Do you ever hear a word and wonder where it came from, and why we use it? That's etymology, my dude.
Wtf is etymology?
Good question. Basically,
etymology is the science of investigating how words came to be and how words have developed over time. Rachel Barney has a pretty spicy explanation in the Oxford Studies of Ancient Philosophy:
As practiced by Socrates in the Cratylus, etymology involves a claim about the underlying semantic content of the name, what it really means or indicates. This content is taken to have been put there by the ancient name-givers: giving an etymology is thus a matter of unwrapping or decoding a name to find the message the name-givers have placed inside.
https://preview.redd.it/k6sdciwoz5051.jpg?width=222&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=087baf2678e83a65f0e716ad988add21161cfbbb What the hell does this have to do with drugs?
Kind of nothing, kind of everything. These days, there's a lot of debate over the words we use. For instance,
- Social justice issues, like how to describe gay people, how to talk about disabilities, and how to eradicate sexist language from the workplace.
- Environmental issues, like whether we should say "global warming" or "climate change", and when exactly it goes from "climate change" to "climate crisis".
- Art and cultural expression issues, like whether or not violent song lyrics contribute to juvenile delinquency or how to define art itself.
- Government and political issues, like protecting First Amendment rights and what exactly you're allowed to scream at police officers before you get arrested.
No matter your stance on any given topic, we can all at least somewhat agree that words have weight and significance. Dan Jurafsky, a Humanities professor from Stanford, explains it like this:
Understanding why and how languages differ tells about the range of what is human, discovering what’s universal about languages can help us understand the core of our humanity.
All of this made me wonder about drugs and the people who use them. Drug users have unique slang, syntax, and structure that develops independently of the traditional language. Not only that, but drug users deal with incredible amounts of stigma from the community; stigma which begets even more convoluted terms to describe and label users and their habits. If language can have such a powerful effect on our attitudes, beliefs, mental processes, values, and feelings, I figured it would be worth it to look into a few of the terms we typically pepper into our speech. Maybe understanding the words themselves will help us better understand the community and its relationship to the rest of the world. So...yeah. Check out the history of some American drug slang, if you wish.
The Etymologies of Tweak-Speak:
- Junkie: Someone who is addicted to any narcotic, originally used in the context of morphine addiction.
We'll dive right in with one of the most confusing words on the list. We know that
junkie and
junkhead both appeared as a way to describe drug users around 1910-1920. The root of the word is
junk, and that's where we get stuck. No one seems to know where exactly
junk came from, since it's been popping up randomly for the past 800 years or so, with centuries of lost record in between.
The Javanese are an ethnic group native to Java island and the surrounding area, in what is modern-day Indonesia. From as early as 1200 AD, the Javanese were experts at building boats, which they called
djons. At this time, seafaring trade was expanding across the world, and China wanted a slice of the action. The only problem was that they really didn't know how to make boats sturdy enough to go all the way to the Indo-European regions where most of the trade was happening. So they copied the
djons, which became
junks. Fast forward to the mid-14th century, and the
junk ships were a huge part of international trade. The Portugese were so impressed with the
junk ships, they created the word
junco to describe them. From there, it became a maritime word that sailors used. This is the first time we see
junk in English - which meant "old cable/rope used for caulking ships".
Basically, if your boat got a hole in the side, you could use some old rope (
junk) to patch the hole. The English use may have been influenced by Old French as well, where
junc was a type of native reed (the reeds were fiberous enough to possibly be made into ropes and other things). In sailor terms,
junk was used to describe a lot.
Salt junk became a popular term for the meat that sailors ate while away at sea. The preserved meat they ate was like beef jerky, and
salt junk described how tough it was, just like the
junk ropes they used to repair their ships. It's the first time we see
junk used in a negative way. The sailors would rather eat a sirloin steak, of course, but if they were at sea they were stuck eating the
salt junk.
By the early-1800's, the American settlers were using junk not just to describe old rope, but anything that was old/needed to be thrown out. In a journal entry, one man describes "
junking" lumber, stripping it down for firewood and getting rid of the excess.
https://preview.redd.it/4wav685sw5051.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0848c605d40a7e3f71ddd12c25a02d59cf00de32 Fast forward to the Prohibition Era. American gangsters had enormous power in the smuggling/trafficking of drugs and alcohol since people couldn't purchase them legally. It's unclear exactly how
junk came to describe opiates, but the term was popularized with morphine and heroin users.
From there,
junkie emerged shortly after. There's a theory that
junkie is because addicts were stealing scrap metal
(junk) to fund their habit, but there isn't a lot of evidence this was the case. In fact, we had a lot less scrap metal in the Prohibition Era than we do today, since it was reused in future building projects. The stereotype of drug addicts selling copper wire or other scrap materials probably came about later.
It's also interesting to note that the "-ie" ending in junkie is what we call a "diminutive possessive". Big words, but it basically means if you have an object, adding -ie or -y is a Dutch ending that describes the person who has a relationship to/owns the object. It's used it to show affection, like a familial relationship. For instance, a babe became a baby, a pup became a puppy, and a mama became a mommy.
So while
junkhead or
junker meant someone who literally "used junk", the word we use (junkie) seems to indicate someone who literally "loves junk". I love junk, how about you guys?
It's also important to understand that
junk really means something different from
trash. For instance, we have
junk sales (or "rummage sales") in the United States, but we don't have
trash sales.
Trash and
garbage are words used to describe things that are rotten, expired, absolutely no good anymore.
Junk, on the other hand, is something that is just in disuse, but the idea is that it can be repurposed and reused again. So maybe
junkies aren't trash after all, but people who can be repurposed into something even better someday. Just a thought.
- Addiction: The physical or psychological inability to stop consuming a substance despite negative consequences
Addiction in terms of drug use came about in the early 1900's. Again, it was first used in the context of morphine. Not long after, an
addict came to mean someone who was
addicted to a certain drug or behavior. The word itself is very old and has an extremely confusing history. Richard J Rosenthal investigated the whole thing to an amazing extent in his piece for the Journal of Addiction Research & Theory in 2018. He's way headier than I am, so I'll just let him tell you about it.
Addictio, the abstract noun derived from the verb, was the technical Latin term for the judicial act by which a debtor was made the slave of his creditor.
The sentence was pronounced, or spoken, by the judge, or praetor, according to the ancient law of the Twelve Tables. Where exactly did this leave the addictus, which in the passive form referred to the hapless individual who was physically handed over to his creditor by the praetor’s authority and physically led off in chains, to be held for sixty days or until the debt was paid? Failure to pay the debt after the lapse of the statutory sixty days rendered the debtor his creditor’s permanent property. He could then, at the creditor’s discretion, be kept, killed or sold as a common slave.
For the Romans, enslavement became increasingly associated with the passive forms of addicere, which of necessity would take on a very different connotation from the active form. To understand this, one must appreciate the distinction Romans made between active and passive forms of the verb, and in fact between active and passive in all forms of behavior. To be the recipient, to be acted upon, was to be less than. A passive human subject was a defeated individual, the object of someone else’s power. Being sentenced to be another person’s slave would be particularly humiliating. It would mean not only the loss of one’s citizenship but of one’s personhood.
The theme continued to be developed well into the imperial period. The most striking aspect of the use of addicere in each of these instances is the idea of bondage or enslavement. However, the object of that enslavement had evolved over the course of six centuries. What started as literal, the fate of the debt bondsman (addictus) under the ancient Law of the Twelve Tables, became metaphorical. One could become enslaved by vice (e.g., gambling, drinking, gluttony). A behavior like gambling, which previously might have led to one’s being sentenced into slavery, now was the enslavement.
The English verb ‘addict’ found particular resonance among the early church reformers. It’s earliest known appearance in English was in a tract by the Protestant reformer John Frith. It involves the act of choosing between two or more things. He apparently understood it as ‘preference’ or ‘choice,’ meaning (in a Christian context) the individual’s preference for a particular doctrine or interpretation of the Bible. [The Church] emphasized the dangers associated with a mistaken choice (Catholicism, the Pope, icons and idols). Most prominent was the danger of grievously offending God or of being led down the wrong path away from God. The Reformers extended their concerns to the physical realm, where one could be addicted to physical pleasures like gluttony and drunkenness.
Such ‘choices’ need not be actively chosen, however. The most influential of the Protestant Reformers next to Luther, John Calvin, [believed] man was so corrupted and enslaved by sin that he was incapable of choosing correctly. It was only through God’s grace that one was turned away from depravity and bad choices. An accomplished Latinist and writing in Latin, Calvin drew upon the legal, rather than the augural, usage of the Latin verb addicere to indicate that it is something done to or for one; it is not voluntary or within one’s control. This would be in line with the early legal meaning of addictio in Latin, where one did not act freely but was acted upon by the law [and] made the slave of one’s creditor.
[Writers from the 16th century on] were using medical metaphors to convey the seriousness of the problem, and we can't help noting that the language of disease was used both for the individual and for society. Furthermore, it was not addiction itself that was the disease, it was drunkenness or gambling, and when they referred to addiction, it was to convey ‘attachment’ or ‘preference.’
When the word addiction was deliberately omitted from four consecutive editions of the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorder, it was because it was considered pejorative, stigmatizing, and too difficult to define. There were simply ‘too many meanings’ the term lacked any ‘universally agreed upon definition’: the result of using it was ‘conceptual chaos’.
Inclusion in DSM-5 represents behavioral addiction’s first official recognition as a diagnostic entity. It is therefore especially notable that, in addition to the lack of a definition, there are neither criteria nor guidelines for the assessment of potential disorders.
...like...wtf. For sure.
https://preview.redd.it/y6bd7ty4x5051.jpg?width=355&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9bfdf0cdf570f580511f87254a4ddecf8178d9eb Can we all just take a minute to remember that this song existed though? God, 2008 was a simpler time. (If you wanna get hit over the head with a brick from the past, I encourage you to listen to Paralyzer or Disturbia again, just sayin)
Then we end the root with
-er, which is for "connected with, pertaining to; the man engaged in". That comes from the old Latin
-arius and
-arium, which is the same reason an
aria is an opera solo. So I mean, referring to tweakers in general as
tweakarium and a tweaker as a
tweakarius is valid (probably not, but it sounds cool).
- Tweak (also tweaking/tweaked/twacked/tweaker): Under the influence of methamphetamine
We can trace
tweak through history fairly well. It starts with the Proto-Indo-European word
\dwoh,* meaning "two".
[Side note: We currently can't trace words farther back than Proto-Indo-European (PIE) or any "Proto" language. There's no written record of PIE, and we really can't prove it was a language at all. Linguists compare words from newer languages that are alike in sound and meaning, and from there, group them into the "families" of Proto languages. PIE may have originated as early as 3300 BCE, which is old as shit (like before people were using wheels and domesticating horses). PIE is the most influential Proto language and has been studied the most, since English, Portugese, Russian, Italian, Punjabi, Urdu, Bengali, German, Spanish, Dutch, Danish, and many others have all originated from PIE]
From there
, \dwoh* was found in Old Armenian with կից, meaning "a cross-road" and in Old English as
tweo, meaning "two".
Both of these words created the Old English
tweag later on, meaning "trouble, doubt, distress". It makes sense when you consider how someone at a "cross-roads" is faced with a tough decision, because they could go in one of two directions. In Old English,
tweo became
tweonleoht, which is where we get "twilight" from. It literally means "two-light", as in the part of the day when it's night and day at the same time.
Tweag became
twikken, which has multiple meanings: trouble/doubt, plucking/pulling something, and
twitch. All of these definitions are loosely connected to
tweag with the idea that there is some type of problem (distress) that needs to be fixed. If you had a thorn in your foot, you might be distressed and pluck/pull it out. If you had an illness or were fearful (distress), you might
twitch, and so on.
https://preview.redd.it/xwjbqcist5051.png?width=266&format=png&auto=webp&s=459a3cb975620c6611aefdfe424aa08b887fe7f0 This was the definition until the 1980's, when
tweak came to mean "a fine adjustment". For example, resetting a spring inside a clock would be a "
tweak", but completely renovating your house would not, since it's a big project/adjustment. From there, we got
tweaker, which is an interesting phrase because it only applies to methamphetamine (and rarely other stimulants), instead of all drugs. This meaning traces itself back to
twitch, and a
tweaker is someone who is constantly
twitching/super high/sporadic and uncoordinated because of using meth. Nervousness/paranoia are also described with this definition.
The -er root, again, gives the word a literal meaning of "someone who twitches".
Personally, I like the "minor adjustments" definition. Like, "Nah bro I'm not tweaking, just making minor adjustments to my neurochemicals, thank you".
- Crank: crystal methamphetamine
At least where I live,
crank is quickly becoming an outdated/obsolete term. I don't know of anyone personally who refers to meth as
crank - my guess is that in the next couple of decades it will fall out of use in this context unless a particular area or community hangs onto it. That being said, it has been widely used as a way to describe meth for 50 years, and it started in an interesting way.
https://preview.redd.it/38kbht71z5051.jpg?width=1694&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a4007f4639938d77bdd0e5649d39b5a0b3c7d4cf In the Proto-Germanic language,
\krank* was "to bend or curl up". This is also the origin of
cringe, experiencing something so uncomfortable that you physically curl away.
\krank* became
crincan, "to bend or yield". This turned into cranc, which was used in Old-Middle Engilsh as crincan "to weave",
crencestre "a spinster (woman who weaves)", and
crankstaef, "a weaver's instrument (a loom)".
In the 16th century, the definition was generalized and used in other things, always meaning "to twist or bend" in some way. In the 1590's, we see records of
crank meaning "the twists and turns of speech" (imagine how the stereotypical politician never gives a straight answer, "talking around" the question to avoid saying something that might sound bad). In 1848,
crank was used to describe "an unreasonable act" (something that would be done by a person with twisted judgement. Even today, if we see a person behaving in a particularly cruel or cold manner, we might say that they have a "twisted mind").
By 1834,
crank had become a tool. This hearkens back to the days of weaving, since a
crankstaef was a piece of the loom that helped the wheel spin. By 1908, the rate of automobile manufacture was increasing. Building cars required the use of a
crank, and it was around this time that
crank also described the action of "turning a
crank". In this way, it's quite possible to
crank a
crank, but you can also
crank a dial,
crank a lever, etc.
https://i.redd.it/r8y9s5amt5051.gif It's a little unclear how
crank came to be used as a word for meth, but the most probable theory comes from the Hell's Angels and similar motorcycle gangs that have been active in the U.S since the 1940's. In the 1970's, the U.S outlawed methamphetamine due to the increase of people abusing the drugs. It was around this time that the motorcycle gangs controlled a majority of production and distribution, usually to rural areas. Bikers used their bikes, of course, to transport and distribute the drug, sometimes concealing it in the
crankshafts of their motorcycles. The theory is that this method of crankshaft transport lent meth the street name
crank.
The only thing I question is how much meth you could realistically fit in the crankshaft of a motorcycle. If you've ever seen the crankshaft of a bike, they're really not that big. Plus, they get pretty hot, which would be a little problematic. That being said, motorcycle gangs were known for customizing and adding to their bikes for a variety of different reasons. They were usually expert mechanics who could customize their bikes to be faster, more durable, and go longer distances. So I suppose there's a hundred ways, in theory, that you could increase the available space in your crankshaft and keep it from getting too hot.
- Gacked: Extremely high on a stimulant (mostly used in the context of meth), usually to the point of being incapacitated or uncomfortable. Stupid high.
Gacked is one of those expressions that has varied use depending on the community. When I lived on the West Coast,
gacked was used quite often, then I moved to the Midwest and hardly encountered the phrase at all. Just my experience, not sure if it holds any water.
Anyways,
gacked is a product of
geeked, "to be filled with excitement or enthusiasm". You can be geeked over a new video game or makeup palette. Geeked for Christmas, geeked for the weekend, geeked to get your dick sucked. Whatever.
https://preview.redd.it/60d9eiply5051.jpg?width=448&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=33b2bb684983dbd311f22135ef2d98383cde4213 We usually use
geek to describe someone who's very enthusiastic about a particular subject. While being a nerd requires extensive knowledge on a subject, being a geek requires only enthusiasm. We find
geck in Scandinavian and Germanic languages in the 15th century.
Geck was "to croak, cackle, or mock". By the early 16th century,
geck was used to describe a person, "a fool or simpleton".
Fast-forward to the 1940's, when traveling circuses and freak shows were a big deal. The freak show performers came to be known as
geeks - the public saw them as eccentric simpletons, entertaining but not smart enough to cope for themselves or be considered legitimate members of society.
https://preview.redd.it/u9rs1rb4w5051.jpg?width=265&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=44f0087519018f5714c8cd0af0bfffa2be886c72
In the 1980's, college kids began to use
geek to describe their fellow classmates who were socially inept and obsessed with the computers and technology that were rapidly developing. By the 90's, we could say that someone was
geeking out or
geeked out if they were ignoring opportunities to socialize/have sex/etc. in favor of obsessing over tech gadgets.This explains how
geeked became connected with stimulants. When you're
geeked, you might show signs of social ineptness, like talking way too much, not being able to hold a normal conversation, displaying odd and erratic behaviors, or expressing ideas that seem strange and inexplicable.
I think the connection to hyper-focusing is interesting as well. In the 80's, a
geek was obsessed with computers to the point where they took notice of nothing else (other people/other responsibilities /other hobbies etc.) Stim users, of course, can show this same intense and unwavering obsession, which may have strengthen the linguistic connection between
geeks and meth users.
Gacked may have been a natural evolution to distinguish "meth
geeked" from "
geeked about other stuff", but some people believe
gacked evolved from
geeked because of the way you can throw up/get nauseous if you overdose on stimulants. If you were insanely high, you might vomit (or
gack), and would be
gacked as a result.
-- K imma end it there for right now because I'm tired of looking at this etymology dictionary. You learned something today, bitch! Yayyyy. Proud of u. Go forth with your new and probably-useless knowledge, tweakarius.
submitted by THE UMBRELLA MEN
Nasir leaned back on the railing and watched the cars and buses go past on lethargic wheels, slowing to a crawl as what was left of the day sunk low behind the squat tenement blocks of the Mong Kok district. His long nose and deep sunken eye sockets gave him the appearance of a predatory bird, and as he peered around him, people passing on the sidewalk gave him a wide radius berth. He was a tall, gangly young man of nineteen, dressed in an ill-fitting shirt and a loose pair of jeans, lean face pockmarked with acne and fingers blackened from the twelve packs of Marlboros he smoked every week. In short, he had a look about him that suggested he was up to no good.
Tonight that certainly was the case. He took out his carton of smokes and cast a furtive glance around him before shaking one out.
“Hey there handsome,” croaked a voice in Cantonese, “How about one for the lady,
lah?”
The little old woman was pushing her trolley past him on the pavement, on her way back from a day spent emptying out garbage bins and scavenging for stacks of cardboard and soda cans. She would then go to the recycling centres, where they would pay her for them by the kilo. Her back was hunched from a lifetime of work, spine crumpled into a painful, stooped arch, her sun browned skin flaking from hours working in the summer heat.
She always came this way at this hour, and he replied as he always had for the past five years:
“Sure, grandma.”
He shook out another cancer stick. She took it eagerly, bit off the filter, and plunged the end of it into her dry, wrinkled mouth. He lit hers first, and then his own. Her scrawny old shoulders heaved as she inhaled, and her wrinkled old face took on a look of contentment.
“That’s not good for you. You should keep the filter on.”
She shrugged.
“We all have to die of something.”
Nasir looked down at her shabby figure and exclaimed:
“And what are those?”
“Oh, yes!” She smiled wide and looked at her new loafers. They were the colour of pink carnations, and had white laces. “Aren’t they nice? Found them at the Salvation Army store. Sixty dollars. Fit me just right.”
“Looking good,
ah suk.” He whistled and gave her a thumbs up.
“Ah, screw you,” she replied in a genial tone, blowing out tendrils of smoke from both nostrils. “Thanks again, Singh.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not Indian, lady.”
“What’s that?” She frowned and leaned closer to hear him.
“I was born in Karachi, not New Delhi. I’m Pakistani.
Pa-kei-si-tan-yahn, yeah?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No,” he chuckled, “It really isn’t.”
“Hmph. You all look the same anyway. See you tomorrow, Singh.”
“Yeah.”
She trundled off, the cigarette trailing from the side of her mouth. As she walked, she scanned the ground in front of her. No doubt looking for more cardboard to fill her cart. He watched her disappear around the corner, and then turned away.
And that was when he noticed him.
Across the street, a man stood behind a large black van. There was nothing so remarkable about his appearance: he was much older than Nasir, short and slightly bow-legged, a Chinese fellow with indeterminate facial features. No, what stood out about him was his stance. Had his knees been bent but a little further, Nasir would have described him as crouching. In his small hands he clutched a thick, bulky yellow umbrella. Nasir did not know why, but he was sure that the man was following somebody.
The man noticed Nasir observing him and abruptly straightened. For a long moment, they stared at one another. Then without a word he did a three sixty and darted off.
Nasir raised an eyebrow. Weird. The guy had a strange shuffling gait too, like a crab that had learned to walk forwards instead of sideways. He probably had a few screws loose in his head, but then again, many people were that way around here, especially the old and the senile. It was the loneliness that did it, that and the lifetime spent in cramped, suffocating shoebox apartments. At least, that was the theory.
He forgot all about it when his phone chimed. Arnav had replied; they were to meet in fifteen minutes at the usual place. He grinned and started walking.
The night market was at its most hectic, thronged with tourists and middle-aged wives buying their vegetables. He passed under the great red archway and the lanterns strung out on lines, walked down the bustling rows of shops with their low canvas roofs, past the watch salesmen with their knock-off Rolexes, the tables of electronic toys, the miniature drones that spun and flashed in time with chimes of glitzy music. Nasir turned left at the intersection where the broad round tables were set out for the open-air restaurants, gagging at the smell of beer and lobster. He was wandering among the fruit stalls, where they sold everything from lychees to jackfruit, when Arnav called to him.
“Oy,
gaandu! You here to buy mangoes all night or what?”
“Peace, brother
.” He raised a hand in greeting.
“Yeah, yeah. Come over here, I’ve been waiting for you.”
He took Nasir aside to a nearby alleyway, where the pipes gushed and pools of iridescent murk gleamed with what little light could find its way through the twisting paths, between the tall, brooding tenement blocks whose vacant windows were like so blank faces, hearing and seeing nothing. He bought a gram of orange kush, which Arnav fished out of the lining of his Adidas jacket. Before parting ways they jawed for a while, talking of cousins and mutual relations in juvenile or jail, and of what the
tai lou’s were hustling these days out of the shady backside of Hong Kong’s dockyards.
Nasir went cheerfully down the path, dodging the trash heaps and the occasional puddles of sick. A lifetime on these streets had made him quite at home in this crooked maze, and he knew quite a few shortcuts. In a while, he would be home, and then he would take the lift up to rooftop on the 30th floor, where he would roll one out and enjoy it in peace.
He stumbled just then on something soft. A solitary shoe, lying forlorn upon its side. He paused to examine it, and as he did so, he heard behind him soft footfalls.
He glanced back and saw a shape dart quickly out of sight. There were dozens of doors along the walls, the back entrances to restaurants, auto repair shops and so-called ‘foot massage parlours’, but all of these were bolted shut. He had never before noticed how deep the shadows grew in these quiet places. A step or two to the side and one could vanish completely from view. He had heard stories from up the grapevine, of people going missing like that, disappearing into the very cracks of the pavement.
Nasir had no desire to be among them, and practically sprinted toward the nearest intersection, heart hammering against his chest. He swerved right on the first turning, then right again when he passed a barrel of corrugated scrap. Above him a cat’s eyes gleamed amber in dark. At the far end, he saw figures loom against the neon glare of the night market. Immense relief flooded over him as he strode towards it. Halfway there, however, he found her.
Her cart was overturned, sheets of cardboard spilling all over, empty bottles of Coke and 7-up rolling in the gutters. A trail of crimson ran on the damp ground and dragged along the wall, ending in the mouth of an open manhole. Her legs were sticking out of it. One of her feet was bare, and the other wore the remaining shoe. Pink, with white laces.
Behind him, someone kicked aside a soda can. Nasir spun around and beheld the man creeping forward silently on his toes. He was holding his umbrella before him like a lance.
“She…she’s-” Nasir gestured, unable to express his mounting horror.
“Dead, yes.” The man brushed past him and knelt down, surveying the grim scene.
“Looks like they miscalculated the service pipe’s diameter.”
“What?”
“Not wide enough. But they’ll be back for her soon, I’m sure.”
“Who’ll be back?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions.”
The man turned and looked Nasir straight in the face.
“Oh, but I forgot. This isn’t your first language is it? There, is that better?”
Nasir blinked. The man had just transitioned from Cantonese to Urdu, his native tongue.
“Now then. While it is regrettable that you had to witness this, while you’re here you might as well be of use. So hold this.”
He took a torch from his pocket and handed it to Nasir.
“Keep it steady.”
Nasir complied, barely thinking. He thumbed it on and pointed the beam at the corpse, and stood awkwardly to one side.
“Um. Shouldn’t we call the police, sir?” He said tremulously.
“Shush.” The man crouched low and tensed. He held his ear close to the tangled mass of piping next to him, and listened intently. “Here they come!” he whispered. He brought up his huge and bulky umbrella. It was wrapped in a thick sleeve of synthetic cotton, which he now removed, revealing a twisted mass of circuitry and metal beneath.
Secured to the handle and frame with a wad of duct tape were six heavy duty triple-A Duracell batteries. The terminals of were connected to a compact circuit board, festooned with a complicated array of capacitors and resistors. This arrangement ended with several thick spools of thin wiring, threaded into what looked like barbed fishing hooks, all sharpened and hammered straight.
“What is that?”
“Get ready! There’s a whole lot of them down there!”
Nasir now heard a faint pattering from within the sewers, of many tiny forms scampering in the dampness beneath the earth. The woman’s legs began to twitch, as an unseen force began pulling her body further inside. Whatever it was, it was strong. Her body began to compress, like a cork forced down the neck of a champagne bottle, ribs snapping like toothpicks. Bile rose out of his stomach at the sight of this, and he retched.
“I said hold it steady!” The man yelled.
He pressed the umbrella’s button. The spring, lengthened and strengthened by some process of heat treatment, shot forward with vicious speed. A cluster of sharp barbs flew into the sewer mouth. There was a flash of white, and a screech of agony. There was the smell of cooked flesh. The man racked back the spring and put another spool of wire in place, but before he could discharge again he leapt back with a curse.
A rat had scuttled out from hole in the ground, spitting with hatred. Only, it wasn’t a rat. It couldn’t be, because no rat Nasir had ever seen had such sharp spines or jointed, bony things like fingers sprouting out of its singed grey fur.
There was a wet squelch as the man stomped on it with his boot. The thing shuddered and lay still. The man stomped on it until it was a red paste. The scuttling had reached a crescendo. Pieces of her began to fall off around the edges, tearing away from the friction like the peel of an orange. With an obscene plop, she was pulled completely inside. Just how many of them there were was uncertain, but now the sound of their tiny feet sounded like rainwater gushing down the mountainside.
“Kid! You still with me?” He said over his shoulder. “I have to keep my eyes on this. Reach into my backpack. There’s a bottle in there, a big one. Take it out.”
Nasir heard the desperate urgency in his voice, fumbled at the zippers and lifted it out. It was a large gallon jug, filled with a mud-grey solution.
“Now pour it in. All of it. And if you want to keep your skin, don’t let it drip on you.”
In moments it became apparent why he said this. As Nasir poured the contents of the bottle, a thick, choking cloud arose. They backed away, covering their noses as the very iron hissed and began to melt away. The scampering subsided.
When the acrid gases dissipated and they could approach again, she was gone. The man followed the sound of her scraping the sides of the pipe until it passed under a building. When they shone the torch inside they found the burnt and slightly runny remains of a dozen of the rat-things.
“Was that acid?”
“Drainage cleaner. Concentrated it myself. Nasty, but it hurts them all the same. Woah! Steady on there, friend!”
Nasir’s legs had wobbled out from beneath him. His head felt light and dizzy.
“You alright?”
“She bought them today. Real cheap, and they were just her size.”
He could recognize the hysteria in his voice, but couldn’t help himself.
“Did you know her?”
“She liked Camels best. But I always had Marlboros.”
He fell to his knees, wheezing and weeping. The man stood and regarded him for a moment, before putting a gentle arm around his shoulders, saying:
“Alright, that’s enough. Get up kid.” He hoisted him to his feet and dusted him off
“Come on. Let’s find you somewhere to sit down, yeah?”
He took him to the nearest noodle place, a grimy little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Steam rose from the vats of broiling beef broth, and behind the glass counter, a cook carved pork belly on a wide wooden slab.
The man’s name was Lam. That was all he would say as they waited for their order, and when their bowls came he did not speak at all, but concentrated solely on noisily slurping down every drop and morsel. Nasir on the other hand peered into the depths of his soup and fought down the urge to vomit uncontrollably.
“Ahhh,” Lam set down his chopsticks with a sigh, “Shrimp wontons. They are one of the things I love most about this city, this whole place even. Hey,” he frowned at Nasir, who hadn’t touched his own food, “what’s the matter with you?”
Nasir quietly pushed it back, and asked:
“How is it that you can speak my language?”
“So what if I can?”
“But you’re Chinese.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been around,” the man’s eyes tightened into slits, “Besides, what we’re discussing would probably upset some people if they heard it,” he gestured at the handful of patrons around them, eating their dinners, “So let’s stick to it, yes?”
They continued their conversation in Urdu, with a smattering of English thrown in for the more technical terms.
“Alright. How long have you been hunting those things in the sewers?”
“For a while now. And they don’t live in the sewers. That’s just one of the ways they-ahem-can acquire people. It gives them access to the blind spots, the nooks and crannies of the city, if you will.”
“Were they…eating her?” He stared into the depths of his soup, and fought back the urge to vomit again.
“In a sense, yes. Not for nourishment, you understand. You noticed, I’m sure, that the ones we saw tonight inhabited the bodies of black rats?”
Nasir nodded, shuddering at the remembrance of the little skull that had been caved in, and the masses of ridged orange polyps sprouting from the brain, swelling with vile stinking pus. Black veins, laced like spider webs, had coated its entrails and the surface of every bloody organ. And it had still been alive. Amid the darkness and the murk, the jagged length of claws and mandibles that had been the creature’s tail had begun to
detach. Lam had poured the remaining sulphuric acid onto it, dissolving it into rancid goop.
“You see, they have this disturbing habit of repurposing the tissue of their vessels. Improving them as they see fit. And for that, they require biomass.”
He paused to sip at his milk tea, and then continued.
“Usually they synthesize the proteins on their own, in a vat, but that’s too slow. Or they go fishing for stray dogs or cats (that’s why you don’t see those around very often). But human tissue has such an excellent in-built nervous system that sometimes, they take the risk of abducting one. When they do decide to take one, they research on their target. Methodically. In this city, they go for the older demographic. The ones with no family to ask after them when they disappear. The unemployed, the homeless who sleep in the subways and the public parks or under bridges. When
they disappear, all that happens is the city cleaning crews come the next day and sweep out their belongings, maybe spray the place with high-pressure hoses and call it good riddance.
“Why haven’t you told anybody this? The police, the authorities? For God’s sake, I just saw someone get dragged into a hole in the ground until her bones popped! That kinda shit is not from this world!”
The man chuckled grimly.
“Oh, you have no idea how right you are there.”
“You mean to say, that they’re…” Nasir swallowed hard.
“Yes.” The man said simply, and drained the last of his cup. He stood to leave, his bulky umbrella up on one shoulder.
“I’m sorry you had to see all that. You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, kid. In fact, I’m sorely puzzled as to why you were even there in the first place.”
Nasir felt at the gram of
ganja in his pocket, and declined to answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own:
“That weapon you have. What is it?”
“It’s basically a modified taser. I cobbled it together from some old power tools and the coils of an electric fan. See, they don’t care about physical trauma like we do, because they can block off any signals from the meat’s pain receptors. But they do use the motor cortex to control their vessels. Pre-synaptic neurons sparking and triggering action potentials, which travel to muscle fibres and glands and so fo
[u1] rth. Useful system for them. However, when you shoot sufficient amperage into that, just like with us, it paralyzes them completely. Renders the vessel useless, so they come crawling out. It’s a self defence mechanism of theirs, and it makes killing them that much easier.”
“Think you could make another one?”
The man sat back down, eyeing Nasir in disbelief.
“I don’t think so. Do you really want to do all that again?” He jerked his head in the direction of the alley.
Nasir took a deep breath, and said:
“Listen. That woman passed by my street every day for fifteen years. Rain or shine, pushing her little cart, asking no favours from anybody. I never once saw her go begging. Until one day, she asked me for a smoke. I gave it to her, because I figured if anyone deserved one, she did.”
Nasir shut his eyes and ground his teeth together.
“It turns out, in all the time I knew her, I never bothered to ask her name. Now she’s been erased, and nobody will remember the little old lady who pushed her cart down the street. Except for me.”
He looked Lam straight in the eye.
“So no, I wouldn’t mind doing all that again.”
Lam shook his head.
“Are you sure? Because let me tell you; you have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“Well, in that case,” Lam ordered another tea-and-coffee. “We’re gonna be here a while.”
And as he sipped it, he told him.
A week later, Nasir put on his uniform and went to Ka Lei Gai Pa Secondary School in the Sham Shui Po district. He skipped the morning periods and came in during lunch, when the gates were open and the crowds were heading out to eat.
He went straight up to the library on the seventh floor and found Jay and Christen at their usual table, glaring in concentration at the chessboard between them. Nasir stood behind Jay in silence, then nudged his rook to d5.
“Check.” He told Christen with a grin. Jay jumped in his seat, startled.
“Oy! Look who finally decided to show up!”
Jay said as they exchanged the usual handshake-chestbump combination. Jay Chow was as thin as a stork, small, slight, and wearing square glasses that took up most of his face. Christen Rai was thickset, with rounded shoulders and a barrel body, courtesy of his Gurkha heritage. They were the two smartest guys in the senior year. They shared classes in Physics, Chem and Bio, and were best friends.
“So what’s the deal, big guy? Why’d you come? I thought you were set on flunking out of this place?” joked Christen.
“Screw you. I still have a week before they can suspend me. No, the only reason I’m here is so I can ask you guys a question.”
“Alright. What is it?” Jay put aside the board and looked at him quizzically.
“Aliens. Tell me everything you know about them.”
Christen burst out laughing.
“Well, shit man. I thought were gonna ask something serious, like how much they’ll pay you mopping the floor at McDonalds.” He grinned as Nasir gave him the finger, then continued, “But sure, I can tell you about that. I say they probably exist.”
“Probably?”
“Yeah. Since the universe is so large, the chemical components necessary for the abiogenesis of life are found almost everywhere. You only need water, nitrogen, carbon, phosphorus, oxygen, sulphur etc. Oh, and source of heat. Then-poof!-you got self-replicating molecules.”
“As usual, you’re oversimplifying everything,” said Jay in disgust, “You just skipped over eighty percent of the requirements. Plus, what you meant was extra-terrestrial intelligence, right Nasir? If so, then the odds against it are even steeper.”
“Didn’t you read the news?” demanded Christen, outraged. “In our galaxy alone they’ve found thousands of exoplanets! It’s pretty much a guarantee-”
“Drake equation!” countered Jay, “Each one of those planets would have to be within the habitable zone of their system, and they’d have to possess just the right temperature for that whole RNA-world to exist. And that’s just a theory
[u2] , mind you, and one that many scientists have come to doubt. Even supposing they could manage that, they’d have to survive eons of hostile conditions long enough to evolve into multi-cellular organisms-”
“Then what about the people at SETI? You calling them idiots?”
“No, I’m calling
you an idiot.”
The argument quickly became heated, as expected. Christen grasped a chess piece and was about to lob it at Jay’s head, when Nasir smoothly interjected.
“So you guys disagree, right?”
“No. It’s just that one of us is wrong and has yet to admit it.” Jay said haughtily.
“Scrub.”
“Noob.”
“Oh yeah? What was your score in the last exam again?”
“Ladies, ladies please. I get it, you’re both pretty.”
The two intellectuals glared at him. He held his hands up, palms outward, saying:
“What if I told you I could settle this debate?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I just said.”
Jay and Christen both began telling him to perform an anatomically impossible feat of oral dexterity, but stopped when they saw his deadpan face.
“You’re goddamn serious, aren’t you?” said Jay, wonder in his voice.
“Come with me after school, and I’ll show you.”
When the final bell rang, as agreed, they met outside the school gate.
“What’s that for?” asked Christen when Nasir emerged. Before leaving, he had visited the PE storage room, and with the help of some bent hairpins and a judicious amount of wiggling with the padlock tumblers, had acquired for himself a hefty cricket bat with a firm rubber grip.
“You’ll see.”
They walked towards the inner bay area, to the smaller docks by the breakwater, where the squat office blocks of the port authorities stood next to towering stacks of storage crates. The silent crane barges loomed in the distant waters, and the smell of diesel and algae bloom wafted in with the sea breeze.
The place was deserted, the crane operators and longshoremen having gone home for the night. On every side stretched vast concrete lots, abandoned and empty save for the dust and weeds. The three of them stood by the rusty wire fencing of one of these, beneath a solitary lamppost.
“If this is all some cheap prank, you may consider our friendship terminated.” Christen told Nasir with asperity.
“Give him time. He’ll be here.”
“I don’t like this. We probably look real stupid hanging around here,” said Christen, shifting from one foot to the other, “How about we just call it a draw and go home?”
“Draw my ass.” Jay scoffed.
“There he is.” Nasir pointed as the large black Toyota rolled furtively into view, and came to a slow halt a few meters away.
“In there?” Jay pointed sceptically at the van with its grimy tinted windows.
“I know how it looks, but just trust me, okay? Hey!” he waved at the windshield, “Open up!”
The window by the driver seat came down and revealed Lam. He waved back at them.
“Does he by any chance have candy in there?”
Nasir rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Jay.” With a loud clunk, the large back door came unlocked, and Nasir swung it open. Lam got out and helped him unpack their things.
“Wow!” Christen exclaimed, “You guys planning to break into a jewellery store?”
Heavy gear littered the carpeted floor. An oversized car battery with jumper cables attached sat behind the passenger seat. Next to it were a shovel, a pick, and some plastic hardhats, all of which were still dirty with the soil from the construction site from which they had been stolen. A thick spool of copper wiring hung from a rack on one side, along with hammers, wrenches, a bolt cutter and sections of PVC piping.
There were other, stranger things in there, bits and ends of electronic junk taped and soldered together with seemingly haphazard intention. The most curious of these was an odd spheroid, bulging with lenses and antennas, made from a bunch of tiny CCTV cameras fused with a wifi modem and the desiccated remains of a disassembled drone.
“I still have misgivings about this.” Lam murmured to Nasir as they made their preparations.
“Relax,” Nasir peered surreptitiously over his shoulder at Jay and Christen, who were watching them from a safe distance, “They’re the smartest people I know. They’re the only ones who’ll believe us.”
“I still think the two of us would be sufficient.”
“If there are as many of them as you say, we’re gonna need all the help we can get. And these guys are crazy enough to actually do it.”
“Is that guy speaking Urdu?” asked Christen.
“Yeah. This is Mr. Lam. Lam, meet my friends from school.”
“
Mahn on.” Lam said to Jay first in Cantonese. He bowed slightly to Christen, touching his palms and fingertips together. “
Namaste.”
Christen was stunned.
“You know Nepalese too?”
“Cantonese will work just fine, Lam. It’s our common language.”
Lam nodded. He crawled inside and rummaged around until he found the large bundle wrapped in green tarpaulin.
“Give us a hand here, boys.”
“This is crazy,” said Jay. “Absolutely insane.”
Christen shrugged and helped them move it. Lam heaved it to the back, and then unfurled the tarp.
“What the-” Christen backpedalled away in surprise.
An entire pig carcass stared up at them through blank, dead eyes, drained of most of its blood but still fresh from when the butcher had laid it open. Its flesh was dripping with some glistening, salty liquid.
“
Tiu!” Jay swore, “Nasir, what are we doing here!”
“Just trust me!” Nasir yelled at them, “Listen to what he has to say!”
Quietly, Lam dragged the car battery into place and took down the spool.
“Where’d you get it?” asked Nasir as he watched him work. The pork made him uncomfortable, as it was haram meat, and he avoided touching it with his bare hands.
“Bought it at the wholesale supermart down the road.”
“Not the pork. The Motolite battery.”
“Found it.” Lam replied cryptically. Meanwhile, Jay paced up and down the pavement, wringing his hands.
“Man, I knew you hung out with some shady sonsofbitches, Nasir, but this is just messed up.”
Lam looked up at Jay, and then said calmly:
“I can understand why you’d say that. It’s Jay, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been telling this creep about us?” Jay asked Nasir. “To hell with this. I’m out.”
Jay began to walk away.
“He said you were scientists. Or rather, that you wanted to be.”
Jay whirled around.
“Yeah? What about it?” he yelled.
“Well then. Consider this an experiment.”
“On what, huh? How to conduct animal abuse?”
“It’s already dead. For obvious ethical reasons, I declined to use a live specimen.”
Lam unwound the spool. The wire consisted of two thick lengths braided together. A large section of it was bare, the plastic coating stripped away, orange metal shining.
“You see, this area is one of their favourites,” He passed it into the body of the pig, making sure it contacted with as much surface area as possible. “I have coated the surface of this cadaver with a certain solution that gives off the chemical signature of putrescence
[u3] . I think you can smell that for yourselves.”
Indeed, their eyes had begun to smart from the stench that was now emanating from it.
“They will soon locate this and attempt to claim it for biomass. Or as a vessel, since it’s relatively still fresh.”
He clamped down one of the leads to one of the bare ends.
“The solution also serves as an electrolyte. Better conduction.”
“So this is bait?” Christen asked, folding his arms. “How do you know they’ll bite? If they even exist at all, they’d have to be pretty stupid to fall for this.”
“Not really. It’s common around here for things to fall out of trucks driving from the marketplace.”
“Yeah, but a whole pig? C’mon.”
“It will be immensely valuable to them.”
“Shit, Chris. Don’t tell me you’re buying into this crap.” Jay said.
“I’m honestly curious to see how this’ll go.” A maverick grin had spread onto Christen’s face, and his almond eyes glinted with possibilities.
“So you’re staying?”
Christen shrugged again.
“Got nothing better to do. You?”
Jay stared as them as though he could see their sanity slowly draining away.
“So where’ll we dump this thing?” Nasir asked. Lam gestured to the east. There in the dimness of the evening they saw the opening of the small access road, paved with ancient red brickwork, curving away out of sight behind a disused flyover.
“Large, empty, dark spaces. Extensive brush and vegetation,” he pointed at the thick growths of weeds and bushes growing along the crumbling path. “These are good hiding places for them.”
“Alright. Let’s go.” Nasir said, and the three of them piled in, Lam taking the wheel. The engine started up with a phlegmy cough. Christen held open the back door and they all looked at Jay expectantly. He glared back at them, threw up his hands and said:
“I should call the cops on you crazy bastards.” But he climbed in all the same.
It was a narrow place. They parked at the end of it, and lugged the bait as far as the spool would run. Then they set it down, ran back, and waited.
They watched through the tinted windows. The thick line connecting to it was barely visible -Lam had hidden it with handfuls of dead leaves. Nasir held the unconnected lead in his hand, far from its terminal, and Lam kept his eyes glued to the rear-view mirror.
A cool summer breeze rustled among the short hackberries lining the path. They couldn’t feel it in the humid interior of the vehicle, sweat ran from every pore. After a while, Chris cleared his throat and said:
“How about I run to the Circle K and get us all some drinks?”
“Quiet!” snapped Nasir and Lam together. For though the boughs of the trees had ceased to sway, the bushes were still moving. Jay uttered a brief prayer to his Catholic God as something crawled out of the undergrowth.
It was huge. Nasir had been expecting another one of the rat-things, but this creature was about two meters long, end to end. It slithered with its belly to the ground, an uncertain shape shrouded in rags. It came up to the swine and examined it, pawing at it with a deliberate manner that was far too intelligent for any mere animal. It sniffed at the strange meat, turning it over with a easy flick. It seemed confused.
Lam keyed the ignition, and lit the place up. There, blinking in the red and white glare of the rear-end lights, was what had once been a man. In his mouth he held the naked metal of the cord.
Nasir clamped down the lead. Sparks flew. They saw a blinding brilliant flash across the creature’s frame, saw it leap five feet into the air with an inhuman shriek. It dropped back down with a heavy thud. Jay and Christen were up in an instant, shouting and stomping their feet, mad with panic.
“You killed him!”
“Holy shit!”
“It’s not a man! It’s one of them!”
“What did you do? My God! Why did you do that?”
“Don’t!”
Nasir snatched at him, but he was too quick. Jay pushed the door open and ran out. He sprinted to the body, knelt next to it and did a quick survey of the damage. He tore open the shirt and saw smoke rising from the chest area, smelling of crisp meat. He yelled:
“Hey! I think he’s still breathing! Anybody know CPR?”
He turned to look back at them, and so did not see the creature raise itself up on all six of its limbs. The extra ones were sprouting out from its back. They were long, hooked and serrated, like the cruel arms of a mantis.
“Get down!”
Nasir came up, roaring and swinging the bat in a wild arc. It caught it on the chin, and it staggered back. He bludgeoned it repeatedly, but for all his wiry strength, he might as well have been slapping it with a limp fish. He brought the edge down hard, to stave in its head. Its jaws distended and stretched wide, it caught the bat in its teeth and bit it in two. In the recesses of its throat, thorny tendrils lashed and writhed. It reached for him, and he stumbled away.
Tires squealed as Lam backed over it with the Toyota. They heard its spine break as its lower body went under the rear bumper. Christen, swearing wildly, leaned over it as it lay stunned.
“
Laro chus, maderchod!”
He clamped both leads directly onto its face.
As it fried, Lam handed them the digging tools.
“Take it apart,” he said. And they did. When they were finished, it was unrecognizable. Lam waited patiently for it to slither out of the ruined vessel, and then trapped it in the beer cooler.
“They’re getting bigger.” He told Nasir.
(pls let me know if you want to read part 2. thank you bros)
submitted by species meaning in Urdu (Pronunciation -تلفظ سنیۓ ) US: 1) species. There are several meanings of the Homo Sapiens word and it can be used in different situations with a combination of other words as well. Sapiens definition is - of, relating to, or being recent humans (Homo sapiens) as distinguished from various fossil hominids. The page not only provides Urdu meaning of Homo Erectus Judicious definition, using or showing judgment as to action or practical expediency; discreet, prudent, or politic: judicious use of one's money. See more. This will improve our English to Urdu Dictionary, Urdu to English dictionary, English to Urdu Idioms translation and Urdu to English Idioms translations. Although we have added all of the meanings of Daana - دانا with utmost care but there could be human errors in the translation. So if you encounter any problem in our translation service please feel free to correct it at the spot. All you Wise Meaning in Urdu Translation is "aqalmand" and Wise synonym words Considered, Diplomatic, Judicious, Knowing and Method. Similar words of Wise are also commonly used in daily talk like as Wisely, Wise Up and Wised. Pronunciation roman Urdu is "aqalmand" and Translation of Wise in Urdu writing script is عقلمند. (5) This judicious selection means less than 200 garments worldwide will be produced. (6) We were, quite literally, reaping the rewards of ignoring the judicious practice of crop rotation. (7) Social occasions in particular require judicious thought and planning. (8) Indeed, the lack of judicious editing is the most obvious problem with this book. Judicious definition is - having, exercising, or characterized by sound judgment. How to use judicious in a sentence. Synonym Discussion of judicious. Urdu to English Meaning of عقلمندانہ کا مطلب انگریزی میں Aqal Mandana Translation from Urdu into English means Judicious . Find English Meaning of عقلمندانہ and related words to Judicious The page not only provides Urdu meaning of Judiciary but also gives extensive definition in English language. The definition of Judiciary is followed by practically usable example sentences which allow you to construct your own sentences based on it. You can also find multiple synonyms or similar words of Judiciary. All of this may seem less if you are unable to learn exact pronunciation of The page not only provides Urdu meaning of Earnest but also gives extensive definition in English language. The definition of Earnest is followed by practically usable example sentences which allow you to construct your own sentences based on it. You can also find multiple synonyms or similar words of Earnest. All of this may seem less if you are unable to learn exact pronunciation of Earnest Wise Up To Urdu Meaning - Find the correct meaning of Wise Up To in Urdu, it is important to understand the word properly when we translate it from English to Urdu. There are always several meanings of each word in Urdu, the correct meaning of Wise Up To in Urdu is دانشمند اوپر پر, and in roman we write it .
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