and saw a tear streak down her cheek. “Listen, Jack, I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do about getting home. Normally in a situation like this you make yourself visible and wait for rescue. ” “Pfft, ” Jackie snorted, wiping her cheek. “Well, that’s off the table. ” “Right, ” Mark said grimly. “They’ve probably got tons of people working on reopening the way back home, but even if they manage to figure it out there’s no way we can just sit and wait. It’s going to take them time, and we need to survive until then. Let’s call that priority one. ” He sat up and looked around, taking in the village surroundings. “I figure we might be able to stay here, at least for a while, but survival is all this place is good for. It may be that there’s something we need to do on our side to get home, and the folks here don’t strike me as having expert knowledge on subjects mystical and arcane. The merchants back at camp mentioned a large city to the west, and if anyone knows about that sort of shit they’ll be in a population center. So, arcane fucking mysteries - priority two. ” Jackie frowned. “For all we know, this is the large city, ” she pointed out. “Nah, ” Mark chuckled, “that’d be funny, but I don’t think so. From what I remember in the carto sessions they said the desert ended far to the west, and past that point was the city. ” He shrugged. “I figure we can get the lay of the land from Tesvaji while we’re haggling over supplies. ” “A lot of this hinges on what we can trade for here, ” Jackie said. “We may have to help him despite your misgivings. ” Mark gave her a flat look. “You’re the one that wanted to help, now you don’t want to? ” “No, I want to, and I know we did the right thing helping Gusje, ” Jackie said frustratedly, “it’s just - you made good points! We don’t know him, we don’t know the politics. This could be one of those villages with a terrible secret. We could show up to dinner tonight and the entree could be freshly killed babies. It could be live babies. ” Mark choked, momentarily incapacitated by an amused fit of coughing. “I dunno, ” he managed. “After two weeks of rationing our MREs…” “Shut up, ” Jackie said with a laugh, smacking his shoulder lightly. “You’re terrible. But seriously, you made me think about it. ” She paused, hesitating. “You were speaking from experience, weren’t you? ” Mark’s smile died and his face slackened. “Yeah, ” he said quietly. “Back when things flared up again in Syria. Our unit worked with local forces in a small town called Al-Hawl near the Iraqi border. When things heated up there for round two of the civil war, the guy in charge at the time read the tea leaves and tossed his lot in with the coalition forces. There weren’t many people still living there at that point, but he knew all of them. He gave us guides, terps, intel on where the Russian arms shipments were coming in, everything we could have asked for. ” Mark trailed off, like he had just become aware that he was talking. Jackie tucked her knees up to her chest and waited silently. “He was a great guy, too, ” Mark said after a moment. “Big bushy moustache, a billion grandchildren. Liked to misquote nineties action movies and race his shitty Hilux. He knew everyone by name and was always happy to see you. Then one day we’re talking with him and a man charges out of nowhere, filthy and ragged with a shitty gun, starts spraying the building we were in. We returned fire and put him down, gut-shot. He keeps ranting, screaming about his wife, his children. Eventually he dies, and we ask our guy if he knew who he was. ” Mark shook his head and hunched forward. “‘Some Kurd, ’ he said, like he was talking about a dead goat. It didn’t sit right with us. We started keeping an eye out, asking questions. Two weeks later we found a building full of refugee Kurds. The women were chained up and drugged, to keep his soldiers happy. The children were kept in cages, two or three to a pen, ” he growled, balling his hands into fists, “to keep his soldiers happy. The ones that didn’t survive were in a ditch out back with the men. ” “Jesus, ” Jackie whispered. “What happened afterward? ” “Nothing, ” Mark said, laughing darkly. “The guy was the best intel source in the region. He blamed the whole thing on one of his lieutenants, made a big show out of shooting the guy and going on about how terrible it was. We were told from up top that the matter was considered resolved. “But we knew it wasn’t. They just hid the next building a little better. And now when I see this great guy, nice village, loves his daughter, and he tells me the men we killed to protect her were ‘some Aedrem’ - I can’t help but wonder what that means to him. ” Jackie didn’t know what to say to that, so she sat with Mark and watched the sun play over the fields. In the distance a line of villagers worked to clear an overgrown field, their arms rising and falling as they chopped at the tangle of vegetation. Heat haze distorted everything past the edge of the oasis, turning it into a blurred backdrop of pastel tans and reds that danced around them. The eye of that hurricane was cool and green, and they sat together until Mark wearily clapped his hands to his knees and stood. “Come on, ” he said, extending a hand to help Jackie up. “Let’s find Arjun. ” --- “You’re talking about one hell of a coincidence, ” Neil said, pacing back and forth excitedly. “Doesn’t it make sense to assume one event generated both types of material? ” Arjun shook his head. “Dr. Yin, you’re forgetting that explosive volcanism is orders of magnitude below the pressure needed to shock quartz. It would be a good assumption if it were possible, but it just isn’t. ” “Recorded instances of explosive volcanism, ” Neil corrected crossly. “We’re standing on a new world, who knows what’s possible here? ” “The difference in energy levels between what we’ve seen and your theorized event is so large that a meteor impact occurring simultaneously with major volcanic eruptions begins to look rather plausible by comparison, ” Arjun countered. “We even have recorded instances of large impacts serving as a volcanic trigger event on Earth. ” He paused to chuckle ruefully. “Ah, I’ll never get used to having to qualify a sentence like that, ” he said. “Regardless of the root cause, I think we can both agree that this means the planet is or has been prone to both heavy volcanism and highly energetic concussive events of some stripe. ” “Fair to say, ” Neil acknowledged. “I will nitpick on one more point, though. The sheer amount of this material so close to the surface and its remarkable homogeneity would tend to suggest that the generating event was recent. ” He looked mildly troubled as he considered his statement. “Perhaps very recent, ” he amended. “Certainly not long enough ago that I would suggest we’re in a dormant era. ” “I’ll settle for a dormant couple of months, thank you, ” Arjun joked, slapping Neil on the back. “You may well be right. Come on, let’s take this batch of samples back and get a better look at them. ” “Too right, ” he replied, mopping his brow. “Fuck’s sake, Arjun, how are you not dying out here? You’re barely sweating. ” Arjun raised an eyebrow at the younger man and began walking toward the camp. “I lived in Delhi for many years, ” he said. “It’s not even humid here. ” Gibson and Roth fell in beside the pair, walking over from the pitiful swatch of shade they had found beside a craggy rock. They traced their footsteps and the colorful path markers they had left, picking their way back to the camp just as the first shadows from the near ridge were nibbling at the perimeter. They walked down into the ridge’s shade, sighing with relief as the sun stopped its assault on their backs. “Finally, ” Neil groused, panting. “You know, we should consider doing some of these surveys at night. It’d be more comfortable, at least. ” “The merchants said not to wander at night, ” Jesse said. The others turned to look at him, and he shrugged. Roth snorted. “Our local buddies are scared of a lot, ” he said. “They’re scared of the mountains, they’re scared of the dark, they’re scared when the wind blows and when it doesn’t. ” He spat into the sand and shook his head. “Not saying I’m signing up for night patrol, but come on - we’ve got a whole damn company camped out here. If their boogeyman comes calling a bullet between the eyes ought to quiet him down some. ” “We told them that, ” Jesse said, “more or less. They still want to leave. ” “Well, best of luck to them finding someone else to pull their asses out of the sand next time, ” Roth said. They squinted their eyes as a sudden gust of wind tossed grit in their faces, and Roth spat on the ground once more as it quieted. “Argh, ” he moaned. “Tell you what, doc. If you can find a time with no sun and no sandy fucking wind, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. ” Roth turned back when no response came, then stopped in confusion. “Wait, ” he grunted. “Where the fuck is Dr. Yin? ” --- They finally found Arjun after following a curious honking noise echoing over the low roofs of the huts. It turned out to be the war cry of a sleek-looking bird nearly a meter tall that had taken great offense to Arjun’s interest in it. Mark managed to stop laughing for long enough to extricate the frazzled-looking old man and corral the bird, handing it to a villager who was amused nearly to self-injury by the whole scenario. “Damn, Arjun, ” Mark chuckled, “I wouldn’t have thought you could sprint that fast. ” “Clean living, I suppose, ” Arjun gasped, still trying to catch his breath. “To be honest I’m as surprised as you are. ” He flashed them both an exhilarated grin, straightening up. “Besides, did you see that monstrous thing? It had teeth! Not just a serrated beak, but teeth! ” “Yeah, I noticed, ” Mark said with a grimace. “Dumbass bird was trying to chomp on me a bit when I grabbed it. ” Arjun shook his head vigorously. “They don’t teach you kids anything anymore, ” he lamented. “It wasn’t a bird at all, that’s what I’m-” “Feathers, ” Mark observed, pointing at the unhappy creature now poking around its pen. “Beak. Stick legs. Squawk squawk. “Bird. ” Jackie stepped between them as Arjun prepared to launch into what promised to be a lengthy discussion of taxonomy, forestalling Mark’s education with an upraised hand. “Guys, ” she said flatly. “Please consider if bird classification is a priority topic at the moment. ” Arjun looked like he wanted to interject, but then seemed to deflate as the moment passed. “All right, ” he conceded. “Shall we go rouse Mr. Gibson and compare notes before dinner? ” The three of them walked back toward the truck, wending their way between huts and field-hedges as Arjun excitedly pointed out things he had noticed during his wandering - the household water-catches, the engraved stone pillars jutting from the fields like the fingers of a buried giant. He earned them some odd looks from the villagers as they passed, but for the most part the residents of the village were content to go about their business and let them do the same. By the time they arrived back at the truck the sun was low enough that it had dipped below the far fringe of branches on the west side of the tree. Jesse was sitting on top of the truck’s cab, leaning back in the sunlight. Beside him sat a diminutive figure, and as they drew closer they saw that it was Gusje’s mother. “Uh-oh, ” Mark muttered, hastening his stride. “Hey, Jesse! ”, he called out. Both of the figures on the truck looked his way. Jesse leaned over to say something quietly, then slid off the cab to the ground. “Hey, social butterfly, ” Jackie teased. “Making friends? ” “This is Saneji, ” Jesse replied, gesturing to the woman perched on the truck. “ Saneji’t, eratymyn satsam a Mark, Jackie, Arjun a’co evit, ” he said politely, pointing to each of them in turn. Saneji nodded to each of them as they were introduced, then extended a hand to Jesse. He hesitated, then lifted her dancer-like by the waist and set her down on the ground. Jackie couldn’t help but admire the improbable air of dignity that Saneji lent to the process. Looking at her it was easy to see the resemblance to Gusje - she had high cheekbones and a piercing stare in common with her daughter, and their hair was plaited back in the same manner to reinforce the look. She wore a dark, colorfully embroidered wrap that was bound in place with an ornate wooden pin. It covered one shoulder and left the other bare, and on that arm she wore several metal and wooden torcs around her bicep. She smiled up at the three newcomers, apparently unfazed at being carried around by a man nearly twice her height. “ Sasetim ajhed udeti, ” she said warmly. “ Sasimyn sasin majhe itelyvat u’uda. ” She swept her smile over each of them once more, then turned and walked gracefully back up to the longhouse. “Uh, ” Jackie said. “Jesse? ” “She said we’re welcome here, ” Jesse answered. “She also suggested we might want to clean up before dinner. ” Jackie plucked at her travel-stained t-shirt, one of a handful they had discovered wadded up in the back of the truck. She had escaped in her own clothing, of course, but this shirt had the advantage of not being liberally coated with blood. Her pants were darker and hid the stains, but Jackie was all too aware that they were there. She was still luckier than the men, as Arjun had only his ragged oxford-cloth shirt and khakis while Mark and Jesse still wore their ACUs. Her nose had stopped acknowledging it some time ago, but she was sure they were all a bit ripe by this point. “Yeah, that’s fair, ” she sighed. “Maybe Saneji has one of those snazzy sarongs in your size, Mark. ” “I could rock a sarong, ” he mused, striking a pose. “Also, I’m hungry. Let’s head up. ” --- They were spirited away to back rooms almost as soon as they entered the longhouse, a bemused Jackie carted off by a gaggle of women while the three men were firmly directed to a room with a small basin of water and a stack of folded cloth. “Well, gentlemen, ” Arjun said, stripping off his filthy shirt, “after this long, modesty must needs take-” He paused. Mark and Jesse had already disrobed completely and were dipping swatches of cloth in the basin. Shaking his head, Arjun walked over to join them. “So, Jesse, ” Mark said, “you were chatting up Tesvaji’s lady? Bold move. ” He waggled his eyebrows. “I didn’t, ah, ” Jesse replied, scrubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just woke up and she saw me sitting. She came over and introduced herself. ” Mark gave him a look of mock incredulity. “Like one does in a real conversation? And how’d that go? ” Jesse paused his washing, staring off to the side. “She told me stories about when Gusje was little. How she’d push her brother off his chair or go chasing lizards through the house. She told me the story of how she was named, they do that when the children are older here. She said that now Gusje travels far out to find rare herbs and ingredients that they can use for medicine or trade, that she’s one of the best at it. That’s what she was doing when we found her. ” “This is beginning to make more sense, ” Mark said dryly. “Did you actually talk back to her? ” Jesse shifted. “A little, ” he said quietly. “But mostly she, uh… sometimes people just have stuff they want to say. ” “You’re unbelievable, man, ” Mark chuckled. “Still, she seems to like you - so it can’t have been a total disaster. Did she give any reason for telling you all that? ” “She wanted to say thank you, ” Arjun said, his voice subdued. “She probably knows there’s trouble coming because of what we did. It might be overstepping for the Madi’s wife to directly thank us for something like that, so instead she just told us who we saved, what Gusje means to her. Why she’s glad we did it, despite the cost. ” “She was nice, ” Jesse said. “She reminds me of my mom. ” Arjun barked out a short laugh. “You must have had quite the momentous childhood, then. Even meeting her briefly I get the sense that Saneji is not a woman to be trifled with. She has a certain maternal poise and grace about her... ” “Whoa there, silver tiger, ” Mark said, raising an eyebrow at Arjun. “I’d tell you to keep your pants on, but... ” “Hah! ”, Arjun chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Walsh, I’m a married man. But speaking of pants…” He walked over to another, larger pile of cloth sitting on a low bench. Some investigation revealed them to be loose leggings in the style Tesvaji had worn - perhaps even his, given that they were in his house. It was clear they had found the largest garments they could muster on short notice… which meant that as they tried them on, they found themselves wearing what amounted to loose-fitting, airy shorts. “No shirts? ”, Mark said hopefully, casting his eyes around the room. “None of the men were wearing one earlier, ” Arjun pointed out. “Besides, given the fit of the pants I think I can imagine what that would look like. ” “Oof, good point, ” Mark said. “Well, our old stuff is out of the question, now that I’m scrubbed up I can smell it from across the room. ” “When in Rome, ” Arjun said airily. “The weather certainly doesn’t demand more. Perhaps we can inquire about laundry before dinner begins. ” He shrugged and opened the door to the common area. “Shall we? ” He nodded, and the three of them left the room. --- The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time they walked out of the longhouse, but the upper reaches of the tree still stood in its fiery glare against the deepening blue-grey sky. Villagers flitted around to posts and eaves, tying ornaments that glowed with a hot forge-light in the dusk. Fascinated, Arjun ran over to one before Mark could stop him - but he reached out his hand to touch one of the lights and was unburnt. Drawing closer, Mark could see that they were yet more strange coins, copper with neatly embossed script flowing across them. The vine-like whorls of writing seemed to pulse with flame as he watched, and all three men stood entranced until the savory aroma of roasted meat jolted them back to reality. Arjun clapped his hands and cackled as they saw a familiar-looking roast bird being brought out on a wooden platter, the first in a long procession of trays, bowls and baskets that adorned a long table set up in the clearing. Starchy-sweet tubers, roasted, mashed, boiled and baked came out alongside brown loaves of bread with their crusts still crackling from the oven. Slices of succulent melon were stacked high around pitchers of its sweet, clear juice, and stoneware jugs of a malty, fizzy beer came soon after. Mark turned at a tap on the shoulder to see Jackie, clad presentably in what appeared to be two of Saneji’s sarongs tied together. She stood looking at the men in their gauzy shorts for a moment before all four of them dissolved into laughter, Arjun cackling and wheezing while Jesse chuckled quietly beside him. Tesvaji struck a long, thin piece of wood at the table’s head. A resonant note rang out to still the buzzing conversations and draw all attention to the Madi. Saneji stood beside him, and beside her their children. A tall young man, Tesvaji without the scars and hard-earned muscle, stood closest to her. Gusje stood beside him, and finally there was a shy slip of a girl clinging mutely to her arm. Tesvaji began to speak, and while Jesse dutifully translated in a low voice Mark found that he couldn’t focus on the words. Something out in the desert was calling soft, haunting notes that echoed through the basin, answered by another and another until Tesvaji was speaking against the chorus of the desert’s nighttime awakening. He finished with a clap of his mighty hands and immediately food was pushed in front of the four guests with hearty helpings of beer and juice. Mark tore into a slice of the bird with gusto, relishing the crisp charred skin and juicy meat after weeks of splitting cold MREs. He had nearly cleared his plate before he noticed the villagers gaping at him, shocked by his prodigious appetite. A moment of embarrassment at his excess was banished immediately when Tesvaji, roaring with laughter, came over to present him with a whole loaf of their deliciously tangy bread and a brimming mug of beer. Before long all four of them were being plied with food from villagers eager to see just how much these giants could eat, and when he waved off a final offered plate of roast bird the crowd gave a shout and beckoned them away from the table to dance. Drums beat and wooden flutes skirled as Mark gamely tried to avoid stepping on any feet. Looking over, he saw Arjun dancing a surprisingly nimble duet with Saneji, while Jackie spun in circles with a laughing Tesvaji as the men of the village hooted at him for the difference in their heights. Even Jesse was being reluctantly coached through slow, deliberate dance steps by a flock of giggling women that spun and twirled around him, dancing away from his feet and darting in to grasp his hand. Mark spun in a gentle wind of music and laughter, the lights hanging around the clearing seeming to shine ever brighter as the crown of the tree glowed a deep blood-red with the last rays of the sun. When it fell into night, the fading sky gave way to a blanket of stars that wrapped around the warm ember of their cheery clearing. He danced without feeling the first chill air of the night on his tear-streaked face. For a few hours he forgot where he was, and his sleep afterwards was mercifully dreamless. --- Jackie - Page 10 Next The day ends and problems are put off for tomorrow, but over in flashback-land things have reached an inflection point - and Arjun ponders a small piece of a larger question in both. As always, thank you for the time you spend reading and for your comments! Please feel free to join the Discord if you’d like to discuss or check Patreon for the next chapter!

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The film ends and the two become so engaged in a heated discussion that they do not notice the theater... See full summary  » Anthony Sabet Rachele Schank, Luke Brandon Field, Brian Baumgartner 5 / 10 Following the death of her father, a 17-year-old girl is sent to live with her estranged family and finds comfort in a questionable friendship with a self-destructive neighbor, leading both on a startling path to self discovery. Tchaiko Omawale Hope Olaide Wilson, Chelsea Tavares, Lynn Whitfield After representing himself and beating a murder charge, a concert promoter runs for the San Bernardino District Attorney's office against the prosecutor of his case. Eric Notarnicola Tim Heidecker, Gregg Turkington, Terri Parks Music 7. 2 / 10 A troubled young Glaswegian woman dreams of becoming a Nashville country star. Tom Harper Jessie Buckley, Matt Costello, Jane Patterson 6. 5 / 10 A late night talk show host suspects that she may soon lose her long-running show. Nisha Ganatra Emma Thompson, Mindy Kaling, John Lithgow Biography Crime 7. 3 / 10 The true story of a British whistleblower who leaked information to the press about an illegal NSA spy operation designed to push the UN Security Council into sanctioning the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Gavin Hood Keira Knightley, Matt Smith, Matthew Goode History 6. 3 / 10 The story of Joan Stanley (Dame Judi Dench), who was exposed as the K. G. B. 's longest-serving British spy. Trevor Nunn Judi Dench, Sophie Cookson, Stephen Campbell Moore Kenneth Branagh Kenneth Branagh, Ian McKellen 6. 9 / 10 In England in 1987, a teenager from an Asian family learns to live his life, understand his family and find his own voice through the music of American rock star Bruce Springsteen. Gurinder Chadha Billy Barratt, Ronak Singh Chadha Berges, Viveik Kalra Ten fisherman from Cornwall are signed by Universal Records and achieve a top ten hit with their debut album of Sea Shanties. Chris Foggin James Purefoy, Meadow Nobrega, David Hayman 8. 7 / 10 "Inspired by true events, the story begins with Japanese rugby officials dwelling on a humiliating anniversary, a 145-17 defeat by the New Zealand All Blacks in the 1995 World Cup.... See full summary  » Max Mannix Temuera Morrison, Lasarus Ratuere, Sumire Edit Storyline Alan is a stylish tailor with moves as sharp as his suits. He has spent years searching tirelessly for his missing son Michael who stormed out over a game of scrabble. With a body to identify and his family torn apart, Alan must repair the relationship with his youngest son Peter and solve the mystery of an online player who he thinks could be Michael, so he can finally move on and reunite his family. Plot Summary Add Synopsis Taglines: His son is missing, his family is lost but his dress sense is immaculate. See more  » Details Release Date: 14 June 2019 (UK) Also Known As: Triple Word Score Box Office Cumulative Worldwide Gross: $1, 377, 856 See more on IMDbPro  » Company Credits Technical Specs See full technical specs  » Did You Know? Trivia The title refers to the Sometimes, Always, Never Three-Button Rule. When wearing a suit with three buttons a man should sometimes button the top button, depending on the style of the suit, always button the middle button, and never button the bottom button. See more » Goofs This movie takes places in the UK; UK Scrabble players will note the following inaccuracies: A character in the movie says that there are 101 two-letters words playable in Scrabble, but the UK list of playable Scrabble words has had 120 or more two-letter words since at least 2003. There was a time when the North Amercan list of playable Scrabble words had exactly 101 playable two-letter words; it is now up to 107. (The UK list is up to 127. ) (Side note: ZO is playable in the UK but not in North America. ) The term "bingo" for playing all seven letters on one's rack in one term is primarily a North American usage; "bonus" is used more often in the UK. See more » Quotes Alan: [ Referring to the buttons of a suit jacket, from top to bottom] What you have to remember about these is: sometimes, always, never. See more » Soundtracks Sometimes Always Never Written by Edwyn Collins and Sean Read Performed by Edwyn Collins, Sean Read and Chay Heney See more ».

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HELL YES Im finna watch all of this. ' i have to give him the benefit of the doubt. thing is... you dont. Well you really screwed up this time, didn’t you? You found a gnarly deal on a beautiful home that almost seemed too good to be true, and you jumped at it. And now that you’re all moved in, you’ve started to notice some anomalies. You know the type: the spooky-dooky anomalies of the supernatural persuasion. Bumps in the night, doors opening and closing by themselves, auditory hallucinations of voices and whispers. It’s more common then you may think, but not everyone realizes the danger. These signs could be proof that some forsaken lost souls inhabit your property. Maybe the previous grandmother self-immolated in the attic. Maybe dear old dad went suddenly insane and repainted the house with the blood of his children, or mom tried seducing demons in the basement. If this sounds even vaguely familiar to you – and you are looking to the good ole internet for help, then you’ve come to the right place. You see I have this friend – well, had this friend named Nathan. A couple months back, Nathan found a house for sale in southern Georgia. It was nestled along a remote stretch of woods just outside of Waycross. It was a historical area - an old colonial style home just under 5, 000 square feet, six bed/ six bath with white picket fences and a dozen acres. The quintessential American dream house by all accounts. The price was unbelievably low, but after Nathan contacted the real-estate agent he found that the price that he had seen listed was indeed the price that was being asked. For most people, I imagine this would’ve raised some pretty big red flags, but Nathan was an idiot. The confident type of idiot that believed machismo is substantial for conquering all of life’s obstacles. I know it’s not kind to speak ill of the dead like that (spoiler alert), but I’m just trying to give an accurate portrayal of the kind of person Nathan was. Y’know the alpha male who hits on your girlfriend, lives at the gym and probably spanks his meat to his own selfies. For people like Nathan, friend is really just another word for ego-reinforcer. He was cocky, and often let pride get the better of him. His wife Janelle was actually my ex-girlfriend from awhile back. Bit of a skank, but practically a supermodel. They had two kids; Natalie and Mason who were both spoiled brats. Again, I’m just trying to give an honest perspective of them in hopes that we may all learn something from what happened. You see what happened to Nathan (which I’ll get into later) was something which I believe could’ve been easily avoided if only he had followed a few simple instructions. After the funeral, I got to pondering on the matter, and realized that what we all really need is a set of rules to follow if you believe your house is haunted. Let’s begin. Rule #1 – When looking to purchase or rent a house, always ask for the history. Odds are if a house is being offered at way below market value then there is a very good reason for it being that way. Nathan didn’t do this, and thought that the under-market price was simply the universe handing him something he didn’t really earn as it often seemed to do. Nathan jumped at the offer, and within a few weeks he and his family were approved to begin moving in. I volunteered to help them move in, and I’ll be honest, the house was absolutely gorgeous. Things were great for them at first, but Nathan soon started noticing some odd occurrences. It started with this knocking sound, that seemed to reverberate all over the home at odd hours. He said he could never seem to pinpoint where it was coming from, and it never seemed to originate from the same place twice. Eventually he just chalked it up to the house settling, but that was just the beginning. Rule #2 – Trust your gut. Your home is the last place you should feel uncomfortable. If you get that inkling of discomfort in the back of your mind that never seems to fully dissipate, pay attention to it. It’s probably your subconscious trying to warn you. Nathan tried ignoring these sounds, told his wife that it was just normal or the wind and comforted his children when they felt scared. He had two dogs; Rusty and Sailor. Both of them black labs and both seemed to become very anxious after moving in. Nathan did his best to get medication to help the dogs relax, but it didn’t seem to help much. That brings us to rule number 3; along with your gut, you should also trust your pets. Animals have instincts far greater than humans. It’s been said that man is the only creature who will sense danger and still wander into it. Animals have a sense for the supernatural; dogs and cats in particular. If you find them growling at what appears to be nothing, or constantly staring into specific areas of the house, then pay attention to that. Odds are they can see something you can’t. Nathan told me that Rusty; the older of the two dogs would pace the hall each night for hours. He said it was like he was standing guard over something. On more than one occasion, Rusty suddenly blurted into a ferocious bout of barking and snarling. Nathan would come out into the hall, but never found anything. He grew concerned for Rusty and took him to the vet, but the vet confirmed he was in good health. Meanwhile Sailor – the younger dog slept at the side of Mason’s bed each and every night. The poor boy soon developed crippling nightmares that would torment him relentlessly, and Sailor seemed to sense it. Each time Mason would wake up screaming, Sailor would be there to try and comfort him. And that segues perfectly into our next rule. Rule #4 – beware the nightmares. Young children are similar to animals in the way that they seem more perceptive to things that adults are not. This one can be difficult, because there are many root causes of nightmares with things like anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses. The telltale sign, is whether your child suddenly develops them soon after entering the home. Poor Mason had absolutely horrific dreams and night after night he would be tormented by them. He often spoke of ‘the blurry man’ that came to him while he slept and whispered terrible things. He even said that sometimes he would see the blurry man while he was awake, but never more than a quick glimpse and always in the shadows or outside in the woods. Nathan and his wife worried that perhaps Mason was Schizophrenic, but multiple doctors confirmed this was not the case. They tried giving Mason sleeping pills, various supplements and burned incense to help him sleep more peacefully. It worked for a while, until Natalie started having them too. Rule #5 – Try to determine what kind of spirit you’re dealing with. If you see flashes of a small child running through the halls at night, or orbs spiraling in the air, then odds are your ethereal neighbor is rather benign. Some people even discover they rather enjoy life with a spectral roommate, and find their antics to be rather interesting. Most believe that spirits who pass away before completing what their soul desired will become stuck in a sort of purgatory. Many are scared, confused and angry, but some – primarily young children seem to be almost jubilant at times. Most of these are unnerving but altogether harmless, but then there’s the other spirits. Rule #6 – If you or any member of your family develop inexplicable bruises, cuts or lesions then do not take them lightly. This should be a massive red flag, and is a very bad sign. If you feel as though you are being attacked as you sleep, and wake up with unexplained scratches or wounds then just get the hell out of the house, honestly. A malevolent spirit capable of inflicting physical wounds is not something to be trifled with. Odds are it’s a demon, and honestly that is the best-case scenario. There are other non-Abrahamic related entities that could be responsible as well. They are very rare, but if encountered, well I’m afraid even my handy set of rules won’t be enough to stop them. Natalie and Mason suffered multiple scratch marks, wounds and even a few bruises that almost looked like bite marks. Nathan’s wife Janelle was also subjected to these attacks. The children’s teachers at school began to notice, and became quite worried for their safety. Obviously their first thought was not paranormal, but rather that the children were being abused at home. Only when social services threatened to remove the children from his custody did Nathan finally agree to move them out of the house. Janelle and the kids moved in with her mother a couple hours away, and Nathan was left all alone with the dogs. Rule #7 – Let people know what is going on. Yes, I know the thought of admitting to a close friend that you believe your house is haunted may be a daunting one, but it’s usually better than the alternatives. The modern world rarely takes these claims seriously. We put ghosts in movies and video games, but when someone actually claims to see one, we aren’t so quick to believe them. Technology and science have led us to believe we are safe. That is our folly, but it’s also a topic for a different day. This is yet another rule that Nathan did not abide. The worse that things got for him and his family, the more secluded he became. On numerous occasions he phoned the police saying that he believed someone had broken in, but they never found evidence of it. Eventually they even put him on a blacklist, and warned that any further contact would result in legal trouble. Rather than tell his parents or brother or any of his friends what was going on, he retreated into himself. He became fidgety and paranoid, at times refusing to return phone calls and texts from his loved ones. He just broke contact, and things only got worse. Rule 8 and 9 sort of belong in the same category, although one is a little more extreme than the other. Rule #8 - If you suspect something is up, it doesn’t hurt to perform a cleansing. Like I said earlier, the modern world has little time to entertain the notion of ghosts and the supernatural, but that shouldn’t ward you off. If you’re unsure about whether your home is being haunted or not, then a routine cleansing can do wonders for you. I’m willing to bet there are mediums and priests in your town that can get the job done. Even if you can’t find anyone local, you can always just go online and find instructions for yourself. It’s not as effective that way, but it’s better than nothing. Rule #9 – if you’re really feeling as though you are in danger, get someone to perform an exorcism. It’s the step that no one wants to take, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Priests and spiritual leaders are your go-to for these kinds of things. Even if you yourself are not religious, these people honestly do know how to help. There’s some evidence that Nathan was attempting to do this, but it’s unknown why exactly it didn’t work out. Maybe he second guessed himself, and thought he could handle it, or maybe his ego took control once again. Nathan had been collecting evidence for a while, and had amassed quite a stash of clues. He had audio recordings which relayed banging on the walls and footsteps in the attics. He took multiple videos, but none of them really showed anything except for the last one, but by that point it was too late. In his journal he also wrote that he experienced items in the house levitating on several occasions, but sadly he had no recorded proof of this. Rule #10 – the big one! Whatever you do, don’t try to antagonize the spirit. This should really go without saying, but angrily challenging the spirit or daring it to manifest is a really bad idea. But as you may have guessed, Nathan and his unlimited stream of testosterone decided to do just that. He got really drunk one night, and began ruminating on all that had been happening. Nathan was always a skeptic, but even he couldn’t ignore the psychological impact on his family whether it was imagined or not. He realized his relationship with his children and wife were being heavily strained, and his new house had become a place of hostility. This made Nathan very angry. So Nathan stood up, and shouted at his empty house for the spirit to come forth and face him. He was met only with silence, and so he shouted again. Never once did the spirit’s answer his call. After a few more verbose challenges he broke into a bout laughter, probably believing himself to look ridiculous. Apparently not everyone who was watching felt the same though. Nathan managed to stumble into bed not long after, and was out cold within a couple minutes. Nathan had kept a security camera in his room in hopes of capturing proof, and that night he found something. At around 2:13 am, Nathan is seen beginning to stir in his sleep in the security video. He grunts and speaks briefly, but the words were unintelligible. Suddenly his eyes sprung wide open in the bed, and began glancing around the room. Nathan appeared to be struggling, but his body didn’t move. It is believed he was suffering an episode of sleep paralysis which left him temporarily paralyzed. His eyes continued to dart rapidly around the room. Then something happened that no one who saw the video could explain. The bedroom door slowly rolled open, but the darkness of the hallway was all-consuming. Nathan’s chest began franticly pumping up and down, and his eyes stretched wide-open. Something was then seen moving in the hall. It could’ve been chalked up to a trick of the light at first, but then a hand was seen reaching through. It was gnarled and spindly, like the wretched malformed appendage from some abyssal denizen. The figure slowly sauntered through the doorway; it’s tall, dark silhouette nearly grazing the top of the door frame. It had no definite features, appearing only as a hooded, humanoid individual. No eyes or face, just a shadow corporealized from Nathan’s deepest nightmares. Poor Nathan was heard mumbling and whimpering franticly, but in his paralyzed state he was unable to fight back or flee. He could do nothing but watch in absolute horror as the thing approached him. It stopped at the foot of his bed, and just stared at him for about a minute. Nathan continued to hyperventilate and didn’t appear blink once during the entire ordeal. The thing then finally moved closer. It then leaned down only a couple inches away from his face and appeared to whisper something. It was too quiet for the mic on the camera to pick up, but needless to say it did not make Nathan feel any better about the situation. Suddenly the thing lashed out with it’s twisted hands, constricting like pythons around Nathan’s throat. In his paralyzed state, he couldn’t even struggle against his shrouded attacker. Within a minute Nathan’s chest stopped moving, and his eyes fell still. The entity retracted it’s hands and just stared at him for about a minute. Then – as if taunting those who would see the footage, it looked directly into the camera. It whispered something again, but again it was too quiet to discern what it was. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it waltzed out of the room and vanished back into the darkness. Nathan was found by his wife Janelle a few days later, and she called the police. After an autopsy Nathan was determined to have died via strangulation much as what was shown in the video. Cops scoured the premises and found footprints from the intruder. However, the footprints were soon matched to a pair of Nathan’s own boots. The police of course were not so quick to believe that Nathan was simply killed by supernatural forces. They conducted interviews with neighbors, friends and family members, but none of them seemed capable or motivated enough to have done it. There were no signs of breaking and entering, and nothing had been stolen from the home. They came to me and conducted an interview as well, but of course, that was a futile effort. I mean sure; the fact that Janelle was my ex-girlfriend was reason to suspect me, but I quickly dissuaded their accusations. Nathan was my friend, despite him not really being a good friend. What kind of friend bones your girlfriend behind your back anyways? I’m not bitter about it though, at least… not as far as the police are concerned. My alibis were solid, and that’s good enough for them. This brings us to my final rule; rule number 11. Make sure you exhaust all other options before coming to the conclusion that your house is in fact haunted. If only Nathan had taken a little more time to investigate his home and himself more thoroughly then maybe he’d still be alive today. Maybe he would’ve found the mini wireless speakers hidden in his attic to play the sounds of knocking. Maybe he would’ve found the patches in his air ducts that leaked mild doses of hallucinogenic drugs into his home. Maybe he would’ve detected the dog whistle alarm that caused his dogs to react so strangely. If he bothered to check himself, he may have found trace amounts of Suxamethonium; a paralyzing toxin that once ingested will leave the person immobile yet conscious to all pain. It would’ve been difficult to find - as even coroner’s do not normally test for the substance unless specifically requested. No matter how you really slice it, this entire ordeal really comes back to Nathan himself. If only he had been a better person and not constantly demeaned his peers at every turn. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn and proud. If only he hadn’t gone behind my back and boned my ex-girlfriend thus ruining our future and sending me into the spiraling depths of crippling depression, then maybe I would’ve helped him. So, you may be wondering; is this my confession? No, of course not. This is only my list of suggestions and rules for how things may have turned out differently for Nathan and his family. These are all hypothetical explanations, and are in no way to be considered incriminating evidence to be used in court against me or anyone else for that matter. Besides, if this really was a confession, then that would make anyone who read it an accessory to murder, and we certainly wouldn’t want that. I hope you can understand that, and I do hope that we can trust each other in this regard. After all, I have really good software for tracing IP’s and reddit makes it incredibly easy to access them. We wouldn’t want YOUR house to suddenly become haunted, now would we?

Hahaha this is hiphop generation. I think he had intentionally had 2 stranger boys dig the grave for the cow so that it would be used as a sort of alibi. He reasoned that if anyone did recognize him as a suspect back then and the boys reported the digging, he would make the cops look foolish when they dug up animal. Then he would b able to claim he was being harassed and falsely accused and ability to sue cops. Of course they would then be told to cease investigating him. True evil and true brilliance on his part. Sick mofo.

“Man, I haven’t been here in years” Mickey said as we walked into The Black Umbrella, a run down bar at the end of the street adjacent to ours. She said it right as we crossed the threshold, almost as if on cue. “I wonder why. ” I muttered. Mickey sucked her teeth and walked ahead briskly. The Black Umbrella may sound like a black and neon concert venue frequented by hipster vampires or perhaps an Ivy League secret society but no, it is instead a dirty old dive bar with none of the nostalgic charm you might expect from a place like this. The one thing that set it apart was that, for whatever absurd reason, all of the drinks were served in beakers. It felt oddly familiar to me. I knew I hadn’t been there before. At least not in the past five years. Two men sat at the bar, uninterested in our arrival. To the left of them, a hole in the wall. A gaping maw. Pitch black and inexplicably eerie. It didn’t look like anyone had ever attempted to patch it up. We ordered our drinks. “Lets get a booth. ” Mickey grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the back of the establishment. I sipped at my whisky ginger in a flask half heartedly. I couldn’t get my mind off of the strange hole in the wall. It resisted being ignored. I found myself glancing at it frequently. “When was the last time you were here? ” I asked. “Hm, probably when I was—“ Mickey took a sip of her drink, a vodka soda in a graduated cylinder. One of the only glasses they had that had a flat bottom and could be placed on the table. “Oh. I mean, I guess I haven’t been here. Just a place like this. Y’know. Forgotten. Kind of odd. ” I nodded. “Sure. ” I couldn’t stop looking at that hole in the wall. As dusty and decrepit as this place was, it seemed weird that they would just leave it like that. The hole must’ve been two feet long and a foot wide. There was no torn wallpaper around its periphery and it seemed too perfectly oval in shape. As if someone had punched it out with a comically large hole puncher. “Oh come on. As if you didn’t frequent places like this in your rebellious teenage phase. ” “I didn’t really have a rebellious phase. ” What I meant was, well, I don’t know if I did. “Yeah right. I can totally see you rocking oversized band tees and, come on, what color was your hair? Purple? ” I tried to think back to my teenage years. I tried to think back to any time before five years ago. I couldn’t. I had no memories from before my twenty-third birthday. I didn’t even know when my birthday was, I simply called it that because it’s my earliest memory. I couldn’t remember my parents or any family at all. It’s almost as if I simply materialized one day. That day, March 27th, I remember standing in the street in the rain. Confused. I found keys in the jacket I was wearing, attached to a tag with an address on Bell Street. I went there and was welcomed by two strangers, Abigail and Amir, who were apparently my new roommates. They told me we had spoken online and on the phone. I didn’t remember any of that. I lived there for two years before they abruptly moved to Shitfuck, Vermont and I couldn’t afford the rent on my own. I’ve been living with Michaela since. Those first two years weren’t uneventful, there were a handful of weird instances including some inexplicable disappearances. When I lived with Abby and Amir, I tried to be social. I had successfully buried the unsettling feelings that came along with my amnesia by becoming the ultimate social butterfly. But my friendships never lasted long, for various reasons. I remember approaching the parents of my only close friend, asking after her, because I hadn’t seen her in weeks… I had been to their house before. I had spent the weekend there with her the prior Thanksgiving. They told me they didn’t have a daughter. That the mother was, in fact, infertile. My question had opened an old wound. I told myself I must’ve had the wrong house, the wrong couple. I had to convince myself of that because what else could I do? A year ago, I could’ve sworn I saw her. At a gas station a few miles from my apartment. We made eye contact briefly before she got into her car and drove away. Whenever I would try to remember my past, I would hit a wall. Sometimes, I felt a tug and a quiet ringing in my ears. That’s what I felt then, watching my friend’s doppelgänger drive away. It’s difficult to describe the tug. It wasn’t physical or emotional. It was almost as if my vision, no, more than my vision… My consciousness was a table cloth and someone was pulling on the bottom right corner. Gently at first, maybe trying to get a grip. If I dwelled on my past for too long, if I tried to uncover any memories from before that rainy day, the ringing starts to get louder and the tugging stronger. I start to lose focus. Something innate tells me I don’t want to know what would happen if the proverbial tablecloth was ripped off of the table. Something intense. Something explosive. “Helloo? ” Mickey was looking at me. The tablecloth snapped back into place. “I’m just kidding. You don’t have to look so serious. ” “My hair. It was green actually. How about you? ” I lied, taking a sip of my drink. The tables had holes in them for the drinks that didn’t have flat bottoms. I felt like I was drinking my high school chemistry project. Mickey was silent for a moment. A contemplative silence. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much of my teenage years. ” I thought she looked sad. Distant. The moment passed. “But I did drink a lot back then. ” She laughed. As we were heading out, I looked back at the far wall. At the hole next to the bar. “What do you think that's about? ” I asked Mickey, directing her gaze to the hole. “What? ” “That hole in the wall. It’s kinda freaky. ” Michaela was silent for a moment. “I don’t see a hole in the wall. ” She said. ——————— Two weeks later, I was walking home from work. It was only 4pm but it was starting to get dark. As I turned the corner onto my street, I noticed something odd. I had lived with Michaela in our shitty house on Bramble street for three years then. The house contained four units, only two were occupied. Michaela and I lived on the first floor. To get to the apartments on the second floor, you have to go around back. Our house was the only building on our street. Even if that weren’t the case, the place would still be hard to miss. It was an ugly saturated mauve that contrasted greatly with its surroundings. On the far side of the house was a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and littered with cans of beer and energy drinks. The lot on the side closer to where I stood had also always been vacant, except it was paved. I always assumed it was an abandoned parking lot. It wasn’t vacant anymore. There now stood a small house. I guess I wouldn’t call it a house. A shack? It looked like a pool shed. It looked completely out of place in the center of this desolate lot. It didn’t seem to have a door. There was a person there. I couldn’t distinguish their shape or features. It seemed like they were slowly shifting as I watched. When I looked away and looked back again, they looked simultaneously like a new person yet exactly the same. They felt familiar to me. It looked like they were tending to the outside of the shack. Once I was standing before the door to my house, I gave them a long look. They hadn’t glanced in my direction. They seemed transfixed with what they were doing, which I could now see was wiping the wooden frame of the shack’s single window. A window that, I noticed, faced my own bedroom windows on the first floor. The first room to the right after entering the house is Michaela’s bedroom. Her door was cracked but I knocked anyway. “Come in! ” I walked in and sat on the couch by her door. Mickey was typing something on her laptop with one hand and reaching for an animal cracker with the other. Her auburn hair was tied in a messy bun. She missed the bag of crackers by an inch which forced her to divert her attention from the computer screen. “What’s up? ” She asked me. Her brows knitting together with concern. I realized I hadn’t said anything. “Have you seen that pool shack that popped up overnight next door? ” “Yeah. ” “Don’t you think it’s weird? It’s so tiny and out of place. Where did it come from? ” “I do… Actually, look at this. ” She jumped off the bed, almost knocking over her laptop. She opened the bottom most drawer of her desk and rifled through it. Finding what she wanted, she came over and sat on the couch next to me. She handed me a piece of paper. “This is the listing for this place. For a few years ago, when I found this place. ” I wasn’t sure why she was showing it to me. “Look. ” She pointed to one of the exterior photos. It was taken from an angle. You could see part of the street in front of it. Two cars were parked out front. The vacant lot was mostly visible behind the house. Except it wasn’t vacant. The same little doorless pool house was present. “That definitely wasn’t here when we moved in. ” “I know. “Maybe it blew away during some particularly strong winds and the owner has been meaning to rebuild it but hasn’t been able to until now.? ” “Is the uh, character outside, the owner? ” “Character? I have no idea who the owner is. I didn’t consider that someone might own that lot until now. ” “There’s someone out there now— Never mind. I just don’t get how it popped up like that. This is just weird. ” Mickey shrugged and ate a handful of animal crackers. ——————————— That night I kept thinking about the eerie Keeper of the shed. How diligently they cleaned that window frame. How they hadn’t glanced at me as I passed. They had seemed so disconnected from the world, only focused on their small, repetitive task. I wondered where they were now. They couldn’t possibly live in that little shack. I suddenly remembered that I could see the entire lot from my window. Something primordial told me not to look outside. I remember hearing the front door open and close quietly before I fell asleep. ———————————— The next day there was a snow storm. My boss called me early to tell me not to come in. I spent the day reading until Mickey came home and came to my room. She seemed a little dazed. Before I could say anything she mouthed something. I was about to ask her to repeat herself when she asked, audibly this time, “what time is it? ” I looked at my phone. “5:25” “In the morning? ” She asked, unfocused. “No. PM. ” It was November so it was already dark outside. She sucked her teeth. “Right. ” Pause. “Hey… Lets go to The Umbrella! ” Mickey had three more drinks than usual, four if you count the one she dropped because she forgot that beakers can’t balance on flat surfaces. She hardly said a word the whole evening. When we got up to leave, I noticed that the hole in the wall was gone. ————————————————— That night I couldn’t resist the urge. I raised my blinds and looked out the window. There was a light on in the window facing me. I tried to make out any forms inside. The shed seemed too close. Although the lot was next door, it was a rather spacious plot of land. The house was in the center, which was more than a few leaps and bounds away from me. But somehow that distance didn’t matter. I had the strange feeling that if I reached out, I would be able to touch it. I couldn’t look away. The familiar feeling of my mental tablecloth being pulled resumed. I let it happen for a minute or two. I felt myself leaning to the right. My head felt heavy. I pressed my cheek to my collarbone. My vision started to disappear into whatever void existed at the bottom right corner of my consciousness. The ringing was more of a buzzing. I had the strange thought that I was hearing the sounds of my neurons firing. Suddenly I remembered where I was. I had let it go on for too long as now it was physically difficult for me to extract myself. I had to pull myself away from the void. It tried to pull me harder in the opposite direction. Once I was free, I stepped away from the window. The light in the pool shack went dark. I had a feeling that that was for me. I closed the blinds on both of my windows for good measure. As I was falling asleep, I heard the front door open and close again. ————————————————— The next day Michaela didn’t come home. Her shoes and coat weren’t by the door. Though her bedroom door was locked, which I found a tad unusual because we never really locked our doors. I tried knocking just in case but got no response. I left for work an hour later and saw the Keeper standing on the other side of the shed this time. They were fixing something on the roof, which they could reach without a latter. I tried to say good morning but it seemed like they didn’t or couldn’t hear me. I took a few steps towards them. No reaction. I walked around them, a foot away from them. They seemed more familiar to me than before. For a moment, I saw something I didn’t understand the truth of at the time. They turned and gave me the most cursory of glances but it felt like an eternity. They were Abigail. My roommate before Michaela. They were simultaneously Abby and Amir, her fiancé. Husband. I was somehow looking at both of them at once, yet at each one individually. There was a muted agony in their faces. Their face? I felt hurt by this mockery. I didn’t feel like I had seen a ghost, I felt like I had seen the ghost of a ghost. A photograph of a ghost. A distorted facsimile. I felt like the Keeper was taunting me. Their eyes were entirely black. As black and unnerving as the hole had been the first time I saw it at the bar. I didn’t see Michaela for three more days. Until that Sunday morning, when I woke up and she was in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee. She greeted me as if nothing happened. I asked her where she had been and she happily told me about a new guy she had met and how she had spent a couple days with him. I didn’t want to poke any holes in her story because I was just glad that she was home. Her cheerfulness seemed exaggerated. I noticed she was holding her mug with her left hand. Was Mickey left-handed? My gaze found her right hand resting on her knee, bandaged up tight. “Jeez Mickey, what happened? ” “Oh, ” she said, unfazed. “I’ve got this weird rash. It’s totally gross. I’ve been using cream and shit. I think it’s getting better. ” Her whole hand was wrapped up in a way that left her unable to move her fingers. I didn’t say anything in response. That night when I came home from work, I immediately noticed that my blinds were up. I could see the mysterious shed. The light in the window was off. No. There was no window. In fact, I could only see hints of the wood paneling. Where the window used to be, there was now a massive gaping hole, perfectly oval and so dark it made my heart sink. I was overcome with this strange feeling that, despite it being inanimate and lacking eyes, that the hole was watching me. I felt exposed. I slept on the couch that night. The next morning, I noticed Michaela’s shoes and coat were gone. That night I dreamt that I was the Keeper of the shack. I was repairing a panel of wood that had become askew. Up close, I could see how rickety and unstable the shack itself was. It was a miracle it stayed up at all. I knew I had to keep the shack closed and secure. I felt it with every fiber of my being. I put my ear up to the wall. It had a heartbeat. Slow and steady. I knew something was growing in there. I felt it’s hunger. Then I felt hungry. Terribly, horribly hungry. Our hungers were indistinguishable. I was it. It was me. Suddenly the heartbeat went quiet. I was overcome with loneliness. I looked down and in my hand I was holding a black umbrella, dripping what looked like blood. When I woke up, I was outside, my back inches away from the shack. I ran back to the house as if someone had lit a fire under my ass. Several hours later, I heard the door open. Mickey snuck in, took off her coat and shoes, and entered her room. Still half asleep, I followed her. I stood in the doorway, obscured by the lack of light, and watched Mickey sit on the bed, seemingly out of breath. She unwrapped her hand and let out a soft cry. The moonlight filtering in from behind her blinds illuminated a gruesome sight. Her hand was a mess. I could hardly make out her fingers. It looked like it had been crushed under a heavy weight. It looked like it was… melting. As the moonlight hit her hand, I could see there were no fingers. Whatever this ailment was seemed to be extending up her arm now. I swear I saw it dripping onto her jeans. I gasped. Michaela looked in my direction but didn’t react. It was like she couldn’t see me. Like she was seeing beyond me. For some reason, I felt that her seeing me would put us both in danger. In the morning, I convinced myself what I saw the night before was a dream. But I didn’t see Michaela that day or for two weeks after that. Her door was locked. I tried knocking every time I left for work but she never answered. —————————— Those two weeks were monotonous as hell. Every time I left for work I would see the same ethereal figure of the being I had dubbed the Keeper, tending to some other part of the shack. The Keeper never acknowledged me and quickly I stopped paying them any mind either. I started leaving the blinds open because I knew whatever weird void-dwelling being lived next door could open them at their whim anyway. The light in the shack stayed off. Three days after I had last seen her, I walked around the side of the house, my back to the shack, and decided to look into Michaela’s window. There was something wet on the windowsill. It was thick. It was dripping over the edge and onto the ground next to me. I don’t know what I hoped to see. Part of me thought I’d see the Keeper leaning over her bloody carcass, biting into one of her kidneys. I could hear them behind me, using a tool to tend to something on the roof. It seemed there was always something about that shack that needed repair. I took a deep breath and looked into her window. There was nothing strikingly out of the ordinary. Except the stain on the bed. More than a stain. A strange viscous spill which covered most of her bed and some of the floor. It looked like baby puke. If someone had mixed puke with slime. As I stared, I noticed that some of the liquid trailed to the window. Like it was trying to escape. It was the very same liquid which was dripping onto the ground to my right. I was overcome with the nauseating feeling that the slime was aware of me. I quickly looked away. There was a thin trail of slime leading to the shack. I thought of who I could call. I didn’t know a lot of Mickey’s friends. Or at least not well enough to know how to reach them. I had never met her parents either, though I knew they lived just outside of town. I wondered, if the roles were reversed, who Mickey would call for my sake. There wasn’t anyone she could call. I tried to remember someone. Anyone. A guardian. A teacher. A parent. I was met with the same block as always. The nagging nothingness where my memories should be. The mind is capable of understanding so much. It is capable of making connections faster than we could ever consciously fathom. In fact, the human mind is so advanced that it even also knows when to purposely misunderstand things or refuse to comprehend them at all. This is a mercy. This is the creator’s, whoever they may be, if they exist at all, greatest gift to humanity. The inability to correlate certain things. I knew there was something I was subconsciously ignoring. I spent the next week and a half going about my life. I started going out for drinks with coworkers. We would go to an Irish pub twenty minutes from my house. None of them had ever heard of The Black Umbrella. The more time I spent with them, the less real they felt. I kept finding myself thinking they were actors or that I was imagining them. I kept telling myself that that was crazy but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was the only person left in the world. One night at the pub I ran into my neighbor from the upstairs unit. This guy with sandy hair named David who we rarely saw because he was in a competitive graduate program and worked two jobs. He had a cotton shirt wrapped around his right hand and a large bandage on his neck. “You look awful, ” I told him. He smiled at me sadly. “I haven’t been sleeping well. ” When he stood up, he left behind a sticky spot on the bar. One night I came home earlier than usual. There was a vague buzzing in my ears, which I ignored because it wasn’t anything unusual. The auditory distortions came and went without cause. They usually didn’t get worse unless I strained myself. I passed out almost immediately only to wake up several hours later, laying on my back, staring into a familiar void on my ceiling. It was almost comforting. Once the familiar tugging began, I averted my gaze and sat up. I sat against the wall which divided my room from Michaela’s and put my face in my hands. I wanted to cry. I wanted to feel something potent. I wanted to mourn Michaela because I knew she was gone. I wanted to feel fear. Fear of the unknown looming above me. Fear of what would happen next. I felt something touch my back. It was a gentle, incomprehensible prodding. It felt like someone was massaging my back with a baseball bat. I couldn’t move. Something resembling fear shot down my spine. I was frozen. It moved across my back slowly but intentionally. I had the thought that maybe it was trying to get a grip but couldn’t. Because it didn’t have fingers. I quickly turned around. There was nothing there but the wall. I didn’t dare look back up at the void. I left my room and stopped in front of Michaela’s. Before I knew what I was doing, I had broken her door down. Aside from the broken door, her room seemed neat. There was nothing viscous on her bed or on the floor. I stood in the doorway for a minute, unsure of what to do. On the couch to my left, I found a note inside an envelope with my name on it. I tore it open. It read: “I lied to you that night at the bar. I did see the hole. That was the third time I had seen it. The previous two were in the apartment. As stupid as this sounds, I know it saw me too. I didn’t say anything because I felt that the more I acknowledged it, the more untethered I would become. I kept seeing it after that. Everywhere I went. Some nights I would wake up somewhere totally different. Only to blink and be staring at the hole on my ceiling. The person outside. They started acknowledging me. One night when I was particularly inebriated, I asked them what the fuck they were doing there, day in and day out. They didn’t even turn to look at me. I heard their voice in my head, “I like to keep busy” They said. It said. I said. It was my voice. It was my goddamn voice, coming from that thing. The time after that, I couldn’t resist. I climbed right into the void on the wall between our rooms. I couldn’t stop myself from going in. I saw things I wasn’t mean to. I went somewhere devastating. I ended up inside the pool shed. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not you. I somehow managed to escape. I couldn’t tell you how. But it’s too late. It has me. It’s destroyed me. Literally. I can feel myself being disassembled. All I want is to be back inside the shack. It feels safe there. I feel that I’ll be safe there. But these don’t feel like my thoughts, my impulses. But I can’t resist them much longer. If I know anything, it’s that I’ll be gone when you read this. I had to know what it was. I shouldn’t have gone. But I did. Don’t do what I did. It’s better not to know. If you see me again, it isn’t me. Please be careful. ” With the note was a stack of photos. There were about ten of them, each a few years apart. They were all of the ugly mauve house I knew so well. In some of them, the shed was visible in the background. In others, just an empty lot. The shed seemed to come and go inexplicably. I grabbed my shoes and a fleece and walked to The Black Umbrella. There was David, to my left. He gave me a polite smile. He looked healthy. Healthier than I had ever seen him. No more bandages. Seeing him made me uncomfortable. I ordered a shot of vodka which was served to me in a test tube. I returned home at around four in the morning. The street was abnormally quiet. The air seemed thick and there was a palpable tension. Every time I tried to ignore that damn pool house, I felt my gaze inexplicably being drawn to it. Riding on a rare surge of bravery and adrenaline, I approached the house. I had been right in my observation; there was no door. I didn’t let that stop me. I hesitated before entering but I figured I had nothing to lose at this point. I blinked and found myself inside. The only light was coming from the street lights outside filtering in. The Keeper was crouched over something, working it with their hands. They didn’t react to my entrance. Their presence didn’t unnerve me for some reason. I tried to distinguish their form but couldn’t. I could see it clearly yet it still evaded me somehow. It was as if I was only seeing a small fraction of what they were. What it was. It was as if my human senses were inadequate for the task of comprehending what was in front of me. I felt that surrounding their human form, there was something bigger. Something overwhelming. Something otherworldly and ancient. In that moment I understood that the Keeper was only a small part of it. As disposable as a limb to a creature that had hundreds and the ability to regrow them at will. I started to hear the familiar ringing in my ears. I let that thought go. The Keeper was massaging what looked like a pile of clay. It sat on the wooden floor. It was two feet high and shaped like a person. It was a person. A clay sculpture of a human bust. I felt like they wanted me to see it. It was a bust of Michaela. It looked so real. A mound of clay sat to the side of the bust. But it wasn’t clay. It had a nauseatingly viscous quality to it… The bust blinked. A quiet agony in the clay eyes that no longer looked like clay. I looked at the Keeper. Where their entire face had been, there was now a void. A gaping primordial maw. Although it had no teeth that I could fathom, I heard the sickening wet sounds as it devoured my roommate. Watching it eat was the single most repulsive thing I have ever seen. I couldn’t fathom how a jaw could be so malleable. I remembered the image I had concocted of the Keeper eating Mickey’s kidneys a few nights prior. This was far worse. I couldn’t have concocted this image myself. She was looking at me. Michaela. I couldn’t read the expression on her face. It was over in less than a minute but it felt like an eternity. I have no way of knowing how much of Michaela was in that bust. I have to keep telling myself she was dead long before that. The next thing I remember is waking up. In my own bed. I had no recollection of getting there. I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes and went to get a glass of water. My heart fell into my stomach and out of my ass when I saw Michaela, bright and jovial as ever, making breakfast in the kitchen. “What’s that look for? ” She asked playfully. I could hear my heart beating between my ears as I watched her salt the eggs in the frying pan. “I don’t feel so good. ” I told her. I don’t know why I bothered saying anything. Maybe because I didn’t want her… I didn’t want it to suspect anything. I walked back into my room. In my periphery I could see that the shack was gone. I lay back down in bed, wondering why it hadn’t eaten me too. I thought about the first time I had met Michaela. We had met at a cafe after talking online. She had been half an hour late. I tried to push further back. Remember anything. Something. I heard the buzzing. I felt it in my skin and bones. I was too tired to fight it and soon it washed over me. I had fought this spell for years, feeling that it was the precursor to something I should avoid. I wish I hadn’t resisted it for so long. The tablecloth was pulled from the table and I truly woke up for the first time in five years. ———————— “I think… Oh my god! ” “Holy shit. Holy shit! ” “Get over here! ” “Hey! Can you hear me? ” I knew that that was directed at me but I wished they would all shut up. The voices were so loud. Everything was so loud. I tried to say yes but all I could do was mumble and drool. Somewhere deep down I could hear questions bubbling, struggling to reach the surface. They would have to wait. I was so tired. “She seems stable. Let her rest. She’s been through a lot. ” Bea was always the sensible one. I’d have to thank her for that later. My eyes shot open. I knew who these people were. I remembered. More memories were coming back to me every second. I could name all four people in the room… Beatrice, Paulette, Thomas and Hayden. My friends. “I’m awake” I managed. ———————— During the next several weeks, my entire life came back to me. And with the help of my friends, I finally had answers. I recovered relatively quickly. My health didn’t seem to be compromised. I had come back with everything intact. I had met Thomas in college. I went on to go to graduate school with him. I went for Cultural Anthropology and he went for Surgical Technology. He met Paulette, Beatrice and Hayden through his program. Paulette’s parents were world renowned in the medical field for their development of experimental therapies. Because of this, they were often traveling, giving lectures, changing the world… Which left us with access to their private laboratory. There were several others who were involved with this arrangement but we were the core group. Mind you, I was the least qualified so I mostly just observed. We used to concoct all sorts of unsavory experiments at that lab, only to clean them up before Paulette’s parents returned. When it was all new and exciting, Thomas had suggested we come up with a name for the laboratory. To make us sound clandestine and mysterious, like a secret society. “Quick! Get the radioactive samples to The Silver Temple! ” Thomas had shouted dramatically. “Something like that, y’know. It sounds cool! ” “That is terrible, ” Paulette had said and rolled her eyes. “I know, ” I had said, glancing at my backpack against the far wall. I could see its contents spilling onto the floor. A chapstick. A notebook. My trusty black umbrella. “The Black Umbrella. ” And so it was. For a while, playing scientist lost its charm. Until Hayden discovered a strange biological mass in the cave structure he had been exploring. I’m not sure if he had gone to explore because he suspected he would find something or if it was an accidental discovery. I guess I should ask him. Anyway, It was small enough that he easily contained it and brought it to the lab. I remember sitting on a stool, waiting for the test results, anxious and curious. I remember listening to the technical jargon being thrown about and not understanding a word of it. I asked them to explain it to me like they would to a fifth grader. The tests had come back unlike anything they had ever seen. The mass was apparently made up entirely of brain tissue. Elements of the tests were inconclusive and/or confusing, the brain tissue seemed to be both human and something else. In fact, consecutive tests came back with slightly different results each time. We were all so excited. It was a completely unheard of form of life! Hayden dubbed it “SBE” for Strange Biological Entity. Soon we started calling it “SOB” for Son of A— The more we studied it, the more confused we got. The lab results seemed to be meaningless with how different they were each time. We could find no consistency among them. That was our first hint that we were in over our heads. The first contamination had occurred when Hayden invited over some friends from work. He had been bragging about his discovery and felt the need to provide proof. At first, we were just fucking around. I remember we were drinking whiskey. Using Paulette’s father’s expensive equipment to impress the coworkers, we did full brain scans. The super crazy kind where we catalogued the individual’s entire brain and created a coherent map of it. It’s probably either not as cool as that sounds or way cooler than I can comprehend. Hayden was properly drunk when he brought out the SBE. He’s lived with the repercussions of that decision since. One of his coworkers, David, ended up being overzealous and handsy. In a moment of excitement and curiosity, David had touched the mass with his bare hands. It immediately attached itself like the world’s most bloodthirsty leech. The majority of the mass had dropped off after a couple hours, but the part that had come into contact with David’s hand had remained. Attempts to extricate it were unsuccessful. We stayed in the lab for days, attempting to work out a solution. It only took a few days for it to devour him. The part of the mass which had remained on his skin seemed to crawl up his arm, hugging it like a sleeve. We did amputate his arm when we realized it was spreading quickly. I vaguely remember the sounds of his cries. After the arm was removed, we found traces of the biological entity in his blood stream. He was being eaten from the inside out. When it was over, the SOB left no trace of his body. But during the following weeks of testing, we discovered something interesting: brain waves. On a hunch, we cross referenced them. They were David’s. Over time the waves would do some interesting things. I don’t understand the jargon well enough to know exactly what. But I did understand the implication that David was still alive, in some way, within the incomprehensible organism we had discovered. We agreed not to reveal the mass to the world. We were in too deep and we were scared. There was another breach a year after the first event. This time, three of our peers from the same graduate program failed to follow proper safety protocols. I wasn’t there and I didn’t ask for details. All three of these students were infected and devoured. There were many attempts to save them. Some seemed really promising but none of them were successful. Still, they learned a lot. We couldn’t save them and we were too scared to get authorities involved. They were kept in quarantine for their last days. Those last days were quiet, as we all awaited their fate. It’s hard to say for sure but we think one of them infected me somehow. Paulette showed me the framed photo of her deceased peers that she kept on her desk. The photo was from university. Paulette stood in the middle, her hair much shorter. The girl all the way to the right, I recognized as Michaela Wood. She looked happy. The other two were Abigail and Amir. “I lived with her. ” I said, holding the framed photo gently. For some reason I was afraid I would break it. “What? ” Paulette asked, confused. “In there. We lived together for three years. In… In there. ” I wanted to cry but I didn’t. Instead I asked the question that had been marinating in my mind since I woke up, “Why am I alive? ” Paulette shook her head. She didn’t know for sure. They assumed I was a genetic anomaly. The SBE couldn’t “read” me as easily. That’s not to say it wouldn’t have devoured me whole if it had had the chance. But alas, my friends had learned a lot from the deaths of Michaela, Abby and Amir, and managed to extract it from my body. But it had reached my brain quicker than they anticipated. The medication stopped it from spreading throughout my entire brain. Despite that, I had fallen into a coma. My brain activity had been so minimal, they had almost declared me brain dead. But there was enough activity that they held out hope. “You had shown signs of waking through the years, but you never came back. Until now. ” I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about that. I was still looking at the photo of Michaela. Paulette explained to me that the SBE had been properly contained since my incident. That absolutely no one comes into direct contact with it anymore. They’ve been discussing passing it on to the proper authorities, after all of these years of hoarding it to themselves… “Can you do something for me? Can you see if Michaela’s brain waves are still… detectable? ” An hour later, Paulette and Hayden returned to my room. Hayden wheeled in a giant monitor. It reminded me of high school, when the substitute teacher would let us watch a movie. It was weird to remember high school. He turned on the monitor and immediately a clip of brain waves appeared, along with a bunch of numbers, symbols and graphs I didn’t care to try to understand. The waves looked active. Alive. I felt a brief flash of happiness before I remembered that this was a visual representation of a prison sentence. I felt immensely sad. “Those are Michaela’s? ” Hayden cleared his throat. Not a single trace of hers. These are yours. ”.

Dancing man is my favorite second to Kale and Hugo. Happy 2020 everyone. 🎉. He wasn't kidding. LESSSSGOOOOOO. Original title Never Rarely Sometimes Always Year 2020 Running time 95 min. Country United States Director Eliza Hittman Screenwriter Music Julia Holter Cinematography Hélène Louvart Cast Sidney Flanigan, Talia Ryder, Ryan Eggold, Sharon Van Etten, Théodore Pellerin, Drew Seltzer, Lester Greene, Kim Rios Lin, Luz Ozuna, Brett Puglisi, Aurora Richards, April Szykeruk, Alana Barrett-Adkins, Michael Erik, Guy A. Fortt, Rose Elizabeth Richards, Deepti Menon, Carolina Espiro Producer BBC Films / Cinereach / Mutressa Movies / PASTEL / Rooftop Films / Tango Entertainment [USA]. Distributed by Focus Features Genre Drama | Teen/coming-of-age Synopsis / Plot Autumn, a stoic, quiet teenager, is a cashier in a rural Pennsylvania supermarket. Faced with an unintended pregnancy and without viable alternatives for termination in her home state, she and her cousin Skylar scrape up some cash, pack a suitcase, and board a bus to New York City. With only a clinic address in hand and nowhere to stay, the two girls bravely venture into the unfamiliar city. Awards 2020: Sundance Film Festival: Special Jury Prize - Dramatic 2020: Berlin Film Festival: Oficial Selection Critics' reviews Movie Soulmates' ratings Register so you can access movie recommendations tailored to your movie taste. Friends' ratings Register so you can check out ratings by your friends, family members, and like-minded members of the FA community. Is the synopsis/plot summary missing? Do you want to report a spoiler, error or omission? Please send us a message. If you are not a registered user please send us an email to All copyrighted material (movie posters, DVD covers, stills, trailers) and trademarks belong to their respective producers and/or distributors. For US ratings information please visit:.

Who's Involved: Adele Romanski, Eliza Hittman, Talia Ryder, Sharon Van Etten, Ryan Eggold, Sara Murphy, Théodore Pellerin, Sidney Flanigan Rating: N/A Runtime: N/A Never Rarely Sometimes Always Official stills & photos 10 more Never Rarely Sometimes Always Plot: What's the story? The story focuses on two teenage girls in rural Pennsylvania. Faced with an unintended pregnancy and a lack of local support, Autumn and her cousin Skylar embark on a brave, fraught journey across state lines to New York City. Poll: Will you see Never Rarely Sometimes Always? Never Rarely Sometimes Always Cast: Who are the actors? Film Details & Notes: What do we know about Never Rarely Sometimes Always? The film was developed by BBC Films who also co-financed production alongside Tango Entertainment and Mutressa Movies. Executive producers are Rose Garnett for BBC Films, Tim Headington and Lia Buman for Tango Entertainment, Elika Portnoy and Alex Orlovsky for Mutressa Movies. Crew and Production Credits: Who's making Never Rarely Sometimes Always? A look at the Never Rarely Sometimes Always behind-the-scenes crew and production team. The film's director Eliza Hittman last directed Beach Rats. The film's writer Eliza Hittman last wrote Beach Rats. Producers Sara Murphy Adele Romanski Never Rarely Sometimes Always Trailers & Videos Production Timeline: When did the Never Rarely Sometimes Always come together? On or about December 29, 2019 • The film was in Completed status. On or about April 15, 2019 • The film was in Post-Production status. Never Rarely Sometimes Always Release Date: When is it coming out? Never Rarely Sometimes Always is coming out in 2020 on Friday, March 13, 2020 and will be released in nationwide movie theaters. There are 7 other movies coming out on the same date, including The Hunt, Bloodshot and My Spy. Coming Soon (27 days to go! ) Add to Google Calendar United States March 13, 2020 Nationwide Canada March 13, 2020 Questions: Frequently Asked About Never Rarely Sometimes Always.

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If Lois Lane and Jim Gordon are facing each other, I'm in for this because it looks pretty good. Wow Im not sure anyone should assume children are safe alone on a beach, even if you exclude human predators. *NEW* Amazing screensavers for Android TV, Mobile & Tablet Devices. We have a set of beautiful screensavers that will give your boring screen a little bit of the wow factor. Choose from Nature, Entertainment & Sport for Android TV & Mobile and Tablet devices. The 4K Screensavers will produce amazing images to show off your screen upto a 4k resolution. Our very latest Quiz Screensaver has images upto 1080p and is designed to boggle your brain. GET YOUR FREE SCREENSAVERS HERE Disclaimer - This is a news site. All the information listed here is to be found on the web elsewhere. We do not host, upload or link to any video, films, media file, live streams etc. Kodiapps is not responsible for the accuracy, compliance, copyright, legality, decency, or any other aspect of the content streamed to/from your device. We are not connected to or in any other way affiliated with Kodi, Team Kodi, or the XBMC Foundation. We provide no support for third party add-ons installed on your devices, as they do not belong to us. It is your responsibility to ensure that you comply with all your regional legalities and personal access rights regarding any streams to be found on the web. If in doubt, do not use. Full disclaimer and DMCA information - click here.
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A This review is part of our Sundance 2020 coverage. The Pitch: When we first meet 17-year-old Pittsburgh teen Autumn ( Sidney Flanigan), she’s singing in a high school talent show. She has a golden voice but is stymied by a dude heckling her in the bleachers. “Slut! ” he calls her. Once we see how other boys torment her, her downcast, withdrawn attitude, and the slight bump on her stomach, we get a good idea of what’s going on even before she goes into a clinic: she’s pregnant. What’s more, she doesn’t want it. Her local resources are of no help: the Pittsburgh clinic she goes to turns out to be one of those Christian pregnancy centers that scare women into not aborting (and even lie to her about her baby’s progress so getting an abortion will be harder), and the state requires parental consent for an abortion. So, with the help of her supportive cousin Skylar ( Talia Ryder) and some stolen money from their scuzzy manager, the two take a long trip to New York to get the abortion there. Right to Life:  2017’s  Beach Rats proved director Eliza Hittman ’s uncanny gift for observation, both it and  Never Rarely feeling more anthropological than strictly narrative. There, Hittman probed deeply into the anxieties of a gay teenager stifling against the rigid confines of toxic masculinity: here, she turns her eye to the modern anxieties of abortion in America. It’s pure kitchen-sink realism from start to finish; the score is sparse, if it’s there at all, and DP Hélène Louvart sells the fluorescent coldness of doctor’s offices and crowded Greyhound buses. She wants you to live in Autumn’s anguished, nerve-wracking world, and the results are revelatory. It helps, of course, that Hittman has such a fascinating, mercurial subject to turn her camera towards. This is somehow Flanigan’s first on-screen role, which is a miracle considering what she pulls off here. She’s cagey and far from forthcoming, even in the abortion clinic questionnaires that give the film its title. “I’m okay” is her mantra, squeaked out from under downcast eyes; her life is clearly a heavy burden, one marked with the scars of emotional and sexual abuse. That we can figure this out even before it comes up in the script is a testament to the power she and HIttman can eke out without an inch of melodrama. Ryder also shines, beaming with unconditional sisterly support, even as there are certain aspects of Autumn’s experiences she can’t fully understand. Are Men Okay?  Never Rarely Sometimes Always is also a film about maleness — in the most grippingly caustic way possible. There isn’t a single “good man” in the film: her father ( Ryan Eggold) is a crass, uncaring jerk (he even calls his dog a ‘slut’), and her manager forces his female coworkers to let him kiss their hand when they hand him their drawers at the end of their shift. A pushy fellow bus passenger ( Théodore Pellerin) ropes them into hanging out in New York so he can push himself on Skylar, which they reluctantly agree to in a moment of desperation. To a more jaundiced eye, this can seem cartoonish and unrealistic: surely #NotAllMen are like that, right? But then you remember that, a lot of times, we really can be, and Hittman’s refusal to let us off the hook becomes one of the film’s braver choices. Never Rarely is, at its heart, a film about the prison of patriarchy, whether in interactions or institutions, and Hittman nails the threat level women often feel when in situations with men, especially ones they don’t know. The Verdict:  It’s easy for opponents of abortion to demonize young women as “sluts”, or irresponsible, or lazy; those perspectives end up de-centering and dehumanizing the pregnant person themselves. Never Rarely is a sobering, unflinching rejoinder to that perspective, intense but humanistic in equal measure. It’s not an easy watch, to be sure; moments will make you weep, especially two close shots of women holding hands that bookend Autumn’s abortion experience. But the glory of Hittman’s film is in finding those moments of beauty among the brutal silences, and the magnetic grace that can be found in a person’s most difficult days.

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Movie stream never rarely sometimes always movie trailer. Rear Window on steroids. Movie stream never rarely sometimes always imdb. Chichi and her father 🤣🤣🤣 Lovely episode. Cho so dt di e. Please note: This post will be lenghty. I read that the typing will be more accurate if I elaborate my answers. Please use the Jungian Cognitive Functions (Si, Se, Ni, Ne, Ti, Te, Fi, Fe) instead of the simplified ones (I/E, N/S, T/F, P/J). If you want to use the simplified ones it's okay as long as you use the Jungian Cognitive Functions too. The questions: How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself. I am a 16-year-old female. I know I am too young to have a definitive type but I don't want to wait until my 30's! I want to find out at least by dominant function. For as long as I remember I have always been curious, imaginative and very sensitive. When I was a child I loved science, particularly biology. I was into geography and arts too. I was very imaginative, to the point even other children thought I was immature (especially after I turned 9). I used to listen to the adults' conversation, even if that was about topics kids often find tedious like politics and the adults' personal lives. But I wanted to play with other kids too! I wanted to fit in and make friends, which was hard to me because other kids thought I was strange, immature and too sensitive. I was too sensitive to pain and got offended easily, so I cried almost every single day at school. Nowadays I am still very curious and imaginative, but I've got filters. I am not interested in learning anything like before: I prefer to have few fields of interest and study them in depht. My imagination is way more grounded on reality now. When I write a story I make sure all the dots are logically and coherently connected without leaving any logical inconsistence and try to make the events as realistic as possible. I may even do a research in medical sites to write more realistic character deaths and search for psychology/psychiatry articles to write characters with mental disorders more accurately. I am not as sensitive as I was as a child, but I'm still very sensitive. I've learned to put my feelings aside when necessary and keep them to myself, what causes people to perceive me as cold and emotionally inexpressive. Is there a medical diagnosis that may impact your mental stability somehow? No. Well, I was diagnosed with autism one year ago but the diagnosis was proven wrong because I used to fool mental health professionals. Three years ago I was diagnosed with depression and agoraphobia, but now I'm completely recovered. I am a HSP (Highly Sensitive Person). Describe your upbringing. Did you have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it? Yes, I was raised in a all-christian family. My childhood attending to church and following the christian principles was just fine, however, in the beggining of my teenage years, I started fearing being sent straight to hell because I wasn't an example of a christian. When I heard a loud noise and couldn't define what caused it I thought it was Jesus Christ coming back to punish the sinners (including me). Pretty stupid, don't you think? About one year ago, I declared myself an atheist after lots of research and reflexion. You could argue that it makes me agnostic, not atheist. I never truly felt the presence of God or believed on him, I was just being ruled by fear of the unknown, uncertainty and the influence of others.  Anyway, my parents were very accepting of my decision. I still go to church with them to make them happy. I've got to listen to spiritual bullshit just once a week, so why not? If you had to spend and entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed? An entire weekend all by myself? Without having to go to school, with money to go to the movies and do some shopping? With accounts in the best streaming services, lots of books, a ps4 and a Xbox? I'm in! Well, I would feel both refreshed and lonely. I am used to have my family around most of the time, so after maybe 3 days I would miss some social interaction. What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities? I like to read, write, draw, play video games, listen to music and watch movies and series. I am good at sports but don't participate because at school we only have team sports. How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please elaborate? I am curious about things that are in my fields of interest. I see no point in learning absolutely anything, I learn just what I think may be useful on the future. To be honest, saying I learn just what will be useful is more of an attempt to justify my bad grades at school rather than an actual fact. I hate having to learn things compulsorily. I'm interested in psychology, biology, philosophy and sociology. I frequently wonder what is real, if things are what they seem and if there is such thing as "right" and "wrong". These questions only lead to more questions and are mostly inconclusive, but I'm okay with that. Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be? Well, I'm not sure. Having to fulfill the needs of my subordinates, being responsible by their actions, constantly worrying about the possibility of someone planning to drag me down... I think I could be good at it. Everyone can be good at anything if they need to be. A bad/irresponsible/incompetent leader isn't what people need nor want, so I would have to learn how to be a competent leader. My leadership style would be democratic. I would do what most people want and if it went wrong I could always use the "you made me do this" card. Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity? Nope. I have to be careful with my movements to not mess things up. Counting money and managing papers is embarassing because I have trouble controlling my hands. I like drawing and writing. I enjoy playing around with paint, glue, clay and colored pencils, albeit I'm not an exceptional artist. Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particular artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forums of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer. I do what I call "I'm bored and need to do something" art. I am more artistically productive during my breaks from school and enjoy trying different art styles. My favorite artworks are the ones that take days to finish. I have an especial admiration for the neoclassical and pop arts. Arts is one of my favorite school subjects. What's your opinion about the past, the present and the future? How do you deal with them? My opinion is that the past is important because we are made from it and the present is necessary to build the future. But it's not what I do... I despise how we may let the past blind us to the present and the future. The present fools us to believe things will never change and we'll not regret anything. The future is untrustworthy because of its unpredictability. Living just in one of them is a stupid thing to do. I try to not get stuck in any of them. But sometimes what I do in the present feels so meaningless and the past so useless that I use the future and my goals as a motivation to carry on. How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so? Someone asked my help and I can help them, so why not? Do you need logical consistency in your life? Well, kind of. My life needs some logical consistency but it's not all about logic. I'm not the one to do everything based on logic. The best example of this is how I know which is the most logical choice yet I choose what I want instead. Doing everything based on logic makes me feel trapped in a code just like a robot and doing everything based on feelings makes me feel like I'm walking on eggshells as I know there's a good chance of regretting this decision later. However I don't know if I make decisions based more on logic or feelings. For some reason I just know A is better than B. But I noticed that, when I make a decision based on logic, I tend to think I'll not be able to explain it, but everything makes sense once I write my motives down or talk them out loud. How important is efficiency and productivity to you? Very important. I am a perfectionist, so making mistakes makes me feel disappointed at myself. I dislike doing nothing for long periods of time, it feels like I'm wasting time and without any new achievements I feel useless and stupid and existential boredom hits me hard. Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that? I control people without even realising it, making them agree with me through twisted logic and their own beliefs. If I said you I have no idea of what I do it'd be a lie, I know I am somewhat manipulative. It became so natural to me that I no longer feel I am doing it until I realise it afterwards. How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go? I am pretty good at strategizing. I don't know how to explain exactly how but usually I have a mental imagery of what it will be like, not very detailed. I am open to improvisation as I know things may not turn out as I expect them to. I don't get surprised when things go off of the rails because I somehow know it might happen. What are your hobbies? Why do you like them? I listen to music, watch YouTube videos and search for random things on Google. I listen to music to escape this boring world and provoke emotions. I can learn a lot from YouTube videos. When I was suffering from depression and agoraphobia I developed a strong hatred towards people and watching to people on YouTube helped me to overcome this. I can learn anything on google. I'll use politics as an example. Google helps me to get to people from the right and the left to analyze each one's point of view about, let's suppose, something Donald Trump did. I can also use google to search for theories about my favorite games and movies and to understand why is my cat the way he is. What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses? I don't know what my learning style is. I struggle with boring classes with boring schoolwork and boring subjects. I dislike when the subject is all about memorization and categorization. Idiot kids making noise and talking shit don't help me to concentrate either as I'm very sensitive to sounds. For a long time (since 5th grade) I had terribly low grades at school and had trouble concentrating, but no one had ever suspected it was because of the noise until the end of 2018, when I noticed I felt so much better when my loudest classmates didn't attend class. At the beginning of 2019 I got moved to a much quieter class and my grades improved significantly. I wish I found it out before to avoid further loss. I prefer activities involving creativity and analysis, like interpretation. You can share whatever idea you have if you interpret the text correctly. Writing essays is also fun as I enjoy making original essays out of generic and boring subjects. What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally? Professionally I can't tell exactly. Personally I crave a life of freedom and independency. I know in real life people can't really be free, that's the price of living in a society, but I crave at least the freedom to follow my own way. I don't want to live my life like a conformist rule follower. What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why? I fear losing my ambition and becoming a conformist. I know it'll eventually happen but I don't want it to happen before I achieve my goals, otherwise I'll live as a frustrated adult. I feel uncomfortable when people push me to socialize. However they have a point: without being pushed I would probably never socialize. When I'm debating with someone and they push the ad hominem fallacy. In case you don't know, ad hominem fallacy is when someone attacks their opponent personally instead of attacking their argument(s). The reason why it's so annoying is that they can't refutate your argument yet think they are superior. Let's suppose that there are two men, David and John. David and John have opposing points of view about, let's suppose, politics. They decide to discuss their points of view. John has a very convincing argument and David feels upset about not being able to refutate Jonh's argument, at least not in the moment. Then, David has to belittle John to not feel affected by the fact that Jonh has a good point. A silly and cheap defence mechanism used by the delusional and those with fragile ego. Small talk shall be avoided at any cost. I am a loner as every conversation you have in school is small talk. My closest friends understand it, that's why I almost always prefer their company. Interruptions. What makes me uncomfortable isn't the interruption itself, but the effort necessary to hide my annoyance and try to not to be rude. I never liked the idea of the kids being the continuity of the parents' lives, including their beliefs. Once I read an article of a left-wing woman saying she feared her children would grow up to become right-wing. Parents sometimes believe so hard their children are the continuity of their lives they end up forgetting their children are independent beings, sometimes with radically different mindsets. If this woman feels so bothered by the thought of her children becoming different from her and having a different opinion, maybe she isn't ready to be a mother. Cheap romances. Ew, so cheesy! I hate self-righteousness. Seriously, who are those people to judge someone? Their lives are so meaningless they need to bitch about other people's lives to feel better. They often have a sense of superior moral and an inflated ego and that's why they are so toxic. What do the "highs" in your life look like? I can think well about my decisions and focus on my tasks. I am not impulsive and can assess the consequences of my behavior and actions. I am empathetic and accepting, albeit not outwardly showing emotions. What do the "lows" in your life look like? I am impulsive and unfocused. I am mean and neglecting to others for no reason. I act self-centered and lack empathy. I become extremely judgemental of others. I become obsessed with things and people, losing touch with reality, setting unrealistic goals and forcing myself to do something I enjoy until it becomes torture (e. g. playing a videogame to exaustion, waking up too early in the morning to continue playing it and skipping nights of sleep or having poor sleep). This is the way I acted when my mental health was in its worst. How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so? I don't often daydream but am not completely grounded on reality. I must be somewhere in between. I live in the moment and pay attention to what happens around me, while I work on my ideas internally without losing track of my tasks. Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about? About that question of an IQ test I got wrong one year ago, how it affected my score and after one year I found out the right answer, if it is raining outside, what would I do in case of a nuclear apocalypse, if violent criminals deserve empathy, the alternative endings of Avengers: Endgame, if all the theories I've read about my favorite movies and videogames make sense, etc. How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it? I usually make important decisions as quick as possible to avoid an unnecessarily long periods of stress and anxiety. I may change my mind once I've made it, but if I take more time to think I'll change my mind anyway! How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life? I can't tell exactly how long I take to process my emotions, I don't feel the process. Emotions are important to me but sometimes I wish they weren't there, like in difficult decisions. I have good self-control so even if I feel them strongly I probably won't act stupidly, but I wish they just weren't there in these situations, it'd be much more easier. When I'm dealing with a manipulative person and I know it, I wish I didn't feel pity for them as I know they are trying to fool me. On the other hand not feeling anything isn't a good sensation either, I've been in anti-depressants and that's how they made me feel. Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why? Someone wants to talk to me and interrupting them makes me feel like I'm being rude. If they have interesting information to share I keep the conversation going so that they'll share more information. Sometimes I have no good reason to keep the conversation going, but if I'm uninterested I can just pretend I'm listening (it works amazingly with talkative people). I don't do any of these often as I'm not used to chat with people. Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why? I rarely break rules. Authority should be challenged because they are human too and we shouldn't by any means let them feel like they are demigods. We have to stand against them when they are doing something wrong. If I break rules perhaps I think they make no sense, are abusive or unnecessary.

 

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• Correspondent - Colette Moran
• Resume: Pro-life feminist, mom of 6 girls and their little brother, contributor for