Tuesday, July 25, 2006

an idea for a painting

and as the world explodes
in chaos clouds,
in threads of dreams
we will remain strong,
unshaken,
for we are the Storm.

how we thrust and parry
in our immortal play,
yet always in our time,
one to the other,
ever laughing
like dancers at the end of time.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

You appeal to me in a gestalt way. There is something, some secret lacuna within me, which you fill..Amorina mia bella, like velvet honey on my tongue

The moon pales starkly, casting long and deep shadows over the silvered landscape. The boughs of the majestic pines swoop low as I hurtle through them, the wind cold, and stinging on my face.

So long have I sought you that sometimes I think that you cannot be real. Sometimes I think I but chase the dream of a dream. Then I see your face in a crowd. I smell the perfume of your hair as I close my eyes to sleep. I feel the warmth of your presence almost near enough to touch, and I know, with all there is in me, that you are.

My eyes snap open from my reverie. Turning aside as I leap, narrowly missing jagged rocks, I spin, landing lightly. The sharp dry needles crackle beneath my weight, my senses alert, I search for your trail.

I am Animus. My eyes are fire, my limbs smooth and strong, my will iron. I hear you then, laughing gaily. The soft sound of your footfalls muffled beneath the blanket of dry needles. Oh, how you love the chase, my love. A wry smile gleams in the moonlight. Stretching my aching muscles, then exploding forward, the wind singing in my ears, the strong scent of pine mixing with the intoxicating perfume of your hair.
The heat of my body rises off me in waves. I surges forward, ducking and vaulting over branches, lithe like a jungle cat.

I see you. Your dewy limbs long and limber as you jog ahead. You break into a clearing, slowing down, and then stopping to catch your breath.

Rushing to the edge of the clearing, I reach out and catch hold of a passing trunk, stopping myself with a jolt, nails digging into the rough bark, tearing my hand. I wait. My chest is rising and falling deeply with my exertion, yet I feel no pain as I gaze upon you.

So softly your gentle steps bend the cool grass. Your hair shining like platinum in the ghost light. Your movements smooth and unconscious. There is all the grace of the gazelle in your movement, and the beauty of the swan is in the curve of your neck as you kneel down beside the bank of a small stream I had not noticed.

Hesitantly, I emerge from the shadowed wood. My silent gait like a lover’s whisper. I draw closer to you. My hands brushing the moon bathed tops of the cool grass, wetting my fingertips like soothing kisses, while I watch you drink. Your lips, a delicate and pale rose. You bend your head to drink, closing your eyes, letting the water cool your warm skin as it trickles down from your lips along the pulse line of your throat. The water drops glisten like diamonds in the moonlight, enchanting my eyes as they trace their innocent and seductive course.

A stillness then comes over your body. Your eyes flash open. A movement like quicksilver as your body unfolds, whirling to face me in a defensive crouch. Cheeks hot and flushed, your wild eyes, fierce and dilated, your nostrils flared, breath quick and even. You regard me with trepidation and suspicion.

Slowly raising my hands to show that I mean you no harm, I drink in the sight of you. Your eyes flicker to my wounded hand, a frown ghosting your smooth brow. A mistrustful question in your eyes, answered by a gentleness in mine. You shift your shoulder subtly, taking a half step back with one foot, inviting me to the water’s edge.
The tension is relaxed, but not gone. The music of the cicadas swells and recedes as I slowly step forward. Looking you in your lapis lazuli eyes as you back away, kneeling beside the stream I trail my fingers in the water.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Work in progress.. I wish I could have one idea at a time, instead of thousands within thousands within...

Just a little tighter. The veins didn't stand out like they used to, too many had collapsed, and he hadn't been eating well. He pulled on the belt with his teeth to cinch it in snug. There you are, he thought picking up the dirty syringe. Flick flick Flick. Don't waste any. A dark thrill of anticipation shivered through him, his body light and tense, his back hurt, but not for long. Soon the pain would be gone. A ragged laugh. Seems to hurt more and more, real life. Don't think about that now. A shaking hand presses the point of the needle, cold against the balloon of his vein, scratching slightly. Calm down, don't fuck it up. A slow steady pressure, and it slides right in like a razor cut, the stinging discomfort of something alien in your body. Pull out. Pull out.. slowly. The blood leaving his arm always made him feel weak in the marrow of his bones, a dull ache he loved to hate. Now push in, slowly, don't fuck up! momentary panic made him push too hard, mouth opening and closing, clenching his teeth so hard they grind. Warm, oh God it's so warm. Untie the arm quickly. Oh God, there it is. A shuddering gasp escapes his mouth as he feels it building in his muscles, back arched and aching as he feels the sudden surge like a lightening roller-coaster down his spine. So intense, a moan escapes his lips, an involuntary intake of breath as he falls back, needle dangling at a wicked angle. A dark smear of blood staining his too-pale skin. Waves of ecstasy pulse through him. Gasping air, his breath made sickly sweet. His legs draw up as his elbows press into his stomach, hands indrawn talons. Too much. Heart racing as his eyelids flutter, mouth working uselessly as a gurgle escapes him. Spasms pull his back tight, awkwardly twisting his body. Hands clenching, cutting ragged half-moons in his palms. Too much. The needle tearing violently out of his arm, blood oozing, a dark ichor. The thin metal bending under him, then snapping, a steel shard, like an angry thorn cutting deeper into him. The plastic deforming as he twitches, back arching off the ground. A cold sheen of sweat breaking out on his pallid skin.
Help me, help me, oh God, mother, please, help me. A tear bleeds from the corner of his eye, wetting his ear as cold sweat soaks him. The carpet burning into his flesh as he twists, writhing, heals kicking into the ground unfelt. Oh, please, please. Eyes unfocused staring at nothing, pupils gaping open, light stabbing in.

Nemesis..

A rasping intake of breath shook him. He reached out his hand, tentatively placing it on the head of his son. Gently taking him in his arms, delicately touching his face in mute adoration. A grimace of pain tore at his mouth. With these same hands that had killed, and maimed so many sons. These hands that had destroyed so many hearts, made so many fathers' blood turn to ice and hearts to stone. These hands that turned the nursery song of so many mothers into the wailing and shrieking of mourning; and he wept. He wept with the deep knowledge of all he had done. Truly done. He wept with the guilt of what he had taken from so many. He wept with the pain of knowing he didn't deserve this child.. He, who had taken the children of so many. Their faces came to him then. After so many years, each and every face etched in perfect detail, carved upon a soul he didn't know he had. Racking sobs shook him as he cradled this life, this undeserved and precious life and held him to his heart and swore his son would know nothing of pain, or bloodshed, or the way of the sword. His son would be pure, his own sins and the blood on his hands would never taint the heart of his precious boy. All of the glory, and honour he had won turned to ash in his mouth. All of the things he had fought and killed for, bartered is soul for, all of the wealth of the world wasn't worth a single drop of his son's innocent blood.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Conversational Fragments of the illustrious Haroldo Humumnie esq.

Haroldo: ...Well, that's my motto, "use caution..cautiously"
Cecil: "Caution cautiously"? *laughs* well that doesn't make much-
Haroldo: Sometimes the cautious use of caution is all we have...
Cecil: I mean.. surely being cautious is a good thing..?
Haroldo: *nods sagely then roles a loose cigarette* Seems to me the type of thing that could get out of hand..
Cecil: *sips tea, squints as he looks into the fire, then at Haroldo* Wait, what does.. caution?
Haroldo: *lights cigarette, inhaling profoundly* oh yes, surely.. first it's a little caution here, then a little there.. till pretty soon, you're cautiously pissing in a ten ton safe at the bottom of the ocean, just to be on the safe side.... *looks off over the barren wastes* seems like the type of thing one wants to give all due thought and attention to before employing..
Cecil: ...*frowns with concentration* ...so.. was that your reasoning behind hitting that three hundred pound gorilla of a man in the goolies, deflowering his three daughters, and stealing his horse.. leaving us in this rather..shall we say, awkward predicament? That's the "cautious use of caution" is it?
Haroldo: No..*exhales slowly, gesturing expansively* ..that was all just a good idea at the time....*places index finger across his lips*..but it follows a similar principle..
Cecil: *ruminates* you know..*takes another sip of tea, considering* ..sometimes I think that you're just fucking with me, Mr.Humumnie.
Harold: *inhales, looking at the stars, shrugs*...well, there's that too, yes..

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Well personally I think I switch back and forth between Logic and Feeling and Intravert vs Extravert. I am after all both Calvin and Hobbes

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and informative and introverted in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.

Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe thay have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.


Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
by Joe Butt
Profile: INFP
Revision: 3.0
Date of Revision: 26 Feb 2005


"I remember the first albatross I ever saw. ... At intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to embrace some holy ark. Wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it. Though bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king's ghost in super natural distress. Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets not below the heavens. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself..." --(Herman Melville, Moby Dick)
INFPs never seem to lose their sense of wonder. One might say they see life through rose-colored glasses. It's as though they live at the edge of a looking-glass world where mundane objects come to life, where flora and fauna take on near-human qualities.

INFP children often exhibit this in a 'Calvin and Hobbes' fashion, switching from reality to fantasy and back again. With few exceptions, it is the NF child who readily develops imaginary playmates (as with Anne of Green Gables's "bookcase girlfriend"--her own reflection) and whose stuffed animals come to life like the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse:

"...Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand..." (the Skin Horse)
INFPs have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable the INFP is wont to have pity.

Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
--(Steven Vincent Benet, Elegy for an Enemy)
Their extreme depth of feeling is often hidden, even from themselves, until circumstances evoke an impassioned response:

"I say, Queequeg! Why don't you speak? It's I--Ishmael." But all remained still as before. ... Something must have happened. Apoplexy!
... And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the door. ... "Have to burst it open," said I, and was running down the entry a little, for a good start, when the landlady caught me, again vowing I should not break down her premises; but I tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.--(Melville, Moby Dick)
Of course, not all of life is rosy, and INFPs are not exempt from the same disappointments and frustrations common to humanity. As INTPs tend to have a sense of failed competence, INFPs struggle with the issue of their own ethical perfection, e.g., perfo rmance of duty for the greater cause. An INFP friend describes the inner conflict as not good versus bad, but on a grand scale, Good vs. Evil. Luke Skywalker in Star Wars depicts this conflict in his struggle between the two sides of "The Force." Although the dark side must be reckoned with, the INFP believes that good ultimately triumphs.

Some INFPs have a gift for taking technical information and putting it into layman's terms. Brendan Kehoe's Zen and the Art of the Internet is one example of this "de-jargoning" talent in action.

Functional Analysis:

Introverted Feeling
INFPs live primarily in a rich inner world of introverted Feeling. Being inward-turning, the natural attraction is away from world and toward essence and ideal. This introversion of dominant Feeling, receiving its data from extraverted intuition, must be the source of the quixotic nature of these usually gentle beings. Feeling is caught in the approach- avoidance bind between concern both for people and for All Creatures Great and Small, and a psycho-magnetic repulsion from the same. The "object," be it homo sapiens or a mere representation of an organism, is valued only to the degree that the object contains some measure of the inner Essence or greater Good. Doing a good deed, for example, may provide intrinsic satisfaction which is only secondary to the greater good of striking a blow against Man's Inhumanity to Mankind.

Extraverted iNtuition
Extraverted intuition faces outward, greeting the world on behalf of Feeling. What the observer usually sees is creativity with implied good will. Intuition spawns this type's philosophical bent and strengthens pattern perception. It combines as auxiliary with introverted Feeling and gives rise to unusual skill in both character development and fluency with language--a sound basis for the development of literary facility. If INTPs aspire to word mechanics, INFPs would be verbal artists.

Introverted Sensing
Sensing is introverted and often invisible. This stealth function in the third position gives INFPs a natural inclination toward absent- mindedness and other-worldliness, however, Feeling's strong people awareness provides a balancing, mitigating effect. This introverted Sensing is somewhat categorical, a subdued version of SJ sensing. In the third position, however, it is easily overridden by the stronger functions.

Extraverted Thinking
The INFP may turn to inferior extraverted Thinking for help in focusing on externals and for closure. INFPs can even masquerade in their ESTJ business suit, but not without expending considerable energy. The inferior, problematic nature of Extraverted Thinking is its lack of context and proportion. Single impersonal facts may loom large or attain higher priority than more salient principles which are all but overlooked.

Famous INFPs:
Homer
Virgil
Mary, mother of Jesus
St. John, the beloved disciple
St. Luke; physician, disciple, author
William Shakespeare, bard of Avon
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Evangeline)
A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie)
Helen Keller, deaf and blind author
Carl Rogers, reflective psychologist, counselor
Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers' Neighborhood)
Dick Clark (American Bandstand)
Donna Reed, actor (It's a Wonderful Life)
Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis
Neil Diamond, vocalist
Tom Brokaw, news anchor
James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small)
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
James Taylor, vocalist
Julia Roberts, actor (Conspiracy Theory, Pretty Woman)
Scott Bakula (Quantum Leap)
Terri Gross (PBS's "Fresh Air")
Amy Tan (author of The Joy-Luck Club, The Kitchen God's Wife)
John F. Kennedy, Jr.
Lisa Kudrow ("Phoebe" of Friends)
Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years")


Fictional INFPs:
Anne (Anne of Green Gables)
Calvin (Calvin and Hobbes)
Deanna Troi (Star Trek - The Next Generation)
Wesley Crusher (Star Trek - The Next Generation)
Doctor Julian Bashir (Star Trek: Deep Space 9)
Bastian (The Neverending Story)
E.T.: the ExtraTerrestrial
Doug Funny, Doug cartoons
Tommy, Rug Rats cartoons
Rocko, Rocko's Modern Life cartoons


Copyright © 1996-2005 by Joe Butt



And this is my other self


Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging
by Joe Butt
Profile: INFJ
Revision: 3.01
Date of Revision: 6 Mar 2005

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Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.

"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.

INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.

Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

Functional Analysis:

Introverted iNtuition
Introverted intuitives, INFJs enjoy a greater clarity of perception of inner, unconscious processes than all but their INTJ cousins. Just as SP types commune with the object and "live in the here and now" of the physical world, INFJs readily grasp the hidden psychological stimuli behind the more observable dynamics of behavior and affect. Their amazing ability to deduce the inner workings of the mind, will and emotions of others gives INFJs their reputation as prophets and seers. Unlike the confining, routinizing nature of introverted sensing, introverted intuition frees this type to act insightfully and spontaneously as unique solutions arise on an event by event basis.

Extraverted Feeling
Extraverted feeling, the auxiliary deciding function, expresses a range of emotion and opinions of, for and about people. INFJs, like many other FJ types, find themselves caught between the desire to express their wealth of feelings and moral conclusions about the actions and attitudes of others, and the awareness of the consequences of unbridled candor. Some vent the attending emotions in private, to trusted allies. Such confidants are chosen with care, for INFJs are well aware of the treachery that can reside in the hearts of mortals. This particular combination of introverted intuition and extraverted feeling provides INFJs with the raw material from which perceptive counselors are shaped.

Introverted Thinking
The INFJ's thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject. Perhaps it is when the INFJ's thinking function is operative that he is most aloof. A comrade might surmise that such detachment signals a disillusionment, that she has also been found lacking by the sardonic eye of this one who plumbs the depths of the human spirit. Experience suggests that such distancing is merely an indication that the seer is hard at work and focusing energy into this less efficient tertiary function.

Extraverted Sensing
INFJs are twice blessed with clarity of vision, both internal and external. Just as they possess inner vision which is drawn to the forms of the unconscious, they also have external sensing perception which readily takes hold of worldly objects. Sensing, however, is the weakest of the INFJ's arsenal and the most vulnerable. INFJs, like their fellow intuitives, may be so absorbed in intuitive perceiving that they become oblivious to physical reality. The INFJ under stress may fall prey to various forms of immediate gratification. Awareness of extraverted sensing is probably the source of the "SP wannabe" side of INFJs. Many yearn to live spontaneously; it's not uncommon for INFJ actors to take on an SP (often ESTP) role.

Famous INFJs:
Nathan, prophet of Israel
Aristophanes
Chaucer
Goethe
Robert Burns, Scottish poet

U.S. Presidents:
Martin Van Buren
James Earl "Jimmy" Carter
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Fanny Crosby, (blind) hymnist
Mother Teresa of Calcutta
Fred McMurray (My Three Sons)
Shirley Temple Black, child actor, ambassador
Martin Luther King, Jr., civil rights leader, martyr
James Reston, newspaper reporter
Shirley McClain (Sweet Charity, ...)
Piers Anthony, author ("Xanth" series)
Michael Landon (Little House on the Prairie)
Tom Selleck
John Katz, critic, author
Paul Stookey (Peter, Paul and Mary)
U. S. Senator Carol Moseley-Braun (D-IL)
Billy Crystal
Garry Trudeau (Doonesbury)
Nelson Mandela
Mel Gibson
Carrie Fisher
Nicole Kidman
Jamie Foxx
Sela Ward
Mark Harmon
Gary Dourdan
Marg Helgaberger
Evangeline Lilly
Tori May


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Introverted iNtuiting Feeling Judging
by Marina Margaret Heiss
INFJs are distinguished by both their complexity of character and the unusual range and depth of their talents. Strongly humanitarian in outlook, INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and completion, they are generally "doers" as well as dreamers. This rare combination of vision and practicality often results in INFJs taking a disproportionate amount of responsibility in the various causes to which so many of them seem to be drawn.

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.

Due in part to the unique perspective produced by this alternation between detachment and involvement in the lives of the people around them, INFJs may well have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of others, for good and for evil. The most important contributing factor to this uncanny gift, however, are the empathic abilities often found in Fs, which seem to be especially heightened in the INFJ type (possibly by the dominance of the introverted N function).

This empathy can serve as a classic example of the two-edged nature of certain INFJ talents, as it can be strong enough to cause discomfort or pain in negative or stressful situations. More explicit inner conflicts are also not uncommon in INFJs; it is possible to speculate that the causes for some of these may lie in the specific combinations of preferences which define this complex type. For instance, there can sometimes be a "tug-of-war" between NF vision and idealism and the J practicality that urges compromise for the sake of achieving the highest priority goals. And the I and J combination, while perhaps enhancing self-awareness, may make it difficult for INFJs to articulate their deepest and most convoluted feelings.

Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. Since in addition they often possess a strong personal charisma, INFJs are generally well-suited to the "inspirational" professions such as teaching (especially in higher education) and religious leadership. Psychology and counseling are other obvious choices, but overall, INFJs can be exceptionally difficult to pigeonhole by their career paths. Perhaps the best example of this occurs in the technical fields. Many INFJs perceive themselves at a disadvantage when dealing with the mystique and formality of "hard logic", and in academic terms this may cause a tendency to gravitate towards the liberal arts rather than the sciences. However, the significant minority of INFJs who do pursue studies and careers in the latter areas tend to be as successful as their T counterparts, as it is *iNtuition* -- the dominant function for the INFJ type -- which governs the ability to understand abstract theory and implement it creatively.

In their own way, INFJs are just as much "systems builders" as are INTJs; the difference lies in that most INFJ "systems" are founded on human beings and human values, rather than information and technology. Their systems may for these reasons be conceptually "blurrier" than analogous NT ones, harder to measure in strict numerical terms, and easier to take for granted -- yet it is these same underlying reasons which make the resulting contributions to society so vital and profound.

Copyright © 1996-2005 by Marina Margaret Heiss and Joe Butt

Monday, July 10, 2006

irritating computers

just what it says