Semeru Eruption Today (04.12.2021)

2021.12.04 22:56 Keplergamer Semeru Eruption Today (04.12.2021)

Semeru Eruption Today (04.12.2021) submitted by Keplergamer to stabbot [link] [comments]


2021.12.04 22:56 epic_dude1989 if theres anyone that got covid recently and lost their senses of taste and smell, parosmia is 1000 times worse

im experiencing it right now and apparently i will be for 3-6 months. (according to a quick google search). everything smells terrible. some things taste bad and some are so bad they are basically inedible. i love beef, but you know what? no. no beef. i can't eat that anymore. the taste is so incredibly bad. i've figured out so far that beef and salmon are not good, they have the same taste but all other meats seem fine but everything has the same terrible smell.
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2021.12.04 22:56 Hydrocarp69 The Greater Threat

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2021.12.04 22:56 fortunefavorsthedead The parasite feeds on fear. I may not be contagious, but I am not cured. . .(pt 2)

read part 1 here:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/r8ew90/the_parasite_feeds_on_fear_i_may_not_be/
- - -
It was a warm spring day when I first learned to ride my bike without training wheels. My grandfather took me to the top of a gentle green hill near our house. He brought a bag of skittles with him, to spur my courage. I must have been five years old. I stood straddling my bike, my feet planted firmly on the ground, looking down the easy hill, but refusing to push off.
"Don't be a wuss," grandpa said with a wink. He had a jolly, carefree face. Twinkling eyes. "Falling on grass doesn't even hurt! It's nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid," I said.
"No?"
All I could hear was the occasional chirp of a bird, or some dog barking in the distance. But I began to notice a low inhuman mumbling, growing gradually louder. In the distance stood a shadowy figure, his tall lanky body twisting and twitching, contorting in ways that looked not only disturbing, but incredibly painful. The feverish mumbling seemed to be coming from him.
"Do you hear that?" grandpa asked.
I looked up at him. He was ageing rapidly. Withering a year per second. His eyes were clouding over. He looked fretful and confused, as he had during his final days. He lay down on the grass and gazed up at me with blank unseeing eyes.
"Who's there?" he barked.
I looked down at him where he lay on a hospital bed. The heart monitor beeped, beeped. This view was familiar, this scene. I was trapped in a memory. The painful memory of my grandfather's last moments, which culminated in his disturbing last words. It was something I had tried to forget these past few years--apparently, in vain.
"It's me gramps," I said.
He tugged against his restraints. "Why the hell can't I move? What's going on?"
"You're in the hospital, grandpa," I said. "You kept taking out your IV, so they had to use straps."
"What's that noise?" he barked.
He looked blindly around. One of the dark entities loomed at the head of his bed, twitching, muttering.
"What noise?" I asked.
"I don't like it."
"What noise, grandpa?" I asked. "What do you hear?"
I looked up and noticed his heart rate steadily increasing on the monitor. I strode over to the door and poked my head into the hallway: "Can I get a nurse in here? Hello? I need a nurse!" I strode back to his bedside and grabbed his cold hand.
"You need to calm down, grandpa," I said, trying to soothe him. "Everything is okay."
An alarm was sounding from the monitor, now. His heart was beating too rapidly. He was peering around with intense agitation. More of the dark entities were suddenly materializing, filling up the room, muttering in unison, twitching, contorting. The air trembled with their guttural croaks. Yet I seemed not to notice them. I was focused on my grandfather.
"They're going to take me away," he wheezed.
"You just need to relax."
The entities stood shoulder to shoulder in the room, overlapping everyone, everything, all of them facing my grandfather, muttering excitedly, croaking, almost bouncing and vibrating. The sight made me sick with fear, though, consistent with my memory, I didn't act as if I noticed them.
"That's why they're here," grandpa babbled. "They're going to take me away."
"It'll be okay!" I sobbed.
He looked into my eyes. It was as if he had suddenly regained his sight. His pupils were huge. His countenance bespoke absolute terror. Then he spoke his final words: "I've never been so afraid."
Two nurses rushed in as the heart-rate monitor droned with a long, unwavering beep. He was gone.
The room grew silent. All the entities faced me. They stared at me as if out of the void. I was paralyzed. Their dark forms began growing larger, overwhelming the room, overwhelming everything, until I stood in absolute darkness of their being, as if standing in the unwrinkled blackness of the Nothing itself.
The pristine silence was deafening.
I cannot say I was floating, for I eventually felt a floor of smooth stone beneath my feet. Yet the place nevertheless gave me an impression similar to floating, because of how little there was to sense or experience. Sightless, soundless darkness, without blemish or stitch. I fancied I was in an underground chamber immense beyond all imagining, larger and older than the universe itself.
"Hello?" I called into the void. "Hello?"
I fell to my hands and knees so I could feel around, even crawl. I wanted to explore this cold limbo with supreme caution, lest walking I blindly step over some unseen ledge and plummet through a chasmic abyss. But as I crawled along the smooth stone floor, I did not meet any ledges, nor did I find a single imperfection in the floor.
Gradually, I quickened my pace. Having no real sense of direction, I could have been crawling in a perfectly straight line, or in tight circles, or nowhere at all, as if on some silent treadmill. It would have made little difference, however. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to find or bump into. There was only more of the same cool floor stretching infinitely in every direction.
It is difficult to do justice to the strange sensation, given the brevity of this account; but it truly seemed to me then, and still does to me now, that I was trapped in that chamber of darkness for centuries. Sometimes I lay down and rested, though never managing to fall asleep. Other times I stood up and sprinted through the abysmal shadows as if hoping to meet the end I had previously took tremendous care to avoid. But there was nothing new to encounter. Only more of the same smooth floor and unblemished darkness.
Without anything to mark my progress by, my own thoughts and feelings became my only means of measuring one moment against another, this state against the next. As my thoughts grew hazier, more amorphous and jumbled, I completely lost track of time.
I also began to lose track of my identity. My memories began to seem like fabrications. My fears and fantasies seemed only slightly more real. My inner world was a roil of confusion and instability--my psyche a sea of shifting black waters. The only enduring coordinate in my possession was a growing sense of emptiness, a profound and persistent kind of existential dread.
Eventually I was conscious only of the fact that I was an accidental blip in that immense and empty realm--the one and only flaw in the perfect stillness and silence of which it was composed. I was not supposed to be there. I was not not supposed to be there, either. My presence was irrelevant, if it was even a presence at all. I was less than a spectre, less than the smoke of a fire that burned in a dead man's dream. I had never existed, and never would. I was nothing, had always been nothing, and always would be nothing.
When a man suffers from some particular ailment for a long time, he may begin imagining other ailments preferable. A man suffering a week-long headache, for instance, may wish he could trade his headache for a flu, or a broken bone. Similarly, I found myself wishing I could could exchange that feeling of emptiness, of total insubstantiality, for anything else--even fear. At least fear was vital. It seared like a cut. It was real. It was something rather than nothing, impelling one toward survival, spurring one to fight the fear or to fly it. Fear thereby implied that life was worth preserving--worth fighting for, worth flying to. Better that than this eternal stasis of negation, this ghastly consciousness of being essentially not.
Better fear.
The darkness trembled with that terrible alien croak and my empty soul iced over. In an instant, I recognized the foolishness of my wish. Anything was better than fear, even Nothingness.
Like a hunted animal, I frantically scanned for the source of the sound.
It was then I noticed the place had grown brighter--an eerie glow emanated from the architecture itself--so I could finally make out the lineaments of the chamber. It was a colossal room--not infinite, as I had mistakenly believed--but impossibly large, built for creatures of unfathomable size; beings whose heads would brush against the clouds were they to stalk upon our Earth in their true forms. I felt like an insect gazing up at the distant ceiling, which was made of the same black stone upon which I stood--the same burnished black stone of which the walls, standing miles apart from one another, were made.
But though half of the gigantic chamber was now dimly visible, the other half remained shrouded by a wall of shadow. I could see nothing in that direction no matter how hard I squinted. It was only when I followed the wall of shadow upwards with my gaze that I realized horrible truth. It was one of those things standing before me, so large and wide and monstrously tall that I had mistaken it for a sprawling shadowy veil.
I fell to my knees to beg at the feet of this sublimely terrifying god. "Please!" I cried. "Please! Let me go free or let me die!"
The ground trembled as the colossal dark deity gibbered in its black and malevolent tongue. It spoke slower than the others, and spoke directly to me, as if bent on communicating some inhuman truth which could only be transmitted between its race and ours in this awful place, and only after having prepared the human recipient in just the way I had been prepared--by being emptied of all sense of time and self, all hopes and dreams and desires, left only a whimpering puddle of despair and fear.
For a moment, I felt on the cusp of grasping the meaning of its sinister croaks. I could nearly comprehend the terrible cosmic truth the tortured god wished to share. But I suddenly decided to close my self off to the dark tendrils worming farther into my mind. I decided to reject its dubious gift, for I sensed that gleaning even a sliver of that terrible wisdom would have utterly destroyed my soul.
The dark god seemed to understand, for soon after I closed my mind, it ceased muttering, and the tendrils retreated from my mind. Then the entity stretched its long gaunt arm down to where I kneeled. I closed my eyes, and was surprised to feel a flicker of perverse joy. Soon it would be over! The fear, the confusion, the hollow dread! The hateful god was merciful after all! Soon it would annihilate me in the eternal darkness and silence of its fatal grasp!
When I opened my eyes, I found myself kneeling on the filthy floor of a bright cell. A dog whimpered behind me, and an old man sat in a chair on the other side of a glass pane, watching me intensely. It took me some moments to recall where I was and why I was there. It felt like millennia since I'd last gazed upon our mortal world, or seen the face of my unhinged captor.
"What was that place?" I finally managed to murmur.
Kohler jolted up in his chair and leaned close to the glass. "Ian? Can you hear me? Are you with me again? . .What place, Ian? Where did they take you? What did they say?"
"A huge stone room." My voice was miniscule. It trembled. I was weak. On the verge of death. "Like a giant cathedral. It was horrible. I was trapped there for lifetimes. It was empty inside, so empty, until--."
"What did they tell you?" he demanded. "What did the dark ones say?"
"I couldn't understand," I whimpered. "I didn't want to understand."
"Didn't what?" Kohler asked incredulously. "Didn't want to understand? But you could have? You were capable of understanding, but you didn't want to?" The old man's face was twitching with furious disbelief. He was trying to burn me alive with his hateful glare. "You must go back!" he cried. "While there's still time! Before your sensitivity wanes! The symbiont will not hold the door open forever. Do you understand? You must go back!"
"I can't go back."
"I'll kill you!" the dwarfish man raged. "I'll kill you! Now close your eyes, or. . .Damn!" He smacked the glass in frustration. "Damn you! Damn! . .You'll never leave this farm, Ian. I'll murder you myself and bury you in the dirt. You must go back! You must communicate with them, and. . .Damn!"
But I would have preferred death to returning, so I walked to the back of the cell and slumped in the corner, facing the opposite wall.
- - -
The next hours were toilsome. I had come back from my journey through that benighted otherworld mortally exhausted; yet it would require no small amount of energy, of willpower, to keep from sliding back into the abyss.
I would catch flashes of the entities in the corners of my vision, and force myself to look away. I would hear their dreaded mumbles beside my ears, and hum forcefully to myself till the mumbles ceased. I experienced a number of other vestigial effects--vivid and nightmarish hallucinations; sudden bursts of fear, of dread. And when I recalled certain difficult times in my life, I was disturbed to find my memories altered, infested with the dark entities, as my memory of my grandfather's last moments had been. But unlike before, I was now able to detach from these phenomena--to prevent myself from being seduced by them and dragged back into the hellish psychomachia. I focused on my presence in the here and now, combatting the parasite's insidious invitations into madness and the dark realm by repeating to myself the following mantra: "It's a bug. They're side effects of a bug. You just need to relax and get some medication to kill it. Everything will go back to normal."
All the while, Kohler vented his fury at me from the other side of the glass, hurling threats and insults, which then turned to desperate pleas.
Eventually, I grew strong and clear-headed enough to sit by the suffering collie. I gently stroked his fur and cooed to him. In time, he, too, began slowly to emerge from the horrors in which he'd been immersed, spending progressively more time present, with his pupils at regular sizes.
"You're killing them," Kohler complained. "The symbionts can't last in such conditions. They feed on adrenaline, on unstable energies. They need their hosts' fear to survive. . .I know there is no convincing you to venture on. But that mutt could feed his symbiont for another week without your intervention. Canines lack our rationality. Our ability to fight against our own feelings and thoughts. That why we use them to keep the flame alive, between human participants. . .If you don't let them work on this dog, I'll have to bring in a fresh canine, to keep them alive. Do you want to be responsible for that? Do you want another innocent animal to go through what this one went through? Wouldn't it be kinder to let this one venture back? To let the broken stay broken, and allow the unbroken to be happy another few days, even weeks?"
I continued to ignore him and stroked the fur of the poor dog whose head now lay in my lap. Perhaps he was right, in a utilitarian sense, that it would be better to give his next victim a few extra days of happiness, before turning him into the torch that would keep the ghastly "flame" of these pataphysical parasites alive. But I wouldn't play Kohler's games, and I wouldn't let this pup suffer any more than he already had if I could prevent it.
Eventually, the air-locked door opened and Kohler led a new collie into the cell. Behind him stood the tall man, wearing his hazmat suit, holding a shotgun at the ready. At first, I feared he was going to use the weapon to follow through with Kohler's homicidal threats. But after some moments I realized the gun was merely to dissuade me from trying to burst through the open cell door.
An unnecessary precaution. I wouldn't have dared an escape attempt, even if the sickly and aged Kohler were the only one blocking my path. Maybe in a few hours, or days, when the parasites hiving in my brain were good and dead. For now, I was not ready for freedom. Too many shadowy entities still lurked in the corridor, faintly muttering, coaxing my my spirit back to their sightless, joyless realm.
I won't go into detail about the new collie's disturbing descent into terror. Suffice it to say, the infestation quickly overtook her brain and mind. I did all I could by continuing to soothe and pet my own pooch, thereby preventing him from being carried by those currents of craziness back into the ocean of shadows in which he would otherwise drown.
I feared how vulnerable unconsciousness would leave me to the influences I'd spent so much effort fighting against. As such, I tried to stay vigilant, awake. But exhaustion was overtaking me, as it had my collie, who began to snore peacefully in my lap. I started to nod, only to jolt awake--sometimes to the sound of the new dog pacing about nervously, or yelping and staring in fright at some shadow whose form I could only dimly perceive. But I eventually lost the battle, and fell into a deep slumber.
I awoke at dawn, lying on the very park bench on which Miss J and the tall man had found me. Recalling the night's bizarre and horrific events, my initial thought was that they had been some kind of vivid nightmare, perhaps even the first symptoms of hereditary schizophrenia, the distressing illness that had brought my father low. Believing the whole thing had been my own personal hallucination would have made it easier to bear. I would rather be insane, suffering a lifetime of wholly-personal terrors, than know that such strange realms exist, along with such frightening entities, who maintain such disturbing and inexplicable connections to humanity. But the black-and-white border collie sleeping at my feet, beneath the bench, confounded my attempts to deny the reality. So too did the manilla envelope Kohler had left in my backpack, which contained a note that read as follows:
Ian,
I have treated you and the canine with a special anti-parasitic, to destroy the symbionts in your organisms. As such, I do not believe either of you remain infested. Nevertheless, you might do well to practice distancing procedures for a few days, unless you wish to be the source of the symbiont's spread among the public at large.
Should you muse about regaling the authorities with any wild and impossible tales, consider how credible they will view you as a source, and consider also the lengths to which I am willing to go to in order to keep my operation from unsympathetic scrutiny. Know that we will continue to monitor you just as closely ever before.
Enclosed is $10,000 cash, rewarding you for your participation, as well as for your forthcoming silence. Do not consider it a bribe, and do not consider your silence as complicity in something inherently wrong. You and the dog live because I am a moral person. You hold the money I promised because I am a man of my word. And if your silence is complicity in anything, it is complicity in cutting-edge research into the fundamental nature of reality--research which even you must admit is significant and groundbreaking, regardless of your personal aversions to the means by which it is conducted, and the phenomena on which it trains its lens.
If I may, I would like to use this opportunity to leave with you some solid advice. Do not try to retrace your steps in order to locate my facility. Do not obsess over your unusual experiences, asking questions of yourself and others to which there are no answers. Do not brood and go mad. Instead, use this money to turn over a new leaf, to reenter hustle and bustle of the mundane world. Live a normal life. Try to consign last night's experiences to oblivion. Forget and repress. And if that fails, make a mockery of your memories, as you might a child's bad dreams.
I wish you would have availed yourself of your opportunity more fully, and ventured farther into the unknown--for your sake, for mine, and for all of mankind's. Since you did not, I can only wish that you and the canine find good fortune in the days, months and years to come.
Dr. K
The stack of money was hefty. It certainly looked like ten grand in cash, split between twenties, fifties and hundreds. It was far more than I had expected to receive when the pair first approached me with their "opportunity". More importantly, it was enough to start to turn my life around.
So I did. I followed Kohler's suggestions to the best of my abilities. I rented a cheap apartment that allowed dogs. I showered, shaved, and got a haircut. I bought new clothes. And after a few months of pounding the pavement, I managed to secure an entry-level government position, from which I have since been promoted twice. All the while, I kept my experiences to myself.
Perhaps my readers will consider my long silence cowardly, or immoral. After all, it has been four years since that fateful night, and I have no doubt that in the interim additional hard-up people were been seduced by Kohler's goons, and forced to endure the same captivity and psychic torture I underwent. Perhaps, my readers will claim, I could have prevented their suffering by speaking out. Perhaps such critics are correct. I can only say that not everyone is a hero. Sometimes a man must focus on himself, despite his awareness of the terrible things transpiring around him.
I am only telling this story now, and for the first time, because last week I saw Kohler's face in the obituary, though the notice referred to him by a different name. He was described as a former professor of neuroscience, with a hobbyist's interest in the occult practices and beliefs of ancient civilizations. He died of a massive heart attack, and is survived by a son and a daughter.
Even though Kohler is gone, I am certain the "flame" of the symbionts will not die with him. Moreover, I am certain the dark entities will continue inhabiting the dark realms overlapping our own. After all, I still catch glimpses of them in my waking life, to say nothing of the way they've infested my memories and dreams.
I may not be contagious anymore. But I am not cured. I am not cured.
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2021.12.04 22:56 Shut_off_valve Yet Another Democratic House Member Has Announced He's Retiring, and This Time It's a Committee Chairman

Yet Another Democratic House Member Has Announced He's Retiring, and This Time It's a Committee Chairman submitted by Shut_off_valve to soundsaboutright [link] [comments]


2021.12.04 22:56 CryptoDexNFT The first 20 who buy the "Crypto Lady 2072" will get another nft for free! LINK IN COMMENTS

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2021.12.04 22:56 AmunPharaoh I think maybe this belongs here

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2021.12.04 22:56 Dabpenking typhlosion on me adding 10 don’t leave 8925 6676 8864

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2021.12.04 22:56 AnomalousNormality77 What's the pettiest thing you've ever done?

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2021.12.04 22:56 KryptoDog117 Gotta live those hackers🤣🤣

Just made over 68 Millions Saitama in reflection during the sell from hackers. Total value just over $3 🤑🤑🤣🤣🤣
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2021.12.04 22:56 Inra_ new upload :D

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2021.12.04 22:56 RolphTV_YT [spoilers ep7] Does anyone know the name of the song playing while Ekko fights Jinx?

I looked for some time now and i still wasn't able to figure out what this amazing song was called. Can somebody help me out here?
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2021.12.04 22:56 philloJR15 Any improvements ?

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2021.12.04 22:56 OkReply8937 Just saw Grant Chang in The Great Leap

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2021.12.04 22:56 imageingrunge the property tax on my royal family's castle

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2021.12.04 22:56 Evoqu_ xQc Has Already Cracked His Car's Windshield

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2021.12.04 22:56 Slick13666 There is confusion..

So I have a 5" FM9, which I love, but I noticed something odd recently.. They claim it to be a 5" barrel with a 5.5" rail, but the rail is a full 1.5" longer than the barrel.. I roughly measured the barrel this evening and from the very end of the barrel inside the upper, to the end of the threads for the muzzle device measures right around 4.25-4.3-ish inches... is this normal for 9mm barrels? I know the barrel on my rifles measure true to their 16" designation..
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2021.12.04 22:56 Abared Anyone else feel like the balance of the morphing grid is getting more fucked by the writing.

We are dangerously getting into Speed Force levels of bullshit.
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2021.12.04 22:56 capsiclee best way to sell a photo op ticket?

i have a jenmish photo op for vegascon 2022 that i need to sell. i can’t afford to go to vegas, i don’t know what made me think i could but now i have to sell it. i can’t find any fb groups for vegas con so does anyone know the best way to find someone to sell it to? please lmk
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2021.12.04 22:56 ThisFooRollsD20s Spare ticket to tonight show.

Bought a 4 pack for tonight's show at the house of blues in Anaheim but 1 of my buds hit me up last minute says they can't make it. Letting it go for $30. Thinks $48 online and like $60+ if you buy at the door. Let me know if you're down, an I'll see you there homies.
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2021.12.04 22:56 6iix9ineJr Someone get my noose

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2021.12.04 22:56 Theuncreativereddit i did a bingo

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2021.12.04 22:56 StrikerObi Veterinarian Recommendations

Just moved to the Geddes area and I’m looking for recommendations for veterinarians for our two chihuahuas, preferably in the nearby area. Who do you like?
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2021.12.04 22:56 CelebWorldtk Billie Eilish

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