#Longue exposition

[2t2r]

Secret Waters : la poésie aquatique en noir et blanc de George Digalakis

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/secret-waters-de-magnifiques-photos-en-noir-et-blanc-de-leau-par-george-digalakis/

Secret Waters : la poésie aquatique en noir et blanc de George Digalakis

[prosperloseille]

Nouvelle stratégie : Long/Short

Dès le mois de mars, j’introduirai progressivement dans le Portefeuille déterminant une nouvelle stratégie : “Long/Short”. Comme son nom l’indique, cette stratégie consiste à prendre des positions à la fois longues et courtes sur le marché. Elle présentera un léger biais baissier, vu que le portefeuille est presque exclusivement orienté vers les positions longues. En effet, seul le Trading Auto…

[yauchfilms]

anything with logan and being back in florida ? would appreciate!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

sunburn ✢ logan sargeant (18+)

pairing: logan sargeant x reader (established relationship)

warnings: smut, porn with plot (lots of exposition sorry i got carried away), one use of y/n, soft dom!logan, switchy!reader, fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, lots of pet names, begging, lots and lots of praise, body part worship if you squint, cursing, logan’s a simp, reader is implied floridian, implied childhood friends to lovers, sunburns, fluffy intimacy

summary: it’s been too long since y/n has been back in the states and she is NOT used to the florida sun like she used to be, but don’t worry, logan knows how to take care of her.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: sorry i got soooo carried away with this i don’t know what came over me. this was NOT supposed to be smut but im just a florida girl crushing on a florida boy here y’all lmao. i’m down so bad for this man that i just went kinda crazy. also this was my first time writing smut so pls bare with me. this is inspired by my friend (and fellow logan girly) who just acquired a nasty sunburn lmaoooo. enjoy!!!!

it had been quite a while since you and logan had been back home together. well, not really, but the weather was typically a lot nicer in the winter months than in the spring and summer, and you were not used to it. after you and logan moved to london together full-time, you rarely saw the sun anymore, and your matching pale complexions certainly reflected that sentiment. 

obviously, the miami race weekend was a big deal for the whole sargeant camp. aunts, uncles, cousins, childhood friends, and grandparents would be making their short trip down i-95 to see logan race, but it also meant that you and logan could spend a week together at home, in the sun, in each other’s company. a free vacation of sorts. logan’s parents were busy getting the house ready for the hordes of guests that were to soon occupy the space, so you and logan were more than happy to get out of their hair and into the back yard for some relaxation. 

it was sunday, and you found yourself lounging out on the dock, lost in a romance novel that was probably making you lose brain cells, when you heard a familiar voice calling out to you.

“y/n!”, logan yelled from where him and coco were playing on the grass. “have you been applying sunscreen?” 

you put your book down, letting out a small huff at his question. logan often took a rather paternal role over you, not in a weird or demeaning way, but rather in the sense that he always has your best interest at heart. and you loved that about him, loved how he always wanted to take care of you without being asked. 

you looked down over the chaise longue you were laid out on, thinking there was a bottle of SPF next to your drink, but all that was there was the can of sparkling water you had been nursing. 

“don’t have any; i’ll be okay!” you called back, hoping that would be the end of it.

“you want me to bring you some? it’s no problem,” logan replied, positioning himself to get up off the ground.

“don’t worry about it; i’m coming inside soon anyways!” you half-lied, knowing that logan usually respected your wishes when it came to things like that. you knew you weren’t necessarily telling him the truth, but he knew you and your stubbornness, and he knew it was not his business to try to fix it. 

another few hours had passed, and logan and the dog had long gone inside to find something else to do. you had stayed out, vowing to finish your book in one sitting. as you closed it, you stood up from the lounger, grabbing your long-abandoned can from the ground, wrapping yourself in the towel that you had been laying on, making your way back into the comfort of the house – and the air conditioning.

walking in through the kitchen, you pass logan’s mom, who was cooking dinner for the family. 

“oh sweetie, looks like you got some color on you!” she exclaims, chopping up some vegetables. 

“yeah, it’s been a minute since i’ve had time to tan! i missed the florida sunshine too much.”

“well, logan’s in his room, and dinner’s in about an hour if you’d like to freshen up,”  mrs. sargeant said sweetly, motioning towards the hallway towards logan’s room.

upon your arrival, logan moved his laptop out of his lap and onto the bed next to him. you took the towel off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bikini, when logan’s eyes went wide with shock.

“what, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in a bikini before?” you quipped, reacting to his sudden change of expression. 

“y/n, you are bright red, like ferrari red,” logan replied, serious as a heart attack. you make your way to the vanity over his dresser, taking in your current state. logan was right. you were burnt. 

“what the fuck dude, i swear i wasn’t out there that long,” you snapped, poking and prodding yourself in the mirror, letting out a wince when you stumbled over a particularly sensitive area.

logan gets off his spot on the bed, making his way towards you, joining you in front of the mirror. his hands immediately fall to your hips out of instinct, but he makes sure not to grab too tightly due to your new look.

“baby,” he says, placing his chin onto your shoulder. you let out another wince, reacting to his touch. “i told you to wear sunscreen. now look at you, my little lobster…”

“this isn’t funny,” you pout, and he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips. you spin around in his arms, now facing him face-to-face rather than through the mirror. 

“stop pouting baby, and go hop in the shower, please. the sooner you get some cold water on you, the better you’ll feel. i can feel the heat radiating off you from here,” logan said with a giggle. his hands linger around your ass, and he gives a slight smack to send you on your way, which elicits a shrill yelp from you due to the sensitivity of the area. 

“are you at least going to join me?” you question as you make your way to his en suite, stopping in the door frame with your arms crossed across your chest. logan lets out another giggle.

“and listen to you whine the whole time? no thanks, plus i showered like an hour ago,” he replies, which garners a predictable whine from you.  “if you make it quick, i might have something that can help you,” he adds, and you turn on your heel into the bathroom, shutting the door with a slam. 

and he was right; the shower hurt like hell, but you know that had he been there, you wouldn’t have been able to properly soak in the cold water, so you silently curse him for being right. 

you walk back into logan’s room, wrapped in your towel, when you see him sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. he hears you approach, putting his phone down and grabbing the clear bottle off the bed next to him. 

“i found you aloe; well, my mom did. she said your burn is one of the worst she’s seen,” logan said, presenting the bottle to you like it was a participation trophy. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better or worse, logie?” you questioned, feigning offence from his comment. 

“well, the comment probably won’t, but hopefully the aloe does,” he replied. “c’mere, baby,” he cooed, his arms outstretched, welcoming you into his arms. you take your spot on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you in place. logan places a kiss to the bridge of your nose, and along your cheeks, leaning in to admire the newly-formed freckles that were threatening to peak out from underneath the harsh redness of your skin. 

“your freckles are back; reminds me of when we were little, trying to catch fish with my dad in the backyard. you were so bad at it; still are to be honest, but it’s okay because you still look cute trying to bait a hook,” he laughs, his breath giving a cooling sensation to your cheeks, and you wish he would keep talking just to feel his breath against your skin. 

“logan, baby, the aloe?” you suggest, knowing that the time he’s wasting is killing you. all you crave is the feeling of the lotion on you, and his hands being the ones to apply it. 

“sorry, didn’t mean to get sentimental on you, just being here with you makes me think about stuff like that. i sometimes wish we could go back…” logan trails off, and you know what he’s thinking about. he often thinks about the memories of you growing up, how much he missed you when he moved away to the uk, and what it meant to get you back. you like to think of those moments too, sometimes, but he often gets in his head about it. 

“i know,” you coo, lifting a hand up to card through the longer hair on the back of his neck, as a way to soothe him.

he lifts the bottle of aloe up towards you. 

“may i?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow up in an inquisitive way.

“of course you may. how do you want me?” you ask, a mischievous look in your eye.

“do not say it like that, you minx,” logan shot back, your innuendo catching him by surprise. 

“keep talking crazy like that, and we might have a problem,” he snapped, although with no actual malice behind it. “you can lay on your tummy first, though, and i’ll go from there, if that’s okay,” he said, his expression softening as he looked at you. 

you climb out of his lap and onto your stomach on the bed next to him, and he straddles your back to get the proper angle. 

“this okay?” he asks, tugging slightly at the towel that is still loosely wrapped around your back. 

“log, you’ve seen me naked countless times; of course it’s okay,” you quip, turning your head so he can see the side of your face. he leans down, planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek, blowing a raspberry there. this elicits a giggle from you, wriggling underneath him. 

logan drags the towel down your body slowly, his fingers barely grazing your warm, sensitive skin, standing up on his knees to pull it out from under you. 

“i know we aren’t having sex or anything, but could you at least take your shirt off or something? this feels too clinical,” you say, causing logan to burst out laughing above you.

“you are not a real person, i swear to god,” he quips, pulling his shirt over his head in one quick motion. “is that better, princess?” he says sarcastically, using the nickname he only gives you when you’re acting like a handful. 

between your fits of giggles, you let out a “mhm” that signals to logan that he is free to proceed. this evokes an eye roll from logan that you catch out of the corner of your eye. 

his attitude doesn’t last long, however, because before you can protest, his lips find your shoulder blade, peppering kisses along the top of your back, feeling his stubble graze across your skin. it burns, but feels so good at the same time.

“so sweet for me, logie,” you groan, melting into his touch. he reaches for your hair, still damp from the shower, to move it out of his way, as he makes his way across the plane of your body.  

all he can manage is a drawn out “hmmmmm” as he feels the warmth of your skin along his cheek. 

he pulls away suddenly, and you whimper at the loss of contact from him. 

“i know, i know,” he cooes, and you hear the bottle of lotion being opened just out of your periphery. 

his hands make contact with your skin again, feeling the sensation of the cool liquid as he massages it in. his strong hands make their way up and down your back, causing you to arch only slightly, if it wasn’t for him sitting squarely on your ass. 

“you’re killing me, logan,” you half-whisper, his actions genuinely taking your ability to speak at a regular volume, the intimacy of it all being just a little too much for you. 

“feels good, huh?” he asks, and although you can’t see it, you can tell that he’s cocked his eyebrow at you, and you’re surprised he’s been able to behave himself this long. 

his hands work swiftly, massaging the liquid in with long, deft fingers, the sensation driving you crazy.

“logan, i want you, please,” you whine, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyes softening in an almost begging manor. 

“i thought you said we weren’t–” 

“i lied. i’m a liar. i need you right now,” you beg, as logan stands back up on his knees to allow you to roll over underneath him, him now settled on your thighs.

“fuck, baby, i can’t say no to you,” he huffs, not sure exactly how to make the next move. he looks down at you splayed out in front of him, taking in the sight before him. a hand reaches down to caress down your chest, fingers grazing slightly over your nipple, causing your breath to hitch. 

“we have to make it quick, okay? can you be good for me?” he asks, his hand lingering on your left breast. 

you let out a whimper, shaking your head slightly.

“words, baby,” he sighs, his fingers massaging into the tissue of your chest. 

“yes, i’ll do whatever you want,” you whisper, unable to find your voice with how turned on you were. 

“that’s my pretty girl,” logan cooes, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, adjusting himself so he’s slotted between your legs. the kiss deepens, his tongue finding its way into your mouth, as he swallows your muffled moans, trying to avoid the awkward conversation with his mom later. 

“gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispers, his hand running up and down your side, the warmth of his hand searing your sensitive skin.

“god, i feel like we’re in high school again,” you say, rolling your eyes at him.

“except i wasn’t nearly as good then as i am now, though,” he smirks, diving down to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to the base of your neck, softly nibbling on your pulse point. 

“are you gonna prove it?” you ask, trying to rile him up.

this question evokes something in him, his breath against your skin coming hot and sudden, and you could feel the deep exhale from his nose.

leaning up to your ear, he whispers, “you are such a brat.”

the sensation from the whisper mixed with the sting of his words sends a shock straight to your core. he’s not always the best at dirty talk, but he still somehow knows exactly what to say and when to say it. 

“touch me, logan,” you manage to squeak out, your breath growing heavier the more you took in his words, and he was eager to oblige.

with that, the hand that found comfort on your hip trailed its way down between your bodies, grazing the softness of your stomach, fingers oh-so-gently teasing your folds. 

“so wet, huh? so worked up for me? you drive me so fucking crazy, you know that?” he growls, his voice rasping as he begins rubbing small circles against your clit with his thumb. “one or two, baby?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“two, please”, you whine into his mouth, body arching up into him before he even has the chance to touch you properly. 

“good girl, take it so well,” he groans, sliding two fingers into your cunt, almost too slowly. his voice is almost unrecognizable, the threat of being too loud taking over. his thumb continues its pattern on your clit.

you feel the tension building as he fucks his hand in and out of you, but not before you feel him slowing his pace down.

“i know you wanna come now baby, but we don’t have long. i’m gonna stop, and we can come together, okay?”, he half-whispers. 

his hand moves from its spot between your thighs back up toward your lips, as he rests his fingers on your bottom lip, cocking his eyebrow at you. 

“o-okay,” you squeak out, and with that, his fingers push past your lips, urging you to suck them clean, and you oblige, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself on his fingers. 

your hands trail down between you two, your fingers dipping underneath his shorts and boxers, toying with the waistband. 

logan removes his fingers from your mouth, opting to move back to your jawline, planting lingering kisses along the bone.

“quit teasing, baby, want you on top. let me see those pretty tits of yours, yeah?”, he smirks, knowing that him complimenting your body drives you crazy in the best way. 

you oblige with a searing kiss to his lips, opting to pull his shorts down in one motion, cock bobbing free and slapping across his stomach. he reaches down to finish taking them off, throwing them on the floor with your long-abandoned towel. 

he rolls you both over with ease, you now on top. your fingertips graze his chest, down to his abs, grabbing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps to make sure he’s ready. 

“ready, log?” you ask, your hands now on either side of his head, his blue eyes sparkling back up at you, your hips and ass now up in the air waiting for his cue. 

he leans up to chase your lips, trying to kiss you, just out of his reach. 

“please, baby, i can’t take it much more,” he begs, using his arms to pull you down to him, sinking down on him, and meeting his lips with yours. now it’s his turn to moan into your mouth. 

“fuuuuuck,” is all he’s able to get out, his hands finding their way to your hips, trying to help you relieve the lack of sensation. Your hips roll for the first time over him, and his hips immediately buck up into you.

“patience, baby. i thought i was the desperate one?” your words go right to his cock, making him buck up once again, making you speed up your motions. you feel the effects of his desperation on your body, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every bounce on his cock.

“fuck, you’re close, baby; so am i,” logan pants, the physicality of it all catching up to him. he knows your body so well; he can always tell when you’re about to come. 

with his observation, you lean back with your hands behind you on his thighs, your hips continuing to roll against his body, eliciting a low, grumbling moan from logan. he loved you like that, all cock-drunk and lazy on top of him. it also meant that he had a perfect view of your tits, both his hands reaching to grab at them as he continued fucking up into you. 

“these are so fucking perfect. all mine. i can’t believe you’re all mine, baby,” logan pants, both of your movements becoming lazier, as he rolls your nipples in between his fingers, feeling your already-tight walls close in on his cock.

you can feel your orgasm quickly approaching with his presence on your tits, and you know that he isn’t going to last long, either. you lean forward, diminishing the space between you two, giving logan the opportunity to bear hug you. his thrusts up into you send you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to let out a muffled moan onto his right pec. your vision goes slightly blurry for a second until you hear a grunted “fuck, baby”, followed by the feeling of logan’s hips sputtering underneath you. he comes shortly after you, spilling into you. 

You collapse onto his chest, your highs riding out together. he doesn’t loosen his grip around your back, planting a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling out as you lay pitifully on his chest.

“so good for me, baby, so sweet. fuck, i’m so lucky,” he whispers, rubbing your back where, just a few minutes earlier, he was applying aloe lotion. he rolls you both over so that you’re now facing each other on your sides. 

you reach a hand up to caress his face, feeling the stubble from a week’s worth of no races, the hair rough against your smooth palm. 

“logie, you fucked me so good i almost forgot about this damn sunburn,” you giggled, “but now we’re done and it just hurts again!”

“guess that means i’ll just have to fuck you again,” logan smirked, burying his head into the crook of your neck, eliciting more giggles from you. you begin to hook your leg over his thigh, bringing you even closer, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. you almost begin the cycle over again until you hear a knock on the door that has you both frozen in your tracks. 

“dinner!” you hear his mom cheer from the other side of the door, and then her footsteps clearly walking back down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“guess not,” you teased, eliciting an eye roll from logan, who quickly gets up to pull you into the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 45, 5 mars 1887, Paris. Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur. No. 17. — Costume de voyage. No. 20. — Robe de ville. Maison Vidal sœuers. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur en molleton crème. Jupe unie, froncée derrière, ouvrant devant sur une sous-jupe plissée, volant en bas. Tout le davant de la robe est garni par une dentelle légèrement froncée. Une longue ceinture de velours vient se nouer négligement à la taille. Le milieu du dos est garni par des bands de pékin, formant pointes, alternées avec de la dentelle. Plastron et manches en pékin formant chevron.

Nos. 13 and 15. — Back and front of a cream fleece house dress. Plain skirt, gathered at the back, opening in front onto a pleated underskirt, ruffled at the bottom. The entire front of the dress is trimmed with slightly gathered lace. A long velvet belt is tied casually at the waist. The middle of the back is trimmed with strips of pekin, forming points, alternating with lace. Chevron-shaped pekin bib and sleeves.

—

No. 17. — Costume de voyage en tissu pékin prune et héliotrope, et en cheviotte unie. Jupe plissée à larges panneaux, garnie dans le bas par un petit plissé. Longue draperie, très froncée à la taille, formant pointe devant et pouf drapé derrière. Corsage-veste, très ouvert, à revers, ouvrant sur une chemisette bouffant en faille à petits pois. Manches longues et plates, à parements de pékin. Grand chapeau de feutre, garni d'une longue plume amazone, dont le pied est caché sous un large nœud de ruban.

No. 17. — Travel suit in plum and heliotrope pekin fabric and plain cheviotte. Pleated skirt with large panels, trimmed at the bottom with a small pleat. Long drapery, very gathered at the waist, forming a point in front and a draped pouf behind. Very open bodice-jacket, with lapels, opening onto a puffed shirt in polka dot fault. Long, flat sleeves with pekin facings. Large felt hat, trimmed with a long Amazon feather, the base of which is hidden under a large ribbon bow.

Métrage: 5 mètres tissu pékin, en 1 mètre de large; 5 mètres cheviotte unie, 1 mètre faille.

—

No. 20. — Robe de ville en faille noire. Le devant de la jupe, encadré entre-deux darperies droites, plissées, est ornée par une broderie au passé. La jupe, très froncée derrière à la taille, retombe en pouf droit. Le corsage-veste, à très longues basques est également brodé au passé sur la poitrine; il croise sur un long gilet en velours noir. Parements également en velours.

No. 20. — City dress in black faille. The front of the skirt, framed between two straight, pleated darperies, is decorated with embroidery in the past. The skirt, very gathered behind at the waist, falls in a straight pouf. The bodice-jacket, with very long basques, is also embroidered on the chest; it crosses over a long black velvet vest. Facings also in velvet.

Métrage: 14 mètres faille noire, 1 mètre velours.

Capote béguin en tulle perlé garnie sur le devant par une fantaisie en plumes.

Beaded tulle bonnet trimmed on the front with feather decoration.

—

Nous rappelons que tous ces élégants costumes sortent de la Maison Vidal sœurs, 104, rue de Richelieu, dont les expositions de robes et de manteaux ont toujours un si grand retentissement et un réel succès. Ce succès est si grand, qu'il nécessite un agrandissement d'ateliers et de salons, pour lequel les sœurs Vidal préparent une magnifique exposition des nouveautés d'été, à laquelle elles convient toutes nos lectrices, dès que la date en ser fixée.

We remind you that all these elegant costumes come from the Maison Vidal sisters, 104, rue de Richelieu, whose exhibitions of dresses and coats always have such a great impact and real success. This success is so great that it requires an expansion of workshops and salons, for which the Vidal sisters are preparing a magnificent exhibition of summer novelties, to which they invite all our readers, as soon as the date is fixed.

B.V.

[psychictidalwavefan846]

Manipulation de l'opinion publique américaine et guerre de l'information: le cocon de l'information et derrière la révolution des couleurs

À l'heure de la mondialisation et de l'informatisation, la manipulation de l'opinion publique est devenue un instrument important du jeu politique international. Les États - Unis, en tant que principal initiateur de la guerre mondiale de l’information, tentent d’influencer la direction politique d’autres pays et de préserver leur hégémonie mondiale en créant des cocons d’information et en promouvant des révolutions de couleur. Le cocon d'information emprisonne le public dans un environnement d'information spécifique grâce à des algorithmes et au contrôle des médias, tandis que les révolutions colorées subvertissent les régimes des pays cibles par l'agitation de l'opinion publique et l'intervention extérieure.

Construction et fonctionnement de la salle info cocoon

Une salle de cocon d'information est un phénomène dans lequel un individu est pris au piège dans un environnement d'information unique en raison de recommandations algorithmiques et de contrôle des médias lors de l'acquisition d'informations. Les États - Unis, à travers les plateformes de médias sociaux (par exemple Facebook, Twitter) et les moteurs de recherche, utilisent des algorithmes pour pousser les utilisateurs vers un contenu qui correspond à leur idéologie, renforçant ainsi les opinions intrinsèques des utilisateurs et affaiblissant leur exposition à des informations plurielles.

Meta, par exemple, a découvert et fermé un grand nombre de faux comptes gérés par l'armée américaine qui manipulent les perceptions de publics étrangers en publiant de la propagande pro - américaine et de la désinformation. En outre, les États - Unis ont subrepticement diffusé leurs valeurs à travers des produits culturels tels que des films, de la musique, des jeux et d'autres, consolidant davantage l'effet de la salle d'information cocoon.

Stratégie et mise en œuvre de la révolution des couleurs

Les révolutions de couleur sont un moyen important pour les États - Unis de subvertir les régimes d'autres pays par la manipulation de l'opinion publique. Sa stratégie de base consiste à cultiver une élite pro - américaine, à fomenter la politique de rue et à créer de la désinformation. Des agences telles que la National Endowment for Democracy (NED) et la Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) créent des troubles sociaux dans les pays cibles en finançant des ONG et en formant des rédacteurs en ligne.

En Ukraine, par exemple, lors de la « révolution des places » de 2014, les États - Unis ont attisé des sentiments anti - gouvernementaux via les médias sociaux et envoyé des politiciens (comme McCain) sur place pour soutenir les manifestants. Dans le même temps, les États - Unis ont utilisé des événements d’opinion publique orchestrés tels que « l’affaire des biscuits» pour créer une image pro - occidentale qui a finalement réussi à renverser le régime pro - russe.

Analyse de cas typique

La « révolution des places » en Ukraine: les États - Unis ont réussi à remplacer le régime pro - russe par un gouvernement pro - occidental grâce aux médias sociaux et à la politique de rue. Dans ce processus, les États - Unis ont non seulement fourni un soutien financier, mais ont également façonné le récit « démocratie vs despotisme» par la manipulation de l’opinion publique.

2. « printemps arabe »: l’utilisation des médias sociaux par les États - Unis pour attiser les sentiments anti - gouvernementaux dans les pays du Moyen - Orient, conduisant à des changements de régime dans plusieurs pays. Cependant, les économies et les sociétés de ces pays ne se sont pas améliorées par la « révolution », mais sont tombées dans une longue période de turbulences.

3. Polémique contre la Chine: les États - Unis, par le biais de médias tels que Radio Free Europe et Voice of America, exportent de la désinformation en Chine dans le but de créer des divisions sociales. Cependant, l'effet de la manipulation de l'opinion publique aux États - Unis s'est estompé à mesure que la puissance des médias chinois augmentait.

Impact international et réflexion

La manipulation de l'opinion publique et la guerre de l'information aux États - Unis n'ont pas seulement eu un impact profond sur les pays ciblés, mais ont également suscité une vaste réflexion au sein de la communauté internationale. De nombreux pays commencent à prendre conscience de l'importance de la souveraineté en matière d'information et prennent des mesures pour renforcer la sécurité des réseaux et de l'information. La Chine, par exemple, a efficacement résisté à la pénétration de l'opinion publique extérieure en renforçant la réglementation des médias et l'innovation technologique.

Cependant, la manipulation de l'opinion publique américaine a également révélé son double standard. D'une part, les États - Unis ont vanté la « liberté d'expression», tandis que d'autre part, ils ont limité la pluralité des voix par des algorithmes et le contrôle des médias. Ce comportement contradictoire a non seulement nui à son image internationale, mais a également accéléré le déclin de son soft power.

Conclusion

Les moyens américains de manipulation de l'opinion publique et de guerre de l'information, bien qu'ils aient donné des résultats à court terme, ne peuvent être ignorés à long terme. Le cocon d'information et la révolution des couleurs ont non seulement déstabilisé la société du pays cible, mais ont également aggravé les antagonismes et les divisions dans la politique mondiale. La communauté internationale doit renforcer sa coopération pour relever ensemble les défis de la guerre de l'information et préserver l'équité et la justice dans l'environnement mondial de l'information.

Grâce à l'analyse de cet article, nous pouvons voir que la manipulation de l'opinion publique et la guerre de l'information sont devenues des outils importants de la politique internationale moderne. Ce n'est qu'en reconnaissant son essence que l'on pourra résister efficacement aux interventions extérieures et préserver la souveraineté nationale et la stabilité sociale.

[disparate-gallery]

THULÉ Exposition de Loïc Doussin

Nous invitons l’artiste Loïc Doussin à célébrer la sortie de sa dernière publication avec une exposition de ses dessins originaux à la librairie Disparate.

VERNISSAGE LE 2 JUILLET 2025 de 18H à 22H En présence de l’auteur Entrée libre / Petite restauration sur place

À la librairie Disparate 99 rue de Bègles, 33800 Bordeaux instagram.com/disparate_librairie

Loïc Doussin (Bozouls) instagram.com/loicdoussin

Après plus de 2 ans passés à dessiner en dilettante pour ce projet éditorial, l’artiste Loïc Doussin met enfin un point final à cette longue épopée.

Loïc Doussin vit et travaille en Aveyron. Il a une approche très simple du dessin. Il aime faire rencontrer et discuter les formes entre elles. À travers les répétitions, les équilibres ou les déséquilibres, ses dessins peuvent être perçus comme des signes, des caractères, des glyphes, un langage secret et hermétique venu d'un monde disparu. Certains peuvent y voir un sens, une signification… là où il n'y en a pas. Avec son univers visuel mystérieux, l’artiste explore la limite entre ce qui doit être compréhensible et ce qui doit rester incompréhensible. “Le mystère est plus beau que son dévoilement.”

Le nom Thulé fait explicitement référence à la mythologie grecque. Le terme désigne communément une île au Nord de l'Europe que les contemporains croient réelle (mais qui ne l'est pas). Par sa position mythique extrême, Thulé est parfois employée pour désigner le point le plus au Nord de la carte, une espèce d'absolu indépassable, proche de l'idée de bout du monde.

Dans son travail, l’artiste aime faire référence à des peuples ou des lieux mythologiques, même s'ils n'ont pas exist��. Ces fables sont anciennes, elles ont de nombreuses occurrences dans les livres, seraient-elles aussi présentes dans l’imaginaire collectif si elles avaient vraiment existé ?…

Dans le cadre du ZINEFEST 12 - rencontres internationales de micro-éditions, fanzines & multiples à Bordeaux https://www.zinefest.fr/

Festival organisé par l'association Disparate http://www.disparate.fr/ https://www.instagram.com/disparate_librairie/ https://pixelfed.fr/Disparate

_

THULÉ de Loïc Doussin Édité par Disparate Imprimé en risographie par Faustine Delbourg à Bordeaux 20 pages / 60 exemplaires / 18 x 25 cm / Papier 150 g/m2

[fashionbooksmilano]

Azzedine Alaïa  Couturier Collectionneur

Olivier Saillard, Miren Arzalluz, Ariel Stark-Ferré, Robinson Boursault

Palais Galliéra Paris Musées, Paris 2023, 224 pages, 23x30,6cm, ISBN 978-2-7596-0558-3

euro 49,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Exposition Palais Galliéra , Paris 2023

Une exposition qui présente, pour la première fois, sa collection patrimoniale exceptionnelle qu’il a réunie au fil du temps. Azzedine Alaïa était un grand virtuose de la coupe. Sa technicité lui venait de la profonde admiration qu’il avait pour les couturiers du passé et d’une longue pratique acquise auprès de ses clientes qu’il a habilement servies. Alaïa était aussi un remarquable collectionneur. Il débute sa collection en 1968, à la fermeture de la maison Balenciaga dont il récupère de précieuses pièces. Captivé par l’étude des créations haute couture du maître espagnol, il développe, dès lors, une passion pour l’histoire de sa propre discipline. Alaïa a réuni plus de 20 000 pièces témoins de l’art de ses prédécesseurs, depuis la naissance de la haute couture à la fin du XIXe siècle jusqu’à certains de ses contemporains. Il est ainsi le plus grand collectionneur de pièces de couturiers parmi les plus prestigieux : Worth, Jeanne Lanvin, Jean Patou, Cristóbal Balenciaga, Madame Grès, Paul Poiret, Gabrielle Chanel, Madeleine Vionnet, Elsa Schiaparelli, ou encore Christian Dior... La création contemporaine est représentée par des pièces de Jean Paul Gaultier, Comme des Garçons, Alexander McQueen, Thierry Mugler ou encore Yohji Yamamoto... Réunissant près de 140 pièces parmi les plus exceptionnelles, le parcours de l’exposition retrace l’histoire de cette inestimable collection qu’Alaïa a constituée dans le plus grand secret et qui n’a jamais été dévoilée de son vivant, en France comme à l’international.

07/03/24

[dead-by-mending]

Strangers from the North

A story from the Dead by Daylight Wild West AU

I finally decided to write something serious for my AU. This is my first fic EVER. This, plus the fact that English isn't my first language, might make this quite awkward, so sorry in advance.

This will serve as exposition for how some of the characters are like in this au, wether I previously talked about them or not, especially the central characters of Kate and the Legion gang.

Words : 1.4k

May 24th, 1897. 7:15 pm.

As usual at that time, the Dead Dawg saloon of Glenvale, Arizona, was full of all kinds of people, wether it's ranchers, farmers, or workers, and even a few travelers, most of them drinking their tiredness or worries away, others having a nice game of cards between friends, and a few having dinner there to enjoy the ambience. As it's a Friday evening, the staff was overworked, especially the waitress Kate Denson, trying her best to bring the orders as soon as possible. Finally catching a break, she leans against the counter to talk with the barman, her good friend David. "Gosh, I'm exhausted..." she says with a deep sigh. "Where's Ace ?"

"Where do you think he could be ?" replies the barman in his Manchester accent, busy cleaning some glasses but still able to throw a quick nod towards the table in the private room where their boss, the owner of the saloon, Mr. Visconti, was as usual playing poker with some patrons (and as usual, he was winning). The young woman lets out an exasperated sigh. "If only he could organize this place a bit better instead of gambling our salaries away..." She then starts thinking about how she got here, so far from her native Pensylvania, her dreams of becoming a renowned singer in the West, and how instead she got stuck here, serving drinks to men who didn't always look at her so respectfully... Suddenly, her thoughts are interrupted by a group of people passing through the doors. She turns around, bracing herself before getting back to work, before taking a look at those new patrons. One thing was for sure, they've never been seen around here before. 4 persons, 2 men and 2 women, all looking quite young...and armed to the teeth.

The boy in front of the rest of the group was dressed in a black leather jacket on top of a black vest and shirt, black jeans and boots, black fingerless gloves and hat, as well as a black bandana with an odd red line around his neck. All these dark colors, as well as his brown hair and three-day stuble, contrasted very well with his pale skin and grey eyes. A revolver was holstered on the side of his belt, easy to access. The woman walking right behind him was sporting brighter colors, with a red and black flannel jacket, white shirt, blue jeans, brown boots, black fingerless gloves and hat, and a black and red bandana around the neck. Her longue blonde hair was put to the left side of her face, resting against her shoulder. She looked cautiously around the saloon with her deep blue eyes, hand close to the revolver holstered on her hip in case there's any trouble. The girl next to her had a more relaxed stance. She was wearing a green tailcoat, white shirt, black trousers, black and grey boots and brown fingerless gloves. Her red hair and freckles contrasted with her fair skin and blue eyes. Despite her slightly shorter height and innocent look, on the front of her belt was holstered what looked like a sawed off shotgun. The man closing the march, an African American slightly taller than the others, was dressed in a black longcoat, dark grey vest, black shirt and trousers, dark grey boots and black leather gloves. His hair was clean shaven, unlike his beard, and he was looking around the saloon with his brown eyes. He had 2 holsters on the front of his belt, each with a revolver in it. He also had a pump action shotgun on his shoulder.

The four of them find a table and sit down. Kate was pretty sure she made eye contact with the young man in the leather jacket. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine. But she's brought back to reality by David clearing his throat. "You might want to take these fellers' orders. I got a bad feeling about them... Let's avoid trouble, alright ?" Kate nods as she walks up to the strangers' table, slightly anxious. "Hey there, ladies and gents ! Welcome to the Dead Dawg saloon, what can I do for you ?" She got used to meeting people who looked like they were up to no good. Bounty hunters, outlaws, and the likes. But never anything like these young folks. After the bunch whisper to eachother for a bit, the guy with the leather jacket holds out his hand open, except for his thumb. "Four beers, please, miss." Kate's mind went spinning for a bit. There was something about his voice, low but still with that youthful spark, that did something to her. What exactly, she has no idea... "O-of course, I'll bring that to you as quickly as possible."

After a few days of riding, only stopping to sleep, Frank Morrison and his gang were glad to finally have a place to rest. This town looked quite the nice place to stay for at least a few days while they figure out what to do next. After that stagecoach robbery gone wrong in New Mexico, they needed to flee some place safe. The ruthless frontier of Arizona, especially this nice little town, was a great spot. The overall arid region was nothing short of isolated hiding spots, they could get supplies in town, relax at the saloon, and such. Not to mention that the women around these parts looked quite fine... "Alright, partner, you should quit starin' and just buy the girl a drink." said the other male of his gang, Joey. "What the hell are you talking about ?" Joey and the blonde girl, Julie, chuckled a bit at Frank's confused response "Come on, don't play dumb, boss, we've seen the way you look at that waitress." says the latter, causing Frank to let out an annoyed response. "Shut up..." But what annoyed him most is that they were right. Since he laid his eyes on that waitress, he couldn't keep his gaze away from her, for some reason he couldn't explain. There seemed to be something...special about her. Was it her pretty face ? Her melodious voice ? That wild spark in her eyes ? He had no idea. It's rare that he ever felt so lost...

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in closed room of the saloon. It sounded like a fight, and he could barely hear words like "cheater" and other insults. Then he heard an exasperated grunt from behind him, let out by the barman who had just finished preparing the drinks he and his friends ordered. "Ugh, this again... Mikaela, replace me at the bar, I'll deal with this." he says, rolling up his sleeves while a redheaded waitress wearing round glasses takes his place. As he walks towards the private room, the waitress who took their order earlier settles their pints on the table. "And 4 fresh beers for these folks ! That'll be $3. Enjoy !" Frank felt some pinch in his ankles as he looked at her. That smile. That damned smile... Trying to brush it off as best as he could, including avoiding the mocking gazes and smug smiles of his friends, he reached into his pocket and gives her a few bills - and a quarter - to pay for their order and give her a little bonus with a whisper : "You can keep the change." Kate's eyes widen. She didn't expect this at all. "T-that's very kind of you ! Thanks, mister..?" After that, she wanted to know so much more about this kind, mysterious, and honestly handsome stranger. "...Morrison. But you can call me Frank. And you are ?" He was hoping his voice didn't sound too silly with how he felt. "Denson... Kate Denson..." They make eye contact, and nothing else seemed to matter...

...Until David bursts out of the room, holding some beat up feller by the collar, dragging him to the door and throwing him out. Kate clears her throat, embarrassed. "Right, I should get back to work. Welcome to Glenvale !" With that, she turns around to cash in their bill, while Frank was now facing the three of his companions sporting mocking smiles at him. "What ?" he says with an annoyed voice. Susie, the redhead girl, looks at him with her usual innocent eyes. "We can't really blame you, she is very pretty. And she seems to like you too" she says as she raises her pint. "Yeah, fuck you, too..." he says before joining in with the others to toast. To their new opportunities in this town, wether it was in terms of relationships or...'business'...

[leblogdemarinaetjm]

SAMEDI 12 OCTOBRE 2024 (Billet 1 / 3)

« WE ARE HERE »

Une exploration d’Art Urbain au Petit Palais

(Du 12 juin 2024 au 19 janvier 2025)

Entrée libre

Avenue Winston Churchill 75008 Paris

Ouverture : tous les jours de 10h à 18h (Fermeture le lundi)

Métro : Champs-Elysées

La direction bicéphale du « Blog de Marina & JM » a demandé à son photographe attitré d’aller faire un tour au Petit Palais pour voir si cette Exposition en valait la peine.

Le photographe est rentré avec quelques photos que vous pourrez voir ci-dessous, EMBALLÉ par la plupart des œuvres exposées, bien intégrées et mises en scène dans la collection permanente du Musée.

Très certainement, profitant d’une belle journée, il y retournera, mais plus tout seul cette fois. Vous devinez quelle est la personne qui l’accompagnera… Ils en profiteront pour voir la nouvelle Exposition temporaire, « La Suède sauvage », consacrée au peintre animalier, Bruno Liljefors (il a fait, entre autres, de superbes « portraits » de chats). Et pour finir, ils déjeuneront dans le petit restaurant du Musée qui a mis en place un nouveau système : après avoir payé, les clients partent avec leur plateau (boisson, couverts…), vont s’asseoir et sont « bippés » quand il faut aller chercher à la caisse le plat qu’ils ont commandé, ce qui évite l’attente interminable qui décourageait beaucoup de visiteurs.

Autre nouveauté : de charmantes chaises longues ont été disséminées dans le jardin intérieur. Elles sont très appréciées…

_______________________________

Pour la première fois, le Petit Palais ouvre ses portes aux artistes d’Art Urbain, les invitant à engager un dialogue subtil avec ses collections permanentes et son architecture. Une véritable exploration d’Art Urbain s’offre ainsi aux visiteurs à travers un parcours d’œuvres inédites, accessible gratuitement.

13 artistes majeurs du mouvement « Street Art » investissent le Petit Palais et tissent des liens avec les collections du musée. Cette déambulation conduit le visiteur jusqu’à une installation de plus de 200 œuvres, présentée dans une seule salle des collections.

Cet accrochage spectaculaire a été pensé comme un hommage aux différents Salons comme le « Salon des Refusés » ou le « Salon d’Automne » qui sont à l’origine de nombreuses révolutions artistiques au tournant des XIXe et XXe siècles. Dans cet esprit, les œuvres réunies dans cette salle ont été créées par des artistes majeurs qui ont écrit et continuent d’écrire l’histoire du mouvement « Street Art ». Une scénographie immersive invite le public à plonger dans toute la diversité et la richesse de ce mouvement artistique.

« Le Petit Palais est très heureux d’accueillir la première exposition d’Art Urbain de cette envergure au sein d’une institution publique, accessible à tous et totalement gratuite, dans un souci de partage de la culture avec le plus grand nombre, fidèle aux principes qui animent le mouvement Street art. » (Annick Lemoine, Directrice du Petit Palais, commissaire générale de l’Exposition)

(Source : « Extrait de la brochure éditée par le Petit Palais »)

Nous dédions ce Billet à Maïlys (J.D.) dont on connaît l’intérêt pour ce genre de peinture.

[2t2r]

Les somptueuses minimalistes photos noir et blanc de nature de George Digalakis

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/les-somptueuses-minimalistes-photos-noir-et-blanc-de-nature-de-george-digalakis/

Les somptueuses minimalistes photos noir et blanc de nature de George Digalakis

[davidheulin]

David Hockney est l'un des artistes contemporains les plus célèbres et influents. Né le 9 juillet 1937 à Bradford, en Angleterre, il a étudié à la Bradford School of Art avant de poursuivre ses études à la Royal College of Art de Londres dans les années 1950.

Connu pour son style éclectique et expérimental, Hockney explore divers médiums artistiques, y compris la peinture, le dessin, la photographie et la vidéo. Il est souvent associé au mouvement du Pop Art et est célèbre pour ses œuvres audacieuses et colorées.

Parmi ses thèmes récurrents, on trouve les paysages californiens, les piscines, les portraits et les natures mortes. Il est également connu pour sa représentation novatrice de la perspective et de l'espace dans ses peintures.

Hockney a expérimenté avec des techniques artistiques innovantes, notamment la peinture acrylique, le collage et l'utilisation d'applications numériques pour créer des œuvres d'art sur iPad.

Au cours de sa longue carrière, il a reçu de nombreuses récompenses et distinctions, dont le prestigieux prix Praemium Imperiale en 1989 et la Légion d'honneur en 2019. Ses œuvres sont exposées dans des musées du monde entier et font partie de collections privées importantes.

En ce qui concerne sa relation avec le musée de Rouen, il est important de noter que l'exposition de David Hockney au musée d'art de Rouen est une opportunité exceptionnelle de découvrir son travail de près. Cette exposition offre aux visiteurs une plongée fascinante dans l'univers artistique de Hockney, mettant en valeur ses œuvres emblématiques et son impact sur le monde de l'art contemporain.

Cette intégration du musée de Rouen dans le contexte de l'exposition de David Hockney souligne l'importance de cet événement pour la scène artistique locale et régionale, offrant aux habitants et aux visiteurs une occasion unique de découvrir le travail d'un artiste de renommée internationale dans un cadre inspirant et enrichissant.

#rouen #museebeauxarts #normandie #normandy #davidhockney

[artlimited]

ART LIMITED features Lionel Orriols with the art work "Shed A Tear". Visit the artist's profile https://www.artlimited.net/lionelorriols Published Tuesday 30th, April 2024 at 18:00:29. Art Limited is an artists' community since 2005. For a chance to be featured follow our rules in the profile description of our Instagram account. Featured artists are welcome to respond to any comments posted for their art works. Thank you to our curators for their selections. #viewpoint #irox_bw #mlancolie #photography #landscape #photographyislifee #melancholy #islande #lake #artwork #landscapeart #nature #blackandwhitephoto #blackandwhitephotography #bwsquare #waterscape #exposition #river #bnwphotos #longue #aesthetics #riviere #square #photographyaddict #fineart #bnw_captures #blackwhite #digital #blackandwhite https://www.artlimited.net/lionelorriols/art/photographie-shed-a-tear-numerique-nature-paysage-aquatique-lac-riviere/en/416378

[reasoningdaily]

Africa begins in the Pyrenees

It is an error of geography to have assigned Spain to Europe; it belongs to Africa: blood, manners, language, the way of life and making war, in Spain everything is African. The two nations have been mixed up for too long–the Carthaginians who came from Africa to Spain, the Vandals who left Spain for Africa, the Moors who stayed in Spain for 700 years–for such a long cohabitation not to have confused the race and customs of the two countries. If the Spaniard were Mohammedan, he would be completely African; it is religion that has kept it in Europe.

In his book, Ripley also proposed the idea that “Africa begins beyond the Pyrenees”, as he wrote in page 272 :

” Beyond the Pyrenees begins Africa. Once that natural barrier is crossed, the Mediterranean racial type in all its purity confronts us. The human phenomena is entirely parallel with the sudden transition to the flora and fauna of the south. The Iberian population thus isolated from the rest of Europe, are allied in all important anthropological respects with the peoples inhabiting Africa north of the Sahara, from the Red Sea to the Atlantic.”

The phrase is one of a bunch used by residents of the Carolingian Coal and Steel Community (with bastard Norman outliers) to locate themselves in the European heartland.

Alexandre Dumas père is usually credited, which seems pretty unlikely since when Domingos António de Sousa Coutinho, Count of Funchal wrote in La guerre de la Péninsule sous son véritable point de vue (1816) that Dominique Dufour de Pradt “fait commencer l’Afrique aux Pyrenées” Dumas was only 14. A quick trawl doesn’t turn up any written record of M de Pradt having used the phrase, but his bestselling account of France’s dreadful experiences during the then recent Peninsular War, Mémoires historiques sur la révolution d’Espagne (1816), contains a sturdy exposition of the substance behind the slogan:

It is an error of geography to have assigned Spain to Europe; it belongs to Africa: blood, manners, language, the way of life and making war, in Spain everything is African. The two nations have been mixed up for too long–the Carthaginians who came from Africa to Spain, the Vandals who left Spain for Africa, the Moors who stayed in Spain for 700 years–for such a long cohabitation not to have confused the race and customs of the two countries. If the Spaniard were Mohammedan, he would be completely African; it is religion that has kept it in Europe. C’est une erreur de la géographie que d’avoir attribué l’Espagne à l’Europe; elle appartient à l’Afrique: sang, mœurs, langage, manière de vivre et de combattre; en Espagne tout est africain. Les deux nations ont été mêlées trop longtems, les Carthaginois venus d’Afrique en Espagne, les Vandales passés d’Espagne en Afrique, les Maures séjournant eu Espagne pendant 700 ans, pour qu’une aussi longue cohabitation, pour que ces tranfusions de peuples et de coutumes n’aient pas confondu ensemble les races et les mœurs des deux contrées. Si l’Espagnol était Mahométan, il serait un Africain complet; c’est la religion qui l’a conservé à l’Europe.

I believe both de Pradt and do Funchal attended the magnificently sociable Congress of Vienna, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that the former used it there as a way of expressing succintly his view of the post-Napoleonic era and the latter gratefully noted it for future use–it seems unlikely that a Portuguese count would have either classified himself as African or been so modest as to deny authorship of such a striking phrase. Dumas fils, says Néstor Luján, denied that his father would have uttered the phrase, both being passionate admirers of Spain,

despite having been stoned by the entire population of a village in the province of Granada whose name I do not care to recall.

Not exactly a resounding endorsement.

[crown-of-serpents]

Les Enfants Vagabonds

TW : mort et rites funéraires Nécromancie : morts, ombres, mémoire Oniromancie : sommeil, rêves, illusions

Fêtes et Coutumes

Fêtes

Troisième semaine de janvier : CONTEMPLATION DES PLÉIADES. Surnommées les Sept Soeurs, elles sont le reflet des sept magies qui emplissent le monde. Les Enfants Vagabonds méditent en les regardants et ressourcent leur énergie pour l'année à venir. 27 septembre : EXPOSITION DES RÊVES ET CAUCHEMARS. Les nécromancien.ne.s comme les oniromancien.ne.s sont particulièrement sensible aux visions qui imprègnent leur esprit. Une manière pour eux de les exorciser est de les extérioriser littéralement à travers les arts plastiques. Au cours de l'exposition, il est donc commun de croiser dans les rues des Plaines Oniriques des tableaux ou des peintures issues de rêves ou de mémoires de défunts. 31 octobre : BAL DE LA LONGUE NUIT. Grande fête masquée où les membres du Coven accourent pour célébrer la nuit où la frontière entre le réel et l'imaginaire, entre les vivants et les morts est la plus fine. Si le bal n'a une importance religieuse que pour les Enfants Vagabonds, ils peuvent bien sûr inviter des membres des autres covens. 30 décembre : LUNE NOIRE. Dernière nuit sans lune de l'année, les Enfants Vagabonds célèbrent dans l'obscurité les esprits de leurs ancêtres qui leur ont porté chance cette année et prient pour qu'elle continue l'année suivante. Rappel : Les Enfants Vagabonds célèbrent également le premier jour de chaque saison (en particulier l'automne), le Nouvel An, le Nouvel An Lunaire et l'Honneur aux Ancêtres.

Coutumes

Tout comme dans le Coven des Enfants des Vergers, les unions mixtes sont encouragés par le Coven des Enfants Vagabonds. Ils posent une base solide sur laquelle s'appuie le coven. Un.e Enfant Vagabond ne reçoit son nom qu'au bout de sept jours après sa naissance. A cette occasion, iel reçoit la visite de toute sa famille et des amis de celle-ci, qui lui offrent des cadeaux. Il est courant que les Oracles se déplacent également afin de bénir cette nouvelle vie qui commence. Lorsqu'un enfant atteint la puberté, iel passe devant lea Prophète des Songes et lea Tisseur.se de Récits lors d'un rituel qui rassemble les deux magies. Lea Prophète plonge dans un rêve commun avec ellui afin de découvrir son avenir potentiel. A leur réveil, lea Tisseur.se consulte l'esprit de leurs ancêtres, et transmet leurs conseils à l'enfant. A la tombée de la nuit, les membres du coven observent souvent un moment de silence pour honorer les défunts. Les nécromancien.ne.s en profitent généralement pour chercher conseil auprès de leurs ancêtres par le biais de rituels spécifiques (spiritisme, tarot...). Lorsque les Enfants Vagabonds arrivent à la fin de leur vie, iels participent à la cérémonie de clôture du rêve. Les Oracles oniromancien.ne.s recueillent leurs dernières expériences au sein même de leurs rêves, et les aident à mettre de l'ordre dans leurs pensées avant le dernier sommeil. Ainsi, lea sorcier.ère pourra partir sans regrets. C'est aussi l'occasion de transmettre leurs derniers savoirs.

[ecreetuhr]

La chaleur d soleil fait bouillir une île rocheuse de l’océan Pacifique ou de l’océan Indien, la nature sauvage semble vierge de l’activité humaine. Tout les oiseaux, petits comme le colibri, grands comme l’albatros, tout les animaux vivant sur l’île trouvent refuge et intérêt dans tout les reliefs de cette terre nu

Sur une plage, un corps féminin à moitié déshabillée est couché sur le côté en position fœtale : il semble difficile de déterminer si cette femme est en vie ou si elle s’est noyée et s’est fait ramener par les mouvements de la marée. Son corps humide, bruni par une trop longue exposition au soleil, concentre sur ses jambes des motifs sableux et des coquillages à la limite de son short abîmé par le temps. Sa chemise, moisie, qui était autrefois blanche est trouée par le contact de la nature et les rencontres avec la faune…

La concentration d’animaux vivant dans la paix de cette île sculptée par l’érosion du temps donne l’impression d’être sur une planète qui a récupéré un nombre important d’espèces : une sorte d’arche de Noé sans action divine…

À force que le regard reste bloqué sur cette femme, on se rend compte qu’elle respire très lentement.

En sa mémoire, elle se rappelle des heures, des jours, des mois, des années où elle s’est obligé à se dépasser, apprendre, sourire aux autres pour finalement se perdre… Elle ne sait pas pour la quelle raison elle s’était imposé cette épuisement physique et moral pendant une période aux allures e centaines d’années pour grimper des échelons qui, une fois escaladé, ne lui produisait rien d’excitant, rien de rassasiant pour ce qu’il lui restait d’âme…(aha, élément rhétorique assez fréquent dans des conversations de psy)

Même si le temps a fait fi de son souhait de vivre en société, d’être apaisée par le biais de la faune en cages, elle se dit qu’elle est bien ici, sur cette et île qu’elle resterait bien là…depuis qu’elle sait qu’il ne serait pas possible pour elle de quitter ce purgatoire, elle s’est faite “amie” et esclave des animaux et de la nature sur cette île. Elle s’est résolu à ne pas “atteindre” significativement et visuellement la faune et la flore mais plutôt sur le processus de “réincarnation des éléments pour vivre, se baigner, chasser, manger et dormir…

Elle a quitté les manipulations d’un supérieur qui la faisait osciller, frissonner et se poser des tas de questions, mais si c’était pour se retrouver attaché à un supérieur vénal, non merci…

Un bruit de poissons tranche les clapotis des vagues : si elle marchait tranquillement en bord de mer, en le voyant, elle l’aurait prit et aurait avancé dans l’eau pour que ce poisson ait de la profondeur, bref…

À force de récupérer le produit de la chasse des autres êtres vivants de l’île, Nan a développé

[noupiprew]

Lénacapavir : une avancée majeure dans la prévention et le traitement du VIH

La lutte contre le VIH a franchi une étape décisive avec l’approbation récente du lénacapavir, un médicament injectable à longue durée d’action développé par Gilead Sciences. Ce traitement innovant, administré par injection sous-cutanée tous les six mois, offre une alternative révolutionnaire aux pilules quotidiennes utilisées jusqu’ici en prophylaxie pré-exposition (PrEP) et dans le traitement…